“We count in days—another day’s journey and then part of a second day at most, at the pace you’re going. It’s a village on the shore of a long, crooked lake. In winter it rains most days, but the summers are warm and the soil is fertile. And much of the land is as yet unfarmed.”
“Is it safe from the men in white?”
“As safe as any place in the Empire. The pass into the valley can be defended, and at the far end of the lake there’s a second valley that can be fortified against an invader. I think they’d take you in if it became necessary.”
The woman had released her daughter’s hand. The little girl ran over to Klei, who knelt down and talked to her.
“What’s your name?” he asked her.
“Lily.”
“Lily—that’s a beautiful name. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”
She smiled shyly.
“Your daughter’s made a new friend,” Ethel said to the woman.
“It’s been a long time since Lily’s talked to anyone but me or my husband. We cautioned her not to speak to strangers—there’s no telling what a child will blurt out. But she heard her father telling our story, so she knows she has no reason to be afraid of you.”
“How many days have you been on the road?”
“I lost track. And so many people were afraid of us. When we came to villages they wouldn’t allow us to stay the night, even though they were people just like us. Of course we stayed clear of towns where the Chosen had seized power.”
“How could you tell?”
“By their flag. When they take over, they fly their flag—two white stripes with a red stripe in between.”
“Did you see many flags?”
“No, and none of them recently. They’re mostly to the North. But Herman—that’s my husband—he says they’ll soon be everywhere. I hope he’s wrong.”
“I hope so, too.”
“Elizabeth,” Herman had said to his wife. “These people have invited us to spend the night at their camp and travel with them tomorrow. I think that’s a good idea. Do you agree?”
“Yes, I agree.”
And so, the following morning, Helen and Ethel, now joined by Herman, Elizabeth and Lily, had said farewell and set off for Bent Lake, while Zoë, Jon, Klei and Alf had started north on the River Road.
▲
It had taken five days on foot to Bridgetown. Late on the first day, they’d reached Pex. Its wall of wooden stakes and stone couldn’t have withstood a serious adversary, Alf pointed out. But the fortification hadn’t been constructed for defense against an army. It had been built to keep out wayfarers like Herman and Elizabeth.
Because they were dressed as Foresters, they’d been admitted at the gate and allowed to spend the night in an empty loft. Hearing of their arrival, several villagers had come to talk to Jon and were disconcerted to discover that the real leader was Zoë; however that didn’t stop them from recounting the events of recent weeks. First a troop of men in white had passed going south, and then, days later, they’d returned to the North, but now followed by a band of the Brotherhood. The men in white had ignored the village, but the Brothers had stopped to buy food with silver coins. It wasn’t the currency they were used to, with the image of the Emperor, but the silver was true, so they accepted them. “You are wise to have a wall around your village,” one of the Brothers had assured them. “Evil men are abroad. But we will be your protectors. Remember that you owe your safety to the Brotherhood.”
The villagers hadn’t known what to make of these words. To some, they’d sounded like a threat.
“Do you know anything about those people?” a man asked Zoë.
“Enough to say you’d be wise to distrust them.”
He eyed her suspiciously.
“A wise man trusts no one. Not even his neighbors.”
At Hexam Zoë had sought out her cousins; she thought it only right to explain what had happened to John, and both Stanax and Doris were shaken by the news. Doris fell to crying and Stanax, too, had tears in his eyes. John had clearly meant something to both of them, but Jon no longer had reason to be jealous. Whatever John had felt about anyone else, John had loved him—there was no way to deny that fact.
Flossie provided much the same story they’d heard in Pex about the men in white and the Brotherhood accompanying them. But the Chosen had not passed Hexam without comment. It was too important a place. They’d met with the town elders and promised they’d be returning “once we’ve restored purity to the land.”
“What did they mean by that?” Zoë asked.
“We don’t know, but it gave us the creeps.”
“They give everyone the creeps,” Alf said. “Did they say why they were coming back?”
“No—but there was another disturbing thing. While the leaders spoke with the elders, their allies rode slowly through the streets, inspecting the exterior of every house and shop. It was hard to know their purpose, but we’re certain they’re up to no good. Yet, thankfully, they, too, hurried away.”
Learning their intention to journey to Bridgetown, Stanax asked to join them, but Flossie dissuaded him, observing that, if danger was what he wanted, he’d soon find enough of it at home. Yet watching Stanax, Jon was annoyed by the way he seemed to be coming on to Klei—and also annoyed at himself for letting it bother him.
Leaving the village the next morning, Alf asked Jon why he’d been so hostile to Stanax.
“Maybe it’s not my business, but you hung there like an icicle,” he said. “What do you have against the guy? He seemed nice enough to me.”
The question touched a nerve.
“Hostile?” Jon asked. “Why’d you say something so stupid? That twerp isn’t worth anyone’s hostility.”
“My mistake. I just thought . . . but I must have been wrong.”
Jon quickened his pace. He’d felt a responsibility for Klei—that was all. And Stanax wasn’t the kind of person who’d make Klei happy. So it couldn’t have been Stanax John had come to see. It must have been his sister, who was nice enough in her way—although if she’d been a real Forester she wouldn’t have shown her feelings so openly.
▲
Beyond Hexam, the east bank was only sparsely inhabited, but on the west hamlets or clusters of houses appeared regularly. Questioning, they learned that the white-clad men had passed here without stopping, but that the Brotherhood had paused wherever a few houses clustered, sometimes cajoling with promises, other times terrifying with threats. Yet two consistent messages had been that “the days of the Emperors are over” and that “we’ll take care of you.”
“They talked like they were new lords, all puffed up with importance,” one woman said. “But you might as well give yourself up to wolves.”
On the fourth day, the road had begun to climb above the river, which grew narrow and swift. From here on, the water would be difficult to cross, and that explained the significance of the name Bridgetown. Early the next morning, they passed the last ford—although the passage would have been treacherous during high water. Beyond, the road led through farms fanning out from one village after another, with lesser ways crossing and recrossing the thoroughfare. They had entered the only populous region in the Southland.
It was the height of summer, so there was little to do in the fields. Yet, even so, the absence of laborers seemed peculiar. And they now passed few other travelers, although the road was in better repair than further south, which made its emptiness all the more remarkable.
The sun was still high when they caught sight of the city—exactly when Zoë had told them to expect it. High walls of yellow stone interrupted by a series of towers, with an elaborate gate where the highway entered. “You can’t see it from here, but there’s a bridge at the center of town,” Zoë explained. “Beyond Bridgetown, the River Road follows the right bank of the river rather than the left.”
“Why does the road cross to the other side here? Is it because of the terrain?” Alf asked.
&
nbsp; “Don’t ask me,” Zoë replied. “You just heard all that I know on the subject. I have no idea why they decided to take the road across the river here. It couldn’t have been the site of an old ford—the river is too deep. So it must have been simply the way the Emperor wanted the road to go.”
But the Emperor had not acted on a whim. Jon immediately saw that Bridgetown had been built to control the route to the South.
“There’s another gate at the north end of the town,” Zoë continued. “And the Emperor maintains both the walls and the gates and the bridge. That’s another reason the Prefect used to visit —to insure all was kept in repair, paying for the work with vouchers on the Imperial Treasury. At least that’s how John explained it.”
After mentioning her dead brother, Zoë grew silent. Jon saw that she feared she might have wounded his feelings.
“It’s wonderful,” Alf said, deliberately guiding the subject away from John. “The women build with stone in the valley, but nothing like this. See how well the blocks are fitted? And those notches along the top must be designed for archers. While we’re here, I’d like to take a good look at the walls. But if the Prefect doesn’t come, who will maintain them?”
A good question. For what was the purpose of this outpost if the Emperor no longer needed the Southland? And, given the decline of travel, the bridge itself must have lost its principal value to the Empire. No wonder the Prefect had stopped coming.
The guards at the gate looked them over, but admitted the party without question. Here at least the Forester connection forestalled suspicion. Inside the walls, the road, now the city’s main thoroughfare, passed through brightly painted two and three-story wooden buildings with upper stories projecting over the pavement. Despite the colors, Jon felt oppressed by the confinement and felt relieved when they entered the open square in the town center. Here, spanning the river on stone arches, the bridge led to a second square, larger than the first, on the far side of which a raised platform supported a stone seat framed by three columns.
“That’s where the Prefect holds his audiences—or where he used to hold them,” Zoë said. “Karl told me to look for the three columns. They stand for something, but I don’t remember what. Probably nothing very important.”
The day they arrived, the near end of the second square was being used for a market—although there was little for sale and few buyers. Zoë led them across to a red-painted door, open to a courtyard with two wooden balconies on one side and a stable on the other.
“They’ll know us here,” she said. “This has to be the inn where the Foresters stay. You didn’t see any other red door, did you? That’s the name of the place—The Red Door Inn.”
Whether they know us or not, Jon thought, it was clear they belonged in this town, for most of the men and women they’d passed resembled Zoë and her brothers—tall, with fair complexions, dark hair and blue eyes. It seemed odd, though, how few of his own age he saw; most were much older or very young. And this building that Zoë called an inn seemed deserted. Even the stable was empty, unless you counted a few sparrows.
Opening a door beneath the balconies, they found an old woman in a blue smock mopping the floor. She looked at them confusedly and then left “to fetch the proprietor.” Eventually, a heavy-set man appeared, followed by the woman, who stood behind him, peering over his shoulder. The man must have been working, because beads of sweat lay on his brow and upper lip. He smiled at them nervously, wiping his face with his left hand and his hand on his apron.
“Can I help you?” he asked, trying to appear happy to see them.
“We want to spend the night,” Zoë responded. “We’ll need at least two rooms—one for me and another for my three friends. But it doesn’t look like you have many other guests today, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”
The man looked at their faces nervously.
“Ah, yes, well, I wish I could show you a room—two rooms, that is—I’d really like to help you—I wish there wasn’t a problem at all—but the inn is closed, you see.”
“Closed?” Zoë asked. “The door was open.”
“Yes, young lady, of course, you are entirely right. The door wasn’t closed. How else could you have gotten in? All four of you—two Foresters and their friends, I’d guess—friends who dress like Foresters. But I didn’t mean closed in that sense, you see. I meant closed in that we’re no longer in a position to receive guests. Even if we wanted, it simply wouldn’t be possible.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You see, it’s our staff. They’ve all gone to fight on behalf of the Emperor, you know. So there’s just me and Ellie—and we both have duty at the walls soon—so that means there’ll be nobody here to take care of you. It’s a shame, really. This is a wonderful place when it’s full of people. Just ask Ellie. She’ll tell you. No better place in Bridgetown. But as you already noted, there’s no one here.”
“No one but us,” Alf observed.
“Of course, of course, no one but yourselves. But we had no reason to expect you, you know. Did you see anyone on the road on your way here?”
“No. At least not very many.”
“That’s just it. There’s no one on the road anymore. The Prefect hasn’t been here for two years straight and we have no reason to believe he’ll come this year or ever again for that matter. Even the merchants don’t come anymore. They used to begin appearing once the weather cleared in the spring, but last year only a few showed up and this year not a single one. It’s hard to believe—they were our regulars—full of stories about cities to the North. People flocked here just to catch a bit of conversation with them—and enjoy a taste of our ale and the fritters we serve with it. We’re known for both of them—far and wide. Best ale in the Southland, they tell us. And the fritters—there’s nothing like them. But, as you can see, no one’s drinking ale today, so an inn is a low priority item in Bridgetown.”
“But couldn’t we stay here by ourselves?” Zoë asked. “We’d pay the regular rate and we wouldn’t expect any special attention. Just give us four beds and some clean linen. We’d take care of the rest ourselves.”
“Of course you would. I never said you wouldn’t, did I? But it’s not a matter of paying or not paying—nothing of the kind. And it’s not that we wouldn’t normally be honored to have Foresters with us—Foresters and their friends,” he added, looking at Alf and Klei and nodding his head vigorously. “But we’re just about to close the place. You wouldn’t want to be locked inside, would you? And there’s not a scrap to eat in the kitchen. Even the cellar is empty. We haven’t brewed a barrel of ale since the big send-off. Ellie can vouch for that.”
“Then where do you propose we stay?”
He was taken aback by Zoë’s question.
“I really don’t know. There’s another inn on the west side of the river—not so nice as this, of course—people consider our side the better part of town, so we get a higher class of visitors, if you take my meaning. Their ale isn’t bad. I wouldn’t say it was bad at all, but there’s no comparison between theirs and ours. But I don’t have to tell you that—you Foresters have been coming here forever, and I’ve never heard of any of you staying at Wargo’s—unless we were full, and to be sure that’s happened once or twice. But he’s closing, too, from what I’ve heard. You could try Wargo’s, across the bridge and three streets down, but I suspect you’d get the same answer as here—if you can even find him.”
“And there’s nowhere else?”
“I’m afraid not. And now I’m going to have to ask you to step outside, so Ellie can finish the floor. I don’t mean to be inhospitable, but we have guard duty shortly, you understand.”
They left and returned to the square, where the last vendors were closing their stalls, selling off their remaining goods at discount. A few buyers had been waiting for this moment and went into action as soon as the sellers began calling out lower prices. Jon watched this flurry of activity; then he and the others crossed to the far s
ide of the square and sat on the edge of the platform near the three columns.
“What do we do now?” Alf asked.
“We can always go outside the walls and camp,” Zoë said. “I’m less worried about where we’ll spend the night than about what’s going on here. No one said Bridgetown would be like this. It must have changed completely since last summer.”
“We should have asked if the Chosen had been this way,” Jon observed.
“And the Brotherhood,” Klei added. “They’d have to cross here, too.”
“That’s what I thought when we set out,” Zoë said. “But now I can imagine other ways north. If they’d crossed the river at one of the fords south of here they might have found a way along the east bank. And there may be another route on the west side of the river. But the River Road is the fastest way. Anything else would lengthen the journey.”
“Then why don’t you ask someone? Klei is good at talking to strangers.”
“Only children,” Klei pointed out. Still, he slipped down from the platform and followed by Jon, walked over to a cluster of buyers who were standing around one of the last open stalls, where a girl in blue tunic was selling large rounds of bread. She wasn’t one of the townspeople who resembled the Foresters; she had light brown hair, which she’d braided and wore in a circle on the crown of her head. As they watched, she cut the last round into four wedges. A woman with a red shawl bought one, and now two men were speaking to the girl.
“Surely you can sell it for less now. A cut loaf isn’t going to last—it’s the unbroken crust that keeps it moist—and when market’s closing everyone takes off at least a farthing. More usually.”
“Everyone but me,” she said. “Why should I accept less for Mother’s baking just because you put off until the last minute. By rights, I should charge you more, for keeping me here when I could have closed up and been halfway home. And you know as well as I do that this bread won’t stale any time soon, cut or not.”
Despite the laughter in the girl’s voice, the men didn’t appear amused. One took a coin out of his pocket and placed it on the counter, and the girl pushed one of the quarter loaves toward him.
The Flight from Kar (The Emperor's Library Page 21
