by Olivia Ali
"He killed someone, the First Keeper at the time to be precise so I named him in a fit of rage."
"Why did you never kill him?"
"Because I couldn't do it...I couldn't kill someone in cold blood."
"But he killed someone. Tristan, you do realise that you are going to have to kill him...you named him, that's the way it goes."
A silence passed between the pair. Dante watched Tristan as he scuffed at the dirt on the floor.
"So, this formal event," Dante said after a while. "Do you fancy accompanying me there?"
"Why is it even important?"
"I just want to see if it sparks anything for you. You should know some of the guests, perhaps we can have some fun with that."
"You realise before we go there's going to need to be a lot of work done..." Tristan nodded to Dante, a cheeky smirk on his face.
"What this classic look? I think it will pass, don't you?"
Tristan didn't say anything, he just sniggered along with Dante who motioned to him and they headed back to the Compound together still joking amongst themselves.
Chapter 29 - The Black Market
The end of the week approached all too quickly and the morning of the Autumn formal was finally upon them. Of course, neither of them had spruced themselves up enough to get past the front gate of the estate, but it was a working progress none the less. A little after noon they both headed out in the direction of the Black Market Warrick had told them about. Following the red hand prints just as instructed, they came to the cluster of huts to a hive of action. The old lean toos and stalls that seemed shabby the other day had been brightened up by the beautiful colours of glittering fabrics and the smell of the manure masked by exotic delicacies and pricey perfumes. Tristan imagined frivolities like this to be a luxury for the common old town’s person as Warrick had referred to them as. The sights marvelled them both, they had never seen a sight so full of life, not even the exotic market, but then maybe that was because of the small proximity they were in. Admittedly there weren't many people around admiring the luxuries but the hum of oncoming people every now and then did make up for that. Suppose they couldn't draw too much attention to an illegal market right under the guards' noses.
"So, where do we start?" Dante asked, hoping Tristan would know something more about this then he did. Tristan said nothing to begin with, his eyes wondering around the faces that peered around the stalls. Next, he noted the faces of those who owned the stalls, a flashback coming to his mind at the sight of a man with a turban around his head. A name sprang to mind along with a thousand memories, most of which resulted in him buying priceless pieces of jewellery from this man, just like those that that were currently on his wooden stall.
"Wait here a minute," Tristan stated, weaving through the people towards the man he had spotted.
He looked just like he did in his memories; the purple turban sealed with an amulet at the centre, the heavily wrinkled face and greying sideburns that lead into a goatee. Not to mention the beige and purple robes that swept past his knees and sandy coloured boots that curved up and around at the toe.
"Sekhmet," Tristan called out, catching the attention of the man in the turban. "Long time no see."
"Tristan, my favourite customer. It's been a while." Sekhmet had a snake like voice that slithered out of his lips, but not in a sneaky or sly sort of way, more of a charming way - like a snake charmer. "Where have you been all this time?"
"I've been around. Listen, I need a favour."
"Of course, anything for you my friend."
"Me and my friend over there," He nodded to Dante, "We need to get into the Autumn formal tonight."
"Who him?" Tristan nodded. "What the guy with the straggly hair and tanned skin." He nodded again. "You've got to be kidding me, haven't you?"
"Please tell me there is something you can do?"
"No no no, there is nothing I can do for him. You may pass for a ser but him...there's a lot of work to be done. I can however sort you out with some offerings and I have a friend who can help you sort the rest."
"Thank the gods."
"Wait here a minute. Gladys!"
Tristan looked towards the blonde bombshell who turned around in acknowledgement of the name. In all honesty she looked like one of those hussies who would hang around in the taverns to fulfil the needs and desires of all men who requested it. Her blonde hair was curled in tight ringlets and tied up neatly on the top of her head. A pale face was plastered in makeup, her cheeks forced to blush so pink it matched her low-cut puffy gown. Tristan couldn't hear what they were saying but he did understand Gladys' looks of dissatisfaction in Dante's direction.
"You want me to work on 'im?" she asked coming over to Tristan and pointing in Dante's direction in a disgusted manner. She had a rather common sounding voice that pitched at the ends of her words, making her sound rather patronising.
"Yes," Tristan replied calmly, finding it funny how they were all so obsessed with Dante’s look. "I understand that there's a lot of work to be done..."
"Darlin' I'm gonna need a miracle to make him look the part of a ser let alone a lord."
"Luckily for you we just need the ser part."
"Luckily..."
"Gladys," Sekhmet intervened. "The man is an old friend..."
"Sekhmet that man is too shabby for even your circle of friends."
"I'll make it worth your while?"
Gladys stared at him a while before looking over at Dante and then over at Tristan. After a while she sighed heavily making a weird noise as though she weren't happy about what she was about to do.
"Fine, but you owe me big time Sekhmet!" Gladys stormed off out of the cluster of stalls towards Dante.
"You better follow her," Sekhmet urged, winking to Tristan. "I'll be along later with your offerings."
Tristan nodded to him and chucked him a large bag of coins.
"Keep the change."
"May Saracen bless you my friend!"
Tristan went at a jog after Gladys slowing as she reached Dante, looking him up and down and smirking disgracefully. "And you are?" She asked, folding her arms across her chest and extenuating her cleavage. "Who wants to know?" Dante asked struggling to keep his eyes on her face.
"This is Daxon," Tristan answered in his place, deciding to keep up the pretence of his fake name for the moment.
"Daxon? I sure hope you plan on changing your name."
"How about Dante?" Dante quizzed, a cynical look on his face.
"Do be serious, that's even worse."
Dante made a face as though he were about to slander her back only causing a giggle to escape Tristan's lungs.
"Now come with me, we have a lot to do."
She led them in the direction of one of the huts that surrounded the stalls. Fiddling with some keys as she unlocked the door to an emporium of glamorous clothes all different colours and fabrics. A stool sat in the middle to which she motioned for Dante to sit at. He did so without hesitating. Tristan sat at the bench to the side and watched her survey the work she had to do. Every now and then she'd let out a sigh as if she didn't believe she could do it, but she seemed determined all the same. Tristan had a feeling he was going to enjoy this, even with Dante scowling at him every time he got the chance.
When it seemed like Gladys had finished envisioning her masterpiece, she stepped back a little, a big smile beaming upon her face. She practically skipped over to a chest of drawers and opened the top drawer, pulling out a cloth which looked to contain a variety of tools. She set the bag on another stool which she pulled over from the side of the chest and pulled out her first instrument; a sort of bladed prong which looked like no razor Tristan had ever seen before. He gulped, watching as Dante did exactly the same thing, his eyes shooting up as he felt her pull on the tie that held a layer of his hair up.
"What are you doing?" Dante croaked, fear tainting the arrogant tone he was trying and failing to get across.
"Just giving it a little snip," she repli
ed, a mischievous grin upon her face.
"With what?"
"Just some scissors. Trust me, you're in good hands."
"More like blades!"
Dante had tried to say that without her hearing but obviously he failed as her eyebrows arched even more as she snipped at least three inches off the length in a rather vicious manner. Tristan held in a laugh as he saw Dante mouth the word 'bitch'. Once she'd finished hacking at the length, she combed it through and worked on the shape, curving the edges so that they framed his shoulders from the front.
When finally she was happy with the cut, she went back over to the chest and pulled a box out of the top drawer, setting it down on the stool with the bag. Opening it she took out some circular whalebone instruments with little splinters that looked more deliberate than simple wear and tear. Combing a section of his hair, she threaded the cylindrical objects into it and then clipped them in place at the base of his neck.
"What are those?" Tristan asked, intrigued but at the same time wanting to embarrass Dante further.
"Curlers." she answered simply as she continued to thread the rest of his hair through them.
Dante pulled an alarmed face at her answer, a look that said 'you have got to be joking'. Balderick would be having so much fun watching this, Tristan thought. Once all the curlers were set, she took the scissors back from the cloth bag and came to his front, now paying attention to his beard. Carefully, her eyes full of concentration, she snipped off the straggly hairs so that it had no real length to it. Even by taking off the length, Tristan could see a big difference in the impression it gave; from grotty tavern frequenter to strapping upper class lord. After she'd finished the length, she separated the blades by unscrewing something small and round from the centre. She held the blade steady in her hand – looking more like a razor now - and began scraping it over the hairs and taking away the thickness.
"Don't speak or you may die!" She asserted as she felt Dante about to say something and potentially break her concentration. "Don't worry though, you will still have a beard when I'm finished with you."
A little while later she smiled making Tristan assume she was done with his beard and placing down her tools, she stood up and began sifting through the clothes on all the racks. Grabbing what she needed, she placed them in a room at the back of the hut and came back to Dante.
"Right, I've put some clothes in that room over there," she motioned, pursing her lips. "They should fit you. Please try not to disrupt the curlers whilst you're changing into them." Dante nodded and rose to his feet, sheepishly moving towards the room and shutting the curtain behind him as though he were too afraid to say anything against her and embarrass himself further. "Right, it's your turn," she pointed to Tristan and motioned for him to sit on the stool. "Luckily you just need a bit of a tidy up so it will be much easier."
Tristan sat and Gladys went about clipping and reshaping his hair so that there were no straggly bits and then shaped his stubble a little more evenly. She finished just as Dante came back into the room, sporting a white shirt under a royal blue overcoat with gold trimmings that stretched down to his knees. Black cloth trousers tucked themselves neatly into polished boots that reached his knees. Smiling at the result, Gladys selected some clothes and shoved them at Tristan, motioning for him to go and change. Grabbing hold of Dante, she sat him down and began taking out the curlers and tying his hair neatly into a lose ponytail that rested along his back, the curls giving it a more regal feeling.
"How are we getting on?" asked the voice of Sekhmet as he stepped into the room from the approaching night outside, his eyes widening at the sight of Dante. "Well stand up then and give us a twirl." Dante rose to his feet and slowly turned, lifting his arms slightly as he did so. "Now that certainly is an improvement. Do we have a name to go along with the attire?"
Dante shrugged as Tristan came out of the back room, flexing his shoulders as though he were trying to stretch out the leather brown coat he was wearing over a black shirt and leather trousers, that were tucked into polished boots. To be honest, he didn't look all that different just a little more polished around the edges.
“How come he gets the leather?” Dante scorned.
"Well, I have actually been thinking of some names for them." Gladys explained, ignoring the comment and coming to stand by Sekhmet to admire her handiwork as Tristan stood beside Dante.
"Oh really," Sekhmet intrigued. "Let's hear them then."
"For tall, dark and handsome over there I was thinking Balthier Ashdown..."
"Ashdown?" Dante exclaimed, astonished that she'd managed to come up with his actual last name without even knowing it. "How did you come up with that?"
"I noticed the mountain tattoo on your shoulder when I was cutting your hair and it made me think of the sigil for the long-lost Ashdown family. And Balthier...it just had a nice ring to it." She certainly impressed Dante there, after all he still regarded common women as not knowing an awful lot about the world around them and its history.
"What about for young Tristan here then?" Sekhmet asked, nudging Gladys.
"For him, Baldor Runcorn."
"Why Runcorn?" Tristan asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
"It just popped into me head and I liked the sound it had."
"Brilliant Gladys my darling," Sekhmet honoured, kissing her on the cheek. "Now we just need a backstory...how about associates? Both of you trained at a warrior’s academy in Nuzulu and you became good friends so you just kept in contact after you left. The rest is as they say...well in this case bullshit!"
A low murmur of laughter enveloped the room at Sekhmet’s joke, which was also the truth in all fairness, settled. Once the joke had subsided, Sekhmet pulled out their offerings of gold of which they would give to the treasury; there was nothing special about them but they certainly looked the part. As they prepared to leave, Gladys gave them a final brush down before bidding them good night and wishing them luck. Sekhmet led them to the streets once more and from there they marched in the direction of the estate, breathing in the cool night air that was slowly settling on the horizon.
Chapter 30 - The Estate of Dilu
The estate towered above them in the darkness making a shiver run up Tristan's spine as he stared up at its malevolence with glittering lights that flickered in the windows. Dante sighed next to him, pulling him forward towards the main gates and onwards into the Estate courtyard where already lords, ladies and sers from all around were waiting to get into the venue. Each had a cloth bag at their side, most likely containing the mandatory offering to the Barron Hagen's treasury. The queue was already so long it made Tristan wonder how full it must be if an offering had to be given at every festival celebration.
He looked towards the doors, trying desperately to calm himself before he'd even come face to face whatever he seemed so afraid of. The place seemed to echo familiarity at him, but his ears were ringing so loud he could hear the sound. A face seemed to call out to him near the head of the queue. The face belonged to a man at the with brown hair that was wax combed back, the ends of which curled at the base of his neck. His face was pointed towards his chin which was covered by a neatly shaven beard that framed his face well with his hairline. His attire was much to be desired; he didn't look all that high-class but then maybe that was the point. Maybe, like them, he was trying to pass as someone he wasn't.
Dante spotted the man too, although his reason for finding the man familiar was probably different from Tristan's because he was the man he had seen threatening Boris just the other day. Interesting though it would be to see what he wanted here, it made him apprehensive to say the least. Not to mention what might happen to Tristan if the man was who he thought he was, he could even blow their cover...they could blow his without even meaning to.
When it came to Tristan and Dante's places in the queue, they handed their offerings over to the guards who weighted them in their hands before chucking them carelessly into a sack by the door which was alrea
dy half full. Once through the door, another guard stepped forward holding a scroll and a quill.
"Names and titles please?" he said in a gruff voice.
"I am the Lord Balthier Ashdown and this is my associate ser Baldor Runcorn." Dante answered.
"Coat of arms?" Dante gulped, idiot! Why did I say Lord?
"Just a moment!"
An idea came to mind and he pulled out his medallion from underneath his tunic showing it to the guard who nodded approvingly, a relieved look washing over Tristan's face as the panic faded. Both breathing a sigh of relief, they proceeded down the walkway, armoured suits lining the corridor towards a glorious staircase with a red central carpet. Tristan only hoped that the suits were as ornamental as they looked. At the top of the stairs, they were met by another guard who again asked for their names as they set eyes on the ballroom below.
The ballroom was a magnificent sight; a huge circular room with a domed glass roof. The floor was tiled, colours reflecting off the high polished tiles and hitting back at the glass ceiling. Long tables of food were across one side with musicians playing on a stage at the head of the room, dancers parading around the centre of the ballroom. The figures themselves seemed ghostly to Tristan as the whole room seemed to speak to him, like a voice from the past almost.
"The Lord Balthier Ashdown and Ser Baldor Runcorn." The guard bellowed as they glided down the stairs, trying their best to seem as magnificent as they sounded; one arm behind their backs the other across their chest, straight backs and heads held high.
A man stood at the bottom of the staircase, a blonde woman stood to his left with her head to the floor as though she didn't want to be seen or looked at, unless of course that's how she was meant to stand. The man she stood with was jabbering away to himself, probably to her but she wasn't listening. As they neared the bottom of the stairs, he noticed the look on her face was more quizzical, like she had just seen someone she didn't intent on seeing...a face from her past perhaps.
"Hello there," The man held out a hand, stopping mid-sentence and addressing Tristan and Dante. "I am the Barron Hagen."