“We could find an empty house and hide out, but they’ll likely find us eventually. I’ve an idea. Follow me.”
Xarcon led Bowe farther down the alleyway until they came upon a beggar sitting on the side of the street. Xarcon nodded toward him. “He looks about your size. Offer to swap clothes with him.”
“This is your plan? Are you serious?”
“We have to be invisible. What are more invisible than the beggars on the streets? Hurry.” Xarcon disappeared around the next corner.
The beggar glanced up at Bowe, then sank his head back on his chest. His beard was long, twisted, and dirty and he smelled of piss and unpleasantness. Bowe felt dirty at the very thought of putting on the beggar’s rags, but he didn’t have a better plan than Xarcon’s.
He took a deep breath and crouched down. “What do you say? Want some new clothes?” Bowe glanced up and down the street, but there was no one else around. The Grenier marshals were likely stopping people from entering this part of Arcandis.
“What’ll you give me for my clothes?” The beggar peered up at Bowe, scrunching his face into a mass of wrinkles and dirt streaks.
“These clothes that I’m wearing,” Bowe said. “Clean, good quality.” Bowe pulled down the neck of his cloak to show his ascor garments underneath.
The beggar rubbed the sleeve of Bowe’s cloak, leaving a dirty stain on it. “I don’t like them.”
Bowe did his best not to flinch away. “What’s not to like? They’re not falling apart and covered in filth. Do you expect someone to come along shortly and offer you a better deal?”
The beggar shrugged his shoulders. “How many golds will you give me for my clothes?”
“Golds? You think those rags are worth more than a fraction of a silver? Must be nice to live in your world.” Bowe scanned the street again, hoping to spot another beggar whom he could swap with.
Xarcon returned. “You look and smell awful,” Bowe said, looking at the filthy pieces of cloth that he wore.
“Thanks. That’s the idea. Why haven’t you switched? We don’t have much time.”
“This guy is looking to sell his rags for several gold coins. Not one. Several. He doesn’t like what I’m wearing.”
Xarcon bent down to examine the beggar’s face, then smiled. “Oh, it’s you, Jilf. Stop messing and swap. We haven’t all day.”
Jilf winked at Xarcon but didn’t move to change, instead directing a scowl at Bowe.
“Do it for me, Jilf. It’s important. We want him alive.”
The beggar gave a stiff nod and began to undress. Xarcon nodded to Bowe, who did the same. Bowe wondered who the “we” that Xarcon referred to was.
Bowe made sure to detach his money pouch before handing over his clothes. He didn’t want Jilf to profit even more from his exchange. It took Bowe several tries to get the beggars clothes on. The outer cloak seemed a shapeless mass with holes in it and Bowe couldn’t figure out which holes were for his head, which were for his arms, and which were just accidental holes. Eventually he got it on enough that it covered most of him as long as he kept pulling the cloth up his right shoulder. He tried to hold his breath as he dressed, but eventually he just had to breathe in the smell and try to become accustomed to it. It took only one breath to induce the beginnings of a headache in the back of his skull.
Xarcon handed Jilf a silver as they left and the beggar took it sullenly, then returned to scowling at Bowe.
Bowe followed Xarcon, shifting the new clothes across his shoulders. The cloak was threatening to either fall off or fall apart, and Bowe didn’t have enough hands to keep it all together. “These smell terrible. What’s the plan now? Will this disguise be enough, do you think?”
Xarcon paused. “You’re right, it’s not enough.” He sniffed the air. “Follow me.”
Xarcon changed direction, leading them down a narrow gap between two houses. Bowe gagged and turned back, for there was a sewage bucket in an alcove. To Bowe’s shock, Xarcon knelt down beside the bucket and began splattering the excrement onto his clothes and rubbing it in.
Bowe took a long step backward. “What are you doing now?”
“You were right. We don’t smell bad enough. We want the Grenier marshals to refuse to go near us. If they get too close, one of them might recognize you.”
“No one’s going to expect a Guardian of Arcandis to be wearing these.” Bowe spread his arms wide then quickly pulled the clothes back into shape when they started to fall off. “No way I’m dousing myself in that. I thought you said we were going to be invisible.”
“Invisible and repellent. An unbeatable combination.” Xarcon pulled back out of the alcove rubbing his fingers down the side of his face.”
Bowe stepped back, keeping his distance. “No way.”
“Come on. I don’t have time to babysit your squeamishness. What is worse, a small bit of unpleasantness or spending the rest of your life being tortured in the Fortress?”
“This is more than a small bit of unpleasantness.” Bowe stepped hesitantly up to the bucket and knelt. He gagged, but forced back the bile. A horrible thick brown liquid with floating solids came up nearly to the top of the bucket. He leaned in with his hands and closed his eyes as he dipped his fingers into the slimy shit. Scrunching up his nose, he quickly cleaned his hands off on his clothes and backed out of the alcove and followed Xarcon back onto the street. He allowed himself to breathe again, but they’d brought the smell with them now, so each breath filled his nose with the noxious smell.
“Come on,” Xarcon said. “We better try this now while the stench is strong and before they figure out you’ve fled the mansion.”
“The sooner the better. I need to get clean.” Bowe pushed the palm of his hand against his chest and swallowed saliva, resisting the urge to vomit.
Xarcon and Bowe stayed to the side of the street as they continued on, keeping in role as beggars. Xarcon moved in a shuffling walk and ran the fingers of his right hand along the side of the wall. Bowe staggered along behind him, almost falling once or twice—not because he was pretending to be a beggar, but because he felt sick from the smell, and because his clothes kept threatening to trip him.
“What about the others?” Bowe asked. “If we are having this much trouble, how’ll they get out?”
“They are mainly interested in you. All the marshals will have been shown your likeness and be on the lookout. It’ll be easier for the others. All the escay and marshals have to do is take off their uniforms. Sindar is used to moving about without being seen, and Sorrin seems to have planned some escape route for himself.”
For himself and Zofila, Bowe thought. Bowe still hadn’t figured out how upset he was about that yet. It hurt, but he hadn’t had time to take it in properly. Thinking about it logically, Zofila had been his wife in name only—they had never even slept together. But logic couldn’t control the way the pit of his stomach tensed up into a hard ball when he thought about it. He had been rejected by his wife and she had turned to his best friend instead. It was hard not to feel betrayed by both of them. And politically? The politics of it didn’t make his stomach acids burn any stronger, but they were more important long term. If the newsbards broke the story about how the Bellanger Guardian was played the fool by his wife and best friend, Bowe would be hard pressed to maintain any respect in Arcandis.
Though, given that he was currently covered in shit, dressed in rags, and likely to be soon arrested, perhaps that ship had already sailed. His respect and standing wouldn’t be worth much if he had to face the torturers in the bowels of the Fortress.
They turned the corner and approached a group of marshals who formed a line across the street. Bowe’s step faltered, then he continued after Xarcon. On both sides of the line of marshals, escay waited for a chance to pass. They gathered in groups, talking quietly. As Bowe and Xarcon got closer, the group of escay nearest the edge of the street saw and smelled them and began to drift away.
Five marshals, Bowe counted, all dressed
in Grenier light pink. If Xarcon had hoped that they’d just let them through without taking much notice, he was wrong. They weren’t just stopping Bellangers. They had decided to stop everyone from entering or leaving this entire section of the city.
Xarcon had clearly come to the same conclusion because he stopped. He glanced back over his shoulder with a shrug, as if to say, We tried. The marshals weren’t going to just step aside and let them pass. But Bowe didn’t see giving up on this plan as a choice. They didn’t have a better plan. The Greniers hadn’t left much to chance, and if Bowe wanted to escape, he needed to take a risk.
“Hey.” Bowe stepped forward and waved his arms at the marshals. He slurred his voice. “What are you doing blocking the road? People are trying to cross here.” He stamped forward. His cloak half-fell from his shoulder but he ignored it. He half-tripped and kept going.
Xarcon grabbed Bowe’s arm, pulled him close, and whispered in his ear. “What in Helion are you doing? Are you trying to get us caught?”
Bowe shrugged Xarcon’s hand off. There actually was a good chance he would get them captured; it was best not to mention that.
He waved an arm at the marshals. “Get out of my way. I’m a Guardian. How dare you block me.” He rubbed his hand against his face, smearing dirt down one cheek. The smell was still strong but he ignored it. He decided not to hide his face in any other way. The marshals had clearly seen his likeness, but he was going to test Xarcon’s theory that he became invisible once dressed in beggars’ rags one way or the other.
The two marshals closest moved to block Bowe’s path, but he swerved away. “Don’t you dare touch me. Filthy marshals. I’m an ascor and I won’t be touched by the likes of you.” Bowe kept his voice loud and slurred.
Several escay laughed at Bowe’s proclamation. Good, Bowe thought. He wanted the atmosphere light with a touch of silliness. Xarcon shuffled in behind Bowe, following his lead, although undoubtedly cursing Bowe under his breath.
Having moved away from the first two marshals, Bowe now charged directly at the one in the center. The leader. His chin was clean-shaven and his mustache was carefully trimmed.
“I need to get through. Important business with the other Guardians,” Bowe said. “Kesirran and I have to discuss reducing the number of filthy escay who clog up our streets.” The leader of the group of marshals would make the final decision on letting the two crazy beggars through, so Bowe wanted to deal directly with him. Plus, Bowe thought that the leader would be less inclined to personally deal with the smell and unpleasantness.
“Stop right there,” the mustached marshal said. “No one is getting through here until we have the Bellanger Guardian in our custody.”
“Well, then today’s your lucky day.” Bowe opened his arms and launched himself directly toward the marshal. “I’m Bowe Bellanger, the greatest Guardian Arcandis has ever known. Arrest me if you dare.”
Another chuckle came from the watching escay. The mustached marshal’s eyes flickered across to the watching crowd. He didn’t want to look like an idiot. He hesitated, his hand drifting down to the sword at his side. When Bowe was almost upon him, the marshal caught the full force of Bowe’s stench. He reached up to cover his nose and stepped back, dodging out of the way as Bowe barreled past with Xarcon following in Bowe’s wake.
Behind the marshals, the escay closest also swiftly moved back before Xarcon and Bowe’s smell. Bowe looked over his shoulder as he continued forward.
One of the other marshals drew his sword and stepped after the beggars. “Should I go after and catch them?”
“Catch the great Bowe Bellanger. That’ll be harder than you think. Do you have the nose for such a task?” Bowe called out to another round of sniggers.
“Let them go.” The mustached marshal waved his hand. “We have more important matters today than arresting smelly vagrants.” He shouted after Bowe: “The next time I see you, I won’t go so easy on you.”
“You’re all fools,” Bowe shouted back. He was about to boast further about the great Bellanger Guardian, but Xarcon grabbed his cloak, forcing Bowe away.
“Don’t push your luck,” Xarcon whispered.
They turned left at the first corner they saw, then right at the next one. Best to be out of sight in case the marshals changed their mind.
Xarcon shoved Bowe again the wall. “What kind of fool move was that?”
Bowe gave a giddy laugh. “It worked, didn’t it?”
“You could have gotten us killed. Even if they didn’t recognize us, do you think they’d have any hesitation killing two vagrants who crossed them? You antagonized them for no reason. All that shit about Bowe Bellanger, the great Guardian—were you just trying to build your crazy reputation? Is that why you risked both of our lives?”
“No. I just thought that the best strategy was to act as crazy as possible and force our way through before they had time to think about it. I know it was risky, but we were running out of options.” Bowe grinned. “Never thought I could have fun dressed and smelling like this.”
Xarcon shook his head. “You’re crazy. And stop that grinning. You aren’t out of this by a long shot. The Greniers will redouble their efforts to find you after this. I know someone who might help you. Might also decide not to, but you don’t have many options right about now.” Xarcon shook his head again. “I definitely will owe you nothing once this is over. Let’s get rid of these clothes and smell.”
With the reminder, the smell returned in full force, and Bowe reached for his nose and forced back a gag. “Yes, please.”
Chapter 3
Day 6
The last ray of the sinking sun dyed the scuttling clouds into a smoky red. Bowe watched from inside his small, single-windowed second-story room. Xarcon had left him here to hide out—that had been a day ago and he hadn’t been back, though he had sent an urchin with food and water.
At least Bowe was clean again. After finding somewhere to dump their clothes and clean up, the bucket of cold water thrown over him had felt glorious. They didn’t have any soap, so Bowe had scrubbed at his flesh until his hands felt raw. Bowe still got hints of the smell of shit when he sniffed at times, but he was nearly sure it was in his imagination. Xarcon had given him fresh clean escay clothing, and when he first put them on, the coarse wool against his freshly scrubbed skin had felt softer than the finest ascor garments.
Bowe hoped Xarcon was okay and would be back soon, but as time passed, Bowe got more and more worried. What if Xarcon had been captured and the marshals were right now torturing Bowe’s location from him? Bowe shuddered. Would I be tortured too if I were caught? he wondered. Or would Dulnato be satisfied with my death? There didn’t seem a good reason to torture him, but those in the Fortress didn’t need much reason once they captured someone.
With the sun having completely set, Bowe looked for Helion. It was at its farthest away, but it was still usually visible as a purplish star. Bowe gave up looking after a while and just stared out across the rooftops. He considered leaving, now that he feared Xarcon wouldn’t be coming back, but he didn’t know where to go. It showed how little Bowe had done in terms of rebuilding the Bellanger family that everything could be ruined in an instance, leaving Bowe with nowhere to go and no one to turn to. He wasn’t sure that there was anywhere within the city that he would be safe if the Grenier marshals were serious about catching him.
And leaving the city? Xarcon had hinted that that was what had to be done. Bowe had never been outside the city except for when he when out in the bay on the escay funeral barge. He had no idea how to escape the city walls and, more importantly, what he would do if he got outside. Traditionally, the heart of the Bellanger fortune had been in the countryside; they’d run the farms and supplied the food. But the Greniers had taken that over fifteen years ago, and Bowe knew nothing of farming or life outside the city.
Bowe heard a noise coming from downstairs. He held his breath, but it was a single set of footsteps that ascended the stairs. If
the marshals had come to arrest him, they’d likely be coming in force. Still, Bowe didn’t fully relax until the door opened to reveal Xarcon.
“What kept you?” Bowe asked.
“Turns out that the person who might be able to help wants to meet you first. It wasn’t straightforward to set up that meeting.”
“An important figure in the Guild, is he?” Bowe asked. He’d been thinking about how Xarcon had said to the beggar, “We want him alive.” And how Xarcon knew the only person in Arcandis who could help Bowe escape. The only thing that made sense was that Xarcon had joined the Guild. Bowe’s friends had started to desert him before yesterday—he was just now finding out about it. First Zofila and Sorrin, and now Xarcon.
Xarcon held Bowe’s gaze for a long moment. “You shouldn’t talk so much.”
Xarcon descended and Bowe followed. When Bowe had arrived yesterday, both the upstairs and downstairs rooms had been empty and deserted. Now, though, torches were lit in the downstairs room and several men leaned against the walls. Xarcon waited at the bottom of the stairs.
Bowe didn’t need it to be pointed out whom he was supposed to meet. The torches were placed in such a way as to leave one corner in darkness. A shadowy figure sat in a chair in that corner.
“Who’s the geezer in the corner?” Bowe asked.
The man on the chair spoke. “Is he always this rude toward those who want to help him?” The voice was an old one, but it had an authority to it that Bowe had only heard from the other Guardians.
“Quite often,” Xarcon went to stand by the old man. “He jumps first, either with feet or mouth, then thinks after.”
“That concurs with what I’ve heard from other sources,” the old man said.
What other sources? Bowe wondered. Have you been watching me, old man? “Who are you? Come out of the shadows and show yourself.”
“‘Come out of the shadows.’” The old man chuckled. “I haven’t done that in a while. But maybe it is time. Very well. Xarcon, push me out.”
The Treacherous Path (The Narrowing Path Series Book 2) Page 3