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Wings on the Mountain

Written by Terry Howard

The regulars left the table nearest the fire when the strangers came in. At the base of the Matterhorn summer nights are chilly, so a fire is welcome starting in the late afternoon. Strangers paid much higher prices for everything and the whole village, not just the innkeeper, profited. Everyone made strangers welcome.

The four outlanders were barely seated before a jack of beer was set in front of each of them. "There is soup tonight," the innkeeper said, "and clean linen for pallets in the loft. I am sorry but the village has only one sleeping room for travelers and it has already been let.

"Tomorrow would you prefer beef, pork, or fowl?" The village would enjoy what the travelers paid for but did not eat. It was hoped they would want beef.

The guests were taken aback. "You presume we are staying."

"Good sirs, the trail does not lead through the village. When you leave you will go back the way you came. You are not passing through."

A man who, by his dress, did not fit in spoke from the darker back of the room. When he quit paying for meat the village quit making room for him by the fire. "Until Grantville came to the Germanies, only those born here ever came. Most who leave never return. You came to climb the mountain. You will not leave until you have tried."

The four men were clearly astonished.

"Did you think you were the first to try?" the man asked. "Sir Edward Whympel, will, would have been, the first to climb this mountain. If he can do it in 1865, you can ...