The Street Had No Name

Chapter 36

SOMEWHERE, In Its Own Time

Like some harbinger, the afternoon sky turned dark and foreboding. The weather came in from the south west and further added to the weight of the change given that is was blowing directly from where they were heading.

A strong gale now with sleet driving almost horizontal, prior, it had started as gusty winds from the direction of the smoke and dust and, as it increased its intensity, Vicarel could smell a dank and heavy spirit in the wind. In fact, he could smell burning and, had his experience been broader, he might have identified the unmistakable tint of burning flesh.

Andre was moving ahead in the now dark of the late afternoon and Vicarel was struggling to keep up. They were no longer moving on the Eastern base of their hills but had crossed over to the lee side as the wind started to blow and had the high ground between them and the worst of it.

The ground was dropping quite dramatically now and the hills, as this was what Peter had been thinking of them as, were now quite pronounced and in some places close to being cliffs above to the right with small ravines and abutments. Into just such an abutment Andre led them and the wind and rain lessened dramatically.

He moved to the end of the small cul-de-sac and dragged some bushes away from the canyon wall to reveal a small fissure just large enough for Andre to squeeze through on hands and knees.

Peter followed him and found himself in a cavern with natural light coming in from a number of fissures at the southern-most end; their location was made easily identifiable by the running streams of water causing miniature waterfalls with the run off disappearing behind them as the cavern disappeared into the dark beyond.

The large man made himself busy setting a fire from a neat stack of firewood against the nearest wall and soon had it roaring.

It was obvious to Peter that this place was frequently used and he assumed by Andre and possibly others of the troop. It was well provisioned with dried foods in earthen ware jars and he even had a jerky like meat stored in rough glass containers.

The Rom handed Peter a thick blanket and proceeded to strip indicating for Peter to follow suit. They soon sat wrapped in the blankets with their clothes steaming beside the fire, resting on large rocks that normally may have been seats around the hearth.

“We will be safe here Pieter.” he handed the priest a dried prune or some such and continued “This is my place. I have a number of them to retreat to if things get a little worrisome.”

The pair talked into the evening and then the night. Outside the storm was wild; angry; disturbing. The Rom had prepared a simple meal and they ate and drank their fill and sipped on a clear white liquid Andre had produced from a glass bottle with a metal clip holding a porcelain stopper. It was so strong, a single sip inflamed Vicarel’s soul. A mouthful had him floating around the scene in a warm fuzzy haze.

Andre metered the flow of this concoction telling the priest that it required learning to master and he made sure Peter drank twice as much water as the spirit. It was made from a root vegetable that Vicarel considered may have been a Yam or Potato and its manufacture and sale was one of the main income streams of Andre and his people.

The conversations were ongoing and covered a number of topics and Vicarel was glad to have the other man’s full and frank input; he fully appreciated that this was the manifestation of trust. Peter knew he would now trust this man with his life; truth was he had no choice; but he could do it now with more commitment.

Vicarel learnt more of the here and now and the troop’s place in everything.

Since the start, Andre’s people had been travellers. Movers between here and there and their skills, albeit pedestrian to the unobserved, were that of fixers. They fixed things. If something was needed, it was got, if someone was causing problems, they removed the problem; most importantly, if a Keeper needed help; well, they provided it.