Litany of Wrath

by Levi Pfeiffer

  “Never heard of it,” said Reuben.

  “You wouldn’t have, I’m sure. Not much to say about the place really. It’s small, underfunded, undefended, and with more or less lawful and unlawful elements in their eternal dance of productivity and banditry.”

  “Oh please, don’t try to make the place sound too cheerful,” said Reuben, a little sour at the prospect.

  “Well,” said the old man with a long drawl, “You did seem to indicate a change of scenery and so I offered one.”

  Reuben thought over the options, but there really was only one choice and so he assented, “Yeah, okay, I guess it’ll have to do.”

  “Excellent,” the man said happily, clapping his hands again. “Now about payment, I understand that you’ve not the funds on you currently, but never fear old Gavin has thought of everything.”

  “I take it that when I travel to this place, I’ll be taking something with me right?”

  This time the old man’s smile was from cheek to cheek. “You do catch on rather quickly, I must say. It really is a pleasure to work with someone that doesn’t have to have things so blatantly laid out. Yes, I’ll have a little package for you to take. And I’ll consider that the down payment.”

  “And the rest?” Reuben asked.

  “When you come back,” he said, looking sidelong at Reuben, “I would consider the matter fully paid for if you might bring something back.”

  “I don’t have any intention of coming back, though,” said Reuben.

  “Yes, of course,” said the man. “And if you do truly spend the rest of your days in that little hamlet, I will consider that also enough of a payment. But should you decide to return, then perhaps you’ll think of old Gavin and complete our little transaction.”

  Reuben had been feeling uncomfortable inside the entire time. Having been a soldier and a military man and protecting outposts for years, he had come to obey the rules because if he didn’t, people died. Now he was on the outside of the law and practically an enemy of the state. He certainly would be further along that spectrum by becoming a smuggler. The absurdity of it all, he dreaded to think what his mother would say if she could see him now. He had been enjoying the different feel of the under city and his handling of the situation, but it was beginning to feel like the carpet was being pulled out from underneath his feet. In a somewhat flat tone, he responded, “What is it that you want me to bring back?”

  “At the outpost there is a blacksmith. That blacksmith has a family heirloom of mine. I sent it to him some years ago for safekeeping, but now I would like it returned.”

  “You still haven’t told me what it is though,” said Reuben.

  For the first time since he had met him, the old man looked serious. “It’s a small iron box, no bigger than a loaf of bread.”

  “And presumably this box isn’t just a box? Guessing it carries something that’s not exactly legal here?”

  “Very perceptive. Indeed it is not so much the box but its contents that I am after, that is correct. The box is sealed, and I expect it to be so when it is returned to me. Not that you would have the ability to open it anyway.” He chuckled and the smile returned. “Now since I believe that we’ve come to an agreement…” he raised his eyebrows.

  Reuben nodded, “Yes, I guess we have.”

  “Good good. When is it that you are hoping to leave?”

  “As soon as possible,” said Reuben.

  “Tomorrow morning, then.”

  * * *

  The air felt cool in Reuben’s face after the heat of the chamber with the old man. He took a deep breath and tried to relax, trying to let down his guard. If he could trust Gavin, and something told him he could, then he would be able to get out of Entigria on the morrow. That just left laying low for tonight. The streets had settled down to their more circumspect ways, the way two cats that have never met before circle and wait to see who will be the first to look away. For Reuben, so used to living in tension and boundaries, it was business as usual. His spirits rose as he strolled along, stretching his legs. If he made it to the new place alive, then he figured the rest of what he had planned with the old man would be a fair deal as well. Gavin was a happy old humbug, but Reuben could see his web and the vast influence of it in this world of shadowy diplomacy. People kept out of his way, making sure not to bump into him. Word traveled quickly on this black vine. Those that were last to receive news could end up terminally late themselves. As much as he hated to admit it to himself, it couldn’t have all been his own actions. He felt vulnerable though, in the way he was being ignored, carefully ignored. He hated to have a debt to anyone for anything, though at least it meant that for now he was untouchable.

  The streets were damp with condensation as he stamped along. He would have to avoid the more reputable areas, on the advice of the old man. He was a fugitive, after all, and it would not do him any good to be recognized by some merchant or lord’s deputy on business with the seedier folk that called the damp streets their home. His free stepping tread took him past a tobacconist’s shop. Inside the smelly interior, gusts of smoke made his eyes water as the operator of the establishment retained his seat, but surveyed his customer from under hooded eyebrows. Reuben made a cursory glance among the array of jars of pipe tobacco, badly rolled cigars, and various handmade rollup materials. He searched for something that he could balance the price of, with his odds of survival upon using the substance. He selected a couple of cigars that at least smelled akin to something he had smelled before, making sure to avoid the ones that had any hint of the aroma that was pumped into the room with every slow exhalation of its owner. He paid for the cigars, and headed back to the Grotto; heading for his resting place; hopefully, not his last.

  Reuben thanked the young lad that had showed him the room he was to stay in. He shut the door behind the lad, noting that there was no lock on the door. It was a small room, barely furnished with more than a small bed, a chair, and a washbasin filled with water, and a bucket underneath the chair. He took the seat and moved it over to the door, pushing it underneath the knob. It might not stop anyone from entering, but it would at least give him a chance to wake up first. There was not a set of drawers, nor an oil lamp. But by the light that drifted in from the street, he could tell this was a place all colored in the many shades of brown you could get down here. A singularly uncheerful place, yet better than the last place he had slept. After a fitful half hour trying to drift off to sleep, he relented enough that he took his shoes off. Otherwise he stayed completely dressed.

  Reuben woke with a start. His heart raced, and his breath came in a ragged series of coughs. He was covered in a clammy sweat that stuck his clothes to him. After a few moments, he calmed down as reality seeped back into his conscious mind. He put away the wild thoughts of violence and rage that had filled him in his dreams. He was not sure now what they even had been about, but their impression must have been considerable. He’d not had much of any dreams for many years now. Living in the cathedral had done that for him at least. He had forgotten, almost, what it could be like to have a normal night’s sleep. Or a normal night’s theatre of the mind. He hadn’t minded the first couple of nights back in the world beyond the protective veil, but he did now. His breath and heart rate gradually returned to normal. He couldn’t tell what the time was, in the closed space of the under city, he’d just have to wait for the stirring of those below to signal to him that the new day had begun.

  He lay in the silence, willing himself to return to sleep. A pointless endeavor, he realized after what could have been ten minutes or two. He was soaked through, wound up, and hungry. He sat up in the bed. The shutters were still closed in the window. He opened them up, letting in the clammy air. It would take simply ages to dry out his clothes. He stripped to his undergarments, and set the rest out on the bed. Maybe they’d have a better chance that way. He fished out the cigars and matches he’d gotten earlier. It wasn’t the same as any sort of breakfast would have been for him, but it
gave him something to do.

  5 BLACKSMITH CANARY

  The slanderous rumor of a dual nature shall not be permitted. Arneph is one and always has been. We will overlook this discrepancy in your otherwise impeccable record. Be warned, however, that further insistence at spreading heresy shall not be so easily forgiven. Return to your duties at once and be thankful. We shall not be able to shield you a second time.

  Notes preserved and much copied among the now extinct rival priest faction, put to death during the last unhappy days of the War of Stone when their secret enclave was discovered.

  There had been only the briefest of descriptions of the place where he was being sent. The important thing, for Reuben, was that it was out of the city, away from the uncaring authorities and willful blindness to the threat of the cinder lands. Now, an escapee and smuggler, he kept the sealed envelope given to him by Gavin pressed close in the folds of his tunic, secured underneath the band of his belt. It would be the first part of his transaction, the other to be repaid if he ever returned to Entigria. Reuben felt conflicted about this arrangement; however, it was the only quick way to escape. His destination was to be far east of Entigria, a frontier town that mined for precious metals and exported them to Entigria. The distance between outpost and capital had merited setting up a transport portal. It was seldom used due to the cost of operation, though there were times when urgency or security necessitated its use. In Reuben’s case, it was through the delicate diplomacy of Gavin’s web of contacts that led to him standing once again on a platform with figures around it, chanting. He hated doing things this way, leaving Entigria without saying goodbye to Donovan or Patterson, but he had no choice. He would not risk sending a message to them or visiting; he did not wish to be a burden or cause trouble for them. So he was sneaking away, like a thief in the night. Gavin had promised that he’d be able to find work in the town and set himself up. It would not be an easy time, but it would be something to do and keep him tired enough to sleep in the rough climate to which he was traveling.

  The portal platform faded around him, the figures melting away into a grey dusk. This time he could see somewhat of his destination. Reuben looked forward and saw an indistinct sandy-hued landscape of dust and rock walls. It seeped into the world around him slowly at first, then increasing. Again, he had the sensation of falling while standing still. Reuben closed his eyes, waiting for the sensation to pass. When the world felt steady underneath him, he opened his eyes again, he had arrived. The heat of the sun beat upon him in waves, filling him with its warmth. He could feel the clamminess of Subria evaporate into the arid surroundings. He was standing, he double checked, yes, he was standing, on a small platform. There were no figures here chanting or working to stabilize the portal on this end. He resolved not to give any thought to what could happen to a poor soul if they got lost along the way.

  Reuben had expected, well, more than this. He was standing on a small platform, a polished stone of browns and greys. He did not know how to read the runes inscribed upon the surface, though as far as he could tell they were the same as always. It was not his standing place that interested him though, it was the lack of any greeting. He was alone in a walled square the size of a large room, open to the morning sky of soft blue, streaked with orange. There was one small doorway that led to whatever building this quarter belonged to. The walls were a tan brick and more than half again taller than he. Reuben stepped off of the stone, onto the bare dirt ground. Stacked along the wall were several crates and barrels. Curiosity sparked in Reuben, but he curbed it quickly. Gravel crunched under his feet and he headed to the doorway. The attached structure was a two story building of the same bland-colored brick. There was no door to knock on, just an open hallway, which he stepped into. There was enough light from outside to see that there were other doors along the hallway, all closed except one. Reuben headed towards that one, ignoring the others. As he neared, his ears picked up the sound of a steady clacking.

  “Hello, anyone there?” he called out. The clacking stopped, replaced by the scrape of wood on stone. Footsteps, and then in the hallway, a man. Each stared at the other, perplexed. “I, uh, just arrived,” Reuben said, hoping this might excuse his intrusion. Reuben noticed the man held a spoon in one hand, like a knife. His gaze had been drawn to movement, and he watched as a drop of jam slowly made its way down the handle. When it reached the hand that held the spoon, the man coughed importantly.

  “Who sent ye?” asked the man, licking his hand, managing to smear some of the sticky treat into his scruffy beard.

  “Gavin,” said Reuben.

  “Oh, him.” The man finished brushing his beard, “All right then, come on in.” He turned abruptly and headed back to the room he’d come from. Reuben followed, more confused by the moment. He looked into the room, where the man had already seated himself at a table. On the table a large bowl of fruit spread was being thoroughly gouged by the spoon and applied to large slabs of bread. Reuben’s stomach growled at the sight.

  “Name’s, Jessop, afore ye ask. I’m what ye might call in charge o’ this here outfit. Sit ye down and get some o’ this down your rumbling gullet,” said the man, pointing to another chair.

  Reuben needed no urging and eagerly sat down. Both chair and table were rickety and stained. Beneath Reuben, the splintery and coarse boards creaked as they took his weight. Jessop passed him two thick slices of dark bread, spread liberally with the jam.

  Straight away, Reuben started eating the proffered food. The bread was hearty, a malty taste that was unusual but wholesome, and the dark fruit was unknown to him, but sweet. He grunted his admiration, remembering the envelope he was to deliver. With his mouth still full, he pulled out the correspondence and wordlessly handed it to Jessop, who, in his turn, accepted it without comment. Reuben continued his unexpected meal, watching Jessop devour yet more slabs of bread and jam. As they were eating, Jessop tore the missive open, reading it while crumbs littered the table from his none-too-careful approach to cleanliness.

  Jessop’s features remained calm, however, he started to mumble indistinctly, spraying crumbs further and further afield, into the open bowl of jam even. Reuben slowed his own hasty repast, trying to catch the words said by his benefactor, “If he thinks he’s getting that back, he’d best think agin. Ain’t no right o’ him and he knows it.” Jessop slowed, and looked up into the questioning look of Reuben, “Don’t worry though, if ye head back I’ll send sommat else to ease his grasping ways.” A wide grin plastered itself across Jessop’s features and he resumed his meal.

  * * *

  Later that day, Reuben stood with Jessop at the outskirts of the town, resting against the wooden planks of a fence. They leaned against the firm boundary, staring at the small town and out into the lands beyond. Dusty and arid, with a few islands of green in hollows where perhaps a single tree might take root. There were patches of grasses, though these were stunted and few. More common were the sagebrushes, wind-swept and scratchy, but for the largest part orange-brown soil and rock were bare to the sky. Hills and valleys hinted that, at one time, the area had been the seat of moving waters, though time and wind had worn down most hills to little more than stubble of their former glory. The small town nestled against one taller ridge in the landscape, yet all around the land undulated in quiet waves. Reuben had been given a brief tour by Jessop, the town’s semi-authoritative leader. Reuben was to earn his keep here by helping out with whatever he could find. Jessop had suggested the miller who operated the wind-powered mill. For residence he could have a room in the working quarters shared by miners and anyone too poor to own property. Food was taken three times a day, provided by a communal kitchen. Provisioning came about by supply from Entigria and whatever could be grown or harvested from the arid land.

  Over the course of the morning, he’d learned about the history of the town, Tekuda, and its relationship with Entigria. Originally, it had been little more than an expedition site. After early explorers had returned from
the area bearing nuggets of silver and tales of rich seams, Entigria had capitalized on the opportunity, establishing a stable portal stone and beginning to mine the area. The land was unclaimed, a barren place far outside of both the usual bounds of Entigria, but also far enough away from any other city state to not be a bother. It was virgin land, though the reason was blatantly obvious, as it was located in the middle of a vast stretch of badland. Rocky, nutrient-poor soil, with dry air and little precipitation or aquifers, it was little wonder that the land had remained unclaimed and unwanted. Even now, with a series of wells that provided water, the land was unforgiving. In reality, it was only through the link back to its progenitor that the small town was able to survive. It was home to very few families, though there were roughly the same amount of men and women. No one here, it seemed, wished to raise a family or settle in this place. The townsfolk had the lean look of hard labor and harsh climate, friendly enough after a fashion, but not cheerful. Everyone had a job to do, and not much enthusiasm about it either. Reuben realized, from listening to Jessop’s meandering oratory, that most of the people here stayed because of the opportunity and spectre of striking it rich. Entigria, in its wisdom, had established that all silver was its by right, but if other precious metals were found, the finder was allowed to sell them to the city for a mostly reasonable profit. Outcasts, dreamers not afraid of hard work, and a few folks such as Reuben, who had their own complicated reasons for wanting to be away from the city, sometimes found their niche in Tekuda. In recent times, however, the town was drying up, both literally in the heat and figuratively; there were fewer and fewer finds these days. As the steady stream of silver had tapered off, Entigria had allocated fewer resources to the town, and it was rumored that in a few short years it would be unsustainable to reside there any longer. Some left the town, returning to Entigria, others wandered further away from civilization, turning to banditry. For this reason, Jessop was more than happy to have Reuben join the community. Workers were always needed, and if Reuben was unseasoned in wielding a pickaxe, he could still provide a measure of training to the rest, form them up into a militia, perhaps. It was the first time a soldier had ever chosen to spend time there. This had been Gavin’s idea, Reuben guessed, and Jessop seemed eager to give it a try.