The Tales of the Wanderer Volume One: A Book of Underrealm (The Underrealm Volumes 4) Garrett Robinson (poetry books to read TXT) 📖

Dawn was still a ways off, and the streets were mostly empty. We saw only a few people about, early risers pulling carts or hefting sacks in preparation for the day’s toil. But despite the hour, they seemed almost cheery compared to when we had first arrived in the town. One of them even gave a happy smile and a nod to Mag, which she returned after a moment’s hesitation.

When we reached the building where we had fought the Shades, we saw that the front door had not been closed, but still hung open. I helped guide Dryleaf through it, helping him avoid the jagged edge of the shattered doorjamb. The Shades’ corpses were gone, but the bloodstains remained. For an uncomfortable moment, I was reminded of the shattered homestead to the north where we had found Liu.

Dryleaf paused inside the doorway, cocking his head back and forth as though listening. “This place has an evil feeling to it.”

“It does,” I agreed. In fact, the feeling had grown worse. It was stronger, more penetrating, like a thrumming in the air—a monstrous heartbeat that seized my own pulse and forced it to match time.

“Let us have a look about, then,” said Mag.

“You can go with her,” said Dryleaf. He released my arm and leaned on his staff. “I have my stick, and you can return to me if you have questions.”

“We will be quick,” I said. “Come, Mag.”

From room to room we went, circling all around the first floor. All we found were some discarded scraps of food and rubbish. No messages or any other signs of what the Shades had been up to. We went to the stairs and climbed to the second floor, but it was just as barren as the first—though, thankfully, it was free of the bloodstains that spattered the first floor. Indeed, the floors of the bedrooms upstairs looked fresh-scrubbed. There were no possessions to be found. Even the clothing had been taken. Mag and I poked at the mattresses in case something had been concealed within, but there seemed to be only feathers.

“Yue has been here already,” said Mag, frustrated. “If there was any clue, she has taken it.”

“Well, we can ask her tomorrow,” I said. “She said she wanted another word with us before we left town.”

“If she has found anything, I doubt she will tell us,” grumbled Mag.

“I think we have earned at least a little trust from her,” I said. “Come. Dryleaf will likely be wondering what has happened to us.”

Constable Ashta settled into her chair at the constable station. She would get no sleep that night, she knew. But the next day, for the first time in a long while, she thought she would be able to rest, well and truly.

She leaned her chair back against the wall, tilting her head back to rest against the wooden planks, and kicked her boots off. They fell to the floor, dripping a bit of mud. Twisting her feet, she reveled in the cool air washing across them, and released a deep sigh.

And then a thought occurred to her. A small, nagging thought, and yet it gave her no peace—the curse of a constable who held her duty as a sacred trust.

Did she forget to order the gate closed?

With a heavy sigh, she tilted the chair up again and reached for her boots. She was a citizen of Lan Shui. She had been born and raised here. But she still felt entirely fed up with the townsfolk sometimes. They would not wipe their own rear ends if the constables did not remind them.

Pulling on her boots—hating the warm, sweaty feel of them—she stood and strode out into the night again, turning her steps towards the north end of town. The streets were empty, thankfully, and so she was able to make quick progress. And the north gate was not far from the constables’ station. She would ensure the gate was closed, and then she would return to the station, and enjoy her night’s duty. Mayhap she could even sneak a nap. The sergeant would be in a lenient mood tonight.

Finally she rounded the last corner and came into sight of the north gate. Sure enough, it stood wide open. Ashta shook her head and looked skyward. She could not recall who was on gate duty that night. Was it Shen? That seemed likely. The woman had a mind like a sieve, and more than once Ashta had caught her sleeping in the guardhouse, or neglecting her duties in favor of a game of Moons.

Well, Ashta would give her a scare. Hopefully Shen would remember it, at least for a time, and not shirk her duties in the future.

She strode straight up to the guardhouse door and threw it open hard. The heavy iron knob slammed into the wooden wall behind the door, sending a loud crack reverberating through the night air.

The constable stopped dead in her tracks, her mouth open, a shout ready but already dying on her lips.

The guardhouse was empty.

Mag and I came downstairs to find Dryleaf had left the front room and gone to the sitting room on the building’s western side. The chairs had a thin film of dust. Oku sat by the old man’s side, huddling against his legs. It was clear the hound was put off by the evil energy that suffused the building.

“And?” said Dryleaf. “Was your hunt fruitful?”

“Sadly, no,” I said. “I fear we have only wasted our time, and yours.”

Dryleaf shook his head slowly, clucking his tongue. “Do not trouble yourself over me,” he said, shuffling towards the back of the room and feeling out the floor with his staff. “I am only sorry I could not be of more—”

He stopped.

Slowly, he turned and walked back the way he had come.

He stopped again.

“Dryleaf?” I