Chapter 4
It was only about mid-morning when Locke finally reached the cave to South Figaro. He was relieved that there were no Imperial troops guarding the passage between the desert and town beyond. Locke had been prepared to bluff his way past the troops by posing as a traveling merchant, but that didn't look necessary.
He slid from the chocobo's back and pulled the rest of his supplies off while holding onto the reigns. When he had relieved the chocobo of it's burden, Locke scratched it beneath the chin and ran his hand down its long neck. The chocobo gave him a soft 'wark' and nuzzled its head against him, pushing him off balance and causing him to stumble back a bit. Locke smiled at the friendly bird and said, "I wish you could go with me, but this tunnel just wasn't built for a bird your size. It's time for you to head home."
He released the reigns and the chocobo gave him one last 'Wark' before turning and heading back into the desert. It would be approaching noon, the hottest part of the day, while the chocobo was heading back. Locke had no reason to be concerned, though; the Figarans had spent many years breeding a special strain of chocobo that was resistant to the harsh conditions.
Locke took one last look across the shimmering waves of heat rising from the desert floor and then retreated into the coolness of the cave. As he made his way along the well-worn path, he thought about how only a week ago he had taken this same route to flee from the Empire and now he was using the trail to run straight to them. He met little resistance as he walked through the cave. Only a few desert creatures that had taken refuge from the glaring sun dared give him any problems.
Light from around the corner ahead beckoned him toward the exit of the cavern, but voices echoing through the passage gave sufficient warning that he would be seeing multiple guards soon. Locke took a deep breath and prepared himself for the role he was about to play.
The shuffling noises and clinking pots were enough to warn the guards that someone was coming through the tunnel, but Locke's whistling left no doubt in their minds.
"Hold there, citizen," the officer barked at the figure coming out of the darkness.
Locke abruptly ended his whistling and slowed to a stop. "Who me? You must have me confused with someone else. I'm a citizen of no place."
"Never mind. Just stand your ground and prepare to be searched."
Locke waited patiently as a soldier came and searched his body and his belongings. The officer finally backed away taking Locke's dagger with him. "He only had this on 'im," the soldier drawled.
"Bring him on out," the captain replied. "We'll question him out here."
"Good sirs. Am I being charged with a crime," Locke asked.
"Naw, just routine questions for any armed person coming through the desert cave," the soldier replied.
Locke was brought to the middle of the small camp and told to take a seat on a large block of stone next to the fire. There was only one officer for the small group of soldiers. Locke counted a total of five army personnel before the officer swaggered up to him and started the questioning.
"Where are you from and where are you headed to," the haughty captain demanded.
"Well, as I said before, I'm from no where and I'm headed to South Figaro," Locke replied.
"From nowhere, ehh? You tryin' to get smart with me boy? State your name and what business you have in South Figaro."
"I'm sorry, sir. I'm not trying to be difficult," Locke pleaded. "It's just that I'm a traveling salesman. I don't have a place I call home. My name is Lance Manning, and I'm headed to South Figaro to do some trading."
"Is that so," the officer said matter-of-factly as he pulled out and perused a list of known terrorists. Satisfied that 'Lance Manning' wasn't on the list, he said, "Well, let's just take a look at your wares and see what you have to offer."
Locke quickly unrolled his sack of goods for the soldiers to see. "Maybe I could interest you gentlemen in a bit of fine liquor strait from the Suthernarshe region."
The captain's eyes lit up at the bottles of alcohol. "Now you've got my attention! Me and my men were sent to this stinkin' outpost to guard against terrorists, and we had to miss the party after the liberation of South Figaro. I think it's about time we had our own little celebration."
A cheer went up from the soldiers that were gathered around.
"How much do we owe you," the captain asked.
Locke beamed a toothy smile and said, "In appreciation for keeping the trail safe for us travelers, I'd like to give you this bottle. If you'd like more, I'll sell the rest to you for a fifty gil each. Do we have a deal," Locke said as he extended his hand.
The captain gripped Locke's outstretched hand in his own and said, "You have yourself a deal, Mr. Manning. We'll take them all."
Locke slipped his dagger back in it's sheath as he left the small encampment, feeling comfortable in the knowledge that most of them would have a problem remembering their own names in the morning. At least this little band of men would be less of an obstacle next time. He knew the way to their hearts was through their shot glass.
The early afternoon sun saw a road weary salesman drag into South Figaro. As far as Locke could tell, the city was lightly guarded. No doubt they put up little resistance when the Empire came rolling into town. They were a city of merchants and farmers not soldiers.
On the way to the inn, Locke strolled by the post office to confirm his suspicions. Just as he thought, instead of maintaining a separate system of communication, the Empire had come in and taken over the local post office. He knew from previous excursions that this particular shop had easy roof access from the inn. "Like taking candy from a baby," he thought.
Locke continued on to the end of the block where the Inn was located. Thankfully, there were not many people in the pub at this hour of the day. He made his way across the smoke filled pub to the innkeeper's desk.
"Hey there chief, what can I do for ya," the jolly fellow behind the counter asked.
"I need to purchase one of your rooms for the evening, and if you don't mind I'd like to get one upstairs so I don't have to hear people thundering across my ceiling all night long," Locke replied.
The innkeeper ran a hand through his greasy, black hair as he looked at a list of rooms. "Looks like the top floor is nearly empty. Most folks think it's too hot up there, so you've got plenty of rooms to pick from. You have any other preferences?"
"Well, if you've got a room on the east side, it would be nice to watch the sun rise in the morning."
The innkeeper looked at his list again before turning to search for a key on the peg-board behind him. "I've got just the room, and for eighty gil, I'll register it to you, Mr…."
"Manning. Lance Manning," Locke lied as he pulled the gil from his coin bag.
"Here you go, bub. Checkout is before noon tomorrow; else I'll have to charge you for another day. You'll be at the top of the stairs, last room on the left. Anything else I can help you with?"
"Yes, where can I get a bite to eat," Locke questioned.
"There's a few restaurants around town, but we'll be serving dinner down here in the Pub in another few hours, and later on this evening we'll have some dancing girls that put on quite a show," he added with a lecherous grin.
Locke thanked the man and trudged up the stairs to his room. Closing and securing the door behind him, he looked at the sparsely furnished room. A small wooden desk stood against the west wall. The bed was in the northeast corner angled to face the door. Locke went to the desk and sat the caged pigeons down and put the rest of his stuff on the floor beside it. He walked over and pushed the heavy drapes aside so he could open the north window that overlooked a small alley behind the inn. After a thorough inspection of the area, he went over and opened the east window to get a nice cross breeze blowing through the room, but also to confirm the route he would take later this evening when he made the pigeon switch.
Exhausted from the day's journey, Locke lay down on the creaking mattress and allowed the cool breeze to lull him to sleep. However, his pleasant nap came to an abrupt halt a few hours later when the band downstairs started the festivities for the evening. It was only dusk, so he decided to head to the Pub for some supper and a little bit of reconnaissance.
Locke quickly found a quite spot at a small table in a corner of the Pub. He turned the wick down on the lantern at the table just a little bit to darken the area. The band of flutes, drums, and stringed instruments were playing a lively tune while drunken bar patrons held their mugs aloft and attempted to dance a jig. An attractive, red headed bar maid carrying a tray of mugs smiled at him as she passed.
Locke watched as she swatted at soldiers hands that tried to pinch or grab her while on her way to deliver the ale. She quickly made her way back through the drunken Imperials to Locke's table to take his order.
"They're animals. Every last one of them," she said in disgust.
"Are they always this bad," Locke asked.
"Ha! You think this is bad? Just wait 'till the dancers get on stage. They'll be calling the carpenter in tomorrow morning to make repairs again. But, enough about them. What can I get for you?"
"Get me a mug of ale and whatever the house special is tonight," Locke replied while watching the chaos unfold around him.
"Alright, that's one ale and a bowl of lamb stew. My name's Lori. If you need anything else, you just holler at me."
Locke gave her a smile and a polite nod and then resumed watching the soldiers and officers get soused and make a general nuisance of themselves. Lori quickly returned with his stew and ale, then left to try and attend to the rowdy crowd. Locke silently ate his meal while listening to the liquored up soldiers blab about the difficulty of hauling supplies from the ships to the town, they lamented about the ungrateful South Figarans that they were now protecting from the evil Returners, and many of them moaned about how the bulk of their force had moved on to Doma while they were stuck here. The highlight of the evening was when one drunken private got down on a knee and professed his undying love to Lori the barmaid. Her face turned as red as her long braided hair when he begged for her hand in marriage.
Locke finished his meal and left the money for his food at the table along with a generous tip for the harassed waitress. He returned to his room and secured the door behind him. Unfurling his pack, he pulled out a set of black cloths that would make moving invisibly through the night possible. After changing into his 'night attire', Locke blew out the candles plunging the room into darkness.
The roof to the next house was only a couple of feet below Locke's window. He made sure that the street and alleyway were empty and then he quietly eased out the window and onto the next roof. He had to silently pad across the roof of two houses before he made it to the post office. The roof of the house that Locke was on happened to be a couple of feet shorter than the roof of the post office, and the architects had used that open space to put a vent for the attic.
No sounds were coming from the vent, so Locke quietly coaxed it from the post office wall and placed it on the roof where he was standing.He slid into the attic, and from there he felt about, until he found the trap door leading down into the aviary where the messenger pigeons were kept. He quietly opened the door and silently dropped into the room. Moonlight cascaded through the single window that was used to release the birds. From the mellow light filtering into the room, Locke could see a single shelf that ran all the way around three of the walls, making a 'U' shape. On the shelf were cages of uniform size bearing the names of most major cities. All of them had at least one bird.
Locke quickly scanned the cages until he came across one with the name 'Vector' carved on it. There were eight birds total, each having a small capsule, inscribed with the Imperial crest, to hold messages. Locke opened the cage and removed all the capsules from the birds. Then, he shut the cage and headed back to his room. For the next few hours, Locke moved back and forth between the post office and his room trading the 'new birds' from Figaro with the ones from Vector.
In the end, he had replaced all the birds in the Vector cage with ones that would fly straight to Figaro Castle. In his room he had a cage full of birds that would fly to Vector along with two extra Figaro birds one of which he intended to use shortly. Before he left the post office for the last time, he began to mix the rest of the pigeons up in different cages. After Locke was finished, it was very unlikely that any of the pigeons would arrive at their intended destination.
Locke made it back to his room and quickly scrawled a message to the Chancellor letting him know that most of the troops had been rerouted to Doma and those left behind where being used simply to guard South Figaro. There didn't seem to be enough troops left in the area to cause Figaro Castle any problems. He attached the message to one of his 'Figaro' birds and then released it through the north window.
Just as he was about to turn from the window and crawl into bed, he heard the strained high-pitch voice of a female rising from the alley below.
"Please, just leave me alone," she pleaded in a near panicked tone.
"Awww, c'mon shweetheart. I just wanna' kissh," came the reply.
Locke strained his eyes to peer into the darkness. Finally, he was able to see a young lady trying to pull her arm away from an Imperial soldier. The sight instantly set his blood on fire. He hated to see any woman mistreated, but seeing it happen at the hands of an Imperial soldier brought back too many bad memories.
In a heartbeat, Locke had gone out the other window and slipped down into the alley. Looking through a pile of rubbish, he came across a stout piece of wood that was just the right size and weight for a club. As the young woman struggled to get free of her aggressor, Locke slipped up behind him and sent a solid swing at the back of the soldier's head.
The private, who was the same one professing his love earlier, crumpled silently to the ground. The young lady, who Locke recognized as Lori, stood there sobbing and staring at the prone form as he checked the man for a pulse.
"He's still alive, but he's going to have an unbelievable headache in the morning. Are you alright?"
The simple question shook the barmaid out of her trance and she noticed Locke standing there for the first time. She started to turn and run, but then a look of recognition washed across her face. "You're that guy from the Pub," she said. "Yeah. You left me a very nice tip and now you've saved my life. Are you some type of angel or something?"
"I guess that would all depend on who you ask," Locke replied with a lopsided grin. "This fellow here probably wouldn't think of me in such grand terms."
"Thank you," was all she could manage to whisper as her gaze once again fell to the body at her feet.
"You better head on home. I'll take care of this guy," Locke said.
After Lori had disappeared down the alley, Locke dragged the body over and propped it against a brick wall. He found a bottle of scotch that the man had been carrying and proceeded to dump half of it all over the soldier's cloths and face. He then placed the nearly empty bottle of liquor in the private's hand and disappeared into the shadows.