Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 83933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
An older gentleman with weathered skin and thinning gray hair muttered, “No crime,” and hurried on his way.
No, this wasn’t a movie set. Otherwise a director would have shouted obscenities at me for daring to interfere with his shot.
Though I was streaked with blood, no one paid me any heed. Not knowing what else to do, I jumped in front of a girl dressed in one of the basic frocks. “May I borrow your phone?”
“I don’t want any trouble.” She darted around me, rushing on.
Oookay. I approached the next person only to receive a similar refusal and hasty retreat.
I skirted my gaze over the multitude, on the hunt for anyone who might be willing to help. Him. The guy in the bright purple suit, with a top hat and a handlebar mustache. He was smiling and waving at one and all.
Rushing over to keep pace at Mr. Velvet’s side, I said, “Sir, I could use your help.”
“I have enough substitutes,” he replied, dismissing me without a glance.
Substitute? I set my pride aside. “Please. I’m injured, confused, and lost. I just want to go home. If you could point me in the right direction—”
“Who are you?” Scowling, he grabbed me. “Did you run from your titleholder?” Even though he clasped my uninjured arm, my pain magnified. “There’s no crimen, so there’s still time.”
What in the world? “Let go!”
He didn’t. “Who owns your life? Tell me.”
Powered by a surge of adrenaline, I wrenched free and dashed off. Who were these weirdos, and what would it take to locate a normal person?
I turned a corner and glanced over my shoulder. Realizing the man hadn’t given chase, I slowed. As relief washed in, my burst of energy fizzled. Weakness returned, pouring through me as if I guzzled it unfiltered and industrial strength.
“Hurt? My healing elixir is almost as good as serpens-rosa!”
The call came again, and this time, I heeded it. A healing elixir sounded perfect, yes, please and thank you. At this point, I’d settle for any kind of painkiller, even something off market.
I trudged over, doing my best to dodge those in my path. “How much for the elixir, information, and the use of your phone?”
A middle-aged man stood behind a long, rectangular table loaded with small opaque vials. He blinked at me, as if stupefied, then scanned me from top to bottom and made a funny face. “I’ll let you have an elixir for only three silvers.”
“You mean silver dollars?” I withdrew a crumpled bill from the pocket of my dress. “How about a five dollar bill?”
He wrinkled his nose at the cash. “Parchment? No deal. Two silvers, or nothing.”
I glanced down at my shoes. Surely not. But I extended my leg and motioned to the footwear. “They’re all yours.”
He grimaced. Okay, so, not the shoes, either.
“What about seven dollars?” I collected the rest of my tip money.
He ignored me. “Hurt?” he called, raising a vial in the air. “My healing elixir is almost as good as serpens-rosa!”
“Forget the elixir, then. Just let me make a call, and you can keep the money.”
“Go on. Get out of here.” With a scowl as fierce as Mr. Velvet’s, he waved me off and turned his back to shout his spiel yet again.
Frustrated, angry, and growing more desperate by the minute, I looked left, right. Left again. Right again. No one paid me any attention, not even the seller. Should I? Shouldn’t I? As my pain hit a new level, I swiped a vial from the table and sprinted off. Once I found my father, I would return with the required “silvers,” whatever they were.
As I uncorked the top, a woman squealed, “He’s here! The royal guard is here!”
Sighs of delight blended with moans of dread. Wait. Did she say “royal guard?” In seconds, shop vendors abandoned their stations, as if they trusted shoppers not to steal. But then, the shoppers changed course, too. They all headed in the same direction as me.
A man bumped my shoulder hard, and mumbled “No crime,” as I stumbled. I barely caught myself before a fall. In the process, I lost my grip on the vial.
Nooo! I could only watch, dejected, as the glass shattered on the ground, its contents spilling across the dirt. Someone else bumped into me, shoving me onward, and mumbled the same phrase. I had no choice but to keep walking or get trampled. How many disasters could a girl endure before she admitted defeat?
A crack of thunder boomed, and I groaned. Not another storm.
The entire marketplace must have entertained an identical thought. Everyone stilled, every conversation ceasing. Dead quiet fell over the throng. I skidded to a halt, barely avoiding a collision with the guy in front of me. I glanced around.
Everyone stared up at the sky, as if afraid to peer anywhere else. Then, suddenly, everyone but me jolted back into motion, moving at a much faster clip. Pushed again, I tripped forward and struggled to keep up. Agitation laced the air. Thankfully, the group stopped for good in front of a raised stage where more of those three-eyed birds with rainbow feathers perched along an upper railing, peering down upon three males.