Catching a Play
Two hooded figures stood outside on the largest street in the market district, just before it reached what would be called the harbour area. In front of them lay a busy tavern, marked by a sign of a goose laying a golden egg. "What made you want to go here tonight of all nights?" Eleanor asked.
The need to escape everything that had happened of late. The desire to rember happier tis and see the few friends he still had left. So strange hope that going to the place he had visited so often in Maximilian's company might redy the hurt that he felt from their conversation the other day. "We've earned so ti to ourselves, haven't we? For once, we've got nobody making rules for us. We can go where we please, stay out and sleep in as long as we want." Not that Martel would be able to sleep late. "After months and months of battles and marches, we deserve this."
She looked up at him with half a smile. "I suppose we do. But you realise, as soon as you take your hood down, sobody will recognise you. The place is full of our soldiers."
"Let them. At least nobody will be foolish enough to try anything." Martel would still be looking over his shoulder, but more out of habit than because he thought there would be any danger.
"Well, the Imperial treasury owes us both a fortune for all the pay we have yet to receive. We might as well spend it." Together, they entered the establishnt.
The place was packed. Besides soldiers eager for entertainnt after a long ti at the front, plenty of regulars could be found on the benches. A performance was about to begin, and even standing tickets, all that was left available, cost a silver piece. Martel paid for him and Eleanor to Ian, the young boy collecting paynt for the troupe; the lad barely gave them a second glance, accepting the money and hurrying onwards.
***
The play was decent. The troupe did fine work performing as to be expected, but the story did not really draw Martel in. He rembered his first years in Morcaster when every spectacle had thrilled him. Now, found it less enthralling. In addition, the cacophony inside the tavern felt deafening. Martel did not mind loud noises; he had heard nothing but the rhythmic stomping of boots for days on end while marching. But this was chaos. People mumbling and talking to each other, the actors practically yelling to be heard over the noise, along with a few drunks laughing at the wrong tis; all of it irritated him to no end.
He resisted the temptation to crack one or two skulls open, clenching his jaw until the play ca to its end. As it did, he applauded politely and regretted coming here. Once the troupe had taken their bow on the stage and the audience began to disperse, people finally noticed the captain prefect standing in the back, leaned against the wall. Whispers and mutterings spread faster than any fire Martel could conjure up. Perhaps every fourth person was a soldier in uniform, and many of them saluted in his direction. He gave tired nods in response.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Martel's intention had been to greet Regnar and the others; spend a pleasant evening in their company with music, a drink or two, and perhaps dancing. Maybe not for him, but Eleanor enjoyed it. He realised this was a fool's errand; everyone stared, and his re presence would prevent the sort of rrint he had hoped for. "Let's go," he told Eleanor, and she made no objection.
As they made their way out onto the street under the dwindling evening sun, she glanced around at the many people gawking at them. "Should we get an ard escort ho? Everyone can see you and the route you are taking back."
"If anybody tries anything, I promise you, I'll make them regret it," Martel said, and they began walking. He knew he should not be too self-assured; he was not invulnerable, and plenty of people in this city would be after his blood. But it would take so asure of planning and execution to bring down a battlemage like him with his protector by his side; death would not co for him in the shape of a random encounter with the ordinary citizens of Morcaster. "Did you enjoy the play?" he asked, distracting himself.
"I did. I know the story, but it was pleasant to see it on a stage," she replied. He was glad that the evening had not been a waste for her. "But you did not."
"Oh, I thought it was nice enough."
"You looked like your skull would split open."
"It was a little too crowded for in there, I guess." They continued for a while in silence until another thought occurred to him. "Have you been to see your family?"
"I visited the house once. So days ago."
"They must have been glad to see you safe."
"My mother and sister were."
Martel understood the omission. It was to be expected that Eleanor's first eting with her father would be troubled. "I'm sorry if he was angry with you."
"I cannot say exactly what emotions he feels for , as I did not see him," she replied in that assud neutral voice she used when hiding her feelings. "But a servant told that he had declared dead for all intents and purposes, and I was never to return to his ho or speak to any mber of his remaining family."
Martel swallowed. "That's harsh. He would rob you of your mother and sister too."
"Yes."
"But it's not like he can prevent you from seeing them. He doesn't have that power."
"No, but I will respect his wishes. My presence causes a rift between him and my mother, and Genevieve is caught in between. Going there might make happy, but it would make all of them unhappy."
"I'm sure they'd be happy to see you. Your mother once told that all she cares about is your safety."
She glanced at him for the first ti in a while. "I did not realise you carried on secret communications with my mother."
A jest to distract herself, he guessed, and he indulged her. "She and I are great friends, didn't you know? She sent a wonderful recipe for barley bread with pieces of berry. I've been aning to try it."
She gave a half-hearted laughter. "At least I still have you for a family. That will have to suffice."
"Yes, you do."
As they walked on, their conversation beca lighter with more genuine outbursts of laughter. Enthralled, Martel forgot to look over his shoulder; he never noticed the shape that stalked them from the shadows.
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