Chapter 2

Now Zeus was a womanizer
Always on the make
But Hera usually punished her that Zeus was one to take
—Cake, “When You Sleep”

It was morning.

Ryan got out of bed, what was left of it, anyway. He walked over to the rough window, unbarred the heavy wooden shutters, and opened them. Light, red as a battlefield, streamed in from the bloody sunrise.

He narrowed his eyes in the glare. “What are you thinking, lady?” he asked under his breath, apparently to the morning sky. Surveying the street[1], Ryan plotted the day out in his mind.

Back on the bed, a lump stirred.

Ryan turned.

“Rise and shine, darlin',” he said.

Josie yawned.

“What time is it?” she asked.

Ryan looked at the sky again.

“Looks like it’s around nine,” he replied.

Josie yawned again.

They breakfasted in the pub on a hearty[2] meal of what the morning barkeep called “sausage pudding.”

Thirty minutes later, Ryan stepped out of the pub into the smother of the desert. He heard the door open and shut behind him and heard footsteps padding up behind him.

He turned, and in the light of day saw that Josie, underneath the traditional costume of her profession, was actually decently attractive. She had long, sun-bleached blonde hair, penetrating green eyes, and the deep tan that all who live in the desert acquire.

For a second, Ryan was taken back. Then he recovered, smiled, and asked if, so long as she had no other plans, would Josie mind showing him around town?

Josie looked at him suspiciously. It was, after all, a town one could cross in about five minutes. If you ran and were unobstructed, you get from one side to another in maybe thirty seconds. Nevertheless, she agreed, although it would, of course, cost extra.

Ryan smiled again.

Josie noticed that, at some point, he had strapped a sword to his back.

“Where’d that come from?” she asked, pointing at the scabbard.

“What?” Ryan glanced where she was pointing. “I’ve… Always had this.”

Josie shrugged. Idiots who carried swords and didn’t know how to use them were soon… Cut down to size.

A minute later Josie had led him to the blacksmith.

“I’ll be right out,” he said, and stepped inside.

It took a second for his eyes to adjust. Once they had, he could see the dark shape laboring in front of an oven. Ryan could feel the heat on his face from where he stood.

He glanced around until he found a bell, with a sign stuck to it saying: “Ryng for Serviss.” Ryan rang it.

After a little bit the dark shape stopped whatever it was doing and sidled over to the counter.

“’Ello,” he said. “Can I help ye?”

“I certainly hope so. Do you have a grindstone around?”

“O’ course we do, lad. S’right over there, in the corner.”

Ryan glanced over. There was a dark shape that had a circular aspect to its shadow.

“Thank you, Mr., er…?”

“Serviss, lad, just like on the sign.” The figure, still cloaked in darkness, moved back to the oven.

Ryan pulled his sword out in an easy, practiced motion and strode over to the grindstone. He began turning the handle until it was going fast enough. Then he held the edge of his sword to the spinning stone.

After two seconds of the sparking, screeching sound the blacksmith ran up.

“What do ye think ye’re playing at!?” he shouted above the sound.

Ryan paused, and looked over.

“It’s all rust, lad, ye can’t sharpen it,” Serviss said kindly, now he thought he was dealing with someone simple.

Ryan stopped sharpening his sword, and turned around. Something in his eyes made Serviss stand back.

The blade swung around in a wide arc, nearly decapitating Serviss, but ending up safely sheathed, back on Ryan’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” he said solemnly. “How much will that be?”

“Er… Free?”

“That’s very kind of you,” Ryan said, and left the dark tent.

After he was gone, Serviss breathed a sigh of relief. He started to turn, but a small sound caught his ear.

As he watched, the top of one of the sturdy, foot-thick, hard-as-stone wooden pillars keeping the tent up started slipping sideways. He looked closer, and saw that there was a perfectly smooth cut going straight through it. And then, because even when astonished and enraged the human brain retains some instinct for self-preservation, he ran just as the tent started to collapse.

Back outside, Ryan rejoined Josie.

She looked at him out of the corner of her eyes, and then asked, “Where to next?”

Ryan paused in thought. He looked up at the sky, then turned his head all around to take in everything around them. He glanced at the ground, then looked back at the sky. He appeared to reach a decision.

“I think it’s time for me to move on,” he said. “How much will that be?”

“Uh… That’ll be 37 flecks[3],” she said, sounding mildly surprised.

Ryan dug into one of his pockets and withdrew some coins.

“Here’s forty,” he said, “keep the change.”

“Thanks, mister.” Now Josie appeared to be making up her mind. “Er… Where are you headed?”

Ryan glanced along the road. “Next town over,” he said.

“Oh, you mean Scrod? Y’know… I got some fam’ly there. I could show you the way, if you like. It’ll cost you, of course.”

“Of course,” said Ryan. “I’d be very happy for you to come. Anything you want to get before we go?”

Josie shot a look at the pub. For just a second, a strange expression appeared on her face. Then it was gone.

“Nah,” she said. “Let’s go.”

[1] Forque, after all, was not a big town.
[2] In the manner of a true pub breakfast, it still had the ventricles.
[3] The local currency. Origins forgotten.