by Lee LaCroix
The next morning, Kayten awoke to an empty loft. She had stayed up too late again, and she had slept too late again, but this bothered her little. She had dressed, packaged the sword, and travelled outside the city limits to find some food for her breakfast. She managed to find a succulent duck filled with broccoli and wild herbs, and the vendor was more than pleased to receive real currency from this transaction. Consumed by her hunger, she hardly noticed the caravans and pedestrians come and go as she ate her meal on a fence that was a short distance from the city gate. The line-up for the Trade District was still as lengthy of late, for vendors from all around Malquia were still largely unaware of the new trade pass required to access into the city’s area of mercantile. Filled with the energy she needed to complete the last portion of her commission, Kayten headed back into the city with her mind brimming on how she could make the next blade even more efficiently. She returned to the courtyard where the usual business of group drills, target practice, and smithing was taking place. For the first time, she saw Garreth teaching a squad of recruits the fundamentals of the longsword. The sweeping motions of his blade seemed so elegant, but his swordsmanship was hardly a skill that his students could master quickly, and it showed. However, his students mimicked along with enthusiasm, and Garreth encouraged them with patience.
Kayten entered the armory and gave a quick wave to Mose and his apprentice, which was returned in a terse nod, and she continued to the back of the smithy. She began to forge the second blade that day, and knowing exactly how to go about creating it, she saved some time in its execution. She lifted her eyes from the anvil where she was striking the heated sunsteel to see Mose examining one of the spare bars and glancing to towards the sword.
“Do you know what this is, Kayten?” Mose inquired.
“Why yes. It’s sunsteel, is it not?” Kayten replied.
“Well, yes, it is. Where did you find such metal?” Mose continued.
“A man of a finer thread of clothes commissioned me to make these blades for him. From his looks, I’d say he wasn’t from the Lower Quarter,” Kayten explained as she took off her gloves and put her materials aside.
“Do you not know the laws of the sunsteel?” Mose asked as he arched his brow.
“Laws?” Kayten responded. “What laws?”
“Because Lord Vyse owns the only sunsteel mine in the entire province, he deals with the distribution and use of the metal through Blackwoods privately. All the sunsteel used in the Upper Quarter was designed by Blackwoods architects and applied under careful supervision. The issue only came to light when there were thefts of the precious metal from its installations and pieces of it turned up in merchant’s wares in the Trade District and Lower Quarter. The people who were unlucky enough to have been caught selling it or possessing it were never seen from again. Hauled off to the dungeons, we think. I’d be mighty careful about who you go sharing that with,” Mose explained.
Kayten looked at the blade and nodded.
“Well, it makes sense why the man came to the Lower Quarter to have this blade made… probably to keep it out of sight from the Blackwoods. Where better to have it made than the place that just cast so many dead Blackwoods out?” Kayten guessed.
“I could reckon that reasoning. Just be careful, young one,” Mose warned as he set the bar down and returned to his work.
Kayten could hardly agree with the Blackwoods having exclusive rights to a natural resource like sunsteel. For the Blackwoods to go as far as punishing others for its ownership, the idea did not please her. She kept an eye on the opening to the smithy, looking out to see if there was anyone looking in, but it did not seem like that to her after all her observations.
The second blade was finished in a faster time than the first, but the quality of the blade was just as good, Kayten thought. She placed the blades next to each other, and they seemed to be a mirror image of one another with the exception of the shimmering effect of light which reflected at random. She went into the armory’s storage to look over how much sunsteel she had remaining. She unraveled the cloth of the package to find three bars sitting inside. Kayten had done much better than she had thought. She wondered if she made the swords correctly, or if they should have been broader, thicker, or longer. She also wondered if Ralphedo would like the metal back, or she was free to use it as she saw fit. She could still make a new sword, a pendant, or some rings. She imagined the price these would fetch could be grand but wondered who she could sell them to safely.
Kayten wrapped them up tight and slung the package over her shoulder. She managed to make it out of the smithy before Mose that day, and she said farewell to him and thanked him for his advice. The courtyard was emptying out, and she made her way through the calming streets before sundown without event on her way back to the Salty Dog. She had hoped she could sup with Garreth and Novas, and ask the former how the Trade District had been.
Chapter Nineteen
Novas rarely slept longer than his father did, and Garreth was always up as the first rays of dawn beamed through the window. It even seemed the sun aimed for both of their eyes as soon as it could. Garreth did not practice his hunting quiet in the room but instead trudged around with heavy feet to exorcise the sleep from his bones.
At times, Novas could roll over and try to enjoy more moments of slumber, but a voice in his mind that told him that there were more important things to do than sleep. He did not want to awake to the city in its current form, which was plagued by vice and villainy. He sometimes would wish to travel backwards through time and stand with his father on the street during the King’s inauguration, so he could see the city undimmed before the black tangle strangled the shining towers. He knew he could only see these days if he brought the change himself. So he awoke.
He tramped up the creaky wooden stairs and knocked upon Zill’s door. When the door opened, a woman in a revealing wrap of silk answered the door. Novas couldn’t help but notice the shiny jewellery that hung from her ears and rested upon her fingers.
“This must be for you. I have to be going, dear. Tah tah!” the young woman chirped.
The woman smiled at Novas and hurried down the hallway and down the stairs. When Novas looked back, Zill was at the door with an open shirt, pulling on his pants.
“Rast, my man. Ready for today, are ya?” Zill greeted.
“I was born ready. How about you? Did you get enough ‘rest’ last night?” Novas questioned with a smirk on his face.
“I definitely got enough of something,” Zill said with a wink.
He disappeared inside for a moment and returned carrying the crate under his arm.
“That’s looking awfully light there, Zill,” Novas pestered.
“A little! But don’t tell anyone. We’ll say we found it like this,” Zill said with a grin.
Zill was quite the character, Novas thought, what a scoundrel. Novas resolved to keep an eye on him. The two picked up their crates, headed out of the rooms, and then down the street towards the intersection. They hadn’t even turned onto the northbound street before they had to join the queue for the Trade District, but the wait was not too severe. When they arrived at the gate, the clerk of the gate held up his hand and asked for them to stop.
“Trade pass, please,” the clerk declared.
“We don’t have a trade pass, but we have this,” Novas explained as he placed his crate down and fished out Griff’s letter from his jerkin.
The clerk inspected the letter with a tiny spectacle, looked at the two men, back at the letter, down at their crates, and then at the two men again.
“Well, I suppose this will do. The stamp will work in its place. Use the harbour entrance next time though. I don’t want to see these goods passing through the Lower Quarter gate,” the clerk demanded as he spat the words in Novas’ ear.
Novas recoiled, nodded, and then sauntered on through the gate. Novas and Zill passed through a shady archway before the sun beamed down on them again. The street opened up into a wide
pavilion with a size and openness that was a stark contrast to the confined streets of the Lower Quarter.
The Trade District occupied the very center of Amatharsus, and the circular shape of its large plaza was bordered by rising buildings, which their lower floors were used for commercial business, and higher floors for residences and storage. Some of the more prominent trade families could sell their wares out of the ground floor and have their kin overlook the market on the upper tiers. However, these buildings were outnumbered by the sheer volume of stands and makeshift caravans that merchants had sold their wares out of. More permanent installations than the ones found outside the city and in the Lower Quarter, the vendors of the Trade District often employed grandstands, instrumental displays, or stages for services such as barbering or aesthetics. Novas was entranced by the sheer multitude of goods that was sold from that place, and he wondered how far around Malquia all these things had travelled from. Luckily, the layout of the Trade District had been designed for intersecting forms of traffic, so Novas had little trouble wandering around awestruck at the different vendors.
“You’ve never seen the Trade District?” Zill inquired after he deduced the wonderstruck look on Novas’ face.
“No. I can’t say I have,” Novas replied. “Spent most of my time in the harbour slums. What about you?”
“When I was a wee lad. I can’t remember it being this filled. There was much more space back then. Although I can’t see this being bad for business,” Zill recollected.
The stands and stalls were a multitude of form and colour that often matched the vibrant garments of its merchants. Novas’ attention was brought to a stand of three racks that was covered by a purple and white tarp. A merchant stood under the shady cover, listing off the brands of cheeses that were wrapped in elaborate packages.
“Algetti, Eastern Blue, Cold Mountain, Curdsman, and Bolvak Bris. It can be yours!” the round, bearded man boasted as he fanned insects away from his products.
Novas and Zill continued to wander at random, passing vendors who had a rainbow of selection of beads, dyes, cloths, produce, and textiles. Novas’ eyes were brought to a large stall with a display of over one hundred weapons of all sizes, colours, and purposes. Not only were there common weapons such as the sword, the pike, or the axe but also blow darts featuring opulent plumage paired with ornate blow tubes, glossy throwing blades in every shape and style, and some sharp razors that had been mounted onto a real bear claw. Every weapon seemed to be the quality of Kayten’s master craft blades, and they made the rebels’ courtyard arms pale in comparison. The forge-tanned gentleman with a sooty mustache smiled a grin at the wide-eyed lad who looked upon his wares and sensed the appreciation in the artistry of these weapons as well as the warrior’s spirit that is driven to use them.
“See anything you like, lad?” said the weapons vendor, still holding that curved smile.
“Oh yes, I like quite a few of them,” Novas replied but then stood with a pause. “Did you make all these?”
“Every single one. From design to crafting. The name’s Masse… Masse. A. Moone. And don’t you forget,” the man replied.
Novas laughed aloud.
“I won’t,” Novas chuckled before moving on down the street.
He had been so caught up with the sights and the outpouring of commercial banter that he had briefly forgot why he was here. He pulled out the letter from inside his jerkin and scanned it over again. It had no reference about where to find the tradesmaster at all. Having the ability to find the tradesmaster was a test in itself, Novas mused.
Novas had a seat on his crate next to an alleyway on one of the border buildings, put his head in his hands, and thought. As he watched the crowds of customers, citizens, and merchants, nothing seemed apparent on how to decide where he should go. Then, a thought surprised him. Novas couldn’t see the work of the Blackwoods in plain sight. He wondered if the influence of the Blackwoods was hiding somewhere beyond his sight and behind closed doors. It was possible, he surmised, but he needed more direction than a hopeful guess. Where had he seen the Blackwoods before? Novas returned to thinking.
“I’m getting kind of hungry, do you want anything to eat?” Zill offered.
“Nah. I’m alright,” Novas responded with a wave of his hand.
“Alright. Watch my crate for me,” Zill bid Novas.
Novas nodded and watched Zill disappear into the busy crowd. He looked back at Zill’s crate emblazoned with the Blackwoods logo. The crate, the crate, Novas thought to himself. Novas had seen crates like that at the harbour! Suddenly, the idea sprung into his mind, and he had an inkling of where to go. When Zill got back, they would go to the gate that divided the harbour and the Trade District and keep an eye out for incoming Blackwoods crates just like the ones he saw the day he infiltrated the Obsidian.
Before long, Zill had returned and was feasting upon a lamb in a bun, and Novas was looking over the purveyors of the market. The downtrodden youths of the Lower Quarter were absent, effectively removed by the enforcement of the trade pass, and there were few grizzled sailors and fisher folk. The rank odor of warm fish was nowhere to be smelled. Novas had assumed that fish trade had moved into the Lower Quarter exclusively, but he couldn’t be sure. Novas could see theft being a problem in such a busy market with such an open method of trade, but he didn’t believe that that should disqualify the less fortunate from access to these services. There was less roughhousing in the crowds, fewer voices raised in anger, and certainly no drunks.
It had seemed most of the people in the Trade District were presentable and courteous, for there were many clean commoners and those who wore their wealth more in plain sight. There were fabrics embroidered with shiny metals, opulent rings and trinkets on hands, and lengthy or ornate necklaces. Novas had a hunch that the denizens of the Upper Quarter walked amongst the common folk. He wondered what it was like up there as Novas looked north up the arching hill towards the palace spires. All he could imagine was the black and gold shine of sunsteel, for that’s all he could see.
“So, where to?” Zill asked after licking his lips and finishing the last of his meal.
“Over here. I think we need to check out the harbour,” Novas motioned as they picked up their crates and headed back into the flow of the busy market.
A few minutes later, they were watching the traffic from the harbour as they leaned against a wall with one foot on each crate. Novas recalled that he had only seen the Blackwoods crate because the wind had blown open its covering, and Novas had definitely seen enough covered crates already. Which ones to follow, however, he could not be sure. It was only after a box the shape of a coffin had come through that Novas may have had a clue. Most of the deckhands hauling the goods from the harbour had worn the bleached brown of old leathers, but these two in particular wore armbands of a clean and flawless black.
Novas motioned to Zill to follow him, and they picked up their crates and left in a light jog. He was lucky enough to see the length of the crate turn sideways and disappear into an alley not too far from their location. The two dashed to the opening of the alley to keep line of sight with their target and were lucky enough to see the man on the end disappear behind a corner. The alleyways of the Trade District were just as labyrinthine as the ones of the Lower Quarter, and they nearly lost their mark in their pursuit but always managed to keep sight of at least one of them. Eventually, they found themselves at a solid wooden door at the end of an alley. They knew the pair couldn’t have gone any other way, so Zill motioned to Novas, and Novas put three solid knocks upon the door. A large man with rippling muscles, an open fabric vest, and ballooning silk pants opened the door and created an impassable wall himself.
“Can I help you?” the man demanded.
He was the type of man Novas expected to find at the end of a winding alley.
“We’re looking for Varkas. We have these packages for him,” Novas explained as Zill and himself lifted up their goods.
“There�
��s no Varkas here. Scram!” the man said as he backed inside, closing the door.
“Wait! We have this!” Novas exclaimed as he withdrew the letter from inside his jerkin.
The door had just about closed completely but creaked open from the sliver it had been, and a hand reappeared and snatched the letter.
“Wait here,” the man commanded from inside the doorway and glanced over the letter before disappearing back inside.
Novas looked over at Zill and shrugged his arms.
The day began to pass by. They stood long enough to border on annoyance and then knocked upon the door again. There was no answer at this door at all. Novas put his ear to the door but could hear no sound. They both put down their crates and had a seat upon them in the shady alley.
“I betcha they’re getting ready to rob us,” Zill said with a smirk.
“Hah. I wouldn’t doubt it,” Novas laughed.
Even with the light-hearted jest, the idea had left Novas a bit sour, and he wished he had at least brought a knife with him. The alley was unspectacular and boring. Novas inspected the brown brick floor and the gray brick with mortar that made up the walls around him. The ground wasn’t exactly clean, for it had seen its fair share of foot traffic. He looked up to the tile roofing on both sides of the alley. Nothing out of the ordinary. Before Novas was lost in the clouds above, the door opened again, and the man had returned without the letter.
“Follow me,” he commanded.
The two entered into a large building that featured a size and openness that Novas had never imagined before. The roof extended all the way to the height of three floors, and the length of the room continued for some distance. He could not even see the end because a stack of crates obstructed his view. There were piles of crates everywhere. In fact, they seemed to make up a maze of the floor. The man led them around corner after corner until Novas was almost certain he was going in circles. He had definitely lost his way by now, and Zill had only shrugged and smiled when Novas looked back at him. However, there were not only boxes. There was a large and wide assortment of unpackaged items with an amount and diversity that could make an entire market itself. Cloth, jewellery, statues, paintings, armaments, suits of armour and assorted gear, bushels of grain, tubs of oils and liquids, vials and jars of multi-coloured sands. Novas pondered, was this some sort of storage for the market? There could only be so much stock you could fit into that outdoors area, he assumed.