Emmaline felt as though she were waking from a long dream as the carpet seemed to set them to the ground. It wasn’t quite audible but she felt more than heard a sigh of exhaustion as the enchanted object coiled itself into its customary roll. After years as a slave and months adventuring with Amal to be standing among the green fields and surrounded by the foreboding forests of the Empire seemed too incredible to believe. The moment was somewhat ruined by the pounding in her head from where the late and, as far as Emmaline was concerned, unlamented Gerald had clouted her. She rubbed the bruised area irritably with her fingers as she gazed at the town before them.

“Do you know where we are?” Amal asked, gazing around him at what must have appeared to him very strange sights indeed. Emmaline did not, having slept until they were well inland. Even if she were awake it was far from certain that she would be able to locate them. Emmaline was from Altdorf and though she had traveled a little in Riekland she had never been to any of the other provinces. The town ahead of them was surrounded by a palisade wall though she could see a tower flanked gate that was open. The wooden tower was surmounted by a banner that depicted a white wolf on a blue shield backgrounded in red. Emmaline certainly wouldn’t have recognised every province's banner but the mark of Ulric was clear enough.

“We are in Middenland Spring of my Heart,” Emmaline replied in Arabyian. The use of a guttural Riekspiel name in the middle of the the flowing tongue of Araby was deeply dissonant and Emmaline blushed slightly in embarrassment.  

“Is that in your Empire?” he asked, smiling at her blush. She nodded, while she had told him alot about her homeland it had never run to discussions of political organisation.

“It is one of the Electoral States…” she paused and simplified the explanation, “like a kingdom which has sworn its allegiance to the Emperor Karl Franz.” Amal nodded, he was a clever man but Emmaline didn’t imagine a detailed breakdown of Electoral politics was going to be useful.

“Are we near Marienburg then?” he enquired.

“Nowhere near,” Emmaline replied cheerfully, “but at least we are on the right continent.”

They weren’t challenged by the guards as they passed through the gate and onto the paved streets of the town. Emmaline had lost track of the seasons somewhat during their travels but judging by the fact they weren’t being buried by several feet of snow and the trees had yet to change color, it couldn’t be too far past midsummer. The town seemed prosperous, filled with houses of the familiar stone and half timber construction with steep pitched roofs of tarred shingles or, less frequently, thatched hay. Wagon’s rumbled over the uneven paving stones and street vendors cried the virtues of their wares. Men and women bustled about their tasks or lounged about as was their wont. There were a few soldiers, or at least town guardsmen wandering the streets, though no one paid them much mind.

“What in Sigmar’s name are you two,” a matronly woman gasped as she saw the pair of strangers walking up the boulevard. The woman was covering the eyes of a child of perhaps eight years of age and glaring sideyed at her husband who was doing his best not to stare at the blond newcomer. Emmaline looked down and was reminded that she was still clad in nothing more than the stolen silk shirt. She cursed her own foolishness for not thinking of it.

“You can’t walk around here dressed like that!” the woman snapped in outrage.

“We were attacked by beastmen on the road,” Emmaline lied quickly, turning her bruised head to show the woman. 

“I was bathing in a stream when it happened and we escaped with only the clothes on our backs!” she went on, warming to the subject. It didn’t exactly explain why Amal was carrying a rolled up carpet but by the way the woman’s eyes widened at the mention of beastmen, that wasn’t where her mind was going.

“Beastmen! Joachim, go find the watch and warn them!” the woman declared turning her husband away from Emmaline and giving him a shove in the general direction of the gate. Amal grabbed Emmaline by the arm and pulled her into a cramped alley that was nearly completely blocked off from the sun by the overhanging roofs. He might be in a strange land but he knew his way around cities and the arts of a thief. When the woman turned around they were gone, having apparently vanished into thin air. Amal was a stranger here but ‘go get the watch’ wasn’t a phrase he much liked in any language.

“Well she does have a point,” Emmaline admitted, “we should find a pawn shop or a money changer and get some new clothes.” She giggled suddenly as they exited the alley onto a small square. 

"I wonder how the exchange rate on lizardman sqigglies is," she snickered thinking of the strange variety of coins in their modest hoard.

Merchants were selling goods from hand carts pushed up against the walls of buildings with colorful awnings of fabric stretched over them. A few of the permanent shops had the look of pawn brokers and their were several tavern along the northern side of the square. A man, standing atop a large fake sausage that must have been made of painted timber, was shouting about the best sausage in Delbertz, which at least gave them a name for the town.   
 
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