A World Without Heroes - Brandon Mull [57]
Rachel eyed him warily. “Are you sure? If we both fall asleep, we might wake up dead.”
“We probably wouldn’t wake up. We’d just be dead.”
“No, I think you’d wake up just long enough to feel incredible pain and realize the shame of your failure.”
Jason chuckled darkly. He raised his right hand. “I’ll stay awake. I promise.” His mind flashed back to the image of Macroid tearing apart the boarhound, and he gave his head a shake. He couldn’t let himself think about what either creature would have done to him and Rachel if given the chance. “I’ve been scared straight,” he reassured her.
“Let’s decide on a punishment if either of us dozes. You know, extra motivation.”
“Besides a possible death penalty?” Jason paused, then smiled. “How about whoever messes up has to smell the other person’s socks?”
Rachel raised her eyebrows and cocked her head. “Not bad. I would have a much smellier punishment than you, but I’m not going to mess up. Okay, here it is—whoever naps while on watch has to smell the other person’s sock and stick it in their mouth.”
“You’re disgusting!”
“The punishment needs to be brutal, or it will be worthless. Remember, our lives are at stake.”
Jason sighed. “Fine. I’m not going to mess up either. If you want to eat my socks, that’s your business.”
“Is it official? Deal?”
“Deal.”
CHAPTER 9
TARK
Three days later, in the early afternoon, Jason and Rachel reached the area where the peninsula joined the mainland. The cliffs had leveled to a beach of silvery sand that mirrored the sky when moistened by waves. An oval, narrow-mouthed bay reached inland from where the peninsula and the mainland met. Beyond the mouth of the inlet desolate beaches stretched southward to the horizon.
Ever since the sea cave, Jason had remained wide awake during his watches, and he had failed to catch Rachel napping. They had felt tense on the road, since many expanses had offered little cover. Nevertheless the days had passed calmly, with no frenzied dogs, horrible manglers, or even fellow travelers passing them on the road. Their food supply had steadily dwindled however, leaving them with only enough for another day or two.
As the road meandered toward the rear of the bay, a fishing village came into view, huddled near the water. A sizable wharf with many docks projecting into the inlet stood devoid of any vessel bigger than a rowboat. A few small crafts floated in the calm harbor, rocking as fishermen slung nets. Two men sat at the end of a worn dock, holding long fishing poles and talking.
The houses in town were boxy structures painted in fading colors. Most of them looked to have been constructed from driftwood and flotsam. On many sagging porches crates and casks served as tables and stools. Plain canvas curtains hung in malformed windows. Seashells or wildflowers in colored bottles invariably decorated the sills. Atop one house a figurehead of a plump mermaid, paint peeling, leaned out over the yard. A lazy mood pervaded the town. Few people walked the street—those who did seemed to wander.
One structure in town stood out from the rest—a wide, round building with a shallowly sloped conical roof. It drew attention because it ponderously rotated like an overgrown carousel. The bizarre rotunda sat high on a slope, the farthest structure from the water.
Jason glanced at Rachel. “Our first town,” he said quietly.
“It’s almost weird to see people.”
“Nobody stares,” Jason said, “but everybody glances.”
“They seem wary,” Rachel said. “Should we check out the spinning building?” Jason nodded.
Through streets powdered with orange dust they walked up to the odd edifice. A freestanding sign posted out front dubbed the building THE TAVERN-GO-ROUND. Up close the walls whirled by fast enough that Jason wondered how anyone came or went. Since laying his eyes on the peculiar structure, he had not yet noticed it stop. A platform with a few steps led up to the moving wall. The door came by. A square-faced man leaning out called, “You want in?”
“Yes!” Jason