by AC Cobble
Lying there on the deck of the ship, staring at the billowing sails snapping in the wind overhead, and trying to ignore the stench of the wet rope behind his back, Ben wondered if Renfro’s way was better. A life unmuddled by concerns about others. It seemed simpler. Ben had certainly seen his share of trouble trying to help others recently. The fights at Murdoch’s and in Fabrizo wouldn’t have happened if he’d kept to himself.
Ben was still contemplating the simple life of Renfro when he went to talk to Lady Towaal about keeping him in the group past Whitehall. He found her leaning against the rail, staring into the depths of the Blood Bay.
As he approached, she waved him closer and pointed down toward the water. Ben was startled when he noticed several large shapes coursing through the water and keeping speed with the ship.
Lady Towaal explained, “Black sharks. They follow ships all the time this close to Whitehall. No one is really sure why, but the popular story among sailors is that they smell human blood. They say that when the Blood Bay earned its name, these sharks fed for years on the corpses of the losers.”
“Blood Bay. Why is it called that?” Ben asked. “I’ve heard the stories of course, but I don’t know how much truth there is to them.”
“You might be surprised,” Towaal replied. “There is sometimes more truth in stories than there is in the histories. Both the stories and the histories of the Blood Bay are one in the same though. Long ago, almost three hundred years past, the leaders of Whitehall and Issen became upset with each other. They were powerful cities with powerful leaders, much like they are now. It was over some simple offense, a raised tariff or spurned marriage proposal from a cousin. The details of how it started have been forgotten and aren’t really that important.”
“What happened after is important,” continued Towaal, “though its lesson has also been forgotten. The two rulers started collecting allies and making strategic military moves they said to thwart the aggressor. Even at the time, it was difficult to tell which one of them was supposed to be the aggressor and which was the defender.”
“They were both powerful enough that eventually nearly every nation and city state within two hundred leagues of the Bay had been drawn in on one side or the other. One summer, a small skirmish set it off. They called all of their armies together and planned to march to what would have been assured mutual destruction. The forces were so large that whichever side won, the loss of life would have been catastrophic. The land would have been stripped of farmers, wheelwrights, carpenters, fishermen, and all of the other common men and specialists that make our civilization work. Those outside of Whitehall and Issen were extremely concerned of course, but what could they do? Who had the power to stop something like that when both sides had already accumulated so much might?”
“Fortunately, a huge storm came out of nowhere and it rained for weeks. The roads became impassable and the men were washed out of their camps. Critical bridges were destroyed by flooding, mountain passes blocked due to landslides. All of both nation’s resources and manpower had been devoted to the military build, so nothing could be quickly repaired.”
“The pitched battle had been averted, but both sides were still unwilling to back down. The war took place across this bay. It grinded on for years because neither force could gain a decisive advantage. In the end, it wasn’t much better than the catastrophe the storms had delayed. Finally, the people of Issen grew sick of the war and called their troops home.”
“The ruler of Whitehall named himself emperor and king and claimed dominion over most of central Alcott. Sadly for him and his heirs, they found that they didn’t have the men to work or protect that land. Fields went fallow, nets were left untended, cities abandoned, and so on. The dark forces—goblins, demons, and worse—found a toehold in our world. It took a century to battle them back. In some remote places in the world, they still exist in serious enough numbers to pose a threat. The one we killed in Farview is child’s play compared to the demon swarms they faced after the Blood Bay. The lesson was obvious at the time. The victor of the great battles ended up losing more than they gained. The fighting and bloodshed had been pointless. Too few remember the lessons of the past. It’s just pages in a book now.”
Lady Towaal finished her narrative and continued staring at the black sharks flanking the ship. She appeared to be lost in her thoughts, and Ben was afraid to interrupt her.
Her story surprised him. He’d heard numerous accounts of various battles, the heroism each side displayed, and the glory when it was all over. He had never heard it quite like this. The way Lady Towaal described it, both sides had tasted bitter defeat in the end. In the stories, there was always a winner and a loser. The winner took the battlefield and the spoils. The loser went home in shame. It never occurred to him what happened when the winner went home.
After a moment, he decided to risk a question. “So, does this mean that technically Argren of Whitehall is my king? In Farview, we never really paid attention to that kind of thing.”
For the first time Ben had seen, Towaal smiled. “No, the leaders of Whitehall still claim the title of king, but over the years that portion of the map has been shrinking. In reality, their reign doesn’t extend much further than the walls of Whitehall and the Sineook Valley by proxy. If you want to be technical, on the maps, Farview falls within the realm of Issen. I suspect, though, that you haven’t seen a tax collector in your lifetime. Lord Gregor probably wouldn’t remember where to send them if he became so inclined. You are right to not pay much attention. For the common man, it only matters that you are left alone to live your life. Lines on the map, that only matters to scholars and rulers.”
She frowned. “Enough history. That’s not what you came to ask. What is it? The world is a big and scary place and you’re looking to turn back? No one could blame you after what’s happened over the last few weeks.”
“No, I, uh, I want to continue with you. I want to see this through.”
“Good,” she replied with a nod.
He thought he detected a hint of another smile. “I, actually, I came to ask if Renfro could continue on with us. Despite his past, he’s a good man. I think we could use him.”
Towaal paused and gave Ben a long appraising look before answering. “Make sure he keeps his hands to himself.”
7
Whitehall
The next morning, Ben lined the rail with Meghan, Amelie, Meredith, and Renfro. None of them had ever seen the great city of Whitehall. Even for someone who was used to big cities like Amelie, it was a sight to behold when approached from the sea.
When the shore first came into view, they could only see a long stretch of somber grey cliffs topped with the occasional splash of verdant green forest. Above the forest in the distance, a jagged mountain range tore into the sky.
The city of Whitehall was a brilliant beacon shining out from the grim coastline. In the morning sun, the white of the buildings reflected like a diamond. As they sailed closer, Ben saw that there were virtually no flat areas in the city – it seemed to grow straight out of the water in a dazzling pile of limestone and marble. The buildings were built up from the huge port and stacked in tiers climbing all the way up the cliff. He could see wide boulevards zigzagging up through the city. It wasn’t until they were nearly inside the seawall that he was able to make out tiny spots of color in doorways and windows that marked the only breaks in the white stonework.
In the center of the city, the White River poured down through a steep mountain pass into a large reservoir, spilled over a low retaining wall, then flowed more peacefully through the rest of the city and into the Blood Bay. From one angle, the river appeared to cleave the city in two. From another, the two wings of the city appeared to be some mythical beast perched above the reservoir and port.
Surrounding the port was a thick rock seawall that protected the city from the weather and raiding armies. The only break in the wall was framed by two squat fortresses Amelie called the Rock and the Rock Two.
&
nbsp; Ben couldn’t tell the difference between them, but the huge trebuchets sitting atop looked intimidating enough to scare off all but the most determined attackers.
Once they safely passed through the Rocks, Amelie was able to point out a few other landmarks she’d heard of. “The Great Market there is supposed to be the only flat part of this city, and I believe it now. Beyond that is the cathedral which they say was erected after the Blood Bay War when the leaders of Whitehall claimed they were God Kings. They’ve since dropped the god title but maintain the building. Way up at the top is the Citadel—King Argren’s residence. That’s where we’ll stay.”
“Hold on!” exclaimed Renfro. “We’re staying at the king’s house?”
“Well, when you put it like that, I guess we are,” she replied. “There are hundreds if not thousands of people who live there though. It’s not like we’re sharing his bathing chambers.”
“Still,” Renfro nudged Ben. “Pretty fancy.”
Ben smiled and tried to take it all in. The port was unlike anything he had even imagined. Where Fabrizo’s port was spread out across several miles of mainland and islands, Whitehall’s massive docks were all behind the seawall and clustered at the base of the city. Earlier, Saala had explained to Ben that Whitehall, on the western shores of the Blood Bay, was more susceptible to fall storms than the eastern shore. The sea wall was built to allow merchants to continue business throughout the year. While several of the cities on the western shores had protected ports, none rivaled Whitehall in scale. Saala said it was the largest port in the known world, and from what Ben could see as they approached, he thought it might be true.
In the port, a veritable forest of ship masts sprouted up. Ben attempted to count the masts but he gave up when he got over one hundred and wasn’t a third of the way along. There were large merchant cogs like they were on, small skiffs darting about between ships, and he spied several man-o-wars slowly making their way out of the port into the bay.
One of the small skiffs started toward them at the same time Rhys came to lean next to the young people. He gestured to the little boat and explained, “That’s a port pilot. They’ll guide us into an available dock. Shouldn’t be too long before we tie up. Best go get packed if you’re not.”
The girls darted off to gather their things. Neither Ben nor Renfro actually owned much, so they had been packed since early morning.
Rhys continued, “I heard Amelie tell you where we are staying. Not my type of people, but you can’t complain. We won’t find any better accommodations in the city. Good drink, good food, and good beds. Take advantage, lads. Some of these city girls are drawn toward the adventuring type and they’re wild. Not like the country bumpkins you’re used to. There’s more to it than breeding. My advice, find a nice experienced girl and let her teach you a thing or two.”
A flush crept into Ben’s face and he decided to divert the conversation. Rhys had offered his advice before, and it always carried a similar theme. “Will we meet the king?”
“Not us hopefully. Keep away from lords and ladies, lad. They all play the same game. You’re just a piece on the board to them. All they care about is money and power. If they have one, they want the other. If they have both, they want more. Remember that.”
Ben frowned, “Amelie’s a lady, and she’s not like that.”
Rhys shrugged. “We’ll see.”
Ben tried to put the conversation with Rhys behind him as they moved toward the city. The man was an enigma to Ben. He acted like a friend, but he kept plenty of secrets. He worked as a hunter out of the City for members of the Sanctuary, but his open disdain of mages and his disagreements with Towaal didn’t seem to match his apparent job. For someone who counted on Sanctuary business for his income, he wasn’t very supportive of their activities.
Ben shook his head and slipped below deck to get his pack. Whitehall was one of the grandest cities in the world and he wasn’t going to let creeping doubts about his companions ruin the experience.
The first pilot skiff had darted back into the port after they announced highborn guests, and they were now being led in by a second skiff to their dock. The sailors were quickly stowing equipment, tying down lines, and preparing bumpers in a flurry of activity that Ben still could not understand after three weeks at sea. The captain adopted a frosty attitude after he learned the identity of his passengers. Renfro speculated he probably would have tried to charge them double for passage if he’d known.
When Ben returned topside, Meghan was standing at the rail looking up in awe at the city rising before them. The two of them were the only ones who didn’t have much experience with cities, and they were both excited and nervous about Whitehall and the rest of the journey.
Meghan told Ben she was growing uncertain about her decision to join the Sanctuary. It had seemed so simple back in Farview. After learning more of what to expect from Towaal and Amelie though, it was more complicated than she’d realized. She hadn’t come to grips with how her life would change. After this journey, Ben planned to return to Farview and resume his life. Nothing would ever be the same for her.
Ben’s worries about Whitehall were more straightforward and immediate. At Murdoch’s, he’d been nearly beaten to a pulp in the common room, and in Fabrizo, he’d been knocked out and imprisoned. So far, his luck out in the world was not very good. His excitement about seeing Whitehall was tempered with concerns around what other kinds of trouble he may find himself in.
At the railing, Amelie and Meredith joined them. “Are you excited about the city, Ben?”
“I think so. I was excited about Fabrizo too and that didn’t go well.” Ben at least had no secrets from his companions.
Renfro broke in, “Didn’t go well? You met me!”
“I see your point, Ben.” Amelie gave Renfro a sidelong glance and he effected a hurt expression. She continued, “We shouldn’t have any of those problems in Whitehall. Fabrizo is ruled by the Merchants Guild and the lack of a single strong ruler leads to delays and confusion. It allows for groups like the Thieves’ Guild to flourish. Some even say the two guilds are one in the same.”
Renfro blurted, “They’re not the same! The Thieves steal from the Merchants’ Guild as much as they steal from anyone. In fact, the Merchants have a bounty out on any known thief.”
“Maybe you’re right, but Whitehall is different. Argren rules with a heavy hand and he doesn’t allow any sources of power aside from his own. At the first hint of something like a Thieves’ Guild, he won’t just offer a bounty. He’ll task his soldiers to root it out branch and stem. They’ll turn the entire city upside down before they allow a group like that to exist. The common people don’t allow it either. They’d rather deal with the problem themselves than have Argren’s men come down on them.”
“Have you met the king?” Ben asked.
“No, I haven’t,” she responded. “My father has and he described him as a hard man. He’s had the rule in Whitehall for almost forty years now and many say he’s the most powerful man in Alcott. I wouldn’t argue against that. When you’ve had that much power for that long, it can change you, I hear.”
“Are you worried about him? I mean, you’re going to have to make an appearance, right?”
Amelie blushed. “It’s a little more than that. My father sent me as an envoy and asked me to relay a message to Argren.”
There’s always more to it, thought Ben. “What message? If it’s okay for me to know…”
“It’s no secret really, not now that we are here. King Argren wants my father to join his Alliance. The Coalition wants us to join them instead. Issen is stuck in the middle and my father is worried that either way he goes, we will bear the brunt of any fighting that starts. I’m here to gain assurances from Argren that if we join him, he will lend us troops and other aid.”
Ben scratched his head. “I was born in Coalition territory, before we moved to Farview, and I remember my father telling me it was a horrible place. The Coalition doesn�
��t allow a man to live his life freely. The Coalition says they are building a better world but it seemed to only work out better for the people at the top. They said they were going to make everything fair and provide the people what they need—things like setting up schools, providing medicines, and everyone getting a fair shot no matter how high or common their blood. But someone’s got to pay for all of that. Taxes quadrupled in two years. At least, that’s what my father said. How could your father want his people to be a part of something like that? Argren is building his Alliance to fight that, right, to make sure people are protected and have the freedom to choose things on their own?”
Amelie smiled a sad smile.
As they docked and disembarked, Ben felt like he was still rocking with the waves. He felt the thrill of seeing a city he had heard so many stories about, but the world wasn’t as simple of a place as it used to be. Things were changing quickly and he was a small boat on a large open sea.
Renfro pulled him out of his gloomy thoughts. He was close to Ben in age, but sometimes he still acted like a child. In this case, his excitement about getting to Whitehall and escaping Fabrizo was infectious. He bolted down the gangplank as soon as it was lowered and spun back to face the group with a broad smile on his face.
They followed Renfro down and Ben realized that while Renfro had seemed worldly and confident in Fabrizo, his experience with the world wasn’t very broad. Renfro had spent his entire life on the islands of Fabrizo. Whitehall was just as alien and strange to him as it was Ben and Meghan.
They dodged through the hustle and bustle down by the docks toward a large structure by the Great Market. That part of the city felt remarkably similar to the docks in Fabrizo, and despite the chaos, Ben found he enjoyed it. A cacophony of languages, sights, and smells mixed into an intoxicating cocktail that tasted like adventure.
The large structure housed the base of something called the Funicular. It was the quickest—and most expensive—way to move through the city of Whitehall. The city was built on a steep incline, nearly vertical, and climbing from port to Citadel on the zigzagging streets would take half a day on foot.