“Woah, slow it down. We don’t mean any harm. Didn’t know you were beneath us,” Ink said. She was holding her hands up above her head as Eldren scrambled to his feet. He backed away from the dwarf, quickly remembering that he had seen the dwarf blow a gray cloak’s head open not forty-five minutes prior. Indeed, Baltran son of Baltran had already drawn a revolver with his right hand.
“What were ye’ doin’ on the roof?” he growled.
“Same as you. Staying clear of gray cloaks,” Ink said.
“If yer lying, this here is Twister.” He nodded at the revolver. His left hand drifted to his other hip where the second revolver was holstered. “And this is Fang.” He paused. “Prove it.”
“Prove what?” Eldren asked. He figured that if the dwarf was going to shoot them, his mind was probably already made up.
“That you aren’t gray cloaks,” the sharpshooter said.
“Honestly, do we look like gray cloaks?” Ink asked. Baltran son of Baltran frowned.
“There are a few tied-up soldiers up there.” Eldren nodded toward the roof. “If you don’t believe us, go see for yourself. We’ve got the same enemies.”
Baltran didn’t have any time to validate Eldren’s claim, however, as three gray cloaks rounded the corner into the alley. Too many to fight.
This town is swarming with guards, thought Eldren. He suspected it wasn’t just because of the tavern incident. The High Imperator was scouring the villages for his escaped prisoner. For him.
“Grab them! It’s the dwarf!”
“And the fugitive in red!”
Baltran turned and ran and Ink and Eldren followed.
Together, the three rushed down alleys and across streets. It was now well after midnight but they disregarded any concerns they had about making noise. Twice, they nearly ran into search parties and had to turn back and find a different route. In the dark, the village felt like a labyrinth.
Eldren had lost all sense of direction but was able to orient himself when they turned out of a street and saw the gold, purple, and green carnival tent towering in front of them. Unfortunately, that also meant that they had run out of alleyways to hide in.
“What now?” he panted, putting his hands on his knees to catch his breath.
“In here,” Baltran said. He rushed to the circus tent flap, which was tied shut with a padlock. It seemed silly to Eldren, since he assumed that anyone with a sharp knife could cut the canvass. Still, the dwarf quickly opened the lock with a small iron key and ducked into the circus tent. Eldren and Ink glanced at each other but again were left with little option but to follow.
The tent felt even larger than it had before now that there were no people inside. The wooden bleachers towered above the empty sand pit and the colorful flames on the poles had been extinguished.
“Under the bleachers,” Baltran barked. “Quick.” They dashed underneath, crouching in the shadows. It was admittedly not a great hiding spot, but Eldren quietly hoped that the guards would pass by outside. They could see torchlight approaching the edge of the tent on the other side of the canvas.
“Good evening, gentlemen. How may I be of service to you?” A voice that Eldren recognized spoke. It was the ringmaster. His voice sounded a tad strange without his showman’s inflection.
“Chasing a group of potential fugitives,” grunted one of the guards. “Gray cloaks are looking for some escaped criminal from the keep and a cartographer that helped him escape.”
“A cartographer helped a prisoner escape the keep? My goodness, that’s quite a tale. I heard a rumor that the High Imperator of Bakavia himself was at the keep, too.” He paused, feigning amazement, before continuing. “Well, I can assure you that you won’t find any escaped prisoners or cartographers in our circus tent. We clear all of our performers for employment with the Iron Square’s record bureau. And only our performers have access to the tent anyway.”
Eldren held his breath. The men outside were members of the Yarko Village city watch, not gray cloaks. Maybe they wouldn’t be as insistent on investigating the tent thoroughly.
“It looks unlocked,” said the guard, sounding skeptical. “You sure you haven’t seen anything funny tonight?”
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“I was awoken by the commotion not ten minutes ago, so I haven’t seen much of anything, I’m afraid. But the tent is unlocked because I came to investigate your lights,” said the ringmaster. “If I see any fugitives skulking about, I’ll be sure to send word up to the guard house at the gate post haste.”
There was a pause, as the watchman must be considering whether he wanted to go through the hassle of demanding a thorough search of the carnival tent.
“Alright. Thank you, ringmaster,” he said after a long moment.
“Thank you, gentleman.” The torches receded into the night and Eldren let out a sigh of relief.
After a few more moments, Eldren heard the rustle of the canvass tent flap.
“You can come out now,” the ringmaster said. Baltran moved, but Eldren hesitated. Ink nudged him as if to say he had no choice. He stepped out from under the bleachers after the sharpshooter.
“That was a close one,” the dwarf remarked, dusting off his thighs and straightening his bandoleer.
“I daresay so,” the ringmaster replied. “I didn’t expect you to be the fugitive they were looking for, Baltran.”
“I don’t think I am,” the dwarf grunted. Eldren saw him jerk his blonde bearded chin toward where he and Ink were standing awkwardly behind him.
“Ah, that makes more sense,” the ringmaster mused.
“You shot a gray cloak!” Ink interjected. “They’re for sure looking for you.”
The ringmaster raised an eyebrow at Baltran.
“They killed Lena,” the dwarf said. A dark shadow passed over the ringmaster’s face.
“Looks like we’ll be leaving town tomorrow,” the ringmaster sighed. “You’ll have to go tonight, I’m afraid, my friend. The gray cloaks will be here in short order once their search of the rest of the village is complete. Unfortunately, you know even I can’t deny the Iron Square if it insists on taking you into custody—which they almost certainly will.”
The dwarf shrugged again.
Eldren eyed the tent flap.
I might be able to make it if I sprint, he thought. His mind raced. He liked traveling with Ink and she had risked her neck for him, breaking him out of the dungeon. But maybe she’d be better off without him. The gray cloaks might focus their search primarily on him and the crystal ball.
“It’s okay. If you’re an enemy of the Iron Square’s soldiers then you’re a friend of Aberforth and Aka’s carnival.” The ringmaster spoke in a soft tone as if he could sense Eldren’s thoughts of fleeing. As he did, he held out something in his hand. It was a small silver brooch, shaped like the compass rose of a map.
Ink’s face lit up. “You’re a guild member?” she exclaimed.
“Not quite a full member. I don’t make maps. More like a friend of the guild,” the ringmaster said. “But here to assist, nonetheless.”
“Hold on, Ink,” Eldren said. He eyed the ringmaster suspiciously. After so many surprises, he was reluctant to blindly trust another person in this world. Plus, he knew what he had seen when they had been in line for carnival tickets. “Careful. He’s witch-kind.”
Ink stopped and stared at the ringmaster in silence and then back at Eldren as if asking him for more explanation.
“I saw him put some kind of drops in his eyes to make them less bloodshot and red,” Eldren explained. “When we were in line for tickets, after he pulled those coins from the girl’s ear.” He remembered Mickson’s red and bloodshot eyes from the Nottengrad dungeon and suppressed a shudder.
The ringmaster stood silently, looking at Eldren with a curious expression. The man was warm and certainly did not seem as vile or feel as wild to Eldren as Harper Mickson had back in the dungeon cells.
“That’s quite observant of you,” the ringmaster said. “You are correct, of course. I am witch-kind.” This news did not seem to bother Baltran, who had taken one of his revolvers out—the one he called Fang— and was wiping the barrel with a small white cloth.
“The guild wouldn’t let a witch in,” Ink said hesitantly. “Where did you get that guild mark?”
“Correct, again. The guild masters do not know my true nature. I hope I can count on you to keep it that way. The information I pass them is very valuable and I would hate for them to lose it over such a—technicality.” He smiled. “Perhaps we need to restart with introductions. My name is Rost Aberforth.” He took his black top hat off with a bow and held out a hand to Eldren. Eldren shook it, not knowing what else he could do.
“Eldren Pendergast,” he mumbled.
“Very pleased to meet you, Eldren.” He stepped back and examined them. “Now, the guards and gray cloaks seem rather intent on finding the two of you. Might I ask, without prying too much, why that is and what has brought you to my carnival tent in the wee hours of the morning?”
Before Eldren could answer, he noticed muffled shouting coming from his backpack. He took it off, unzipped it, and took our Ardos. As he did, he saw the crystal ball flash an update.
Quest Update:
- Find the cartographer’s safe house (1/1)
- XP gained: 2
- Total XP: 10
LEVEL UP
The fact that the crystal ball registered the quest as complete was proof enough that the ringmaster was telling the truth— the circus was the safe house.
And he had leveled up.
A new set of text appeared in the crystal ball.
Eldren Pendergast. Experience: 10 Level: 2
Spells known: 1
Spell types: 1
HP: 10/10
Mana pool: 10 MP
“You know it’s not very pleasant in there?” Ardos said.
“We know,” Ink said.
“Have we met?” Aberforth stared at the tortoise, squinting as if expected to suddenly recognize someone he knew. He seemed completely unperturbed by the fact that a tortoise was talking. “Your voice sounds incredibly familiar.”
“I don’t believe so,” Ardos said. “Not that I can recall.”
Eldren watched Aberforth’s facial expressions. Ardos’ voice sounded nervous. More nervous than he had heard the tortoise since the gray cloaks had arrived in the war council chambers. Something was going on here and he was sick of being dragged along. Cam may have been complacent minding his own business and avoiding the spotlight that often accompanied taking charge of a situation. But Eldren — Eldren wanted some long overdue answers.