The Venomancer

I.5 - The Painted Poacher

Tan bent double and spluttered again, forcing the three revolted men to take the long way around the maze of stalls. He'd seen a man in Elamendi with shuth-fever once and now seemed a good time to re-enact it. He began to moan, and salivated at the corners of his mouth. If he could pull this off he might just have them frightened enough to not pursue him. He could die in the slums for all they cared.

"Somebody," a woman whined. "Somebody hold him until they return." No-one volunteered. Tan hacked and croaked, spitting the remnant taste of the remedy from his mouth, and collapsed to his knees. He fumbled madly with the silks around his chest, looking to catch his breath. People scuttled away from him as he began to tug at his own hair.

"Help me!" he panted. He considered he might be overdoing it a little. "I can't ... I can't! I need to go home. I just want to go home!" He steadied himself on his hands and knees and hung his head, the oscillation of his spine exaggerating his heavy breathing. He let the sweat run down his nose and patter to the ground. "I'm sick ... let me go home. Please ..."

"You're not going anywhere," he heard a man say. The undertone of terror in his voice only served to mock him.

Tan cried up at him in apparent delirium, "Dingo? Is that you, Dingo? Oh, my dear friend, I'd know your brutish face anywhere. Help me. Please, help me." He inched closer, clawing the air, and the man kicked his hand away. It hurt. Probably left a bruise at least.

Cursing under his breath Tan cradled his hand into his chest and crawled towards the crowd with the jar tucked firmly under his arm. People shuffled back from him wherever he went and the men guarded their wailing wives. It seemed Rilv the Feral hadn't embellished his claim that High Farbans were scared of just about anything these days ...

He clambered to his feet and threw himself about, lost in feigned madness, clutched in his stumbling stupor. To the left the crowd parted in a wave of panic and he saw his opening. It was what he'd hoped for. Without hesitating a heartbeat he launched himself into the gap, knocking over an elderly woman cradling a rack of coloured glass orbs. Hissing smoke and screams filled the air as the orbs exploded on the ground, releasing whatever untold sorcery they'd contained. No time to even apologise. Run, Tan!

The masses beyond him bowled over as he barged past them and he began to feel the kick of adrenaline he'd evolved to trust. He trod on people's toes and bumped into their chests, only half meaning to. He crashed into a stall, sending its wares flying, as he ran as fast as the oncoming current would allow. The jar weighed him down, but he raced on with determination, his breath coming in bursts. He could waste no time walking when word would reach the Painted Guard at any moment. Monas would have approached them by now. If he collided with a guard along the way it would be as clear as day that he was up to something. Only wrongdoers ran anywhere in the desert.

He needed to lose the High Farban disguise. No time to find another. He glanced over his shoulder at the closing fissure of startled browsers, the sea of frowning tanned faces, and saw nobody in immediate pursuit. They were all too startled to act, the cowards. Daring to slow to a side-stepping jog he ripped the red silk from his head, face and neck, and untied it from his waist. The garment fell to the hot granite and he picked up his pace again, leaving his Farban skin behind in the throng. If only Tan had known to steal the common purple silk and not the damned red, he might have avoided unnecessary attention. How many had seen him go? His fleeting face-count had totalled sixty, maybe seventy.

Arriving at the main path he surveyed his surroundings and skidded to a walk, feeling far more noticeable in the little clothing he'd kept on beneath the silk. High Farbans did not receive bare chests well, nor the filthy, grey harem pants he wore to just below the knee. Far too much calf showing. They wouldn't permit his unslippered feet if they noticed them, either.