A World Without Heroes
Page 45
“Do you know how we can get to Trensicourt?” Jason asked.
“You follow this road to the east, then take the northern fork when it splits. I happen to be going eastward myself. Unless you object to the company of a displacer, we could travel together. These are dangerous times.”
“We’d enjoy some company,” Jason said, looking at Rachel.
“We’ve run into some unpleasantness as well,” she added.
“There can be safety in numbers,” Ferrin said. “Fair warning: Traveling with a displacer can occasionally be troublesome. If others recognize my true nature, you could share in my unpopularity.”
“To be honest,” Jason said, “traveling with us might be risky as well.” Rachel gave him a worried look, as if concerned he might say too much. “Servants of the emperor might be hunting us.”
Ferrin clapped Jason on the shoulder. “I’m not surprised. Youthful siblings would not roam so far afield without reason. Maldor harasses everyone. He is not fond of travelers or visitors from distant lands. I am certain he has no great love for me, either. I will gladly risk traveling with you, if you will brave my company.”
“It would be nice to have a guide,” Rachel said.
“I agree,” Jason said.
“Then it’s settled!” Ferrin brushed some of the dirt from his sleeves and torso. “If I can’t trust the pair who saved my life, who can I trust?”
They set off down the eastbound road.
“How do you make a living?” Jason asked.
“I do whatever I can find. Never one thing for too long. I’ve been a sailor, a horse trainer, a butler, a merchant, an actor, a farmhand, a hired sword—you name it.”
“Sounds like an interesting life,” Rachel said.
“Too interesting, sometimes,” Ferrin replied with a grimace. “How about the two of you? What do you do?”
“We’re students,” Rachel said.
“We interrupted our studies to travel,” Jason added.
“Ah,” Ferrin said, nodding in approval. “The education of the open road. Reading about Trensicourt is no substitute for walking its streets.”
“That’s the idea,” Jason said. “Do you know why traveling is so discouraged?”
“I can speculate,” Ferrin said. “Maldor occupies this land, governing largely through officials selected from among the local populace. To discourage unified rebellion, he stifles interaction between communities. He prefers those he governs to remain divided and ignorant, especially in outlying regions far from his centers of power.”
They proceeded in silence for a few minutes.
“You have provisions?” Ferrin asked.
“Enough for a few days,” Rachel said.
“The bandits who jumped me cleaned me out,” Ferrin said. “But I won’t be a burden. They missed some money hidden in my shoe. There is a town a day’s journey from here. We’ll be fine.”
“We had bad luck in the last town,” Jason said.
“So did I,” Ferrin chuckled. “We should be all right if we keep our heads down and stick together. As we draw nearer to Trensicourt, travelers become less conspicuous.”
Ferrin kept scanning the side of the road, occasionally wandering some distance into a meadow or stand of trees to retrieve a stick. He discarded several before finding one he liked. “This may do,” he said, examining it from different angles. “The item I most regret losing was my walking stick. It was perfect. I had it capped in silver. If not for the silver they probably would have left it.” He used the sturdy, straight stick he had recovered like a staff for several paces. “Yes, this will suffice.”
Before long Ferrin picked out a walking stick for Rachel. “Try it. It conserves energy. Let your arms do some of the work.”
“Thanks,” she said.
Soon thereafter he found one for Jason as well. As the day grew warm, Jason bundled up his cloak. Ferrin began whistling tunes Jason had never heard. The warbling whistle had a broad range, and Ferrin seemed to have good pitch. Rachel whistled “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” Ferrin liked it, learned it quickly, and soon began embellishing the melody. Then he started working on a harmony to whistle along with Rachel. The first few attempts were only marginally successful, but eventually he found one that worked rather well.
Jason spotted a couple of lizards longer than his foot. They darted away when he got near them. Ferrin warned him to stay away from a metallic blue beetle trundling lazily across the road. “You would be shocked how foul they smell if you get them angry. If you tread on one, you have to burn the shoe. It’s that bad.”
They chose a spot in a little stand of trees not far from the road to spend the night, and slept under the stars.
By noon the following day they were passing farms. For a drooma a man heading into town on a wagon gave them a ride. As they bumped along the road, Jason observed the countryside. Rippling oceans of wheat and barley turned farmhouses into islands. They passed a small, fragrant, fenced orchard, where bees hummed among the ripening fruit. Then three large windmills came into view, great white sails turning slowly in the gentle breeze.
The farms got progressively smaller. Before long they could see the town. It was much bigger than the little seaside village. The buildings were sturdy wooden structures, mostly unpainted, a few of them three stories high. The main street in town was broad enough for several wagons to move side by side, and it was interrupted by several wide cross streets.
“We’ll climb down here,” Ferrin said. The farmer reined in his team.
“Thanks for the ride,” Jason said as he dropped to the road.
The silent farmer nodded, flicking his reins. The wagon lurched forward.
“I know a reliable place for food,” Ferrin said.
Jason and Rachel followed Ferrin through the door of one of the largest buildings along the main street. Inside there were half as many people as tables, and a long marble-topped bar stood empty against the far wall. “This place gets busy in the evening,” Ferrin said as they strolled up to the bar, taking seats on stools.
A heavy woman with frizzy brown hair came up, wiping the bar with a stained rag. “How can I help you?”
Ferrin leaned forward. “We want lunch, hearty portions with a bird involved.”
She nodded. “To drink?”
“Cider for me.”
She looked at Jason.
“Water.”
“Do you have milk?” Rachel asked.
“You follow this road to the east, then take the northern fork when it splits. I happen to be going eastward myself. Unless you object to the company of a displacer, we could travel together. These are dangerous times.”
“We’d enjoy some company,” Jason said, looking at Rachel.
“We’ve run into some unpleasantness as well,” she added.
“There can be safety in numbers,” Ferrin said. “Fair warning: Traveling with a displacer can occasionally be troublesome. If others recognize my true nature, you could share in my unpopularity.”
“To be honest,” Jason said, “traveling with us might be risky as well.” Rachel gave him a worried look, as if concerned he might say too much. “Servants of the emperor might be hunting us.”
Ferrin clapped Jason on the shoulder. “I’m not surprised. Youthful siblings would not roam so far afield without reason. Maldor harasses everyone. He is not fond of travelers or visitors from distant lands. I am certain he has no great love for me, either. I will gladly risk traveling with you, if you will brave my company.”
“It would be nice to have a guide,” Rachel said.
“I agree,” Jason said.
“Then it’s settled!” Ferrin brushed some of the dirt from his sleeves and torso. “If I can’t trust the pair who saved my life, who can I trust?”
They set off down the eastbound road.
“How do you make a living?” Jason asked.
“I do whatever I can find. Never one thing for too long. I’ve been a sailor, a horse trainer, a butler, a merchant, an actor, a farmhand, a hired sword—you name it.”
“Sounds like an interesting life,” Rachel said.
“Too interesting, sometimes,” Ferrin replied with a grimace. “How about the two of you? What do you do?”
“We’re students,” Rachel said.
“We interrupted our studies to travel,” Jason added.
“Ah,” Ferrin said, nodding in approval. “The education of the open road. Reading about Trensicourt is no substitute for walking its streets.”
“That’s the idea,” Jason said. “Do you know why traveling is so discouraged?”
“I can speculate,” Ferrin said. “Maldor occupies this land, governing largely through officials selected from among the local populace. To discourage unified rebellion, he stifles interaction between communities. He prefers those he governs to remain divided and ignorant, especially in outlying regions far from his centers of power.”
They proceeded in silence for a few minutes.
“You have provisions?” Ferrin asked.
“Enough for a few days,” Rachel said.
“The bandits who jumped me cleaned me out,” Ferrin said. “But I won’t be a burden. They missed some money hidden in my shoe. There is a town a day’s journey from here. We’ll be fine.”
“We had bad luck in the last town,” Jason said.
“So did I,” Ferrin chuckled. “We should be all right if we keep our heads down and stick together. As we draw nearer to Trensicourt, travelers become less conspicuous.”
Ferrin kept scanning the side of the road, occasionally wandering some distance into a meadow or stand of trees to retrieve a stick. He discarded several before finding one he liked. “This may do,” he said, examining it from different angles. “The item I most regret losing was my walking stick. It was perfect. I had it capped in silver. If not for the silver they probably would have left it.” He used the sturdy, straight stick he had recovered like a staff for several paces. “Yes, this will suffice.”
Before long Ferrin picked out a walking stick for Rachel. “Try it. It conserves energy. Let your arms do some of the work.”
“Thanks,” she said.
Soon thereafter he found one for Jason as well. As the day grew warm, Jason bundled up his cloak. Ferrin began whistling tunes Jason had never heard. The warbling whistle had a broad range, and Ferrin seemed to have good pitch. Rachel whistled “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” Ferrin liked it, learned it quickly, and soon began embellishing the melody. Then he started working on a harmony to whistle along with Rachel. The first few attempts were only marginally successful, but eventually he found one that worked rather well.
Jason spotted a couple of lizards longer than his foot. They darted away when he got near them. Ferrin warned him to stay away from a metallic blue beetle trundling lazily across the road. “You would be shocked how foul they smell if you get them angry. If you tread on one, you have to burn the shoe. It’s that bad.”
They chose a spot in a little stand of trees not far from the road to spend the night, and slept under the stars.
By noon the following day they were passing farms. For a drooma a man heading into town on a wagon gave them a ride. As they bumped along the road, Jason observed the countryside. Rippling oceans of wheat and barley turned farmhouses into islands. They passed a small, fragrant, fenced orchard, where bees hummed among the ripening fruit. Then three large windmills came into view, great white sails turning slowly in the gentle breeze.
The farms got progressively smaller. Before long they could see the town. It was much bigger than the little seaside village. The buildings were sturdy wooden structures, mostly unpainted, a few of them three stories high. The main street in town was broad enough for several wagons to move side by side, and it was interrupted by several wide cross streets.
“We’ll climb down here,” Ferrin said. The farmer reined in his team.
“Thanks for the ride,” Jason said as he dropped to the road.
The silent farmer nodded, flicking his reins. The wagon lurched forward.
“I know a reliable place for food,” Ferrin said.
Jason and Rachel followed Ferrin through the door of one of the largest buildings along the main street. Inside there were half as many people as tables, and a long marble-topped bar stood empty against the far wall. “This place gets busy in the evening,” Ferrin said as they strolled up to the bar, taking seats on stools.
A heavy woman with frizzy brown hair came up, wiping the bar with a stained rag. “How can I help you?”
Ferrin leaned forward. “We want lunch, hearty portions with a bird involved.”
She nodded. “To drink?”
“Cider for me.”
She looked at Jason.
“Water.”
“Do you have milk?” Rachel asked.
