Editing DbS (section)

== NINETEEN ==
⚇乂⚇

'''WE MAKE AN EPIC GETAWAY (AND A HORSE IS OUR DRIVER)'''

AS WE SET OUT ON our great journey to Mantua, I had stuff on my mind. Thoughts came in and out as if there were some great door they could enter and exit through. I had an existential crisis many a time on that trip. 

''Where exactly is Mantua? Why am I here? Why can this horse talk?'' 

These were among some of the thoughts I had on our three-and-a-half-hour ride to the place Romeo was supposed to be hiding out at. 

Romeo’s horse was mostly black with little hints of white on it. It was tall, about the same height as my own. 

Mine looked like Mister Ed. No joke, it had the exact yellow-brown- almost-gold coloring of that horse. And it talked.

A lot. 

We took a curve in the road. ''Neighhh''. We had to turn back because we missed the right turn. ''Neighhhh.'' We ended up almost dying. Terrified ''neighhh.'' 

Meanwhile, Romeo’s horse was pretty much normal, but it was old. We stopped every hour or so, because of various horse needs (and Romeo needs). The horses looked thirsty. Bathroom break. Awww, look at da widdle kitty isn’t he just da cutest widdle kitty you’ve ever seen oh yes he is, yes he is. (That last bit was Romeo speaking, not me.)

When we finally got to Mantua, we were greeted by several large buildings, all with the Elizabethian brown-beams-white-house look. They soared up, maybe two floors at most, not unlike Verona’s own buildings. I wondered if, in an alternate universe, whether or not there could be a Romeo from Mantua fleeing to Verona.

We got a couple looks, but nothing serious happened. My horse was still giving whinnies and neighs every few minutes, Romeo’s was as old as ever.

A different sword than the one I had had in the fight dangled from my belt. It was Benvolio’s, the one he usually used. He had insisted I take this one, as the other was “not fit for even a page” and that his was much better.

As we went down the cobbled streets, we passed by several different stalls, some with fruits and vegetables, some with belts for tunics, and yes, some with roses and candles.

My mind wandered to Mercutio. I wondered what happened after death in the Shakespeare world. Was it the same as the real world, or was it different? I’d read Shakespeare had had some odd beliefs about theology.

Thinking of Mercutio made me think of Tybalt. I hadn’t talked to the dark-haired knock-off Cap’n Hook almost at all. I was more of a side character, anyways. I remembered what he had looked like, lying in the pool of blood, the dark liquid coming from his cut, making his clothing even redder than before.

The red led to Juliet, which, in turn, as all thought processes and conversations seem to turn to, ended up with Abigail Montague. Her face came into my mind- amber eyes, light olive skin, small nose, slightly wavy hair- and I remembered the travel guide I had stashed in my satchel.

''So much for a travel guide,'' I thought, giving a small frown. It was a nice sentiment, though. 

Romeo, unspeaking, docked his horse, tying it to a conveniently placed fence. He held out his hand for my horse’s halter bridle thing which I gave to him, making a mental note to learn how to tie horses to trees, and, in the long run, figure out how to properly ride a horse. 

I followed Romeo into the dimly-lit inn. He hadn’t spoken almost the whole trip- which I couldn’t blame him for. He’d just lost one of his closest friends, I wouldn’t be smiling either. His brown hair was in his eyes, and he didn’t bother to brush it out. I imagined he didn’t care- at least, it wasn’t at the top of his to-do list. I tried to stop thinking of Romeo’s grief- it would only lead to a mental breakdown. 

The inn, as we walked in, was an odd mixture of a pub and a hotel-like place. With few candles and one or two lanterns, its white-washed-looking walls were barren, and on the left was a sort of desk where a bored-looking bartender/innkeeper sat, watching his customers, who were at different tables that were scattered about the room.

It was filled with smoke from pipes and it was hard to breathe… but, it was a sufficient getaway. Nobody would expect the “young, respectable, Montague” to be hiding away in a tavern. Besides, it suited our moods; we weren’t in the mood to talk. 

To be fair, nobody expected a “young, respectable, Montague” (as I’d heard many a person say about Romeo throughout my time in Shakespeare) to be at a Capulet party, either, so Romeo certainly was good at throwing curveballs. 

The man looked up as he saw the brightly dressed Montague come through the door, the dim light making it hard to see details on his face. All I knew for sure was that he had stubble on his face and a large, rounded, nose. And his expression was permanently soured. 

“Whaddo you want?” he asked gruffly, accent coming through even with the transmitter.

“We’ve come to book a room,” said Romeo, plopping a handful of coins on the desk. His amber eyes were downcast, his form slouched, not unlike the manager’s. The man behind the counter sucked in his breath, eyes widening.

“Consider it payment,” I said, giving Romeo a sideways glance, leaning forward. “For keeping our location secret. There more where that came from- enough to fill palaces- but if you give us away… it’ll disappear.”

He nodded quickly, leading us up a staircase and to a small room that smelled suspiciously like dogs. I doubted this inn had many rules. “Right here. Two beds, and a candle.” He started to walk out of the small room, before Romeo called to him. 

“Do you have stables here?” He glanced out the window that overlooked the street, slight worry about his horse evident on his face. This was only the second expression of any emotion aside from sadness I’d seen on his face the whole trip. It was comforting that he was beginning to go back to the normal Romeo. 

“Boy, this town’s growing so fast there’s hardly enough room for roads. So, no, no stables.”

Romeo frowned once again, this time his gaze meeting the manager’s, and the innkeeper sighed, putting a hand over his heart sarcastically. “I, Finneas, Innkeeper of this here inn, swear a solemn oath to protect your horse,” he said without smiling, but clearly joking. Romeo gave another little frown, averting his eyes from the man, giving a nod before looking down at the floor. 

“That’ll do,” he mumbled, conceding, before taking off his satchel and giving it a weak toss onto the bed. When he finally looked back to where the innkeeper had been, the stout man had turned around and disappeared out the door to who knew where- probably downstairs to have a drink.

There was silence for a moment before Romeo gave a half-hearted attempt at a smile. It came out more like a grimace. “Well, that was lovely,” said he, giving a breathy sigh. He started for the door as well. “I’ll check the horses, then get food-” at least he was eating “-Hamlet, will you stay or come?” I touched my ear instinctively. He didn’t normally speak like this… but maybe it was grief. 

I thought a moment. ''To be, or not to be, that is the question. Whether tis nobler to go with Romeo- ahem, inner dialgoue.'' I shook my head after a second. Romeo shrugged, giving a slow, almost catlike, blink. 

“Suit yourself,” he said, headed out the door. He closed it almost silently, its noise level matching his own. 

Once I was sure he was gone, I quickly opened my own bag, pulling out the parchment that Abigail had made a map and a small key on. Several pages were attached to it, containing interesting little facts and tidbits about Verona, from the best places to get chicken soup to the smithy’s. 

It took two hours to decipher the handwriting- although I was sure it was neat- and an additional one for Romeo to get back. 

In that time, the sun had set, I’d lit a candle, and a scream had been heard from downstairs (it was a goat, I’m sure of it). 

Romeo came into the room and plopped down on the bed. “I am… ''exhausted'',” he exclaimed dramatically, spread out like a starfish. His mood had improved significantly, and a small smile picked at the sides of his mouth. 

“Oh?” I asked, studying the map once again, brows furrowed in concentration.

“I had to feed the horses, Edward hurt his hoof and the shoe came off and–”

“Edward the horse?”

“Your horse,” Romeo barely paused to answer my question “Egg Tart was tired–”

“Egg Tart the horse?”

“–yes. And so I found him a place to stay and so he’s safe at least.”

''At least the horses are safe and alive and well…'' I winced a little at the thought, a brief flashback of Mercutio coming back to me, before forcing myself to yawn. With the yawn came drowsiness- something I had been aiming for. 

“Tired?” Romeo asked, seeing the yawn. I could only nod. “Sleep. But first I have to tell you about what happened downstairs. I came back in, and was watching a card game, when all of a sudden, the man looked back and screamed, like a child or a girl…”

I let him speak. ''It might help with the emotions'', I thought, as I myself drifted off to sleep.