Heirs of Prophecy - Lisa Smedman [69]
"This talk about 'your people' and 'my people' is nonsense," she shouted back at him. "I'm a half-elf-and so are you!"
Leifander's rebuke was cut short by a grating noise overhead. Looking up, he noticed that Tal had returned.
"By the gods, keep quiet!" he hissed down at them. "I could hear you halfway down the street."
He lay prone on the road under the wagon and was reaching for something beside him. He found it, and passed a sack down to Larajin, who sheathed her dagger and waded forward to grab it. She opened it and began thrusting clothes at Leifander, not bothering to wait until he took them, just piling them on the ledge at his feet, together with a waterskin.
"Here," she said tersely. "Wash the worst of the sewage off, and disguise yourself with these. Unless you'd rather let a mob drag you through the streets."
Leifander picked up the nearest piece of clothing, a pair of white hose. Larajin was right, of course. If he was going to try to summon one of his feathered kin, he'd have a better chance of it away from the stinking sewer, and that meant going up onto the street. He had to pass as human, at least temporarily. He poured water over his legs and calves, rinsing off as much of the sewage as he could, then grudgingly yanked the hose over his wet feet. He put on a matching white doublet with sleeves slashed in gold and royal blue. There were leather gloves to cover his tattooed hands and black velvet slippers for his feet, and a gold turban set with tinkling silver bells, that sat awkwardly on his ears. In order to get it to fit, he had to tuck the points of his ears inside it. He grimaced, feeling foolish, then picked up the last item of clothing- a scarf similar to the one that Tal had worn and obviously intended to serve the same purpose-and wrapped it
around his face, hiding his tattoos. It smelled strongly of perfume-a welcome change from the sewer.
Tal grinned down from above. He was no longer wearing the scarf that had covered his own face. He looked like any other human, which made Leifander wonder what hed been hiding.
"Not bad," Tal said. "You look just like one of our-"
The wagon he was hiding under creaked as someone got into it, interrupting whatever hed been about to say. Tal glanced back over his shoulder. From that direction came the sound of restless hooves against cobblestones.
"Let's get moving," he hissed, extending a hand down through the hole where the grate had been.
Leifander took it and allowed Tal to help him climb out of the sewer. He wriggled out onto his belly-soiling the fresh white clothes on the dirty cobblestones-and a moment later was joined by Larajin. The wagon above rolled away just as Tal slid the grate back into place. Suddenly exposed, the three lay at one edge of a crowded street.
There were humans everywhere-nobles strutting along with parasols to shade themselves from the late afternoon sun, peddlers pushing carts filled with rattling wares, gilded carriages rattling past, and throngs of humans carrying packages, boxes, and sacks, winding their way through the crowd. No one seemed to pay the slightest attention to the three "humans" who had appeared on the road after the wagon pulled away, though one or two did wrinkle their noses as they passed, no doubt smelling Larajin's filthy boots. As Tal, Larajin, and Leifander stood, brushing themselves off, only one or two heads turned. After a few brief, puzzled frowns they turned away, more concerned with going about their own business than satisfying idle curiosity.
"Come on," Larajin said, taking Leifander's arm. "My friend has a perfume shop, just a little down the road. We can hide there until we figure out how to get out of the city."
Leifander shook off her hand. Remembering his manners, he pressed a hand to his heart and gave her a brief bow.
"I thank you for helping me escape," he said, "despite the fact that had you arrived a moment later, I would have accomplished an escape on my own."
Ignoring Larajin's skeptical look and Tal's snort of disbelief, he continued, "I do not require