Root Rot & Other Grim Tales by Read Sarah

Author:Read, Sarah
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bad Hand Books, LLC
Published: 2023-10-10T00:00:00+00:00

Inn of the Fates

New York is far behind me. I step through trees as straight and pale as marble columns, and for the first time, I stop to breathe. The Lieutenant has not followed, not this far. He has not come after his coat, which I pull close across my chest, nor his cap, which hides the fullness of my hair, nor the document pressed against my skin, beneath my stays. I lost my pursuers on Wooster Street, near Washington Square. Before me is a ribbon of road leading into Avonshire.

My feet should hurt after a night of running, but they don’t, and I set my feet, in the officer’s heavy boots, onto the pebbled path that starts at the edge of the woods. The meadow that slopes into the Avonshire valley is studded with white birds—swans strutting in the dawn, and large grey geese roosting in grassy nests. White sparrows circle above, their bright feathers catching the secret, high rays of light that have not yet arced to earth.

As I make my way toward the leaning structures of Avonshire, I see that the grey geese are not birds but stones, graves settled into the meadow. They dot the grass at intervals, growing thicker as I near the town, till what I took for a slate-paved plaza reveals itself to be a thicket of headstones each leaning into the next. The white sparrows settle on them and watch me pass.

The stones crowd right up to the bronze gate, which gapes open as if left by a forgetful hand or nudged by a gust of wind. The gate is unguarded by anyone save for a white cat that yowls as I press my fingertips against the panel and push, the hinges yowling in return. Sunlight flashes through the tarnish as I push the gate open and step into Avonshire.

The cat runs ahead through the empty street, and I follow. Buildings crowd the lane, leaning across the gap of road, sagging into a low canopy. It is much darker beneath them than it was in the meadow and I pull the Lieutenant’s coat closer and bury my hands in the pockets. My fingers flinch away from the folded knife there. They clutch, instead, at the silver case full of coins. My stomach yowls like the cat, and the gate, and I train my eyes along the eaves of the buildings, searching for any sign of an inn.

The white cat scratches at a door below a placard with three dancing maidens on a field of green. “Auberge des Destins” is painted in fading silver.

I pull my hand from the pocket and squeeze the door latch. It’s unlocked and lets me in to a warm hall. A fresh fire crackles in the hearth, a kettle suspended over it on a metal hook. The scents of bread and tea fold into me. I push the door shut and wait for my eyes to adjust to the gathered shadows.

“Can I help you?” A woman’s voice, low and angry, booms from behind a short counter in the corner.

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