They came to another gateway, right in the middle of the street, with a sign that read “Temple Barre, City Gate.” Caitlin was amazed that cities actually had gates. The large, imposing gate was open, for people to pass right through, and Caitlin wondered if they closed it at night. On either side stood more guards.
But this gate was different: it seemed to also be a gathering place. A large crowd huddled around it, and way up high, atop a small platform, a guard stood holding a whip. Caitlin looked up and was amazed to see that a man, chained and barely clothed, was tied to a whipping post. The guard reached back and lashed him again and again, and the entire crowd oohed and aahed at the sight.
Caitlin surveyed the faces of the crowd, and couldn’t believe how indifferent they seemed, as if this were an ordinary, everyday occurrence, as if it were a popular form of entertainment. She felt anger well up inside her at the barbarism of this society, and she nudged Caleb. He was also riveted to the scene, and she took his hand and hurried through the gate with him, forcing herself not to look. She feared that if she dwelled on it too much, she would be unable to stop herself from attacking the guards.
“This place is barbaric,” she said, as they gained distance from the grizzly sight and the sounds of the whip grew fainter.
“Terrible,” he agreed.
As they continued onward, she tried to put the image out of her head. She forced herself to focus her attention elsewhere. She looked up at a street sign, and saw that the name of the street they were walking on had changed, to “Fleet Street.” As they walked, the streets became even more crowded, more condensed, and the buildings and numerous rows of wooden houses were built even closer to each other. This street was also lined with various stores. One sign read: “Shave for a Penny.” Before another shop dangled a blacksmith's sign, with a horseshoe hanging in front of it.
Another sign read, in large letters, “Horse Saddles.”
"Need a new horseshoe, Miss?" a local shopkeeper asked Caitlin as they walked by.
She was caught off guard. "Um…no thanks," she said.
"How about you, Sir?" persisted the man. "Want a shave? I’ve got the cleanest blades on Fleet Street.”
Caleb smiled back at the man. "Thank you, but I'm okay."
Caitlin looked at Caleb, and realized how clean-shaven he looked, all the time. His face was so smooth, it looked like porcelain.
As they continued down Fleet Street, Caitlin couldn't help noticing how the crowd had changed.
It became more seedy here, with several people openly drinking from flasks and glass bottles, stumbling about, laughing too loudly, and openly leering at women.
"GIN HERE! GIN HERE!" yelled out a boy, hardly older than ten, holding a crate filled with small green bottles of gin. “GET YOUR BOTTLE! TWO FARTHINGS! GET YOUR BOTTLE!” Caitlin got jostled again, as the crowd grew increasingly thick. She looked over and saw a group of women, with too much makeup, dressed in heavy clothing with tons of fabric, and with their shirts pulled down low, revealing most of their breasts.
"Want a good time?" one of the women yelled out, clearly drunk, wobbling on her feet. She approached a passerby, who roughly pushed her off.
Caitlin was amazed at how rough this part of town was. She felt Caleb instinctively come closer, putting his hand around her waist, and she could feel his protectiveness. They picked up their pace and continued quickly through the crowd, and Caitlin looked down and checked that Ruth was still by their side.
The street soon ended in a small foot bridge, and as they walked over, Caitlin looked down. She saw a large sign that read “Fleet Ditch,” and was amazed at the sight. Below them was what looked like a small canal, maybe ten feet wide, completely flowing with murky water. Amidst this water bobbed all sorts of garbage and refuse. As she looked up, she saw people urinating into it, and saw others throwing pots of excrement, chicken bones, household refuse, and all sorts of debris. It looked like an immense, flowing sewer, carrying all the waste of the city downstream.
She looked to see where it lead, and saw that, far off in the distance, it led into the river. She turned her head away at the smell. It was probably the worst thing she had ever smelled in her life.
Toxic gases rose up, and made the awful smell of the streets seem like roses in comparison.
They hurried over the bridge.
As they crossed to the other side of Fleet Street, Caitlin was relieved to see that the street finally opened up, and became a little less condensed. The smell, too, faded. And after the horrific smell of Fleet Ditch, the everyday street smells no longer bothered her. She realized that that was how people lived happily with these conditions: it was all about what you got used to, in context of the time you lived.
As they walked, the neighborhood became nicer. They passed a huge church on the left, and etched into the stone edifice, in neat calligraphy, were the words: “Saint Paul's.” It was a massive church, with a beautiful ornate façade, reaching high into the sky, towering over all the buildings around it. Caitlin marveled at how beautiful its architecture was, that such a building could still fit in perfectly in the 21st century. It felt so out of place, towering above all the small wooden architecture around it. Caitlin was beginning to see just how much churches dominated the urban landscape of this time, and just how important they were to its people. They were literally omnipresent. And their bells, so loud, were always ringing.
Caitlin paused before it, studying its ancient architecture, and couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps some clue lay for them inside.
"I wonder if we should go in?" Caleb asked, reading her mind.
She studied her ring’s inscription once again.
Across the bridge, Beyond the Bear.
"It mentions a bridge," she said, thinking.
“We just crossed a bridge," Caleb answered.
Caitlin shook her head. It didn't feel right to her.
"That was just a foot bridge. My instinct tells me this is not the place. Wherever it is we need to go, I don't feel it is here.”
Caleb stood there and closed his eyes. Finally, he opened them. "I don't feel anything either.
Let's move on.”
"Let's get closer to the river," Caitlin said. “If there's a bridge to be found, I assume it would be by the river. And I wouldn't mind some fresh air.”
She spotted a side road leading down to the riverfront, with a crudely marked sign that read "St.