“Indeed.”
They lapsed back into silence. After a time, Martin decided to try again.
“I appreciate your offering me this ride, but aren’t you at all afraid to be in the presence of a wizard such as myself?”
“No. If we are attacked, you’ll likely be quite useful,” she said, still staring straight ahead.
“Oh, I understand why you’d be less afraid with me, but aren’t you at all afraid of me?”
“Nay,” she said, “I’m just a seamstress and tailor. I have nothing to interest a wizard, just needles and thread. And I needn’t worry about you ravishing me. Everyone knows wizards are celibate.”
Martin didn’t like hearing that. He changed the subject. “So, what can you tell me about the village we’re going to?”
“It’s the place where I live. It’s not a mere village, but a good-sized town. Leadchurch, it’s called. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. It’s quite famous.”
“No,” Martin said, remembering to use his grandiose voice. “I’ve not heard of it. I’m new to this land.”
“Oh, interesting,” she said, taking her eyes from the road to look at him for the first time since the ride began. “Where are you from?”
Time to try the cover story , he thought.
“The east,” he said. “You said Leadchurch was famous. What for?”
“The church, of course. ‘Tis a fine church, clad entirely in precious metal.”
“What precious metal?” Martin asked, his curiosity piqued.
“Lead. What else? A precious metal indeed! Most useful! We had to import it from the north country. Pilgrims come from far and wide to gaze upon the church at high noon. It’s a dazzling sight. The grayest thing you’ve ever seen. Some mark its exterior with their thumbnail. Children often lick its surface, but we try to discourage that.”
“So, is there much work for a wizard in Leadchurch?”
She mulled this over. “I’d say so. Mind you, there’s a wizard in Leadchurch already, but if you can prove your magic is equal to his, I bet you can keep food in your belly.”
“Splendid! I can’t wait to see it.” He paused. “I’m sorry. I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Martin.”
“And I’m Gwen,” she replied.
They came to the edge of town. It was the most abrupt town edge Martin had ever seen. There was nothing but sparse woods, then a meadow, then a tight grouping of rough-hewn buildings with thatched roofs. Some had timber frames; others seemed to be made from piles of stone. Gwen stopped the wagon in front of a very noisy two-story building. There was a sign hanging over a door that had a painting of a tree stump.
“This is where we part, Martin.” Gwen said, turning to face him. “This is The Rotted Stump. Here you’ll find food, a bed, and plenty to keep you entertained. If you ever need any new garments made, or alterations to your robe, please keep me in mind.” She reached into the bed of the wagon and produced a long stick with marks cut in it at regular intervals. She held it up to his arm, clearly measuring his sleeve.
He thanked her and climbed down out of the wagon. His feet had barely touched the ground when she pulled away.
The town looked exactly as he expected a medieval English town to look, except much more pleasant. The road was not a sea of mud, but a sort of large, loose gravel. He suspected that on a rainy day it got a little sloppy, but not much worse than some country driveways he’d seen. The buildings were small and made of wood, stone, and thatch, but they weren’t shanties. There was even some glass, which surprised Martin.
The lack of lighting was the main thing that differentiated them from modern buildings.
Dusk was fading into night, and there was light in the windows, but it was dimmer and more uneven than he was used to. It looked like the entire town was having a romantic evening in. The people walking the streets seemed healthy and happy. No obvious cases of severe scoliosis. People weren’t scurrying in fear. It was a
They lapsed back into silence. After a time, Martin decided to try again.
“I appreciate your offering me this ride, but aren’t you at all afraid to be in the presence of a wizard such as myself?”
“No. If we are attacked, you’ll likely be quite useful,” she said, still staring straight ahead.
“Oh, I understand why you’d be less afraid with me, but aren’t you at all afraid of me?”
“Nay,” she said, “I’m just a seamstress and tailor. I have nothing to interest a wizard, just needles and thread. And I needn’t worry about you ravishing me. Everyone knows wizards are celibate.”
Martin didn’t like hearing that. He changed the subject. “So, what can you tell me about the village we’re going to?”
“It’s the place where I live. It’s not a mere village, but a good-sized town. Leadchurch, it’s called. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. It’s quite famous.”
“No,” Martin said, remembering to use his grandiose voice. “I’ve not heard of it. I’m new to this land.”
“Oh, interesting,” she said, taking her eyes from the road to look at him for the first time since the ride began. “Where are you from?”
Time to try the cover story , he thought.
“The east,” he said. “You said Leadchurch was famous. What for?”
“The church, of course. ‘Tis a fine church, clad entirely in precious metal.”
“What precious metal?” Martin asked, his curiosity piqued.
“Lead. What else? A precious metal indeed! Most useful! We had to import it from the north country. Pilgrims come from far and wide to gaze upon the church at high noon. It’s a dazzling sight. The grayest thing you’ve ever seen. Some mark its exterior with their thumbnail. Children often lick its surface, but we try to discourage that.”
“So, is there much work for a wizard in Leadchurch?”
She mulled this over. “I’d say so. Mind you, there’s a wizard in Leadchurch already, but if you can prove your magic is equal to his, I bet you can keep food in your belly.”
“Splendid! I can’t wait to see it.” He paused. “I’m sorry. I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Martin.”
“And I’m Gwen,” she replied.
They came to the edge of town. It was the most abrupt town edge Martin had ever seen. There was nothing but sparse woods, then a meadow, then a tight grouping of rough-hewn buildings with thatched roofs. Some had timber frames; others seemed to be made from piles of stone. Gwen stopped the wagon in front of a very noisy two-story building. There was a sign hanging over a door that had a painting of a tree stump.
“This is where we part, Martin.” Gwen said, turning to face him. “This is The Rotted Stump. Here you’ll find food, a bed, and plenty to keep you entertained. If you ever need any new garments made, or alterations to your robe, please keep me in mind.” She reached into the bed of the wagon and produced a long stick with marks cut in it at regular intervals. She held it up to his arm, clearly measuring his sleeve.
He thanked her and climbed down out of the wagon. His feet had barely touched the ground when she pulled away.
The town looked exactly as he expected a medieval English town to look, except much more pleasant. The road was not a sea of mud, but a sort of large, loose gravel. He suspected that on a rainy day it got a little sloppy, but not much worse than some country driveways he’d seen. The buildings were small and made of wood, stone, and thatch, but they weren’t shanties. There was even some glass, which surprised Martin.
The lack of lighting was the main thing that differentiated them from modern buildings.
Dusk was fading into night, and there was light in the windows, but it was dimmer and more uneven than he was used to. It looked like the entire town was having a romantic evening in. The people walking the streets seemed healthy and happy. No obvious cases of severe scoliosis. People weren’t scurrying in fear. It was a
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