The Lumber Town （Part 2）
Suddenly, a shrill voice rang out directly behind the guards, "WAAAAIT!"
Gareth stopped, just in time.
"My daughter, is that you?" The voice gushed.
A man in his sixties burst through the gate, hair jutting out in all directions as if he'd been chased by a lightning storm. He muscled past the guards and Gareth, radiating the misplaced confidence of a drunk uncle at a wedding.
With arms thrown wide, he caught Rowena in a hug so theatrical it was shocking. "My darling daughter!" he boomed, squeezing her so hard she squeaked. "Three days late, but what's a little roadside camping between kin?"
He clutched her shoulders, face contorted in a melodramatic mixture of relief and scolding, eyebrows waggling at her like frantic caterpillars. All the while, his darting eyes sent frantic signals to the group: Play along or we're doomed.
Rowena stared back, blinking in bafflement, wondering if she'd just been adopted by a madman—or rescued by a genius.
"Rhugen, who are these people?" The guard asked suspiciously, eyeing Gareth closely.
"This is my daughter Lora, her loyal companion Entharl, and our, ah, extremely distant cousin from the jungle—" He gestured helplessly at The Dissolver, clearly at a loss for what to call someone with such an alarming number of limbs.
"Zyrraxx," Rowena blurted, inventing the name with a confidence she absolutely did not feel.
"Ah! Of course," the man beamed, latching onto the lie with wild enthusiasm. "They've just returned from the jungles of Dor'xyreth, braving wild beasts, worse weather, and the local cuisine—"
"Wait." The guard stopped the old man and turned to Gareth, "You said she was your wife."
Thinking fast, Rowena cut in, "Erm... well... now you've ruined the surprise." She tugged Gareth's arm again, following behind the strange man as he began to slowly back away through the city gate.
The Dissolver stayed close to them, shuffling nervously along.
The guard held up his arm, blocking them. "No one enters without a pass." He seethed.
"My dear fellow," Rhugen said, oozing sincerity, "you're quite mistaken.
My daughter and her friends risked life, limb, and questionable lodging to bring me the rarest goods from the jungle—so rare, in fact, the overseer himself insisted on first claims. Yes, the paperwork's done; I sent off it with my own two hands.
Paid the courier fee, too—dearly, I might add.
And tomorrow, I'll be handing that overseer the freshest tobacco this side of the river. "
The falsehoods rolled off the man's tongue easily.
The guard grew unsure, looking to his partner, then back to the outsiders and Rhugen, confusion masking his face. "I-I'll have to speak to the overseer about this," He said slowly, lowering his arm, "If I find out you're lying-"
"Yes, yes, by all means," Rhugen interrupted, flapping his hand as if batting away an annoying fly. "Check, double-check, triple-check—makes no difference to me. You'll see it's all proper."
The guards watched the group with suspicion as they hurried by, trailing after the strange, theatrical man.
Once safely out of earshot, Rhugen leaned in and whispered, "Keep moving. Not a word until we're inside."
He stopped next to a short stack of small, empty crates which were resting beside the steps of a building just inside the gate. He picked them up and then led the group through the town.
As they followed him, Rowena saw the town she once knew transformed almost beyond recognition.
A handful of buildings still boasted their original, finely-carved wooden facades, their eaves and lintels decorated with curling motifs and faded paint.
But most of the houses were new, their plain, rough timber boards hastily assembled and lacking any ornamentation.
She guessed these homes that were rebuilt after the fires Gareth had described.
The townspeople moved about their chores, weary and despairing.
Their shoulders were hunched and their faces sad.
Children wandered the dusty lanes in silence, not a single shout or burst of laughter breaking the heavy air.
Few even glanced at the newcomers, and those who did offered only blank, uninterested stares before quickly looking away.
Rhugen led them to the central marketplace, where the shops formed a ring around a once-charming fountain now fallen into neglect. The storefronts, some freshly painted and others weathered by time, faced inward toward the square.
Wooden benches lined the perimeter, their surfaces splintered and empty, as if waiting for a crowd that would never return. Clay pots perched on windowsills and steps overflowed with withered, brown flowers, their petals curled and brittle.
At the center, the fountain's stone basin was stained and chipped, its water reduced to a sluggish trickle that fed a stagnant pool choked with algae and flecks of debris.
Rowena remembered coming to this very marketplace with her mother when she was fifteen, excited to choose ribbons and a new hat for her birthday.
Back then, the square had been alive with color and bustle, every shop brimming with goods, their windows bursting with cheerful displays of fabric, sweets, and trinkets. The air was alive with chatter and laughter.
She could still recall the sharp, clean scent of fresh sawdust drifting from the distant sawmill, mingled with the thud of axes splitting wood; sounds that had once made the town feel prosperous and safe.
Now, standing in the colorless, desolate marketplace, Rowena's heart ached. The air felt stale, heavy with memories of what had been lost to the war. The familiar, comforting hum of the sawmill was gone; no sawdust scented the breeze, no echo of axes on timber.
Springtime was the end of harvesting season, but there were no logs to process.
There was only emptiness, a sense that the rhythm of life had vanished and might never resume.
Rhugen guided them to a narrow pawn shop nestled between two shuttered storefronts. A hand-painted sign above the door proclaimed in faded green letters: Gold for Baubles.
He gestured them inside, the door creaking as it swung open, then quietly drew it shut behind them, sliding the latch with a practiced flick.
The interior of the pawn shop was dimly lit by flickering lanterns suspended from ancient, creaking beams. Dust motes floated lazily through the stale air, settling on crowded shelves that groaned beneath the weight of oddities and forgotten treasures.
Glass display cases, their panes cloudy and smudged, held a chaotic assortment of trinkets: chipped dragon figurines, mysterious amulets tangled in silver chains, and grimy vials filled with unidentifiable substances.
The wooden floorboards are warped and uneven, creaking ominously with every step. Strange artifacts were scattered among mundane items like dented cookware and faded books.
The stale, musty scent of old parchment and mildew lingered in the air.
"That was an impressive show, my friend." Gareth laughed heartily.
The man's expression didn't budge.
He fixed his eyes on Rowena with a sharp, appraising gaze, his eyes narrowing. "Well, this is a surprise. I can't say I expected to see Lady Rowena Valmont gracing my doorstep today."