Right.
“We’re meeting someone in town,” Seth said, speaking louder. He pulled out the envelope from Dante and read the address. “We’re going to 49 Pinnacle Street, not far from the arena.”
“I’m heading to the market,” Bogdun said. “You find your street yourself.”
“No worry,” Hermo said quietly. “Me find.”
Seth decided to drop the matter. He considered getting out his invisibility glove but decided it might draw too much attention from Bogdun. Instead he nestled back into the turnips and sought to appear nondescript.
A sign on the wall above the city gate announced HUMBURGH in wrought-iron letters. Beneath the name of the town, in smaller letters, Seth read END NO LIFE. Armored trolls waved the wagon through the city gate with only a grunt or two from Bogdun.
As the ox pulled the wagon along the cobblestone road, Seth stopped trying to hide and sat forward, staring at the assortment of people thronging the streets. He saw humans and dwarfs, trolls and goblins, satyrs and centaurs, nymphs and fairies, and, standing notably taller than the others, an occasional ogre. Some in the crowd carried weapons and looked ready for a fight, but most seemed to be regular folk going about their daily business.
“I don’t see any giants,” Seth said.
Bogdun guffawed as if the observation were ludicrous. “You want giants, head over to Big Side.”
“Is this Small Side?” Seth asked.
“Small Town,” Bogdun corrected. “Unless an ogre is around.” He sat up straighter and rolled his heavy shoulders. “Then it becomes at least medium.”
The structures on either side of the street were packed in close and piled several stories high in a manner that suggested each story had been constructed by different builders at different times. Carved wooden animal heads projected from the facade of a wide building on the right like hunting trophies. The various heads chattered boisterously at passersby, inviting them inside. On the other side of the street, an eatery built on a scale for ogres had swinging batwing doors in the front. While ogres swaggered in and out, smaller folk scurried out of the way.
Up ahead, a troll in a bowler hat and plaid vest stood on the balcony of a morose building. The architect must have hated straight lines, because every column was twisted, every railing warped, every window droopy, as if the somber structure were slowly melting.
“Step inside the Mystery House,” the troll invited boisterously. “See the hidden wonders. Learn of treasures untold. Uncover the deepest secrets of the Games. Enigmas and opportunity await within the Humburgh Mystery House. Today, you have a date with destiny!”
Seth leaned forward with interest. Below the balcony, a young woman approached a painting of a black door on the wall at street level. She knocked on the painted door and it became real, then opened. After she entered, the door closed and became a painted image again.
“Can we get off here?” Seth asked.
“I agreed to ferry you to the marketplace,” Bogdun said. “You want to hop off early, so much the better.”
“Deal,” Seth said.
“I’ll slow but I won’t stop,” Bogdun said. “I could get cited if I halt without good reason. Off you go. May the Games claim you.”
The wagon slowed slightly. “Come on,” Seth invited, climbing down as low as he could before jumping off. From the ground he marveled anew at the enormity of the shaggy ox pulling the wagon. The bucket-sized hooves picked up their pace.
Hermo and Reggie landed beside Seth, and they moved away from the street. Drawing on his power, Seth scanned the area for the undead, but he could sense no entities.
“Me find Virgil?” Hermo asked.
“Just a second,” Seth said, approaching the painted front door of the Humburgh Mystery House. He knocked, but his knuckles thumped against a solid stone wall, and the door remained a painting.
“You want in, Junior?” the troll called down from his balcony. He pointed to an alley with his cane. “Head around the side.”
Seth looked in the direction the troll had pointed and saw a figure dressed in layers of dark rags, a black veil obscuring the face, skulking by the far corner of the Mystery House. The troll returned to barking out invitations to the crowd, and Seth went over to the veiled figure.
“Do I go through you to get inside?” Seth asked.
“To use my entrance, you must pay admission,” replied a creaky female voice.
“What’s the price?” Seth asked.
The veiled hag cackled. “Something I consider valuable.”
“Like money?” Seth asked.
“Make an offer,” the hag replied.
Seth had kept a single turnip in his pocket in case of an emergency. He had only taken a couple of bites from it. He pulled it from his pocket and held it out to the hag.
The hag made a fist and the turnip caught fire. Seth tossed it aside before he got burned, and the flaming turnip rolled to a stop in the alley beside the Mystery House.
“Insulting,” the hag said. “I will consider no more offers from you today.”
The hag withdrew into the alley and Seth walked off, not wanting to prolong the interaction. He felt foolish for offering an item he didn’t even like.
“It was worth a try,” Calvin said from Seth’s pocket. “If she’d been starving, a turnip might have seemed valuable.”
“Or if she had a taste for partially eaten roots,” Seth said.
“At least you didn’t lose something you’ll miss,” Calvin said.
“This way,” Hermo said, stabbing a grubby finger down the street.
“How do you know?” Seth asked.
“Follow,” Hermo said.
They passed a mercantile where the sale of armaments extended out onto the walkway. A dwarf haggled with a troll over a mail shirt. A centaur hefted a broadsword, sighting along the blade. A goblin rummaged through a bin of used boots.
As Seth paid attention, he noticed several enterprises devoted to outfitting contestants for the Games. He also passed inns and banks, eateries, a gambling house, and several ambiguous establishments, like the
