Chapter 5 Gasara, Merchant Town

Chapter 5
Gasara, Merchant Town

Once again they took off, rocking and swaying across the grasslands. By now Wataru had grown used to Turbo’s gait and was able to sit on the wooden seat without the constant risk of falling off. Wataru asked his helpful guide question after question: what was safe to eat, what dangers lurked in the wilds of Vision. Kee Keema was happy to oblige with answers.

After they had gone some distance, Wataru spotted a thick, verdant forest far ahead of them, a hundred times larger than the small wooded oasis they had previously seen. A building like a tower with a triangular roof stood among the trees.

“The town of Gasara,” Kee Keema announced, pointing ahead. “A merchant town. Lots of folks come here: darbaba teamsters like myself, sailship merchants, even starseers on their travels from town to town in search of new knowledge. It’s a lively place, Gasara.”

The air was bone dry here, and the sun was hot. Wataru wiped the sweat off his brow, and squinted as he looked over the town of Gasara. He noticed something glinting to the left of the woods surrounding the town—riders on darbaba, heading out over the grassland.

“Who are they?”

Kee Keema looked out over the grass. “Oh, them? Them’s probably the Knights of Stengel—the ones in charge of keeping the peace here in the United Nations. That’s quite a few of them too. That sparklin’ you see is the sun on their armor. From their direction, I’d say they’re off to fight gimblewolves out in the Fatal Desert.”

Ack! Gimblewolves!

“This Fatal Desert…it’s close?”

“Aye. Turbo here could make the journey to the gorge that leads into the desert in about a day.”

“Why the name?”

“Because it’s big, and it’s surrounded by rocky crags, so you can’t even get a good look at it until you’re right in the thick of it. With no maps of the place, and gimblewolves running amok, many are the fools who wander in never to be seen again. No return, see?”

Wataru remembered his run-in with the gimblewolves, and the hair stood up on his neck. “Wait, why do they have to go kill the gimblewolves? The wolves don’t come out of the desert, do they? Do they attack people?”

“Sometimes. Those corkscrews’ll eat anything, and they never seem to get full. That’s why they come over the rocky crags and attack merchant caravans traveling the road on the other side—huh?” Kee Keema looked curiously at Wataru. “You know about the gimblewolves?”

“Unfortunately,” Wataru answered. He didn’t want to think about it. “I’ve…heard stories.”

“Have you now? Well I’m happy to say stories are as close as I’ve ever gotten to the things meself. I hear they stink something fierce.”

Turbo glided to the left, and the gates to town appeared before them—heavy wooden panels suspended between two thick pillars of stacked brick. Atop one of the pillars sat a man wearing what looked like a straw hat. Kee Keema waved, and the man waved back and shouted something in a loud voice to someone behind the gates.

Turbo approached the gate slowly, stopping a good distance before them. Just then, the gates creaked into motion, opening outward. Turbo was wise. He stopped just far enough away that the gates wouldn’t hit them when they opened.

“Kee Keema of Sakawa,” Kee Keema announced, pulling something that looked like a card with a long string attached from the folds of his kilt. He waved it at the man atop the pillar. “I carry mai and mamas to Posura, by request of the Mercaid Merchants of Bog. Here’s my writ.”

A man strode purposefully out from inside the gate and began inspecting their cargo. His clothes resembled a single burlap sack with a hole cut in it for the head. His pants were short, looking like Wataru’s silk pants, but cut off just below the knee. He walked swiftly on woven sandals.

“You may pass.”

Turbo walked into town. Once through the gates, Wataru saw many houses like log cabins. As he looked around, Kee Keema hunched toward him and whispered in his ear. “Wataru, I forgot to tell you something very important. Listen up.”

Wataru leaned in closer.

“Remember when I first asked if you were a refugee from the north?”

Wataru nodded.

“Now everyone thought the ankha of the Northern Empire had peace of sorts until the refugees started arriving. Most of them risked their lives in handmade sailships to cross the sea, and as many that made it, many more probably died along the way. But some of them, they came across in merchant ships, and brought with them a great deal of gold.”

Something about that sounds familiar…

“To hear them tell it, there was fighting among the ankha of the north. Those refugees, they brought with them news, which was good, but they also brought their religion—the faith of the Old God. And it spread.”

In addition to being a rejection of the Goddess, the faith in the Old God had one more characteristic, Kee Keema explained. “Those who believe in the Old God think that Travelers like you are, well, evil.”

The followers of the Old God had a name for the Travelers who came through the Porta Nectere: “zaza-aku.”

“In an old ankhan tongue, it means ‘false gods,’ or ‘those who pretend to be gods,’ see?”

To deceive the Old God, the story went, the Goddess sought to remake herself in his image. Yet to perfect the form, she needed to practice, which she did by making false ankha—trial subjects, in other words. When she was done with them, the Goddess discarded them into the Abyss of Chaos at the edge of the land. But one of them lived, and passed from Vision into the other world—Wataru’s world.

“They say that the Travelers to Vision are the descendants of that one false ankha.” Kee Keema whispered, his teeth gnashing. “Don’t seem fair to me. Nobody ever talked such nonsense when I was a wee one. It’s a recent rumor about ancient things, it is, and that’s just backward.”

Kee Keema warned Wataru that among the followers of the Old God there might be some who would seek to do a Traveler harm. These men believed that killing a zaza-aku was one of the greatest demonstrations of faith possible—proof that one was a true warrior of the faith.

“Now normally you don’t need to be worried about anything. In other towns, that is. But Gasara is a merchant town, and all sorts gather here. You’ve a much greater chance of running into one of those Old God believers here than anywhere else. That’s why you might want to keep it under your hat that you’re a Traveler, ’kay?”

“Okay,” Wataru whispered back. “I’ll be careful. Thanks.”

Kee Keema sat up in his seat, and in a loud voice asked, “Well, Wataru, where shall we go? Lodgings first, I think.”

Suddenly, Wataru realized he had a problem. His fortune in finding the darbaba driver had completely distracted him from his situation. He had no money, and he had no idea what to do. He didn’t have a single lead as to finding one of the gemstones. He felt a bead of cold sweat trickle down his forehead. Kee Keema frowned. “Something wrong? I said something strange, didn’t I?”

It occurred to Wataru that this kindly waterkin had no idea that his lucky charm, Traveler Wataru, was nothing more than a lost boy adrift and alone in a place he did not understand. Wataru was so lost he didn’t even know what help to ask for.

“I, um…”

“I know, you’re tired, you must be! Of course! Of course! I’m used to the riding, meself, but for you it must have been quite a trip. Let’s find lodging and rest up,” Kee Keema said, without waiting for affirmation from Wataru. “Ah, but first you must let me stable Turbo. The darbaba post is right over there. That’s where darbabas stay, you see. Don’t worry, the lodgings for people aren’t far.”

Turbo walked slowly through the town, making for the darbaba post—a structure much like a walled parking lot in Wataru’s world. Other waterkin like Kee Keema were busily scrubbing down their stabled darbabas, feeding and watering them. In the corner, a small circle of waterkin stood, smoking what looked like tobacco on the end of long, slender pipes. One of them smiled broadly and waved to Kee Keema.

Kee Keema tied Turbo up, and then turned to Wataru. “Well, don’t you look miserable! If you’re too tired to walk, shall I give you a ride on my shoulders again?”

Wataru swallowed. “I…actually, I don’t have money for lodging.”

“Urk?” Kee Keema blinked.

“I have no money. Not a single cent,” Wataru said, talking so fast his words ran together. “Wayfinder Lau gave me a lunch, but he told me everything else was up to me. But I…but I have no idea what to do.”

Kee Keema blinked again, six times in fact. The blinks were rapid, but Wataru, staring intently at Kee Keema to gauge his reaction, was able to count each one.

“Wataru,” he said. “I’ll pay for your lodging.”

“You can’t do that!” Wataru protested. “You’ve already given me a ride this far—I can’t impose on you anymore.”

Kee Keema raised his hands. “Now, now. No need to get agitated.” The waterkin’s long tongue slithered out between his lips. He smiled. “Then I’ll tell you what. I’ll loan you the money. It’s hot out here, so let’s get on inside. We can talk more then.”

The inn in Gasara was a long lodge with walls of thick logs. The guest rooms were arranged down the sides of a long central hallway. The cheapest rooms were called “come-alls”—something like group bunk rooms—but Kee Keema asked for a small private room instead. Hearing his banter with the innkeeper, Wataru learned the unit of currency in this world for the first time: the tem.

The innkeeper was a little man with a bristly beard, an ankha, and he stared at Kee Keema and Wataru for a long time with his glittering eyes. Kee Keema didn’t seem to notice. Bringing Wataru to his room, he laughed and left again, and soon returned carrying two cups.

“Here, drink this,” he said, handing one cup to Wataru. “Nothing feels better than a ride across the grass, but the sun beating down’ll make a man tired. This is best for what ails you.”

The drink was slightly sweet and had a faint medicinal taste.

“Thank you so much,” Wataru said. Sitting down in a simple wooden chair, he breathed a sigh of relief.

Kee Keema licked his lips with a whip of his long tongue. It was hard to tell, but he seemed almost shy. “Like I said, don’t mention it. You’re my lucky star, after all.”

Wataru grinned. A lucky star. Is there anyone in my world that would do so much for a stranger just because they thought they were lucky? Wataru thought it was quite the opposite.

Mitsuru had said that Vision was created by the imaginative energies of the real world. Wataru wondered: would more visitors from his world change Vision for the worse? He didn’t know.

“You’re going to the Tower of Destiny to meet the Goddess, right?” Kee Keema asked, sitting on the clean, if a little hard-looking, bed.

“Yes, I think so. I want to change my, I mean my and my family’s fate…”

Kee Keema cut him off. “No, don’t tell me. We are taught that Travelers who come from your world to Vision are called here by the Goddess. We do not know why she calls them, and it is not good to ask. Why, it is the Goddess’s will, and that is enough. So, don’t tell me your reasons for coming here.”

Wataru nodded.

“And, Wataru, you know you must reach the Tower on your own.”

“I do.”

“But, there’s nothing that says someone can’t go with you on the way. So, I was thinking, I might join you for a while. If it’s okay with you?”

“Kee Keema!”

“I don’t think the Goddess would mind, not if I only went a little ways.” Kee Keema hastily added. “I mean, look at you, you’re tiny. The Traveler my uncle met, he was already a young man. He could make the trip on his own. But Wataru, you’re still a boy. How would you make money for your trip? I couldn’t abandon a child and live with myself, no sir. That wouldn’t be good at all.”

Wataru felt warm and fuzzy all over. “I would—I mean, that would make me really happy. But what about your work? You can’t quit, just on my account. That’s not good, either.”

Kee Keema’s eyes glimmered. “True, true. That’s why I’m going to deliver my cargo—then I’ll head back up to Sakawa, see? I’ll talk to the chief. If I go by swift cart, the trip should take me only three to four days. So, I want you to wait here for me. ’Kay?”

“But—you’d do that? For me?”

“Of course! Why, I don’t think the chief would think too kindly on me if I just dropped off everything here and went off on my merry way. He’d be right angry, he would. ‘When did you become such a mean old waterkin?’ he’d ask me.” Kee Keema scratched his head. “The chief, he’s four hundred and twenty years old now, but he’s still strong as an ox. Why, he’s been scolding me since I was a wee one, and has given me more than my fair share of swats on the hindquarters. Wouldn’t do to make him cross with me, no sir.”

Over four hundred years! Wataru’s eyes went wide. Waterkin can live that long?

“So then, I should…”

“You should take me up on my offer!” Kee Keema said clapping his hands and jumping to his feet. “Time’s a-wasting, boy! I’ll be heading out. I’ve paid for a five nights’ stay, so you need not worry about a thing. They’ll feed you here too. When you’ve rested up, take a walk around town. There are lots of folks around here; maybe you can talk to them and get a hint about where you want to go next. Just watch out for the believers of the Old God, like I told you.”

Kee Keema lumbered out, happily humming to himself. Wataru watched after him. I wonder how old he is?

Wataru lay down on the bed and stretched. White plastered walls. A ceiling made of woven reeds. The cool of the air inside the room felt good. Wataru relaxed.

For dinner, a round-faced ankha woman delivered bread, stew, and fruit. She said nothing and did not even look at Wataru. But the food was so delicious it more than made up for the lack of hospitality.

When the sun had completely set, Wataru gazed up at the stars through a small window in his room. It looked as though he could reach out and catch them in his hand. Happy, Wataru walked out of the lodge. At night, the town of Gasara was quiet, the lights sputtering here and there on buildings. From some buildings he assumed were restaurants or bars poured more light, and the sounds of music and people talking. Wataru walked, being careful to note the way he had come, and finding a small rise in the middle of town, he again looked up at the night sky.

Filled with the magic of the night, Wataru eventually returned to the lodge. When he reached the front doorway, someone pushed him hard from behind. A vile stench filled his nose.

“You’re the boy that came in with that waterkin today, aren’t you!”

It was a skinny ankha man; spit flew from his mouth as he talked. He reached out in an attempt to grab Wataru’s chest, but Wataru knocked his hand away.

“What, you want to fight?” The man spat. His breath was foul. From the slight wobble in his motions, Wataru realized he was drunk. The stench must have been the smell of liquor. Maybe alcohol here in Vision is stronger than it is in my world.

“Hanging out with waterkin—you’ve got that damn smell on you,” the man muttered, glaring at Wataru. “Hang out with them too long and you’ll sprout scales and get a forked tongue. You know that?”

Wataru stood up silently, feeling the bile rise in his throat. Then he turned his back on the man.

“What? I give you some friendly advice, and you’re going to ignore me?”

The man grabbed Wataru by the shoulder, and Wataru whirled around. “Let me go! That waterkin is ten times the man you are!”

“Why you little…” the man swung his fist. Just then something came flying out from the lodge and struck the man in the face. It was a wet towel.

“None of that!” came a loud voice. It was the unfriendly woman from before, standing with her hands on her hips and glaring at the man. “Drunkard! Get back to your room or I’ll toss you out into the road!”

The inebriated man suddenly became meek, and walked past Wataru into the lodge.

His room is right next to mine!

“Thank you,” Wataru said to the woman. She made no reply, but picked up her towel and tossed it into a nearby wooden bucket filled with murky water.

Wataru had an idea. “Ma’am?”

The woman wrung dirty water out of her towel with thick arms and said nothing.

“Actually, I’m looking for work, to pay for my journey. Is there anything I might do here, like, maybe, cleaning?”

The woman looked at Wataru out of the corner of her eye and spat, “What are your parents thinking, sending a little boy like you out on the road alone?”

Then she picked up her bucket and walked away. Deflated, Wataru trudged back to his room. My parents…As he was falling asleep, Wataru saw his mother drifting across his mind’s eye. That’s right, the Mirror of Truth. I have to find it quick—I have to tell Mom I’m okay.

Wataru slept soundly, with no dreams. It was a peaceful, restful sleep. But he awoke with a jolt.

“Wake up! Wake up, I said!”

Wataru’s eyes blinked open. The innkeeper with the bristly beard had him by the neck and was shaking him. It was already light outside, and the morning sun through the window hurt his eyes.

“Huh? What’s wrong?”

“As if you didn’t know!” the bearded man shouted, dragging Wataru out of bed. “Get up, I say. Sleepy eyes won’t fool me, murderer!”

Murderer? The word was like a bucket of ice water dumped over his head. Wataru was wide awake now.

“What do you mean ‘murderer’? Did somebody die?”

“Don’t play the fool with me! Look at your hands!”

Wataru took a glance at his hands and his breath stopped. They were covered in blood. It wasn’t only his hands. His undergarments, too, were caked with dried crimson. What’s going on? What happened?

“No use feigning innocence this time!” the man shouted. “You cut the throat of the man in the room next door. This blood is proof of it. You killed him and took his money, didn’t you? Tell me—where did you hide it? Where’s your knife?”

Still in shock, Wataru was tied up with rope and dragged outside in front of the lodge. A crowd of onlookers had already gathered. Some of them began shouting angrily. Any other day, Wataru might have been surprised that the faces in the crowd were those of dogs, cats, bears, even lions, but right now he had more important things to worry about.

“He’s just a boy!”

“I always said ankha were precocious!”

“And this is the third he’s killed? Monster!”

“I’ve heard of a boy thief, but he’s a murderer too?”

The words came at Wataru in a frightening whirlwind of sound. The faces were drawn, as if gazing upon something horrible. Wataru’s spine went cold.

I haven’t killed anyone. I haven’t even stolen anything. What are they talking about, three people?

“C’mon!” The bearded innkeeper gave Wataru a swift kick in the pants, and yanked on the rope tied around him. “It’s off to the branch with you.”

The inn’s proprietor began dragging his bound prisoner through the streets of the city. He looked as proud as he was angry, and occasionally he would announce in a loud voice that he had caught the young murderer, scourge of Gasara.

People looked from doorways and windows as Wataru stumbled down the street. Some of the lodge patrons even fell in behind them. He heard a child clapping and shouting in a shrill voice, “They caught him! The killer-thief’s been caught!”

Up to this point Wataru had been mute with confusion and terror, but when he heard the boy he shouted, “I haven’t done anything! This is all a mistake!”

The innkeeper lashed out with his foot again, and Wataru was knocked to the ground. His cheek scraped on the dirt road, and gravel filled his mouth.

Just then, soft hands reached out and picked Wataru up from the ground. He looked and saw that the arms were covered with pure white fur—with stripes the color of milk.

He looked up to see the face of a cat, white with brown stripes, with large blue-gray eyes, staring at Wataru.

“Are you okay?” the cat asked. Tiny silver whiskers grew from its pink nose. Its voice was unmistakably feminine. It moved like a girl too—like one of his classmates back in the real world.

“Stay away from him, you! This boy is a murderer!” the innkeeper barked as he yanked Wataru to his feet. The cat-girl backed away trembling. Her eyes never left Wataru’s.

She had the face of a cat, but she was beautiful. She stood like a human, and was wearing something like a short-skirted jumpsuit. Kitkin, I wonder? She looked as frightened as Wataru felt, like she might start crying at any time.

She turned around and walked back into the crowd, glancing back at Wataru as she left. Her slender tail wrapped itself around her waist, and she crisscrossed her arms in front of her chest. Just then, Wataru saw her mouth move. She was saying something, and to Wataru’s eyes it looked like “I’m sorry…”

“Look forward! Walk!”

Something slammed Wataru on the head, and he blacked out.

When he came to, he was in a room. It was smaller, but sturdier, than the one he had stayed in at the lodge. He was tied to a thick wooden post with shackles on his hands. The chain was also fastened to his feet.

His cheek stung. His jaw hurt. His spine sagged. One of his eyes seemed to be swollen.

“You’re awake,” said a woman’s voice from directly behind him. The tip of a bright red boot slid under his chin and lifted his face. “Well? Beginning to regret what you’ve done?”

It was an ankha woman, with short, glossy black hair and fierce eyes. A cigarette dangled from her cruel lips. She was tall, and she was also quite attractive. She wore a shiny black leather vest, short trousers, spiked pads on her knees, and a red leather armband on one arm.

“What’s the matter? Hope he didn’t hurt you too bad,” she said with a guttural laugh. The woman slowly walked around until she was standing in front of Wataru. She was dragging something behind her on the ground that licked at the heel of her boot. Wataru blinked and looked at it again to find it was a whip of black leather.

“Well, well,” the woman said, chewing on her cigarette. “I’m Kutz, head of this branch. Of course, you probably already knew that. It takes some nerve to cause trouble in town on Kutz the Rosethorn’s watch. I admit, I’m impressed.”

In the back of the room, a man laughed. He had the face of a tiger, and he was wearing glasses.

“I haven’t done anything,” Wataru said. The act of talking made his mouth ache. “I haven’t stolen anything, I haven’t hurt anyone.”

Kutz guffawed. “You hear that, Trone?” She said to the tiger-faced man sitting nearby.

The tiger-man stood and walked over to where he could get a better view of Wataru. He was wearing a short leather kilt like Kee Keema had worn, with a large leather strap crossing over his chest. A sword was in the sheath on his back.

“Better for you to admit to your crimes,” the tiger-man said. “You cut the throat of the man next to you at the lodge, and stole his money. We know you were fighting with him the night before, and we know you needed money for your journey. The innkeeper told us everything.”

So it was the drunk who had been killed. Wataru grew even more frightened. The reality of the situation pressed in on him.

“It’s true, I was looking for work, and I did get mad at that drunk guy. But I didn’t kill him. Why doesn’t anyone believe me?”

“Well, for one thing, you’re covered in blood,” Kutz said plainly, tossing her stubby cigarette like a dart across the room. The cigarette disappeared into a bucket in the corner and went out with a fizzle.

“But I don’t remember doing anything!” Wataru said, shaking. The shackles binding him rattled in distress. “I only got here, to Gasara, yesterday…”

“One month ago,” Kutz said, entirely ignoring him, “a traveling merchant’s throat was cut at a certain lodge, his money stolen. The next time was ten days later, at another lodge…”

“It wasn’t me! I wasn’t even in Vision a month ago, or ten days ago! I’m a Traveler!”

At Wataru’s outburst, Kutz and the tiger-man looked at each other. Together they laughed.

“I wondered how you would try to wriggle out of this! A Traveler, are you? Of course!”

“It’s the truth! My sword—at the lodge you should be able to find my Brave’s Sword! Ask Wayfinder Lau, he gave it to me!”

“Wayfinder Lau? Who’s that? Sorry, but we Highlanders don’t truck with their sort.”

Wataru gaped. They don’t know the Wayfinder? Was the Watcher of the Porta Nectere some kind of hermit, secluded from the larger world of Vision?

“Then ask Kee Keema. He’s a waterkin, a darbaba driver. He left for Satoko, but he’ll be back in three days.”

“Three days? How unfortunate. He’ll miss the big event.” Kutz stood before him with her weight on her left foot, her whip thrown over her left shoulder. “You see, you’re to be hanged as soon as the gallows are finished. Isn’t that right, Trone?”

“Quite,” the tiger-man said distractedly, picking up some sort of documents from the desk. “Shouldn’t take more than a day to build. Too bad for you, boy.”

“I expect every carpenter in Gasara will be hammering away soon. They’re building it right out here in the square—you should be able to see it through your window.”

“One day?!” Wataru said in a strangled voice. “What about an investigation? What about proof? What about a trial?”

“No need. We have the statement from the innkeeper, and need I mention again the blood on your hands?”

“What if the real murderer put the blood on me while I was asleep! What if I was framed!”

The thought had just occurred to him, but now that he said it, Wataru was sure that was what had happened. But Kutz and Trone merely laughed.

“Nice try, boy,” Kutz said, leaning down to eye level. “But we knew it was a child’s work from the first killing. Why? Because all three victims were killed in rooms with the door locked.”

“Even the drunk next door?”

“Indeed. And the only way into those rooms without having a key is to go through the roof from an adjacent room. But the crawl space between ceiling and roof is too small for an adult. They’d fall through.”

“But you can’t just accuse me because of that!”

“Please. You’re covered in blood. And you didn’t have a tem to your name the night before.”

Kutz stood and stretched luxuriantly. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much. They say hanging is surprisingly painless.”

“I’ve even heard it feels good,” said the tiger-man.

“No way!” Wataru yelled. “I have a right to prove my innocence!”

“A right to prove your innocence? Big words,” Kutz said, turning her back to Wataru.

“What about the Knights of Stengel? Aren’t they the keepers of the law in this place? How can you try me on a whim?”

Kutz whirled around. In a single smooth motion she lashed out, her whip cracking the post an inch away from Wataru’s ear. “That’s enough of that!”

Wataru froze.

“I suppose this is all part of your act as a ‘Traveler’—pretending you don’t know things that everyone else knows. But know this: you take the Highlanders lightly at your own risk!”

“But the Knights…” Wataru sputtered through trembling teeth.

“Newcomers!” Kutz said with agitation. “Before they came along with their United Southern Nations, we Highlanders kept the peace in the south.”

The tiger-man continued. “And, boy, the Knights of Stengel are too busy fighting monsters to care about keeping the peace. Who knows where their camps are now—or when they’ll return?”

“Feh!” Kutz spat. “It suits them just fine to play with those gimblewolves!” she snorted. “Trone, I tire of looking at our little felon here. Take him to the cell.”

The tiger-man stood, untied the ropes around the post, and picked him up. He had removed his sword, but his powerful arms and sharp claws were enough to keep Wataru in line. He didn’t even look for an opening to escape.

Trone tossed Wataru into a cramped cell, locked the door, and placed the key in a bracelet around his arm. Wataru noticed that he and Kutz wore the same red leather strap.

“Don’t even think about trying to escape,” Trone said, baring his fangs in a grin. “Try to enjoy your last few meals in this life.”

Wataru lay back on the wooden bed. The shock and fear were so great he couldn’t even cry. As he lay there in a daze, he heard the sound of hammering drift through the thick bars of his window. He stood up on his tiptoes and looked outside to see men working, as promised, on a platform in the middle of a large square.

A gallows.

Just like in a Western movie, Wataru thought, and then his knees knocked together so fiercely he couldn’t stand. What do I do now? They’re really going to hang me.

Wataru wondered where his Brave’s Sword was. In the real world, they would search his belongings, but Wataru didn’t think they paid much mind to things like procedure around here. The innkeeper had probably taken it for himself. That little woman was probably using his Brave’s Sword to cut bread and vegetables by now.

What happens if I die in Vision? Do I go home? Does my body stay here?

Outside, the rhythmic hammering continued. Bang bang bang. The sound of lively conversation. Happy voices. Would he stay here, in the cell, until the gallows were completed? Would he even get a chance to defend himself?

The bars on the window and door were as thick as Wataru’s wrist, and shaking them or hitting them only made his hands hurt. Finally, he was able to cry. But no matter how loudly he wept, no one came to check on him.

After the sun had set, an ankha dressed similarly to Trone brought him dinner and a wool blanket. Wataru pleadingly asked him questions, but the large man merely pushed the food through the cell’s bars and left without saying a word.

“But I’m innocent!”

Wataru’s shout echoed sorrowfully down the hall.

Dinner was watery soup and stale bread. Wataru wasn’t hungry at all, so he curled up in a ball on the bed and cried himself to sleep.

But he slept in fits and starts, and had a bizarre dream. His mother was in it, and, for some reason, Kaori Daimatsu. She was trapped behind iron bars, just like Wataru. Her eyes were glistening, and she was staring at him. In his dream, Wataru realized that Kaori was a prisoner too—a prisoner in her own body, broken by some horrible crime. Unlike Wataru, her prison had no key. It didn’t even have a door.

—How do I get you out of there? he asked, but in the dream she didn’t respond, only looking down and shaking her head.

—Your dad and your brother, they’re worried about you.

Kaori looked up and whispered something. He couldn’t hear. What? What did you say? Talk louder. Louder—louder—

“Don’t make me shout, boy!”

Wataru jerked out of his dream. He was still curled up, trying to hide under his blanket. Kutz stood by the bed, hands on her hips, looking down at him with a sour expression. “Finally, you’re up,” she growled. “You’re a late sleeper, aren’t you? Do you know how many times I tried to wake you? I thought I’d go hoarse. Your mother must scold you something fierce.”

Wataru got out of bed, still hunched over. Maybe she was here because the gallows was ready. He couldn’t hear the hammers anymore.

Kutz’s mouth curled and she snorted. “You are free, boy. You’re lucky, you get to leave.”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It made no sense.

“I said you’re free! Stop moping. If there’re two things I can’t stand, it’s mopey kids and wimpy men.”

Wataru looked up at her face in a daze and said the first thing that came to mind. “Why?”

Her mouth curled even more. “Why? Why? Because you’re no longer under suspicion, that’s why.”

“But why not?”

“Do you always ask so many questions? You’re free to go, isn’t that enough? If that doesn’t make you happy I can just close the door and leave you here, you know.”

Wataru dashed past her through the open door into the hallway. Kutz scratched her head and followed him. She kicked the cell door closed behind her.

“While you were in here last night, there was another incident at another lodge—same scenario,” she said, not sounding too happy about it. “The victim this time was badly wounded, but not killed. So we have a firsthand witness, you might say. It was two small men, working together, and they sounded awful pleased that you had been caught in their place. They were the ones who put blood on your hands and clothes, it sounds like. We were all taken in. Bastards!” she said, spitting.

“I told you I was innocent. You should’ve listened to me.”

Kutz glared violently at Wataru, and took him back to the office where he had first been brought the day before. Now that he was a little more relaxed, he looked around to see that it was exactly like a sheriff’s office in a Western.

“Go back to the lodge where you were staying,” Kutz ordered him. “The innkeeper says he’s got all your stuff. And he says he’ll treat you to dinner as an apology. If that doesn’t do it for you, you can hit him a few times if you want. But don’t go overboard, or we’ll bring you in again on new charges. That’s all.”

Wataru was walking out the door when Kutz called after him. “You really are a Traveler, aren’t you?”

Wataru turned around.

“That pig-sticker of yours,” said Kutz, referring to Wataru’s Brave’s Sword. “The innkeeper told me he tried to pick it up, but it was too hot to handle. That one’s straight from the Goddess, it is. He was a bit taken aback.”

So the sword is safe.

“He was a little worried, seeing as how Travelers are sent here by the Goddess. He hoped he hadn’t got in your way.”

Kutz walked over to the desk and played with her whip that hung over the back of her chair. “So if you meet the Goddess, tell her I’m sorry, would you? And for the innkeeper, as well.”

“Fine.”

“Still, you’d be well advised to eat quickly and get out of Gasara right away. You’re free of suspicion, but we haven’t caught the killers. Things could get ugly here if you hang around too long.”

Wataru went out without saying anything. The sun was bright in his eyes, and the sky was perfectly clear. He made his way to the lodge, and the innkeeper came running out, apologizing profusely. The little woman herded Wataru into the back kitchen where he saw so much food he couldn’t imagine eating even half of it. As he sat down to gorge himself, the innkeeper brought him his sword, wrapped in a thick cloth.

“We’re sorry, boy,” he said, his shoulders hunched. “Here’s your sword.

Take a look at her. Nary a scratch, I guarantee it. I thought I could slice some of our meat with it, but I gave up that notion right quick.”

Wataru hung the sword at his waist. The innkeeper sat across from Wataru and went to grab a T-bone from the table. The little woman slapped his hand away.

“Still, I have to say I’m impressed,” the man said, rubbing his stinging hand. “Such a small kid like you, coming on over to our world. I guess there’s no age limit on the Porta Nectere, eh?”

“Have you never been to the other world?” Wataru asked.

The man shuddered. “Madness! Never!”

“Do you know anybody who has?”

“No, no. The other world is no place for we who live in Vision to tread lightly. The Goddess would never allow it, and even if we made it over, we’d be as good as the dead.”

The dead. Ghosts?

“It is a scary place, I’ll agree to that,” Wataru admitted.

“I knew it, I knew it!”

“We have burglaries and murders, and worse.”

“Do you now? That is scary. Then again, we’ve got our own bit of worrisome trouble here in Gasara, don’t we? If we don’t catch the criminals soon, I fear for business.”

“But last night—they didn’t actually kill anyone, did they?”

“No, but that poor kitkin’s back was ripped up something fierce.” The innkeeper said with a shudder. “Never should’ve let a girl stay alone in a cheap place like that.”

“A kitkin girl? The cat-girl!”

“Aye. Pretty thing too, with white fur. Poor girl.”

Something clicked inside Wataru. He put down his fork and stood. “Thank you for breakfast. I don’t think I can eat any more.”

“You sure? We really are sorry. If you’re heading out, I’ll make a lunch for you to take.”

“No, I’ll be staying here longer.”

The innkeeper looked flustered. “Eh? But didn’t Kutz tell you to leave?”

“She told me to leave, yes, but I’m waiting for someone. And, I want to know where the girl is, the one who was hurt last night.”

“At the hospital, I should think.”

Wataru thanked the innkeeper for the meal, and immediately took off toward the hospital.

The “hospital,” overflowing with patients, was little more than a shack. A husky doctor with the face of a St. Bernard and a nurse with floppy ears who looked like a terrier were bustling around in white smocks. Wataru spoke to them briefly, and the nurse pointed toward a small ward in the back. “She’s just eaten. I should think she’s still up.”

Wataru thanked her and headed back to the door. He knocked, but there was no answer. Opening it quietly, he found the cat-girl lying bandaged on a simple wooden bed, facing away from the door. Her long tail hung listlessly over the side of the bed.

Even without seeing her face Wataru knew. She was the girl who tried to help him the day before.

“Hello,” Wataru said, and the girl turned, her eyes opened wide. She winced at the pain of moving.

“No, don’t move.” Wataru walked over and squatted by the bed. The kitkin looked at Wataru with trembling gray eyes.

“Why?” he heard her ask in a whisper.

“I came to see you. I heard you were hurt,” Wataru said. Then he added quietly, “You helped me up the other day, on the road. Thank you.”

The girl looked away.

“You said something then. You said ‘sorry.’”

The girl trembled, and her eyes looked frightened. Her tail twitched. But there’s no one else in the room.

Wataru had another realization. “I’m sorry for intruding. I hope you feel better.” And with that, he left.

Wataru went straight to Kutz’s office. She was sitting at her desk, the whip thrown over her back, writing something in a notepad. “What?” she scowled. “You got your sword back, didn’t you?”

“I did. I want to help you look for the criminals.”

Kutz’s eyes opened wide. “What’s that?”

“Let me help you try to find the lodge killers. I think I can.”

“You?”

“Yes,” Wataru said, looking at Trone and the large ankha sitting at the back of the room. “You don’t mind, do you? I just want to prove my innocence beyond all doubt.”

“You did yesterday, but now there’s no…”

“Yes, but if you haven’t caught the real criminals, there’s no guarantee I won’t come under suspicion again,” Wataru said, flashing as competent a smile as he could muster. “Trone, will you take me to the lodge where the previous two killings took place?”

Trone growled. “What gives you the right?”

“I’m Wataru,” he said, smiling again. “Didn’t you want me to put in a good word with the Goddess?”

The three exchanged glances, and after a tense moment of silence, Kutz sighed. “Fine, Wataru. I’ll take you.”

Wataru visited the two lodges. At both places, the staff stumbled over themselves to help Kutz. But when Wataru started asking questions they merely stared at him, unsure of how to respond. They all hopped to attention the minute Kutz announced—with a bark—that he was her assistant.

Both of the rooms were like the one Wataru had stayed in, with woven rush mats for a roof. They were built that way to let in the air, he was told. He took a look above them and found a narrow crawlspace that seemed quite impossible to get through unless you were a child.

After inspecting the two lodges, they headed to the inn where Wataru was staying. When they got there, he calmly announced that he knew who the criminals were. He told Kutz to assemble the innkeepers.

Kutz went red in the face, and Wataru thought he could see steam coming out of her ears. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Before Wataru could respond, the bearded innkeeper cut in, “Now, now, Kutz. That’s no way to talk to our Traveler. He’s special, you know. Chosen by the Goddess. Children, they understand things we can’t see sometimes. I’m sure that’s what’s going on here.”

Kutz’s face grew redder. “Whatever. I saw him crying his eyes out in the cell room just the other day.”

Wataru did his best to look unruffled. “Don’t worry, sir, we’ll catch the criminals tomorrow for sure.”

“Very well,” the innkeeper replied. “I’ll let everyone know, don’t you worry about a thing.”

“Also, if it’s okay, I’d like to spend the night here again. And I need money for my trip. Do you think there’s anything I could do to help out? Also, if anyone wants to ask me anything about what’s happened, please let me know. I’d be happy to talk about it.”

The rumors spread through Gasara like wildfire. While Wataru busied himself around the inn by washing dishes, sweeping floors, and chopping firewood, person after person came by to talk to him. Have you really found the criminal? Are you really a Traveler? Is the Porta Nectere really open?

Wataru was swamped with both work and questions. Some people even asked him to beg favors of the Goddess—if or when he met her.

Many children dropped by too. One of them Wataru recognized—the boy who taunted him on the street the other day. Wataru slowly began to realize that people respected, and even feared, Travelers. And they were especially curious about the world from which they came. Kee Keema’s warning to not reveal his identity flashed briefly through his mind, but now there didn’t seem much point in trying to hide it. He even enjoyed feeling a bit like a celebrity.

As he sat around talking to a crowd of children, he noticed a pair of young ankha boys standing a short distance away. They stared at him shyly. Their cheeks were sunken, their clothes were covered in dirt, and they slouched. When their eyes met, they either glared at him or looked away.

Wataru made sure to memorize their faces. One of them walked like he was carrying something under his vest. A knife, I’ll bet.

Wataru waited for night to come.

On his second night in the lodge, Wataru came to realize that the concept of time was similar in Vision as it was in his own world. But it seemed to him that an hour here was slightly longer than an hour in his world. With some guidance from the little woman of the inn, he was able to easily read wall clocks. That night he waited until midnight before heading to the hospital again.

He had been careful to pay attention to the building’s layout during his first visit, so he knew which window led into the room where the kitkin slept. There was a tavern across the street from the hospital, and Wataru spied several large empty casks out front. These, he figured, would make a convenient place for him to hide.

He lurked behind the liquor casks for a while because the lights were still on at the hospital. When they eventually went out, he heard a sound like the hooting of an owl, and darkness descended upon the street. The only source of light now came from the starry sky above.

A whiskey-like smell drifted from the empty casks in front of the tavern. Wataru was afraid that if he stayed there too long, he might get drunk.

Just then, something moved in the shadows outside the hospital. Wataru held his breath.

It was a small, dark shape—two of them. They cut through the darkness, moving nimbly like monkeys, deftly opening the window to the kitkin girl’s room. They darted inside without hesitation.

Wataru quickly counted to ten. Then, walking as quietly as he could, he ran up to the window.

“—didn’t, did you?” he heard a young man’s voice say.

“You’re in trouble too. And you know what will happen if you rat on us, eh?”

“What did you tell that boy? We know he came here today.”

He heard the kitkin respond in a voice choked with tears. She was swearing she hadn’t said anything.

“Liar!”

“Your tail says you’re a liar. Maybe I should cut it off?”

Wataru took a breath, then, drawing his Brave’s Sword, he yanked the window open and jumped inside.

“Stop, y-you…huh?!”

Wataru had intended to land on his feet, but his shoe caught on the window frame, and he tumbled into the room. Landing with a thud on the floor next to the bed, he looked up to see one of the boys holding the girl down, and the other holding a knife to the middle of her tail. The white blade glimmered dangerously in the dim light.

“I kn-know you did it!” Wataru said, lifting his sword and struggling to his feet. His jaw throbbed from where it had hit the floor, and it took some effort to speak clearly.

“Who’re y—hey! It’s that kid!” one of the boys said, pointing at Wataru and holding out his knife. “Let’s get ’im!”

The boy howled and leapt for him, but Wataru managed to move aside in the nick of time. The boy made a wild grab and was able to latch onto the sleeve of his shirt. He swung his knife again.

Uh-oh!

“Huh?”

The Brave’s Sword had deftly blocked the boy’s knife. It was as though his arm—no, the sword itself—had moved of its own accord. Wataru took advantage of the boy’s forward thrust and leapt up on his back.

“Put the sword down, or she gets it!” Wataru heard the other boy shout. He saw him standing with a knife pressed close to the kitkin. “Move a muscle, and I cut her throat!”

Wataru hesitated, and in that instant the boy beneath him threw him off. Wataru fell to the floor.

At that moment, something black and slender came through the window from outside, wrapping itself around the hand of the boy holding the knife. Wataru saw it jerked taut, and the boy was yanked away from the cat-girl.

“Whoa!” the boy shouted, as he flew through the open window and disappeared outside.

The three remaining in the room stood in shock. Again the long black cord lashed through the window, this time wrapping itself around the chest of the boy next to Wataru.

Of course! The whip!

One hand on the window and the other gripping her whip, Kutz leapt inside onto the bed. “I’m a Highlander, and you are under arrest!” she said with authority, jumping down to the floor in front of the boy and giving him three swift kicks with the tip of her leather boot. The boy groaned and slumped to the ground.

“The one outside didn’t fare much better than this one,” Kutz said, baring her white teeth in a smile. “Are you two okay?” she said to the girl on the bed. “Ah, the wound on your back’s opened!”

Then the world began to spin.

“What’s wrong, Wataru?” Kutz chided. “Don’t worry, you saved her. Of course, you wouldn’t have been able to do it on your own. Good thing I was watching your every move.”

“I…see…thanks,” Wataru said, clinging to the edge of the bed.

“You okay?” the cat-girl asked, twitching one ear.

“The open casks…” Wataru muttered. “I think I’m drunk.”