A World Without Heroes - Brandon Mull [80]
“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.”
“It’s very kind of you,” Rachel said.
“You can’t imagine how seldom those who know I’m a displacer treat me like a person,” Ferrin replied. “In case I wasn’t clear, you may not want to mention our friendship inside the city. It could have negative consequences. I hope we meet again.”
“So do I,” Jason said.
“I’ll create diverging trails, just in case we are being followed. You two should get underway. Crossing the valley will require much of the day. Safe journey.”
“Safe journey,” Rachel replied, giving Ferrin a hug.
Two or three hours of daylight remained when Rachel and Jason arrived at the foot of the road that climbed from the valley floor to the gates of Trensicourt atop the plateau. Neatly paved with red, square stones, the road rested on ingeniously constructed abutments braced against the face of the plateau. Jason had never witnessed a comparable feat of engineering. The precarious road was wide enough for large wagons to pass each other as they ascended or descended without bothering the foot traffic progressing along the railed walkways at either side.
By the time Jason reached the city gates atop the steep roadway, his calves burned. He felt relieved to find the great gates open wide, allowing traffic to move freely in and out. The guards at the gate, wearing feathered helmets and clutching tall halberds, paid him and Rachel no special attention as they entered.
Once through the gates they advanced up a cobblestone street overshadowed by tall, closely packed buildings. They came to a square with a fountain at the center. The majority of the water spouted from the upturned mouth of a hefty stone man struggling with armfuls of bulky fish. Lesser sprays of water issued from the mouths of the fish.
At the end of one long avenue rose a wide marble building with a golden dome surmounted by a slender spire. In the other direction loomed the castle, topped by pennants rippling in a breeze that Jason could not feel down in the square.
The crowd in the square milled about, a mixture of peddlers hawking their wares, shoppers dickering for better prices, farmers driving wagons or pulling handcarts, and an occasional fashionably appointed carriage slicing through the throng.
Jason noticed three scruffy boys dashing through the crowd, playing tag. They looked about ten years old. “Hey, come here,” Jason said to a skinny one with big ears as he dashed by. The boy reluctantly answered the summons, and his two friends took off.
“What is it?” the boy asked uncomfortably.
“Do you know the way to the Fleabed?” Jason asked.
The boy glared, eyes darting between Jason and Rachel. “Got nothing better to do than mock strangers?”
“We’re not teasing,” Rachel