The City

It was morning again when they departed for the hill. They made good pace, crossing through the winding countryside in that vast expanse, nostalgic in aesthetic yet of alien nature. Within the grasses bloomed flowers unknown to his world, and wild barley mixed with the breeds of foreign strains. Currents flowed in the little ponds where rain had long since passed and carved the land. Dave smiled. He would have loved to bike here. The vales made for natural trails, and there was so much to explore. Just smelling the air cured him.

“We would catch a train here, depart from the station and go on my two-seater. Helena would hold him on her chest with those new-fangled straps, and she would lean on my back as the air bent around us.”

From a simpler time.

But one now muddled in the cesspit of war.

“Sounds like a fine date, sir,” Watermann reminisced.

“Sure would be. Care to join?”

“Four’s a mob, sir.”

“Oh, come on,” Dave chided. “You could bring your single-seater and join us. We could have a picnic together. The wife, kid, friend—a complete picture.”

“Again with your nonsense words. Lieutenant, what’s with your obsession with that country?”

“Don’t know. I just like it.”

The officer smiled.

They continued forward and encountered another wagon. Dave rubbed his eyes. He could hardly believe it! A normal human being! Starved of information, and with some built frustration, the lieutenant took no chances this time. Abandoning his previous hesitancy, he ran up to the driver, firing off ranting questions.

“Hello, sir. Sorry to disturb. Lieutenant Dave Parker of the Lamian army. Where’s the nearest town? How far is it? What’s your name?”

“Eh?” he replied. But that was as far as Dave got before the man responded in a foreign tongue. Pure nonsense from their perspective. The driver started his beasts, and Dave tried again, grasping the sides of the wagon as it picked up.

“My name is Dave. I come from Lamia. Lah-me-uh. Where are we?”

He shooed the lieutenant away, leaving him in the dust.

“Hey! Stop the cart!”

The driver hailed his horses, shouting and cursing as he skidded off the main path. Watermann grabbed his superior and held him back. The lieutenant had gone mad!

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Proving something!” Dave broke free and ran over to the driver.

“Sir! Are you alright? My name is Dave Parker! We come from Lamia!”

Dazed and confused, the driver glared at the officer before speaking.

More gibberish. More foreign talk. The vowels didn’t make sense, their tenses were all over the place. It sounded like something they could feasibly understand—it had a structure. But five minutes was hardly anything.

He recovered, calming his steeds before departing. Dave tried to approach, but the dagger pointed at his jugular spoke of the driver’s interest in their brief affair. Watermann took his superior hostage and whispered harshly.

“What in all of God’s good earth are you doing?”

Dave leaned silently, choosing his words as they came.

“I knew it. We’re in a bind.”

“A bind?”

“The locals are speaking some kind of new language.”

The lieutenant locked eyes, and weariness entered them.

Watermann helped him up. “Oh, come on, maybe it was just a coincidence. I’m sure we’ll find someone. Eventually.”

“But how long will it take?” Dave asked. “Days? Months? We can’t wait for a mysterious benefactor forever.”

“Besides,” Dave said as he cleaned his pants of dust. “I don’t want another dagger pointed at my neck.”

He adjusted his pack, securing the straps that had loosened during the entire ordeal. His rifle remained on his shoulder, and his bayonet firmly in its sheath.

“Can’t risk anything. We might cop it.”

Dave didn’t want to know if third chances existed.

They carried on, walking down the path, then to the side, as it became packed with carts and beasts of burden. Great horns jutted from the sides, like the beef cattle steers they saw on postcards from the Ligeian frontier. But horses existed here too. The traffic grew and threatened to spill onto the byways. Kicked-up dust scratched their lungs. They coughed.

The countryside fell away, and small signs of civilization peeked through. The trail widened, with stone walls now flanking the sides. A little cottage popped over the horizon. Then another, with a quaint windmill moving softly with the breeze. Sounds of work grew louder with each kilometer, and the riders talked and laughed and joked. It was so mundane, so familiar, but started their hearts. The dust clouds thinned. Dave wanted to break into a sprint. A sliver of reality after all the madness! Just like before.

Watermann broke into an involuntary smile, quickening his pace as they marched on and on. He wanted to stay alert, but who could? Look at the banners streaming in the distance, the peasants beating their laundry, the approaching city sprawl, the animals scurrying and children laughing in the corners of full-built houses just in front of them! See how the water runs along the bands of houses as it turns a water wheel. No ruins, no wire, no ordinance. He wanted to cry.

Before they knew it, the city was before them.

Shining beneath the suns’ hearth, surrounded by checkered gold fields of wheat and rye, stood a splendorous palace complex. Red-brick roofs and tile wrapped around the pomerium. Parapets and ramparts ran along the flowing river that lay beside it before looping and buckling below. An immense urban sprawl sprouted from the ground. Granaries and windmills towered over the river as the wheels ground on. The gray and ivory stones that built the city almost glowed in the brilliant light of morning. In the center, rising high, flying buttresses held up an ornate cathedral with pinnacles that touched the heavens. Their pinnacles had bronze statues that almost blinded. Almshouses and manors were in the depths.

But even below the majesty there, life continued on. It moved even under the burden of survival. Dave felt a pitter-patter in his chest. There was hope yet.

It had been a few days, and they could smell the flowers again.

This time, they didn’t have to crawl like rats to do it.

The two soldiers moved onward at a slowed pace, bathing in the surrounding commonality. It was like wandering into a distant dream. A mixing of familiar actions in costume, retaining the core aspects of human kindness with unfamiliar faces. Some smiled at them. Others scowled. An icon of prewar life built from the stones that were everyday people. Tears threatened to spill. Dave kept pushing onward, holding this transient beauty within his heart. Watermann did much the same.

But as they closed in on the city gates, the lieutenant quickly pulled his junior into an alleyway.

“What happened?” Watermann whispered.

“Shhhh. We have to conceal our bayonets.”

Dave peeked out. A congregation of city guards and militia gathered around the gate. Each of them had pikes and swords, turning around the hunters and merchants who’d forgotten to conceal their weapons. It was a simple mistake. Even back home, some civilians flinched when you brought your rifle on your back on leave. But he’d observed how figures within the crowd of authority ahead stared at him momentarily. It wasn’t an inviting one.

“Our blades antagonize them. Come on. Sheathe it.”

“Right, right,” Watermann grumbled.

“When we walk out there,” Dave said, “…carry yourself naturally as possible.”

“And switch on your safety, for God’s sake. The last thing we need is an accidental discharge.”

“Why don’t we just unload our rifles?”

“I want to be friendly, not unprepared.”

Dave pulled out his automatic. “Still have that revolver I gave you?”

“Yessir.” Watermann briefly inspected it. “Kept it tidy.”

“That’s our second avenue of attack. If something comes up, just use your rifle stock. But if we’re truly in danger…”

“I’ll use it. Though I don’t know what will happen if it goes off in a crowded street. They don’t look like people who’ve seen guns before.”

“Don’t worry,” Dave pointed at himself. “I have an escape plan.”

“What is it?”

“Shooting our way out.”

“Can’t we just run?”

“We’ll try.”

“Smart.”

“I know. My genius terrifies me.”

And so, with their brilliant plan in mind, the two soldiers walked the path and presented themselves before the guards. They scooted between the endless sea of carts and peasants. Watermann’s rifle slapped against his back as the line near the front became orderly. Then, it was their turn. One authority raised his right eyebrow, and the other next to him mindlessly chewed away at some foreign gunk that stained his teeth blue. Dave’s gaze was unwavering, and he gave a dumb smile. They discussed among themselves before letting him go through.

Next was Watermann. The guards gazed upon the good-natured and freckled smile lines as they snickered, passing him along and hitting the private in the back like players in a locker room.

“A—and a good day to you too, sir!” he stumbled out of his mouth.

Inside the city gates lay a realm different from the naturalistic chaos outside. The streets were orderly, vendors remained within the parameters set out for them, and the trade flowed freely. Little shops and endless houses lined each street grid. Half-timbered houses and the common thatched roof jutted out and in, but always made room for the street. The two soldiers’ odd uniforms drew stares from the merchants and goers about, but they were content with their business. Men of upper crust and gout navigated in brightly colored tunics and feathered hats. Genteel ladies veiled their faces from the pollution of foul air and evil eyes. Dave straightened his officer’s cap, and Watermann stowed away his feldmutze. His ashen blond hair now free, the private stretched and yawned. The lieutenant struggled to loosen up, but he let his shoulders sag a little.

His plan had worked. They were in the city.

Now all they had to do was…

Was…

Huh.

Dave didn’t really expect to make it this far.

“Watermann, what the hell are we doing?”

“In the city, like you said.”

“But what for?”

“Don’t know really,” the private said. “It beats being in the wild.”

“Oh!” Watermann reached into his pocket and took out his camera. “Reminds me.”

Extending the bellows, he framed his shot of the city. There was a rustic cart moving alongside some gentry, and the palace loomed in the background. Watermann adjusted his aperture using the presets on the metal plate and fired the shutter. Just as quickly as he took it out, the private stowed it away.

“Knock it off.”

“Come on, no one will think of it.”

“You know, some people believe that kind of stuff steals your soul. And that’s in our world. Why the hell would you do that?”

“I’ll be more sneaky about it.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Fine, fine,” Watermann brushed him off. “I understand.”

They continued on. Their canteens rattled emptily, and through some hand waving and gesturing, they found the city well and queued in line. Many ladies from the houses abound came to fill their buckets and pails and other instruments of water-holding. Dave, being a staggering and unheard of 5’11’’ tall, could peek his head over the crowd and see their simple head coverings and decorative flourishes. Hell, one lady had two little prosthetic ears like those of a cat. Impressive and very lifelike. Almost like the movies, especially when it wriggled according to her machinations—they weren’t fakes, were they? No. Before him, stood a lady with definite catty features. She looked nice enough, though.

Was he going senile at 25? Maybe. He’d certainly lived enough one-in-a-lifetime experiences. This was number twelve for today. Yes, he kept count. Beats walking while whistling Die Wacht. Could whatever force that transported him be kind enough to drop a gramophone and album of top-shelf shellac? A cylinder was fine if the being was on a budget.

“And a new pipe, one of those fancy Model-Tau’s, a private bell-boy to replace the older model…”

“I can hear you, Lieutenant.”

“Two liters of petrol, four caskets of wine, some of that high-grade narcotic you’re so fond of…”

“They can hear you too, Lieutenant.”

The line cleared up, and Dave filled his share. Watermann followed, but he stared down at the source at the bottom, illuminated by the sun. A flowing stream of clear, pure water flowed over cobblestones. When his lips kissed the mouth of his canteen, the private reckoned that no more wholesome, clean water existed in the world than in this little town square.