Sorcery - 08

in #fiction7 years ago (edited)

lily.png

A few hours later they reached the fork and the first signs of people since the courier had sped past them. It was a small town that someone had cleverly named Cedar Village. It bordered a forest of Hemlock, Pines, and presumably Cedar. Nicole couldn't see much of the village since it was getting dark and she was still prohibited from seeing or using sources. That was a trick she needed to learn. As far as she could tell, Nancey didn't seem to have to perform any sort of upkeep on the spell or even concentrate at all on it.

The "roads" leading off the main road away from the fork resembled large footpaths. It looked as though other than the stables, the regular town folk didn't make use of wagons or horses.

The wider road leading off from the fork appeared to run to the sawmill, or at least what Nicole assumed to be a saw mill. They may have simply been large pole barns.

They walked down the main road, observing the houses that were several hundred feet back from the road and seemingly scattered haphazardly across a fairly large open area that was carved out of the forest.

In some of the houses candle and oil lights were clearly visible but most houses were dark, either no one was home or the inhabitants had all gone to sleep.

"So, what's the plan?" Nicole finally asked.

"We find lodging for the night, but let me do the talking." Nancey mused, "This place looks to have buttoned up early."

They approached the fork and found a couple of shingles suspended from simple frameworks. The shingles proclaimed the buildings they adorned to be the village hall and courthouse, and a post office. It was hard to tell in the darkness whether the buildings were worn down from use or disuse. Nicole was left with the impression of a town that had high hopes for growth, but just never managed.

They followed the narrower road from the fork towards Basil until they happened upon a stable and adjoining building that bore a shingle proclaiming it to be an inn. There were lights in the stables, but there was no way to tell how many horses the stables might be holding. The inn itself had a single horse tied up out front and pair of horses with an uncovered wagon.

The windows at the front of the inn allowed plenty of light to spill out into the street, but they were either frosted or too filthy to allow patrons to see out or passers-by to see in.

They walked past the first door of the inn and went through a side door that was adorned with an iron wrought sign that read Pete's Pub.

So this is where the people were. Nicole thought to herself. No one turned as they entered, there were several tables in the center of the room, but most of the patrons were at one end of the bar or sitting at tables nearest that end of the bar. The patrons were all gathered around a young stable hand. They were grilling him about the courier that had come through and no one was tending the bar.

"I'll tell you what it says!" an inebriated-looking fellow looking up from his mug proclaimed. "Ole King Armond's finally putting his foot down and getting rid of those witches for good!"

"I told you, Louie, he wouldn't say nothing about what it was, just that he had one of them writs and it had to go to the presses," the stable hand clarified.

"Fucking demons, that's what they are! I don't care if you're born from a woman, you get corrupted by sorcery, you deserve death," Louie continued to contribute. "And good King Armond knows it, too!"

"But Louie, I seen them sorcerers save people! Johnny would'a lost his arm to the sawmill if Bonnie didn't jump right in and fix 'im!" the stable hand added.

"Johnny woulda lost his life if Bonnie weren't there," another fellow addressed the stable hand.

"If Bonnie were so good, why'd she run off then?" Louie countered, raising his voice.

"Maybe she enjoyed living more than she enjoyed being right," replied a man walking in from the other side of the bar.

Louie addressed the bar-keep, "Jack! What the hell'd that courier say to you?"

"Same hogwash you've been at, says the writ means death for any sorcerers and any who house or help them. Now I'll have no more talk of it." Jack spoke with a quiet but assertive authority that no one questioned.

The group of people at the end of the bar chose that moment to disperse and take notice of Nancey and Nicole, some of them nodded as they returned to their seats or ducked past them and headed out the door. Many of the patrons left. Probably, Nicole considered, to perpetuate the gossip to their spouses and families. The rest of the patrons returned to meals at their tables or resumed quiet conversation.

"Ha! You know I'm right-" Louie began again, but Jack quickly interrupted him.

"You need to shut up and go home. I'm cutting you off." Jack addressed Louie before turning to Nancey and Nicole. "What can I do for you ladies, need drink, food, or board?"

Louie went back to staring at his drink and quietly grumbled to himself.

Nancey smiled at the proprietor and replied, "Yes! Though not in that order, if possible!"

Without missing a beat, "Well you can have them all, but you can't have the food or drink in your room, that's how you get ants." Then he eyed them dubiously as he took in their outfits, "I assume you can pay?"

To which Nancey held up a small purse that clinked when she gave it an emphatic shake.

"We've ale on tap, wine by the barrel, or spiced wine if you'd like, and a rich stew cooking in the kitchen. It's one mark for stew and drink and ten per room per night." Jack explained.

"We'll take a room, two bowls of stew, and some of that lovely spiced wine," Nancey placed the order without consulting Nicole, but given the limited selection she didn't complain.

Jack disappeared through a door behind the bar and returned with a tray in one hand bearing the bowls of stew and two glasses, in his other he held the pitcher of wine.

He placed the bowls before them and poured their wine while Nancey spilled four coins out on the center of the table. By the look in Jack's eye and by the adroit manner that he scooped the coins up and tossed them in his apron, there was something off.

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Image was my own, again. I can't tell if I'm getting better or just less picky. I'll definitely have to pay closer attention to perspective next time... bleedy colors are okay, but the center bits either needed to be smaller or the petaly bits needed to be taller. I think real artists are severely under appreciated.


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