Otherworld: A Son of Two Realms

Chapter 63: "On the Road"

       

Jack hesitated before taking his next step. The forest abruptly ended at an artificial tree line cleared one hundred feet on both sides of the road, a defensive measure to discourage bandits. The road itself seemed out of place in this medieval world, standing as both an impressive display of engineering and art. Well-worn tan bricks lay ten feet across, stretching to the horizon in both directions. Every dozen feet or so along the road, several bricks in the middle had been replaced by red bricks embossed with the King's seal, less travelers forget on whose road they walked.

That's the road, Jack thought, staring in wonder. It was such a simple structure, something every person on Earth took for granted. Yet here, in Guildron, the roads had changed civilization, creating the first secure mass transportation system and single-handedly sustained commerce and communication in the realm.

"Do you know why the King's seal is red brick?" Alba asked. Jack shook his head. "To remind those who travel the road of the blood spilt to protect them."

Jack saw that Alba was staring at the road with the same wonder and respect as him and remembered how long it had been since she saw one. The people of Guildron certainly didn't take the roads for granted and treated each one with the same respect Jack had seen people treat an ancient church or monument. For most citizens, even Alba, the wars were still a painfully fresh memory.

"Come," Alba said, eager to continue. "We need to be off the road before nightfall."

Traffic was light; the only other travelers passed at a steady speed, anxious to keep to themselves. Alba kept her hood pulled down over her face and Jack did the same. He wondered how long it would take for news of their escape to reach the remote towns and villages along the road. Alba seemed to think the same and without a word, they quickened their pace.

The sun was touching the distant mountaintops when they finally spied Rivermill. The town was less a town and more a collection of buildings surrounded by an uneven wall of sharpened tree trunks. The story behind Rivermill's name was immediately evident in the river that ran through the center of town, turning the mill's three giant wheels. A small crowd of travelers gathered at the wall's single gate, trying to find shelter inside before the guard closed the metal portcullis for the night. Jack and Alba had no trouble slipping passed the single guard posted outside. Jack made doubly sure to keep Brigand's Bane hidden under his cloak.

Alba led them through a maze of alleyways to a small courtyard packed with carts and booths. The merchants were packing up and the crowd was already thinning as Alba approached a spice seller, who happily purchased their cinnamon.

Rufus was right, Jack thought as the merchant handed Alba a bulging purse. The cinnamon was worth a hundred times its weight in gold.

Coins jingling at her side, Alba led through back into the alleys toward the mill. "We're looking for The Crimson Trout."

"I assume that's a building?" Jack said.

"It's an alehouse where the owner doesn't ask questions."

They turned onto the next street and Jack scanned the signs hung above each building, carved with symbols for smiths and cobblers and bakers. No alehouses on this street.

A rattling of metal made Jack jump and he looked down to see a pile of rags holding a hollowed wooden cup. The pile moved and Jack saw the shadow of a hood hiding the beggar's face.

"Coins if you can spare." The beggar's voice was hollow and scratchy, his breath like wind blowing over dry sand. He jiggled his cup and Jack saw two bronze coins dance together. The man's fingers, his own visible bits of flesh, were burned and disfigured.

"Do you know where we can find The Crimson Trout?" Jack asked.

"Jack!" Alba hissed.

"Aye, I know the Trout," the beggar said. "Keep going down this alley and turn left at the well. You should hear it by then."

"Thank you," Jack said, looking up to Alba, who sighed and dug a single silver coin from the purse, flicking into the cup with inhuman accuracy.

"A fine toss," the beggar said in surprise.

"Let's go," Alba said. Jack gave the beggar a curt nod and hurried after her. "You'll get us killed."

"We needed directions," Jack said.

"Beggars talk, especially for coin."

"Sorry," Jack muttered, trudging on through the mud.

Indeed they did hear The Crimson Trout before they saw it. The multilevel building, above which a giant red fish was painted, seemed not to notice the relative quiet that had fallen over the rest of Rivermill. The entire first floor was filled with a great common room of long tables, at which every manner of traveler sat, jovially sharing stories with one another over steins of ale. Alba found them a relatively quiet corner where Jack graciously lifted his legs over the bench and rested for the first time in hours.

No sooner had they taken their seats than a burly man in a red cloth shirt and vest appeared next to them, arms crossed. "Seating's for customers only and we're all filled up."

"Every room?" Alba said, fishing three gold coins from her purse. The sight reversed the inn keep's frown.

"I could move some folks around. And perhaps some food for the hungry travelers?"

Once the inn keep had left, Alba leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes and, for the first time since Cera woke her up, she relaxed. Jack folded his arms on the table and leaned his head against them, suddenly aware of his own exhaustion. The rowdy common room slipped into the background and Jack allowed his thoughts to drift to Kate and Rufus, wondering and worrying. Jack didn't doubt that wherever Rufus had wound up, he was in little danger, especially now that he had access to magic again. But for Kate, there was much more doubt.

I'm coming for you, he thought.