The City of Gold and Lead (The Tripods) Read Online Free PDF Page A

around the taverns till we found him; then either persuade him to return or, at least, tell Moritz where he was. If we were questioned, we could pass as travelers from far parts: after all, the town was a trading post. It was not the same as having to answer questions about what we were doing on board the Erlkönig.
    Moritz was dubious, but admitted there was some point in this. Gradually he allowed himself to be persuaded. It was out of the question for all three of us to go searching for Ulf, but one might—Beanpole, since it had been his idea. So Beanpole went, and I at once started working on Moritz to let me go also.
    I was helped by the fact that my importunity was matched, on Fritz’s part, by indifference. He made no comment and clearly was prepared to wait until things sorted themselves out without assistance from him. So, having allowed one to go, there was only one other for Moritz to consider. I wore him down, as I had known I would; he was more amiable than Ulf, much more amiable, but also less sure of himself. He insisted that I should be back within the hour, whether or not I found Ulf, and I agreed to that. I was tingling with the excitement of exploring a strange town, in a strange country. I checked that no one was watching the barge, then jumped quickly onto the quay and made my way along the waterfront.
    The town was a bigger place than I had thought, looking at it from the deck of the barge. Fronting theriver there was a row of warehouses and granaries, many of them with three floors above the ground. The buildings were partly of stone but principally of wood, which was carved and painted with figures of men and animals. There were a couple of taverns in this stretch, and I looked in briefly though Beanpole, I guessed, would have covered these before me. One of them was empty, except for two old men, sitting with large mugs of beer (they were called steins, I knew) and smoking pipes. The other had perhaps a dozen men in it, but I could tell in a quick survey that none of them was Ulf.
    I came to a road, running at right angles to the river, and followed it. There were shops here, and a fair amount of horse traffic, with pony traps and larger carriages and men on horseback. There were, I thought, a lot of people about. I understood why on coming to the first intersection. The crossing road, in either direction, was blocked by stalls, selling food and cloth and all kinds of goods. It was market day.
    It was exhilarating, after the long winter of exercise and study, in the darkness of the Tunnel or on the bareness of the mountainside, to be once more among people going about their daily lives. And particularly exhilarating for me, who before fleeing to the White Mountains had known only the quietness of a country village. A few times I had been taken to Winchester for the market there, and had marveled at it. This town seemed to be as big as Winchester—perhaps even bigger.
    I made my way past the stalls. The first was piled high with vegetables—carrots and little potatoes, fatgreen-and-white spears of asparagus, peas and huge cabbages, both green and red. At the next there was meat—not simple cuts such as the butcher brought to my village in England; but joints and chops and rolls delicately decorated with dabs of white lard. I wandered along, gazing and sniffing. A stall was completely given over to cheeses, of a score of different colors, shapes, and sizes. I had not realized there could be so many. And there was a fish stall, with dried and smoked fish hanging from hooks and fish fresh caught from the river laid out along a stone slab, their scales still wet. Now, with the dusk gathering, some of the stalls were preparing to close down but most were busy yet, and the stream of people, threading their way between and past them was thick enough.
    Between two stalls, one selling leather and the other bolts of cloth, I saw the opening to a tavern, and guiltily remembered what I was supposed to be