The Wounded World

The Village At The End Of The Path

"Wake up. Wake up. Wake up," was the general sound of the music that woke Quin a few hours later. He opened one eye to see an incredibly cheerful John bending over him, and reached out to swat the hand that was poking his chin.

"Wake up. Wake up. Wake up." John chanted, ignoring Quin's growls of irritation. If John didn't shut up soon, he was going to wish he hadn't decided to jump through the Door so thoughtlessly.

"So, I thought we could poke around for a couple of hours and then make it up to Meriym's for lunch." John had moved away from the bed and seemed to be rummaging through the backpack. Quin rolled his eyes as he watched John pull out a toothbrush.

"I want to go to the town hall," John continued, "and find out where all the people around here are from and why they came and what they all do around here all the time. They must have some kind of economy, right? Which means they must have trade, because as far as I can tell this planet is relatively useless for anything."

Quin grunted.

"And I know how much you love Meriym," he turned and raised his eyebrows three times at Quin, "so that would make a nice midday break, and then we can pop through the Door to somewhere else to help us solve our mystery of the missing father." On the last five words he made his voice deep and dramatic.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Quin sighed. A voice inside his head was calling him stupid repeatedly, for getting himself into this. Now he and John had been gone for over twenty-four hours, and the Committee members had to be having multiple cows simultaneously and then dying so they could roll over their graves. Synchronized, probably. It could be a new sport. Synchronized grave rolling.

He stood. This was good. Soon the blood would start flowing again and he would be... well, awake.

Then someone knocked on the door. His sleepiness immediately vanished as his muscles tensed and his brain called all limbs to action.

"Good morning!" Madam Barooth's voice called. "I brought you up a breakfast."

Quin relaxed a little as John went to pull open the door.

"Croissants!" John exclaimed. "And tiny pats of butter! And toast! And jam! This is wonderful! Thank you!"

"You are very welcome. I got it from the best baker in town. We hope you enjoy it and your stay here. Please let me know if you need anything at all." She turned and closed the door behind her.

John carried the tray over to Quin.

"You can have the boring bread," he said. "I'll have these delectable croissants. Mmmm, heavenly."

Taking a deep breath, Quin ate the two slices of toast in four bites. He then stuffed everything John had pulled out of the backpack back in, and strode towards the door. "Meet me downstairs," he said tersely, and shut the door behind him.

Madam Barooth was at the front desk. She shrank a little as he stalked forward.

"You have tours of this town?" he asked.

"I can get one for you!" she exclaimed. "Give me five minutes."

Quin waited in the empty front room of the hotel; John came down a few minutes later.

"I was right," he said. "That chocolate croissant was positively delectable. Too bad you don't eat sugar."

Quin only scowled.

Not a minute later, Madam Barooth scurried back into her hotel. "Timothy will take you around the town. He's only a teenager, but he knows the history of the town by heart. He'll be leading us one day, I know it! He's waiting for you outside."