Sunday took some time to properly look around as their cart reached the line and became part of the slow column trickling into the city.

The walls were massive but worn down and broken in places. Gaping holes could be seen along their length and there was even a wreckage of what once was a lookout tower on one of the corners. Some of the scars on the stone were strange, and it was difficult to imagine what was responsible for them. The stone was blackened or melted or even poked full of circular holes as if one was looking at a gray sponge. There were also long smooth cuts adorning parts of it. Nevertheless, it only made the sight more impressive and was a testament to how long the city had stood.

It was impossible to see around or above the walls, but what Sunday managed to see through the open gates was enough for him. The street widened enough for five or six carts to pass side by side. People were milling about disappearing in alleyways and rushing to live their lives in droves. It was lively. The buzzing of the crowd was refreshing, even if it was also a bit intimidating. It was a whole new culture, a whole new society waiting for him beyond the gates.

Undead walked next to humans as if they were the same. There were some odd colors and quite a few tattoos which was a welcome surprise. What shocked him most though was what looked to be a bald, at least eight-foot-tall man, carrying two barrels, one beneath each armpit. The giant was following a short angry person who was dragging him by a chain wrapped around his neck and chest. Slavery?

“Poor goliath,” Vyn shook his head next to him. “So strong, but so dumb. I’ve always wondered what a brain made of stone thinks.”

Is that what this was? A goliath? The rock-gray skin and the long limbs and body were quite intimidating in their own right. Was their skin as tough as it looked? Sunday didn’t really want to find out firsthand. It was strange how such a strong creature could be treated in such a way. Why did it let itself? There was more to it, he was sure.

Sunday took in every little detail and followed random people with his eyes, infinitely curious about all he could learn. Lost in thought he barely realized they were just under the gate’s arc and their turn had finally come.

“Another batch, Emiel?” a guard greeted loudly whilst walking over. He was dressed in loose green and brown clothes adorned with a blue circle filled with flowers at the chest. The light chainmail on top had seen better days, and his hair was messy. He raised an eyebrow as his eyes stopped on Sunday and Vyn. “Who are they?”

“Protection. Hired them on the road,” Emiel barked. “There were rumors of bandits. We met them.”

“You met bandits?” Another guard exclaimed from the other side of the cart, dropping what he was doing and waving a group of people through. “What bandits? These are peaceful lands.”

“Lousy. Kids from the Empty Manor. I don’t know if there are others, but you should keep it in mind.”

The first guard cursed and his colleague shook his head. “Those poor things will force the council’s hand one of these days. Alright, go on Emiel. Say hi to the old boss for me when you go back.”

“I thought Emiel was the boss,” Sunday whispered to Vyn as they rolled through.

“He’s my bossman. He has his own. Their family brewery is far from the city, near some natural spring that’s good for the ale. Emiel just delivers goods. One of few drivers.” Vyn replied.

Can’t they afford proper guards then?

“Are you from around here? You know a lot.” Sunday asked.

“I’m a free spirit, I just like to listen and ask questions,” Vyn said. “I spent some time around here with my sister though. I recently tried a little venture up north but that didn’t work out…” There was bitterness as the words trailed off. Sunday decided it was too soon for him to start digging further.

“We all start from somewhere,” he said. And I plan on starting soon.

Their cart trudged on and Sunday kept his mouth shut to leave more room for his eyes to take in the sights. The buildings were all of various sizes, and built of stone and wood with proper tiled roofs. To his joy, there were windows on almost every building, which made sense considering all the vials he had seen and the bottle Vyn was waving about. There were gaps in between the structures, leaving rooms for dark shortcuts and alleyways, which called to Sunday like they were home. He couldn’t wait to find out where they led.

The sounds of the city were sweet music to his ears. No cars or car horns. No loud construction. The faint scent of flowers and freshly baked bread made him smile and curse inwardly that he probably couldn’t taste bread. The occasional sound of hammer on metal would come from a smithy somewhere far away, possibly in a different district.

Emiel pulled the cart to the side and jumped off. “Won’t need you from here on. This is for you,” he gave Vyn a handful of bronze coins. He also handed a few to Sunday. “To wash ‘em boots,” he said and for the first time, Sunday thought the older man was about to smile. Emiel turned before that happened though, and called out to someone on the side striking a conversation.

“Well… could’ve been worse,” Vyn said looking at the coin in his hand. He didn’t seem that pleased.

“A free ride, no heavy lifting, and payment. What more could you ask for?” Sunday smiled. “Gotta say, I’m quite lost. Care to bring me around?” I need a drink.

Vyn put away his earnings and once again adopted his typical cheerful attitude. “I know just the place!”

***

They walked the busy streets without much issue. The city was built with plenty of room for walking and milling about. There were trees and flower beds everywhere with quite a few benches set about, mostly around the canals that cut awkwardly through. The faint scent of flowers grew stronger around the latter as if they were filled with various perfumes and not water from the lake. Each building stood out in its own way and each passed corner revealed only more of the colorful life of Blumwin. Stalls of flowers and various fruits and baked goods were ever-present, and Sunday saw quite a few places selling fancy bottles of wine or other liquors.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

Vyn didn’t stick to the main streets. They took alleyways, dirty little footpaths barely wide enough for two people to pass, and even jumped a fence at one point. After about half an hour, crossing canals and passing multiple taverns on the way, they reached their destination.

A building stood before them. It was on a corner where a few streets converged and became one, and encroached on the space around as if it was threatening to assault it. It was large and made of quite a selection of wood added through different stages of construction. There was a stable right next to the tavern with a single fat pony lazily chewing on greenery and eyeing them with distrust.

The sign was quite eye-catching too. Sunday leaned his head to the side to better take in the masterful and artistic expression of a plump rat. Someone had added details such as a cloak and a hat on the creature, turning it into a strange caricature, as if the name written above hadn’t been telling enough. One of the corners of the sign was missing too. The wood was bitten right off, leaving only a perfect imprint of teeth marks. They looked human enough, but Sunday doubted they were. What human could bite through a wooden sign? He sincerely hoped it was not the work of an actual giant rat.

The building was tall, having at least three or four floors. A bare hint of movement around one of the high windows caught his attention, but there seemed to be no one there after a closer look.

“Come on,” Vyn excitedly called. He pushed the doors of the Wayward Rat open and Sunday followed closely and with great excitement for a drink. A few new pouches he had nicked from those he had deemed well-dressed enough to not miss them jingled in the bag.

It was late afternoon by now, and there were quite a few patrons in the large hall they walked in. Sunday looked around with wonder. The undead and the living, bonding over a conversation and a glass of booze.

The ceiling was high as it hung above a second floor which was a square terrace circling the large ground hall they entered. It was wide enough to hold tables, and some patrons had chosen it for more privacy or just to look down on the simpler folk. Another stairwell led to somewhere behind – probably rooms and the upper floors.

The interior was quite simple. Wooden chairs, wooden tables, and shady corners for those who preferred the darkness rather than the well-lit middle of the hall. A large hearth was burning in one corner and there was a small empty podium to the side of it. Actual glass lamps sat on the walls and on some tables. It was neither magic nor electricity burning inside of them. Possibly oil, but it was brighter than what he assumed oil could achieve with such a small flame.

They weaved through as Vyn led them toward the long bar. Waitresses were carrying bowls of food or tankards of alcohol with practiced grace.

An undead barmaid and a human bartender were serving clients at the bar, which seemed separated into two segments. Sunday approached behind Vyn as they headed toward the undead barmaid’s section and leaned on the counter. Vyn tried to get the attention of the barmaid but she only glared back and the man seemed to shrink.

Sunday used the time to check the bronze coins he had gotten from Emiel and some of those ‘gifted’ by careless passersby. They were different than the ones he had grabbed from Jishu’s hut. There was a simple depiction of a flower on one side and a gourd on the other. Flower and wine, fitting. I need to figure out if the other coins are worth anything here. I can’t just go flaunting city coin when I’m new.

A voice made him look up. “You going to keep staring at those coins or do you want a drink?”

It was the barmaid. Her eyes were deep and dark – darker than any undead he had met so far. Her skin was bloodless and rough in places. Her hair was cropped a bit above her shoulders and unnaturally white. What surprised Sunday were the black and red tattoos of flowers and thorns on her left arm, as if someone had splashed ink on her skin and it had somehow come together into a work of art. There were heavy burn marks on her other arm, revealed by the vest she wore. The scars reached parts of her face and reminded him of the ones he had lost during his rebirth. She was the youngest undead he had met so far, and she had a charming smile on.

“Listen, dear, we—” Vyn began but was silenced by a raised finger and a deathly stare. There were rings on most of her fingers and a few bracelets too – iron or steel, bronze, leather; no silver or gold.

“Call me dear again and I’ll have someone rip out your brain and feed it to me, human,” she interrupted. There was a peculiar coldness in her voice. Another undead trait, Sunday decided. He had caught himself sounding similar a few times.

“You’ve met before?” Sunday smiled. He couldn’t help himself.

“He got drunk here many months ago and started a fight. It cost us the rest of the evening and a few regulars. I’d think twice about sticking with him,” she said glaring at Vyn. Then, without waiting for an answer she turned toward Sunday and her tone softened. “You’re new here though, so I’ll tolerate him for now. You do need new clothes. And you’re filthy. Room is five, bath an extra two. Fashion advice is on the house.”

“Five what?” Sunday asked, ignoring the comments and Vyn’s pleading eyes.

She raised an eyebrow. “Copper. Undead rate. Easier maintenance. It’s a silver for your friend, and two if you are sharing a room.”

“That’s unfair!” Vyn whined quietly. The barmaid didn’t pay him any attention.

Sunday nodded. He took out the pouch of ancient coin and selected a few to add to the flower ones from Emiel. “Those go around here?”

She took one of the copper ones, looked it all over, and tested it with a black nail. “Bit old, but sure do. Where are they from?”

“No clue.”

She eyed him for a second. “You look like you could use a drink.”

“He’s never had undead booze,” Vyn said from the side, before quickly pulling away as if afraid. The barmaid seemed genuinely surprised at that. So surprised she didn’t even admonish Vyn for opening his mouth.

“First drink? Fuck me alive.” She turned around and started rummaging through a lower shelf of bottles after the weird exclamation. Sunday couldn’t see what she was doing but waited patiently. A few seconds later she was back with an ordinary-looking bottle. However, as the cork was pulled off Sunday froze.

The sweet aroma of something familiar gently teased his nostrils. What is this? This is booze? He noticed Vyn was busying himself by chatting to the human barman but throwing glances back at them.

“This is good stuff. You can’t have your first drink be something lousy. It might ruin you for the cheaper liquors we sell, but I think it’s worth it. You can only experience the first time once, so cherish it, alright? It’s on me,” the barmaid said. She inhaled slowly and released a sigh.

“What is it?” Sunday asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“Sweet fruit from a burial ground, water from fallen starlight, and the birth of a dream all mixed in one bottle.”

Sunday looked away from the bottle and held the girl’s eyes. “You don’t know, do you?”

She raised her shoulders and eyebrows and gave him a playful smile revealing her teeth. “Sometimes all that separates a claim from being true or false is a little bit of belief,” she said.

Dangerous words. Sunday nodded and she took out two glasses that seemed like they were carved out of the purest crystal. “Can’t have your first drink alone.” She poured carefully as if every single drop was liquid gold, leaving one of the glasses mostly empty. The alcohol was a deep ruby color, but the light breaking through the crystal made it seem like it changed shades constantly.

“What’s your name?” Sunday asked.

“Riya.”

“Mine’s Sunday.”

“Well, Sunday,” she handed him the fuller glass, her dark eyes gleaming enchantingly with something he couldn’t quite understand. “Take a moment to smell it. Then drink a good mouthful. Savor it, like you savor the first sunrise after finding out you are alive.”