Foxheart

Chapter Sixty

Fox was crouched in the middle of an alleyway, clutching his stomach and trying his best to keep his stomach from ejecting whatever he had eaten the past twenty-four hours. When Lithgow had warned teleportation wasn't pleasant to those unpractised and knew a precautionary brew to stave off the effects, Fox had pushed aside the concern irritably and told him to get on with it. Now he was regretting his decision and wished he had taken to offer to drink whatever it was Lithgow had tried to give him.

Lithgow stood behind him, tall and un-phased, waiting patiently for Fox to get over the wave of nausea without a word. The silence irritated Fox. He hated how feeble he was looking, so he stood and swallowed the sickness and tried to make himself look better than he was.

For a moment, he was a little bewilderment about who he was looking at until he remembered that Lithgow had done what Dupont had been doing for weeks. Gone was his formal attire, replaced with a tatty suit. Gone was his preened, straight grey beard and hair, replaced with a thick frizzy beard and out of control hair marbled chestnut and white. The hat perched on his head did nothing to contain it and was nearly falling off from Absolon sitting on top. And, while his eyes were now deep brown, Fox could still see the pride and strength behind them.

Lithgow had been serious in getting the Fingers to help take Dupont from jail. Teleporting Fox out and changing his appearance would heighten the chances of no one detecting Lithgow's plan.

'You sure about this?' Fox asked stiffly, trying to mask his sickness with anger.

Lithgow bobbed his head gravely, causing Absolon to giggle at the gesture. 'I am sure, lad.'

Fox shrugged and hobbled through the bins and discarded furniture, pulling himself free into the busy low-town of Grenfell City. The street was alive with shoppers moving between markets to shop, purchasing whatever cheap wares were available to them. The crowd was useful to hide himself in, Fox thought, until he remembered that he didn't need to be so uptight about being spotted by police. Dupont was caught, after all, and no one knew Lithgow was going to spring her from prison.

So Fox strode down the street, constantly reminding himself he didn't need to worry about being seen. No one was paying any attention to either himself or Lithgow, who strode behind him, not even bothering to keep his head low. Before long, the wide-steel grey store-front of Badger's smithy came into view and Fox trotted up to it.

So Fox strode down the street, constantly reminding himself he didn't need to worry about being seen. No one was paying any attention to either himself or Lithgow, who strode behind him, not even bothering to keep his head low.

The moment Fox entered Badger's blacksmithy, he was snatched by the arm and pulled into his office. Badger closed the door firmly and whirled on him.

'Why'd you go running off like that, lad?' He demanded, his tone hissed and low. 'Don't tell me you tried to get into the Tower?'

Fox crossed his arms. 'I did.'

Badger turned red. 'You brazen fool. You could've got caught, your head dug into and got us all in danger.'

'I didn't though.' Fox said firmly and then hesitated before he grudgingly continued. 'I got help.'

'Help? Help for what?'

'You're goin' to get Dupont out right?'

'Aye, we are. The moment she dies, Denver can destroy the Towers.' We can't have that kind of vacuum in power.'

Fox padded over to the door and opened it, gesturing to Lithgow standing in the shop, gazing at the iron candle sticks and chandeliers. 'He's goin' to help us.'