Blood Red Road

sure don’t look like much. Two bits of brown leather wrapped around lots of thin little pieces of dried old leafs or somethin.
    It’s a book, he says. He gives me a look like I oughta be impressed.
    You don’t say, I says.
    He folds back the top bit of leather. Then the first leaf. Then the second. They’re covered all over with black squiggle marks.
    Funny kinda leafs, I says. I reach out my finger to touch one.
    Careful! Pinch brushes my hand away. It’s paper. Pages made of paper. It’s most ancient. Delicate. Rare. I found it locked away in a metal box.
    I seen them squiggles before, I says to him. On landfill junk. I spit on the ground. That ain’t nuthin special. Bloody Wrecker tech.
    Oh no, it’s good Wrecker tech. Noble even! From the very beginnings of time. Those squiggles, as you call them, are letters. Letters joined together make words. And words tell a story. Like this one.
    He turns the pages over like he don’t wanna disturb ’em.
    It’s the story of a great king, he says. His name was Lewis Ex Eye Vee. The Sun King of France.
    France, I says. Is that around here?
    No my dear, he says. It was a far away land, long long ago. Back in Wrecker times. The Sun King has been dead for many hundreds of years. Here, this is what he looked like.
    He holds the book out to me. The lines an squiggles on the page curve into the drawin of a man.
    He’s got thick curly hair down past his shoulders an piled high on top. Animal skins thrown over one shoulder, trailin behind him onto the floor. Fancy shirt with frilly collar an cuffs. Short, puffy little britches that show his legs. High heeled shoes. Sword at his side. Walkin stick.
    His people worshipped him, he says. They thought he was a god.
    Well I never heard of him, I says. An he wouldn’t of got far in them shoes. How’d you come to know all this?
    There are some people—very few, mind you—who still have the knowledge of words and books. When I was a boy, he says, I was lucky enough to meet one such woman and she taught me to read.
    So, the way you talk, I says, all them funny words. That’s on account of … readin?
    Yes, he says. Yes, I suppose it is.
    Think I’ll give it a miss then, I says.
    Rooster! Rooster Pinch! Where’re you at? It’s Miz Pinch’s screechy squawk.
    Here, my angel! Pinch cries.
    You better not be gabbin instead of workin!
    I’m not, my angel! We’re not! He takes the book an pops it back in his pocket.
    We start in on the repairs. But it’s like he cain’t stop hisself talkin, cuz almost right away he says, She looks to be a smart little gal, your sister. Bright as a button. I can always tell.
    She’s a pain in the neck, I says. You got kids?
    A son, he says. Then right away he says, The sun is fiercely hot today, don’t you find? He mops at his head, lookin up at the sky. There’s no other word for it but fierce. Most uncomfortable. We could certainly do with some cooler weather, but ah … sorry my dear, you were asking … ah yes, children. Sadly, my wife and I were never blessed.
    He ducks his head down. Like he don’t wanna meet my eyes.
    Yer lyin, Rooster Pinch. Why would you lie about havin a kid?
    We work in silence fer a bit. Then, like I don’t give two hoots, I says, Where was it you said you was headed?
    Hopetown, he says. My heart jumps into my throat. But, he says, as my good lady wife mentioned, the wind changed and the Swan was blown off course. We should have been heading due north.
    Hopetown’s due north of here? I says.
    That’s right, he says.
    Well, if that don’t beat all, I says. Hopetown’s where we’re headed too. We’re jest on our way there.
    He darts me a quick look. Well, well, he says. What an extraordinary coincidence. What a fortuitous meeting indeed. I don’t suppose you’d like to … climb aboard and sail with us?
    I believe we might like that very much, I says.
    Then let us strike hands on it! He holds out a greasy paw an we shake hands. You’ve got yourself a ride, young lady.

    Why’d you tell him that? Emmi hisses.
    I grab her arm an pull her away where we cain’t be heard. Don’t you listen to nuthin? I says. They’re headed fer Hopetown. That’s the place Mercy told us about, where they might of took Lugh. He might be there. An if he ain’t, it’s a good place to start. We can maybe ask around, find things out.
    So we’re gonna go with ’em? she says.
    That’s right, I says.
    She folds her arms over her skinny chest, shakes her head. I