Brave New World
"This place is enormous." Cale couldn't believe all the tents.
We're not even to the city yet.
"What are all these teepees?" asked Jazreal from behind.
These are all refugees. They are looking for protection.
"I think they're all people seeking shelter in the city," Cale answered.
"Seeking shelter from what?" Jazreal asked worriedly.
Cale shared her concern. "That's what we need to find out."
Indeed.
Hollow-eyed children wandered about, utterly lost, while desperate mothers begged for food. Fathers sold a night with their daughters just for a single meal. The sick and the dead lay everywhere, muddying the road, while dying livestock polluted the water. City guards wandered freely through the tents, confiscating anything of value and killing those who stood against them. Human life was the least expensive thing anyone owned.
"They all look hungry."
"They look worse than that." Cale urged Thunder to move a touch faster. "That's what happens when you burn the crops in the fields. Come on."
The fog had not let up for three whole days. The road had been a muddy, mangled crush of people wandering aimlessly in the fog. This close to the sea, they could smell the salt and fish and hear the sea birds, but they still could not see more than a few yards ahead of them. Murderers and sneak thieves stalked the roads, snatching people and vanishing into the fog, only to find their bodies hours later. The lucky ones lived. The guards could do nothing. They were too few and the people too many.
The day started off cold and damp, owing to the bank of sea fog they’d found themselves in. They rode forward as best they could, pausing often in the long line of people. Cale was about to go around, but Sword advised patience. Soon enough, a large man in grubby armor and a chipped spear came around to collect their coin. There was a toll for entry, a tax on goods and an inspection for weapons.
"Five silver," The guard grunted. Cale dug into his coin purse while a mercenary knight glared at him, looking them over. He oversaw the procedure at the gates, but he didn't even notice Cale and Jazreal's Swords, which were in plain view. He couldn't, of course. "There are no vacancies at any inn. You have to be back by nightfall if you can't find anyone to sponsor you. No sleeping in the streets. We'll throw you in the guardhouse, understand? Complete your business and leave."
"Yes, sir," Cale said quietly.
"Understand?!" The guard barked once more.
"Um, y--yes sir!"
"Hmm, that's better. Welcome to Uruk. Don't make any trouble for us while you're here. Enjoy your stay." The guard walked away, muttering under his breath. "Filthy plowman."
They rode forward, the palfrey nickering at the beggars along the side of the road.
"Was that expensive?" asked Jazreal. She really struggled with the coinage.
"It is prohibitive enough that most people can barely afford to come in once," Cale replied. "I've only seen a silver coin once before. Usually my father took trade in barter and copper coins."
The city walls of Uruk towered above him, half hidden in the fog. Rising twenty-five feet from the ground, the interlocked walls were unlike anything Cale had imagined. Moss and mold clung to the muddy brown stones, playing host to a myriad of laughing sea birds. Small children tried to climb the walls and gather their eggs. Tragically, they occasionally fell off. Guards walked the parapets along the top of the wall, armed with crossbows and spears, watching for troublemakers. Wooden buildings jutted out along the top, businesses and homes pressed as far to the edge as they could. Banners and pennants of red and white flew above them all, snapping in the breeze. The wind came in from the sea.
Under the shadow of the gatehouse, Cale eyed the guards nervously. The walls above them and to their sides were nearly twelve feet thick, wider than two men end-to-end. Then they crossed into the light of the city proper.
"Wow," breathed Jazreal.
Welcome to the larger world, Cale.
Cale didn't even have words. Thunder wandered on his own, unbidden by Cale as the boy went limp. The sights and sounds and smells assaulted Cale all at once, a cacophony for the senses. Everywhere he looked, there were new things he had never seen before. Butchers and farmers and fishmongers all called out, enticing him to buy their wares. The blacksmith and livery hammered with iron and steel. The flower stalls and alchemists and perfume sellers all smelled divine, trading with men and women in shops. A group of monks chanted prayers on one corner, while on another some Indians were selling their Nubian slaves to an auction house. The river which ran through the city was stinking and foul, but every inch of every bridge was covered in stalls. Out in the bay, ships set at anchor, loading and unloading cargo onto longboats.
It wasn't just the walls that were massive. Everything in the city, from the towering buildings to wide roads, all dwarfed Cale. It really was a larger world. Shops and apartments of two, three and even four stories were a regular sight. The nicest structures were toward the center of town, near the governing bodies and expensive shops. There were other structures, too--an ancient stone tree, the governor's apartments, the hall of records, an amphitheater. A massive black obelisk rose from the courtyard, tall and phallic, an altar to a long-dead pagan god. All stunningly elegant, but all paled in comparison to Uruk's crowing jewel--a six story open-air bathhouse. Aqueducts flowed into it from the lake farther upstream, a fresh, clear source of running water. The rest of the city may use the river for whatever needs they saw fit, but the bathhouse spared no expense for eternally pure water.
Then the smells of the food stalls hit them. Fresh bread topped with cheese and garlic, fruit baked into tarts, tough yeast dough rolled, boiled and heavily salted. Blood sausage and black sausage and venison sausage, sheep's lungs boiled with potatoes and turnips and parsley. Soured cabbage and roasted cabbage and coca leaf tea, figs and persimmons and berries of every kind. Shrimp, mussels, crawfish, both river and ocean, and great lake fish large enough to feed a whole family, pulled fresh from the barrel. Pigeon turning on a spit, slathered in vinegar and mustard seed. Dog meat grilled to perfection over an open flame, succulent enough to fall off the bone. Quail pie wrapped in paper, baked into pastries and filled with herbs and cheese.
Cale was drooling, Jazreal was drooling, and there was no sense in either of them hiding that fact. Both of their stomachs growled in unison. Though they still had a few bits of crusty bread and some smoked bison, they decided to spend a little of their money. For a few coppers, Cale chose a quail pie and bread drizzled with honey, while Jazreal fancied a leg of dog and a slice of rye bread topped with goat cheese. Both of them bought a horn of freshly-pressed cider, so crisp they could still taste the morning dew. There were people and animals absolutely everywhere, so they contented themselves with sitting at the foot of the black obelisk. Priests were loudly worshiping on the other side.
"This is so good!" Jazreal smiled with her mouth full.
"I know. I didn't know such food existed!" Cale finished his pie far more quickly than he’d desired. He wanted to go back for seconds but decided against it, instead savoring his honeyed bread.
"Do these people eat like this every day?" Jazreal's mouth was absolutely covered in grease and she had the most adorable expression on her face.
"I think so." She's so cute, Cale thought.
"I never want to leave!"
This place sure has grown.
"What do you mean?" asked Cale.
It was a trading outpost last time I was here, a supply port for the capital and royal family. There were nowhere near this many people.
"I mean it's so good! We could stay here and eat new, delicious food until we die. Wouldn't that be great?"
Holding down two conversations with one voice sure was hard. It would be easier if Jazreal could hear Sword's words, or if Sword could read Cale's thoughts. Instead, he was stuck playing middleman.
"That's... great," he replied with a pained smile. This was more difficult than he’d anticipated.
Jazreal finished her meal while Cale sat back, watching everything. Though he had never seen so many people before, the more he watched, the more he saw patterns emerge. The women were on errands, gathering food or items for their homes. The traders went from shop to shop, not buying anything but instead doing business. The apprentice boys rushed around on spring heels making deliveries for their masters. Travelers and sailors took in the sights, sought the company of alcohol or ladies and spent time gambling or dicing in the alleys. The refugees wandered around with a wide-eyed look of terror about them. The priests and monks looked much alike but they avoided one another, seeking the same sheep whom to proselytize. And the children just generally ran around, keeping in everyone's way. When Cale looked at it that way, everything made sense and the chaos melted away.
"What's that?" Jazreal, licking her fingers, pointed to a round device in the middle of the plaza.
"It's a sundial." Cale had read about them in a book. "It tells time."
She turned to Cale with a most serious expression. "Truly?"
"Um, yes?"
"Come." She stood, wiping her hands and pulling Cale to his feet. "Show me how it works."
"Well, alright." Cale had never actually seen one before. The stone circle was as wide around as Cale was tall, with a large spindle that cast a shadow onto the base. "You can tell what time it is by where the shadow falls. There are four cardinal times and twelve divisions. So you have morning, noon and evening. So right now you can look at it and see we are just before midday."
"Any fool could tell that, silly. Just look at the sun."
"Yes, but see? The shadow falls on the fifth division. So you can tell it is only an hour till noon."
"Why are there no divisions for the night?" asked Jazreal.
"There's no sun at night."
"Ah, of course. Then why is there this large one at midnight?"
"Oh. That's for, um..."
Symmetry.
"Symmetry. To make it match."
"Humph." Jazreal folded her arms. "And people find this... useful?"
"Well, I suppose, if you live in the city." Cale scratched his neck. "We never had much call for it on the farm."
"Nor on the plains." Jazreal nodded. "I must remember that you are a good boy."
"Because I don't use a sundial?" Cale followed her back to Thunder.
"Yes. Man can become far too reliant on his gadgets, and far less attuned to the earth, I am thinking. But even still, I am eager to know more of what these city people are like."
"Me, too." Cale saddled up. "I think it's about time we got some answers."
"Indeed."
Indeed.
"So, where do we go?" Cale asked.
"How would I kno--oh, you are talking to your sword again."
We should avoid anyone with official status or good standing with the city. They will have other masters, priorities above helping us. They will also be more difficult to influence.
"They might be smart, though."
A fact which may not work to our advantage. Head for the docks. We shall see who we find there.
They made their way through the crowded streets, ambling for the seedier part of town. It didn't take long it find it. Things went downhill fast the farther one traveled from the city center. Alleyways grew dark pressed so close to one another, while merchant shops and food stalls were replaced with taverns and dice boxes. The sea fog still lingered in the shadows, granting them an otherworldly appearance.
Still, people crowded everywhere. Sailors and fishmongers and fishermen and shipwrights, merchants of pitch and tar, and young boys carrying cargo to-and-fro. The taverns were especially crowded at midday, full of men laughing and jeering as they ate and drank their dinner.
There. That one.
Sword indicated a particularly seedy alehouse, inset into the wall so the building above jutted farther out. The facade sported a sign long since faded with age and rot which may at one time have been a ship, and a yellow flag that was now little more than a few tatters of cloth. Cale hitched Thunder to the post.
"Um, Cale? Are you sure about this?"
"Yes, absolutely." Cale helped her down, before muttering under his breath. "Sure this is absolutely crazy."
You will be fine. I will neither abandon nor forsake you.
The inside was just as horrible as Cale imagined it would be. Dark and dingy, it stank of fish and mildew and saltwater. There were very few women present who weren't working, so Jazreal got a lot of stares beyond her tawny skin. A minstrel played the lute for coin, entertaining the patrons while they ate their meals, drank their ale and took a much-deserved rest.
Cale stood in the doorway looking around. He felt Sword urge him toward the corner of the room, so he followed. They were in no noticeable danger, but he kept a hand on the pommel at all times, just in case. Jazreal was equally ready to drop into a combat stance at the first sign of trouble.
Along the wall, men were cheering and cursing. Several booths had been set up, areas of skill and chance. Dice rolling, card playing, a game where the object was to dance a knife between your fingers and not prick yourself. The players couldn't have been very good, as the table was stained with old blood.
But the most interesting game was in the far corner. It must have been good because it was attracting quite the crowd. Cale moved in closer, more curious than fearful. Many were laughing and screaming, drumming their hands on the table or walls or their bellies, building to a crescendo, only to be followed by explosive cheers or screams of defeat. Small in stature, Cale needed Jazreal's help to shoulder a way through to get a decent view.
An older man with an eye patch and a bushy black beard sat at a table, with another person sitting across from him. The man had three bowls in front of him and was shifting them around with remarkable speed. The crowd clapped and built up energy until reaching a thunderous peak.
Ah, the shell game. Knights and Swords used to try to outsmart one another at this game. Do you know how to play?
"No." Cale shook his head. "I've never seen it before."
The object is simple. A ball or small object is placed under one of three domes. They can be shells, cups, bowls, what have you. Then, a wager is set. The pusher shifts the domes around as quickly as possible and the gambler must try to follow the ball with his eye. When the pusher stops, the gambler guesses. If he is correct, he wins. If not, he loses his money.
"Sounds simple enough," muttered Cale. "What's the catch?"
The pusher cheats.
Sure enough, when the man stopped and the gambler picked, the crowd fell silent. The pusher lifted the cup, only to have the crowd cry out in disappointment. Nothing. The gambler looked completely dejected.
"No!" one of the men exclaimed. "He was our best bet."
"If Felix can't do it, no one can. Vyk is just too fast."
"Who's next?" The man asked. The crowd was moving off now, their lunch shift just about over. Cale stepped forward. The man looked him over once. "Aren't you a little young to be in here?"
"Aren't you a little old?"
In fact, the man was not old, not in the slightest. His big, bushy beard and patch over his left eye gave an impression of a man down on his luck. His dirty clothes and unkempt hair added to the appearance. But it was just an act. He was young, certainly. His piercing brown, almost golden eye gave it away. It was too fast to belong to an old man, always moving, searching, appraising. He glanced Cale over three times, taking everything in before Cale had even finished his own assessment.
"Go home, boy." His voice sounded gruff, but that was another act. He held the lyrical tones of someone from the far south.
"I want to play." Cale stepped closer.
"Aye, that you may. But I don't play with children."
"Hey, let him play." Jazreal stepped forward.
The man took a long, appraising look at Jazreal, one with no kindness in it at all. He studied her and mentally cast her aside as useless. Jazreal shrank back slightly under his withering glare.
"I told you." The man stood, set both fists on the desk and leaned forward. He spoke, looking squarely at Cale and barely glancing at Jazreal. "I don't play with children, and I especially don't play with Indians."
The man dressed in black began to gather his shells, drawing curious stares from the tavern patrons. He shouldered past and Cale said nothing. Jazreal clung to Cale’s right arm, more afraid than Cale had ever seen her. She almost seemed smaller than Cale.
"Cale let us just go, please. I do not like this place."
We need him.
Cale didn't want to be here anymore than Jazreal, but Sword had led them here for a reason. If they needed this man, then Cale had to figure out something to make him stay. There had to be something he wanted that would make him come back. He reached into his coin purse and placed his single, heavy coin on the table with an audible clack.
"Gold," someone whispered.
The entire tavern fell silent. All eyes were on the single coin on the table. Cale smiled. Jazreal beamed. The pusher looked back, squinting hard and giving Cale the evil eye. He strode back to his booth and sat back down without a word, with everyone following him. Cale was pushed hard from behind, big beer bellies and voluptuous bosoms shoving him against the table. Everyone in the tavern wanted to see, including the minstrel. Someone shouted in the street and more people on their way back to work at the docks piled in for one last exciting show. Cale found himself squeezed hard again Jazreal. She gave him a reassuring smile of encouragement. He pretended he didn't like being pressed against her and tried to hide his blush. A barmaid gripped his arm, murmuring sweet words. She reminded him of his mother.
"One game." The pusher held up a finger. "One! No take backs, all bets final. You understand?"
"Yes." Cale tried to sound braver than he felt. His palms were sweaty.
"You sure you want to do this? Last chance to back out, kid."
There were shouts of encouragement, cheers of gambling and warnings against the craftiness of this pusher. It made it hard to think. But Cale just nodded. "Yes."
"Aye, suit yourself. It's your money."
And they were off. The red cloth ball went under the center wooden bowl. The bowls went clickity-clack on the table, dancing at incredible speed. The crowd cheered a deafening drum right in Cale's ears. The minstrel strummed his lute but no one could hear him. Jazreal reached below the table line and gripped his right hand, far more scared than Cale. The feel of her skin on his almost made Cale lose track. Finally, the drumming reached its zenith and the pusher sat back, crossing his arms. The minstrel strummed out a tense tune for the standoff. The gold coin still glinted on the table. Cale was sure he knew, but he wasn't sure he was sure. He glanced at the coin and back to the cups. Releasing Jazreal's hand, he stretched out his arm.
The man in black gripped him by the wrist. "Are you sure, lad?"
Cale shook his hand off and extended a finger, moving to the right with a smile.
Left.
Cale paused and moved right again.
Left, Cale.
Cale hovered over the rightmost bowl. He was sure he had watched correctly. It should have been here!
He palmed the ball when he started. It's under the leftmost bowl. I told you, the pusher cheats.
Cale's eyes went wide, the grin vanishing from his face as he watched the pusher. He was smiling with tight, pursed lips. But that eye, that eye saw everything. Cale quickly moved his hand to the leftmost shell. "Here. It's here." And he lifted the bowl.
The cheers and celebration that erupted could have torn the roof off, and the slaps on the back and shakes nearly rattled Cale out of his bones. The barmaid kissed him on the cheek, a wet, sloppy thing. He wiped at it ferociously. Even Jazreal screamed in surprise as some man picked her up and danced around the room with her, and then another. By the time she made it back to Cale, her hair was a mess where people had tussled it. Rubbing an Indian's head was considered good luck.
But Cale's eyes never left those of the man. That faint smile had vanished, but that eye had remained. He took another long, hard look at Cale, sizing him up from top to bottom. Then he shifted his intentions to Jazreal, really studying her. Her size, her shape, her appearance.
He turned back to Cale once more and did the same, coolly appraising every single thing about the boy. In the roar of celebration, no one watched the three of them. Then the man's gaze shifted one last time, turning a keen eye lower. Cale's blood turned to ice water in his veins.
He was staring at Sword.