Prin glanced his way. He was studiously avoiding looking in their direction, but by that avoidance, he made himself known. His sword was longer than normal, his hand on the hilt tipping it up as he moved, but the blade was bare. No scabbard. The sharp edges of the sword threatened anyone nearby if he turned quickly, but people parted for him. They didn’t appear wary or scared, but they deferred all the same.
She looked at his belt and saw a large iron ring fastened around it. The sword went through the rusted iron ring to support it instead of wearing a scabbard. He wore a loose gray shirt made of thick material like homespun, with long sleeves. On the cuffs of the sleeves were two hash marks sewed side by side. It was a uniform of some sort.
“Tom, the farmer, warned us about them,” Prin said.
Sara said, “He’s been near us for a while. Watching.”
“Let’s move away and see what happens.”
“Down to where the ships are docked. I want to check a few things.”
Prin turned her back to him and followed Sara. They made a few turns as they left the bazaar, but each time she glanced behind, he still followed. Have they found me, already?
CHAPTER FOUR
Prin and Sara strolled down the cobblestone streets to reach the enormous amount of activities required to unload and load cargo ships. The military man with the bare sword had followed behind them, always keep pace as he watched their every move. He no longer bothered to hide or pretend otherwise. For any looking their way, they might think he escorted them, and from his aggressive stance with the few who wandered too close, he permitted no interference.
Prin and Sara had nervously walked beside each other after leaving the bazaar, along paved city roads between shops selling goods and services until reaching the docks. He never tried to speak to them, and he didn’t seem threatening—but for the sword at his side. He just maintained the same pace and bland expression.
Prin tried to keep him in the corner of her eye. Is he after me? An assassin?
Sara carried the backpack, her bow and quiver strapped to it, not unlike many other travelers. Prin carried her satchel, the thick leather straps wrapped around her wrist to both protect it from being snatched and as a warning to thieves, thanks to the apple family.
Prin glanced at Sara and reacted again to the sight of her as a stranger. Instead of the usual green pants and tunic, with a flowing mane of black trellises, Sara had been transformed. She now wore the tan colored dress, the boots that covered her ankles, and the hat with the point on top that gave her a different appearance. Added to that, her head was bald. She looked far different than when they had crossed the mountains a day earlier.
For anyone searching for the young woman who crossed the mountain pass with Hannah, or Prin as she now called herself, they would never suspect the woman walking at her side was the same. If they had a description, that worked to Sara’s benefit.
Stealing another glance, Prin confirmed her thoughts and added to them. If Sara appeared a stranger from another land, so must she. Assuming she had changed in appearance as much as Sara, Prin found encouragement that she might not be recognized. Then she remembered the man with the bare sword standing ten paces from them. She turned. He still followed them, always keeping his distance.
Sara steered them to a billboard plastered in old and new fliers that were marginally protected from the rain by a little roof. Sara paused to read the sign at the top, then moved closer to read the smaller handbills posted on it.
Prin stood back several wary paces, keeping watch on all who came close, especially the one with the bare sword, while she mentally practiced her reading by working out the letters on the top of the sign. The S was easy, and so were the H and I. The next letter could be a B or P, but then she eliminated the B as she realized where they were standing. She looked out over the port and the activity that reminded her of an anthill. SHIPS. Those were the letters at the top, and she had read the word for herself, but the second word made no sense to her. Still, it was a start.
Sara reached out and tore one paper notice from the wall. “This is the one we want.”
“Now what?”
Sara folded the paper and slipped it into her backpack. “Look around, Prin. Sailors, dock workers, and foreign travelers move about their business everywhere, all looking different and acting strangely. Many of them are big and strong men, cargo handlers. What do you think will happen if one of us screams for help because a man is attacking us?”
“They’ll come running. Probably a lot of them,” Prin said, confused at Sara’s comments.
“I think so too. So, why don’t we go start a fight? You get ready to scream loud enough to churn cream into butter. I’ll do the fighting.” Sara spun around and marched, not walked, directly at the man in the uniform who was lounging near a signpost not even bothering to pretend he ignored them.
She stomped the hard heels of her new boots on the wooden deck to draw his attention as she approached, each strike of her heels a warning. She pulled to a stop a single step away, fists balled on her hips. She said, “Why are you following us? And don’t even try to say otherwise.”
He didn’t change his posture or act upset. Then he slowly stood straighter and squared his shoulders. His voice came soft and educated. “Good morning stranger. I am a servant of the Order of the Iron Ring, a ring for which there is no beginning and no end.”
Sara backed off a step. “What does all that mean?”
“I noticed you are new to Indore, and my order of service wishes that you come to no harm while in our city.”
“You’re protecting us? Or following us? Which is it?”
“I am watching over you. Without obligation. We provide our services without a fee, but some wish to reward us. You see, Indore can be a dangerous city, and we are pledged to help strangers safely navigate their way within it.”
Prin couldn’t hold back, “That’s why you’ve been watching us.”
Sara said, “You look more like a soldier.”
“I am a fighter for the rights of those who cannot protect themselves, so yes, I am a soldier of a sort.”
He hadn’t changed expression, the tone of his voice, or stance, other than to turn to look at them with bland eyes when speaking. Prin glanced at the bare blade and said, “Scabbards are made for a reason, you know. Ever cut somebody or something by accident with your sword?”
Finally, he smiled. “Yes, when I was younger and less careful.”
“Then, why wear it like that?” she persisted.
He took a step back and placed his right hand on the hilt of the sword. With the unique sharp twang of iron scraping iron, he pulled the sword and then held it across both palms as he offered it to Prin to observe. He said, “The twin edges of my sword scrape against the inside of the iron ring each time I pull or replace it, keeping the edges sharp for your service.”
She dutifully touched the edge with her thumb and nodded in appreciation. “That’s a good trick. I wonder if I could have a scabbard made for my knives to do the same?”
“You wear a blade?”
After a slight hesitation, Prin reached behind her neck and pulled the throwing knife. He nodded appreciatively. She reached under her skirt and removed the smaller blade and extended it. He reached for that one also and turned the thin blade over on his palm while examining it. Then he handed both back, handles first.
“What do you think?” Prin asked, ignoring the warning look from Sara.