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A large man was pacing in front of the tavern. Multi-cultural as the city's citizens were, he hardly stood out by his attire, even though it suggested a man from far to the North of here.
His hands clutched tightly behind his back, he pivoted on one foot when he reached one end of his route to walk back the way he had come. Seven steps from the corner of the building to just in front of the door leading into the taproom. Seven steps back. A glance into the sky.
He should have joined him here an hour ago.
He was a tall man, his bulk suggesting fat but concealing equal amounts of muscle. His bright red hair was cut short in back but left to dangle in thin braids on either side at the front. The few lines that his face had acquired yet suggested that he was faster to smile than to frown.
The tiny white dog that ran by his side whined up at him.
Looking down, the man held out a huge hand callused from many years of work with stone to the animal.
Obediently, his little friend jumped up, fitting himself nicely into the large palm.
He sighed as he brought the animal up to his face.
"What do you think, Dogmatix?" he asked. "What should we do?"
The dog yipped as if trying to answer.
"I don't figure you know what's held him up, eh?"
A slight wag of his tail was the only answer the pet gave him.
"I didn't think so."
Why did this have to happen?
He wasn't a stupid man, as such, but he liked things that were straightforward and he was very much aware that thinking through complex situations took him that much longer than it did his best friend, who was now, unfortunately, overdue.
They had come to this city trying to recover an object of particular value to a close friend and colleague of their village chief that had been stolen from him and subsequently sold. Specifically, they had come to do so because their chief had volunteered them as his two most capable warriors who were capable of handling any task put to them.
Including getting into the local Roman boss's villa, grabbing a necklace that should have been securely around the neck of a Gaul chieftain’s wife, and getting back out again, preferably without being seen or heard.
After staking out the place for a few days, playing tourists, innocently walking up and down streets and logging the habits of the people coming and going from the place, it had finally been decided that Asterix would go in alone.
Actually, Asterix had decided so, saying that this took someone small and swift, and that Obelix was too noticeable. He had refrained from saying 'fat', knowing how his best friend hated hearing that, and probably not wishing to incite an argument on the eve of an important mission like that.
Maybe, though…
Maybe he had merely misremembered his instructions and Asterix was just now sitting in their shared room, waiting for him and wondering just what had happened to him.
So maybe he should return there and see.
And if Asterix arrived here while he was gone? He couldn't just leave. He was sure that he was in the right place.
And what if something had gone terribly wrong?
*
In the end, he returned to their room late that night.
It was empty. No Asterix, not even a note.
It was hard to admit to himself that he never really had believed that he would find him – or any sign of him – here. He wanted to believe it so much, to tell himself that everything was going to be okay.
Now he was stranded here on his own, without his friend by his side to think up elaborate schemes to get their task accomplished.
That task had just shifted focus for him.
He didn't care about the chieftain's wife's necklace. He didn't care about returning home in shame if they didn't recover it.
All he cared about now was to find out what had happened to his friend, and make sure that he was safe.
Instead of sleeping, he tossed and turned in his too-narrow bed that night, pondering his options. Where to start? The villa would be the obvious choice, but how to find out what had happened. Maybe Dogmatix would be able to track where Asterix had gone. Admittedly, the little dog did best at tracking obelisks, but he was certainly smart enough to understand how dire the situation was and apply his nose to a different task… wasn't he? Some people doubted it, but he had always been convinced of the animal's skill.
This was a bad time to start doubting it. A very bad time.
They would go there, he resolved. They would go to that villa first thing in the morning and then see what they could do.
As making plans went, that was the way he did it best – let things happen and then react as felt right at the moment something happened.
Unfortunately, Asterix all too often disagreed with his solutions. But Asterix wasn't there to think up some grand scheme. His own approach would have to do.
It had to, because if they didn't …
He refused to contemplate that option.
They would, and that was that.
*
After all the observing they had done, he would have found his way to the villa blindfolded. He looked around there first, not really expecting to find anything, but hoping that he would anyway.
Since he could hardly just walk in and ask, he started walking up the street to a flower seller's stall, trying to look around surreptitiously. He couldn't count the number of times that he had been accused of being too obvious no matter how much he tried to act as if he was just another casual passer-by, looking for anything but the actual object of his attention.
He inspected the flowers and half-listened to the seller's praises of how they would be just the thing to bring home to his love, especially if he had spent the night out in the taverns.
Did he look that tired?
For a moment, he wondered if he should buy some to keep up his cover, scant as it was, but the price scribbled onto the wooden board leaning against the stall made him discard that thought.
He politely waved off, pivoted and walked back the way he had come, sniffing the air. Was that a hint of roasted boar? Someone must be cooking.
It never took a lot to make him hungry, but for once he shoved aside the idea of food, ignored the growling of his stomach, and turned his attention back to the street --
-- and sniffed again.
There was something else, under the smell of food, another smell that he was as familiar with and that brought on just as much frustration as the idea of not being able to eat.
He let his nose guide him, following the scent off the side of the road.
The smell grew stronger. He was perfectly sure now. That was the smell of Getafix' magic potion, and it was not supposed to be anywhere near this area – at least not without Asterix to carry it in his gourd.
Scanning the ground with his eyes, he noticed a round shape that was quite out of place between the leaves of some particularly large and strong looking plants. He bent down to scoop it up, noticing that he had to actually make an effort, as if the leaves and stems that had caught it did not want to let go of it.
With an anguished sound, he turned the empty gourd, staring at the cut that split it almost in half.
He looked back at the plants. If someone had spilled the potion and those plants had drunk it up, that would explain their unusual strength. Of course, the potion's effect would have long vanished by now – but then again, if it took a whole cauldron full to make the effect permanent on a boy, wouldn't a gourd full be plenty for a few plants?
"Well, at least someone has the sense to keep the area clean," a nasal voice whined behind him.
Obelix turned around, looking down at a short, thin local. At least he was speaking the local accent, which sounded funny to his ears.
While he was still fishing for an answer, the other man went on: "Those young folks just throw away their things and let them lie where they fall. Really, what is this world coming to? I bet this comes from the fight they had yesterday."
Now that caught his attention.
"A fight?" he asked.
"From the countryside, are you, boy?" the older man said instead of answering the question.
Obelix nodded. "That fight you mentioned – what was it about?"
With a scornful gesture, the other man looked at the villa. "Some little thief thinking he was smarter than the guards supposedly tried to sneak in there. Caught him, gave him the beating of his life and dragged him off to the city watch dungeons, I figure. Serves him right. Troublemakers, the lot of them! Don't you agree?"
He answered that with an emphatic nod. The city watch was, indeed, more trouble than they were worth. The rest of that information, however, was very disconcerting.
"Which direction is the city watch dungeon?" he wanted to know.
"Why? You want to try to sign up with them?" the man returned crankily.
When the answer didn't come right away, he went on: "They can sure use some help, what with all the country folk moving into town and out for trouble." His eyes travelled up and down Obelix' body. "Though I'd say you may be a bit too fat for their uniforms."
Color rose into Obelix' face as he drew himself up. "I am not fat!" he roared, raising the empty, broken gourd as if he was going to use it as a mallet.
The man paled to the same degree as the large Gaul had darkened. Diving back out from Obelix' reach, he hurriedly made his way down the street, muttering something about crazy country people.
"I'm not fat," Obelix told his dog as he calmed down again.
He felt deflated. Why hadn't Asterix drunk the potion before he had started on his plan? They wouldn't have stood a chance against him then!
Of course, he had not known how long he might have to sit and wait inside, and he may have been afraid that the effect would have dissipated by the time he had to make his escape. From that point of view, it was a lot more logical to get in without, drink it before he had to get out, and then break through any obstacle they might have put in his way.
No, the real mistake had been him, Obelix, not coming with him. That's what he had gotten out of being unsuspicious now! Thrown in the city watch dungeon!
Which he still didn't know where to find.
He turned and set out down the street towards the city center. He'd find that place. On the way there, he could think about what to do once he had found it.
*
He settled for the direct route.
When he spied an armored guard, he walked right up to him.
"Are you a city guard?" he asked.
When the helmet bobbed up and down twice, he grinned and blew the man a raspberry.
A few insults later, he found himself safely being escorted just where he wanted to go – a spear at his back, his hands loosely tied behind his back with a rope he was certain he could have broken even without his permanently potion-enhanced strength, and a satisfied smile on his face.
"There," the guard said, satisfied, as the cell door clanged shut behind Obelix. "Now you can think about proper behavior until they let you out tonight. If they remember."
Obelix nodded.
"And wipe that grin off of your face!" the guard ordered, stabbing at him through the bars with the butt of his spear.
One of his large hands shot out, grabbing the wood and holding it for a moment, just long enough to make sure the other man had realized that the only reason he could pull it back was because he, Obelix, permitted him to do so.
Then he walked over to the narrow cot and carefully stretched out on it, hoping that it would not break under his potion-enhanced weight. He hadn't seen Asterix on his way in but that didn't mean anything, really. The row was long, and he had noticed a stair leading farther down near the end of it. He'd have some exploring to do.
For now, all he could do was wait for the guard to leave. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the narrow passage between the cells. Some of the other prisoners made a racket, clamoring for more food, to be let out, yelling for someone or another, insulting each other... He tried to shut them out. At least they'd cover the noise of his breaking out.
He watched until he was sufficiently convinced that the guards did not go on regular rounds here so that his leaving his cell would not be noticed right away. While he wasn't entirely certain that he had waited long enough to be really, really sure of it, his stomach was starting to growl and he really only wanted to break Asterix out of whatever cell he was in and go back home.
He snapped his fingers against the lock instead of simply walking through the door to keep the readily visible damage as well as the noise to a minimum. Then he pushed open the door just wide enough to sidle through. By the time he had carefully pushed it closed again, he had drawn the attention of the man in the cell opposite from his.
"Hey, buddy! Let me out, too!" he hissed. "Come on!"
"How long have you been here?" he wanted to know.
"Too long!" the other man told him. "Open my door, I need to get out of here!"
Obelix considered. A mass break-out was certainly not going to go unnoticed. If he let out one, he'd have to let out the others, too.
He moved very close to the bars. "Have you seen them bring in a man, about this tall," he indicated Asterix' size, alternating between his height with and without the wings on his helmet, "blonde, mustached?"
The prisoner shrugged. "Didn't pay attention. They come and go all day here. Now either you do something about this door, or I'll call for the guards. I'm sure they'll want to hear all about your breakout."
Obelix hesitated. He still didn't want to let out the other prisoners. That'd make it impossible for him to search the place in peace.
Squaring his shoulders, he came to a conclusion.
Carefully he put his large hands on the bars of the door just by the lock and pulled it open, making sure to remain in the opening and not let the man slide past him. Next, he beckoned for the man to come closer, putting the first finger of his other hand to his lips as if to indicate silence.
As the prisoner approached, his hand shot out, connecting squarely with the man's chin.
"Sorry buddy," Obelix said as he caught the slumping figure and lowered it gently to the floor. "I have to find Asterix, and I can't have any more delays."
He stepped back out of the cell and looked around.
"You, big guy!" another prisoner called. "I'd try downstairs if I was you."
Obelix turned to look at another redhead, his hairstyle and clothing suggesting that he was a Gaul, too.
Barely resisting the urge to break that man free at least, he nodded his thanks and hurried the way the man pointed and down the stairs at the end of the corridor.
The downstairs was cold, damn and dark. He took a torch from a wall holder to see better as he made his way slowly along a corridor lined with cells that sported heavier doors and rings in the walls.
He tried not to step on any rats. They hadn't done any harm to anyone after all.
Suddenly, he stopped. Were those voices?
Creeping forward as silently as he could, he listened.
The voices were coming from above him.
"Then wake him up again!" a curt voice snapped. "Lucius Octopus is going to pay us a handsome reward if we find out who sent that man to spy on him."
Was he talking about Asterix? Lucius Octopus was the man whose villa he had intended to break into for the necklace. But why would Asterix need waking up?
He heard steps coming down another set of stairs and realized that this lower level of the prison was connected to another building or a different part of the upstairs level as well. He extinguished the torch and waited for the guard to descend all the way.
Hoping that the deep shadows playing along this corridor concealed him sufficiently, he waited, pressing himself against the wall as much as he could.
The guard wasn't paying much attention to his surroundings. He was muttering under his breath and kicking at rubble and straw on the ground as he walked.
Obelix' hand shot out, grabbing him by the collar and reeling him in, while his other hand quickly covered the guard's mouth to keep him from yelping.
"Nothing will happen to you if you don't make a noise," Obelix whispered "Understood?"
The other man nodded. Obelix felt sweat form under the hand he had clamped to his neck.
"The prisoner you were going to now – where is he?"
The guard pointed silently.
Obelix loosened his grip just a fraction. "Show me the way." He nudged him slightly in the direction he had pointed into, where a side corridor branched off from the main one.
Dragging his feet a little, the guard walked ahead, Obelix' bulk a towering, threatening presence behind him.
He stopped by a small cell in which a prisoner was chained to the wall. Most of the man was lying on the ground, but his hands were manacled to heavy rings in the wall. He was either asleep or unconscious.
"Asterix!" Obelix called out softly, hoping that no one else would hear him. "Asterix, is that you?"
He got no answer. He pushed aside the guard to get a look at this prisoner, then whirled in anger. "What have you done to him?" he roared, caution forgotten. "What did you--?"
"I didn't do anything," the guard squeaked, cowering and trying to cover his head to protect himself against the blow that never fell. "They were trying to get him to tell them who sent him, but he was already like that when I first saw him today, I swear he was!"
Obelix grabbed a handful of uniform and dragged the guard close. "Open!" he ordered, indicating the door with his free hand.
The man's hands trembled to the point of dropping his keys. He stopped to grope for it on the floor.
This was all taking too long. Forgetting what he had thought of as a brilliant idea – locking the guard into the cell he was taking Asterix out of when he left –, Obelix tore open the door and shoved the guard forward ahead of him. One good blow to the side of the head left him as unconscious as the other prisoner upstairs. As unconscious as Asterix, who was chained to the wall here, in a dark, damp cell that reeked of blood, both old and fresh.
Discarding the guard, Obelix carefully wrenched open the manacles and freed his friend's hands.
Asterix moved feebly under his touch.
"It's me, Asterix," Obelix told him, hoping he was getting through to him. "I'm getting you out of here. Don't worry."
Trying not to lose any more time, he simply scooped up the smaller man and left the cell carrying him, careful not to bump him into any walls.
He returned to the main corridor. Did he have to turn to the left or the right now?
The right, he was pretty sure.
As he sped up his steps, he strained his ears to listen for any indication that he was going to find an unpleasant surprise waiting for him upstairs.
Things remained blessedly silent, however.
He climbed the stairs, tensing his muscles to meet any attack if it came, ready to defend Asterix – who appeared to be fighting down groans of pain every now and then, further fuelling Obelix' fury – with his life if need be.
The upstairs corridor was silent. Apparently no one had dared alert the guards after the treatment he had given the first one.
Already halfway through the line of cells, he quickly turned back again. Now, the diversion of a mass breakout would work in his favor.
Tearing open the doors one-handedly, he cleared their way to freedom – that was, if they could overpower the guards by the entrance door. He was counting on them creating at least enough of a diversion for him to barge through. It was going to be hard to fend off guards while trying to protect the precious, half-unconscious burden he carried.
*
For once, his plans worked out well enough.
Better than Asterix' had, in fact, Obelix thought sadly.
He had run almost the whole way back to their lodgings, not caring about the looks he drew and hoping that the breakout would keep the guards busy enough to not go looking for them right away. They'd pack their things and leave and never mind that necklace.
Once he had arrived, however, and could no longer delay taking a good look at Asterix, he had to admit that they wouldn’t be going anywhere in the near future.
Asterix' helmet, sword and belt were gone. The remains of his black shirt hung in tatters, exposing the torn and bloody skin of his back. He could see the whip marks, evidence of the tool applied not to drive a slave to work harder, but to punish, to hurt.
To find out who had sent them.
Loyal through and through, Asterix had not talked. He was certain of that.
Asterix' eyes fluttered open when he put him down on the bed carefully.
"Obelix…." His voice was weak, defeated and held a trace of something that he heard very rarely from his best friend. Was that… fear?
Gently putting his large hand on Asterix' smaller one, careful to stay away from the wrist rubbed raw by the manacle and swollen, Obelix forced himself to smile down at the other man. "Ssh, Asterix," he said, his voice hardly more than a whisper. "You're safe now. I'm here. I won't leave you alone again." He felt a shudder run through the other man's body. "Not even if you call me fat," he added after a second's thought.
It didn't take long for Asterix' breathing to even out, suggesting that he had slipped back into sleep.
Obelix knew that he would have to do something about those wounds. He poured water into a bowl, only to realize a moment later that this was well beyond his skill.
He couldn't mess up, not when Asterix' life might be at stake!
Why couldn't Getafix be there with them?
While he was considering his options, blood from cuts torn open again on their way here was seeping steadily into Asterix' bedding.
Shaking off onsetting panic, the large Gaul washed Asterix' blood and the dungeon dirt off of himself instead, then reached into their already-meagre stash of remaining coins.
"I'll be right back, Asterix," he told the unmoving figure on the bed. "I only need to talk to the landlord for a tiny moment."
He was going to ask him to send for a druid or at least some kind of other person versed in the art of healing.
*
Obelix watched the candle burn down. He had pulled a stool over to Asterix' bed, where he had spent much of the day sitting, washing sweat off his friend's face with cool water, interrupted only by the short breaks needed to try to get him to swallow spoonfuls of broth or herbal brew, just like he’d been doing for several days now.
The healer had come and gone. He had made Obelix hold down the smaller man as he cleaned the wounds, a task that tore the big man's heart in spite of knowing that it was necessary. He had left him with a small package of herbs to boil for the brew and then taken his leave along with almost all their remaining coins.
The fever had started that night, and so far Obelix' efforts to bring it down had been in vain. Asterix still felt dangerously hot under his hands, and that healer wouldn't come back if they had no more money to pay him with. Obelix was of half a mind to go and get him back by force if he needed to.
He'd do that in the morning if nothing changed by then, he resolved.
Asterix was fighting, but it seemed as if he would lose the battle as Obelix watched over his fitful sleep.
Obelix forced his mind away from that line of thought, but it was hard, looking at Asterix' pale face, thinner now than it had been a few days ago. The fever seemed to be eating him up, and he couldn't get anything into him other than far too tiny amounts of the broth the landlord brought them and a little of the herbal brew.
His lips twitched when he thought of the landlord. He probably would have thrown them out right away when he realized they were broke, if it hadn't been for a quick, offhanded display of Obelix' strength. He sure had thought twice about that plan then.
Nevertheless, it felt like nothing more than an uneasy truce every time he faced their host.
Maybe he could sell something on the way to fetching that healer back tomorrow, to get some money.
He mentally went over their possessions, never noticing when the exhaustion of several nights spent on sick watch and only permitting himself to doze for minutes at a time claimed him.
*
Obelix woke in an utterly uncomfortable position, made worse by his girth not being the best prerequisite for sleeping with his cheek resting on a bed while sitting on a too-small stool in front of it.
He took a moment to sort his thoughts, then he jerked upright, ignoring his protesting back, his eyes darting towards Asterix.
The blonde warrior was lying on the bed peacefully now, his breathing the deep, even pattern of real sleep.
Reaching out cautiously, Obelix found his skin cooler. While still too warm to feel healthy, the dangerous heat was gone.
Asterix stirred under the touch.
"Easy," Obelix said gently. "You're safe, Asterix. I'm keeping you safe. It's all over."
Asterix moved, stopped himself with a painful sound, and blinked up at his friend.
"Obelix." His voice sounded rough and breathless. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "Obelix…"
Obelix smiled down at his friend, blinking back tears of relief. "Everything's going to be fine," he promised. "You'll be alright in a few days."
Licking dry lips, Asterix looked around until his eyes found the pitcher on the table. "Thirsty…" he rasped.
Hurriedly, Obelix poured him a cup of fresh water while his friend struggled to sit up through the pain of his torn back.
Obelix put the cup in easy reach and arranged the pillows of both beds to support Asterix as comfortably as he could. He kept his arm resting around Asterix' shoulders, providing a support for him to lean against.
Noticing Asterix' unsteady hands, he reached out for the cup with his other hand to keep the water from spilling.
"Thank you," Asterix said. A ghost of a smile flitted over his face. "I knew you'd come for me," he said.
"I should have been faster," Obelix answered dejectedly. "You got hurt because I wasn't."
Asterix let himself sag against Obelix' huge, steadfast form. "No, I didn't," he said. "I got hurt because I got careless. You couldn't have prevented it." He sighed. "And I didn't even get in to get the necklace."
"Never mind that necklace!" Obelix said, more sharply than he had intended. "It's what got us in this fix in the first place! Who cares about that necklace?"
"Yeah," Asterix agreed, his shoulders slumping even more. "You're right, of course."
But his heart wasn't in that response. Obelix could see that. He might not care a great deal about that piece of jewelry right now, but Asterix sure did.
Carefully lowering his friend back into the cushions, Obelix did some very fast and hard thinking.
"We've run out of pretty much everything," he finally said. "Food and things. I didn't want to leave you—"
Asterix forced a tired smile. "You go shopping," he said. "I'll just sleep some more. We can talk about what to do next tomorrow."
As if to confirm his words, he closed his eyes.
*
While he had no intention to go shopping – it would have been difficult without money – Obelix' feet took him to the market first anyway.
At the moment, there were two things that he knew for certain:
He had to get that necklace somehow and he had absolutely no idea how to do it.
At least he might be able to get an idea what the general mood was after the breakout he had facilitated.
The smell of roasting food wasn't exactly helping his mental capacities.
Maybe he should have taken along Dogmatix, but he had left the little canine to guard Asterix, hoping that a familiar presence in the room would soothe the injured man.
He listened in to the discussions among the shoppers, trying to distract himself sufficiently for the moment, until his mind latched on to something.
"I am the wife of Lucius Octopus and I demand that you provide me with a carrier to take home my purchases!" a sharp voice demanded.
He whirled around, trying to determine where that had come from.
After a moment's frantic search, he spotted a woman clad in precious cloth. While she had a slave to carry her parasol, she had apparently not brought anyone to carry her shopping, and taking any attention on the part of her present slave away from keeping her nicely cool appeared to be entirely out of the question for her.
He rushed over and came to a sudden stop just two steps from her. He half-bowed, both to keep his balance and by way of greeting.
"Lady," he announced with a flourish. "I am a warrior from faraway Gaul, and we know better than to let a beautiful woman carry her own purchases. If you would allow me?"
If only he could have talked that smoothly when the lady he was facing was actually pretty! The words came easily enough when he was addressing a horsefaced Roman lady like this one, but the moment he was tried to do as much as strike up a conversation with a girl he liked, he turned into a stammering, red-faced idiot.
Luckily for him lady Octopus wasn't pretty.
He had to grin at the thought, which the lady apparently took for a smile directed at her.
She gracefully indicated the large bundles.
"You may do so," she allowed.
Obelix all but pounced on the purchases, lifting up both bundles with ease. "After you, my lady."
*
They entered the villa gates without being apprehended. Apparently being in the company of the lady of the house was enough to not be questioned, even if you looked anything but a sophisticated citizen of the city.
"This one goes upstairs," the lady said, pointing at a large set of double stairs leading onto the upper floor. She was about to lead the way when something else caught her attention.
A small, fluffy cat came running through the still-open front door, fur sticking out in all directions and scratch marks along its side. Apparently, the animal was a pet, for lady Octopus stared in shock and stooped down to pick up the ruffled creature immediately.
Obelix smiled at her benevolently. "If you tell me where, I'll put this upstairs and be gone in a second. You can take care of your little darling there."
"You'd do that?" the lady said. "I haven't even properly thanked you…"
He had no interest in finding out what 'proper thanking' was supposed to look like in her opinion
"Of course," he said. "It'd be an honor to me."
She had already turned away from him and was stroking the cat's head, making little purring sounds at it that she interrupted only briefly to tell him: "Second door to the right, and close the door on your way back out."
"I will," Obelix promised, going upstairs with a new spring in his step.
He couldn't believe his luck. He was inside the villa, unsupervised. Even Asterix couldn't have done any better!
He barely managed not to whistle a jaunty tune as he turned to the right and stepped past the first door to open the second—
--and stopped dead in his tracks as he took in the room before him. This was obviously the lady's suite.
Putting the packages on the ground, he closed the door behind him carefully. What better place to start looking for a necklace that originally belonged to a woman?
A few long steps took him across the sitting room and into the adjacent bedroom. With no clue where to start, he started randomly opening drawers and closet doors, glancing in for a moment before shutting them again just as quickly.
What if Octopus had not given it to his wife? What if he had a mistress? If he'd given it to his mistress it wouldn't be here. It wouldn't even be in the house. Surely he’d given it to his—
Obelix jerked open the drawer that he had just been about to close again. A glint of light on silver had caught his attention and cut through his developing panic.
He had found it!
His hand shot out, grabbing the necklace and stuffing it into his pocket. Several other pieces of jewelry that it was entangled in came along with it. Obelix didn't care. They did need money, and this woman's husband had had Asterix tortured. He didn't care if she lost a few more decorative pieces than was absolutely necessary.
Making sure that his loot was safe and couldn't slip out without his noticing it, he returned to the door to the hallway, opening it carefully to peak outside.
No one was in sight.
He slipped down the stairs with all the grace he could muster, and prayed that the front door would not squeak and give him away. Surely he’d taken much longer than he should have, just carrying in some packages.
How would the guards by the gate react to that?
Sometimes, looking as if you weren't doing anything wrong was the best way to get away with doing just that.
He put his hands in his pockets and started whistling the same tune that he had not permitted himself earlier, trying to look a lot more confident than he felt as he sauntered down the path to the main gates.
The guards opened it for him, grinning at him knowingly. He returned a smile of his own.
Strange – the way they behaved, one could have assumed that the lady let strange men go in and out carrying her purchases and spending some time inside on a regular basis.
Once through the gates, he returned to the market place. Once he untangled the other pieces from the necklace, he would be able to buy a proper meal for himself, and something to take back to Asterix. Something better than the broth the landlord gave them. Some wild boar maybe. Wild boar soup, probably. Soup was what you fed sick people, wasn't it?
*
Some said Obelix could think better on a full stomach. Maybe that was true. In any case, it was in between bites, halfway through a roasted boar, that a realization came over him.
Lady Octopus would be sure to notice her jewelry was missing – and probably soon. Maybe she already had. They had to get away, and quickly.
Which immediately brought up the next problem. Asterix might have been better, but he certainly was in no condition to walk long distances. Certainly not at the pace needed to put enough distance between them and the city.
He needed a cart and a team then.
Obelix fingered the coins in his pocket that he had gotten for the rings that had been caught in the necklace. He might be able to get a horse and cart for that.
If his luck kept up, he might even keep some change to pay the landlord with.
*
Asterix jerked awake when Obelix barged into the room and started stuffing their belongings into their bags helter-skelter, without caring what belonged to whom.
"Obelix," Asterix said as he cautiously propped himself up on one elbow. "What are you doing?"
"Packing," Obelix returned. "I'm sorry, Asterix – we have to leave. The guards will be looking for us any moment."
He waited for a reproach that never came.
Maybe Asterix thought they were looking or them because they had broken out of prison.
Whatever he was thinking, though, he didn't share it. He merely set his face in a stoic mask and nodded. "Then get going," he said. "I'll be fine. You make sure you're safe. I'll follow."
Obelix shook his head empathically. "Oh no, Mr. Asterix!" he objected. "You're coming right with me, even if I have to carry you all the way."
"You can't outrun the guards carrying me," Asterix pointed out pragmatically.
"That is why I have a cart waiting downstairs," Obelix returned. He glanced around the room once more, making sure that he had not forgotten anything vital, then quickly reached down to pat his pocket and make sure the necklace was still there.
Asterix was struggling to sit on the edge of his bed now.
He still looked sick.
Obelix felt a pang of guilt. If he hadn't been so rash, his friend could just have rested and healed up properly, and they could have discussed what to do then.
He dropped to one knee and reached for Asterix' shoes, starting to help him into them.
"That's not necessary," Asterix protested. "I can put on my own—" he winced when one of the whip cuts in his back tore open as he bent forward to reach for them. "Never mind."
Carrying both their luggage, Obelix steadied the shorter man. The pinched expression on Asterix' face told him that he was in pain.
The climb down the stairs was a long and slow one, with Asterix clinging on to the bannister on one side and Obelix' arm on the other, his fingers leaving pale marks on the larger man's flesh.
The landlord was standing by the door, ready to present the bill.
Not willing to be kept up any longer than he needed to, Obelix put a handful of coins into his hand, hoping that it would satisfy him. Once again, he had hardly anything left now, but at least once they were away from the city they could hunt for food.
Or well, he could hunt for food in any case.
He shouldered open the door and walked out after Asterix, who did not bother to protest when he was lifted up into the cart a moment later.
Obelix tossed their bags into the back. He lingered for another moment to try and make his friend more comfortable in the hay-covered load area.
When he was sure that there was nothing else he could do to improve the situation, he climbed up onto the driver's seat.
With a smart snap of the reins, they were off, heading back home towards Gaul.
*
In spite of using the cart, they were travelling more slowly than they were used to. Asterix needed frequent breaks from the jostling in the cart. His fever was back, though not as high as before. By nightfall, he was so exhausted from pain that on some days.Obelix had a hard time getting him to share the meal
Eventually, they spent almost a week holed up in the loft of a wayhouse stable, with Obelix working in return for permission to set up camp there.
It was clear even to him that Asterix hated letting him do all the work, but reason apparently won his internal argument.
They travelled on, now sharing the driver's bench and, at times, alternately holding the reins.
Now that they were approaching their village, Asterix looked more and more defeated with every passing mile.
"What's wrong, Asterix?" Obelix asked, reining in the horses and stopping by the side of the road. "Aren't you looking forward to seeing everyone again? We'll have a great banquet and—"
Asterix shrugged. "We failed them," he said. "We were sent on a mission and we come back empty-handed."
Obelix frowned.
Then his face lit up, and he stuck his hand in his pocket, digging among the assorted things that had found their way there over the course of the last two weeks.
Pulling out the necklace, he dangled it in front of Asterix' face for a moment. "You mean this?"
He draped it around the other man's neck while his friend stared in baffled surprise.
Asterix' hand went to the object they had been sent to find. "Obelix!" he blurted out. "How did you—When--?"
The large warrior blushed. He still wasn't happy with the fact that he had forced this trip on Asterix in his condition. "Does it matter?" he asked.
A grin split Asterix' face. "No." he decided. "No, it does not matter. Now what are we waiting for? We have a banquet to attend!"