Reviews, Recipes, and Random Slices of Life

Christopher Knall straightened from his labor in the chicory field, pressed his hand to the small of his back, and leaned into a stretch. Dried sweat made his shirt crackle under his hand. Mud coated his pants. He was hardly the fine sight he'd been when he walked into town with a suitcase full of ladies' hair combs and men's shaving sets to sell.

Something moved along the road in the distance. He squinted. Wagons, traveling their way. Poor bastards don't know what they're getting into. Can I warn them somehow?

When the caravan got closer, the thought vanished. He gaped.

It must be a hallucination. He'd finally cracked. The procession was led by a woman standing on top of her saddle as if that was a perfectly ordinary way to ride a horse. A freakishly thin and elongated man rode in one of the wagons behind her. A pair of miniature humans perched atop another. And the giant bone and brass thing that flanked them could only have ridden out of a nightmare.*

Those riding ahead in the caravan could stare at horse butts and circus wagons covered with muddy canvas. I preferred my view of rolling hills. White oaks and red maples glowed dark red and scarlet in the sun. Even the pinkish-red clumps of sumac were lovely.

In the distance, a flock of sparrows launched into the air. A small miracle. I find the world so precious and amazing that I sometimes think you all should be blinded and bound until you learn to appreciate it properly.

A breeze played across my sun-warmed arm. I knew I'd be blistered with sunburn if I left my mushroom-pale skin uncovered for too long, but I didn't care. The only sounds were the jingle of harnesses, the creak of our wagon wheels, and the occasional swear word or grunted comment from farther up in the wagon train. It might have been an uncomfortable silence to them, but I liked the absence of chatter that I wasn't welcome to join. And I felt none of their discomfort at the idea that there was a murderer among us. I welcomed my companion-in-infamy, whoever he or she might be.

I was watching the trees, and so I saw them first. Four men eased out of the woods behind us just as we rounded the bend that would hide them and the supply wagon from sight. I heard faint sounds of a scuffle, though if I hadn't been listening for something, I wouldn't have noticed it over the clop of the horses' hooves.

My silence was a habit of such long-standing that it took me precious moments to realize I should scream.

"Bandits!" I shrieked, my voice rusty and horrible-sounding from disuse. "The supply wagon!"