The interior of the carriage was a sensory nightmare.
It was designed to hold eight people comfortably. There were twelve people inside.
Marcus was squeezed onto a bench.
To his left sat a burly farmer who reeked of raw onions and sweat. Every breath Marcus took felt like inhaling a salad gone wrong.
To his right was a woman holding a large wicker cage, inside which were three chickens.
The chickens seemed personally offended by Marcus's presence. They clucked aggressively every time the carriage hit a bump.
Which was often.
The suspension on the carriage was nonexistent. Every rock on the road sent a jolt through Marcus's spine.
Marcus tried to make himself small. He pulled his cloak tight to avoid touching the onion man.
It was futile. Every sway of the vehicle pressed them together like sardines in a tin.
The onion man was sweating. It soaked into Marcus's sleeve.
Marcus adjusted his legs. His knees knocked against the person sitting opposite him.
