Alric added a new complaint to the ever-growing list. Chickens. Singing a symphony across the city, reminding everyone that even sleep was punished. He glanced over at Tyke, who sat calmly nearby, waiting for his mother.

  Alric had just eaten. Breakfast had been a surprise. The same as yesterday. Gruel. Dinner had also been a surprise. The same as yesterday. He sighed, hoping he would not develop cravings. He tried not to think about chocolate by thinking about chocolate. With another sigh, he lowered his head into his arms. He was itchy. Again.

  “You really are bad in the mornings,” came a feminine voice from nearby, followed by a small giggle.

  Alric straightened slightly and realised that the woman he thought of as the inn’s mother had a name. He shrugged and glanced away, which earned him another giggle.

  “I realise I didn’t get your name. I’m Alric,” he said, glancing back at her.

  She smiled brightly.

  “Oh, that’s true. I’m Monica. Although I knew your name. The kids talk about you a lot,” she said with a smirk. “So where are the boys off to today?”

  “I need to visit a barrel maker. A cooper.”

  A short silence hung in the air before the woman turned to Tyke.

  “Boundary Avenue only. No roads. No alleys. No going in. Just stay on the edges. No buts,” she said.

  Tyke nodded solemnly, which alarmed Alric even more.

  “Would directions not be better?” Alric asked, uneasy now, uncertain what he was getting into.

  She paused for a moment, considering, then shook her head.

  “It’s easy to miss if you don’t know what you’re looking for.”

  Noting Alric’s unease, her gaze softened. “It’s not the kind of place you want to get lost in. If you stick to the boundary, you’ll be fine.” She smiled as she said it.

  Before she could add anything else, another patron called for her and she moved away.

  Alric glanced over at Tyke. He had hidden it earlier, but now Alric could see the excitement creeping through.

  “Uh… shall we go?” he asked.

  Tyke nodded.

  They stood and made their way through reception together. Outside, they turned toward the boundary road.

  It was early again, which Alric was beginning to think was the best time to move around. There were fewer pedestrians, fewer hawkers and vendors. The pair walked with an easy gait. Tyke put his hands on his head and kicked a stone as he went. When it reached Alric’s side, he passed it back, earning a grin.

  They reached the boundary road a short while later. That was when Alric noticed the first real change. At the wall, Tyke turned left.

  Turning right would have taken them toward the warehouses, the gate, the crafters, Merchants’ Row, and the Nob Bridge. Instead, following Tyke’s lead, they moved along the main avenue that ran beside the wall, unusually quiet at this hour.

  It felt almost too quiet.

  The changes to the surroundings were slow at first. Buildings became less stone, more wood, before shifting again into patchwork. Paving gave way to cobblestone. He could feel the change even through his boots, and even that did not last, yielding to mud. As they walked, the smell grew progressively worse. Alric wrinkled his nose at it.

  This was also the first time Alric noticed dogs in the streets. They moved in small packs, the females easy enough to identify. They avoided people, stayed in motion, glancing around warily. He guessed there were cats as well, but they were likely too skittish to be seen.

  Tyke glanced over at Alric as they stepped around a puddle. Noting his expression, Tyke frowned and said casually, “It’s not even bad yet.”

  Alric frowned more. It was when they started encountering people that he noticed a change in Tyke. His hands shifted to his sides, and he too began to observe, to scan.

  They passed a pair of men sitting on a step. The men openly stared at Alric’s boots as they went by. They passed a child, clearly asleep against the boundary wall. Tyke seemed interested, but they kept walking. Even through the child’s clothing, Alric could see ribs and sunken cheeks.

  Another pair slept beside the road, tucked beneath shallow overhangs. Alric noticed their feet. Less soles than callus, blistered and split. He swallowed, but they kept moving.

  Tyke stopped abruptly, raising a hand. “That’s the cooper,” he said, pointing a little further in. “And that’s the slums,” he added, gesturing farther along the road.

  Alric tried to follow the direction of the slums, but it was impossible to make out much. Ramshackle buildings of patchwork wood and cloth crowded together, often stacked atop one another, with barely enough space to move between them. His gaze drifted farther along the boundary road.

  A handcart sat near the road, its wheel sunk slightly into the mud as if it had grown there. A man and woman stood beside it, speaking in low voices, not urgent, not hushed, just talking.

  Alric’s eyes slid back to the cart.

  The shape beneath the cloth was wrong. Not cargo. Not sacks. The kind of wrong the mind recognises before it allows itself to name it.

  His stomach turned, and for a moment he forgot what his hands were for.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  He stepped back behind a low wall and leaned against it, breathing in through his nose, out through his mouth. The smell did not help.

  “Those were bodies,” he said, dimly aware that he had spoken aloud.

  Tyke looked at him, then leaned out just enough to check. He nodded once.

  “They have to go somewhere,” Tyke said, mild as weather.

  Alric swallowed, found air again, and nodded back, because the alternative was to stand there until the world noticed him.

  As they moved toward the cooper’s yard, Alric began a mantra in his head. It’s just the culture here. It’s just the culture here. If bodies lingered, it would be worse.

  He took a deep breath through his mouth as they entered the yard. A lanky man without a shirt noticed them. He stood and moved over to Alric and Tyke.

  “Well, alright?” he said by way of greeting.

  Alric took the man in briefly. He wore no shirt. His chest was stained with what Alric took for soot in some places, mud in others. His trousers were caked thick with it. Alric could not see his feet, but had the sense they were wrapped in cloth.

  “Uh… I came to talk barrels,” Alric said, leaning back despite himself. The man’s breath was sour.

  “Well, is a cooper,” was the man’s response.

  “What wood do you use when making barrels?” Alric asked.

  “Wood’s wood.”

  “Er… so not oak? Maple?”

  “Well, heard the boss complain about oak prices once. We tried something else. Didn’t work.”

  “I see. How big are your barrels?”

  The man gestured for them to follow him. On the far side of the yard stood three barrels of varying size. He tapped the largest.

  “This ’ere’s a barrel, a half-jack, an’ a cask,” he said, tapping the middle and smallest respectively.

  “How many casks to a barrel?” Alric asked.

  The man shook his head. “Dunno.”

  Alric nodded. “How much are they?”

  The man tapped the largest again. “Barrel’s eight silver. Half-jack’s five. Cask is three,” he said, watching Alric.

  “Alright. Thanks. I’ll come back to order another day,” Alric said.

  The man nodded and moved off toward the rest of the workers.

  Alric was about to write everything down when he noticed Tyke was still at his side. For a moment it struck him as odd, until he realised that every other time they had gone somewhere together, Tyke had waited outside, watching. This was the first time he had followed him in.

  Deciding the notes could wait, Alric turned to him.

  “Alright. Boundary road. Let’s go.”

  Tyke nodded without looking at him, and they headed out.

  When they reached the boundary road, they turned right and set off. Alric forced himself not to look back toward the slums.

  “Shall we go a little quicker?” he asked, noticing more people beginning to stir.

  Tyke turned to him, nodded once, and picked up the pace.

  It was some time before Alric felt safe enough to record his findings. He asked Tyke to stop, then moved over to a low step by the wall, summoning paper and his piece of charcoal.

  He wrote down the three sizes: barrel, half-jack, cask.

  Thinking back, he added notes beside each entry.

  Barrel. Under a metre tall, maybe a metre. About two-thirds as wide. Eight small silver.

  Half-jack. Not much shorter than the barrel. Slimmer. Easy to roll. Five small silver.

  Cask. About knee-high. Could be hugged and carried. Three small silver.

  The prices struck Alric all at once. They were shockingly expensive.

  He sighed at the page, but it did not offer answers. Alric put the paper and charcoal away, then stood, glancing around as he felt his shoulders loosen. He looked over at Tyke, who was watching people pass by.

  “Hey, Tyke. Is there anywhere you’d want to go but can’t without a grown-up?” Alric asked.

  Tyke answered immediately. “The old fort.”

  Alric nodded. He found that he wanted to see the old fort too.

  “Take us to the old fort, then.”

  Alric was greeted by an excited grin.

  The walk itself was uneventful. Tyke led with confidence, cutting through streets that felt familiar again, the city easing back into something navigable. As they drew closer, Alric realised the fort was something he already knew. It was the grey block he had noticed more than once against the skyline, a squat shape that never quite stood out enough to demand attention.

  Up close, it was underwhelming. The fort was plain. Thick stone walls rose straight from the ground, built wide and heavy, their surfaces worn smooth in places by age and weather. The blocks were irregular, some darker than others, repairs made over time without any attempt to match the original work. Here and there, older stone gave way to newer patches, the seams visible but unremarked.

  The gate sat at the centre of the outer wall, broad and practical. Its doors were reinforced with iron bands dulled by rust and use, the wood scarred and splintered along the edges. One side hung slightly lower than the other, enough to notice if you were looking for it. The opening was wide enough for carts to pass through, but nothing about it suggested ceremony or pride.

  A bored guard stood just beside the gate, leaning on his spear. He watched the pair approach with mild wariness. Alric slowed, stepped back half a pace, and pointed at Tyke, pressing his hands together in a pleading gesture.

  The guard blinked, then got the hint. He scowled at first, but when his gaze landed on Tyke’s openly excited face, it softened. He rolled his eyes.

  “Well, go on then. Cost you a small. And don’t touch nuffink,” he said.

  Alric nodded and handed over a small copper without breaking stride. The guard pocketed the coin, shaking his head as they passed. He was smiling, though.

  Beyond the gate, the courtyard was even duller. The space was all function. Long, low buildings lined the interior walls, their roofs patched and practical. Guards moved about with the ease of routine, some resting, others carrying bundles or checking stores. Barrels of grain were stacked beneath awnings, marked and re-marked, clearly counted more for reassurance than necessity. The place smelled of dust, old stone, and dry food.

  Alric glanced over at Tyke and realised that where he felt only mild interest, Tyke met the moment with enthusiasm. His excitement came in spades as he tried to look everywhere at once.

  “Ma says if there’s a fire, we’re meant to come here,” Tyke said proudly.

  Alric looked around. If this was an emergency muster point, it was woefully small. Perhaps two thousand people could fit shoulder to shoulder. The city was many times that.

  “Wanna go up on the wall?” Alric asked.

  Tyke nodded immediately.

  Alric headed for the nearby stairs. There was a wall on one side and no handrail on the other, which he noted. He made a mental note that this place should not become one of his customers if he did manage to get a brewery off the ground. They climbed with their shoulders close to the wall, though there was room for two to walk abreast.

  At the top, they looked out over the river toward the noble quarter. Tyke pointed at another walled section in the distance.

  “That’s a palace. King lives there,” he said, as if passing down wisdom that needed protecting.

  Alric nodded. Even at this distance, he guessed it stood five, maybe six storeys high. He felt the familiar flicker of disappointment as the world once again failed to meet his expectations. He had seen larger shopping malls in his old life.

  Tyke, however, was impressed.

  They began to walk along the wall. Alric tried to gauge just how large the city was, failed, and turned instead to mapping the landmarks he recognised. He could see the Nob Bridge stretching over the river and the docks beyond it. Not many, really.

  Tyke, however, was pointing out everything.

  “That’s the inn, Merchants’ Row, the Adventurers’ Guild, the market, the temple,” Tyke said, his arm gesturing wildly as the list went on. They could not go much farther around the wall without passing through the gatehouse’s second floor, and neither of them seemed keen to risk it.

  They leaned out and admired the view for a while, enjoying the sunlight, the breeze, and the sounds of the city, though not the smells. Alric found himself studying the wall around the poorer section, the river beyond it, and how the noble quarter might be close in size to the lower city, as he later learned it was called.

  He glanced up, noticing the light. It had crept close to midday.

  “Time to head back?” Alric asked gently.

  Tyke nodded, still smiling.

  “None of my friends will believe this,” he said, already turning toward the stairs.