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station, file a
complaint, and if they believe you they’ll give you a ticket.”
    The words of the marine came back. “Did you
piss her off?”
    “Do you know who stole them ?” the
shopkeeper asked with a supercilious expression, lifting the top
with some distain.
    Face burning, knowing he’d made a complete
fool of himself, he angrily plucked them off the bench and put them
back, tidying the hanging clothes around them. He found two decent
pants and tops, and a soft pair of boots. As he looked through a
rack of clothes he saw the shopkeeper still at the counter talking
to a younger shop assistant.
    “I’ll take my lunch now.”
    “Sure, John.”
    They both glanced over at him so Paris
pretended to browse realizing he was at a rack of dresses. He
quickly moved to another “manly” rack hoping John would go away and
after several minutes, with Paris growing annoyed at John for
taking his sweet time, the older shopkeeper finally left for the
back of the shop. Relieved that he could buy his clothes without
feeling like an idiot Paris handed over his money.
    “Settled on better, hey?” John asked loudly
from behind him.
    Paris jumped and then nodded. The man had
returned to grab some keys from the till.
    Swallowing his pride he asked, “What did you
mean by if they believe me? Don’t they investigate?”
    John laughed loudly. “Over a ragged pair of
pants and top?”
    Once again Paris left with roars of laughter
following him.
    Along the way townsfolk touched him on the
arm or shoulder.
    “Good on ya.”
    “Good hunting, marine.”
    “Tha a brave lad.”
    At the last Paris half laughed, half groaned
and increased his pace. He found a place to change and headed back
thinking of his situation. If the Trinity was into some kind of
mind control at least Harro would be the least worried about being
manipulated as all he ever aspired to be was the best Buzzard
player in Dayre. Paris still felt vaguely responsible for the youth
until a blister popped. Swearing, he limped back out of town.
     
    Paris left the cabin after eating some bread
and cheese. The woodsman didn't have much so Paris left a gold coin
on the table. Just as the old man started to rouse Paris left and
headed east toward the mountains of Pyre. The woods were less dense
and he crossed a few fields. It would be important now to remain
free and get the answers he needed. There were two spells he could
use. One would change his appearance or he could become like a
chameleon. A disguise would mean characterization and then
manipulating people to get answers. The energy to maintain such a
guise while staying in character would be high. The other used less
energy but he’d have to rely on local gossip going his way. He
grinned suddenly, towns loved gossip. He could make some nocturnal
visits, whisper sweet nothings into the ears of natural
investigators and then simply follow them around waiting for the
answers. He had time and it wouldn't raise suspicion.
    Paris wasn’t stupid though and he knew he had
to reckon on counter spells and the unknown element to show itself.
But then he was stupid because he’d lived under a spell for
hundreds of years and not known it. His narrow face took on an
angry pout and black eyes shone with frustration. Stupid. Stupid.
If he used a bit more energy he could slip into one of the levels
of the underworld. It was like the frequency of a communications
device. The underworld had many frequencies and the chances of them
finding him would be difficult. If he didn't stay in one area too
long then it would be near impossible to track him. He thanked the
gods that gargoyle had some uses, his previous work before becoming
the Spell Binder had been as a computer hacker, different line of
work but with the same principles. More complex data streams
equaled longer hacking times. Paris suddenly wondered if Gareth had
gone through Career Worlds. No, he was being paranoid.
    Paris stopped for lunch, munching on one of
the ration bars,