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Chapter 11: Journey to Salinas
In the morning, Alice helps the adventurers pack food for the trip to Leetsburg, and sees them off. They depart in the early morning pre-dawn gloom and get as far as Tom the Prophet’s cabin without incident, traveling in silence save for the tweets, chirps, and rustles of the forest waking up. Several miles past Tom’s, they break for lunch.
Some time later, Phr stops the group and says, “Hey - see that house? All the yellow tape around it?”
“Think it’s Vincent’s,” Vector asks. Phyr nods.
Pannych says, “Huh,” but keeps walking along the road.
“Don’t you wanna take a look inside,” Phyr asks.
“What for,” Pannych asks, still walking. Phyr and Vector jog to catch up.
“I dunno, see if there’s anything useful?”
“Like what?”
“Like - I don’t know! What if something jumps out at us?”
Vector says, “I think anything that immediately obvious would probably have been snagged in the investigation.”
“Oh, good point,” Phyr says.
After a few more miles of quiet walking, they round a bend and see Leetsburg in the distance. The forest has opened up, and to either side of the city are rolling hills that rise to form mountains some dozens of miles in either direction.
“OK, now that is a city,” Phyr says. “Jesus, they got turrets on the wall and everything!”
“Walls, plural,” Vector corrects him. “There’s a higher inner wall overlooking the outer wall.”
Pannych closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and smiles, saying, “Mmm, I can smell the ocean on the breeze. Reminds me of growing up in LA.”
Vector says, “Wait, like California? I didn’t know you were from there.”
Phyr says, “She’s not, she was just born there.”
“Where else would I be from,” Pannych asks.
Phyr says, “Weren’t you like six when you left?”
“Yeah, between kindergarten and first grade.”
“Right,” he continues, “So you don’t even really remember it, do you?”
“I remember it really well, actually. What does that have to do with anything?”
“Well,” Phyr waves his hand suggestively as they walk, “I mean, where you’re from is where you have the most formative memories. Like, where you spent the most time. It doesn’t count if you left when you were a little kid.”
“That is where I spent the most time. I moved every year after that. We finally settled down by you when I was twelve. I’ve only been there for five years. So where’s that leave me being ‘from,’ in your definition?”
Phyr hems and haws for a moment, then says, “Sorry, I forgot this is your seventeen-year-old self I’m talking to.” She shrugs. “Look, you put down roots, is what I’m saying. I guess you’re just kind of in the middle of that right now. I mean, you spent some time in and out of college, and you settled down a bit for grad school-”
“I go to grad school?!”
“Not ‘til you’re like 30, but yeah.”
“The fuck for?”
“Information Science. You wanted to be a librarian, and you got into the number-one library school in the country. I mean, it was your second try when they let you in, and you were a third-stringer - but you got into the best possible school for your field.”
“What did I have to do for that? Like, intern at a bunch of famous libraries?”
“No, they pretty much let you in on pluck and a song. You ran your admissions essay by me, it was powerful. And you’re doing the things you said you wanted to do. It just took you some time to find your way, that’s all.”
“Jesus.” Pannych’s eyes widen, and she contemplates this glimpse of her future. “I guess I always thought I was just gonna jump around from shit job to shit job and slowly drink myself to death.”
“You tried that,” Vector says. “But you got bored of it. Also, you lived with an actual alcoholic for a year - he was recovering well when you met him, but then he relapsed, and that was a big wake-up call for you.” Pannych stops in her tracks and clutches her head in both hands. Phyr and Vector stop with her.
“Hey, are you all right,” Phyr asks. Vector attempts to grab her, but Phyr stops him with a hand on his chest.
“I’m - fine. I’ll be fine.” She breathes deeply and raises her face to the afternoon sky. Opening her eyes, she says, “I just - hearing all that about my future, I think it set something off.”
“Noted,” Vector says. “No more future talk, then.”
“Yeah,” Phyr says. “What did it set off?”
“Not sure. Like a vision, maybe.”
“What did you see?”
“I was in a house. With some people. I was feeling good, we had just done something big together, I think. I was wearing really dirty clothes, and I stepped out of a side door onto a driveway. Then I cracked open a beer, took one sip, and just - I think I fainted.”
“OK,” Phyr says with a nod. “That actually happened when you were 25. You called me and told me about it. But I think we should change the subject, because whatever this is, I don’t think it’s good.”
“Agreed,” Pannych says. She takes another couple of deep breaths, and resumes walking.
They pass the rest of the way to the Leetsburg gates in silence. The guards seem to know who they are, presumably from speaking stone chatter, and let them in with a nod and a terse greeting. Once they’re out of earshot, Vector says, “I get the sense we’re permitted, but not exactly welcome.”
“Yeah,” Pannych says. “Let’s find a ship that’s taking passengers and see what we gotta do to board.”
“How’s Holly’s Harbors sound,” Phyr asks, pointing to a sign with directions.
“Nice and obvious,” Pannych says with a nod. “Let’s hoof it.”
They walk in silence, taking in the sights and sounds of the city winding down for the day. Occasionally, wagons pass by, carrying various proportions of people and goods.
“OK,” Phyr says, as one particularly crowded wagon rumbles past, “Don’t look now, but I could swear that whole bus-load of people were staring at us. Are we walking on the wrong side of the street or something?”
“No,” Vector says quietly. “It’s everyone. I thought it was just the vendors hawking their wares, at first - but no, everyone’s looking at us weird.”
Pannych says, “Hey, yeah - I mean, I’m used to catching stares, but every time I make eye contact, they avert their gaze. Like I just farted or something, and they’re upset about it, but don’t wanna acknowledge it.”
A henceforth awkward hour’s walking brings them to Holly’s Harbors. As they walk, the streets and buildings gradually transition from straight and regular to a more crowded and organic arrangement. Near the coast now, they can hear the crashing waves and feel a little salt spray in the air; they catch occasional glimpses of the water between buildings. The Sun is just starting to set behind them as they approach the wooden storefront, a warm candlelit glow spilling out from large windows around posters advertising various destinations: the thick woods of Járnviðr, the rainy highlands of Altilluvia, the rolling plains of Autumnspring, and the sunny shores of California.
A bell tinkles overhead as they walk in, the interior smelling faintly of paper, sand, wax, and a hint of smoke. Inside, a woman leans over a counter on her elbows, with skin the gray-green of the northern sea and steely eyes. She has the round, earnest face of a dwarf, an orc’s robust frame, and an elf’s lithe musculature. Shoulder-length silver-blond hair is swept back on her right, and tousled on the left to hide a raggedly torn ear. A grin warms and brightens her face as the trio enters, and she says in a gravelly voice, “Welcome, adventurers! Thanks for pickin’ Holly’s Harbors for the next leg of your journey! I’m Holly. What can I do for ya?”
Vector enters first, Pannych and Phyr follow - but as they step out from behind the half-giant, Holly’s face pales, then darkens. She raises her hands in rebuff, and says, “Ho, sorry - no can do. We got a city-wide ‘no destined heroes’ order, an’ everyone knows about the meddlin’ demigods who’re runnin’ roughshod over the island.”
Phyr looks at her quizzically and says, “Excuse me?” Pannych and Vector both look at him with concern. He catches it, and shoots them a WTF? shrug.
Holly elaborates: “Look, nothin’ against ya - we’re all strugglin’ to make ends meet, but no right-minded cap’n’ll take you aboard - an’ you two in particular were mentioned extra special.”
Vector asks, “So nobody will sail us? Anywhere?”
Phyr grumbles, but Pannych places a hand on his shoulder and gestures outside, then says to Holly, “Thanks for letting us know. Sorry to trouble you!”
“Safe travels,” Holly says brightly as they exit.
Outside, the adventurers discuss. Vector says, “I say we pay Sir Briansworth a visit - put a face to a name, see what kinda pull we have.”
“I dunno,” Pannych says, “I think he hates us. Sir Stevington might be more amenable.”
“If we’re going back to Noob Town anyway,” Phyr says, “Then why don’t we just ask Alice’s advice?”
“Good thought,” Pannych says. “Third option: Vincent had black market contacts, we could check his place to see if we can find them out.”
“Dicey,” Vector says with a frown. “If he even has a list of contacts, it was almost certainly nabbed.”
Pannych raises a finger and says, “Unless it was encoded, and hiding in plain sight.”
“Yeah, but that’ll be expensive as Hell,” Phyr says, stroking his chin.
“Sure,” Pannych agrees, “But the other options are to deal with an asshole or walk back to Noob Town, and my feet hurt.”
If you checked PACKAGE PILFERER on the last page, AND you think the adventurers should LOOK FOR VINCENT’S CONTACTS, then check “Clandestine Cargo” on the last page, and then click here.
If you DID NOT CHECK Package Pilferer, but WANT TO READ THIS OPTION ANYWAY, then go ahead - but put a tally mark in the Retconning Rascal box on the last page.
If you DID NOT CHECK Package Pilferer, but WANT TO READ THIS OPTION ANYWAY, then go ahead - but put a tally mark in the Retconning Rascal box on the last page.
If you think they should TALK TO SIR BRIANSWORTH, then check “Mayoral Meeting” on the last page, and then click here.
If you think they should GO ASK ALICE, then check “Bookfinders’ Boon” on the last page, and then click here.
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