The Lord of Misrule

Chapter 9

"Nimium ne crede colori" - Trust not too much to looks

The farmer turned off the main thoroughfare and stopped in a side-street strewn with stalls selling everything from nuts to sweetmeat. The street bustled with activity and the aroma of stale bread and overripe fruits assaulted their senses.

The farmer tapped on his seat before he dismounted, quickly taking up a peculiarly avid interest at the nearest fruit stall. It was their cue to escape from their refuge of low-grade barley and blistered wood and make themselves scarce.

They shuffled out of the back of the cart, trying, unsuccessfully, to appear as aloof as possible. Mikael knew that they didn't have much time left, so he gave the copper he had left at the foot of the cart one last mournful look.

He gently gripped Ami's forearm and tried to usher her towards the main throughway. She slapped his hand away, but gave in when the farmer threw her a relieved smile. They walked briskly, their heads down-turned until the marketplace was in sight. Mikael, trying to be discreet, turned his head slightly towards Ami, only to see her glowering fiercely at him.

"What?" So much for discretion....

"Why are you acting like you just gave up your dog? That was my money you just wasted away...for some misguided sense of honor no less!"

"Eh?" He suddenly remembered that he had asked Ami for coin when they were trying to get through the city gates. "Shite, I did take those from you, didn't I?" he grinned ruefully.

"You owe me two pieces of copper and two hours of my life back." She crossed her arms.

"My personal policy is to ignore any request for payment, however legitimate."

"I am going to change my personal policy of castrating men that owe me money to something more severe if you don't give me my money back."

Mikael stopped abruptly, glancing at her with a blank expression. "That's a bit morbid. Were you abused as a child?"

"Stop changing the topic and start thinking of how you can earn money quickly. I hear giving 'company' at night to the gaolers at the local prison pays well," she smirked. 

Mikael's left eye twitched. "Why are you so insistent in seeing me in a compromising sexual position? What kind of fetish-consumed wench are you?"

"Oh please, I'd subject my eyes to a cattle brand if I ever had to see you in that sort of position."

Mikael turned suddenly and lashed out at her. "And why do I have to owe you anything? You're the one who stole a man's dirty underpants and you're the one being chased by mercenaries and you're the one who dragged me into all of this!"

"It is most definitely not his underpants," Ami yelled back. "Probably..." She had the decency to look guiltily at the strongbox still tucked under Mikael's arm. He sighed and shook his head, resuming his trudge towards the marketplace. She was impulsive and rash, and probably honed her acerbic wit over the years as a defense mechanism. That didn't make her any less annoying, though.

Merchants and shopmen were losing their zest for coercing a sale and had begun going through the motions of winding down for the day. The sun was making its descent over the Sea of Aquinox at the far end of the town, and the harried activity of the town-folk prior had started to ebb into a calm sort of idleness.

The late afternoon appealed to the more frivolous contingent of residents: Sergeants-at-arms strolled about indolently in their neatly pressed garb and a handful of squirrel-faced street peddlers loafed in the shadowy recesses of the many alleyways connecting to the market.