A World Without Heroes
Page 51

After Jason climbed the tree to procure a bunch, Jason and Rachel each ate a fruit, chasing them down with long sips of water. Jason recalled eating a bubblefruit hybrid at the Repository of Learning. The hybrid had tasted superior to the natural fruit. It seemed so long ago.
After abandoning the horses, Ferrin had suggested they forsake the main road to confuse any unfriendly pursuers. The diverging path wound through hilly country of heather and flowering weeds interspersed with mountainous bushes Ferrin called oklinders. The biggest oklinders rose over a hundred feet high and spread nearly twice as wide, the dense, spindly limbs abounding with dark, glossy leaves nearly all the way to the center.
Ferrin had explained that near the center of any oklinder hung moist white bulbs larger than watermelons, which were considered delicacies. Despite the delicious juice inside, few had the will to harvest them, because they were typically guarded by venomous thorns and colonies of aggressive wasps.
As they journeyed, Ferrin taught Jason and Rachel how to forage. They gathered nuts and berries, and used their crossbows to shoot bigger rabbits than Jason had ever seen. Each shot was carefully chosen, as they only had a single quarrel for each crossbow and could not afford to split one against a stone.
“Tomorrow we should see Trensicourt,” Ferrin predicted, munching on a bubblefruit. “I will not be able to enter the city with you.”
“Why not?” Rachel asked.
“Too many men in that city would prefer me dead. Years ago I was beheaded within those walls, part of a group execution. They failed to recognize I was a displacer. I feigned death for most of a day, trusting the word of a friend. The friend lost her life restoring my head to my body, and I only barely escaped. Trensicourt can be a delightful city, with enough money and the proper connections.” He gave a wry smile. “But offend a nobleman over a woman, and the city turns on you.”
“Then we’ll part ways?” Jason asked.
“Nonsense. I’ll not lightly abandon fine traveling companions such as yourselves. Besides, I still owe you for saving my carcass. Unless you intend to remain in Trensicourt. I was under the impression this was a temporary visit.”
“It should be a short stay,” Rachel affirmed.
“Then I will await you in the first town north of Trensicourt, at an inn called the Stumbling Stag.”
“How long will you wait?” Jason asked.
“Until the sea dries into a desert,” Ferrin said.
“Be serious,” Rachel said.
“How about a fortnight?” Ferrin proposed.
“A what?” Jason asked.
“Two weeks,” Rachel supplied.
“Should be long enough,” Ferrin said. “If you do not join me, I will move on. Might I ask your business in Trensicourt? I am familiar with the city. Perhaps I could be of service.”
Jason glanced at Rachel. They had not yet disclosed their true mission to the displacer.
“We’re looking for a man named Nicholas,” Jason said. “He once worked closely with Galloran. We can’t share more particulars, because the information could endanger you.”
Ferrin grinned. “I love intrigue. But by all means, if you feel it is necessary, keep your secret; I’ll trust your judgment. Nicholas, you say. You can’t mean old Nicholas Dangler, the weapons master?”
“We might,” Rachel said. “Did he know Galloran?”
Ferrin frowned. “That is a name to mention with care, especially in Trensicourt. Yes, old Nicholas is a fallen nobleman. His family was heavily favored by Galloran. But once Galloran failed to return from his quests, the aristocracy turned on his favorite pets. If you want Nicholas Dangler, you’ll need to inquire around the Fleabed, the poor district near Southgate.”
“People in Trensicourt don’t like Galloran?” Jason asked.
“The people?” Ferrin asked. “The people adore him. There was never a more popular prince, and his disappearance has lionized him, turned him into a myth. It’s the current aristocracy who despises him. Never openly, mind you. They try to spread rumors to undermine his memory, and they have studiously ruined those who were once his staunchest supporters.”
“Good to know,” Rachel said.
“Take care in Trensicourt,” Ferrin advised. “Its politics are cutthroat. With little warning the city can become most unpleasant.”
Early the next morning Trensicourt came into view as the threesome topped a ridge. From the elevated position they gazed out over a lush valley of cultivated farmland crisscrossed with watercourses, hedgerows, and low fences of piled stones. Across the valley loomed a long, sheer plateau, crowned by the walls and towers of Trensicourt.
“Amazing,” Jason breathed.
“It’s a real city!” Rachel exclaimed.
The imposing city wall ran along the brink of the plateau, with square guard towers spaced at increments along the mighty granite rampart. A buttressed road doubled back and forth from the valley floor up to a yawning gate. Behind the wall rose the tops of buildings, some flat, some domed, some gabled, and overshadowing the entire scene soared the lofty towers of a proud castle. The rising sun cast a rosy glow over the landscape, glinting warmly off glass and gilded spires.
“I will draw no closer to Trensicourt than this,” Ferrin announced.
“Thank you for guiding us,” Rachel said. “We’ll meet at the Stumbling Stag.”
“If we don’t get decapitated,” Jason added.
Ferrin peered back the way they had come. “I’ve had a persistent feeling that we’re being followed. I generally trust my intuition in these instances, but I’ve encountered no direct proof. Either our tracker is supremely talented, or my intuition has deserted me. In either case hurry to Trensicourt. The gates close at sundown. Don’t dally, and watch your backs in the city.”
“We’ll be careful,” Rachel promised.
Ferrin bent down and pulled off his shoe. From inside he removed two pellets, one gold, the other silver. “You’ve been paying my way and feeding me,” Ferrin said. “I would have helped more, but the robbers took my copper and bronze. You may have need for gold and silver in Trensicourt. Either is worth enough to serve as a tempting bribe.”
“We can’t take this,” Jason said.
“I insist,” Ferrin said, waving a dismissive hand. “If you have no occasion to use it, bring it back to me. I’ll feel better knowing you have it, and you will owe me nothing should you spend it.”