Chapter 1

A man walks down the street
It's a street in a strange world
Maybe it's the Third World
Maybe it's his first time around
—Paul Simon, “You Can Call Me Al”

Here, a desert, shining in the moon; there, a figure, walking the trail, dust rising up at each step.

The figure reached the edge of town. By the light of the pub that dominated the entrance to the town, the figure became recognizable as a man. He had rusty red hair, and eyes that flickered and danced with fire in the lamplight. He blinked, and appeared to be thinking for a second. Then he went inside, pausing to glance at the sign over the door.

“Bidens in viā...” he muttered, then laughed.

Out in the desert the sand shifted and slid into the marks his feet had left, removing any trace of his path.

In the bar, the man ordered a drink and surveyed the room. Shadows covered most of the inhabitants by design; inspecting the lights, he noticed that some clever soul had designed a sort of swivel mechanism so that they could be tilted to throw shadow, rather than illuminate. Obviously the pub's owner had no illusions about the kind of clientele he got after sundown.

A girl squeezed through the press of people and leaned on the bar, making sure to enhance her... dividends. Despite the clothes and make-up she wore, all of which shouted “negotiable affection,” the man could see that she was younger than the women her profession usually attracted.

Not that it mattered much to him, of course.

After ordering her drink, she glanced over, looked away, then looked back. Her eyes narrowed as she calculated the size of his wallet.

Deciding that it was, yea, a good size, she broke into a smile.

“So mister, what brings you to our little town of Forque? Come to ravish our ladyfolk?” She giggled horribly.

“I was getting lodgings in your fine pub.”

“Fine pub? The Fork in the Road?” Her brow creased as she tried to fit both in one mental image. “'ere mister, what's your name?”

He stared. His lips moved as if working something out.

“You can call me... Ryan.” He laughed, and a smile flickered across his face like the last rays from a dying sun. “Yes, Ryan.”

“Well, Ryan, my name is Josie. Now am I mistaken or are you traveling all by your lonesome? I thought so. We-ell... We got a special... service for newcomers, 'specially the ones traveling by themselves. Interested?”

Ryan grinned. Finally they had gotten down to business.

“Certainly, my lady. But aren't you a little...” He stopped as Josie glared. “...uncomfortable? I believe my room is ready.”

“Oh sir, I do hope you aren't trying to take advantage of a young maiden!” she said, in face of all the evidence.

Ryan finished his drink, put it on the bartop, and tossed some coins down. One landed in a small puddle of spilt drink, where it began to fizz[1]. He stood up and headed towards the stairs leading to the rooms, checking to make sure Josie was following him.

See them walking along the dark hall; Ryan's step is confident, although he has never been to this place before. See him, without much thought, grab a pickpocket's wrist as he made a grab, then press a few tarnished coins into his palm. Watch as the duo step into the room, watch as the door closes softly, and listen for the sound of a lock sliding into place.

Make sure you watched and listened carefully, for there was nothing more to be seen or heard until the next morning.

[1] The drinks of Forque are well-known for being virulent, in as many ways as chemicals can be mixed to intoxicate the human system. The one Ryan was drinking, for instance, couldn't be served in a metal mug[2].
[2] Well, it could, just not for very long.