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. Andrews Hill.” She took Caleb's hand and led him towards it.
They walked down the gently sloping road, and she could see the river in the distance, bustling with boat traffic.
This must be London’s famous Thames River, she thought. It had to be. She remembered at least that much from her basic geography class.
This street ended in a building, not taking them all the way down to the river, so they turned left on a street that ran close to the river, parallel to it, only fifty feet away, aptly named "Thames Street.”
Thames Street was even more genteel, a world apart from Fleet Street. The houses were nicer here, and to their right, along the riverside, sat more grand estates, with huge plots of land sloping down to the riverfront. The architecture was more elaborate and more beautiful here, too. Clearly this part of town was reserved for the rich.
It felt like a quaint neighborhood, as they passed many twisting and turning side streets with funny names, like “Windgoose Lane” and “Old Swan Lane” and “Garlick Hill” and “Bread Street Hill.” In fact, the smell of food was in the air everywhere, and Caitlin felt her stomach growl. Ruth whined, too, and she knew she was hungry. But she didn't see any food for sale.
"I know, Ruth," Caitlin sympathized. “I'll find us food soon, I promise.”
They walked and walked. Caitlin didn't know exactly what she was looking for, and neither did Caleb. It still felt as if the riddle could lead them anywhere, and they didn't have any concrete leads. They were getting deeper into the heart of the city, and she still wasn't sure which way to turn.
Just as Caitlin was beginning to feel tired, hungry, and cranky, they came to a huge intersection. She stopped and looked up. A crude, wooden sign read “Grace Church Street.” The smell of fish was heavy in the air here.
She stopped in exasperation and faced Caleb.
"We don't even know what we’re looking for," she said. "It mentions a bridge. But I haven't seen a single bridge anywhere. Are we just wasting our time here? Should we be thinking about this a different way?”
Caleb suddenly tapped her on her shoulder, and pointed.
She slowly turned, and was shocked at the sight.
Grace Church Street lead down to a massive bridge, one of the biggest bridges she had ever seen. Her heart soared with new hope. A huge sign above it read “London Bridge,” and her heart beat faster. This street was wider, a major artery, and people, horses, carts and traffic of all kind funneled onto and off the bridge.
If a bridge was truly what they were looking for, clearly they had found it.
Caleb took her hand and led her towards the bridge, merging with the traffic. She looked up, and was overwhelmed at the sight. It was unlike any bridge she had ever seen. Its entrance was heralded by a huge, arched gate, with guards on either side. At its top were multiple spikes, on which sat severed heads, blood dripping from their throats, impaled on the spikes. It was a gruesome sight, and Caitlin averted her gaze.
"I remember this," sighed Caleb. “From centuries ago. This is how they always adorned their bridges: with heads of prisoners. They do it as a warning to other criminals.”
