Williwaw Chapter 27

Miles held up two scarves to the early morning light spilling into the room. He weighed the options for a moment, grimaced, and tossed the purple one back on his bed. Both Devlin and Malcolm watched with silent curiosity. Miles turned over his shoulder.

:As much as it pains me, I don't think wearing such a flamboyant color will help our efforts. We want to be one with the people, correct?" His gaze floated back to the scarf on the bed. "Still though, such a pity."

Devlin grinned as he pulled on his boots, leaning against the door frame. "The sacrifices you make for King and country." He put a hand over his heart. "Truly noble."

Miles wagged a finger at him. "You have no idea."

"And the hair?" Malcolm blurted out.

Miles spun to meet him,. "What of it?" he said as he stood tall, hands on his hips.

Malcolm gaze fell to the floor as the color in his cheeks rose. "Well, for one thing, it isn't there."

Devlin's eyes widened in surprise. Miles' narrowed.

"And in the second?"

Malcolm shrugged. "Wasn't exactly a sacrifice so much as a dumb decision, eh?"

For a moment Miles said nothing. There was a strange tension in the air. Malcolm hadn't said it in a mean tone. More matter-of-fact. Still, being insulted by a lad as the King's Musician didn't feel great. But in rue nature of a character of the King's Court, Miles took it in stride.

He shook his head and his gaze meandered away to his jacket buttons. A small chuckle escaped. "I suppose you're not wrong."

"Nearly as bad a gamble as insulting a friend," Malcolm said as he pulled open the door. He nodded at Miles. "Still, it's evident some people don't learn as quick."

Miles scoffed. "I thought we were on the same team?"

Devlin let a smile crease his cheeks. "As long as that team doesn't require hair." He turned to Malcolm. "Or good manners."

Malcolm put his hands up in protest. "I didn't mean to offend. Was just making a joke."

Miles waved it off and strode for the door. "Believe me, I've heard worse. But take this as friendly advice; in many cases, tone is everything."

With that he strode out, proud as a peacock with none of the color. Along with his neutral scarf he had opted for a simple black overcoat that ran down to his ankles, and beige pants. Devlin and Malcom were similarly matching.

They approached Gwyn's door. Miles elected to knock. The latch turned slowly and Gwyn stepped out. Miles gave her a teethy smile and closed the door behind her. He looked down and frowned. He tapped the middle of his jacket and pointed to Gwyn's. "Seems you missed a button. Let me me help."

Gwyn said nothing but nodded. Her face was long and her gaze mostly met the floor as the quartet exited the second floor and made their way to the front of the inn. While they were using Boullion's coin, Miles insisted on going out into the markets to prepare a homemade meal. He reasoned that it would get them all more familiar with the layout of the city, and get people more used to their faces. He had also whispered to Devlin that he wasn't sure what to do with Malcolm and Gwyn otherwise. At least this way they were kept close and had something to do instead of sitting in their rooms reminiscing the week's awful events.

As they exited the front of the inn the sun was covered in cloud, casting a grey shadow over the street. Miles pointed right, walking to the front of the group. "Now, I'm thinking of lamb with a side of bread and greens dipped in an oily sauce. for that we'll need to head to the market which is down the road." He leaned in and lowered his voice. "We all know why we're here, but we're in no immediate threat, so feel free to look around and enjoy yourselves. After all, it's your first time in the big city isn't it?"

Gwyn nodded. The streets were much busier than the night before. Carriages rolled by and riders on horses clopped by at a walking pace. Miles hadn't noticed it the night before, but usually, cities had understood statutes about the speed at which carriages and horses could be ridden. He noticed that Malcolm seemed to soak in the sites and sounds. There was the babble of the city folks, the distant clang of blacksmiths, and the faint hubbub of the market down the hill. Shop and inn signs swung on creaky hinges in the breeze.

Gwyn did not seem to enjoy it, staying firmly behind Miles between Devlin on her right and Malcolm following up the rear.

"It's a little bigger than Potter's Creek isn't it?"

Gwyn said nothing.

"Have you ever been to a city like this before?"

Gwyn shook her head from side to side.

"Have you ever wanted to come to Atheron? Perhaps the Royal City?"

This time Gwyn spoke. "No. Carris did."

"Why Atheron?" Miles slowed so that he was beside her as they rounded a bend in the street.

"Not here. The Royal City."

"Ah. Something particular she wanted to see? The Gardens of Lyla perhaps?"

"No. She makes jewelry. She's really good at it. Wanted to go there to make pretty necklaces and rings for important people."

Miles thought he heard Malcolm scoff from the back. He ignored it, wanting to explore the thin seam ripping in Gwyn's clouded demeanor.

"Did you want her to go? You two sound very close."

"She's my best friend. She's wonderful." Gwyn finally looked up. "She's really good at it. I bet she could make a fancy necklace for you. You work for the King right?"

Miles laughed. "I do. And I'd love a necklace from Carris. What do you think she would make me?"

"Will. She will make you. She's not gone." For the first time Gwyn exuded an emotion other than sadness. There was a tinge of desperation in her rising tone.

"Of course. Of course she is." Miles caught a glare from Devlin in his peripheral but ignored it. "So, what will she make me when we see her?"

"I don't know. something colorful. She's been working with amber and clay."

"Well, how fitting for Potter's Creek. It sounds like a cozy place to call home."

"It's not,." Malcolm chimed in from the back. "It's small and boring and filled with small and boring people."

Gwyn shot a glare back his way. "No, it's not. It's small and beautiful and quiet. Or it was." Her voice trailed off and her gaze went back to the cobblestone.

Malcolm scoffed, this time Miles was sure of it. He looked to Devlin who was giving a subtle shake of the head. Clearly, this was a volatile subject to explore, perhaps not for the street of an unfamiliar city with combatting youths. Miles instead clapped his hands together. They were reaching the lower ring of the city. He rubbed his hands together and a wide grin split his face.

"Don't you just love it? The smell of fresh bread, fruit, oh I love the city!" He turned to Gwyn. "Why don't you come with me and we'll get some things for breakfast. Malcolm and Devlin can get dinner supplies and anything else we need. Perhaps some new clothing."

Devlin nodded. "That sounds like an excellent plan. Meet back at the tavern in an hour?"

Miles wagged a finger. I have a better idea. There's nothing better than cooking out in the fresh air." He scanned the area, spinning in a circle. His eyes landed on a section of palisade that had a myriad of Astorian flags fluttering in the breeze.

"Meet by that rampart. We'll find a nice local and ask to use their fireplace. I'm sure they won't mind."

"Won't mind? We're four strangers coming into their home."

Miles laughed. "Believe me. A little slag about the King and they'll open their abode with outstretched arms. See you in one hour!" he said with gusto, spinning on his heel and heading into the throng of merchants and townspeople.

Malcolm kicked a pebble on the road. "He's very dramatic."

"You haven't seen anything yet."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Miles encouraged Gwyn to lead the way. She was reluctant, but he wanted to make sure that she wouldn't get lost in the crowd. He smiled.

"When Carris goes to the Royal City, you'll need to be comfortable in big crowds when you visit her, won't you? This is just good practice."

Gwyn still hesitated, looking at the smattering of booths and vendor carts, someone was even herding a small flock of goats through.

"I'll be right behind you, promise."

Gwyn took a step forward, but leapt back as a man carrying a sack strode in front of her.

"It's alright, Gwyn. How about we find some new clothes for you. As my mentor used to say, clothes maketh the man. You can never care too little about your appearance."

Gwyn looked him up and down.

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, I know. Its not the flashiest attire, but see, that's the thing. Sometimes the best attire is the least attractive. We just look like a couple of nobodies."

"We are a couple of nobodies."

Miles laughed. He ran a hand over his head, realizing halfway through that the habit made less sense when you don't have hair.

"If we help Devlin you may just outlive that title. Imagine this: Gwyn, Protector of the Realm." He drew an arc in the sky with his hand. "The crowds will cheer your name. Then you'll definitely need to be comfortable around this many people."

A slight smile tugged at the corner of Gwyn's lips. She squinted. "As long as Carris is part of that crowd. And I suppose you as well."

Miles leaned in closer. "Milady, I'll write the ballad of Potter Creek Sisterhood that they'll sing long after we're gone. You have my word. Now, off to the tailor."

"How are we going to pay for it? I don't have anything. Carris had some savings but...."

Miles waved a dismissive hand. "The Magistrate is very grateful for our work and had given us enough coin to cover it."

"You don't think he'll mind us using it on clothes?"

"If he has a problem he can take it up with Devlin and myself."

"As long as it isn't a burden."

"Gwyn, if you're a burden, I might be akin to sack of rocks strapped around your ankles."

If Devlin was here, Miles thought he would agree with some light-hearted jab. Malcolm, it seemed, would happily join in the joke.

Miles took a step forward, and Gwyn did as well. Side by side was good enough. As long as he had her in his sights all she should be fine. The plethora of smells from fresh bread, fruit, and cooking meat vied for his attention. Miles looked above the carts and booths where, off to the left, was a permanent building. There was no writing left on the weather-beaten sign, but a faded painting of a robe and feathered cap swung precariously in the ever-growing breeze.

Miles turned to look behind them, where the Agressi Mountains rose up into a layer of ever-darkening clouds that continued their march on the city.

"Storm's coming. Let's head for the store."