Pilgrimage Read Online Free PDF Page B

unfolded his arms. “I'll try to find us a place to eat.”
    Roland took his time in the shower but when he was dry and dressed, the fleeting feeling of cleanliness was already gone. He looked at himself in the mirror for a long time before he left the bathroom. His teeth had a stronger yellowish colour than they normally did and his five o'clock shadow was starting to look more like a ten o'clock shadow. His clothes were damp and stunk of sweat. He thought about the bottle in his pack and tried to count the hours since his last drink. At the rate they were going, he'd have to ration the scotch. But surely a little bit wouldn't hurt. Would it? Of course not. When did scotch ever hurt anyone? Roland closed his eyes and took a moment to organise his thoughts. He told himself to prioritise. First was dinner, then was planning and then was drinking. If he could manage that, he could reward his patience with an extra shot or two. Griffith might want to shower before they went to get dinner and, if he did, then he could even have a quick drink while he waited.
    Roland opened the door and stepped out of the bathroom.
    “Okay, do you—” Empty. He scanned the room, confused, then started towards the door. He found Griffith kneeling on the other side of the room, behind a bed piled with their backpacks and the map, just outside Roland's view. Roland approached the sorcerer with cautious steps. Griffith knelt, back straight and hands resting in his lap, eyes closed and silent. Not just quiet but absolutely, hauntingly silent. Roland could see his chest rising and falling but couldn't hear the deep breaths he seemed to be taking. Roland reached out to tap him on the shoulder. The air around Griffith swirled and pulsated like electricity. Roland recoiled, or maybe the rippling air forced his hand back. He wasn't sure. Roland stood watching Griffith until he opened. He couldn't tell how long he'd been standing there, watching. Griffith turned his head and smiled at Roland.
    “Are you ready?”
    “Ready?” Roland repeated back stupidly.
    “For dinner?”
    “What were you doing?”
    “Meditating.” Griffith answered and shrugged. “So, dinner?”
    “Meditating? But, there was something weird around you.”
    “Oh, that.”
    “Well?” Roland's voice was rising with impatience.
    “Magic.” Griffith shrugged again.
    “Of course.” Roland scratched his head and gathered his thoughts back to him. “Okay, let's go get some food.”
    At that moment there came a knock at the door. Roland and Griffith swapped similar looks of confusion. Then, with a shrug, Griffith opened the door.
    “Hello?” Griffith asked, turning the door knob. Just as he started to pull, the door swung out of his hands, throwing him back. In another instant he was thrown off his feet as though he'd been hit by a bus. Griffith landed on the bed, knocking the bags and map onto the floor. The blankets twisted and snaked around his limbs, pulling them close to his body. The bedding wrapped around him like a cocoon and fastened tight, binding him in place.
    A short, stout man, bald and tan, like a brick wearing a beige tweed jacket, stepped through the door. He turned to Roland. Roland didn't think. He immediately picked up the closest heavy object - A chair - and hurled it at the intruder. The man in the tweed lifted his hands. The wooden chair shattered on some unseen barrier. Roland charged. He took two steps before something hit him, hit him hard. Then he slammed into the wall. Invisible hands threw him to the ground. Roland tried to push himself up. The air above pushed down with all the weight of a Mack Truck, squeezing the air out of his lungs. He turned his head enough to see the man in tweed. The man motioned his hand in a rapid succession of finger gestures. Then bed sheets and blankets leapt from the other bed and wrapped around him, cutting off his vision. Roland felt the weight lift off him and he tried to stand. The blankets tightened, forcing him