"We're going to stay at an inn!" Damon shouted the moment they were out on the street. Kim found the glazed look in his eyes a little frightening. "Frodo and Sam and Pippin and Merry stayed at an inn. It's where they met Strider." He looked back and forth between Fiora and Kim. "You know, Strider the ranger."

  "The only rangers we have here," Fiora said. "Are night rangers, and they eat the hearts of unwary travelers at the command of their leader Sister Christianne. Wait, is all this from that book you referenced earlier?" Fiora asked. "The one with 'friend' as a password."

  "Yes, yes," he said. "That's the book."

  "Do you have only one book in your world?" Fiora led them across the road, pulling Damon back a step, preventing him from being mashed by a wagon full of potatoes.

  "There are many books," Kim said. "But this one is incredibly important to an obsessive group of people we call nerds."

  "Oh," Fiora said. "Like music of the country listeners. Obsessed they were with sad music about losing your cart, or your lover, or your sword. Usually in that order. Their island was sunk into the sea."

  "I'm no fan of country music?" Damon said. "But they didn't deserve that fate."

  Kim again thought of The Ex-Boyfriend Who Was A Drummer Of A Country Band and found she couldn't summon very much pity.

  "We have reached the Dead Ratt Inn." Fiora pointed at the building in front of them. It had a dead rat on its sign, literally, in that it was a stuffed dead rat nailed to a board. The bricks oozed a festering green pus. "It's a sign of quality when they guarantee all the rats in the building are dead. Breathe through your mouth whilst inside." She opened the door, which belched out a stench. "We will eat. We will sleep. Tomorrow, we'll spend my last coin on supplies, and then we are gone."

  They followed Fiora into a room that smelled like burnt meat, burnt potatoes, and burnt dead rats. Though Kim didn't know that last smell, she was certain that the acridity was the same. There was a long wooden bar and several tables where several patrons sat. They looked as if they spent their lives digging and rolling in dirt, but even in the flickering light, their hair was perfect. Some of them wore bandanas that accented their locks.

  "It's just like I imagined," Damon whispered. He took a deep, long sniff and then coughed out a deep, long cough.

  Fiora shot him a reptilian glare that made Damon pale. "All I want from you is the sound of silence," she said.

  She left them standing near the door and went over to talk to the bald innkeeper. Two patrons came in the door behind them, both short and squat with their faces and hair covered by hoods. One passed so close to Damon, that his elbow dug into his ribs.

  "Ow!" Damon said. But the patron walked by without an apology, sat at a table and seemed to stare at them. Kim wasn't certain because their faces were hidden by their hoods.

  Fiora returned with a key and led them to their own rough-hewn table. "The innkeeper's daughter will bring us his very best dish."

  As if summoned by those words, the daughter approached. Kim thought the word "comely" might be outdated, but it came to mind when she saw the girl. Her crimped brown hair could have been copied from the pages of an 80s fashion magazine. Damon looked above her head for a few seconds. It was something a shy person might do, but Kim knew he was checking out her Metal Health. Was there a number for comeliness? The innkeeper's daughter set down three foaming mugs and three bowls of steaming food.

  "There's your M?tley Stew," the daughter said, then smiled.

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  Every second tooth in her mouth was gone; the others were black and rotted. Kim recoiled at the sight. Clearly, this world had no dentistry wizards. The innkeeper's daughter left, and Damon rubbed his eyes.

  Kim examined the stew. Apparently, stew in this town meant taking anything that was by chance edible or fell into the bowl—alive or dead—including what looked like bark, and cooking it in a bowl with potatoes. Many potatoes.

  "Eat up," Fiora said, grabbing a wooden fork. Her enormous mouth was hypnotizing to watch as she ate.

  "What is in here?" Damon asked, sniffing at the bowl.

  "It's best not to know," Fiora said, still forking in massive amounts of the stuff. "You won't die. They want patrons to survive so they can buy more potato wine."

  Damon took a few forkfuls and didn't grimace too hard. That gave Kim the courage to eat as well. It tasted like potatoes mixed with sand. She realized it was her first meal since arriving in Metaloria. She grimly ate until her bowl was empty.

  At the same moment she set down her wooden fork, notes from a lute began to play. The lute was in the hands of a female dragonspawn on a small stage; her hair was not perfect, which suggested she was from out of town. A short man with long hair and a longer goatee, sat behind the minstrel, tapping on a drum. Another short man plucked notes on a banjo-like instrument that added bassy tones. There was a banner behind them that read Judas Cradle. The music cut through the noise of the crowd, who were paying no attention at all to the band. The loudness perplexed Kim. It seemed impossible that she could hear them so clearly from across the room.

  "Hey," Damon said. "There's another dragonspawn. Are there many of you?"

  "There used to be more," Fiora said. "That one is too young to remember our homeland. So not worth talking to."

  "They have amps!" Damon said. He pointed at two square wooden boxes that sat in front of the musicians. What looked to be a green vine ran to the lute and another to the strange bass banjo.

  Fiora dismissed the items with a wave. "Those are cheap Bellow Boxes. A very simple spell inside enlargens the sound. I bet you can only turn them to six. The best, of course, goes to eleven. Now the Fender Bellow Boxes at Hammersmith, those will melt your face."

  The female who might have been an elf, said, "If you like our offerings, come see us at the Battle of the Bards." She then sang, her clear voice carrying through the inn.

  "Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean."

  "Gods!" Fiora said, loud enough that the band looked their way. "This song never ends."

  "Water, water, everywhere, And all the boards did shrink; Water, water, everywhere, Nor any drop to drink."

  "It's the 'The Rime of the Ancient Mariner'," Damon said. "By that poet guy, Coleridge. Iron Maiden used those same words from the poem for their epic song."

  "There are thousands of these mariner songs. This one sounds like a dead albatross." Fiora drained the last of her drink. "Let's rock out of here before my ears begin to bleed." Fiora grabbed Damon by the arm and pulled him, even though he clearly wanted to stay. Kim followed.

  One set of stairs and a hallway later, the dragonspawn stopped, withdrew the key and opened a door that had broken boards at the bottom. Inside were three wooden plank beds, with stuffed straw mattresses. Not the best place for a dragonspawn to sleep. The blankets on the beds reminded her of the worn blankets her dog had slept on.

  "It's perfect," Damon said. He strode over to the window. "Even a view of the street!"

  Fiora locked the door, which seemed pointless because it was so broken at the bottom. "Now look carefully to see if there are any beasts under your bed or in the closet."

  Damon looked under the beds. "Nothing but dust," he said.

  "Good," Fiora said. "Often they are just in your head. I am going to sleep in the bed nearest the door. If there are any attempts at thievery, they will come from that direction." She threw herself down on the bed without bracing her fall and closed her eyes.

  Kim blinked several times. There was a water closet in the room, and, summoning up her bravery, she went in and swung the door shut and closed it. When she was finished, she noticed there wasn't a sink to wash her hands, nor was there any alcohol lotion. So she wiped her hands on her trousers and stood there for a moment.

  When she emerged, Damon was still standing at the window. She chose the bed in the middle.

  "They are lighting the lamps," he said. "It's so real."

  "Yes," Kim yawned and pulled the threadbare blanket across her. "It's all far too real."

  "Yeah, but what do all the similarities with Earth mean?" Damon asked.

  "It means if you don't go to sleep right now," Fiora growled. "I will use the method my dear mother Cillia employed on me and my siblings. It involves something she called half-smothering."

  Neither Kim nor Damon said another word. The only words spoken were when Fiora whispered, "Go to Hades you cretinous spellcaster." She remembered that the wizard had cast a spell to show is face to her every night.

  No wonder the dragonspawn was such a grump.