Good morning and merry Christmas to everyone reading! Though this chapter is not Christmas themed, I give it to you all as a gift! Am I making sense any more? I'm ridiculously tired at the moment.
merry Christmas,
owl
"Do we turn back?" Conor asked, shifting his feet nervously, tensing himself to turn on a moment's notice.
Tarik shook his head. "No, that'll make us look more suspicious. We keep going. Just act like you're supposed to be here, and we'll be fine."
When they entered the inn, the barkeep glanced at them quickly before returning to the glass he was wiping. Then his head snapped up. "Puppeteers!" he exclaimed with giddy excitement. "I put out word for anyone. Actors! minstrels! But puppeteers? How much for a show, and can you start very soon?"
Tarik looked startled and slightly overwhelmed, then Rollan stepped up.
"Twelve silver pieces, and dinner. But we'll need it a little darker before we can start. Say the sixth hour?"
The barkeep nodded enthusiastically. "I've got fifty Conquerors billeted here, and they need entertainment that doesn't include breaking my furniture!"
He led them farther into the inn and pointed to an empty section of floor by the back wall. "You four can set up there. Are you sure you can't start now? We can pull the drapes."
Rollan shook his head. "No, we need time to set up."
With a heavy sigh, the barkeep nodded and returned to wiping glasses behind the bar.
"Great! Now we're going to have to do a show!" Conor hissed as they started setting their things down.
Rollan, though smirked. "No, we won't. I have a plan. Mosten, put the lantern there," he pointed, "and we should get fire buckets. Why don't you two start hanging the screen?"
All four of them quickly completed the tasks they had been given. Then they met up in the alley behind the inn. The alley was filled with barrels of rotting things, piles of garbage, and broken furniture. The broken furniture must have been what the barkeep had been talking about, with the Conquerors allegedly destroying everything.
"I found our informant," Tarik said quietly. "He's working as a cook here. It sounds like one of our best, Lishay, found Dinesh. We will meet up with her in the jungle of Kho Kensit. We'll catch a barge nearby, and that'll bring us to our meeting place."
"See," Rollan said smugly, "I told you we wouldn't have to put on a show."
"I feel really bad for the barkeep, though. Now the Conquerors will be angry that there won't be any show," Conor pointed out.
Tarik shrugged. "I'm not too happy about leaving like this, but I know that our efforts are going to help end this war, but to do that, we need to leave here."
"On that note, we'll make better time to the barge if we don't bring the puppets," Abeke commented, leaning back on her heels, almost as if she was ready to make a break for it right then and there.
Conor nodded, though he couldn't help but think that they would be horribly exposed without the puppets as a cover. There had to be some sort of solution. His eyes roamed around the alley until he finally got an idea. "We could take some of this stuff," Conor said, picking up an empty crate, "and pretend we are taking cargo to the barge for a shipment."
Tarik grinned. "That's a great idea, Conor."
Conor kept hold of his empty crate, but shifted how he held it so it appeared as though heavy. Tarik grabbed a mid-sized barrel, and Rollan a jug that he covered the hole in the bottom with his hand. Abeke grabbed a half-empty sack and filled it with random things from the ground. Once they had all grabbed something, they turned to leave. Of course, it was just their luck that, at that exact moment, a drunk Conqueror exited the back door of the inn and saw them.
"Hey!" he slurred. "You... Yer supposda d' a show."
The man was coming towards them and stopped only for a moment when Rollan hit him in the stomach with his jug. Abeke tried choking the man with her bag, but neither attack did much to halt his progress. Then Conor reacted without thinking. With as much force as he could muster, Conor spiked the crate that he held, right onto the head of the drunk soldier. The man fell like a sack of potatoes.
Tarik nodded. "Good job, all of you."
Finally they were able to leave, and Conor could have cried with joy as they scurried down the alley, after he and Rollan grabbed replacement props. At least, that was, until there was a shout accompanied by loud barking and the banging of the inn's door. Conor chanced a glance behind them and almost swore. There were at least half a dozen Conquerors and their spirit animals less than twenty paces behind them.
"Conquerors! Scatter!" Conor shouted.
And scatter they did! Within seconds of closing his mouth, Conor had lost track of the others. He himself found a small alley between two of the ramshackle huts and ducked through it. There was a single Conqueror and his spirit animal chasing Conor.
Conor felt bad, really he did, but there was only one way that he could think of to escape the clutches of the soldier chasing him. Saying a silent 'sorry,' he dodged through the huts. The walls of the huts were as thin as paper, and torn almost as soon as he brushed against it. At one point he had doubled back on himself, allowing him a moment to try to catch his breath. He knew that wouldn't last too long, though, because he could already hear the wall in surrounding huts being ripped apart.
Suddenly a small hand grabbed his and Conor looked down to see a little girl, his other hand clasped in an elderly woman's. The girl tugged harder and with her help, he made it safely to the barge, where he could see Tarik, Rollan, and Abeke.
As the girl ran off, Conor held up a hand in thanks. It was because of her, after all, that he had made it to the barge.