Chapter Three: Tannery Wells, Butterflies, and Broth
The afternoon sun brings autumnal warmth over the streets of Thornback Hollow as you follow Abbot Quelm's instructions. Its map is outdated, but it still serves its purpose of providing a clearer sense of how the city's streets and districts are organized.
The shrine, as Quelm was pleased to point out, is in the center of Thornback. An ancient shaft, radiating rays in all directions. Studying the map, you can see that last night's passage through the south gate took him down the main thoroughfare. That same road led him under the mayor's residence, which from its elevated position to the northwest peeks into the squalid dwellings to the south.
A lone peasant with a wheelbarrow full of wood passes the two of you, the wheel bumping and creaking on the uneven surface of the track. Head down. Eyes for dirt. You can count the number of people you saw on the road on one hand. Despite the time, most residents chose to stay indoors.
Further along the trail you pass a pair of covered caravans, painted in the image of a theater troupe. Someone in a colorful robe is sitting on the steps, juggling. To the north, you hear calls from vendors in the mercantile district. But even these seem mild and sporadic.
"This looks like our street," Alice says, pointing to a narrow alley heading east. You nod your head and let her lead the way. If Quelm's map is correct, this should take you straight to the tannery and wooden yards. The main road disappears behind you, and the choppy waters of the Thornback River get louder with every step.
To pass the time, you strike up a conversation with your fox-masked colleague.
You spend time bonding with the shared physical danger that sometimes comes with your profession.
"The problem with accumulating endless volumes on the topic of theoretical medicine," says Alice, "is that it gives you an exhaustive list of sore spots to watch out for in a fight..."
"Genitals," you say, not missing a beat.
"Genitals, yes," Alice nods. "Anything in that area. That goes without saying. But don't forget the eyes. The ears are always within reach, too."
"I admit, Alice, I didn't consider you an earlobe ripper."
"To deceive predators, the fox must remain smart and resourceful," she replies. It's hard to tell under the mask, but you'd swear she's smiling.
Press towards the tannery
The track winds between tight houses. The windows darkened. Closed doors to the world. A set of nerve barriers against invading disease. You see a young man running between the houses. A flock of birds flies from a roof.
Another bend in the road finds you against the east wall of Thornback Hollow. The river is even louder now, cascading over the rocks and carrying its watery deluge out to sea. You tilt your head up into the shadow of the wall, examining the wooden perimeter. Not a guard to be seen.
"Morlond was right about blocking the gates," Alice says, raising her voice over the raging river. "If the rest of the perimeter is like this, people have no other way out."
You follow the curve of the wall until the alley throws you both into an open courtyard dotted with piles of cut wood. The sodden ground sucks at his boots, and the lingering smell of tannery work seeps under his mask, stinging his eyes and nostrils like invisible pins.
Alice holds a sleeve under her fox's muzzle and points to a pair of workers resting on a fallen log outside an imposing structure. One of the workers gets up as you approach. His companion, a hairy man, remains seated.
"Wait. Do you have business with the Wood Guild?"
The Hulk coughs, and his friend rolls her eyes. "Fine. The Timber Guild and Associated Tanners Society. Happy, Duncan?"
"I'd just like to hear the full title, Malle. That's all," he replies.