Horde (Razorland #3)(46)

I turned to the recruits from Soldier’s Pond, including Morrow in the look. “What do you all know about this place? Have you been here before?”

Tully and Spence shook their heads, and he said, “Our patrols didn’t rove this far.”

“I did trade runs for a while,” Thornton said, “so I’ve been here, but it was a long time ago. I retired from the road after my boys were born.” A flicker of sorrow shifted his set expression, a reminder that he had come along because he had nobody left in Soldier’s Pond.

The storyteller added, “I’ve been here, but I didn’t see anything worth staying for.”

He was likely the most traveled member of our group, making me glad he’d volunteered. “Do any of you remember the layout?”

“Nope,” Thornton said.

Morrow admitted, “I didn’t make any mental notes. This place is a bit of an eyesore.”

“No matter. We’ll figure it out,” I murmured.

Tegan was still beside me, though she was limping after a day on the move. But her leg wasn’t as weak as it had been, so she was improving. Asking more of herself would only increase her stamina too. I wasn’t worried about her keeping up. Everything else? Absolutely.

I called a halt in the center of town, then said to Stalker, “Take the measure of the place. See if you can find a local gathering spot. A shop or a market?”

Fade had told me about those long ago, how people got together to trade things. A place like that would be exactly what we needed.

Unlike other settlements, there were no guards. No sentries. People walking with bags and baskets glanced at us more than once, but nobody asked our business. Given what I knew about the world, I didn’t see how this place could continue, long term, without everybody dying in a massacre. Glancing at the rest of my men, I could tell they didn’t understand it, either.

The people seemed well fed. They wore simple clothing, similar to what folks had used in Salvation, except the women here were in trousers, too. I smelled bread baking along with the rich, savory scent of soup. After the swill we’d eaten in Soldier’s Pond, my stomach growled.

“I hear you,” Thornton said.

Before I could reply, Stalker returned. “I found what they call a public house. Half the men in town seem to be inside.”

“Then that’s where we need to go.”

The place Stalker mentioned had a porch across the front, and it was noisier than other buildings. I stepped inside, wrinkling my nose at the strong scent. It smelled like rotten fruit only with more yeast, combined lightly with unwashed bodies. Conversation stalled at our entrance, resumed a few seconds later as the men inside decided we weren’t that interesting.

“It’s a drinking house,” Morrow said.

“What’s that?” I asked, low.

“They serve alcohol.” He forestalled my next question by explaining, “It makes you stupid, loud, and removes a good half of your coordination.”

“That sounds like a bad way to pass the time if you want to live,” Tegan said.

Yet another reason that Otterburn didn’t seem to be like the other towns. I just had no idea why.

There was a man behind a counter, a big, bald lout with a scarred face, and an even bigger cudgel behind him. For obvious reasons, he looked like he was in charge, so I picked a path through the tables and said, “Do you mind if I address the men?”

“That depends. I don’t want you stirring up trouble in here and causing a fight.”

I didn’t think my words would have that effect, but it seemed better not to make him mad. “I’m looking for soldiers to fight the Muties.”

An enormous belly laugh erupted from him. “Why the devil would we do that?”

Fade stepped up from behind me, his body language declaring that he’d happily pound this big idiot into paste. He didn’t like when people mocked me, regardless of the reason. I held up a hand, not wanting to provoke the fellow when I didn’t understand what was going on.

“You don’t have problems with them here?” Thornton asked, visibly skeptical.

“I don’t meddle in your business,” the man said.

Tegan tried a conciliatory tone. “If you told us how you manage to stay safe, it could help a lot of other towns.”

I already knew it couldn’t be some technical solution like they’d tried in Winterville. Nothing in Otterburn made me think they were using old-world salvage. Like in Salvation, there were lamps and candles in here, adding to the room’s stink. The counterman rubbed his chin, looking thoughtful.

“A story for a story,” Morrow suggested.

“Make yours more entertaining than mine and I’ll throw in soup and beer for the lot of you.” The man gestured to the crowd. “A happy crowd stays … and drinks longer.”

Our teller of tales nodded. “Explain how this works and I’ll keep them laughing.”

“Before, we had trouble with the Muties, same as anybody. They were mostly dumb beasts and we hid in our root cellars. They were too stupid to find us. So they’d break doors and furniture, sniff around until they got bored. Occasionally, they’d eat a straggler who didn’t get hidden in time. About a year ago, all of that changed.”

“How?” Stalker asked.