CLATTER, SKRRCH.
A wooden cart screeched to a halt inches from my boots, the two horses snorting clouds of white breath into the cold air.
The reins snapped tight in the driver's hands.
"Oi!" the coachman barked, glaring down at me.
"You got a death wish, walking in the middle of the damn road? I am already late enough."
Instead of replying to him, I cut through the palpable tension hanging between us.
"Are you Mr. Broide, by any chance?"
I asked, glancing between the coachman and the rough sketch inked on the sheet of paper in my hand.
The resemblance was too good to be a coincidence.
His expression of fury cracked, shifting first to disbelief, then to confusion.
"W-wait… are you the one who requested a carriage to the capital, Lauraen, kind sir?"
He stuttered out, the venom that coated his voice a moment ago evaporating completely.
What replaced it was something sweet, sticky, and desperate, like he was trying to butter warm bread with his words alone.
I didn't bother to hide my sigh.
Typical.
Sliding a hand beneath my cloak, I retrieved a silver-plated card.
The metal caught the weak daylight, gleaming with an authority it didn't deserve. Carved into its center were the words:
Bulman Travel Association
My monthly pass. Would have to pay a big fortune, but it let me ride any Association carriage within their routes without further questions, at least, in theory, and I had gotten my hands onto one just before coming here, though the closing deal was not as sweet as expected.
Mr. Broide's eyes widened, his posture straightening as though the card itself had slapped manners into him.
Even the horses quieted, their snorts softening as he scrambled to compose himself.
"A-ah! My apologies, sir! Had I known, I mean, please, please, step aboard whenever you wish," he said, voice suddenly soaked in respect he clearly hadn't known how to spell a minute ago.
Of course he was shocked, and mind-bogglingly so.
And why wouldn't he be? No one in their right mind expected a client who owned a monthly pass, one that cost more than most families made in three months, to be standing right outside a pawn shop, of all places.
And worse, clutching a pouch full of freshly earned coins like his life depended on it.
Anyone with half a brain could put the pieces together.
Something valuable had been sold in there, that too something that hit closer to the heart than the pocket.
Broide might have looked like a man who couldn't count past ten without taking off his boots, but he wasn't stupid enough to miss that.
His gaze slid from my cloak to the pouch at my hip, then back to my face, a flicker of understanding dawning behind his eyes.
At least he was smart enough to figure out that I wasn't travelling out of choice.
Broide hurried ahead of me, nearly stumbling as he yanked the carriage door open with both hands.
The iron hinges groaned in protest, old, heavy, and well-used, letting out a draft of warmer air from within.
I expected the inside to be cramped. Instead, the interior looked… borderline noble.
Polished darkwood panels lined the walls, carved with simple but elegant patterns, nothing extravagant, just enough to suggest the cart served more than farmers and peddlers.
Thick woolen cushions covered the benches on both sides, dyed a deep burgundy that had faded unevenly from long roads and harsher winters.
A small lantern hung from the center beam, its gentle flame casting a steady amber glow that softened the rough corners of the space.
"Mind your step, sir"
Broide mumbled, bowing his head so awkwardly he nearly head-butted the doorframe.
I gripped the doorframe and stepped up onto the iron footrest, the metal cold through my boot.
The carriage dipped slightly as I climbed in, the horses shifting with a soft snort.
"Once again, To the Church of the Rebel, Lauraen."
I spoke indifferently, however such was not the expressions of the man.
He seemed to be momentarily surprised, church of the Rebel wasn't a common place to seek for after all.
Leaving that aside, I eased myself onto the cushioned bench, the padding worn but comfortable enough, and drew my cloak closer as Broide shut the door behind me with a firm thud.
'Maybe I should get a little sleep… feels like I haven't rested in weeks. Must be the after-effect of visiting the Dreamlands.'
I pondered, my eyelids growing heavy on me, the carriage's occasional sway only making them droop faster.
'Yeah… a short nap won't hurt. Though I'll probably miss the captivating landscape ahead. That's sadge.'
However before sleep could drag me under completely, I leaned forward and slid open the small wooden shutter that connected the cabin to the driver's seat.
A draft of cold air slipped in, carrying the clatter of hooves and Broide's steady humming.
He looked back at me over his shoulder, brows furrowed as though unsure whether I was about to ask for water, directions, or complain about the bumps on the road.
"Mr. Broide," I murmured, fighting the weight gathering on my eyelids.
"listen… if anything remotely interesting shows up while we travel, be it travelers worth seeing, an odd creature wandering too close to the roadside, a patch of scenery, or anything that you personally think might be worth opening my eyes for, I want you to wake me."
I paused, stifling a yawn with the back of my hand before continuing.
"And obviously, when we reach Lauraen, don't just let me sleep through it. Shake me if you have to."
Broide blinked once, then twice, and slowly a lopsided grin cracked across his face.
"Ahh, so that's all, sir. Thought you were about to tell me the wheel was fallin' off or a demon was stalkin' us.
Don't you worry, I'll give you a shout the moment something catches the eye, even if it's just an entity bold enough to stand in our way. You won't miss nothing on my watch."
"I'll hold you to that," I muttered, dragging the shutter halfway down but keeping it open just long enough to add.
"I've already missed enough things lately. Don't want this trip added to the list."
He nodded vigorously, reins shaking in his hands.
"Rest. I'll wake you properly even if you are sleeping like the dead."
Satisfied, more or less, I let the shutter slide closed, and this time, when sleep reached out to me, there was no reason left to resist.
---
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