Barnaby the Wanderer

Chapter 30: City of Bones and Roses

"Welcome to Persephone," said Night-Creep, perched upon Barnaby's shoulder pack.

Barnaby made no reply; merely stared; mouth open, eyes wide. Astonished by all he saw, all he heard, all he smelled.

Senses overcome, he lowered eyes to the street. Behold: orderly lines of stones round and regular as prayer beads on a string. Whose labor was this wonder of cobbles? Where could they find so many river-smoothed stones to fit so neatly? How could they bear to let a horse shit upon such work?

He turned gaze upwards. Gables of houses, flowered terraces and ornate balconies made a stage backdrop fit for a grand play. Higher still, tiled rooftops wore weathervanes like crowns upon princes commanding wind and storm. And higher yet stood a forest of tower tops and church spires. From these pinnacles flew banners bright in the afternoon sun, alive in the river-wind. Who dared the dreadful falling, just to climb into the sky, placing these symbols? Did they know what a wonder of worthy labor they performed? fixing a colored cloth to declare this city a place of beauty and victory rivaling heaven's draperies of cloud and star? Surely they knew.

Fascinated, Barnaby turned gaze upon those walking the streets and walkways, sharing this fantastical stage. Men, women and children streamed past, skipped past, limped past, rode past, sauntered past... each knowing their part in this amazing dance of city life.

Meanwhile, folk coming through the gate grumbled and cursed Barnaby for hindering their joining the dance.

"It's like the Jahrmarkt," said Barnaby. "The fair east of Milltown each spring. But instead of tents and booths, here are houses and churches and castles and taverns and towers and fountains and paving and statues and trees and so many people."

"Off to the side, idiot," admonished Bodkin, tugging his arm. "Close gob and stop staring. You look like, like a farm dog stopping to piss in front of the duke's parade."

"Damn right he does," growled a gate guard. "Move the bumpkin out the path 'for I pull you both."

"Yessir," said Bodkin.

"Pull us where?" asked Barnaby, allowing himself to be pulled to a side-path.

"Means toss us into gaol," said Bodkin. "Truly, is this your first sight of anywhere bigger than two houses and a barn?"

"Milltown has folk and houses. Just, well, not so many as here."

Persephone was not all stone and brick, plaster and wood. Trees stood in basins at every corner. Boxes of flowers hung beneath each window. Birds choired from tree branches and rooftops. For all the city-smell of wood smoke and horseshit, there remained a background perfume of summer flowers.

"Hasn't changed a bit," declared Bodkin. "That tower is new. Those used to be cherry trees, not elms."

"When were you here?" asked Barnaby.

"Oh, born and raised in 'Seph. Seventy-something years ago. I mean, that's the last I remember being here. For sure I came back oft enough. Probably old Mercutio had a house or two. Ancient mates to meet for a beer, cry about the old days the way wrinkled fools do."

Barnaby tried to picture Ancient Bodkin.

"Is being here now strange?"

"You'd think." The boy leaped into the air, clicked his heels, landed again. "But it feels right. Young body, old soul, no plague of memories and regrets. Best of all worlds."

They walked on, staring about.

"Now, when I was last here," mused Night-Creep.

"When?" interrupted Barnaby.