Clarke fled from the house, anger pushing him but terror pushing him faster. His heart pounded, a heaviness settling on his shoulders as everyone he passed became a spy out to get him.
He found what amounted to an alley behind several arboreal buildings and steadied himself on a wall, retreating into the cover of shade.
She's turned on me.
His own voice spoke to him in his mind. Apart from referring to himself in the first person it did not feel a part of him, like an invader of his own making speaking malicious words.
No she hasn't. People fight...people disagree, that doesn't tear them apart.
He clutched his chest. His breathing was shallow and difficult, his shoulders prickled in cold pinpricks.
She said your mother deserved to be imprisoned! She's going to tell her father, they're going to stop you and probably put you in jail! Use you same as they use her! And Gwen didn't try to defend you at all. You notice she just stood there?
He pounded a fist to his chest, trying to beat the lump out of himself.
Gwen defended me you eyeless prick! She came right out and di it! And Alouella, she was overwhelmed. She's a good girl, she can't help but side with the law and her own father. She's too good.
The two viewpoints fought for space in his mind, each trying to push each other into the mental trash can and be the only thought.
Twinty had told him years ago that keeping your cool was the best way out of any situation and the best way to control yourself was, as most of Twinty's advice was, a trick.
He imagined a bottle, pulled the cork, saw the bottle drain everything into it, swallowing the vitriol, the anger, the sadness up into it, pushing it down, bringing it all into a contained area and he sucked in a deep breath, his eyes popping open wide and really feeling the air fill his lungs. The cork dug down deep into the neck of the bottle and the faint whispers became lower, a hiss behind glass.
He felt better but not well. Remnants of anger and misery floated through him like snow but he had it contained.
He could deal with that later. There was work to do.
He changed clothes quickly as this was not merely a random spot but where he'd hidden his jacket and bag. There was only an hour, maybe less, until Telowe Lawfer woke up and Alouella had him warned and The Roots locked down. Not that that would stop him it would just make it much harder.
The whole plan at the start was to improvise the entire rescue since, once it was known that there was an active intruder they'd lock down whatever entrances the place had but a manic impatience had pushed him to take the short routes, to rush rush rush towards his goal without real planning that he only now realized was, all in all, a bad idea. But he couldn't stop now. Knowing what was coming or flying in blind, his best chance was this very moment with the clock and his enemies against him.
He looked at the paper he'd swiped detailing deliveries of food and supplies and imagined that was the best place to start looking. It could have been an ordinary order form but something about the amounts seemed excessively high for a single society lunch room.
Being unfamiliar with the city he stopped in the first busy area he came to,a vast wooden plank crowded with shops and merchants, people enjoying the sunlight and taking in the grand view of the holy tree. It was truly enormous, such that he could not have guessed the size except that it dwarfed the palace that it cradled in its branches. White bark and a blue green sort of leaves that seemed to glow slightly in the shade or as they floated by. He snatched on from the air and flipped it from one side to the other.
The palace was equally astounding, carefully attached and anchored to the tree in such natural ways that it seemed to blend right into the wood as though it had been grown there. It encompassed the entire circumference of the tree as though it were crowning it the royal leader of the forest.
“Might want to put that leaf down, sir.”
Clarke looked at the man who spoke, an elf running a small pastry stand. He pointed at the leaf.
“Taking any branches, bark, leaves or seeds is illegal. Wouldn't want you to get in trouble.”
Clarke let it fly from his fingers.
“Thanks for the advice. I could use less trouble in my life.”
He began filling some of his pastries with cream as he spoke,.
“Don't see many humans around here. You'll kick yourself if you came all this way and didn't buy a pastry from an authentic elvish bakery.”
What a smug bastard. He's probably gonna poison you. Poison him first.
His inner voice advised him and he growled quietly under his breath. For the briefest of moments he looked at the bread and he feared it, pictured himself dying at the first bite. He imagined the thought as a glass marble and watched it break into pieces.
“You're probably right. What do you recommend?”
The elf picked out a bread with a loose sprinkling of green leaves through out and handed it to Clarke and he handed back a few coppers which seemed an alright amount with the baker. One bite told Clarke it was disgustingly minty and he would have spit it out if he hadn't been standing right in front of the baker.
“It's good. Well, now that I've sampled delicious elven cuisine, what's with that building? Everyone is going in and out.”
“Oh, that? It's the royal palace. When the Queen is away on business they open up sections of it as a museum and show off artifacts and history about elves. It's great, I've been four times since she came into power a couple of years ago. You should go in.”
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
It occurred to Clarke that a couple of years was a long time to elves. Alouella was already middle age by their standards. It was irrelevant but it occurred to him.
“Are humans allowed?”
The elf laughed.
“Of course! The old days of the snobbish elf are dead with the new queen in charge. Life's too short and the memories of other races are too long to burn bridges. Better to build them, right?”
Clarke nodded and counted out what the baker had.
“It does make a fair amount of sense. And could I also get a bunch of these? I need a gift for a friend.”
He pointed along a row of cream filled, flaky horn things and the baker's eyes lit up as he
“Of course, of course! Let me just get you a box...”
He produced a small sheet of thick paper and folded it together like useful origami and began to place pastries along the bottom until the box was full.
“Thank you, that should do very nicely. And do you know where the Royal Society of Herbalism and Root Health is?”
The baker gave a worried look.
“I hope you're not meeting your friend at the gardens there?”
“Why?”
He exchanged the box for the coins Clarke dropped in his hand.
“Well, they're absolutely gorgeous of course. We have some of the best nature mages and botanists around but since they work so closely with and store their...plant food nearby, the place smells a bit...excremental.”
Clarke shrugged.
“That's fine. I've dealt with a lot of bull excrement in my line of work.”
The baker laughed and took him to the edge of the platform they were on and traced his finger along paths, explaining how he might work his way down to the gardens. Clarke thanked him and was on his way.
Unfamiliarity probably made the trip longer but it didn't take long for him to make his way down towards the tree trunk and the royal gardens. They were not on the ground, as one might have expected, but same as many of the other buildings were mounted to the tree, in this case the holy one, by well fitted platforms and ropes.
Clarke passed through the gates, Royal Garden written above it in wooden letters. People were everywhere, the sound of far off drums and heavy beats serving as background to the relaxed atmosphere. The platforms were covered in dirt and grass grew well manicured across the whole area. Sign posts pointed towards various sections such as the poison garden and the love garden that showcased a specific theme of plants.
The smell he'd been warned of was faint, practically nonexistent to the point he wondered if it were really much of a problem at all or if the baker was just overly sensitive.
Despite the size of the grounds some signs pointed him towards the main offices. It was a large building built into the side of the tree, designed to look like less of a knothole and simply a raised area that might not tarnish the beauty of the tree. The smell was stronger here.
The four guards standing near the entrance were what bothered him. Two near the bottom of a set of stairs and two near the top, all wearing light armor and staring straight ahead as though the safety of the society depended on them looking as joyless as possible. He weighed the box in his hands.
Could try the delivery ploy but I'd rather not be seen at all.
Maybe the poison garden could be of some help?
He shooed the second voice away. Anything too dramatic would raise alarms and he needed every bit of slack security and stealth he could muster.
He walked back through the gardens, briefly stopping at the poison garden but finding nothing that would be any help without a mortar and pestle when he caught a sweet scent on the wind. A little further on was the Garden of Love and a sign caught this eye as he passed the gate.
The Garden of Love is filled with all manner of plants having the symbology of affection and love, from Roses to Fierce Lovers. A select few of these plants are natural aphrodisiacs, their pollen inciting strong feelings in the visitors to this garden. Smell the plants responsibly.
-Royal Society of Herbalism and Root Health
That might be a good distraction.
He walked in, couples and lovers dominating the area with their loving affections. In the center was a large, bright pink leaves splayed open and the breeze blowing invisible pollen through the air. A sign sat in front of it that piqued Clarke's interest.
This plant, known as Titan's Arousal, was made famous after its discovery in the green house of Wayla Elvowa, the most famous courtesan of her time. She caused many an uproar in her life sleeping her way through the nobility by inciting the lusts of those she kissed with potions brewed from this plant on her breath. Eventually amassed so much power through blackmail that it was said nothing could be done in the country without her approval. A collective sigh of relief was breathed when she choked to death the first time she tried dwarf cuisine. A statue was gifted to the confused chef.
A quick look around insure no one was paying him any mind, their attentions on more carnal thoughts, as he pulled a neckerchief up around his face. If he'd been anywhere else the strange movements of his hands inside his jacket might have gotten a stronger look but all attentions elsewhere save his perverse looking potion mixing.
A little of this. A little of that. And a little stronger wind.
The last one he couldn't mix up in a bottle but a little sheet of paper and a little sentence about how the wind picked up sent a warm breeze through the area. Despite the new ache in his head it was perfect.
And the rest.
He'd mixed a little something inside his coat and now the contents were poured over the plant, a light pink mist rising up and swirling as he hurriedly exited, couples falling under its spell. He watched from outside the gates, letting the mist work its way into the noses and throats and minds of those inside.
It happened quickly and Clarke began to quickly walk back towards the main office as the orgy started. Clothes were flung about and people collided with one another igniting passions already in place. It wasn't a mind control or anything of the sort but it did heighten feelings already present.
By the time he'd made it to the doors the guards had been called, rushing off to drag bodies apart and protect the park from public indecency.
Clarke slipped into the building unnoticed.