The man has a point,
Dracus thought, sizing him up out of the corner of his eyes. His short-cropped, ebony hair revealed a pointy scalp. His eyebrows were thick, lending depth to a pair of sepia-brown eyes flecked with curious shades of turquoise. Between those eyes protruded an aquiline nose with a prominent hump almost as high as the brow bones. He had short limbs and round shoulders. His hands were large, as were his feet. Overall, he looked thrown out of proportion, a mishap, a Gods' japery. But regardless, Dracus thought, his head tapping on the column behind, he didn't seem to have a better alternative at his disposal other than taking the japery's offer.
"How long would it take to go from here to the tavern?" he asked casually so his unease would go undetected before it subsided. Or so he hoped. While he knew where the Praetor's Port was located on the map, he had little clue how to travel there on foot.
"If we leave now, we should be able to get there a little after nightfall," the ugly man replied. "You got a name, lad?"
"Dracus."
"I'm Lucius Bucero." The man smiled, holding out an open palm for a shake.
Dracus scoffed, hitting the palm backhanded.
The other man only chuckled, then lead the way into a narrower backstreet strewn with garbage. Vendors hawked their wares from carts speckled with mud and rickety stalls. Shutters of rotten wood, infested with beetles and termites, hung loosely from sooty walls of hovels packed cheek by jowl along the street. Each of their clatters mourned a different misery.
Dracus clasped the strap of his sack. The pungent stench of the slum made his gorge rise. Dropping his head, he saw Bucero feel him out, glancing over the shoulder with a crooked smile. As he was trawling a tow in the throaty river of trust, so was the other man, he thought.
And what could the little wench possibly do with my amulet?
Sweat trickled, and a sigh puffed his cheeks.
He knew he must report the missing amulet. But to make the report would require his presence in Pethens. And even if he had the gold for the fare to return, he didn't want to. He only just got out!
A few turns into the slum, Bucero led him out to the east bank of the Tigris Canal, where they continued south for what felt like half a day. Amidst the chatter of crickets and cicadas, reeds and weeds scratched and tickled, swishing by his waist. Dracus wiped the sweat that was prickling his eyes.
The sun had dipped into the west, leaving the sky in an ombré shimmer of pink and gold. About a mile ahead in the open sprawled a marketplace and a crossroad abutting the Port. Further to the west peered a small village with terracotta cottages speckling around a sullen bell tower.
"We're almost there," said Bucero, pointing at the marketplace.
"For an expedition that takes months, a day's journey away counts as almost. But for a day's journey, an hour away is almost. So, how far exactly do you mean by almost? Don't talk if you can't be specific." the boy spat. While he knew he should probably try to stay on friendly terms with this man, he needed someone to blame to stay sane.
Bucero put up both hands.
"So?"
"So what?"
"So how much further?"
"Don't talk if I can't be specific, eh? Can't be specific, sorry."
Dracus balled his hands, reminding himself that he was in no place to be wroth until he found himself the leverage.
They continued for about half a mile south without another exchange of words until they saw tufts of yellow light from the windows of a two-story country cottage. Under the eaves protruded a bracket of wrought iron. A rough wooden plate hung from it on jute ropes: Mediator's Tavern. The front door creaked as Bucero pushed it ajar. Warm light poured over them both.
Bucero raised his chin, gesturing to an empty table between the counter and the fireplace. They sat across from each other.
"You hungry?" he asked.
Dracus had been so hungry he could no longer feel it. "No," he said, looking over his shoulder at burly men hunching over their plates and ales. His stomach grumbled again.
"Really?"
"So what if I am hungry? Can we afford to eat?" It dawned on him that having a man as doomed as a solution to his plight was perhaps as bad as having no plan. In the sixteen short years of his life, never had he felt so hapless.
"Lucius?" A dulcet voice came from behind the counter.
Dracus skewed around in his seat and saw a petite barmaid sashay toward their table. With a nubile body and bronze hair tied into a chignon at the lower back of her head, she looked like some sailor's child wife. Freckles under her obsidian eyes clustered like a butterfly's wings closing up when she smiled. Her white teeth gleamed in the dance of flames.
"What're you doing here?" she asked, clawing up four nearly empty brass pints on their table with one hand.
Bucero cackled. Shying away from her inquiring gaze, he turned his eyes to Dracus across the table. "Aida, this is Dracus. Dracus, Aida. He's coming with me to the south. Can you put us on the cargo barque leaving at dawn tomorrow?"
Leaning forward on folded arms, Dracus snuck a glimpse of Aida.
Her mouth gaped open while her eyes narrowed. When she shook her head with disapproval, light from the fireplace shifted on her rosy cheeks, scrawling a curve of shadow back and forth on her voluptuous décolletage. He flicked his eyes to the heel of a wall as he saw her glancing his way.
"Come with me," she said, grabbing Bucero's wrist with her free hand. She pulled the man to the counter slabbed with a polished plank of teak and left Dracus with a broad smile over the shoulder.
Straining his ears, Dracus tried to listen, their voices lost in the clamor under the roof despite the short distance. Bedraggled men brushed in and out of the dining hall. Some asked for a bed for the night, others a plate of lard and bread. All carried a cloud over their surly faces as they complained about the rising food price. As Dracus was about to give up eavesdropping, Aida let out a pipping cry, her dulcet voice topping over the men's grumble.
"Lucius Ignatius Bucero! Do you plan to flunk the blighted test for the rest of your life?"
So, he wants to be a lawyer.
Dracus licked his chapped lips while stroking his chin.
And this isn't the first time he failed.
An idea occurred to him. Though, he wasn't sure if it would be worth the hustle.