Ren knew it won't be easy getting rid of the soldiers, not when he knew very well that he was in an Imperial town, but it was worth a try.
He wove through the crowd using the traders and buyers as his cover until he diverted into an alley. There was nothing in the alley except huge piles of garbage. He halted, staring at the piles and glancing back.
"He went that way," he heard someone blabbing to the soldiers, probably to get recognition for finding a runaway collector.
Who wouldn't want favour from their rulers?
He hid behind one of the piles, the one that looked bigger than the rest. He peeked and saw a bald man pointing the soldiers to the alley. He dug a portion of waste out of the side of the pile with his fingers and squatted there, shielding himself with a wet carton he dug out.
The soldiers searched around every corner. They searched too long than they would have, but didn't search through the pile Ren hid behind. They must've been tired already. They left the alley the same way they came.
Ren pushed his shield away when the alley went silent again. He crouched behind the trash pile and poked his head out. There were no soldiers in sight, only traders and buyers trooping by.
Just opposite the entrance of the alley, he spotted the bald man under a shed.
"Greedy, patriotic merchant," Ren whispered and smirked.
The bald man wore a stern look while he argued with a woman that stopped at his shed.
Ren watched them while they went on with their exchange, probably arguing over a price of the wares the man displayed on his counter. The woman finally shook her head and walked off, leaving the bald man muttering to himself as he rearranged his wares.
Ren stepped out of the alley. He crossed the street like any other passerby, shoulders slumped and head low. When he reached the shed, he pretended to stumble, bumping hard into the man's side. The people passing and standing around spaced out and the bald merchant yelped, instinctively grabbing Ren's arm.
"Watch where you're—"
Ren twisted, drove his shoulder into the man's chest and shoved him back into the shade, behind the hanging cloth and stacked crates that was behind the man's shed.
"What in Divine's name? Are you mad?" the man hissed as Ren pushed him past another row of clothes.
Ren slammed him against a wooden post.
The man's eyes widened as he recognized the coverall Ren wore.
"You vermin," he said, gritting his teeth.
He was about to scream, but Ren muffled it with a cupped hand over his mouth.
He struck him once, twice and then banged his head on the wooden post. The man fell to the ground and folded, grunting. The hit was too fast for him to had bargained his way out with a struggle or a call for help.
Ren's hands trembled as he stripped the man of his outer tunic and cloak, his trouser and boots, leaving him with just underwear.
He raised the tunic up and inspected it. It was a perfect fit. The man was just about Ren's height and he was the same body size.
He took off the coverall tossing it at the man and pulled the man's clothes on quickly. The fabric still smelled faintly of the man's expensive cologne.
"You bloody scavengers always think you're special, huh?" the man spat at the boots Ren had just put on.
"Those are good clothes!" the man barked, still defiant. "You won't last a day in them, peasant."
Ren kicked his face and he fell quiet.
"You won't last a day in my clothes either, jerk."
Ren walked over him and stepped back into the street. He now looked like every other normal person there for business among many.
He followed a crowd of people to another street. It was less busy yet full with people going about normal businesses that didn't include exchanging goods for money. Troopers drove past every now and then, young men and women drove by with their wheelers, and at every corner people sat around and children happily played.
It was a life he only could have imagined, even before he became a slave at the mine.
Ren kept his head down all the time, so he didn't call attention to himself. He did the exact opposite—and it was flawless.
It was impossible to miss a young man with a black mark on his forehead, walking past in a dark green cloak and boots that young men never thought of wearing.
"Shit. Too many eyes," he whispered as wiped his forehead and he increased his pace.
'What was I thinking?'
People tapped their fellows and pointed at him. He quickly dodged into an alley when he noticed he had become too popular. One Imperial soldier that had been casually standing at the door of a tea shop got tapped by his colleague, who nodded in Ren's direction.
The soldiers rushed towards the alley.
'How do they recognize me so quickly? It's barely been an hour.'
He ran down the alley, looked back to make sure they weren't behind him. Not spotting them, he slid through a half open door of a large building, gently pushing it shut when he was in.
Inside was dark but he could hear a commotion and muffled sounds. He felt his hands around and groped in the dark until he found a door. The door opened into a corridor lit by dim lights. The corridor led down to an open door space, and through the space he could see men at a table, laughing and clinking bottles
The closer he got to the door, the louder the commotion got. Ren walked in, but instinctively retraced a few steps. He froze as pairs of eyes three tables away caught him standing at the doorway.
The men adjusted their hat as he stared, eyes focused on Ren's face for what seemed like minutes, before they all shrugged and looked away.
Ren finally could breathe. Yet the atmosphere of the room made his legs tremble and his heart leap with a familiar fear.
"Curse that trial," he cussed under his breath and walked into room.
The large room smelt of beer, spirit, man's scent, and quality tobacco smoke that made the room a bit foggy. An aged man sat near the hearth at the far corner, stringing a guitar like he had magical hands; as though his fingers had forgotten his age. He played a lively tune while men around him thumped their boots and clapped in rhythm, while some jeered while clinging mugs.
Three soldiers walked into the room from the main door just as he moved. Ren did a quick scan and tossed his face the other way.
There was no empty seat around. Ren went over to the counter where he could lean, at least until he figured out how to get out without getting caught.
"Ya love the song, lad?"
Ren turned to the older man beside him. He had caught him bobbing his head.
Ren's mouth hung open and his face drained of life when he saw the man in the Imperial guard uniform. His hands shook and he immediately shoved them into the pockets of his cloak.
"Don't see many young lads round here letting the music take 'em," the man said, eyes raking and assessing him. "But Ol' Georgie's hands could wake the dead, eh?"
Ren forced a smile and nodded too quickly. His eyes trailed back to the guitarist who was deep in the music and he caught the guards searching around. He quickly faced the bartender and exhaled shakily.
"So," the old guard started casually, "where you from?"
Once again Ren died and his pale face showed it.
The man stared at him with deep, judging eyes, like he knew something about him or there was something about Ren he wanted to expose so badly.