I was lost as soon as I walked down the cargo ramp, got turned around, and couldn’t find the Tipsy again. The landing station was a labyrinth of landing platforms with a skyway passing beneath its skylighted ceiling. There were no signs. I finally found a single door at the far end.

  Low-hanging clouds shrouded the sky, and cold air cut through my jacket and fur as if I were soaking wet. Overgrown brick streets wound around and between sky-scraping federal townhomes. There were clothiers, stables, mills, and workshops. There were butchers and a few bakeries and candy shops. Every dilapidated tower twisted and wound into the sky like the brick city had been whipped in an enormous bowl. Some streets and stairwells lead to nowhere. There were windows and doors in unseemingly places, too high or too low, in alleys or on the undersides of bridges. I walked under arched bridges and through tunnels. Beasts towed shaky wagons up and down the streets, adhering to no right-of-way or direction. I walked a ways before coming to a dead end and had to turn around and return the other way.

  Pubs and tobacconists were on every corner, packed to capacity with rodents. Every young or old rodent I saw smoked constantly. They scurried down streets, up walls, through gutters, and across rope lines suspended between towers. They settled every dispute with a brawl, followed by weepy embraces and brotherly love confessions.

  “You must be the weirdest-looking freak I’ve ever seen!” a rodent said, pointing at me. Like the rest, he had messy brown fur and a naked tail.

  I continued on, trying to ignore him.

  “Where you going?” he said. “Come here and let me look at you!”

  Another rodent hung his head out the pub window, purged at my feet, and swigged his beer.

  “Hey,” the rodent following me said. “What’s the matter with you? Don’t you want to get a drink or something?”

  “Get a drink?”

  “Yeah. I never seen a thing like you before.”

  “You want to buy me a drink because I’m different?”

  “You think I’m going to buy you a drink? You’re just coming off a voyage. You’re loaded.”

  “Why would I take a stranger out for a drink first thing in the morning?”

  His little face soured.

  “Okay, okay,” he said. “There’s no need to be rude.”

  Rude? Did I not just hear him call me a freak?

  “Thanks for the offer,” I said. “But I need to find a shaman before my next job.”

  “Shaman?” he said, visibly offended. “What do you need a shaman for?”

  “I have a broken wing.”

  “I don’t know nothing about no shamans!” he said, then waddled away.

  There was only one street leading out of the port. I started down it and came to another dead end. I turned around but was unfamiliar with the sights when I walked in the opposite direction. It was like a different street, though I couldn’t tell because none of the ways had distinguishing marks or signs. I took a left down another street that led to a circle that wound around. I lost sight of the street I came from when I entered the roundabout. I thought it a good idea to return to the port and start over, but retracing my steps was impossible. Every brick was masked with the smell of piss and stale beer.

  “I beg your pardon,” I said to a passing rodent. “Could you give me directions back to the port?”

  “Oh, I–umm,” he slurred. “I’m not sure how to get there.”

  “You’re not from here?” I said.

  “Yes!” he beamed proudly, sticking out his chest. “Born and raised in Loston Port. Never going to leave her.”

  “But you don’t know where the port is?”

  “I know where the port is,” he said, irritated. “I just don’t know how to get there.”

  I was tired and frustrated. I wanted to find an inn. I wandered all day and into the evening without knowing where I was. I’d heard good things about Loston Port from all the old crews I’d floated with, but I’d have to say my experience there was different. I became dreadfully tired as the night wore on. I felt like I had pins in my feet, my knees ached, my back was in knots, my wing was throbbing. The Stray Inn presented itself to me as rain began to spit, turning into a torrent that washed the fish heads and bottles down the gutters. I gave up on my search for a shaman that night and stepped into the lobby, where a rodent sat on a bench behind the counter. His back was turned to me, facing a mechanism that was commentating a fieldball game.

  “What do you want?” he said without looking at me.

  “A voyager walks into an inn at night,” I growled. “What do you think he wants?”

  “Rude little fishlicker, aren’t you?” he said.

  “I’m in no mood, innkeeper,” I said, slamming two coins onto the counter. “Give me a key and a meal, or you and me’ll step outside and chat.”

  The rodent hopped onto the countertop and up a small ladder beside where the keys were hanging. He removed one from the hook and tossed it onto the counter.

  “Room number forty-eight, tough guy,” he said.

  I snatched the key from the counter and went up the stairs to the fourth floor. The room was old and smelled as though it’d been used as a smoking lounge. The linens and quilts were crispy. The wooden furniture was hard and uncomfortable. There was nothing to see out the small window but the brick wall of the neighboring tower. I toweled off and hung my jacket on a chair. The rodent wagoned in a small bowl of cold chowder. I gulped it down and went to bed.

  * * *

  I wandered those streets for seven days. I asked if anyone knew where I could find a shaman. I even insisted that I could die if I didn’t find one, but none of them would tell me.

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  “Please excuse,” I said to one fat rodent, with ten little ones trailing behind her. “Could you give me directions to the nearest shaman?”

  “Give you directions?” she said, her voice raspy and smoked. “You’re not even from here!”

  Then I asked someone else.

  “Shaman?” he said. “What you want a shaman for?”

  “I have a broken wing.”

  “That?” he said, pointing at the wing. “That’ll heal. Just go over to the pub and have a few drinks.”

  I was thirsty and hungry and tired of being treated like a disease by the lowliest vermin in the Infinite Beyonds. I was an outsider there, even in a port full of voyagers and wayfarers. So I took the creature’s advice and went to the nearest pub. A crackling hearth invited me into a warm room with brick walls. To the right were small, rodent-sized tables and chairs filled with patrons. To the left was the bar.

  “You gonna stand there all day, or do you want a drink?” the bartender grumbled.

  The bartender was a fiend. He had pale green skin and moved like shaky ivy leaves turning about in a breeze. His eyes swirled like psychedelic lenses. From what I saw, all the pubs in Loston Port were tended by creatures of the same kind. I took a seat on a bench my size.

  “What’ll it be?” the fiend said.

  “An ale, to start.”

  “Dark, red, blue, or blond?”

  “Dark.”

  The fiend filled a mug from one of the barrels resting above the counter with charcoal-colored ale and set it down in front of me with a shaky hand.

  “Who are you?” I said.

  “You mind your own business,” he said.

  “Rude, that’s what he is!” the rodent sitting at the end of the bar said.

  “Stuff yourself!” the fiend laughed, then tended to someone else.

  I drowned my beverage and ordered a cider next. I sipped that one then was offered a whisky and gulped it down. The joy of a good time arose in the front of my mind. My broken wing was still throbbing, but I felt good despite it. Time passed, and night fell on the town outside.

  “So what’s a canid bastard doing in Loston Port?” the rodent sitting at the end of the bar asked.

  “I’m a voyager on leave,” I said, stuffing ham into my hungry mouth. “I’ve been looking for a shaman for over a week, but it seems like there aren’t any here.”

  “Why are you looking for a shaman?”

  “My wing is broken.”

  “You got money?”

  I shot the rodent a sideways glance.

  “Why?” I said.

  “I’m a shaman,” he said. “I can take a look at your wing and any other ailments you have, so long as you’ve got money.”

  Eagerly, I pulled my sack out of the inner jacket pocket and tossed it, spilling silver pieces across the bar.

  “You’re welcome to it,” I said. “I’m ruined if I can’t fly.”

  “Meet me at my office in the morning,” he said. “I’ll get you all fixed up.”

  “Meet you? No, that won’t do. I’ll never find the place.”

  He became grumbled something under his breath I could not hear over the pub noise.

  “Fine,” he said, separating six coins with his brittle nails for the fiend, then scooping the rest into the sack. “Follow me.”

  The rodent threw the purse over his shoulder like a lugging sack and slid down the leg of his bench.

  “See you tomorrow,” he said, and the bartender waved his shaky hand as we stepped into the chilly, wet air.

  We walked down an ill-lit alley across the street to a white door. There was a sign over the door that said, Shaman and Midwife. There would have been no way for anyone to find the place if they didn’t already know where it was.

  “Where’s that damn key,” the rodent said, tapping the bricks alongside the door.

  One of the bricks popped open, and the rodent climbed up the wall along the side of the door and slipped the key into the lock. He hopped down and pushed the door open. I followed him into a dark room. He lit a candle, donned a white robe and mask, and tapped on the glass of a globe. The little pixy inside flared to life, filling the room with white light. Lining the walls were shelves of instruments and potions, same as you’d find in any other shaman’s office. Given the nature of my voyage thus far, I was cautious, but seeing the space and all the medical books on the shelf put my mind at ease. No fraud would go to the trouble of collecting all that stuff.

  “Have a seat on the table,” he said.

  I hopped onto the parchment-covered platform and hung my feet over the edge.

  “How long have you been a shaman?” I said.

  “Any problems besides the wing?” he said.

  “None that I’m aware of.”

  “Hold your arms out.”

  I held my arms horizontally. A mechanism stepped in and held his hand over my heart. The ice-cold metal hand made me jump. Light flared in the orbucullum, drawing my attention, and I saw a translucent apparition bearing my likeness take shape in front of me. Within the apparition, I could see my heart beating, my lungs constricting, my bowels circulating, and my broken wing glowing red. My fur stood on end as the shaman ran his claws over my wing.

  “You’ve got some freckles,” he said. “You want me to take them off for you?”

  “Freckles? No, I don’t think that’ll be necessary?”

  “Bear your teeth,” he said, and I did, then he looked them over. “Open up.”

  I opened my mouth wide, and he looked inside.

  “Stick your tongue out and say aaah,” he said, and I did.

  “Your teeth are good, but I don’t like them. I could replace them for you if you like.”

  His ears perked.

  “Replace my teeth? No, I don’t think so.”

  “Canids are not known for having good eyesight. Would you like new eyes?”

  “Why?”

  “I could give you the eyes of a Soothseer.”

  I was beginning to understand why the natives hated shamans so much.

  “No, you can just fix the wing, and I’ll be on my way.”

  “Fine,” I could smell frustration, alcohol, and cigarettes on his breath. “Spread your wings.”

  I spread my wings as wide as possible, though I couldn’t fully extend the broken one. He began looking over the healthy one.

  “It’s the other one that’s broken,” I said.

  “Yes, I can see that.”

  The mechanism held the broken wing with his cold metal hands.

  “I just have to see how it works?” he said.

  “You don’t know how it works?”

  He set the bone with a crack. I yelped from the pain and slumped down from the table and onto the floor.

  “You’ll need to rest for a few days,” he said, handing me two pills. “Take these with something to drink. After that, you should be able to fly just fine.”

  “Three days, and I’ll be able to fly again?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you,” I breathed, relief coursing through me.

  “That didn’t hurt that bad,” he said, rolling his eyes at me. I had no more coins to stay at an inn, so I stayed in the shaman’s lab, curling up on the table with a blanket. I slept the next few days away, spending my waking hours reading his books. He left me five pieces to spend on sandwiches and pints.

  Sunshine bathed the morning streets on the third day. I took off running down the street and threw myself into a stiff breeze. The wind was against my mask, and my ears and tail flapped behind me. I ducked under a low bridge, twisting between ropes running between towering townhomes, and lifted up into the air, shooting over the crookedly shingled rooftops along winding streets. I was breathless and out of shape, but I didn’t care. It felt so good to fly again.

  The town beneath me appeared like a discombobulated, directionless nest. I could make no landmark from the air. It was no wonder I’d been so lost. I unclasped my collar from my compass, and tossed the collar away. The compass’s directional needle guided me back to the port. I could see it from where I was flying, then–ouch!–my wing gave out. Pain shot through something terrible. My wing shook under my weight. I dipped, then leveled off somewhat before crashing into a rooftop.

  Save for the pain in my wing and having the wind knocked out of me, I was uninjured. I slipped my compass back into its pocket, relieved I hadn’t dropped it. Strange. It seemed to be getting heavier. I don’t think the wing was fully broken, but I still couldn’t fly without considerable pain. I reached the port and landed at the entrance, panting and sweating heavily.

  “Burgeon?” I heard someone say.

  I must have imagined it. Nobody knew me there.

  “Has anyone seen a canid named Burgeon?” they said again.

  A fat voyager in a red mask and coat stood before the port doors.

  “Burgeon of Weeping Wallows?” he said, walking up to me and handing me an envelope. “You’ve got a letter.”

  “How did you find me?” I said.

  “Send A Cause Incorporated can find anyone anywhere, any time.”

  He handed me the envelope and disappeared into the crowd. I was overcome with excitement when I saw the letterhead. The dewy, sweet smell of grass, wind-kissed cliffs, and perfume clinging to the parchment made me forget my wing. The letter was from Sharubym!

  *****

  Did you ever get lost in a new city or on an alien planet? Let us know in the comments!