Chapter Six Eugene #2
But the book didn’t say anything about the structure in the middle of the plaza.
He can’t tell if it’s just a statue or a long-inactive fountain; a marble figure in robes stands atop a pedestal, its arms outstretched, with dull bronze stars heaped in its open palms. A dry basin rings the pedestal, rimed over in dead leaves and the faint accumulated crud of disuse.
In the book, the streets sparkled. The stone walls shimmered like pearls.
The shingles glowed like sea glass in the sun.
The palace lives up to that, but down here—well, Eugene knows better than to expect a fairy tale, but he can almost see the ghost of that splendor.
As Max takes them away from the market and down a lane, they pass cracked cobblestones, mildew creeping up plaster, missing shingles.
More and more storefronts are boarded up; more and more glances are swiftly averted, passersby hurrying along.
Even in Eugene’s orphanage days, he remembers idly kicking a barrel at the greengrocer’s while Solena chitchatted with the clerk.
Here, the only place people linger is in the long line for a clinic.
It feels like a hole worn into the tip of a sock, too small to put a toe through but impossible to ignore. Something’s gone stale in Astera, and for too long.
Max finally comes to a stop at another abandoned shop in a deserted alleyway, sniffing before he gives a decisive whicker.
A signpost sits barren over a barred door, the front window mostly papered over.
Frowning, Eugene steps closer to peer at the entrance—and is abruptly yanked back by the collar.
He finds himself, unfortunately not for the first time in his life, inundated with the hot oaty dank of horse breath as Max hauls him around the corner of the building and then across the alley.
A month ago this might have inspired more protest; now Eugene obliges, if for no other reason than the payoff from following Max’s instincts tends to be worth the slime left on his shirt collar.
A quiet clank and rattle sounds from the derelict shop.
Sure enough, when Eugene ventures a look…he sees Master Sulian’s silver braid stark against the man’s retreating back as he hurries away from the seemingly abandoned shop front.
This is officially moving from the “weird” to “deeply suspicious” column.
Once Sulian’s rounded a corner, Eugene steps out—
Only for Max’s teeth to clamp down on his collar once more.
“He’s gone,” Eugene hisses. Max lets out a whuff of dissent and drags him back.
Another figure, cloaked and hooded, enters the alleyway from the other end.
Eugene goes very still. There’s a familiar rhythm to their gait, a well-worn walking stick gliding along in time with their right leg; he remembers the thump of it on the orphanage floorboards every morning before the smell of porridge flooded the room.
Even beneath the hood, he recognizes the glimpse of a pale narrow face and short-cropped steel-gray hair.
Solena Vald reaches the abandoned storefront, then casts a furtive look around. Eugene and Max flatten themselves to the wall out of sight.
The clank and rattle sounds again. When Eugene dares to peer around the corner…Solena’s gone.
Max doesn’t stop him this time, so Eugene knows the coast is clear as he darts to the window and peers through a gap between papers.
There’s no sign of Solena inside, or anyone at all besides at least five generations of spiders competing for cobweb real estate.
Dust covers every square inch, from empty tabletops and scattered chairs to what appears to be the store’s original sign propped against a counter.
If he squints, Eugene can just make out letters on it… H, E, R, B…
Herbert & Fitz.
For the second time in the last hour, he goes completely still.
Yesterday, when he met Councilor Teophine on the ship, he thought she was only put off by his lack of title. That it was impossible for her reaction to be recognition instead of distaste.
Now the question isn’t whether she knew his name. It’s whether “Fitzherbert” is even a real one.
Solena’s here, in Astera, despite not being in their records. She’s snuck into an abandoned store, the same one that was just exited by the stranger who somehow knew Eugene on sight.
Just like Hughes did.
Just like the king did.
Eugene hopes Rapunzel’s tour wraps up within the hour, because if he can’t talk with her about this pronto, he’s fairly sure his head’s going to explode.
Max whickers a warning. Eugene retreats to their hiding spot, and another cloaked figure comes along, this one practicing better hood discipline than Solena and Sulian. Eugene can’t make out a face, but he does spot a scar on the person’s right hand, a shiny dark sunburst below bony white knuckles.
And this time, he sees the figure wrap that hand around the door’s pull handle and twist. The iron bar rotates, moving a disk-shaped section of the door’s wood with it. The figure pushes the bar so that the disk sinks deeper into the wood.