How To Rape A Straight Guy by Sullivan, Michel (the reading list .TXT) 📕

Eventually, they saw the walls of the city. They were built out of gray stone and were about twenty feet high. Summers saw bits of bone and fur interspaced on the top like banners; some was even hanging from the deeply sloped, wooden roofs of the few buildings they could see. Shacks lined the road out front in what Summers guessed would be considered the low-rent area. Kids about Asle’s age scattered in the streets up ahead, clearing the way as their wagon approached.

“I kind of expected trees,” Adams said, staring at the city in front of them.

There looked to be a caravan of some sort beside the gate. It was massive, with nearly a hundred guards lined around wagons far larger, and more expensive-looking, than their own. Summers caught sight of an elven woman with silver hair at the front of the head wagon. Their eyes met for an instant, and he saw her tense.

As Summers looked around, he noticed that everyone’s eyes were on him and his friends.

“Uh . . .”

They weren’t looking at Summers, though, or any of them. All their eyes were on the head of the enormous body in their wagon.

The cow, in a show of utter indifference, just kept walking forward. It only stopped as they reached the gate itself.

There was a long silence as Summers and his party stared at the guards blocking the path. There were about a dozen on the wall above them, each with elaborate short bows in their hands. Security here was not fucking around.

“Asle,” Nowak reminded the girl. She immediately straightened and began the script they’d decided on.

They were merchants from far away. They had goods, and the body of a monster they’d run across in their travels. They were here to resupply and trade their wares. That was the idea, anyway.

A guard stepped forward, saying something in a distinctly unhappy tone. Asle held her ground, showing him the merchant’s badge. He looked it over for a moment before stepping aside, letting them in.

“All right, then,” Nowak muttered.

As they each stepped into the city, another guard took the reins of the cow. It stopped as more guards moved to the wagon itself, searching its contents.

Summers watched as one guard found a grenade they’d brought from the Humvee. He turned it over in his hands, and Summers felt the muscles in his legs go taut. Each of them was ready to run at a moment’s notice.

Thankfully, the guard lost interest, tossing it back where he found it.

Summers looked up at the wall above them. The guards up there watched each of them with interest.

In Summers’ opinion, bows weren’t a match for an M4, but an arrow or a spear will kill you dead just the same.

As he watched the guards, he couldn’t help but notice they were treating them differently than the other merchants. It seemed like they had forgotten about the others entirely, in fact. He would have assumed it was because they were foreigners, but that didn’t seem right. They kept stealing glances at Asle, of all people.

After the last guard climbed down from the wagon, he waved the group forward.

“He says come in,” Asle explained.

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

They’d managed to find something like an inn a short time later, although it had cost a few of their smaller, more common coins to grease the palms of some locals.

Summers sat at a large wooden table. To its credit, the inn looked surprisingly lavish, even by modern standards. He would have appreciated it, had he not been dealing with his own problems. Namely that of sensory overload.

“They have alcohol,” Cortez observed, a bit of reverence in her voice.

A few patrons walked past with cups of frothing liquid. It was, in fact, a fruity alcohol. Summers knew this because he could smell it. That, along with the heavily perfumed guests, and the weird floral oils a barkeep was wiping the counter with. The number of sensations he was taking in was nearly overwhelming.

“Mhmm,” was all he could manage while trying to hold in a sneeze.

Summers saw the innkeeper as he stepped out from the back room. He said something to Asle, and Summers could guess the content of their back and forth: they’d asked for two rooms, and the man was holding two odd pegs he guessed were keys.

“How much?” Nowak asked.

“Two . . . gray? Two a night.”

“Silver?”

Asle shrugged.

Nowak rummaged around in the sack that served as their coin pouch. Besides the copper disks they were using for bribes, there were dark, squares coins, and a round, silver type. That made things simple, at least. He handed two silver to the innkeeper.

The man bowed graciously as he gave Asle the pegs in return.

Nowak closed the pouch and put it back on his belt. “If I find out we just splurged on five-star rooms, I’m going to be pissed.”

“It’s fine,” Cortez said. “I saw some stalls on the way in. We can get a feel for how much we have later.”

“We should get some clothes, too.” Nowak rubbed the steel helmet on his head. “I feel like kind of an asshole wearing this indoors.”

“Don’t worry. You look like an asshole, too,” Cortez agreed. Her hair was long enough to hide her normal, human ears, so she’d taken her helmet off once they sat down.

“I know it.” Nowak checked the window outside. “We should probably switch out with the others.”

“I’ll go,” Summers volunteered.

The city was starting to get to him. They’d left Adams and Logan guarding the wagon, and all their belongings, in a warehouse nearby. One that had been, blessedly, a little more ventilated than the stuffy inn.

“All right.” Nowak was looking at Summers oddly, but he wasn’t about to complain. “We’re in room”—he checked the keys—“red and