The Enchanter's Choice

4: In which there is an escape...

It was time to end it with Marc.

If Bells was serious about saving Mari and Leo from the slums, it simple had to be done. She was wasting hours upon hours of time every week with him when she could be using them to earn a bit more money or find better paying job.

The thought of leaving Marc made her heart ache. Although she had never allowed herself to expect anything more from him than a fleeting romance, he had become a part of her life for the past few years. He was fun to be with, and a good listener to boot. More than just a lover, he was also her friend and Bells didn't want to lose that.

But Marc wasn't going to save her and Mari from a half life in the slums.

They could move out of Pendragon into a countryside town, where life was simpler and staying alive cost less. Mari could start up her own shop, and Bells would help look after Leo or run errands around town, pick up a few odd jobs here and there. Bells couldn't imagine living anywhere but the city, but for Mari's sake, shte had to believe that she could.

Bells was almost back at the Wyvern, but she could go to Marc now and tell him that this— whatever it was between them, that it was over. She could go now, a clean break, before she lost her nerve.

But it was getting dark now, and Cook would expect her back at the kitchens to help serve supper. There was no time for a trip into the Upper City and back.

Turning the corner and stepping onto the street which the Wyvern was on, Bells heard yelling from up ahead. It was male, high pitched, and angry. Mr. Reekley? She was sure of it, that tone was directed at her enough.

Bells sped up, and saw that a crowd had gathered outside the Wyvern, and froze. Scattered through the crowd were the distinctive green uniform of the city guard, their matching helmets bobbing over the heads of the crowd.

One, two, three, four... She counted the green helmets from afar. At least six down among the crowd, and then another two facing the wrath of Mr Reekley at the doors of the Wyvern. Bells clenched her hand into a fist, knowing what would happen if they caught sight of her tattoos.

What had happened? A patrolling pair of city guardsmen were a common enough sight in the Lower City, but not an entire group like this. Had someone been murdered inside the Wicked Wyvern?

"She's not here!" shouted Mr. Reekley. "You're blocking my customers from coming in for supper."

She? Bells' stomach dropped down to her feet. No, it couldn't be. She hadn't done anything wrong. She snuck closer to hear the reply.

"Our orders are to wait for Pendragon to return and bring her back," said the guardsman.

Pendragon. She was the only Pendragon who worked at the Wyvern.

"I'd be more than happy to hand that little thief over myself if she was here," said Mr. Reekley.

They were waiting for her.

Bells wanted to bolt, to turn on her heel and sprint back around the corner, but that wouldn't do. That would catch the toppers' eyes, and they would give chase.

No, she had to do was walk away.

They didn't know her face, and as long as Mr. Reekley didn't see her, she would be safe.

Her hands itched to pull the hood over her head, but she couldn't do that either. It was still light, and she could feel the last rays of the sun's warmth on her face. Pulling up a hood at this hour would be suspicious, like she had a reason to hide her face.

Act normal.

Bells sauntered over to the opposite side of the road, and turned to face the window displays. A self-tipping teapot, painted red with yellow spots. A pen that would write by itself. Bells looked away from the trinkets on display, and focused on the reflections in the glass.