“Yes, yes, it’s all good.” With an air of desperation the jerboa reached out and plucked a couple of minor corns from Neena’s hand, practically shoving the vegetable at her. “Now go, go away.”
The three nonplussed shoppers rejoined Gragelouth. “Well, they ain’t “ostile.” Neena gnawed on the blunt end of the peculiar vegetable. “This ain’t ‘alf bad. Kind o’ a nutty flavor.”
“fits you, then.” Squill never missed an opportunity. “No, they’re not ‘ostile. Just bloomin’ antisocial.”
Buncan was gazing down the street. “Let’s see if we can find that inn.” He called back to the vegetable seller. “If we leave our property here, will it be safe?”
The merchant’s previous concern became outrage. “Of course! This is Hygria. No one would approach, much less try to plunder, anything so unclean as your belongings.”
“Certainly are proud of their cleanliness,” Buncan commented as they started down the street.
“Yes,” agreed Gragelouth. “One might almost say they make a fetish of it.”
“Makes it inviting for visitors.”
“Does it?” the merchant murmured. “I wonder.”
As they made their way down the narrow avenue, Buncan looked for but was unable to find a spot of garbage, junk, or misplaced dirt. Hygria was without a doubt the cleanest community he had ever seen. By comparison Lynchbany, a comparatively well-kept forest town, was a fetid cesspool.
Gragelouth turned to glance back up the street at where they’d left their wagon. “I think that female was telling the truth. I believe our goods will be safe. Not that you three have anything to worry about. All you brought along you carry with you.”
“Wot’s this?” Squill’s tone was mocking. “Trust? That’s not like you, merchant.”
The sloth indicated the narrow avenue. “As we were told, this byway is too narrow for my wagon. There are only pedestrians here. And I found that stall owner’s expression of distaste convincing.”
Neena let her gaze wander from structure to structure, each as pristine white as its neighbor. “This place could use a little livenin’ up. It’s so bleedin’ stiff and clean it makes me teeth “urt.”
They found the inn, its entrance clearly marked by a sign of carved white wood which overhung the street. But before they had a chance to enter, their attention was drawn to a singular entourage approaching from the far end of the street.
A line of half a dozen white-shrouded mice and cavis marching abreast was coming toward them. With fanatical single-mindedness each attacked his or her portion of the avenue with a short-handled, wide-bristled broom. They were followed by a number of mice, pacas, and muskrats armed with wheeled containers and double-handed scoops.
Advancing with the precision of a military drill unit, mis furry assemblage was doing everything but polishing the smooth stones that paved the street. Buncan strained but could not see beyond the wispy cloud of dust they raised. Perhaps the polishers, he reflected only half sarcastically, would come later.
“Blimey, would you take a look at that,” Squill muttered. “That’s carryin’ cleanliness too far.”
“No wonder that little jerboa thought us unclean,” Buncan added.
Neena couldn’t repress a whiskery smirk. “Maybe that’s why they call this kind o’ country scrubland.” She ducked a blow from her brother.
Buncan confronted a well-dressed, slightly corpulent cap-ybara as he emerged from the cool darkness of the inn. His fur was cut in bangs over his forehead.
He eyed Buncan and his companions askance. “Where have you people come from?”
“Out o’ the Moors,” said Squill proudly.
The capy squinted at him, his blunt muzzle twitching. “I doubt that, but it’s obvious you’re not from around here.”
Buncan indicated the approaching street sweepers. “How often do they do that?”
“Several times each day, of course.” The capy sniffed disdainfully, careful to keep his distance from the tall human. “That’s the hygiene patrol.”
Squill started to snigger. “Patrol? What do they do when they find dirt? Arrest it?” Gragelouth made anxious silencing motions at the otter, which Squill naturally ignored.
“As strangers here, you self-evidently do not understand. We are proud of our ways.” The capy sniffed. “If I were you, I’d get out of sight as soon as possible.”
“Why?” Buncan recalled the mouse’s warning.
“Because you do not measure up to local standards. Now, if you will excuse me.”
Buncan stepped aside and watched the capy waddle away up the street. “Wonder what he meant by that.”
“I do not know,” said Gragelouth, “but we had better move or we are liable to find ourselves swept up together with the dust and dirt.”
They entered into the inn just as the patrol reached them, watched as it literally swept past. Their precision was impressive, Buncan had to admit. As soon as they’d passed he stepped back out Into the street, following them with his gaze.
“I mink that’s it.”
A ringer tapped him on the shoulder. “Not quite, mate.”
Squill nodded down the street. Advancing in the sweepers’ wake was a squad of eight pike-armed pacas, squirrels, degus, capys, and assorted others. They marched in two lines, one behind the other, blocking the street from side to side, their white uniforms Immaculate. Each wore an inscribed headband beneath his flowing headgear. The insignia of a large rat marching in front gleamed golden.
Buncan met his gaze evenly as the entire squad halted outside the inn. The rat’s disgust as he inspected the travelers was almost palpable.
“Strangers,” he muttered. “Just arrived?”
“That’s right,” admitted Buncan. He suddenly sensed Gragelouth trying to fade into the shadows behind him.
A pair of degus stepped inside, squeezing past the otters. “You’ll have to come with us,” the rat told him.
Buncan frowned. “What for? We were just going to see about a couple of rooms.”
“Accommodation will be provided for you.” The rat barked an order, and the business ends of seven pikes inclined in their direction.
Buncan put his hand on his sword, felt Gragelouth close beside him. “We are deep within the city. Fighting will do us no good here.” As usual, the merchant made sense. Buncan forced himself to relax. “They may only wish to question us,” the sloth went on. “Perhaps we will have to pay a fine. Whatever they want, it would be premature to start a ruckus.”
“Speak for yourself,” said Squill, but he did not reach for his own weapons.
“We haven’t done anything.” Buncan took a step forward.
The three-and-a-half-foot-tall rat retreated instantly from the towering primate, pulling a silver whistle from a pocket and blowing hard. The shrill blast echoed down the street.
Additional soldiers materialized from nowhere, until the travelers were no longer merely surrounded but hemmed in.
“Hey, take it easy!” Like his companions, Buncan was taken aback by the unexpected and overwhelming display of force. Notions of reaching not for his sword but his duar were hindered by the proximity of so many weapons and the edgy attitude of those wielding them. “We’ll come with you.”
“A wise decision.” The rat looked satisfied.
The white-clad troops formed an impenetrable mass both in front of and behind the sullen travelers as they were convoyed down the street. “You still haven’t told us what we’re supposed to have done,” Buncan pressed the rat in command.
“Done?” The commander looked back at him. “You offend by your very presence. Your existence degrades, indeed mocks, all decent community standards.”
“Ere now, guv,” said Squill, “are you implyin’ that me and me mates are duty?”
“No,” replied the rat. “I’m saying that your condition is filthy, execrable, squalid, and unclean. Your odor is rank and your feet defile the ground wherever they make contact. As for your breath, it is of a loathsomeness so lavish that I do not possess terms of sufficient severity with which to describe it.”