by Logan Jacobs
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Chapter 1
The road into Scranton-Barre was well-traveled, and the morning’s first traffic had already turned the snow and dirt into a muddy glop by the time our little group started to trudge toward the walls of the city. The slop sucked at our boots, and the horses snorted in disapproval. Only Barnaby the Weimaraner seemed happy with the mud, and I groaned inwardly at the thought of having to clean his fur once we made it somewhere dry.
The city itself was larger than I expected. Most of the large cities were gathered on the coasts and the further inland you moved, the smaller the cities and towns became. But Scranton-Barre, while not a rival to York or Brook Island, was quite large in its own right. The thick stone walls that wrapped around the city proper stretched into the distance, while those who couldn’t find space inside the walls had set up a second city just outside. Most of the buildings outside the wall were along the nearby river, and the scents of fish and smoke were carried along by the morning breeze.
The sign that welcomed us to Scranton left Darwin chuckling, though he refused to explain why. It looked like plenty of other signs I’d seen over the years, though most didn’t mention embracing our people, our traditions and our futures. Despite our enquiries, Darwin remained quiet on the topic of the sign until we were in the line for entrance into the city.
“There was this show set in Scranton,” Darwin explained as we inched forward. “That sign, or one exactly like it, was always shown in the credits. Now, the original was replaced but the show had so many fans that the sign was saved and moved to a mall where they could go visit and have their picture taken with the sign. I’m guessing that someone around here decided they could save a little money by using the old sign again, and most people wouldn’t even remember its significance.”
“Geez, Gramps, sometimes you come up with the most obscure stuff,” Freya said as she shook her head.
“I still don’t understand why you were laughing,” Sorcha added.
“The show was a really funny comedy,” Darwin replied. “That sign makes me think about some of the best scenes like when Michael burned his foot on a George Foreman grill.”
“That was funny?” I asked in disbelief. “Also, who is George Foreman?”
“George Foreman was a boxer for almost thirty years, and when he retired he started selling these electric grills,” Darwin explained. “They weren’t really big and you couldn’t really cook much with them, but he made a ton of money off of the things.”
“I still don’t get why stepping on one would be funny,” I mused.
“Yeah, well, you had to see it to understand,” the ex-trooper sighed.
We’d made it to the front of the line by then, and the local law enforcement studied our group for a moment. I spotted four officers, two who manned the gates and checked everyone who sought entry, one who stood a short distance inside the walls and carefully watched everyone who entered and left the city, and a woman on a nearby balcony who observed everything in and around the gates from the comfort of a rocking chair.
“Lots of police on duty,” I murmured.
“I would guess more than usual,” Darwin agreed. “Must be something going on.”
“What’s your purpose in Scranton-Barre?” one of the guards asked as his partner moved toward the horses.
Barnaby circled around the partner’s legs and wagged his tail like he’d just met his new best friend. I felt a moment of panic when I thought about all the guns we happened to be carrying at the moment, and a quick glance at Darwin showed he had the same thought. The Weimaraner somehow understood, though, and he managed to keep the second guard away from the horses.
“We’re just stopping for a night,” Sorcha replied, and I noticed her voice had dropped into the deep, soothing tones that meant she was using her magic. “We’ll pick up a few supplies and move on in the morning.”
“Oh, that’s good,” the first guard replied with a nod. The man had so much hair on his head and face that he reminded me of a bush, and the raspy voice only added to the illusion.
“What’s in the bags?” the other guard asked as he tried to shoo Barnaby away.
The Weimaraner had expertly kept the officer from getting too close to the horses, though most people who had watched the dog would have simply mistaken his maneuvers for the typical antics of a young canine. Heck, I had only just met Barnaby and I wasn’t entirely sure myself whether he did it on purpose or not, but given the training he had received with the Amish, it wouldn’t surprise me to learn that herding people was one of his lessons.
“Just supplies,” I replied as I ambled over and tried to grab the collar on the dog’s neck. “Food, blankets, that sort of thing.”
Barnaby barked happily and slipped away from me as he started another game. The second guard, an older man with a scar along one cheek and a finger missing from his right hand, scowled at the silver dog.
“Barnaby,” I hissed.
“Is that one of the dogs from Pastor?” the second guard asked as Barnaby moved behind him and wagged his tail in anticipation of my next move.
“He is,” I admitted.
“I thought they didn’t sell them to people outside the community,” the guard remarked as he studied the dog rather than the horses.
“They don’t,” I agreed as I tried unsuccessfully to grab the dog again. “Not normally. But we helped the trainer, and he offered to send Barnaby with us. He was worried that the elders would order the dog put down because he doesn’t take instruction very well.”
Another lunge on my part but the Weimaraner slipped away while he still kept the older guard between us. The dog let out another happy bark and wagged his tail as he grinned at the two humans.
“I can see that,” the guard grunted. “The ones I’ve seen before are always better behaved than this mutt.”
“Barnaby!” I finally declared in exasperation.
The dog finally stood still and cast a quizzical eye on me.
“He’s really not that bad,” I insisted as I inched toward the dog.
“They’re just passing through,” the bush man called to his partner.
The second guard glanced at the packs, then scowled at the Weimaraner again, who had inched away from me with another wag of the tail.
“Fine,” the older guard declared as he waved us through. “But you might want to stay away from the area near the Tower Block. The protesters are out in force today.”
“protesters?” Darwin asked.
“Against the train,” the older guard explained.
“Ah,” I replied in what I hoped was a knowledgeable sounding voice.
“Do you have any inns you would recommend?” Sorcha asked as we started forward.
“Try the Green Parrot, over by the station,” the bushy guard replied. “The prices are fair and the rooms are comfortable. The food’s only okay, but there are plenty of good restaurants nearby.”
“The Green Parrot,” Freya repeated. “Got it, thank you.”
And then we were into the city and moving along the busy streets. Pedestrians crowded along the sidewalks while riders and carriages moved quickly along the roads. Wider roads were paved with stones and lined with trees and even the side streets had wide sidewalks and posts for horses. Despite the recent heavy snowf
all, streets and sidewalks alike had been cleared and the city’s residents moved about their daily business unimpeded by the weather.
“Maybe we should have asked where the station is,” Freya sighed as she took in the endless streets and the maze of buildings.
“This way,” Darwin declared as he scanned the skies, then set off along a winding road.
“Do you really know where you’re going?” I asked as I walked along next to him.
“See that big puff of smoke?” the ex-trooper replied as he pointed toward a black plume that hung over a section of the city. “I’ll bet that’s from a train.”
“It’s rather dirty looking,” Sorcha noted. “Do trains always put out that much smoke?”
“The steam trains do,” Darwin explained. “It’s how they generate the power to move the train down the track. And if they’re using trains from the old museum, then they’re probably using one of the old steam engines.”
“Makes sense,” I agreed.
After a few more turns, we found ourselves near a long, one-story building that had been built atop a concrete platform. To one side, I could see the shiny rails of the new railroad that stretched away toward the city walls, and along the other side was a fenced in section with a round building. The plume of smoke came from behind the one-story building which meant it was probably something on the tracks, just as Darwin had suggested.
Of more interest at the moment, though, were the armed guards who patrolled the area around the station. They didn’t appear to be part of the local law enforcement scene, since none of them had badges or wore uniforms. But it was hard to miss the crossbows and swords they carried, as well as the baleful gazes they shot at everyone who ventured too close to the steps.
“This doesn’t look promising,” Freya noted.
“Let’s just see if they’ll tell us anything about the train service,” Darwin suggested as he started to walk toward one of the guards.
The guard we approached was a woman with denim pants and jacket, a cap with a long bill in front, a short sword on her waist and a crossbow in her hand. She watched our approach with an angry glare that would have stopped most people, but Darwin surged ahead, his own gaze hidden behind his sunglasses. I wondered if the sunglasses had some magic of their own that not only reduced the glare from the sun but the heat from such an angry look as well.
“Hi,” Darwin said cheerfully as he came to a stop in front of the woman. “We were hoping to get some information about the train.”
The woman didn’t say anything in response, and I noticed several other guards turn to look in our direction.
“We’d like to be on the train when it leaves Scranton-Barre for the first time,” Darwin continued, apparently unfazed by the woman’s stare.
“Already made the first trip,” the woman finally declared in a high, nasal voice.
“Oh,” Darwin feigned disappointment as he turned to face the tree of us. “Sorry, guys, I know I really built up this whole train ride thing. I would have liked for you to enjoy it the way I used to back in the day.”
Sorcha and I blankly stared at the ex-trooper, but Freya understood what he was attempting to do.
“It’s okay, gramps,” the rabbit woman assured him. “Maybe we’ll get another chance to ride on the train one day.”
“Before the cancer takes me?” Darwin sighed as he shook his head.
“Maybe there’s another train we can ride,” Sorcha suggested as she turned a pleading look on the guard. “Or perhaps this train will make another trip soon?”
The guard scowled, but a young man with a lock of green-dyed hair and the bowed stance of someone who spent a lot of time in the saddle ambled over. He carried a sword and crossbow as well, but his blue eyes looked more friendly than the woman’s.
“There’s another run in two days,” the young man offered. “But only those with passes are allowed on.”
“And where do we get passes?” I asked.
The man laughed, and the woman scowled even harder.
“Well, that would be at the main offices,” the man finally said. “But unless you’ve got treasure hidden in those packs of yours, you won’t be able to get a pass.”
“Main offices,” Darwin mused. “That would be at the Tower Block?”
“It would,” the man agreed. “The D.M. building.”
“And how do we find that?” the Irish mage asked.
“Back the way you came until you get to Broad Street,” the man replied, “that’s the one with the divider down the middle. Take a right. The Tower’s just a couple of blocks along. You can’t miss it. All the protesters are still there.”
“That would be the people protesting the train,” Darwin clarified.
“Yeah,” the guard agreed. “All kinds have turned out for that.”
“Why are they protesting?” Freya asked. “I thought everyone here was happy to have the train.”
The two guards exchanged a long look, but the woman finally shrugged and went back to watching the people on the street.
“Some of them are the local barge owners and the like, who think the train will take away some of their business,” the guard explained. “But most are part of the pro-Magesterium group who believes the trains are evil.”
“Ah, geez,” Darwin grumped. “Why is everything from the pre-meteorite age evil? I’m from the pre-meteorite age, and I’m not evil!”
“Welllll....” Freya drawled.
“Don’t you start,” Darwin warned
“So, is the Green Parrot nearby?” Freya asked as she winked at the guard.
“Yes, ma’am,” the guard was quick to assure her as he pointed to the small street that dead ended right behind us. “Just about a block and a half that way.”
“Maybe we can at least find a room for the night then,” Sorcha suggested.
We thanked the guards, though the woman had never uttered anything after telling us about the first successful run of the train. We turned up the street the young man had indicated, and just past the next cross street we saw the unmistakable sign for the Green Parrot Inn.
Rather than the usual hanging sign above the door, the Green Parrot had a six foot statue of the eponymous bird, painted bright green and orange, on a pedestal by the curb. I had only seen a parrot once before, but that was probably more times than the sculptor had seen a parrot. The avian that watched the street with golden eyes looked more like a bald eagle that had fallen into a vat of paint than the blue and yellow bird that had eaten nuts from my palm.
“I believe we have arrived,” Sorcha noted as she studied the statue. “Though it does look more like a bird of prey than a parrot.”
“At least the wings are tucked,” I added. “Can you imagine how big this thing would be if they had tried to do it in a more dramatic pose?”
“Parrots are not birds I usually associate with dramatic poses,” Darwin replied.
“I’ll bet it scares all the nightcrawlers away,” Freya laughed.
“That and the art lovers,” Darwin snickered as Barnaby started to sniff around the base of the statue.
“Let’s get checked in before Barnaby gets us banned,” Sorcha suggested as she tugged on the Weimaraner’s collar.
We retrieved our packs, tied the reins for the two bays to the nearest post, and then walked up the three steps to the door of the inn. As promised, the place was warm and spotlessly clean, with whitewashed walls, a gleaming floor, and a front desk that looked like it had been carved from a single slab of granite. A real green parrot perched on a thick piece of wood behind the desk where it could watch the front door as well as the dining room.
“Dog!” the bird called out as soon as it saw Barnaby.
Barnaby froze in place, then barked, obviously uncertain about how to proceed with a talking bird.
The sound drew the attention of the clerk, who emerged from a door behind the desk. The clerk looked to be about fifty, with graying hair pulled into a messy bun, a round face atop a round b
ody, a lilac colored dress that billowed around her like a sail, and a pristine apron that looked like she had just finished ironing it.
“Oh, my,” the woman murmured as Barnaby bounded up to the desk to peer at the bird.
“Sorry,” I apologized as I grabbed the dog’s collar. “We were hoping to get rooms for tonight, and I guess tomorrow night as well.”
“How many rooms do you need?” the woman asked politely as she tried to ignore the Weimaraner.
“Four,” I said quickly.
“All rooms come with a free breakfast,” the woman added as she checked her ledger. “And for an extra ten coppers, I can put you in rooms with their own bathrooms.”
“Oooh,” Freya cooed when she heard the offer.
“Um,” I muttered as I tried to calculate how much money I had left. Luckily, we hadn’t had to spend much since I had cleaned out Scott the mage at poker, but I also didn’t want to spend a lot of money on rooms since we still had months of long, hard travel ahead of us, and none of us knew what the train ride might cost.
“We’ll take it,” Sorcha quickly interceded.
“Do you have horses?” the woman asked as she took in our travel-stained clothing.
“Just outside,” I replied. “The two bays.”
“I’ll send the boy to get them,” she replied. “The stables are just around the corner. Your dog can stay there as well.”
I looked down at the muddy Weimaraner who shuddered at the suggestion.
“He’ll stay with me,” I declared.
The woman peered over the edge of the desk at the dog, who had returned his gaze to the bird.
“He’s very quiet,” I added. “And house broken.”
The woman looked unconvinced, but she tallied up the rooms and pulled four keys from the board. She waited until I had signed the ledger and paid for the two nights, then handed us the keys. She then rang a bell, and a scrawny kid with brown hair cut close to his scalp peered around the edge of the office door.
“Two horses,” the clerk declared when she spotted the youth.
“I’ll show you,” I offered as I handed the Weimaraner’s collar to Sorcha.
