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135 Smokemont Riding Stable Road Cherokee, NC 28719 828-497-2373 Website Smoky Mountain Riding Stables (GSMNP) 1720 East Parkway Gatlinburg, TN 37738 865-436-5634. Clone Jutsu to get +1 levels. You see, it's pretty straightforward at this point. Next I got:. Ninjutsu - Tree Climbing Training: D7S1 Totally failed that one. Such is the way of things as a low level player. Do a lot of D-Rank missions until you run out of stamina for today. Don't be afraid to charge chakra using stamina. It's often better to spend the little extra and succeed at a.

Theroad more traveled, part v.

The jug had a light mottled bluebackground, and inch-tall purplish-red letters of strange shape, withsmaller green letters underneath the main inscription.

“Four... S-spear – no, that's a'T' – and then 'eight'?” I thought.

The links of the last reddishcharacter straightened out, such that they became clearer, and myerror became obvious.

“Forty-chain!” I spat. “Nowwhat... El Serpente? What?”

As the jug passed, I noted a definitehierarchy among the black-dressed imbibers. All of them wore strangedomed hats of near-shapeless consistency, with droopy brims androunded peaks. The resemblance to stereotypical 'hills' wasastounding, and the drunken 'ardor' of these men was more so. 'Trashed' wasn't nearly a strong enough adjective to describe theiralcohol-sodden state.

The 'chief' – he was known thuslyamong his familiars – then turned toward me. His menacing glarewas mostly hidden by his droopy and dark dust-stained hat, but still,I could feel his irate rage. This man would not bark like a dog whendrunk, I knew; instead, he would behave as an unreasoning enragedamalgam of every mean drunk I had ever encountered.

Unlike those people, however, this manwas armed to the teeth. Two revolvers, one dangling from each hip inheat-checked leather holsters, were supplemented by a slunglarge-bore rifle and a huge knife hanging from a belt-scabbard. Ithen looked closer, and saw those were the man's obvious weapons.

He had more – and less obtrusive –engines of death and destruction hidden in his clothing.

After another pull on the jug, hebrought forth a dark colored 'stick' about four inches long. Thislumpy object gave off a profound aura of crudity, and when he lickedit carefully with a long and snake-like tongue, I wondered if he wasadmiring the flavor.

“That thing looks a little like theleavings of a dog,” I thought.

The man went with his dampened'dog-turd' toward a smoldering campfire, and knelt down near theglowing coals. The 'stick' in his hand, he reached toward areddish-orange flickering mound and placed one end of the stick amidthem. A faint plume of smoke came from first the lit end, then theother – and then slowly, with exaggerated care, the man brought theunlit end toward his smoke-hidden face. He then turned.

“He's s-s-smoking that thing,” Igasped.

The thick gray billowing clouds thatenveloped his upper half seemed a call to all the creatures of thenight, for as I watched, the darkened sky turned a hazy shade of redstreaked with a darkened 'no-color'. This last invaded first the'chief's' eyes, then the eyes of their followers, and finally, theeyes of their foul-smelling mounts.

“M-mules?” I gasped.

The reek of these animals was beyondimagination, and their fractious nature seemed subsumed by the odorsof what might have been another jug of forty-chain applied liberallyas an equine lubricant. They rode off to the north in the night downa gravely 'road' perhaps wide enough to cope with a freighter'swagon, and their near-soundless travel seemed to hide them amid thedarker secrets of the land in which they were traveling.

Here and there in the velvet-likedarkness, I saw small 'accumulations' of hazy lights, most of whichwere stationary, and a few of which moved in a slow fashion. Therewas little noise, at least at first, until the 'road' came closer toone of the sources of stationary light.

The first intimation of peculiaritycame when a green flaming streak flew up from the light-source to archigh into the air before falling slowly some further distance away. As the streak vanished, I heard the bang of an obvious weapon, and Iwaited.

Something else of important naturewould happen very soon.

Another such flaming green streak shotskyward, then a third – and as the second gunshot came to my ear, averitable torrent of green streaks shot up in a crazy fountain overthe course of several seconds.

“What am I seeing?” I thought, asI heard the third gunshot.

The answer came but a second later asthe roar of an obvious automatic weapon pounded on my ears. Thecolumn of horsemen seemed to give it no heed, or so I thought untilone man spoke in a low whisper that carried far beyond my ears.

“Crazy Pancho,” he muttered.

Yet the attitude of the others, whilemouthing a similar sentiment regarding 'Pancho's' profligateexpenditure of ammunition, thought much otherwise as to the weaponfiring it – and only Pancho's unwillingness to sell and maintainsuch weapons kept them from owning one or more examples.

“Is that it?” I thought, as thedream began to 'fade' unto a deeper and darker shade of blackness. “Does Pancho...”

I blacked out entirely, and only awokewhen my bladder truly nudged me.

“What was that dream?” I thought,as I wiped myself after using the 'privy'. “Who were those people? Did they ride n-north, or was it south, or was it even here?”

I had gone to the privy barefoot forsome reason – an over-full bladder figured heavily into themaelstrom of thoughts in my sleep-shuttered mind – and when Ireturned to where my boots and stockings lay, I noted somethingprofoundly different about them.

“They seem to be moving,” Ithought, as I reached for my revolver. “Did something get inthem?”

With revolver in hand, I nudged thenearer of the two boots. A faint hissing noise came from inside, andI drew back. I looked around, and wondered if there were snakes inthe area. The boot resumed moving, and I went around to retrieve mysword.

I used the flat of the unsheathedblade to knock over the boot, and this time, there was no hiss. Theboot shook, then with a sudden bounding spring, a hideousblack-striped scarlet 'bug' leaped out with claws held high andstinger whipping around crazily.

“Oh,my,” I gasped, as the boot shook further. “What is thatthing?”

The 'scorpion' - familiar as to shape,if not color or size – then saw the blade of my sword and lungedwith its stinger thrashing side-to-side. I twitched the blade, andthe bug fell thrashing to the ground in two pieces. It continuedthrashing for some seconds, even while I nudged the boot again.

As if nothing had happened, another'scorpion' lunged out. This time, I did not waste time; I sliced itin half mid-body, and tapped the other boot.

“How many of those stinkers arethere?” I thought, as a third 'scorpion' lunged out of my otherboot to nearly impale itself upon the blade of my sword.

After cutting the third such 'bug' intwo – bug number one lay still, number two was still thrashingfeebly, while number three had barely gotten the message and wasstill trying for all it was worth – I used the sword to nudge bothboots and stockings out to where I could pick them up.

I had to slice two more 'scorpions'once I had done so, and now wondered if my boots were safe to use. I sheathed my sword, then used pincers to grasp the boot nearest me,thinking to upend it carefully over the fire. I was about to beginshaking it out when I heard yawning from the tent behind me.

“Cold boots?” asked Gilbertus.

“N-no,” I said. “There werethese big nasty red-and-black bugs in them, and...”

“We're in the waste, then,” saidGilbertus. “I told the others to tie their footwear off the groundso those things don't get in them.”

As if to admonish me toward greatercare, another example of bug dropped out of my boot and flew into thesmoldering coals of the fire.

“Now watch,” said Gilbertus. “They call those things firebugs, and not just on account ofwhat they have in their tails.”

The 'bug' moved perhaps two inches,then curled up in a ball and burst into flames with such virulencethat I leaped back to dodge the distillate-like fireball and pall ofblack smoke.

“What gives?” shouted Lukas.

“He left his boots on the ground,”said Gilbertus.

“Now how...”

Lukas stopped in mid-sentence, thensaid, “he'd already gone to bed afore you went to tell him.” Abrief pause, then, “how is it you knew about those things?”

“I had this weird dream,” I said,“and when I got up, for some reason I used the privy withoutputting on my boots. I come back to them, and notice they'retwitching...”

“That's firebugs, all right,” saidLukas. “Now how many of those things were in or on them?”

“Uh, five before I brought this bootover,” I said. I held it by the heel with the mouth down, andslapped it hard.

Three more 'scorpions' fell out, andthis time I backed away in time, or so I thought when a fourth oneflew out and jumped toward the nearest tent. Lukas had his knife outand impaled the bug the instant the 'scorpion' landed, then pitchedit into the fire to add to the smoke-billowing holocaust.

“Are these things even safe towear?” I asked.

“That one should be,” said Lukas. “If you have some Geneva, put a small cup in that boot and put iton the buggy-seat for a little while, then shake it out good when weleave.”

“Uh, the Geneva poisons the bugs?”I asked.

“I'm not sure if those things canbe poisoned,” said Lukas. “I am sure they don't hold on verygood when they're pickled.”

I doused the boots in Geneva aftershaking them both out a final time, and when we were about to leave,I shook them out again.

No less than four more'trashed-looking' 'scorpions' fell out.

“How many of those things did youget?” asked Karl, as I doused my boots again. I would ridebarefoot for a while, as I did not wish 'scorpions' in myboots.

“Uh, I'm not sure,” I said. “Why,do you know about them?”

“Only what my uncle told me,” saidKarl. “He said that they were common in the mining country, andone wanted to tie one's shoes and boots off of the ground.”

“And put strong drink in them,”muttered Kees. “That's the only good use for forty-chainbrandy that I'm certain of.”

“What does that do?” I asked.

“It makes them turn loose so you canshake them out,” he said. “Only burning kills those things.”

While there were questions for Keesbefore we started, there were none for me and why I was riding withstockings only. About half an hour out, I heard a muttered oath frombehind, and turned to see Lukas dumping more 'scorpions' outof my boots.

“Do we need to get someforty-chain?” I asked.

“I am not certain,” said Gabriel. “I meant to tie up your boots last night, but I fell asleep beforeI could do so.”

The woodlots that we now encounteredseemed positively dessicated, with sparse grass showing gray-green inclumps in the areas around watering troughs. This grass seemeduncommonly well-gnawed, as did the yet-sparser greenery in the wideheath-covered 'swales'. These last gave the terrain an undulatingcharacter, and the gentle rolling of the High Way but added to it.

Farmsteads seemed scarce, even iftraffic-rutted side-roads were not, and about two hours after settingout we were passed by a postal buggy. I suspected we would see butfew more of such vehicles, and when we came to a small town about anhour later, I noted the buggy jacked up with its wheels off in theshade of a tile-covered alcove next to a postal hostel.

I tried shaking my boots once westopped, and nothing came out. I was about to put them on when Ifelt a strong 'hitch'. I went for my tub, and reached the aquavitjug.

“Now I did not think o' that,”said Lukas. “I dosed those things with enough Geneva that Kees ishunting some up in that Mercantile.”

“Uh, there's still something inthere,” I said. “Are those firebugs poisonous?”

“Aye, they are,” said Lukas. “That's the other part what gives them their name, is what happensif they plant that spike in their tails.”

“What happens?” I asked.

“The pain is terrible,” saidLukas. “I've heard tell it can kill, it's so bad, and more thanone person has entered a monk-house when they got over being spiked.”

“Uh, why?” I asked.

“They thought they were being cookedfit for Brimstone,” said Lukas, “and when they didn't go up insmoke, they thought they'd been warned twice too many times.” Abrief pause, then, “it isn't like it was long ago, when one had tolive a blameless life without cease or stint.”

“They had to, uh, prove their..?”

“Aye, and there isn't much that goesfurther that way than becoming a friar, or so most think,” saidLukas. “I know better now.”

“What is it you know better?”asked Karl. He had two full jugs, and both of them smelled of beer.

“What's a better proof of goodliving,” said Lukas. “I thought living in a monk-house was untilwe came out of the second kingdom.”

“What is better, though?” askedKarl.

“I would not speak of it asbeing better,” said Kees. He had two jugs also.

“What, then?” asked Karl.

“Being given to that pendant,”said Kees. “I am not sure if I can compare it to much else, and Idoubt if it is all that wise to do so.”

“Those jugs?” asked Lukas.

“They had some Geneva,” said Kees,“as well as some aquavit. I purchased some of both.”

“Uh, forty-chain?” I asked.

“I'd try dousing those things withaquavit first,” said Kees. “I'm not certain what has happened tome, but I seem to be learning things I was never taught, either athome or at school.”

I poured a small cup of aquavit ineach boot, then put them in the front of the buggy prior toremounting Jaak. Within moments of resuming travel, I heardmuttering coming from behind, and I turned to see Lukas tossinganother 'scorpion' using his knife.

“Is it working?” I asked.

“I have no idea how those thingskeep coming out of your boots,” said Lukas, “but that aquavit isgetting to them. This is the second one I've poked since you lastdosed your boots.”

“Is that a curse?” I thought.

To my complete astonishment, I knewbeyond all reason it wasn't but seconds later. There wassomething about sweaty footwear that firebugs found veryattractive, such that it drew them from considerable distances; andmore, such bugs were fond of each other's company, so much so thatthey 'broadcast' their finds of a boot nature.

“Hence, if one bug finds a sweatyboot..?” I thought.

“Every such bug within 'hearing'distance comes 'running',” said the soft voice, “and the same forfood, shelter, and water.”

“Broadcast?” I asked.

“Firebugs have well-developedolfactory senses,” said the soft voice, “and more, they have awide variety of pheromones with which to communicate with oneanother. The 'smelly boot' pheromone is especially potent, with only'fresh meat' and 'water' having greater range.”

“What kind of range?”

“Your boots had about half thefirebugs in that woodlot,” said the soft voice, “and a goodlyproportion of those of the surrounding area were in transit. Miners,though – those people have especial trouble.”

“Uh, how?”

“Near-unending darkness in the minesprovide firebugs with almost unlimited opportunities for travel, andhence they are not limited by their lack of speed,” said the softvoice. “There were bugs two miles away that smelled the pheromoneemissions, and those first bugs smelled your boots at over a hundredyards.”

“And the bugs?” I asked.

“The 'die-hards' are finally beingovercome by the fumes of aquavit,” said the soft voice. “Anotherdose in an hour, and by noon the bugs will be entirely gone.”

I was glad of the frequent stops, evenif a lack of footwear made for 'tender feet', and when I poured afresh dose of aquavit in each boot, Lukas was glad.

“They've been mighty scarce the lasthalf hour,” he said, “and I've been thumping those boots regularso as to get them out.”

“You spoke too soon, Lukas,”muttered Gilbertus, as he shook out a dampened 'scorpion' of unusualsize and then trod it thoroughly into the ground. “That one wasabout ripe.”

“For exploding?” I asked.

“Those don't explode,” saidGilbertus, “but they can start fires on their own if they're ripeenough.”

The idea of 'incendiary scorpions'upwards of four inches long was not a pleasant one to contemplate,and at our next watering stop, I thought to shake my boots further. This time, nothing came out, even when I used Lukas' pole, and Ithought to put them on.

The cool damp sensation I felt upon mytoes seemed an uncommon harbinger of hell's arising in the form ofburning pain, and I thought to remove my foot and pray first. I putmy hands around the lower portion of my right boot, and 'aimed' itsopen 'mouth' out away from the others and toward a dessicated copseacross the road.

Within seconds after beginning prayer,I felt as if not completely present, and the boot squirmed crazily inmy hands, much as if it were alive. It bucked like a pistolrepeatedly, even when I continued praying, and only when it became'still' did I notice the heat. I then opened my eyes.

A narrow fan-shaped area stretchingnearly fifty feet in length was blackened with soot, while severalsmall fires blazed furiously amid a faintly oily scent mingled withthe nauseating reek of aquavit. I looked at my boot, and now knewbeyond all doubt it was clear of vermin. I then looked around.

“Where did everyone go?” I askedfeebly.

“Behind the watering trough,” saidSepp. “I had no idea you had fireworks in your boots.”

I did the same with the second boot,and when I opened my eyes, I had trouble believing what had happened.

“That c-copse is gone, and the wholearea looks like it was burnt to a crisp,” I murmured.

“'Taint half of it,” mutteredLukas. “I've never seen such bugs as what came out of your bootsthen, as they were trailing fire and smoking like falling stars, andthat was the bugs. There were other things, too.”

“Other things?” I asked.

“I seemed to see some bad men I onceheard of,” said Lukas. “I hope it ain't them.”

“Uh, who?” I asked.

“One's named Hecht,” saidLukas, “and the others, except for one, I disrecall. All of 'emhave prices on their heads.”

“That one person?” I asked, as Ishook my boots a final time.

“He's named Sam,” saidLukas. “Sam Brumm.”

I was glad to be shod again when weresumed, and gladder yet for dampened clothing and hat. Ahead, pastperhaps one more small town, lay the border; and beyond it, lay amystery. I looked around at the now dessicated remainder of thefourth kingdom, and saw gray-green 'heath' all-but unbroken, withoccasional groves of scrubby trees or copses showing a trifle darkerabove the brushy 'sea'.

“At least most of these pumps work,”mumbled Gabriel, between gulped beer. “There isn't much out inthis area.”

“A town ahead, perhaps an houraway?” I asked. “The border..?”

“That's just beyond the town,”said Lukas. “The border has its share of trouble out this way,and...”

A brilliant blast of light came a fewhundred yards from the left, and as the thundering roar washed overus, I noted the thick black smoke billowing lazily up into the sky.

“That was a...”

Gabriel's speech was cut off by a reekof such intensity I began to see colors, and behind me and to eachside, I heard the sounds of nausea coming to the fore. I turned tothe side and began retching myself, and only after a few seconds didI think to ask that the stink go elsewhere.

It left with such alacrity I wasalarmed, and I ceased retching. I asked a question but secondslater.

“A bug?”

“I'd think that likely,” saidGabriel. “I take it you asked the stink to leave. Did you?”

I nodded nervously, then shaded myeyes with both hands, and ahead saw what might have been ableached-out town far in the distance.

“Are we on the top of a hill of somekind?” I asked.

“There are hills to the south ofwhere we are,” said Gabriel, “but beyond that, I am not able tosay. It is almost as if I never came down here.”

“Did you?” I asked. Heat-wavesshimmered crazily on the road ahead. They seemed to yell for thecompany of water.

“Eight or nine times,” saidGabriel. “While spinner parlors aren't worth much in one'sreports, the waste was a very seldom subject at Maagensonst. My best notes came from those trips, in fact.”

“Seldom subject?” I asked.

“No one would go there,” saidGabriel. “I heard talk more than once that the west school hadlunatics to spare, and they could go down into the waste to die.”

The word 'lunatic' seemed to seize apart of my being, and I recalled the vague thoughts I had hadregarding guard training and notes speaking of them – as well asthe comments of at least one person.

“...I wish you could write down alot of the stuff you know, rather than what that stone-headed wretchspoke during those lectures...” came the voice of recollection.

“Perhaps that would be a title forsuch notes,” I thought. “The Lunatic's Manual.”

There was but one further wateringstop prior to the 'border town', and upon reaching its outskirts, Icould feel an aspect of 'mourning'. The 'main street' – easilyhalf a mile long in this sparsely-settled 'town' – seemed awash indust and reeking with the scent of blood, and the side-streetsbranching off every hundred yards or so seemed dead to the world andall else.

While silence was not present, theusual 'hubbub' common to fourth kingdom towns was also absent, and Ithought to stop at a Public House if one showed. Faint speech camefrom the rear now and then, with words I could not decipher, and whena Public House actually showed, its roofed 'parking lots' were jammedwith horses, buggies, and wagons.

“Is it lunchtime?” I asked, as Icame to a small less-crowded region on the south side of the massivestone-walled building.

“It is that,” said Gabriel. “Somehow, I doubt that to be the cause of this town's silence.”

“Do you..?” I asked.

“I'd bet someone was shot,” saidLukas. “Talk had it there was trouble down this way recently.”

The somber sensation did not diminishnoticeably when we went inside, and while the others went to the rear'bar' of the place regarding beer and bread, I stood and listened. Faint upon an unseen wind I heard people similar to those of mynight-before dream, and as I paid attention to such matters, I hearda faint thundering seem to come from the south.

I ducked down, even as a hissing whizcame steadily closer, and I was deep in the sawdust on the floor bythe time it passed over. It continued on for some distance, and thencame to earth with a crash and roar that made the ground shake.

I came to myself with someone's handupon my arm, and I looked to see an open door ahead. I tried tospeak, and could not, at least until I was 'ready' to mount. I thensqualled out a warning.

“Down!” I yelled, as I dovefor the dirt.

“What are you doing?” asked Karl,as he came from the buggy-seat. “We need to leave this place, asthe brigands are causing trouble.”

And as if to punctuate what Karl said,a howling scream flew just above the roof of the Public House todetonate but a second later. I tried to dig deeper in thehoof-churned dirt for a second before 'coming to'.

“No time for it,” said Lukas, as Igot off of my knees. “They're closer than those people thought.”

I now had to 'mount up' in the face ofone of my worst nightmares, that of being under artillery fire, andonce I had done so – with a face gone white with terror – Inearly screamed. I could feel another shell being rammed home intothe breach of the gun, and I led off at a near-trot. I wanted ayard-thick concrete bunker to hide in, and nothing even closeto that status was handy.

As we came to a gap formed by thejoining of our road and a side-street heading to the right, I heardthe muffled roar of the gun firing, and I had all I could do to nothunker down and let Jaak have his head. He was restive...

“You don't like gunfire much, doyou?” I asked.

The answer I received was of suchintensity that I nearly fell off into the dirt, and I began to pray –not merely for myself, but for the group and Jaak.

He didn't cope at all well withartillery shells landing close by, no more than I did.

The shell screamed overhead so closethat I involuntarily ducked, and the window of the shop across fromme vanished in a blinding red flash and billow of smoke to scatterbits and pieces all over our party.

“Ow!” yelped someone to the rear. “That hurt!”

“Best get a move on, then,”muttered Lukas. “At least he's got the right idea.”

Another hundred yards, then the roadbent to the right. A wide-open stretch to the right showed moreheath and copses for perhaps several hundred yards. A copse somedistance away erupted billows of smoke, and now, I could no longerrestrain Jaak.

He bolted as if crazed.

I now wondered what was happening, somuch so that when he darted behind a tall mound of stone blocks on a'vacant lot' I was surprised. I 'fell off' as a wet smacking soundcame from the other side of the stones, then another, then a third –which was followed by another howling sound that seemed impossiblyclose. I huddled down next to Jaak, who was laying on the groundbehind the piled stones, and as I unslung my rifle, the howling...

Became louder...

And was subsumed by a titanic eruptionof fire and smoke that billowed around me in a thick and noisome fog.

The reek of powder was unmistakable,so much so that as I went to my knees, I watched carefully forshell-splinters laying hot and sharp to catch the unwary. I spottedmy first instance but a second later.

“C-cast iron,” I muttered, as Ibrushed the sizzling smoldering thing aside. It was not a smallfragment.

I came to the edge of the stones justas another howling shell brushed the top of the stones and pinged offinto the air crazily as if a massive rifle bullet. Its warbling notespoke of a loss of true, and as I tried to bring my rifle up to bear,I heard a volley of distant gunshots.

Their deep-toned roars reminded me ofthe handful of instances I had heard roers fire audibly, and thesounds of lead impacting mingled with the shrieks of ricochets spokeof the shooters not merely having the range, but also being goodshots. I gave up the idea of standing or kneeling, even as anothercannon shell came screaming downrange.

I flung myself to the left as thething came danger-close, and the blast tossed fragments of stonecrazily into the air. I came back that way, now even more wary thanbefore, and when I did, I came in crawling.

“Th-there's a tunnel here,” Imurmured, as I brought my rifle forward.

The copse was still billowing smokefrom its latest volley, but as I watched, I saw movement both within. Faintly, I saw what might have been a darkened hole some distanceaway in a second and larger copse, and in a third such copse, I sawwhat looked to be another such 'hole'.

The furthest away copse seemed to bethe most active, for some reason, and when I began aiming at it, Iwondered briefly as to why. The eruption of red flame that came fromit soon spoke as to why; I could almost see the shell flyingmy way. I hugged the dirt for an instant, then knew what I needed todo.

“I need to shoot those copses,” Ithought, as I lined up on the copse furthest away.

This shell flew wide, for some reason,even if the scream of travel followed by the blast seemed terriblyclose. I began looking closer, until the foliage seemed to thinwhere I was looking to uncover a familiar-looking varnished box.

“Dynamite?” I thought, as I drewto full cock and aimed about three feet above it.

The rifle fired almost before I wasready, and I wormed out of my 'hide' to the sound of gunfire. Ibarely got clear in time before first one bullet flew but inches pastmy leg, then another came 'too close' as several more bullets madeeerie pings and whines that were swallowed up seconds later in aneruption of such massive quality I expected to see more rocks fly.

I began reloading, and as I thumbed ina bullet, I heard more gunfire. This was of a different tonecompared to that of the thugs; more importantly it was to the northreferenced to the copses. A faint scream came from some distanceaway as I removed the ramrod, and then another booming roar sent ahowling shell downrange.

Only this time the shell was intendedfor someone else, not me.

I wormed my way back into the tunnel,and at first, I did not believe what I saw. The furthest-away copsewas billowing thick black smoke, while the two nearer ones werefrantic with activity. I aimed at the larger of the remaining two,only this time I aimed for a spot near the ground just under theplace where that one 'black hole' had been. It was no longer facingme.

I was ready for my rifle when I firedthis time, and while I was not surprised at the stab of recoil, I wassurprised seconds later at what happened to the far-off copse.

The first thing I saw was a smallwhitish flash, then a billow of red-yellow flame that engulfed thecopse. I then recalled the need to move, and jerked out of the wayas a spattering of wet smacking sounds hit all over the stones, thenmore hideous noises erupted to the west.

“They're rattled enough that theiraim has gone south,” I muttered, as I dumped another load ofpowder.

“True, though you underestimated thedegree,” said the soft voice. “Losing those guns didn't helpmuch, especially as that members of that first crew you shot wereleading the attack.”

“And those other people shooting?”I asked.

“Are people living in town,” saidthe soft voice. “The last group doesn't have 'high-value' targetshandy, so they will need greater care than the artillerymen.”

“High-value?” I asked.

“They loaded their shells with asemi-smokeless small-arms propellant,” said the soft voice. “Inshells such as they are firing, it gives about twenty percent moreblast with the same amount by volume. Then, there was somedynamite.”

“Dynamite?”

“You shot a box of it that firsttime,” said the soft voice. “The second time, you hit theirfriction igniters, which started a fire that got into both shells andcannon-powder.”

I came back to my hiding area amid thecontinuing scattered shots, then looked at the third and last copse.Faintly, I could see numbers of black-dressed thugs loading andfiring, and I waited until I lined up on one before drawing to fullcock and then firing.

The roar of the rifle seemed to echoin my ears, and when the copse suddenly billowed smoke, I jerked tothe side. I was quite surprised to not hear the sounds of bulletshitting my hiding place, and when I came back with a reloaded rifle,I was more than a little surprised to see two black-dressed thugslying stationary on the ground near the last copse.

“What happened?” I asked.

“You hit the first thug in theneck,” said the soft voice, “and the bullet struck the secondthug's weapon near the hammer. It misfired and spat its breach-blockin its firer's face.”

“The other thugs?” I asked.

“Will continue shooting unless dealtwith,” said the soft voice.

“Do they have, uh, strong drink?”I asked.

While there was no answer, the growingsense I had was 'it's worth a try'. I reloaded, crawled back to my'hide', and began looking carefully.

Within seconds, the brush of the copseseemed to go gauzy. I counted four thugs still effectual among thenear-dozen that had originally occupied it, with several laying stillon the copse floor in slow-growing pools of blood, and two otherwounded thugs passing a jug between them.

I centered on this jug, and as one ofthe two thugs set the thing down, I fired at it. The abruptness ofrecoil and report pounded upon my ears until the copse eruptednear-colorless flames.

The screams of burning thugs grewlouder as the frontal wall of the copse came down, and the thugswithin came out swinging their weapons upon each other. A gunshotcame from the west, then two more, and one of the black-dressed thugsstumbled and fell. His flames went out forthwith.

“What are those people shootingwith?” I asked.

“Most of the townsmen havebetter-made larger muskets,” said the soft voice, “while two inthat group have weapons similar in concept to those of the fifthkingdom.”

“Hence enough range?” I asked.

“That added range does but littlegood for people who seldom practice,” said the soft voice. “Theyare not fifth kingdom thugs.”

I had reloaded by now, and I aimed atone of the still-standing thugs. While his flames had died downmarkedly, he was still on his feet and fighting with his fellows. AsI got comfortable with the sights, I noted a small mob of peopleswarming toward the still-standing thugs, and when I fired, thatseemed a signal of sorts. The thug I had aimed at dropped like astone.

The remaining thugs broke off theirfighting and began running for the safety of their copse, with the'citizens' in hot pursuit and firing their weapons. The two fallenthugs were left behind, and when the citizens came upon them, twopaused to fire at the fallen at 'powder-burn' range before rejoiningtheir swarming fellows.

A third thug dropped but feet shy ofthe copse, and as he staggered to his knees, the 'frontal' portion ofthe copse went back up to provide concealment for the refugees. Thefallen thug crawled to the copse and weakly slapped the brush withhis hands.

“Do those people think they can hidein there?” I thought, as the weakened thug still slapped at thenow-obvious 'hide'.

The 'citizens' came rushing up to thecopse, and while the fallen thug was shot and killed immediately, thelocation of the remaining thugs seemed such an imponderable mysteryto the citizens that I myself was shocked. The thugs had 'hiddenthemselves' quite well, if I went by the reaction of the citizens;only one reason occurred to me to account for such an obvious ployactually working.

“Is that a curse?” I muttered. “If it is, it needs to go to hell where it belongs.”

The copse abruptly ignited withexplosive force amid enraged screams, and the 'citizens' fired theirweapons into the burning holocaust again and again, until the screamsdied away to be subsumed by the soft crackle of flames.

I retreated from the 'tunnel', and asI lay flat against the stone blocks, I noticed Jaak was now standing. I stood up with my rifle in my hands, and looked around. Nowheredid I see the others, and as I began cleaning out my weapon, Iwondered just where they had gone.

“Clear to the other side of town, nodoubt,” I thought, as I removed a filthy patch and dampened a cleanone with spit. “I don't blame them much, actually.”

By the time I'd finished cleaning andreloading my rifle, however, the aura of 'dead' in town seemed to beslowly vanishing, and when I mounted Jaak, I noted slow movement tothe north along the 'main street'. I turned to see the group comingup slowly with exaggerated caution.

I waited, now turning toward the sceneof battle to the west. All three copses still smoldered, while the'citizens' dragged numbers of black-dressed bodies into severalpiles. I could almost smell the reek of distillate on theslow-moving winds, and the whole tableau seemed to burn but onething into my brain.

Even here, many people, perhapsmost, were such that they lay in thrall to the will of witches, andonly witch-nurtured thinking, goals, and behavior existed in theirminds. I had seen the evidence plainly, and that with my own eyes,and I sat lost in thought while the others came up.

“It was you they were shooting at,”said Gabriel. “Are they all dead?”

“What?” I gasped. “How?”

“They left us alone once you hadgone ahead,” said Gabriel, “and...”

“No, it isn't that,” said Lukas. I could hear a plain reproach in his voice. “We got under cover,same as he did, only his was a lot more exposed. Then, he drew themonto him by shooting at them.”

And, muttered softly, “a good thing,too.”

“Uh, why?” I asked, as I took myplace in the column. “How was it good?”

“None of us have weapons with thatkind of range,” said Lukas from behind, “and neither do most ofthe people in town.”

“But...”

“No buts, Gabriel,” said Lukas. “What I have might manage two hundred paces if I hold steady, andthe other things we have are worthless at half that distance.”

“And what I have shoots muchfurther,” I said. “I knew I had to put those people out ofcommission before we could continue traveling, and they wereshooting at me.”

“At you alone,” saidGabriel. “Jaak left just in time, as the bullets nearly hit therest of us.”

“That's to be expected,” saidLukas. “Those brigands might shoot fairly good, but at thatrange, they do well to call individual people.”

The impression I now had – Gabrielwas not listening to anything remotely plausible; he had becomefixated upon his thinking, and would not give that fixation up– was sufficiently troubling that our arrival at the border properamid scattered buildings came as a near-complete surprise to me.

The 'border' had two sizable stone andwood buildings with a sizable crossing guard, and this weathered'log' raised silently to let us pass. We had come from 'the land ofenchantment' – not witch-enchantment, at least for the most part;this was mostly a matter of one's mind and senses – and into anarea that seemed to have well-hidden brigands / pfuddaarn /black-dressed thugs hiding behind every scrubby tree and dessicatedcopse I could see.

That was for the portion that layabove the surface of the ground.

Below lay long weary drifts compoundedinto mines; and there, one found floods, cave-ins, deaths, anddestruction. The upper and lower levels mingled had a distinct aura,one best described as being violent, bloody, and most of all refinedcruelty; and this was so much so that I was reminded slightly of theways and means of Norden.

I quickly learned I was not the onlyone, for out of a mire of oblivion, Gabriel spoke at length.

“This kingdom shall not desire newsof retribution,” he said, “and while Cardosso died when his chiefcity burned, his attitude migrated south. This area acts as if itwas taught at his court.”

“And..?” I asked.

“And it was a very poor learner,”said Gabriel. “Cardosso commonly used poison, but he knew enoughto not ingest it. That cannot be said of those in the fifthkingdom.”

“The miners?” I gasped.

“They might well be different,”said Gabriel. “They endure things nearly as bad as swine, hencethey might well give ear, especially if they work or live nearhaunted mines.”

“That special, uh, iron..?”

“There is that mine, and possiblyothers,” said Gabriel. “I am not certain how such mines compareto the cellar.”

A brief pause, then with outstretchedarm, Gabriel said, “I am certain that is the beginning of thatfreighting road.”

“How?” I asked.

A low chuckle came from behind, then“look to your left.”

I did so, and nearly fell onto theroad.

Aweathered wooden sign topped with a crude-forged iron arrow specifiedthe distances to three towns, these being 'Kraag', Ersenbach, andMeerburgh. The distances spoken of were not in miles, however; theywere listed in Laengen, a term that at first eluded me.

“Laengen?” I asked. “Leagues?”

“Only the fifth kingdom uses thatold unit of measurement,” said Gabriel, “and there are threemiles to the Laeng.”

“Now I would not say that,” saidLukas. “I've heard that spoken in the second kingdom's backcountry, and a few places in the third.”

The High Way began to curve gently tothe west as we came to the turnoff proper, and once on the gentlyrutted dirt track before us, I noted the surrounding territory. Wehad indeed left the fourth kingdom behind entirely, if I went by whatI saw.

While the road itself was softer andlooser than most roads at home, I knew that was but the seeming. Ourcurrent road headed roughly south-southeast, with rounded hillsshowing in the distance ahead and to the right. Much further away,more hills showed to the left and front, where a narrow gap permittedpassage of our road.

There were no towns close by, and thedry and dessicated 'heath' around us looked more and more like'sagebrush' with each passing minute. I could see 'copses' dottingthe otherwise monotonous landscape here and there to each side, andthe few and scrubby trees commonly had either birds perched in them,or what might have been animals under them.

“Is that a goat over there?” Iasked, when I pointed to one of the shade-bound creatures.

“Aye, it is,” said Lukas, “andit looks to have escaped from the valley.”

“Unhealthful to eat, and seasonedwith flies,” muttered Gabriel. He sounded as if enduring anightmare. “Spices bring their weight in dust of gold to hide thetaste of such evil meat.”

“What?” I asked.

“Flies are rare at home,” saidGabriel. “They are not rare here.”

“Flies?” I asked.

“They'll show soon enough,” saidLukas.

“Towns?” I asked.

A brief spate of silence, then, “thosetend to be scarce, and what's in them tends to be scarce, too.”

“Really small Public Houses?” Iasked. “Huge Mercantiles?”

“Aye, both of those things,” saidLukas. “Only the fifth kingdom has true south-style Mercantiles.”

“True..?” I asked.

“The ones we've seen so far that waywere but the stink of the mule,” said Lukas. “Here, they havethe mule that makes the stink.”

“And no greengrocers, correct?” Iasked.

“I've not heard of any,” saidLukas. Gabriel seemed to have swooned, for some reason, and only hisremaining upright made for wondering.

“I hope he doesn't have heatstroke,”I thought. “I don't begin to know how to treat it.”

“Do these Mercantiles sell nearly'everything'?” I asked.

“They don't sell bugs,” saidLukas, “nor do they sell dirt. Otherwise, if people will buy it,they seem to have it.”

Our first watering stop was nothingmore than a wide place in the road with fresh ruts and a longwatering trough made of reddish-brown badly laid brick. The pump –larger and cruder-looking than anything of the sort I had seen yet –was faintly tinged with rust amid its peeling yellow and red paint,and as I looked over the buggies, I noted faintly the odor of mules.

I had to cease with my labors once thepump began groaning, however, and only my working it until itregained prime was enough to permit pumping water. I returned to thebuggies, only to hear the pump once more groaning less than a minutelater.

“Wonderful,” I thought, as I swungthe weathered handle through its long arc again and again. “I'mnot going to get much checking done.”

“Karl, come here,” said Lukas. “He's got to stay near that pump.”

I overheard scraps of conversationbetween the two men about what to look for when checking hooves whileI continued pumping, and after a minute, I let Kees try. He seemedto manage, the pump continued belching water, and I went to finishthe buggies.

I barely finished the 'oiling' beforethe pump began groaning again.

Once I had 'reprimed' the pump,however, I heard a faint buzzing noise to my rear, and I looked outover the horses to see which of them needed attention while Seppworked the pump. The noise drew nearer, and I turned to see what itwas.

The source of the noise first provedelusive, for it seemed inclined to hide amid the 'sagebrush'. Iwaited, both for the pump's groaning and the other noise; and when astrange creature arose to draw slowly nearer, I wondered as to whatit was. It was making the buzzing noise.

Three globular portions of increasingsize from front to rear were joined by thin threadlike stalks to oneanother, while the whole was suspended from near-transparent panes of'glass' that rapidly moved. As I watched this slow-moving thingdrone closer, I noted the front portion had two glossy black roundedprotrusions and a long 'poker', and the rear portion, a long andcurved 'tail'. The central part had, in addition to the rapidlymoving 'wings', a sizable number of legs.

The finger-long creature seemedsuspended as if to defy gravity – it looked far too heavy to fly –for it moved in a lazy and aimless fashion, and its thick and unevennoise reminded me of an ancient outboard motor in dire need ofmaintenance. It turned around in mid air, all the while buzzing asif stupefied, then slowly it 'flew away'.

“What is that thing?” I asked. Icould not restrain the hint of hysterical laughter.

“A fly,” said Sepp, as he finishedpumping to the sound of the pump's grating croak. “They're a lotmore common down here because it's always warm.” He paused, as hewent for a jug, then after pouring a cupful of beer, he said, “homeis seldom warm enough for those to show, and I'm glad.”

“Uh, why?” I asked.

“Flies are trouble,” said Sepp. “I've shot them before.”

“With what?” I asked.

“Small stones from a slingshot,”said Sepp, “and I've heard of people using muskets filled withlead-filings.”

“Especially that type,” said Karl. “That was a manure-fly.”

“Is that why I smelled mules?” Imuttered. “I hope those are not going to be overly common.”

As we resumed travel, I had theimpression that 'manure-flies' were very common where we wereheading, and the drearily rolling hills that had 'materialized'seemed a fit harbinger of dryness and decay. There were trees– small, stunted, single or in small groups, and dust-gray forcolor – but beyond those, the 'sagebrush', the road, and the fainthigh clouds overhead in a blistering light blue desert sky, thereseemed no life to be had.

I was surprised at the road'snear-silence and lack of dust, and the muffled clop of the horses'hooves mingled with the faint dry hissing of the buggy wheels seemedan appropriate backdrop for trouble. I was looking for itconstantly, and the others regarded where we were with an emotion Icould not identify.

“This is not romantic,” Ithought. “I might have been to places like this before...”

“At least there is some grassstill,” said Lukas. “We may have to gather it when we camp atnight.”

“Gather it?” I asked.

“Go out in pairs and cut the stuffwith knives,” said Lukas. “There are some better watering spotswhere seed might have taken.”

An hour's travel and two wateringstops later, we came to an obvious 'crossroads'. I could feel a town'some distance' ahead, and as I stopped to get my bearings, I heardGabriel trying to say something. He was having uncommon trouble withit.

“What is it?” I asked,

“P-p-p... I cannot say that word,”he muttered, “and that for the first one. Those others bother me.”

“Which..?”

I turned to see another road sign.

Unlikethe previous one, this example had been nipped by a bullet, and as Imouthed the words, a sense of horror grew with the passing seconds. There were mules named Plugs, and the worst of them were indeedGenuine, and now...

“Mekhicho?” I gasped. The wordcame out as 'Mexico', and now the dreaded three-word description wasindeed made whole and complete. I mouthed the dread incantation, andthe sound of “Genuine Mexican Plug” in my mind was indeeda fit curse.

Gabriel was scribbling something inhis ledger between mumbling about lips able to speak the unspeakable. From behind, Lukas asked me how to say the words.

“Poo-Eh-Blah Meck-He-Cho,” I said,with the 'C' of the last syllable being barely pronounced. The soundwhen spoken in the original language was much closer to what Irecalled.

“Now that makes sense,” saidLukas. “There was talk of some places that did a lot of businessin mules, and that might have been one of the names.”

“In the Valley?” I asked.

Gabriel looked at me in stunnedhorror, and resumed writing.

The gentle undulations of the roadmade for hidden details, and as the hours 'droned past' one by one, Icould feel the town coming closer. We had passed two more road signsand several 'crossroads', and coming to the top of a larger-thancommon rise showed an obvious town less than a mile distant. It was'midafternoon', or perhaps a bit later, and as we came closer to this'outpost of civilization', I noted its small number of buildings.

“This place might have fourbuildings,” I thought. “At least it has a place with food.”

For some reason, the vegetation seemeda trifle greener near the place compared with further away, and atthe outskirts of this town, I noted buildings of stone, dried-outwood, mud, and perhaps thatch. These small places had laboriouslyscratched-out plots of what might have been vegetables, and as ourweary group passed one of them, I saw a young girl dipping out waterfrom a bucket onto individual plants.

The spread-out nature of this town wasthat of the fourth kingdom's border amplified, and with each further'farmstead' – I found it difficult to think of a 'farmstead' ofsuch small size, but I suspected those operating them received ampleincome – I could feel and smell the town proper coming closer. Faint on the wind I smelled what might have been mules and distillatemingled, and I barely stifled a gag.

The 'farmsteads' thinned out withsudden abruptness. To our right and just ahead was a long narrowbuilding of gray-toned weathered wood; its stoop showed both fadedwhite paint and the lack of a second story, while windows ran downits side like a row of lead-crossed portholes. The remains ofonce-gaudy signs lay to each side of the single centered whitewasheddoor, and the huge unlit collections of brass and glass to each sideof that door had meanings indecipherable.

The noise, confusion, reek of strongdrink, and intermittent faint and hoarse yells from inside were easyto understand, and I mouthed my feelings with barely audible voice.

“No, I do not like bars, and thatgoes double for rough ones,” I muttered, as we left that horror inour wake.

Faintly-marked dirt trails headed allthrough the roadside 'sagebrush' from the center of 'town', and theother two 'main buildings' showed shaded by small groves of'eucalyptus' trees.

To the left was a building labeled asbeing a Public House, and its exterior was beyond 'unprepossessing'. I knew not what to make of a building made in the guise of afarmstead, save far larger: walls of mud-slathered gray rock, a thickweed-strewn roof of poles, brush, mud, and perhaps the bones of thedead; a weathered door of wooden planks flung wide open to double asthe sign; and a rag-draped open hole in the wall...

“That looks like the door,” Ithought, as we came into the empty lot that fronted on the place.

Across the road and somewhat south wasa much larger building of similar construction: it had two plankeddoors, one flung each way from its doorway; and above thatcloth-barred hole was a faded sun-bleached wooden sign spelling outthe word 'Mercantile'. The watering trough to its right was barren,while two 'farm wagons' were parked in front of the left example.

Dismounting, however, reminded me ofthe first 'building' we had found in the town, and after dismissingit mentally – “I am not going near that place” – I had aquestion.

“Do miners go there?” I thought.

There was no answer, and I beganlooking over the buggies while Lukas and Gilbertus began inspectingthe horses' hooves.

The pump held its prime, and each ofus in turn pumped a few strokes into the trough as the horses wereled to it. With twelve horses drinking, we took turns pumping untilthey looked to be nearly 'done'. I then followed the two older menbehind the cloth drape and into the Public House.

The ambiance of the place made for rawnerves the instant I saw it, for it was more like the interior of amine than any place I had ever been before. The lighting – dim,flickering, and somewhat sulfurous – threw ghostly shadows inprofusion, and the sawdust-covered floor, the worn plank tables, theweathered timbers sprouting from the floor – all of this made methink of a mine. I watched my feet carefully so as to avoid thepart-hidden narrow-gage rails used for moving ore and equipment, andwhen I glanced around to see the remainder of the place, Ihalf-expected to see more rails, mining cars, picks, shovels,hammers, drills, fuse...

The list went on endlessly down theghostly halls of nightmare, and when I came to a long and narrowtrestle table scarred with knife-cut graffiti, I wondered as to myseat for an instant.

At least, until I saw the thingitself.

There were profusions of seat-polishedcopper nails, and softly shining brass corners setting off darklyvarnished wood, and the brass latch in front over a faded markingspoke at once of what was present.

I nearly fainted, and it was all Icould do to not turn and run out of the place, even as I came closerand cautiously lifted up the lid. My thanks were audible when Ifound the box empty, and the hilarity of the others seemed of anotherplace and time.

“That box wasn't empty long,” Imuttered, as I reached into my bag for the vial of fever bark. Myhead was pounding.

“What?” gasped Gabriel. “I havea headache, and until you opened that box, I did not have it. Whatwas in that box?”

“D-dynamite boxes f-for seats?” Igasped.

“Those are common here for seating,”said Karl, “and my uncle spoke of places like this. Why?”

“He asks me 'why' when I've founddynamite in boxes like that?” I thought. “I do not want to beblown up!”

“Karl,” asked Gabriel with a traceof pique, “how many times have you been blown up?”

“I have been lucky that way,” saidKarl. “I have not been. Why?”

“He was, and more than once,” saidGabriel. “That would be for explosives. There were many otherinstances on top of that. That kind of caution may seem excessive tous, but I doubt greatly it is excessive for him.”

After sitting down, I looked aroundthe room while attempting to suppress the shaking feeling I feltinside, and to my surprise, I learned we did not have the placeentirely to ourselves: a trio of what resembled 'drovers' indust-stained clothing were sitting at a table nearby, and muffledsteps in the background spoke of at least one person walking around.

As I looked closer at the drovers, Irealized the laughter had been confined to our table. These threemen had seen my reactions, and had thought them neither excessive norparticularly unusual. I wondered why for an instant until I recalledHans' common attitude toward much of the basement's contents.

“I'd bet he'd have checked that boxtoo,” I thought.

A minute's sitting, perhaps two, and Ifelt up to asking a question: “do they have cots here?”

“That Mercantile across the road hassome,” said one of the gruff-voiced men I had thought drovers, “andI would hurry. If it gets out that they have cots, there will be arustle for them.”

“Aye,” murmured one of thedrover's companions, and all three hoisted mugs and drank. The secondspeaker finished his drinking first, then continued.

“And you'll need to shoot your wayin,” he said. “That would be double-true if they are good onesfrom up north, and those they have are them.”

I stood up, and made to leave. As Iexcused myself, I overheard faint scraps of conversation, much ofwhich spoke of 'ace powdermen' and their careful ways. I came to thecloth barring the doorway, then glanced out of a small worn placewith a hole.

There was no apparent activityoutside, even to the north, and I carefully thrust the cloth aside. I hurried across the dirt road at a rapid walk, with one eye to thenorth on the 'bar' until I had passed the threshold of theMercantile.

“Th-this place is huge,” Ithought, as I slowly went up one of the myriad narrow aisles, andwhen I saw picks and shovels, I marveled.

“Those look to be decent,” Ithought, as I examined the blade of a shovel.

The next thing I found were chemicals.The labeling was similar to Grussmaan's, even if the contents werevastly different, and when I came to the cots, I was amazed to findtwo head-tall stacks. A minute's looking showed the cots of one stackwere but slightly more costly than the others, while their materialsand execution were markedly better. I then walked slowly toward thecounter.

There were two clerks, each of thembusy with one or more drovers, and as I rested my arms on theweathered boards of the counter proper, I heard faint clumping stepscoming from the hidden vastnesses behind the counter. These lastwere hidden by more shelves, and when I saw first a head show betweena pair of these shelves, then the entirety of a person between thenext two, I realized suddenly that the Mercantile had a basement.

This made for wondering: “do thesepeople live there?”

The third individual came up to whereI was with a dented mug in his hand. The color said 'pewter', andhis purposeful drinking named him dehydrated.

“Do you have glass-blower's wire?”I asked.

“That we do have,” said the clerk,“and for sale. Freighters like that stuff for toothpicks.” Abrief pause, then, “you look to be after cots and other things,too.”

“I am,” I said, “but why do youask, out of curiosity?”

“You look like a powderman,” hesaid, “and not a common one, but one what leads a gang of 'em. Howmany times you get blown up?”

“S-several times,” I said. “Why?”

“You seem uncommon careful,” hesaid, “and that's what it takes to set powder and not get killed.”

He left for the rear of the shop, andmoments later came back with a leather pouch. This he set upon thecounter, and extracted a sizable coil of silvery wire, an old-lookinghammer, and a somewhat battered chisel. I dug a gold monster coinout of my pouch and put it in front of me.

“Aye, you're serious, then,” hesaid, as he began uncoiling the wire and laying it on top of atarnished brass scale. “One, two, three, four, and five. There.”

He marked the wire with the edge ofthe chisel, then hit the striking end with the hammer after movingthe wire onto a 'safe' place. The 'snap' of the wire being cut spokeof a very hard metal, and when he began coiling the cut piece, thestruggle he endured spoke more on the subject. He tied my small coilwith a piece of thick and greasy string, then moved the coin to theside.

“The cots?” I asked.

“Those would be ten each,” hesaid, “unless you buy more than five. Then, they are eight.” Hepaused, sipped from his mug, then asked, “the better ones?”

I nodded, then dug out three more goldmonsters and a large silver piece.

“Aye, I thought so,” he said, ashe moved the coins to the side where the other gold monster heldcourt.

“Uh, wagon grease?” I asked.

“We do have that,” he said. “Howmuch are you after?”

“A smaller tin,” I said. “Also,some caps. Those need to be, uh, stiff ones.”

While he went 'hunting' for the thingsI asked for, I dug out another gold monster coin, and his returnshowed a sizable tin of 'number one first quality' grease and a boxof caps nearly nine inches to the side. I opened the sliding woodenlid and poked around with my fingers until I unearthed a dullygleaming pointed copper cylinder nearly three inches long. I brieflylooked at it, hefted it gently, then returned it to its sawdustrefuge.

“Good enough,” I said, as I pushedthe last gold monster coin toward him.

While I had some change returning –two smaller silver coins – I was less concerned about my changecompared to transportation, and I was altogether surprised to findKarl and Sepp wandering up the aisles when I turned around. Karllooked at the cots for a second, then resumed walking closer.

“I bought eight cots,” I said, asI gathered up tin and box, “and carrying all of that stuff myselfis a bit much.”

“I suspected that,” said Sepp,“and Gabriel did also, which is why the two of us are here. Whichcots?”

I walked back to the stacks, thenindicated the ones in question. Once outside of the Mercantile andmoving across the road, I spoke of the caps.

“Did you get stiff ones?” askedKarl. “My uncle spoke of those.”

“I did,” I said. “They mightwell keep those thugs off of us.”

“What about those squibs?” askedSepp, as we began stowing the cots.

“I have yet to finish those,” Isaid, “and somehow, I have the impression we may well be tossingmore than... Oh, now I know why. The caps won't need lighting ifthey're tossed hard enough.”

Karl grinned, then said, “he spokeabout that, too.”

“Uh, why?” I asked.

“A mining town thug tried for himonce,” said Karl, “and he tossed a stiff cap at him.”

“And?” I asked.

“That thug was not doing wellafterward,” said Karl.

“In what way?” I asked.

Karl grinned, then said, “theyburied him the next morning.”

I refrained from commenting on Karl'slatest exposition, and once returned to my seat inside, Gabrielasked, “did you get what you were after?”

I nodded, then said, “eight decentcots, glass-blower's wire, wagon grease, and a box of large caps.”

“How much for that wire?” askedLukas.

“A gold piece for five feet,” Isaid.

“We want to remember that place,then,” said Gabriel. “The best price before that was four feetand three marks.”

“And the worst?” I asked.

“Two feet and nine in the secondkingdom house,” said Gilbertus.

“Did you see anything else inthere?” asked Karl.

“Uh, not really,” I said. “Why?”

“Arsenic,” said Karl, “that, orflower sap. I can wait on the sap, but Hans is not inclined to letme have arsenic...”

“He does not want your death on hishands,” intoned Gabriel.

I looked at Karl quizzically, andwondered why he had an arsenic fixation. He seemed to deem my gaze asignal of sorts, for he stood and went to the door. Not threeminutes later, he returned.

“They have both of those things,”he said, “but they want a lot for them – that, and the arsenicwas mixed with grain.” Karl paused, then mumbled, “he called itgoat-poison, and goats are poisonous enough without arsenic.”

“Where did you get this tale ofpoisonous goats?” I asked – and then recalled what Hans hadspoken regarding dried goat meat.

“My uncle spoke of them,” saidKarl, “and...”

“Fifth kingdom dried goat?” Iasked.

Karl nodded, then asked, “why, isthere another type?”

“What the third kingdom sells isdecent, if you can get it,” said Lukas. “I might still havesome, in fact.”

“Those nasty-looking bricks look,uh...”

“Now those are poisonous,”said Lukas. “You can't cook that stuff enough to make it safe toeat.”

A waiter suddenly 'materialized' nottwo minutes later, and while he circulated getting orders for 'drink'– chiefly beer, though someone wanted unfermented wine and was toldit wasn't to be had – I realized that this Public House wasperennially short-handed, with perhaps two people for labors thatwanted three or more.

“And that for a very long day,” Ithought, as I mentioned 'common beer' to the waiter. As he finished,he paused to speak.

“You people do not look to beminers,” he said. “They come in about sundown, if they comehere.”

“Food?” I asked innocently.

“Meat, vegetables, bread, and beer,”he said, “and the meat and vegetables are usually dried.”

The man's stilted language –singsong syllables, clipped consonants, rolled 'r's', and perhaps alilt – made for wondering as to his tenure down this way, and more,his place of origin. There was a brief hush, and my thinkingsundered it like a bolt of lightning once I had digested what he hadspoken.

“Good!” I thought. “None ofthose accursed squabs!”

“We do not have fowls,” he said,“nor do we have fouls. Those things are popular to thesouth about five and fifty laengen, and the pfuddaarn can have them.” I could almost hear him spitting. “Those things are costly, theypeck everything they can get their beaks into, and they stink worsethan the bugs they have around here.”

He paused, much as if he had heard aninaudible question, then said, “that is why they call those thingsfouls.” He paused again, then asked, “now who brought up thosestinky birds and put the thinking of them in my head?”

I now felt 'something coming' hard andfast, and my feet trembled in their boots as a faint vibration becamesteadily more noticeable – until with a shuddering rumble, thedim-lit room flashed blue-white for a count of three as the ceilingvanished to be replaced by roiling flames.

The waiter seemed unmoved for perhapshalf a second, or so I thought until he spoke. I could plainly hearpanic in his voice:

“This is not a mine,” hesaid. “This is not a mine...”

And as if to dissuade his thinking, alow-sounding growling shriek came from everywhere at once and hescreamed “flood! Flood! Help me, I'm...”

I looked up, saw the flames, and said,“please, look up.”

He ceased screaming, then dumbly didas told. His panic vanished to be replaced by something utterlydifferent:

“Oh, my,” he murmured. “It hascome.” A pause, then, “I get so seldom the chance for a bath...”

Upon finishing this last, he leapedand vanished within the cloud.

There were questions in the eyes ofthose seated at the table, and I mentally ticked off the secondsuntil the thud of reentry spoke of his return. I looked to the left,and saw that now he actually had plans beyond 'do what I must tosurvive'.

“I shall leave for the north withina ten-day,” he said, “for the Abbey is building, and I do know mychisels.”

“And here?” I asked.

“They are not likely to miss meovermuch,” he said, as something else built steadily in thebackground. This sensation – whether sound or feeling, I could nottell – grew steadily, until a less-than-faint gunshot was followedby two more. A muled brayed long and loud, then audible near-silencereturned.

It had never been 'silent' in otheraspects, I now realized. It wasn't just that horror of a bar; therewas more.

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“That would be the salon,”said the waiter. “It gets more people than here and the Mercantiletogether.”

“Salon?” I asked.

“It never shuts its door,” hesaid, “and between the drink and the gambling, people get killedwith some frequency.” He paused, then said in a lower voice, “Iheard that mule, and thought some drunken wretch would ride it inhere.”

“Ride it in here?” I asked.

“That usually means dodging hotlead,” said Lukas. “I've seen it happen more than once.”

“I have also,” said the waiter. “I'll go fetch the food and drink.”

“What is a 'salon'?” I asked. Theword was pronounced 'Saw-loan', and for some reason, I heardrepeatedly the word 'saloon' in my mind.

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“That is the fifth kingdom's namefor a drink-house,” said Gilbertus. “That one we passed was toosmall to do much in the way of services.”

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“It definitely had spinner tables init,” muttered Gabriel archly between gulps of beer. “No salon isa proper salon unless it has those.”

“S-services?” I gasped.

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“Those places are in the biggertowns to the east and south,” said Karl. “My uncle said anespecially bad one had a red sun rising on its front, and that placewas a witch-hole for evil.”