“Larger than you expected, isn’t it?” Gideon asked as they continued riding. Horse and wagon traffic began to pick up steadily, especially as they descended toward the harbor area.
“Yes, it is. I was just wondering-”
“Why it’s called a town? It just got bigger and bigger, but no one ever bothered to change the designation. Now that Mordred is in power, no one really bothers with bureaucracy. Everyone is just trying to figure out how to survive on a day to day basis as he takes more and more from them.”
“Tilley certainly seems to be thriving,” Ethan said.
“Sin always does in a wicked world, Ethan, sin always does.”
Ethan remained quiet after that, at least for a while. The statement bothered him. Sin was a part of who man was-at least what man had become, after his rebellion to Shaddai.
Something set off Ethan’s senses, drawing him from his musings on the natural man. He looked up, noticing a blur of motion moving through the streets ahead of them. The crowds thickened as people came outdoors, tending to their daily business. But what Ethan saw had not been the movement of bustling crowds in the street of a busy city. These were the preternatural movements of demons.
“What is it, Ethan?” Gideon asked.
Ethan’s attention snapped back to Gideon, his expression intense. “There are demons moving through the streets ahead,” he whispered.
Gideon nodded. Fortunately, he had disguised his priestly appearance with the cloak. Hopefully, the demons still couldn’t see Ethan. “Gideon they can’t see me, but what about Whistler?” Ethan asked.
Gideon reached over nonchalantly to take the reins from Ethan’s hand. “Tell me where they are,” Gideon whispered.
“There are several hovering over the street traffic,” Ethan said. “There coming this way, searching among the people…probably for us.”
Gideon assumed a casual posture, continuing to ride with Whistler’s reins in his hand. The horse had fallen slightly behind, flanking Gideon’s horse. Ethan watched intently as the demons floated just above the heads of the people milling about in the streets.
The demons were searching for two people. The call had gone out through their ranks in this region. They scanned the crowd for a priest of Shaddai in brown robes with a red sash and a young boy with blonde hair, tan shirt, and breeches. When they reached Gideon, they saw a man in a dark green cloak with two horses. There was an old woman with an apple cart and a man purchasing from her nearby. A wagon with a team of two horses passed by on the opposite side of the street with a man and two children-one boy, one girl. An elderly couple walked across a wooden porch in front of a store. A man with a brown dog crossed the street, carrying a piece of fish and a steaming loaf of new bread. They had seen nothing out of the ordinary-no priest, no boy.
THE WEARY TRAVELER
After Ethan and Gideon had spent the better part of an hour making their way through the streets of Tilley, they came to a large inn. Ethan saw few other demons searching for them. “We should stop for a meal and inquire about passage across the Azure Sea,” Gideon said, steering the horses toward the large wooden building ahead. The sign read, The Weary Traveler Inn.
Large alleyways stretched down either side of the building. In the housing district, the alleys were lined with heaps of garbage. A spider web of criss-crossing lines hung between buildings on which hundreds of pieces of stained laundry swayed in the sea breeze to dry. But here in the business district, things had been kept marginally cleaner. Ethan assumed the merchants wanted to keep down on the filth in order to encourage business.
Hitching posts stood along one side of the building. A young boy waited to water and feed the animals and to take them back to the horse stalls for customers who would be staying overnight in the inn. “I’m not sure if we’ll have to stay the night, or not, Ethan. It just depends on what ships are available and when,” Gideon said.
“What about money?”
“Money won’t be a problem for us. The Order has provided.”
Gideon led the horses to the hitching posts beside the Weary Traveler. He and Ethan dismounted casually. Most people probably would not have noticed the nearly imperceptible way Gideon passed his sword and scabbard from the blanket wrap to his cloak. Ethan did.
They left the horses with the servant boy, then walked around to the front of the inn. A wooden plaque read, No Weapons Allowed. Gideon rolled his eyes. “Most of the people inside will be armed-some to the teeth,” Gideon whispered. “The innkeeper is a dim one indeed if he doesn’t know it. That sign is only there so the local law can issue fines with greater ease.” They faced a large mahogany door. “Are you ready then? There will be some rough customers in here, maybe even pirates or highwaymen,” Gideon said.
Ethan put on his best mask of determination. He supposed he had already seen worse in his life than whoever might be lurking about in the Weary Traveler Inn. What could be worse than demons? At any rate, he was with a warrior-priest of Shaddai and likely the best in his Order. Gideon gave him a wink and said, “Don’t let them see any fear in your eyes and stick close to me.” He pulled his hood up as he pushed on the heavy wooden door and entered the Weary Traveler Inn.
As soon as they walked into the inn, a pungent smell assaulted their senses-old sweat, spilt ale and urine. A secondary aroma began to filter through, bread baking and sausages.
The Weary Traveler was decorated in rich dark woods and sailing artifacts-an anchor, a net, and even a helm-all bolted to the walls. A large main room trailed down the far side of the bar while a set of stairs consisting of two flights ascended to a landing up on a second floor. Here there were rooms for rent depending upon the clientele needs.
On the main floor, tables sat here and there and booths lined the walls. Everything looked well worn but sturdy. The only light in the main room came from oil lamps and candles. There were no windows.
This was the sort of place where sinister bargains were made, where secrets were told, and where plots were planned. The inn held a feeling of restrained danger like sleeping lions in a cage. Ethan felt like a piece of fresh meat right now. These people lived on the edge of danger, even thrived upon it. They could spot fear from a mile away and knew a hundred different ways to exploit it to their own advantage.
Ethan stayed behind Gideon as they walked through the room. His eyes danced from table to table and along the bar. Everyone watched them, even the people who never seemed to look at them directly. They were a rough looking sort-the kind who would laugh and toast their glass high with you one moment, only to turn around and stab you in the back the next.
Other things moved in the Weary Traveler-things which were not human, clinging to shadows, hating the light. Ethan’s flesh began to crawl and the hairs on his neck stood erect. Demons dwelt in this place.
Gideon led them through the morass of gamblers and drinkers to the bar. A thick middle-aged man wiped glasses behind the curved slab of mahogany. He kept his eyes darting from the rag to the boys as they approached. When they reached the brass rail edging the counter, he said, “What’ll it be gentlemen?”
“Cool water and a plate of bread and cheese,” Gideon said. Ethan took a strong whiff of sausages cooking over a flame in the kitchen area. “And bring the boy some sausages too.”
The barkeep laid a weary eye on the pair. Gideon slapped a silver coin down on the counter, and the man snapped to attention. The money erased any trace of doubt on his face. “Yes sir, coming right up, gentlemen.”
Gideon left his index finger standing on the silver coin. “We’ll be needing a room for this and some information.”