Nihilea
patreon
Chapter 67: Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow
🕑 Added 2024-11-19 09:35:00 +0000 UTCChapter 67: Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow
“It’s hard to believe we’re almost there.”
Pumpkin didn’t respond, preferring to keep snoozing away in my lap, wrapped up snug in his blanket, such that only the tips of his ears remained outside, the very image of a burrito. Since his little misadventure with Valkyrie Dust, Pumpkin refused to stay in my inventory, popping back out the moment whenever he was awake. I had no issue with it, as there was plenty of room in the carriage, and a little company never hurt. He’d also taken a liking to being wrapped up, even after he’d stopped shaking, so I promptly appropriated a blanket to keep him comfortable, hence the present situation.
All the while, the caravan kept up a punishing pace, forgoing even the midday break after the first three days. The midday break was no more, with the convoy using every scrap of daylight to progress, stopping only at nightfall before setting off again at dawn. Even then, Harvey was pressing to save every minute; I’d barely exchanged two words with him between bites, as he was always the last to arrive for meals and the first to leave, hopping back into the driver’s seat at the first opportunity.
“I wonder why we’re in such a rush. The incident a week ago cost us a day, but surely our schedule isn’t so tight for that to matter, this is a three month trip for god’s sake.”
Pumpkin purred and wiggled in place, ordering me to rub his back through the blanket. I obliged, having nothing better to do with my hands in the meantime. My mind remained occupied, but no matter how I turned the matter in my head, our current pace didn’t make sense in light of what I knew. Our caravan worked as wholesalers, bringing illicit products to local distributors who would then go on to sell it in the streets. We were solidly part of the midstream, as far as the supply chain was concerned, purely business to business operators, so there should be built-in flexibility in our schedule to account for the possibility of trouble on the road. We sold in bulk at irregular intervals, so this wasn’t a case of just in time logistics, where a few hours of delay could break the bank, so what was I missing?
Apparently, I was missing turbulence, because the carriage chose that moment to come to a violent halt, throwing me bodily from my seat. I could only be thankful that the ceiling was quite high, otherwise I’d have slammed head first into it before I could recover. As it was, I landed on my feet, and even kept hold of Pumpkin throughout, though the blanket was a loss, having hit the floor during the excitement. We stared at each other, unsure what to make of the situation at first. Bumps in the road were a fact in life, even if few produced such a violent outcome, but as the moment dragged on and the carriage showed no signs of resuming its course, I knew that something had gone wrong. Pumpkin climbed around my neck, his previous lethargy forgotten as he settled into his role as a scarf, and I brought us outside to investigate.
“Snow?”
I was hardly unfamiliar with the concept, despite spending my entire life in the South of England. Even in London, where the city heat kept temperatures two degrees higher on average than the surrounding countryside, we still got several days of snow every winter, with more occasional bouts landing in autumn and spring. A few decades back, there was even a White Christmas, although this was rare enough that I could only remember two such instances across a good sixty years of memories. So no, I wasn’t shocked by the presence of snow, but what did disturb me was the sheer quantity thereof. My feet were buried in it, the snow rising to my ankle, and to my consternation it only continued to build in real time, such that I could see it rising by the minute. Snow buffeted us from above, and long distance visibility was non-existent, all of our surroundings swallowed up in endless white, to the point where I could barely see the end of the convoy, a mere four carriages down.
To be clear, the weather in England rarely went below zero, so whilst snow was common enough, actual blizzards were rare, and one of such intensity all but unheard of. Perhaps, I realised belatedly, this was what Harvey had been trying to outrun, assuming his Contacts list included a meteorologist on call.
“Looks like we’re too late,” I sighed, trudging through the snow towards the front of the convoy. “Just a few days away from the northern border, too.”
I found Harvey quickly enough; he’d abandoned the driver’s seat and was kneeling in the snow, a massive black tome open before him. Curiously, whilst snowflakes landed and settled on him unimpeded, any which alighted on the book melted away in seconds, leaving not even vapour behind.
“By the oath that binds us together, by the authority of the Gravekeeper. By the will of ⲁⲧⲟⲩⲙ, arise!”
I staggered, a sudden wave of fatigue seeping into my bones. Pumpkin mewed plaintively, tightening up around my neck and shivering.
[10 XP gained for resisting the GraveSong.]
That notification provided some consolation, though I had little time to think about it, as a dozen human silhouettes appeared around Harvey. Like the archers before them, they didn’t have name tags; something I’d initially attributed to Blackened Bracelets, but now knew to be an indicator that they weren’t real people in the System’s eyes. Each wore thick fur coats and boots, masks that obscured everything save their eyes, and carried thin blue wands in their hands made of crystal.
“Prepare fortifications,” Harvey instructed, as two of his summons headed to each carriage, waving their wands in keeping with each step they took.
For his part, the book went away, and two daggers came out, which was my signal to get ready as well.
[Knife withdrawn.]
