Chapter 10
Eleanor woke at dawn, disturbed by the sounds of the first stallholders setting up their wares for a new day of trading. She shook Raf by the shoulders, determined that they should move on before they were spotted hiding beneath the table.
"Breakfast soon," she said as she caught the scent of sausages wafting from a nearby stall and realised just how hungry she was for a good hot meal. "But first, we have some business to conduct."
Raf followed her without question, and after a little wandering she managed to locate the weaponsmith's stall which she'd seen on her previous visit to the market. He recognised her as they approached so she reached quickly for four Charanthe dollars from her winnings, plus an extra half-dollar for good will, and laid the coins on the table. She picked up the pair of throwing knives she'd admired earlier and sheathed them at her hips. The smith nodded as he took up her money, and she knew she'd redeemed herself in his eyes.
"Pick what you want," she told Raf, then turned to consider her own options.
Once they were both well armed, Eleanor leaned in and spoke in hushed tones to the weaponsmith. "Now, we need one more thing. We need to disappear."
He looked at her in puzzlement. "You wanting leave the city?"
Raf began to nod but Eleanor said, "No, not yet. I want to be invisible."
"Invisible is hard," the man said.
"Invisible is expensive," Eleanor corrected, spreading out a handful of jewels on the table-top and hoping it was enough to prove her point. "You sell all the best weapons – I'm just asking for a more subtle blade."
He beckoned them to join him behind the counter; Eleanor gathered up the jewels before following. The smith then dropped to his knees and began tracing in the sand with his own pocket-knife. Eleanor and Raf followed his example and knelt to see the map he had drawn. "This is market," he said, pointing to a square. "You can be here – is tavern, with bedrooms. They not asking you questions."
"Good start," Eleanor said. "And to move around the city without being seen?"
His brow furrowed. "Wait," he said, standing up to serve a customer. Eleanor and Raf shuffled under the table out of sight and waited.
"What are we doing?" Raf asked in a barely-audible whisper.
"Surviving," Eleanor replied, keeping her voice just as quiet. "I'll explain later."
The smith bent down to their level again, and continued: "There is ways, but you not speaking Tarasanka, and not Magrana. Is difficult. Best I think is silent monks."
"Silent monks?"
"They wearing red clothes, and on they heads..." He waved his hands around to indicate a hood over the face. "Impossible to tell one from another, and they silent, so no problem that you not speaking. People seeing you, but seeing only a monk."
Eleanor thought back to the green silk robes hanging in the corner of the torture chamber, and the ritual she had witnessed before she was captured. "What about the group with the green robes?" she asked. "And the snakes?"
"Cult of Ngavra," he answered. "Is harder for you. They not silent."
"But if I wanted to..."
"Clothes is easy, but you will to struggling without language. Is not so good for you."
Eleanor ploughed on, ignoring Raf's puzzled expression. "Can we get both sets of robes?"
"Yes, yes," the smith agreed. "Two days. Meanwhile, you is going to there–" he plunged his knife into the sandy map again "–and waiting. Say Branav is sending you."
Once she was sure the sketchy map was lodged well enough in her brain, Eleanor stood up and kicked it into the dust. "Thanks," she said quickly, then grabbed Raf's arm and pulled him into the morning's growing crowd.
They slipped quietly towards the edge of the market, following the route that the smith had indicated, stopping only briefly to buy a few essential items of clothing. They passed through the jewellery section, and Eleanor noted that the pendant she'd liked was still there – she told herself that if they had money left after everything they needed to do, she'd go back and ask how much it cost. After making a few unnecessary turns just in case anyone was trying to follow them, they eventually arrived at the shoddy little tavern. The door stood open wide, its red paint beginning to flake, and a curtain of beads hung inside the doorway.
A voice called out as soon as they parted the beads and stepped over the threshold, questioning in Tarasanka.
"Branav sent us," Eleanor said boldly, hoping the man would understand. "He said we could stay here."
"You is Charanthe woman?" The landlord shuffled into the room, looking curiously at his two guests. He was a dark-skinned, broad-shouldered man with a round, cheery face. "And one boy. Ftar'o kel... You being friends of Branav?"
"Yes," Eleanor agreed. "He said you had rooms here."
"You will paying?"
She nodded, and the man's smile broadened. He beckoned them to follow him through a low door behind the bar, which led into his cramped living quarters at the back.
"Rooms is up," he said, waving towards a wooden ladder which disappeared up through a hole in the ceiling. "But you needing food first?"
"Yes please."
She and Raf sat down at the table, and the man filled two bowls from a pot which was bubbling over the stove. The stew was made mostly of fish, and had the same bitter aftertaste that Eleanor had found so strange about her first meal in the city, but they were both so hungry that they wolfed it down without complaint and gladly accepted second helpings.
When they'd eaten as much as they could manage, the man climbed up the ladder to show them their attic room. There were four narrow beds tucked under the eaves, and a small table in the middle of the room.
"There always being food for you, down there," the man said. "And toilet also down, and outside. Okay?"
"Is anyone else staying here?" Eleanor asked, suspicious of the extra beds.
"No, no. You paying, so all is for you."
She smiled and nodded her approval, and then he disappeared back down the ladder.
"Now, are you going to tell me what we're doing?" Raf asked once they were alone. "What were you talking about with green robes and snakes?"
"I had a bit of time to look round the city before I was captured," she began, not really sure where best to start. "One of the things I saw was – well, some kind of religious ceremony, I think. Very odd. But they all wore identical green robes, and I saw the same kind of robe when we were... in there."
He stared at her. "Revenge?" he asked. "Do you think that's a good idea, when there are only two of us against all their men?"
"Not exactly revenge. But at the very least we have to go back for our bangles." And my knife, she added silently; she'd mention that bit once they were back inside the castle.
"We can get new ones. Let's just get ourselves back to the Empire, and worry about it later."
"And leave my identity with those bastards? No thank you. You don't have to come with me, but I'm-–"
He cut her off. "I'll come."
"You don't have to."
"I wouldn't leave you to face them on your own. We've been in this together from the moment they threw you into that cell."
"So, I think with the green robes we can find a way in, or at least a way to get at one of the guards. We can go and check it out once we've got the silent monk disguises – in the meantime, there's food here, and we've got time to train with our new blades."
She brought her purchases out from her pockets and laid them on the table – the pair of throwing knives, a stiletto, a short dagger, and a handful of stars which she'd picked up on impulse. Raf matched her with two curved daggers, a double-bladed knife, and one small throwing spike.
"So you've got the range," he said, indicating her selections.
"We can share." She held out a couple of stars, but he shook his head.
"I'm a bit useless over distance. Give me a straight hand-to-hand any day."
"Well, that should be all we need – I only picked these up because they looked fun
." She twirled one of the stars in her fingers, then gave an experimental flick of the wrist and sent it soaring up to the rafters. It lodged in a thick cross-beam. "Love it! Can you reach that?"
"You need to grow a few inches." He winked at her and reached up; even with his extra height he could only just pull it out of the wood. Once he had it in his hand he turned it over, examining it. "Hey, these things are barely sharp."
"It'd feel sharp if it came at you fast."
"Oh, I know." He tried to mimic Eleanor's technique, but his hand wasn't steady enough so the star wobbled through the air and bounced harmlessly off the beam before clattering to the floor. "You'll have to teach me how to do it properly."
"It's easy!" She flicked another one into the air. "You just have to get it straight."
He glanced up to where the second star had lodged itself in almost exactly the same spot as the first. "Show-off. You can get it yourself this time."
Laughing, she walked across to where the rafters sloped down towards the floor, low enough that she could hook her hands and feet around to climb. She edged her way up until she reached the appropriate cross-beam, then swung herself on top of it and walked along to where the star was embedded.
Just as she was about to lean over for it, Raf reached up and pulled it away from her. "You'll have to come and get it!" he said, stepping back beyond her reach.
She swung down from the beam, landed heavily on the rickety floorboards, and was about to chase him across the room when she realised she was standing right by the table with a much greater choice of weapons than the one single star he'd taken.
She picked up his double-bladed dagger and turned it between her fingers. "Want a fight, do you?" she asked. "Maybe it's time we got in some sparring practice."
He held out his hand and she sent the knife spiralling through the air towards him; he caught it deftly by the handle and took three long strides so that he was almost upon her by the time she'd picked up her stiletto in her right hand and her dagger in her left. She turned just in time to ensure she was positioned between him and the remainder of the weapons, and blocked his first attack with her dagger. As the blades slid noisily along one another, she was glad she'd chosen a design with a robust guard.
Raf attacked relentlessly, keeping her on the defensive and never seeming to give her chance to respond with a counter-attack of her own. She knew she was at a disadvantage – her preference was for throwing-knives but she couldn't use her best skills in a friendly fight. At least when the knife was in your hand you could stop it a hair's breadth from your opponent's throat; there was no way to pull back a flying blade once you'd released it.
He moved the knife effortlessly from hand to hand, always coming in with a different angle or surprising her with a feint, and it was taking all her efforts to fend him off. Suddenly she ducked and rolled under the table, coming up on the other side a moment later; it gave him chance to pick up a second weapon but at least she felt she'd regained the initiative, and a little breathing space.
She moved around the table and out into the room, trying to give herself space to move. Raf came at her again but this time she dodged under his arm, came around behind him and grabbed his elbows before using a leg sweep to unbalance him. He managed to roll as he fell, turned on her and pinned her to the ground with his dagger under her chin.
She beamed up at him. "You're right, you're good at this."
"That was close, though, and you'll get better with proper training – we both will." He got to his feet and offered a hand to pull her up.
"I wonder what our landlord made of all that noise!"
"Shall we go and find out? I could really do with a drink after all that."
They climbed down the ladder, but there was no sign of anyone so they helped themselves to water and, since it was still on the stove, extra helpings of stew; the landlord returned just as they were finishing.
"You hungering much!" he said, laughing a little. "More?"
They refused, slightly embarrassed and wondering what he must think of his strange, half-starved guests. Especially if he'd overheard their sparring – though, even if he hadn't heard them this time, there'd have to be more of the same before they went back to the castle. They needed to be in the best possible shape to attempt that.
Suddenly Eleanor had an idea. "If I give you money, can you buy something for us?" she asked him.
"What you wanting?"
"Shrakol." She was fairly confident that she remembered the word now.
"Srakol? Is sauce for hurting skin, yes?" he checked, and she nodded – that sounded close enough.
"What's that?" Raf asked.
"I'm asking him to get us some more of that jelly stuff."
"I going market now – is good?" the landlord asked.
"Great. Thank you."
"Thank you, thank you," he repeated, smiling. "You needing anything else?"
"No – thanks. Branav's getting some things for us too."
The landlord picked up an empty wicker basket for his shopping, and let himself out without another word.
"What do you want to do?" Raf asked once they were alone again.
"Sleep? I'm exhausted!"
"Well, you get some rest, then – I might go and have a look outside."
She wanted to tell him to be careful, to make sure that he wasn't seen, but she was afraid of offending him so she kept silent. He wasn't stupid. She climbed back into the attic and flopped down on the nearest bed, where she slept soundly until Raf's footsteps on the ladder disturbed her.
"I've got the gel," he said, putting it on the table. "Oh, sorry, did I wake you?"
"No, it's fine." She sat up, rubbing her eyes. "How late is it? How long have I been sleeping?"
"Don't worry. It's barely mid-day – besides, you should get as much rest as you need. We're safe here."
She nodded. "Okay. Pass me the jelly." Srakol, she mouthed silently. Srakol. She struggled to mould her lips around the foreign sound combinations. "What did you see outside?"
"I only went to look round the back. There's a good sized yard, out by the toilet. A good place to practise if we don't want to risk going through the floorboards – out of sight of the road."
"Great." She looked up from applying the jelly to her wounds. "We can have a rematch later."
"Whenever you've recovered," he said.
There was nothing critical in his tone but she felt the latent challenge behind his words. "Now?"
"If you like." He picked up his knives and lowered himself onto the ladder. "See you downstairs, then?"
Eleanor grabbed her dagger and stiletto and followed him, not wanting to give him time to find an advantageous position. She had enough trouble matching his skills as it was.
She smiled at the landlord, who was unpacking the groceries he'd bought at the market, and stepped outside. She couldn't see Raf but her confusion lasted only a moment – then she heard him move behind her, and realised he must have been lurking behind the door. She turned and parried his attack, and tried to slip her stiletto beneath his arm for a counter-blow but he stepped easily out of her way.
They circled the courtyard, feinting and dodging, until Raf spotted an opportunity to make his second attack; he caught hold of her with one hand and had his knife against her throat before she could defend herself.
"Sorry," he said as he released her. "I know I'm not playing fair."
"How so?"
"In a real fight you'd never let me get that close – not the way you handled those stars! We need a way to account for that."
She shrugged. "I'm learning from you."
"Fine – but it's better if we both learn something. What else could you throw?"
"Anything that's got enough weight to it." She picked up a fairly straight stick from the ground at her feet, and aimed it at him. It wasn't heavy enough to fly properly but it spun towards him and he met it with his dagger, knocking it to the ground.
"Too easy," he said.
&
nbsp; She corrected him: "Too light."
"What else could we use?"
"Forget it – I'll just teach you to throw properly. Here." She handed him one of the stars from her pocket. "You just need to make it go flat – like a wheel." She turned it in his fingers to demonstrate, then pulled out another and sent it spinning across the courtyard. It sank into the wood of the toilet-shed door.
Raf did a few practice flicks of his wrist before he released the star, trying to mirror her movements, and he threw it much straighter this time. One point cut into the wood, and the star hung precariously for a moment before falling to the ground.
"So close," he sighed.
"No need to sound so disappointed – that was a huge improvement! If you keep going like that you'll be better than me by tomorrow." She was sure that wasn't true, but she wanted to encourage him – he'd fight better if he was confident.
They spent the rest of the afternoon throwing things at the shed – stars, knives, and the spike which Raf had bought. Raf found the spike easiest – the dual points gave him a good chance of making it stick, but without needing the precision of the stars – and Eleanor understood now why he'd bought it. She remembered the trouble she'd had on the Rose – she was good with her knives, but in that environment she'd have been better off with something less precise. By the time they went inside for the night the shed door was splintering in several places, and they agreed they'd have to find a more suitable target tomorrow.
The landlord gave them bowls of a different stew for dinner, along with some of the flat, stretchy bread that Eleanor had first tried at the market. The sauce was almost painfully spicy, leaving them both gasping for water to soothe their throats, but the lumps of meat were tasty and succulent, and they managed second helpings despite the way it burned their mouths.
After dinner they took turns in the small wash-room, scrubbing the accumulated dirt from their skin and, in Eleanor's case, trying to work the knots out of her hair. Raf simply shaved the matted hair from his head at the same time as removing the beard and moustache which had grown while he was imprisoned.
"You should cut your hair, too," he said, offering her his knife. "It can't be practical like that."
But Eleanor wasn't willing to be persuaded.
They fell into bed exhausted and slept late the next morning, warm and comfortable for the first night in much too long. The following day they kept themselves busy practising hand-to-hand techniques, still in constant pain and with their muscles still struggling to complete some of the more demanding exercises.
As Branav had predicted, it took two days for their robes to arrive; a young lad arrived with a package mid-morning after their second night in the tavern. By the time Eleanor had fished out enough jewels to pay him – even after negotiating as hard as she could over the price – she realised their money wasn't going to go as far as she'd hoped. They'd have to find more from somewhere before they could pay their landlord for his hospitality.
Once the delivery boy had left, she tore open the parcel and held one of the red robes up against her body. Raf picked up the other one, but they quickly realised the robes were different sizes and they had them the wrong way round; once they'd swapped them over both fitted moderately well, although Eleanor's trailed slightly on the floor. When they pulled their hoods up, their faces disappeared into the shadows.
"It suits you," Raf said from beneath his hood.
"You can't tell it's me under all this! At least, I hope you can't, that's the whole point."
"No," he agreed. "But the shape works for your figure."
She blushed, thankful that her face was hidden by the hood. "You make a fairly dashing monk yourself."
"Shall we go out, then?"
"Let's have lunch here first," she said, pulling the robe off over her head. "Buying food out there is hard work!"
There was no sign of the landlord so they helped themselves to slices of bread and cold meat from the kitchen and ate quickly, impatient to get out into the city under their new disguises. They'd had a pleasant couple of days sparring and resting, but Raf was itching to see more of the city and Eleanor wanted to go back to the Ngavra building and investigate the possibilities there.
They made sure they were well armed beneath their robes – insurance in case their cover was somehow blown – then started to walk back towards the city centre.
"Where first?" Eleanor asked.
"Shhh. We're supposed to be silent, remember? You know this place better than I do – just lead and I'll follow you."
She steered them back to the market first, where the comings and goings of daily life would give him a good impression of how Taraska operated. She was also aware that the bustle of the market-place held possibilities for stealing the money they so desperately needed. Being a fugitive was distinctly expensive.
They passed by Branav's stall, and Raf tugged at Eleanor's sleeve to keep her moving: monks wouldn't be stopping to shop for weapons. She was cross at herself for falling so easily into patterns of behaviour which could give them away, but it was hard trying to emulate something of which she had no knowledge. Monks, indeed! All the warnings against religion that they'd grown up with – and now they were pretending to be monks.
She scanned the various stalls as they passed, hoping to spy an easy opportunity, but the stall-holders all guarded their takings carefully. Likewise the shoppers didn't wear their purses openly in the way of those back in Port Just; this was a suspicious city. She hadn't dared mention to Raf that they were running out of money, uncertain how he'd take to the idea of stealing to survive, but she was starting to think she might have to involve him – if one of them could create enough of a distraction, maybe they could get away with it. But planning required discussion, and they couldn't talk while they were hidden by their silence.
She led him deliberately and slowly through the opulent jewellery market, then up towards the Ngavra tower but today the snake-carved door was locked, and they made their way back to their inn feeling slightly dejected.
"Maybe it'll be open tomorrow," Eleanor said uncertainly as they both stripped off their red robes. "We just have to be patient."
"Maybe." Raf didn't sound convinced. He folded his robe and placed it neatly on one of the spare beds. "Here, I got you something. Shut your eyes."
"Why?" He was reaching into his pocket and she was suspicious, not willing to give him the advantage if he was after another sparring match.
"Don't you trust me? No tricks, I promise."
Still feeling a little wary, she closed her eyes, listening as he moved towards her. She felt his hands brush the sides of her neck, then something cold against her skin. He stepped back.
"You can look now."
She opened her eyes. He was holding up a small, slightly cracked mirror. Her reflection dismayed her – she still looked like she'd been dragged through a hedge – but her eyes were drawn to the sparkling ornament he'd hung around her neck. It was a wrought silver star, set with tiny emeralds which twinkled in the lamp-light, hanging from a thin silver chain.
"It might not be all that practical with the running around we'll be doing, and I know it's not the one that caught your eye," he said before she had chance to speak. "But the green really matches your eyes."
She took the mirror from him to study it more carefully. "It's beautiful," she said, twisting it in the light to make the gems sparkle.
"You're beautiful."
She shook her head in disbelief. "Have you even looked at me? My hair's a nightmare, my nose is smashed, I'm getting an amazing scar..." She ran one finger along her cheek where Laban's knife had sliced the flesh; it still ached. "And I was hardly a beauty to start with."
He shrugged and took the mirror from her. "You don't have to believe me. Just take care of the necklace, it was hard to pick that up without anyone noticing – especially you!"
Rebellion (Chronicles of Charanthe #1) Page 10