Lawrence Watt-Evans - In the Empire of Shadow

Raven turned and glowered at her for a moment before remembering his manners.

“Nay, lady,” he said, “’tis but some lesser town, the local market, perchance; Starlinton be greater by far.”

“Do you know its name?” Amy persisted.

Raven shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “Who’s to know every hamlet and village?”

“I just thought you might, where it’s on the highway,” she said.

“’Tis in Shadow’s inner domain, and that’s all I wot,” Raven answered, turning his gaze forward again.

The road curved as it descended the slope, and trees grew along the verge, so that once the party left the ridgetop Amy could only catch occasional tantalizing glimpses of the town; each time an especially good view presented itself she would pause and stare, then hurry to catch up to the others.

Every time they passed a farmhouse, Amy thought it might be the outskirts of town; every time, she knew she was being foolish to be disappointed when it was not, but she was disappointed all the same.

The sky was beginning to darken, as well, and the already-thick air seemed to be growing heavier; Amy wondered if they might be caught by a storm before they could reach the town and shelter.

At last, however, one house was followed closely by another, and then another, and then by a smithy-the open-sided building with the open-hearth forge at the center was very much like those Amy had seen in historical recreations at Jamestown and Sturbridge Village, and at Renaissance fairs. The fires were banked, however, and the smith nowhere to be seen.

Three large dogs were chained just below the big bellows, however, black dogs of a breed Amy didn’t recognize; these beasts watched the party intently as it passed, obviously ready to defend the smithy against any thieves or invaders. Amy was unsure whether she heard one growling, deep in his throat; whether she did or not, none of them barked, nor made any overtly hostile move.

She could smell them, a hot, doggy smell that she did not care for. She could see muscles tense in the nearest dog’s forelegs.

These were serious watchdogs, she decided, not pets. She was careful to stay on the highway and not take so much as a single step on the smithy’s grounds.

This was hardly a warm welcome to the town she hoped to make her home. This did not appear to be the sort of place where people left their doors unlocked.

But then, most people didn’t leave the doors unlocked in Goshen, either.

Beyond the smithy was a row of houses, small and old but reasonably well-kept. Two old men sat on a bench out front of the third one, staring at the group of strangers.

Amy realized that her party must make a curious sight, with only Raven dressed in anything resembling the local garb-and at that, his velvets were the attire of a nobleman, and there was no sign of a castle or palace or manse anywhere in this town, so even he was out of place. Valadrakul wore his embroidered vest, but over an Imperial uniform, and with his hair cut short, where every other native of Faerie Amy had seen wore it long. The five Imperials were all in their gaudy purple uniforms, now somewhat the worse for wear-especially Prossie’s, with the ruined sleeves and the slashes in the side. The four Earthpeople were in old, ill-fitting slacks and T-shirts-if that; poor Pel was bare-chested.

Which probably made him the least-alien of the lot, Amy thought. And even bare-chested he was hardly intimidating; Pel Brown was no Arnold Schwartzenegger, by any means. He was taller than any native of Faerie Amy had seen with the single exception of Stoddard, but he was also pale and flabby and narrow-shouldered.

“Should we ask them for directions or anything?” Amy heard Pel ask Raven quietly.

“Nay, why trouble them?” Raven replied. “I’d sooner we sought an inn or public house, that we might eat a decent meal for once, and wash the dust from our throats, and perhaps even from our clothes. When that’s done, our hosts will surely tell us if our road’s the one we seek.”

Pel nodded, and the party marched on past the seated pair in uneasy silence. The four soldiers stopped talking, for once, and no one else spoke, neither visitor nor native.

Past the two on the bench the highway turned a corner, around an immense oak tree. From that point on the road became a street, lined with houses and shops-though the shops had none of the broad display windows Amy would have expected, and were distinguished from the houses mainly by signboards and what was behind the windows, rather than anything about the architecture. Doors and windows were all closed, many shuttered. The houses were relatively crude-rough-hewn heavy wooden corner posts and lintels exposed, the walls between the posts some sort of yellowish, not-very-smooth plaster that reminded Amy of Bavarian postcards, or beer ads, but without the traditional German decoration. Some walls were patched, some stained, some speckled with mildew or just with dirt. Not a single structure in sight stood more than two stories in height, and many were only one.

The signboards did not have writing on them, but only crude pictures-this one of a loom, that of pottery; Amy supposed, with regret, that most of the locals couldn’t read. Maybe, she thought, she could make a living teaching reading and writing-but it still didn’t bode well for quality of life here.

The highway had become a street, but it had by no means straightened out; it turned and twisted its way through the town, for no reason that Amy could see. There were no sidewalks, no front lawns, very few trees-and those trees there were were just as likely to be in the center of the street as along the side. The buildings were built wall to wall, broken every three or four houses by a narrow alleyway; most of the alleys were closed off with gates, either of wood or black iron. The whole place smelled of cooked meat and cabbage, of dust, and of urine.

The entire place should have been quaint, Amy thought, but mostly managed to be ugly, instead. She wondered whether Shadow had anything to do with that, or whether it was just the prevailing style in this world.

She also wondered whether those recreated villages and medieval towns back on Earth had been prettied up; none ever looked as ugly as this.

There were people on the street, but most of them, upon spotting the strangers, stepped aside, pressing themselves against walls or ducking out of sight completely, into doorways and alleys. No one invited conversation.

This was not, Amy decided, a friendly place-but maybe that was just as well; if people here minded their own business, then they wouldn’t bother her, once she settled in, would they?

Besides, if Shadow was the local equivalent of Hitler, every town was probably like this.

Then they rounded the next corner, and came in sight of the town square.

For a moment the party became utterly disorganized as most of the group stopped dead in their tracks, while a few-Raven, Valadrakul, Wilkins, and Marks-kept going. Ted and Susan veered to one side, rather than simply stopping; Ted began babbling quietly to himself, while Sawyer said softly, “Oh, my God.”

Amy stood and stared.

The platform in the town square was a gallows, a square perhaps a dozen feet on a side, raised seven or eight feet above the street. At either side a post rose well above the platform, supporting one end of a cross shy;beam.

Three men were hanging from the beam-three corpses, rather. At first, Amy thought that the nooses had been made with extra rope, and that that was what dangled down past the dead bare feet, but at last her mind acknowledged what her eyes were reporting-that the three men had been disembowelled, their bellies sliced open from breastbone to groin, and that those were loops of rotting intestine that dragged on the wooden planks below.