He loitered around on the bridge far longer than he needed to.
The weight of the purse in his grip was not what slowed him down.
He knew she wasn't returning.
To go meant finding some other place.
Beneath him, the river flowed steadily.
Leaves moved along the surface of its waters.
Splinters twisted and tumbled.
Reflected images shattered with each passing wave.
Daylight dimmed with fading colors.
People hurried across the bridge with greater purpose.
As twilight deepened, their footsteps grew faster.
Their coats drew closer to their necks.
They lowered their hats.
Nobody bothered to give him a second glance.
Until the sound of silence grew heavier than stone.
He rose to his feet.
Inns closed their doors.
Wooden shutters slammed into place.
Merchants tallied their earnings under lantern lights.
Families brought food back to their homes.
Everyone had somewhere to belong.
He wandered through crowds unnoticed.
Next to a curve in the road, he paused and opened the purse.
He saw silver coins inside.
It was enough. Even he could recognize that much. Rooms cost five to eight pence. Food cost less.
He sealed the purse.
Locating the nearest inn was easy.
The sign dangled loosely between two buildings.
One of the ropes suspending it had long since broken off.
Light seeped out from behind cracked glass panes.
The interior smelled strongly of vegetables cooked over fires and aged wood planks.
The innkeeper glanced at the coin.
Then him.
And then the coin again.
Questions took money.
Silence didn't require payment.
"Six pence."
No further explanation was exchanged.
His room consisted of three things only.
A bed.
A washbasin.
A single window overlooking an enclosed courtyard.
Where shadows crowded together.
He washed himself carefully.
Dark water accumulated rapidly within the basin.
His shirt bore permanent stains.
However, his skin no longer itched.
It was sufficient.
Fully dressed, he lay in bed and gazed at the ceiling above him.
He listened to conversations rise through walls separating them.
Chair legs screeched across stones.
A laugh.
Clanking of mugs.
"Ever since they closed off the eastern road, none of our shipments have arrived on schedule."
The voice sounded tired.
"It's more than that," another man replied. "My brother has been trapped inside the barracks for three weeks. No rotations whatsoever. Calling it a quarantine drill."
"Courier message?"
"What courier message?"
"The message sent from the northern territories."
"Have you heard how pale the captain turned after reading it?"
"Half of the surrounding gates will be shutting down tomorrow."
"Rare times indeed."
Laughter of amusement.
"They probably discuss phantoms while nobility quarrels over gold. We'll still be counting coppers."
"My wife claims priests purified the messenger."
"She believes rain to be magic."
More laughter followed.
Quieter conversations.
Footsteps.
Chair movements.
Indistinct noise blended together.
The sound reminded him of the river, always moving and never stopping.
Red wax lingered in his thoughts.
The seal on the letter.
Vivid scarlet wax.
Message paper.
Insufficient time passed before sleep claimed his consciousness.
When dawn arrived, he found himself lying upon the floor.
Sometime during the previous night, he had found himself lying upon the floor.
Blanket and pillow remained above.
His purse rested untouched on the wooden table.
Curious.
He cleaned his face.
Re-wrapped his bandages.
His makeshift dressings looked terrible.
However, functionality sufficed.
He left behind a few coppers in exchange for worn-out leather boots.
Strong, stiff leather.
Uncomfortable footwear.
Perfect.
Hard stone no longer pressed directly against his feet.
He purchased flatbread from a baker.
Without exchanging many words between them.
While chewing, he continued to walk.
Without realizing when—
He found himself standing next to the river again.
Unchanged.
Indifferent.
He sat down.
Without purpose.
Without need.
There was simply nowhere else to go.
Because there was nowhere else to be found.
The river required nothing from him.
So he waited.
Several minutes.
Or maybe an hour.
The breeze brought the salty scent of the southern ocean.
People walked across the bridge.
Faces altered.
Bridge remained unchanged.
Step by step.
Carefully measured footsteps approached him.
Without acknowledging their owner.
Shadow fell beside him.
"You're obstructing the railing."
He lifted his gaze.
Broad hat tilted sideways.
Feather adorned its brim in white.
Blue eyes regarded him.
Recognition dawned within his vision.
Shock flickered across her features briefly.
"You've found yourself some place to sleep."
He nodded.
Her eyes traveled over his newly wrapped bandages.
His boots.
His purse.
"Are you literate?"
"To an extent," he answered.
Her lips pursed in consideration.
Then she nodded once more.
"The mistress of this household has been asking about you."
Confusion furrowed his brow.
"Who?"
"Someone that you might know from two days ago."
"The girl?"
She frowned.
"What girl?"
Silence settled between them.
Yumi sighed exasperatedly.
"You truly do not remember anything."
He shook his head.
"That was quite apparent."
She turned on her heel and began walking away.
After watching her for several moments, he stood up.
Neither out of trust nor comprehension.
Simply because remaining seated had accomplished nothing.
Their path through the streets transformed dramatically.
Market stalls vanished.
Sounds diminished.
Windows paneled with glass appeared.
Fishermen's smoke dissipated.
Trees cropped neatly into submission.
The spacing between homes widened noticeably.
Finally, towering iron gates blocked their progress.
Taller than any structure wherein he had slept before.
Past those gates stood a mansion secluded behind trees.
Not imposing or boastful.
Merely spacious.
"Stay here."
Yumi disappeared through the gates effortlessly.
Guards did little more than acknowledge her presence.
Moments later, gates sealed shut tightly.
Once more, he stood outside their perimeter.
Between iron bars, he peered at their interior.
He had no idea who resided within.
Nor reason for seeking him out.
Nor reason for following her at all.
Twice now, he had followed her without understanding why.
Perhaps that meant something.
Perhaps it meant nothing.
River answered his inquiries with indifference.
Gates responded in kind.
Thus, he waited.