by J. K. Holt
Her sneakers were another problem. Bright pink, they would stick out like a sore thumb, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave them, though carrying them around was as out of the question as wearing them.
Tessa retraced her steps to a nearby dune and buried them in a shallow grave, marking them with a large conch and hoping that she could find them again when need be. She put her wet socks back in her pocket.
Satisfied, she skirted around the back of the houses until she came upon what one could roughly define as a street. The earth was hardened, rut marks cutting heavily through it as the mudded sand sprouted grasses in between. She took a moment to orient herself before following the street north. To her delight, Tess discovered pockets in the pants and stuck her hands in them, desperate for some warmth.
Tess was a nervous hummer, and she did so now, following a nonsense tune as she picked her way along the road, constantly scanning for more evidence on her whereabouts.
∞ ∞ ∞
She hadn’t gone far before she encountered her next person as he came around a corner directly in front of her. Stifling the urge to flee when he came into view, Tessa steeled herself and attempted to act inconspicuous, casting her gaze toward the ground as she kept her gait steady and sure.
“Hullo,” he spoke, and she glanced up to return the greeting as her tongue caught in her throat and she stopped mid-stride.
The man had a portly build, mottled red cheeks and thinning hair, hands by his side as he moseyed up the street. Nothing about his demeanor was particularly unusual, with one highly notable exception: the man glowed.
It was as if a subtle light emanated from him, causing the air within his immediate vicinity to ripple with a lustrous sheen. Tessa stared, attempting to make sense of what she was seeing, but nothing occurred to her. It came to her then that she had seen this before, with the men on the docks, but thought the light was playing tricks on her.
She found her voice too late and muttered a hello, averting her eyes as she began walking again. He chuckled in response, his eyes following her as she went by. It was only when she was several feet away from him that she heard his footsteps resume, drawing away. She turned slightly as she walked, glancing over her shoulder to grab one more look at him.
Yep, still glowing.
She looked at her own hands and feet, inspecting for some unnoticed aura. No such luck. At least the man hadn’t appeared to notice. But how could he not?
She was having difficulty maintaining a sense of calm throughout the intense strangeness of the encounter, and her ability to suspend disbelief seemed to have reached its limits. It was like watching an action movie in which you could accept that the hero hadn’t broken any bones in his fall from the helicopter, and you could even justify how he was able to shoot the enemy blindfolded just by his superior sense of sound, but you drew the line when he didn’t drown after a three minute underwater fight with the main baddie. At some point you had to throw your arms in the air and yell, “oh, enough already!”
Tessa had reached this point. She was ready to call bullshit on this place.
Trouble was, she didn’t think this place would care two licks if she did or not. And one way or another, it was where she was, existing, at the current moment. And she supposed this might give more weight to her being on some sort of hallucinogenic drug, so the knowledge, while not comforting, was one more fact she could use when determining what in the heck was happening to her.
She walked for an hour or so at a slow pace, seeing others only from afar as she followed the outskirts of town north. Small farms sprouted tenaciously from the inhabitable soil as the houses began to give off a feeling of neglect. Paint peeled from the doors and tiny lawns grew unkempt, while large piles of horse manure took up residence among the ruts in the road. The few people she saw were working their plots of land or hurrying, heads down, towards the bay and the center of town.
Tessa found what appeared to be a main road, double the size of the road she had been walking and paved with cobblestones, and turned south to follow it. There didn’t appear to be many answers out here- it was time to head back.
∞ ∞ ∞
She heard the market before she saw it, the cacophony of sounds growing as she made her way towards the center of town. She turned a corner and found herself at its beating heart.
The area was large, buffeted on three sides by shops and storefronts contending like spoiled children for space along the cobbled streets. A fountain stood in the center of the activity, within which a full-bosomed mermaid sat upon a low stone, back arched, arms stretched towards the sky, a jet of water spurting from her full lips.
Directly past the market lay the ocean, sparkling in vast display as ships buoyed among the waves. Boats were moored along the shore or the piers themselves, and men swarmed around them, throwing fish into large open carts before pushing their morning spoils towards the market.
Everywhere, there were people. Within the open area, various vendors and stalls sprouted without care for design, and townspeople milled among the displays, bargaining, bickering, gossiping, flowing through the space and filling it with the combined glow of hundreds. Tess watched in fascination for several moments, mouth agape, before remembering to attempt to blend in. She squinted, scanning, before plucking up her courage and joining the fray. Just as before, no one seemed to notice her as peculiar.
And as she wended through the throng, Tess noticed that the radiance emanating from the crowd appeared to grow less intense; not so much that it was changing, but that her eyes were adapting, as they might to the sun or any other light. She was finally able to focus her eyes and take in all the glorious strangeness around her.
Merchants hawked their wares as she passed by them, Tess herself scanning but not daring to stop. There was no shortage of merchandise- woven baskets sat in piles, jewelry twinkled, sundry fishing supplies were thrown over carts, hooks glinting as they spiraled in the sunlight. Oh, shoes! Tessa spied the cobbler seated next to his stall, darning a small slipper, seemingly immersed in his work. She approached slowly, attempting to appear as a detached window-shopper. He greeted her with a grunt and a nod without looking up. She surveyed the shoes- all were brown or black, several with buckles but no other ornamentation. A few pair looked as though they might fit. She reached one but stopped when she felt his eyes on her.
She looked up. “Excuse me, sir, how much are these?”
“Depends,” he replied, taking a measure of her before smiling, displaying a mouthful of stained teeth. “Barter or buy?”
“Oh, um, how much to buy?” She realized the futility of the words as they came out, given that she had not a cent on her.
“Ten coppers. Pretty thing like you though, I could let ‘em go for eight.”
She frowned, embarrassed. “Sorry, I don’t have the money.” She turned to walk away and he sighed.
“Fine, seven, but that’s as low as I’ll go, miss.”
“No, I really don’t have the money. None at all actually.”
He gave Tess a look like she was off her gourd. “Well, that’s something else. You’re the one who said buy.”
“I know, I wasn’t thinking.” She gave him an apologetic smile.
“Aright, barter then.”
“Barter?”
“Aye.” He gestured towards her head. “Might be I’d take those for them. My girl would like ‘em.”
She realized he meant her earrings- she’d forgotten she’d even been wearing any. Her fingers found them, tiny pearl studs, two in each ear. She removed both from her right ear and dropped them quickly in his outstretched hand. He pushed them around in his palm for a minute before grunting and dropping them in a front pocket of his shirt and picking up his needle, returning to his work.
Taking that as a sign that the deal was done, Tessa grabbed the shoes and ducked into a nearby alley to put them on. She fished her damp socks from her pocket and slipped them onto her feet, along with the shoes. Slightly roomy, but they�
��d do, much better than going barefoot. She also removed the two studs from her other ear and slipped them into the pocket of her stolen pants. The only currency I have left.
She found herself near the harbor but stopped before reaching the pier, where the fishmongers were now tossing their catches onto the ground for eager buyers. The briny smell made her nauseous, her empty stomach rolling with unease. She hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday, she realized; she’d been running on a mixture of adrenaline and curiosity until now. That wouldn’t likely last much longer. She doubled back and then east a bit, moving towards the other corner of the square to get away from the smell, dodging a band of small children running wild among the stands.
The aroma of bread hit her quickly, nearly bowling her over as she searched for the source of the smell, spotting a stand several feet away. Rolls, sweet breads, and pastries sat in trays, calling to Tessa’s stomach like a lover to a long at sea sailor. Her stomach growled, and she tried to decide if it was worth trading one of the two earrings she had left for a bite of food.
A head poked up above the stall, followed by the rest of a pretty, petite blonde who looked to be about Tessa’s age or a bit younger.
“Hullo!” The girl smiled. “Get you something?”
“Umm.” Tessa’s mouth watered and she attempted to stall. “I’m not sure.”
The girl gestured in front of her. “It’s all worth it, you’ve my word on that. Should have some fresh pastries coming along any minute now if you want something piping hot. Though, if you want bigger loaves, you’ll need to visit the shop- Tulla only sends out hand food to the market.”
“Right. Well, as I said, I’m not sure-”
“Oi, Emmie! Help me with these ruddy things, would ya? Burning my hands here.” A young man emerged from a nearby side street and the blonde moved to help him. He was laden down with sheets of fresh pastries, and the girl, Emmie, deftly pulled one from his hands with a towel and began prying them from the pans to drop in the display box. He set the other down on top of the stand and sighed. “Ahh, much better, that.”
Emmie grinned at him and tilted her head in Tessa’s direction. “Maybe you could help her decide?”
He glanced at Tessa and smiled, dimpled cheeks anchored in a symmetrical face with deep set blue eyes. Dark curls grew down past his ears and gave him a childlike appearance, at odds with the mischievous glint his eyes. This one’s trouble, Tessa thought, and smiled back at him despite herself.
“Help you then, miss?”
“Well, I don’t know.”
He cocked his head at her accent. “Not from these parts, are you?”
That’s an understatement.
“No, I, uh, just got here.”
He nodded. “Where from, then?”
Crap. “North of here?”
He laughed, cocking an eyebrow. “Yeah, I could’ve told ye that. Hard to go farther south.” He nodded to the sea beyond her before renewing his study of her, somewhat more skeptical than he’d been a moment before.
Oops. She was in dangerous territory now, with very little information to bluff from. Her best chance was to change the subject.
“This all looks delicious,” she ventured.
“Oh, it is. My mum makes the best bread this side of the Andules, isn’t that right, Emmie?”
“Aye, it’s true,” Emmie agreed solemnly.
Tessa hesitated, attempting to drown the petty whims of her pathetic stomach with the very real knowledge that she had only two earrings left.
The boy seemed to misinterpret her pause. “Don’t believe me, eh? I can give you a sample to try.”
Realizing that she wasn’t ready to part with an earring for food filled Tessa with guilt over leading the poor guy on.
“I’m sorry, I can’t pay. I didn’t mean to waste your time, honest, I just… it smelled so good and-”
“Can’t pay, then?” the boy interrupted, he brow creasing in confusing. “Far from home and no money? That’s a daft bit of luck.”
She snorted. You don’t know the half of it, bud. “Right, yeah, well luck hasn’t been on my side lately, so…” she shrugged and attempted a chuckle. “Thanks anyways. Maybe next time.”
She kept facing him, but began backing away. You idiot. You look like an idiot. Stop walking like that. She turned and tried to disappear into the crowd, but not before she heard him calling after her.
“Wait!” His voice carried.
Oh, crud, he’s found me out. How? What did I say?
She tried to pick up her pace, dodging between people among the crowd, but she was reluctant to actually bowl people over in her haste, and he caught up to her quickly, his hand grabbing her arm. It was gentle, and she could have pulled free and run, but instead she turned, resigned.
He was quite tall, she noticed at close range, standing almost a head above her.
“Here,” he said and offered his hand, palm up, inside of which was a croissant. “A gift, then. Welcome to Wharfton.”
She opened her mouth, but stuttered, and her hand shot out to grab the pastry before he changed his mind.
She finally found her words. “Thank you.”
“It’s nothing.” He grinned. “When you make some coppers, come find Reed’s Bakery. You could pay for some, then.”
He disappeared back into the crowd while she was staring at the food in her hand. She looked for him quickly, but thought better of returning to the stall. Her feet slowly found their way to the fountain instead.
She sat below the buxom mermaid and ate the pastry. She barely had time to register the flaky deliciousness before it was gone, and she licked the crumbs from her fingers, desperate to savor every morsel.
She sat for a moment, allowing the food to settle, grateful when the raw ache from her stomach began to fade. She reflected on how feral she must have seemed snatching the bread from the young man’s hand, and running away from him and the girl before that. “Ugh,” she muttered. “I looked like a friggin’ street urchin in front of them.”
You mean, in this crazy world you’ve stumbled into, in which all the people glow, and in which you’re likely losing your mind while you carry on a conversation with yourself?
“Oh, shut it.”
She needed a quiet place away from the crowd. She found a street to the east and followed it until the sounds of the market died away, then folded herself into a corner and pondered.
∞ ∞ ∞
Thirty minutes passed, maybe more, as Tessa sat on the dirty street and considered her predicament. She couldn’t be dreaming- there was too much nuance, too much clarity here, too many sights and sounds. She still didn’t think she was high, at least not on any drug she’d ever heard of or learned about. Other than the people glowing, which, granted, was highly weird, she’d noticed no other symptoms of any kind of intoxication. She was thinking normally, she’d experienced no other sensory hallucinations, and she had been here for at least a few hours, including the time she’d spent under the dock. That was a long time for a drug to still be effectively making all people into flashlights.
It was still possible that Tessa had just lost her mind, though the thought did force her to consider that so far insanity was much more pleasurable than her most recent reality.
She certainly hadn’t eliminated all possible alternatives, but she kept coming back around to the option that seemed most impossible; she’d somehow been transported here, to this place. Or rather, she’d transported herself. She’d done it. She’d been in that bed, in that place, and then she hadn’t.
Something about the situation spoke to her, reminding her of something from much earlier, something from childhood…. but when her mind tried to grasp onto it, the memory floated away, like the name of an old acquaintance that was right on the tip of your tongue until you tried to say it out loud.
If she could accept that she was here, really here, then it seemed logical to her that she next needed to figure out where here was. The curly headed guy had called this p
lace Wharfton, though that name hadn’t rung any bells for her. She’d taken Geography a couple years ago, and she’d gotten an A-, though to be honest, the course had been fairly simplistic and she’d spent more time than she should have studying for her other classes during the dull lectures. It was certainly possible that she’d landed somewhere else within her own reality of earth, though she had no idea who had accents like these people.
South Africa, maybe?
Oh, who was she kidding- she had no idea.
And then there was still that pesky problem of the people glowing like lightning bugs. She wasn’t sure of how that fit into her shady explanation of being transported somewhere else on earth.
One problem at a time. She needed to find out where she was, in the bigger scheme of things. And she needed to do so without making it obvious that she had no idea where she was, unless she wanted to find herself in a straightjacket, locked in a cell.
She needed to find a map.
She pushed to her feet awkwardly, stretching through the crick in her back and gaining her bearings. She followed the street further east, searching for any kind of sign or guidepost. Perhaps unsurprisingly, there were no handy “you are here” plexi-glass maps that you’d find at normal tourist traps like theme parks or historically accurate towns built to scale. Instead, old wooden signs hung every several yards, advertising shops that receded down the road, though many offered no obvious clues of the wares hidden inside.
She passed The Blind Pelican, Miller’s Tackle, Giant George’s, Sower and Sweets, and the Spilling Inn before coming to a curious sign for The Muddy Gull. The name itself meant nothing, but a roughly painted picture below the name featured a bird clutching a book in its talons. Potentially promising.
