“I’m afraid we don’t really have time.” Matt had needed the reminder that he’d been knighted. “For every hour here, a week passes in Merovence… don’t ask me to explain the magic of it. Just take my word for it, we have to hurry.”
“Can the church really be so far away?”
Matt tried to remember where the nearest Catholic church was, but no, it was Our Lady of Fatima. “It’s two miles, Gilbert. Come on, we’ve got to go.” He turned to cross the street, then stopped as the light turned red.
Gilbert kept on going.
“Hold on!” Matt squawked, and dove for him. He caught the knight’s shoulder and pulled, which was about the same as lassoing a steamship and hauling. Gilbert slowed just a tiny bit… but he did turn, frowning. “What troubles you, Sir… “
The car horn blared down on them, the headlights blinding. Gilbert froze, and Matt yanked. The knight stumbled back two feet, enough so that the car shot by without running over his toes… or any other part of him, either. It went howling away, but other cars came roaring past. Gilbert stared at them, turning ashen, and started to shake. “What monsters are these?”
“Human, believe it or not,” Matt told him. “Look inside each one, and you’ll see a man or a woman.”
“Witchcraft!”
“No, just our country’s kind of carriages.”
“But what pulls them? Where are the horses?”
“Under the hood.” Matt didn’t feel like trying to explain internal combustion. “They’re very small, but there are a lot of them.”
It turned out not to be the smartest thing to say. Every time they passed a parked car, Gilbert stooped, looking underneath to see the hooves. Matt finally had to tell him, “They pull their legs up when they’re standing still. When they’re running, they move so fast you can’t see them.” He felt bad lying to the kid, but it would have taken a couple of hours to explain, and four more to convince him it was true.
Matt saw what was coming up, and pointed down. “Watch the pavement as you go by.”
Gilbert did, protesting, “I have already seen how amazingly huge are these slabs of rock, and for a mere footpath!” He lifted his head. “But why do you… ” He broke off, seeing the neon sign over the tavern door with the glowing pink line drawing of a woman wearing only the shortest of skirts. The sign flashed, making her appear to gyrate above a sign that read, EXOTIC TOPLESS DANCERS.
Gilbert almost passed out. Matt hauled on his arm and made sure he passed on instead. Unfortunately, that meant the monk had a half second’s look through the open door at the exotic dancer herself, pushing forty and very tired of it all. The young knight forced his gaze away and shuddered. “Do all your people think of nothing but the flesh?”
“No,” Matt said. “They spend a lot of time thinking about money, too.”
“Covetousness!” Gilbert muttered. “Greed and lust! A void within the soul giving rise to an aching hunger that they seek to fill with the things of the flesh, and are doomed to despair thereby!” He turned back to Matt. “I can see why you were not fitted for this world, Sir Matthew.”
Matt was silent, staring at the street in front of him for a few paces, wondering if Gilbert was really as perceptive as he sounded, or if he was just spouting memorized doctrine. Offhand, Matt didn’t remember hearing that explanation before. “You surprise me, Sir Gilbert,” he said honestly, then pulled the young knight into the nearest discount store before he could ask.
Gilbert halted, stunned all over again. “Are these truly garments?”
“Sure are.”
“So many of them?”
Matt tried a new tack. “What do you think you’d see if you went inside a merchant’s warehouse?”
“Perhaps… ” Gilbert admitted, and let Matt pull him over to a rack that held long, loose “duster” coats.
“You’re not going to be here that long.” Matt pulled the largest size off the rack and held it up by the shoulders. “Maybe we can get away with just covering you up. Here, slip your arms into the sleeves.”
Gilbert managed it without letting go of his walking stick, shoving one hand through to take the cane while he slipped in the other. He shrugged the coat into place and Matt stepped back to look him over, frowning. “A little long, but it fits okay in the shoulders. Swing your arms and see it if binds.”
Gilbert windmilled each arm, then nodded. “There is no binding.”
“That’ll do, then.” Matt led him back toward the door. “Who knows? It might scare away muggers… uh, footpads.”
“Why should a mere coat do that?”
” ‘Cause they’ll maybe think you’re hiding a sword under it.”
“Would that I were! But why should they think that?”
” ‘Cause it’s big enough.” TV and movies were another set of things Matt didn’t feel like explaining. He was glad he was only going to be here with Gilbert for an hour or two.
He paid with his credit card… that was another good thing about so little time having elapsed in this universe. He reminded himself to send a payment in from Bordestang.
Then they went out into the night again… and a woman with a tired, weary voice called to Gilbert. “Hey, fella.”
“Yes, damsel?” Gilbert turned to look… and froze.
Matt groaned.
The garment she wore might have been called a dress, though it was about five yards short of fabric by Merovence’s standards. It fit her like a second skin, a fabric that sheened softly in the streetlights, fairly begging to be touched. The hemline was a foot above her knees, and her heels were so high that Matt felt they should have had a warning to stay away from the edge. Her hair was bobbed in the latest mode from cheap salons… it wasn’t her fault that it made her look like a Merovencian boy. But no juvenile male ever had such a voluptuous figure, or troweled on so much makeup.
The weary voice recited mechanically, “You wanna have a nice time?”
Gilbert turned red in the face and started making choking noises.
“He’s a lay preacher,” Matt explained, and hurried Gilbert away from the harsh, mocking laugh behind him before the woman could make the obvious pun.
A block farther on, Matt pulled him to a halt under a sign that said BUS. Gilbert managed to stop gurgling long enough to draw in a deep, shuddering breath. He used it to intone, “That painted Jezebel!”
“Not that bad,” Matt said. “She doesn’t kill people, or try to convert them to a pagan religion. In fact, if she doesn’t do what she does, her, uh, ‘master’ will beat her and, uh, starve her.” Once again, he didn’t feel like explaining… about drugs.
Gilbert stared at him, appalled. “She does not choose this immorality?”
“It beats starving,” Matt said.
“Surely the Church would have given her bread!”
“Bread wasn’t enough. Her ‘master’ probably told her she’d be rich if she did what she’s doing. Now she’s found out that he’s the one who gets rich, and she only keeps the smallest part of the money men give her.”
“The poor creature!” Gilbert was trembling, though whether with horror or anger, Matt couldn’t tell.
Luckily, the bus pulled up just then.
The doors hissed open, and Gilbert shrank back, eyes wide.
“It’s only one of those carriages I was telling you about,” Matt said, “though this is our form of coach. There’s no danger.”
“If you say so, Sir Matthew.” Gilbert forced himself up the steps and into the bus.
“Hold it, mac!” The driver put out a hand. “Fare!”
“I’m paying for both of us.” Matt dropped quarters in the meter. It clucked contentedly to itself, and he nudged Gilbert on.
They were halfway down to their seats when the bus started up, shoving the young knight down. That much, though, horses could do. He only pushed himself square in the seat, looking about. “As bright as day! So many benches, so wide, and all cushioned! Silver poles and rails! What are they for, Sir Matthew?”