Hatter by Daniel Coleman Read Free Book Online Page B

enthusiastically.
    Tonin disappeared into the dim interior of the enclosed wagon. Though his girth filled the wagon from one side to the other, he somehow found room to rustle around. Hatta waited anxiously, listening to clinks , bangs, thuds, and creaks , until he finally heard, “Aha!”
    When Tonin squeezed out of the wagon’s narrow doorway, half a dozen pouches filled his arms. A treasure, each one, thought Hatta.
    The trader opened the pouches to reveal contents similar to the bluish ore, but in a rainbow of colors: magenta, saffron, aquamarine, lime, lilac, and plum. Hatta couldn’t remember ever feeling happier. The trader gladly accepted more than half of Hatta’s meager savings, oblivious to the fact that his unique ores might someday be pivotal in saving the kingdom.
     

Chapter 7

Pigs
     
    The rough wood in one hand and familiar knife handle in the other helped Chism channel his anxiety. He wandered the cold streets of Knobbes whittling to kill time. It was better than sitting in his room counting the wooden planks in the wall or rubbing his leather until his thumbs bled.
    Knobbes, the capital of Far West Province, was the biggest city he’d ever seen, besides Palassiren. The captain of the garrison adjacent to the city walls claimed there were no rooms for the Elite squadron, so they took rooms in the city. Lieutenant Fahrr was furious, claiming it was a sign of the growing tension between the Provinces and the interior of the kingdom, but he had no authority to press the issue.
    Most of the squadron was thrilled at the opportunity to board at an inn. In the two months since lodging in Brito, they hadn’t seen a decent city, and couldn’t reach the tavern of the Borderhaven Inn fast enough. But Chism abhorred alehouses of any type. He didn’t care about the judgmental glares of the tavern owners or spending a few coppers. It was giving up self-control to a wineglass or mug that was beyond his understanding. Wine had only been a destructive influence in his life and Chism wanted nothing to do with it.
    He snaked through the city, his attention divided between the carving and his surroundings. Thirsty hung at his hip, giving him the confidence he needed to wander through dark streets. In certain areas of the city strong odors of human waste and refuse dominated. In others, cookpots over hearthfires filled the air with enticing aromas.
    In a more populated part of the city, dozens of people exited a theater, all chatting excitedly. Chism stopped fifty paces down the well-lit street to observe. Nearly every person wore rich fabrics and jeweled ornaments, and some were accompanied by personal guards. Chism continued to carve away at his small block of wood from where he stood in the shadows.
    The sixty fourth, and last, person to leave the theater was a portly man with pale hair and an air of self-importance. He was accompanied by a fancy Lady and three armed men dressed in the dark uniforms of Provincials with the Flame and Stars crest of Far West Province. The woman took tiny steps, resting one gloved hand lightly on the man’s forearm. She had pursed lips and raised eyebrows, and was careful not to touch anyone or anything as they made their way toward a waiting carriage.
    Three guards seemed like a peculiar number. Two or four would have been much more comfortable. They didn’t even surround him evenly—two walked to the left of the couple and the other strolled casually to his right. Their hands hung lazily at their sides.
    Before the lax guards had time to react, a short woman detached herself from the shadows of a doorway and knelt in front of the noble. If she had evil intent she could have injured him severely before the guards intervened. Chism left his observation point and quietly approached.
    The kneeling woman—dirty, with dark hair and dressed in rough farmer’s garb—spoke loud enough for Chism to overhear. “My Lord, my sow was robbed away.”
    The finely dressed Lady looked on the