Dragon Clan #3: Fleet's Story

CHAPTER ELEVEN

They ducked into the next street, but not before Camilla’s hand snatched the poster from the stone wall and slipped it inside her shirt. Taking several turns down streets lined with many doors and windows, but few people, they arrived back at the inn. Perhaps ten people ate dinner in the main room. All eyes watched them as diners always watch new arrivals, but none reacted with recognition except the two old men playing the game. One gave them a friendly nod before going back to his dice.

For the entire distance from the square, Fleet had examined every person he passed, peering at each one to see if there was any sense of recognition. The oddly dressed man in the square had watched him with greedy eyes of recognition, and the palace guard seemed to be watching him, as well.

Once in their room with the door firmly closed, Camilla pulled the poster out. She held it up beside Fleet. “The drawing looks a lot like you. Not exact. Close enough to be your brother and bring questions to mind for anyone searching for this person. Or they might decide it is poorly drawn and it is you.”

“It says that the person on the poster is suspected of being Dragon Clan.”

Camilla mused, turning the poster one way and then the other, checking it and Fleet’s face. “This is clearly not you. That makes your “brother” Dragon Clan . . . Which means that you are too.”

If Fleet were detained and questioned, they would certainly want to see his back make sure he was not the man on the poster. He cringed at the idea. The poster made his presence dangerous, and it also meant Camilla was at risk simply because she traveled with him. Fleet tried to slow his breathing and avoid reacting too quickly and making a mistake.

“We can’t stay here,” Camilla said, already gathering her things. She removed her coins from the stale bread and slipped the pack on her back.

Fleet had his bedroll ready to go also. There was a door at the end of the hallway that led to the outhouses. Fleet said, “Out the back. We can’t risk being spotted in the main room. We have to avoid crowds.”

Before he could move, he felt the touch of a dragon on his back. He glanced at Camilla. She didn’t seem to feel it yet, so he kept it to himself again. He would wait to see when she felt the touch.

The elders said the dragons were drawn to danger. When one of the Dragon Clan felt danger a dragon often appeared, as if called. When the danger increased, dragons sometimes attacked. There were tales where they killed Dragon Clan in the turmoil of a battle, but that was rare, and considered accidental. They usually swooped down shrieking and spitting black fire at enemies. Now and then they grabbed one and flew high before dropping the helpless man.

Fleet let the information he knew sweep over him in an instant, reviewing and searching for anything that might help. He pulled the door open and led the way down the hallway, walking calmly and slowly, as if making a trip to the outhouse. As he opened the rear door, he glanced back and saw Camilla followed.

Beyond her, in the dining hall, not a single person watched their departure. Once outside, he pointed away from the busy square. “We go that way.”

The Summer Palace and surrounding town were built on the slope of a hill. He chose to move higher as they searched for another gate. They came to a small island of green. A park. A viewpoint allowed them to look out over the lower city, above one-story rooftops and a few busy streets.

The city gate was there, across the crowded square. The sun was still high, and Fleet didn’t know if the gates were closed at night. But crossing the square placed them firmly in danger, even if he tried to hide his face. That action alone might draw attention.

Camilla eased closer, so she could speak without any of the others in the park hearing. “There is another gate. Maybe more, also, but one I can see, and it has no crowds.”

“That also means the guards will see fewer people in a day, and the faces will not blend together.”

Camilla pointed, “Sit on that bench.”

Without questioning why he moved to the indicated bench and sat. She went to the rear of the bench. He turned long enough to see her pull the thread she had purchased from her bag. Instead of sewing, she reached for his hair and combed it to the back with her fingers. When she had most of it pulled back, she tied it with the string.

Moving to his front, she said, “That makes you look different. The poster has a full head of hair bushing out at the sides and hair covering the forehead. You now look nothing like the poster.”

Fleet wanted to argue that a piece of the thread couldn’t make that much difference but held back. Camilla was far more experienced where people were concerned.

She said, “I know you want to hide, but that’s the worst thing you can do. Hold your chin high and try to look like the son of a king, or, at least, a wealthy merchant. Look down on anyone we see, including the guards.”

“If they have seen the poster they will question me,” Fleet said.

“No, they won’t. They will see what they expect. If you try to hide, they will see that. If you walk tall and are unafraid, they will never think of you and that poster in the same thought. We will use the side gate. By dark, we will be far from this place.”

They stood and walked side by side. Fleet had allowed her to take charge, or, at least, act his equal in all. He still felt the dragon presence on his back. The intensity of the pain had increased, as well as his confidence. Both Camilla and a dragon were protecting him.

“Feel it?” she asked.

“Yes. I wonder if it’s here because it sensed my fear when I saw the poster.”

Camilla turned to him as they walked, searching his face. “Did you call it?”

“Not intentionally. I mean, I don’t know how, but it may know of our danger.”

Turning a corner, they found four soldiers walking directly at them. Fleet wanted to run. Camilla took his arm and laughed aloud, as if in response to something funny he had said. The soldiers eyed her as they passed, not him.

She was clever, that way. She drew the attention of the men so they didn’t look at Fleet. If asked, he’d wager none of the guards could describe him.

A sign above a doorway drew his attention. He slowed and nodded at it.

“A potter! I’ll bet we can get canteens inside.”

Fleet led the way. Inside a dour woman entered from a back room, her hands caked with red clay. “You buyin’ or lookin’?”

Fleet was holding a mug that had sat on a shelf. Not the finest craftsmanship, he found. “Our uncle told us to buy water jugs for him. Small ones he can carry when he goes hunting in the dry lands.”

“So you need jugs with stoppers?” she snapped, as if too busy to display items. She pointed, “What I got are over there. I don’t barter. Coin only.”

Camilla picked one up and examined it critically, turning it this way and that. “This will do. Can we also buy some heavy string so he can loop it around his neck?”

“I don’t give supplies for people buying a jar.”

“We will need six. And leather thongs would be better. He’ll pay,” Camilla said while jabbing a thumb at Fleet.

“Those are quality water jugs and don’t come cheap.”

Camilla smiled. “I can see the excellent workmanship. We will also need stoppers. How much does a single jug cost?”

A predatory expression crossed the woman’s face. “A full copper each.”

She was trying to rob them. Fleet had the coin, in fact, his purse contained silver and small gold, but there was a principle. If he allowed the woman to overcharge him by so much, she would remember him. He said, “I will pay three coppers for all six, including leather thongs and stoppers.”

The woman crossed her arms over an ample bosom. “I said, a full copper each.”

Fleet knew similar businesses were often located near each other. He shrugged, “Three is more than fair.” He looked at Camilla. “There’s another potter a street over. Maybe he’d treat us fairly.”

“Alright! You’re taking advantage of me, but I don’t want you givin’ good coin to that damned thief, Paton. Besides, his pots all list to one side because he drinks while he works.”

Camilla hid her grin with the back of her hand as Fleet passed three coppers to woman shopkeeper. She swiftly snatched the coins and disappeared behind the drape hanging over the doorway to the workroom only to reappear with a fistful of cork stoppers and leather strips that probably had originally come with the jugs. She didn’t offer to help tie them, but asked that they close her door firmly when they left.

They tied the jugs and looped them over their shoulders so they would bounce against each other and crack. The poor quality said one good hit would probably break both. At the door, a man was about to enter.

Camilla said, “Good sir, are there any places nearby that sell jerked meat or smoked fish?”

“Traveling, are you? Well, there’s a place my sister owns. Just up the street that way,” he flicked his eyes in the direction they were going anyway. “You’ll smell it. She bakes, too. Look for the green door.”

Camilla thanked him and flashed an irritating smile at Fleet. It was that same smile his little sister used when she was in front of their parents; that sweet, I’m so good smile.

Fleet lost any sense if irritation when they approached the green door with the delicious smells drifting outside. Inside they found a busy, young girl no more than ten. She held a basket of small loaves of baked bread that she drew from to restock shelves. Other shelves held cakes, muffins, and heavy dark bread loaves as large as his head.

Camilla took charge. She told the girl what they wanted, and the girl showed them to a table filled with several kinds of jerky, hard sausage, and salted fish. Camilla pointed, and the girl wrapped the selections in a thin cloth. Then a second. At least five kinds of bread went into the backpacks with the meats. Camilla paid, and they left.

Fleet felt his name should be changed to Slow as she’d suggested earlier. The backpack was heavier, awkward, and the three empty water jugs felt cumbersome. His left hand held his staff, carried so it rested on his shoulder and didn’t strike other pedestrians.

At an intersection, Fleet found the gate that would hopefully take them outside the palace walls. Two sleepy guards waited on either side.

Camilla said, “Lift your chin a little and try to look important. If they speak, act insulted.”

Fleet let his chin rise, and his eyes lowered as if he didn’t have a care. The act seemed a thin guise to allow them to pass. Besides, he felt foolish.

As they neared the gate, Camilla said in a louder voice, “I don’t care!”

“What?”

She placed her hands on her hips and said, “He has no right to tell me what to do. I am old enough to choose my own boyfriends.”

“Suiters?” Fleet asked, puzzled. The guards were looking at Camilla when he noticed the poster with a face similar to his on the wall next to the guard on the left.

“Well, call them what you will. I am old enough to marry in some places. So why can they tell me not to see Ben anymore? It’s just not fair.”

Her barrage of objections was loud enough for all to hear, and they were beyond the gate and walking down the dirt road before she finished. She winked at him.

I have a lot to learn. Fleet winked back, but without speaking. Thanks to her, they had passed the guards without slowing. If they had taken the time to talk to him and compare his face to the likeness on the poster, he might have been recognized—even if it was a false recognition. Once they saw his bare back, they would believe they captured the person on the poster. Whoever it is.

They traveled south on the road, which was their direction, but at the first wide path leading off to the east, Fleet left the road. “Just in case anyone follows,” he said to himself as much as to Camilla. She didn’t object or question his actions.

They were in a dense evergreen forest. That usually meant the soil was not productive for farming and often shallow. Creepers and vines were tangled on the ground competing for space and sunlight. On the other hand, it concealed them, and the tang in the air reminded him of home. The path held other human footprints, as well as those of deer and other wild animals.

Where it crossed a stream, Fleet motioned to their right. Downstream. While no path existed, the bank of the stream was easy to walk. The stream cut down the center of a narrow valley so no farms would be near.

It was a place where a fire could be built without discovery, and they could talk. He wanted privacy because the conversation they were to have would not be pleasant. The only thing lacking was a hospital in case Camilla hurt him over what he was about to tell her.