A Mischief in the Woodwork - By Harper Alexander Page 0,31

well,” Tanen offered in way of parting.

I struggled a moment with what to say. I did not like him, but there was no need to say something condemning as I sent him off into the cruel wilderness never to be seen again. And that, when there was a wardog abroad.

Although, I thought to remind myself, wardogs were always abroad. For us, a beast that scavenged during the day was something new to be reckoned with, but for someone like Tanen who would have no shelter around the clock, he would be dealing with the creatures of the night as well. A wardog in the day was nothing overly relevant. After all, it was just one. By night, he would be at the mercy of the masses.

“Do you have light?” I asked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“For the wardogs.”

“I am not a wizard, as you pointed out. I cannot just charm light from my fingertips.”

“I suggest you comb the rubble for a source, then – a candle, a lantern; something. There is a wax shop that was overturned down Ash Lane.” I pointed. “You can see the street sign pitched on its side there. Take the lane as it crumbles until you come to the hill of mirrors. The shop will be on the left – it's buried, but there is a makeshift opening half protruding from the rubble. You can get down inside from there. The room is on its side, essentially, but sometimes I find candles there. If things haven't changed since then.”

He took this in, only a hint of bemusement on his face for the unorthodox manner of the instructions. It wasn't every day someone received directions such as these.

“Good luck,” I said.

Hesitating only a moment, he nodded, and then I was off. Only after I'd trudged a few good paces in the opposite direction did I steal a glance over my shoulder, where he was just then turning with resignation to commence on his journey down the twisted path I had assigned.

I turned back to my own path and squared my shoulders toward my goal, skirting a sharp, crippled hazard and hoisting myself onto the giant, fissured slab that created a more or less level road in my bearing. I made a game out of walking along the crack that snaked all down its length, fancying that I was a damsel of the circus and it was satin slippers against a high wire rather than boots against old stone.

The image crumbled quickly, though, trashy stains sullying the satin of my slippers and the tight rope fraying into a jagged void beneath me.

Fantasies were fleeting here. They all died quick deaths.

The slab sloped up gradually until I was traversing another level of the city, and then it broke off and fell away and I got down to pick my way over the debris. Ahead of me, two black buildings stood with the front of their bases erupting in an upheaval, tilted back as if two horses rearing up on their hind legs. It was an impending angle, as if any moment they were to come crashing down – but whether or not it would be toward me as horses or the way they were leaning was debatable.

I sifted my way carefully between their giant, rearing bases, eyeing the jagged, broken windows that ran up their lengths. Out from a few, old, tattered curtains spilled over the sills and down the sides. They were burnt and stained, floral patterns decayed like rotting gardens on the breeze.

Past these buildings, the broken land sloped down into a nestled village of sorts, where a cluster of smaller, makeshift buildings made up a more or less orderly arrangement. It was only once you realized some of them were on their roofs and some of them lay on their sides that it became clear it was a fortuitous landing ground for the common disarray.

I made my way down into this topsy-turvy village, walking carefully along the main, buried road until I found the side lane that led to the barber's shop, or where it used to be. Now there was only the barber's sign strung across the maw of an alley, crude and lopsided, like an old board meant to nail a door shut. It was eerie seeing this remnant of civilization cast so, ripped from glory but tacked up by chance as if it...meant something.

I stepped under the sign, where it bobbed slightly overhead in a faint breeze. The alley made a sharp turn up