Into the thinking kingdoms - Alan Dean Foster [109]
As the travelers entered the unfenced, unguarded hamlet, people looked up from their work to smile and wave. Used to encountering the occasional traveler in their mountain hideaway, they were not wary of the three men and their imposing feline companion. Their unforced greetings were, if anything, effusive.
As Knucker led them deeper into the thoughtfully laid-out community, Ehomba admired the wonderful homes and shops. None rose higher than a single story, though many boasted sharply raked roofs that accommodated spacious lofts. Every exposed beam and post, board and railing had been carved with care and attention. Crossbeams terminated in the beaked heads of forest birds. More animals than the herdsman could count leaped and browsed and slumbered and inclined graceful wooden necks to sip from pools of richly grained carved water.
There were wooden flowers in profusion, gaily painted to approximate their natural tints. The shutters that flanked open, glass-free windows were inscribed with mountain scenes, and the fences that enclosed neat yards and gardens were comprised of pickets of every imaginable style and size. Small stone wells were topped with sheltering roofs of all possible shapes, from round to octagonal.
Each shop or storefront was engraved with scenes that depicted the profession they housed. The entrance to the village cobbler’s was lined with oversized wooden shoes in several styles and varieties. A smithy boasted the unique distinction of displaying assorted iron and other metal objects carved in wood. Wooden rolls and muffins, pies and cookies outside the bakery looked fresh enough to eat. Not merely the flowers, but a great many of the other sculptures had been painted with as much skill as they had been carved.
The undersized streets that separated the storybook buildings were hard-packed earth, but the travelers kicked up no dust as they walked. The reason for this became apparent when they encountered a cluster of women bending to pick up any forest debris while pushing heavy horsehair brushes along in front of them.
“I admire their cleanliness.” Simna smiled and bowed gallantly as they passed the street sweepers. Several of the women smiled and curtsied in return. “But sweeping the dirt’s a bit much.”
“I recall another town we passed through that was obsessed with cleanliness.” Ehomba’s expression was unflappable as ever, but he was keeping a careful watch on the buildings they passed. “Do you remember? We had problems there.”
“Hoy, but this is only a little village. I wouldn’t expect to find the same kind of trouble here.”
The herdsman was unable to relax. “I do not like things that are too perfect.”
“Fine.” Bending over, Simna spat on the herdsman’s foot. “There. Something that’s not perfect. Feel better now?”
Glancing down, the tall southerner ignored the trickle of saliva. “I have been drooled on by many animals. Spittle does not make something imperfect.”
The swordsman shook his head sadly. “I hope your wife and kids are more spirited than you, Etjole, or it’s a dull, dead family life you lead for certain.”
Ehomba turned to his friend. “I am told by others that Mirhanja is among the liveliest and most engaging of women. Certainly she seems so to me.”
“Or maybe it’s just in comparison to you, bruther. In your company, a rock would appear the essence of merrymaking.”
“You are not the first to assert that if I have any faults, a sometimes overriding seriousness might be among them.”
“Might be?” The herdsman chortled in disbelief. “Hoy, long bruther, and the moon might be far away, the oceans deep, and women fickle. Yes, you might tend to the sedate just a trifle. But that’s all right—we don’t hold it against you.” He looked around at the others. “Do we, friends?”
“Not I,” professed