To Paxaria: part 5.0

Review: While traveling to Altha's place of residence, Ruelle and her mentor pass through a small village where Ruelle is thrown into a medical emergency. Due to her earlier carelessness, Ruelle accidentally caused the injured woman to be poisoned, on top of her existing mysterious wound. The patient nearly dies, and Altha gives Ruelle a sharp lecture about responsibility. The two stay overnight at the home of a villager named Elfrida in order to keep an eye on Mysie, the injured patient. Ruelle is still uncertain whether Mysie's daughter Idylette will be angry and blame her. But the morning brings a new distraction.

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“Come with me, Ruelle,” Altha said when the sun had risen. She was standing near the door with her bag across her shoulder, and she motioned Ruelle over.

Ruelle, who was nervously flitting back and forth between the kitchen and the main room like a lost moth, cast an apprehensive glance over her shoulder toward Mysie on her cot, then back to Altha’s face.

“She will be fine for a while,” Altha assured her.

Ruelle needed no further encouragement. She practically sprang across the space between them, eager to go somewhere else, anywhere else.

“Where are we going?” Rue asked as they stepped out into the crisp morning.

Altha guided her steps toward the unpaved road and gestured down the winding way.

“This is a small town, and I would like to go into the center market to refresh some supplies.”

Ruelle’s spirits lifted. All night she had been dragged back and forth by an emotional tide of dread and hope, hope and dread.

Throwing her shoulders back, she breathed deeply of the fresh air. It smelled of crops and dirt and sunlight, underscored by the pungent odor of animals to remind her that here, on the very outskirts of the town, most of the widely spaced homesteads kept thriving farms. Their fields stretched green and gold and earthen brown beneath the smile of the morning sun. All of yesterday’s errors almost seemed to melt into in insignificance.

Ruelle sighed.

She almost felt happy.

The morning had brought about noticeable improvement in Mysie. No remaining fever lingered, and her eyes were clearer. She had even been able to receive some nourishment in the warm broth Elfrida provided for her. Idylette, of course, gained a much more hopeful disposition as well, in spite of her exhaustion. Ruelle still wasn’t sure if Idylette would be angry or lash out at her for her lack of responsibility. But so far Idylette had avoided confrontation, and while the worry still simmered in the back of Rue’s mind, she was just glad to be out of the house and away from the whole situation right now.

She and Altha walked in agreeable silence until the road turned to a cobblestone street under their feet and buildings started to appear closer together. The voices of villagers and the clatter of carts in the distance grew nearer, signifying where the central activity of the town was taking place.

“It reminds me a little of home, only smaller,” Ruelle observed.

She took in the quaint market stalls with their array of goods, the cheerful faces bobbing hither and yon, and the buzz of animated conversations, and her mind went back to Whispertide and the wonderful occasions when she was allowed to go to a town market. The biggest ones only took place periodically, and that was when towns both near and far came together to sell and trade various wares specific to their locations. Although Whispertide was nowhere near the scale of Paxaria, these events were always times of high spirits, energetic socialization, and lively festivals.

This village market was a much smaller scale even than many ordinary ones in Whispertide, but Ruelle still sensed that it must serve a similar purpose as the ones she recalled. Often Ruelle had felt these were the only parts of life she could really count on to be exciting. Perhaps it was the same for the people here. From the looks on their faces, they certainly seemed to be enjoying themselves.

But as Ruelle followed Altha through the winding path of market stalls, the bright and fragrant goods were not the only thing that caught her attention.

A negative undercurrent seemed to course beneath the pleasantries of the villagers. It cast troubled shadows over features and edged voices with unhappy tones. Once or twice, Ruelle spotted clusters of two or three men standing back in the shadows talking amongst themselves, looking suspicious and angry.

“Unexplainable,” someone said.

“Unacceptable, is what it is!” another muttered.

Once she noticed it, Ruelle could not stop her ears from tuning in and picking up bits and pieces of scattered conversations.

“I heard tell that the blade was poisoned!” a bearded man told his fellow.

They’re talking about Mysie’s incident! Ruelle realized.

Her heart rate sped up.

Was anyone blaming her? Had word spread that she’d poisoned Mysie on top of whatever toxin laced the assailant’s blade?

Ruelle’s cheeks burned.

Inside her were two opponents, one that wanted to take cover in the shadows as quickly as possible, and one that wanted to climb to the roof of the tallest building and shout, “I promise I didn’t do it on purpose! If you want to blame anyone, blame the king or whoever put me in this apprenticeship!”

But a good number of the villagers were clearly disturbed already, and if things were in Rue’s favor and they didn’t know about what she’d done, she certainly had no desire for them to find out.

Just when she was beginning to contemplate whether she should stay out of sight, someone bumped into her.

Ruelle panicked.

Knocked off balance and certain she was in for a confrontation, she tensed and spun around, ready to defend herself with physical force if necessary.

But in the wake of what was really just commonplace clumsiness, she tripped over her own feet and staggered backward. She just barely managed not to crash straight into a vendor’s carefully arranged display of fruit.

By the time she got her footing and her bearings back, she discovered Altha was out of sight.

“Just my luck,” Ruelle grumbled. She straightened her skirt and ducked off the street into a narrow passage between two buildings to think of the best and quickest way to locate her mentor among the bustle of market-goers.

But then she had another idea.

“What if I don’t find her right away?” she wondered aloud. “What if I don’t find her at all? What if we get separated and never see each other’s faces again?”

The thought held a sparkle of appeal. The corner of Rue’s lips quirked upwards, though it was accompanied by a tiny feeling of guilt, but she shook her head.

“No,” she sighed. “This village is too small. Knowing Altha, she’d never leave here without scouring the whole place till she found me.”

The fantasy of a getaway faded as quickly as it had come. But even so, Ruelle decided, she could perhaps still use this situation to her advantage.

Peering about, she scanned the bustle of people. It was not a huge market, and besides, Altha could not have gotten very far in the time it took Rue to have her awkward moment anyhow. Maybe Altha hadn’t even missed her yet.

Now, Ruelle thought with another sly smile, It’s time for me to know things.

She stepped back into the street and fell in with a cluster of people. She even tried to let some of her hair partially shield her face, in the hopes that no locals would pick her out. But her eyes were looking, searching, watching.

Sure enough, it was not long until she sighted Altha up ahead in the crowd. The older woman appeared to be looking over the selection of fresh bread at the baker’s stall.

No more than fifty paces separated them, but Ruelle did not hurry to close in. She took her time instead, pretending to admire some carved wooden trinkets whilst the old man selling them was preoccupied with a customer who was actually serious. Altha purchased a sensible loaf of bread and moved on.

Watching from the corner of her eye, Ruelle subtly moved on as well.

Keeping her distance this way, she continued following and observing.

She didn’t know why, but it gave her an odd sense of satisfaction or power, like she was in control of a situation for once, making it move the way she wanted it to move. She was determined to catch anything out of the ordinary, any clue that might indicate how Altha knew so many things that apparently the average person didn’t know, things about orcs and secret dangers and places all over Paxaria. So she followed, and she watched.

“And what’s caught your eye today, miss?”

The vendor’s voice broke in among Ruelle’s musings.

Startled down from the cloud of pride she was floating on, Ruelle found herself staring into the eager face of a woman selling pottery.

Like the first fissure in a clay vessel, a crack began to shatter Ruelle’s precious sense of control.

She tensed and cast a frantic glance around. She had been doing so well at evading the trap of conversation and sales pitches! Now she stood wordless, floundering for an escape.

“Ah, nothing! I mean, nothing in particular,” she hurried to tell the woman, backing up quickly and accidentally bumping into an old woman carrying a stack of woven baskets, earning herself a dark look and a grouchy, “Watch it!”

“Well,” the pottery woman went on, undeterred, “if you’re having trouble making up your mind, maybe I can make some suggestions!”

“Oh, uh . . . well, I really don’t need anything,” Ruelle said, tilting her head down as if bashful. She took a side step away.

If only I had a distraction, she thought, her eyes desperately seeking out some way, any way of escape.

“Well, if I were making a recommendation,” the pottery woman persisted, “This pitcher here is one of the most useful items of all, and it-“

A sudden commotion cut her off as an avalanche of woven baskets tumbled and spilled onto the ground to the accompaniment of a livid shriek.

The nearest vendor’s tallest stack of baskets had toppled.

“Careless people, all of you!” shouted the old lady, shaking her fist and drawing the attention of everyone nearby who was not already gawking at the disaster. “Which one of you did it this time?”

No one owned up to it, but none of that mattered to Ruelle. She was already darting away in the shadow of the nearest buildings.

It’s because you stacked them so high, lady, Rue thought. You may want to avoid that in the future, or else a young rogue like me might take advantage of it again.

Her eyes flitted to and fro, trying to relocate her mentor.

She was just beginning to entertain dubious thoughts about Altha not even missing her, but not for long, because in the next instant she caught sight of her mentor up ahead, just at the edge of the market square.

Ruelle pressed her way cautiously in that direction until she could see better.

At first, Altha appeared to be conversing with someone selling herbs and spices.

Not unusual.

On second observation, however, Ruelle perceived that Altha was not talking to the vendor, but to a tall man with his back to the market. His traveler’s cloak was such a dark gray that he had been obscured by the shadows of the alcove between two of the nearest buildings only a moment ago. It was only the few paces Ruelle had crossed that made the difference between his concealment and his visibility.

Ruelle slipped nearer. The crowd was thinner here, and the noise a little quieter. Still, she kept her eyes trained on Altha until she came as close as she dared.

Ducking behind a pile of discarded crates, Ruelle crouched where she could watch without being seen, making herself as small as possible. Something about this stranger with Altha set her curiosity almost bubbling over.

The man had dark hair, but he was turned away from Ruelle so that she could not properly see his face. What she could see of his clothing looked practical and well-worn, but not ragged; and while he held himself as one who knows his authority, he also never exactly stood still, always shifting his weight a little in a way that made Ruelle think he wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.

Altha and the man stood quite close and spoke in low tones which suggested they did not want to be overheard – which was exactly why Ruelle strained her ears for anything she could catch.

She was disappointed to find she could only grasp phrases here and there.

“Dangerous.”

“… too hasty.”

“…sloppy, actually.”

“Downright cowardly.”

Ruelle tried desperately to put the pieces together, but they weren’t enough to form a coherent picture.

She listened closer, not daring to move a muscle.

“… unprepared.”

“… similar to other reports.”

That last phrase made Ruelle sit up straight and take in a sharp breath. Now she was sure this was no ordinary conversation between ordinary civilians.

Just as she was pondering whether to risk an attempt to get closer, a swift motion passed between Altha and the strange man. It was quick, subtle, and almost natural – enough that any casual observer would likely have thought it was. But Ruelle, keenly watching as she was, did not miss the flash of white as a small piece of parchment passed between them and promptly disappear up Altha’s sleeve.

Aha! Ruelle thought triumphantly, a smug smile stealing across her lips.

I knew it. Altha is a spy!