Bridging the Ancient ✓

Chapter 35

A glass bottle shatters against the side of a stone building and laughter erupts as glass rains down onto the dirt. On the other side of the street, a harlot advertises her goods and none of the men appear to be takers. She curses them, spits on the boots of the one at the front of the crowd, and flounces back into the tavern with broken windows on both floors. The men giggle as if that was what they were hoping for.

Either side of the street we ride down is clogged with small market stands—people selling goods while others cook rat meat and sell that as the finest beef of the west. There aren't any takers standing by, waiting for that meat to be cooked and I don't blame them. The smell here is rancid.

Every repulsive stench finds its way into my nose. Feces, urine, rotten meat, blood, molded cheese, and spoiled milk. There is more where that came from but I can barely get past the first few scents to recognize the next one.

Ducoria is not a place I would want to live. But the same does not go for the prince. He's practically beaming. His shoulders are relaxed, his posture is straight, and when he smiles at those that he passes and they frown, he finds himself in more glee. I don't understand.

Smoke from barrels clouds the streets that have turned to night, the only light being what comes from shady taverns and brothels that keep their candles dim to avoid anyone recognizing familiar company. Through the smoke, people run back and forth across the dirt streets packed with mud or...feces. I can't tell.

Market stands are cluttered with hanging blankets and tattered knapsacks to block out shady deals. The roads curve and bend to mold with those market stands and anyone trying to get through here with a wagon will find themselves stuck in the mud.

I keep a close eye out for those that step too close to my horse and the satchel around my body. One of my hands is wrapped around the leather strap in case anyone tries to pull it directly from my shoulder and take me along with it. I've already received a few lookers, they study our saddlebags and the light weight of our food supply. We've nearly run out and not only are we here to find the third box but also to stock up for the rest of the journey.

After Ducoria, we'll head to Lona in search of the final box and after that, we're to travel back to the capital and deliver what the king sought. There's no telling what will happen after that, if we'll be allowed to stay or if he'll force us to retrieve something that he's too busy to take himself.

We've been traveling for three weeks now, have scoured the kingdom from one end to the next in search of these boxes. I doubt we'll be rewarded for the danger we've put ourselves in.

Renit finds an inn that's in worse shape than the one in Flitsea and pays for a room with one bed, two stalls for the horses, and a meal for the night. But we will not be sleeping, at least that is my suspicion. The night life here is much more prominent than the chaos during daylight hours and Renit will not waste a second on finding the box and stocking up on supplies for the rest of our journey.

The inn room is much smaller than the one in Flitsea, there's not a separate space for the tub except for a curtain that is tattered and torn in more than one spot. I won't be bathing there tonight and neither will Renit, he frowns at the condition of our room before the door is shut behind us.

"It's not the best," he sighs with a frown. The bed is small, barely big enough for two people, and the slanted roof leaves for short ceilings towards either wall. We can barely stand at full height without hitting our heads or bumping into each other. But this was the best that was available, apparently. As if there are no other inns in a city like this. None that make you pay to breathe, at least.

"We won't be here very long," I offer. "Who knows what's living in these walls." I scrunch up my nose and Renit does the same, mimicking my disgust. Neither of us want to be here.