A World Without Heroes
Page 52
“It’s very kind of you,” Rachel said.
“You can’t imagine how seldom those who know I’m a displacer treat me like a person,” Ferrin replied. “In case I wasn’t clear, you may not want to mention our friendship inside the city. It could have negative consequences. I hope we meet again.”
“So do I,” Jason said.
“I’ll create diverging trails, just in case we are being followed. You two should get underway. Crossing the valley will require much of the day. Safe journey.”
“Safe journey,” Rachel replied, giving Ferrin a hug.
Two or three hours of daylight remained when Rachel and Jason arrived at the foot of the road that climbed from the valley floor to the gates of Trensicourt atop the plateau. Neatly paved with red, square stones, the road rested on ingeniously constructed abutments braced against the face of the plateau. Jason had never witnessed a comparable feat of engineering. The precarious road was wide enough for large wagons to pass each other as they ascended or descended without bothering the foot traffic progressing along the railed walkways at either side.
By the time Jason reached the city gates atop the steep roadway, his calves burned. He felt relieved to find the great gates open wide, allowing traffic to move freely in and out. The guards at the gate, wearing feathered helmets and clutching tall halberds, paid him and Rachel no special attention as they entered.
Once through the gates they advanced up a cobblestone street overshadowed by tall, closely packed buildings. They came to a square with a fountain at the center. The majority of the water spouted from the upturned mouth of a hefty stone man struggling with armfuls of bulky fish. Lesser sprays of water issued from the mouths of the fish.
At the end of one long avenue rose a wide marble building with a golden dome surmounted by a slender spire. In the other direction loomed the castle, topped by pennants rippling in a breeze that Jason could not feel down in the square.
The crowd in the square milled about, a mixture of peddlers hawking their wares, shoppers dickering for better prices, farmers driving wagons or pulling handcarts, and an occasional fashionably appointed carriage slicing through the throng.
Jason noticed three scruffy boys dashing through the crowd, playing tag. They looked about ten years old. “Hey, come here,” Jason said to a skinny one with big ears as he dashed by. The boy reluctantly answered the summons, and his two friends took off.
“What is it?” the boy asked uncomfortably.
“Do you know the way to the Fleabed?” Jason asked.
The boy glared, eyes darting between Jason and Rachel. “Got nothing better to do than mock strangers?”
“We’re not teasing,” Rachel said. “We’re looking for Nicholas Dangler.”
“The Dangler?” the boy chuckled. “Somebody dare you to knock at his door?”
“Something like that,” Jason replied.
“Everyone knows where the Dangler lives,” the boy said. “Leastways everyone who’s ever set foot in the Fleabed. I’m not from the Fleabed myself, but I could find the Dangler’s door easy enough.”
“Two drooma?” Jason asked, taking the cue.
The boy brightened. “At your service.” Jason handed over two pellets, and the boy stared at them as if he held diamonds. When the boy awakened from his temporary trance, the pellets disappeared into a pocket. “Follow me.”
The nimble boy led Jason and Rachel away from the castle, toward the huge domed building. After traveling several blocks, they left the main avenue, soon veering to continue south beyond the enormous domed structure. They entered a maze of narrow, filthy streets and alleys. The buildings began to look like poorly stacked boxes. Furtive eyes peered through boarded windows, and lonely figures dressed in layers of worn clothing roamed the alleyways. Jason kept a wary eye on the people around them. Beneath his cloak one hand remained on his knife.
The boy led them around a battered lean-to in the mouth of an alley, where an old woman huddled behind a curtain of tattered rags. On one side of the alley a single solid building stood in contrast to the haphazardly overhanging levels on the opposite side. A gang of thin urchins scattered as Jason and Rachel followed the boy forward.
The boy stopped and pointed. “Up on the left is the Dangler’s door. Whether you knock is up to you. Will you need help finding your way out of here?”
“I think we’ve got it,” Jason said, unsure how long they might converse with Nicholas Dangler. He figured he could always hire another guide.
The boy looked up expectantly.
Jason fished out another drooma. “Thanks.”
The boy stashed the pellet away and dashed off without another word. Rachel stepped nearer to Jason. “Is this safe?” she murmured.
“Has anything been safe?” Jason replied, his eyes following the boy as he ran away. “It makes me sad to think of all the kids growing up here.”
“I can’t think about that,” Rachel said, her eyes misting up.
Jason sighed. “At least the Dangler’s door leads to a sturdy building.”
“There aren’t many in the neighborhood,” Rachel agreed. “I’m surprised this part of the city hasn’t collapsed into the alleys.”
“Let’s knock.” Jason approached the door and tapped it three times with his knuckles. The heaviness of the door dampened the sound. After waiting for several seconds, he knocked again, pounding this time.
“Maybe he’s not home,” Rachel said after a moment.
As Jason knocked a third time, locks disengaged, and the door whipped inward. A woman stood there, nearly his height, her shoulders broad, her dark hair tied back. She wore a sleeveless tunic, her bare arms plump with muscle. “What do you want?” the woman asked.
“We’re looking for Nicholas Dangler,” Jason said.
Her challenging eyes shifted from Jason to Rachel and back. “Nicholas is ill; he can’t abide visitors. If you want to commission work, I am running his enterprise. We could set up a consultation.”
“We specifically need to speak with Nicholas,” Rachel said.
“Then you should have visited years ago,” the woman responded.
“Please,” Jason persisted. “We’re strangers to this city. We really need his help. Galloran sent us.”
The woman sneered. “Your ridicule lacks invention.” She slammed the sturdy door.
“Should you have brought up Galloran?” Rachel asked.
“You can’t imagine how seldom those who know I’m a displacer treat me like a person,” Ferrin replied. “In case I wasn’t clear, you may not want to mention our friendship inside the city. It could have negative consequences. I hope we meet again.”
“So do I,” Jason said.
“I’ll create diverging trails, just in case we are being followed. You two should get underway. Crossing the valley will require much of the day. Safe journey.”
“Safe journey,” Rachel replied, giving Ferrin a hug.
Two or three hours of daylight remained when Rachel and Jason arrived at the foot of the road that climbed from the valley floor to the gates of Trensicourt atop the plateau. Neatly paved with red, square stones, the road rested on ingeniously constructed abutments braced against the face of the plateau. Jason had never witnessed a comparable feat of engineering. The precarious road was wide enough for large wagons to pass each other as they ascended or descended without bothering the foot traffic progressing along the railed walkways at either side.
By the time Jason reached the city gates atop the steep roadway, his calves burned. He felt relieved to find the great gates open wide, allowing traffic to move freely in and out. The guards at the gate, wearing feathered helmets and clutching tall halberds, paid him and Rachel no special attention as they entered.
Once through the gates they advanced up a cobblestone street overshadowed by tall, closely packed buildings. They came to a square with a fountain at the center. The majority of the water spouted from the upturned mouth of a hefty stone man struggling with armfuls of bulky fish. Lesser sprays of water issued from the mouths of the fish.
At the end of one long avenue rose a wide marble building with a golden dome surmounted by a slender spire. In the other direction loomed the castle, topped by pennants rippling in a breeze that Jason could not feel down in the square.
The crowd in the square milled about, a mixture of peddlers hawking their wares, shoppers dickering for better prices, farmers driving wagons or pulling handcarts, and an occasional fashionably appointed carriage slicing through the throng.
Jason noticed three scruffy boys dashing through the crowd, playing tag. They looked about ten years old. “Hey, come here,” Jason said to a skinny one with big ears as he dashed by. The boy reluctantly answered the summons, and his two friends took off.
“What is it?” the boy asked uncomfortably.
“Do you know the way to the Fleabed?” Jason asked.
The boy glared, eyes darting between Jason and Rachel. “Got nothing better to do than mock strangers?”
“We’re not teasing,” Rachel said. “We’re looking for Nicholas Dangler.”
“The Dangler?” the boy chuckled. “Somebody dare you to knock at his door?”
“Something like that,” Jason replied.
“Everyone knows where the Dangler lives,” the boy said. “Leastways everyone who’s ever set foot in the Fleabed. I’m not from the Fleabed myself, but I could find the Dangler’s door easy enough.”
“Two drooma?” Jason asked, taking the cue.
The boy brightened. “At your service.” Jason handed over two pellets, and the boy stared at them as if he held diamonds. When the boy awakened from his temporary trance, the pellets disappeared into a pocket. “Follow me.”
The nimble boy led Jason and Rachel away from the castle, toward the huge domed building. After traveling several blocks, they left the main avenue, soon veering to continue south beyond the enormous domed structure. They entered a maze of narrow, filthy streets and alleys. The buildings began to look like poorly stacked boxes. Furtive eyes peered through boarded windows, and lonely figures dressed in layers of worn clothing roamed the alleyways. Jason kept a wary eye on the people around them. Beneath his cloak one hand remained on his knife.
The boy led them around a battered lean-to in the mouth of an alley, where an old woman huddled behind a curtain of tattered rags. On one side of the alley a single solid building stood in contrast to the haphazardly overhanging levels on the opposite side. A gang of thin urchins scattered as Jason and Rachel followed the boy forward.
The boy stopped and pointed. “Up on the left is the Dangler’s door. Whether you knock is up to you. Will you need help finding your way out of here?”
“I think we’ve got it,” Jason said, unsure how long they might converse with Nicholas Dangler. He figured he could always hire another guide.
The boy looked up expectantly.
Jason fished out another drooma. “Thanks.”
The boy stashed the pellet away and dashed off without another word. Rachel stepped nearer to Jason. “Is this safe?” she murmured.
“Has anything been safe?” Jason replied, his eyes following the boy as he ran away. “It makes me sad to think of all the kids growing up here.”
“I can’t think about that,” Rachel said, her eyes misting up.
Jason sighed. “At least the Dangler’s door leads to a sturdy building.”
“There aren’t many in the neighborhood,” Rachel agreed. “I’m surprised this part of the city hasn’t collapsed into the alleys.”
“Let’s knock.” Jason approached the door and tapped it three times with his knuckles. The heaviness of the door dampened the sound. After waiting for several seconds, he knocked again, pounding this time.
“Maybe he’s not home,” Rachel said after a moment.
As Jason knocked a third time, locks disengaged, and the door whipped inward. A woman stood there, nearly his height, her shoulders broad, her dark hair tied back. She wore a sleeveless tunic, her bare arms plump with muscle. “What do you want?” the woman asked.
“We’re looking for Nicholas Dangler,” Jason said.
Her challenging eyes shifted from Jason to Rachel and back. “Nicholas is ill; he can’t abide visitors. If you want to commission work, I am running his enterprise. We could set up a consultation.”
“We specifically need to speak with Nicholas,” Rachel said.
“Then you should have visited years ago,” the woman responded.
“Please,” Jason persisted. “We’re strangers to this city. We really need his help. Galloran sent us.”
The woman sneered. “Your ridicule lacks invention.” She slammed the sturdy door.
“Should you have brought up Galloran?” Rachel asked.
