The road took Arthur Chubs inexorably towards Forbearn. There were numerous places to stop in-between and he made use of them liberally. And yet it took him an embarrassingly long time to realize the road he was on would lead him home if he so chose. He chalked away the delay to not having travelled these roads in more than a decade. The roads had changed, grown, much like a child would if left to its own devices.
As soon as the realization came, he became lax in his vigilance. A fatalism came over him and some of it was a result of what Hort had said. His pictures were everywhere. There wasn’t much he could do. It was only a matter of time. But he couldn’t surrender. He could, however, make it easier on the guards. Even then, it wasn’t too complicated to hide in plain sight and despite his best efforts, he enjoyed being a free man for a while longer.
If you think about it, it was rather tragic how he was finally captured. It had been a year since he had left Selma and he missed her tremendously. They had decided they wouldn’t write to each other. What with him constantly moving and trying to protect her, it was unfeasible. But the anguish of missing her was so strong, he had to write to her, if for nothing else then to feel closer to another human for the time it took him to write that letter.
He had chosen an inn carefully. He hadn’t exactly disguised himself: he was short and round and there wasn’t anything he could do about that. But he had shaved his head and grown a beard. All in direct contrast to the drawing of him that was being circulated. It was also old, a decade at least, and showed him in his prime. There was no hint of the privation he had suffered from his journeyings on his face. There was no suffering captured in the skin. It was a drawing only, not the man himself. And it was difficult to reconcile the paper with the human. Arthur had also discarded all his fancy clothes from when he had been Lord Mereko’s Keep Performer. He stuck to the most nondescript colours and clothes.
Having written the letter, feeling decidedly lighter, he had made his way to the local pigeon office. He knew there was a big chance Selma would never know he had written to her. He didn’t know if she even visited the pigeon office in her village. But he paid for it to be sent nonetheless.
It was there that he ran into one of the royal guards. It wasn’t the entire contingent of guards. He had been left behind – much like one guard was left behind in as many towns as could be spared. Had Arthur known the lengths to which Janah had gone to ensure his capture, he would have been flattered.
The guard didn’t recognize him immediately. He was able to conclude his business and head towards the inn when the guard caught up with him. Arthur had to give it to the guard. He didn’t try to tackle him or follow him home. He simply yelled, “Banes!” and like a fool, Arthur froze in the middle of the marketplace.
He heard the triumphant chuckle before a hand landed on his shoulder. “At last,” he said. “Now I can win the coin that the king has vouched for your safe return. I could leave service if I was so inclined.”
“Or you could leave me. I could give you coin too.” He couldn’t but the guard didn’t need to know that.
“Nah,” he said, pushing his shoulder forward. His grip was sure but not cruel. Arthur mused about that not sure how to interpret it.
“You have caused enough disruption. Don’t want no part in that. Janah is a good king, unlike the batshit one we had before him.”
Arthur froze but the guard either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He kept pushing him relentlessly on. He didn’t ask Arthur where he was staying, he didn’t ask if he had any business to conclude. He simply marched him to the guardhouse, shoved him in one of the cells and then asked him the questions.
He answered, seeing no point in antagonizing the guard. The guard vanished, leaving him to his thoughts. He wished now he hadn’t sent Selma the letter. The guard seemed smart, smarter than he had any right to be. He may go to the pigeon office to check where his letter was headed. He may follow it up, hoping for praise or coin for his perseverance and forethought. Arthur fervently hoped he wouldn’t follow up. And if he did, Arthur hoped he wouldn’t find Selma.
This is Chapter 22 of 26 of The Travelling Librarian series. Written as part of #BlogchatterA2Z.
Psst: I also have 2 ebooks on Kindle – and if you’re on Kindle Unlimited, they’re free!
- Read The Gunslinger here.
- Read 23 Letters of Love here.
tales of Suchita 
Leave a reply to Leha Cancel reply