by Thomas Sabel
A ship hove into the harbor, looking remarkably different from the rest, like she had caught the wrong end of a storm. Most of the once beautiful paint had flaked off and was replaced with a rough paint job covering the bare wood like a battle-scarred crocodile. All that remained of her former glory were her graceful lines showing that she was built for speed. She sailed into the harbor with a practiced quietness. Because of the stillness, their voices carried over the harbor. To Ulrik it was the gibberish of sailor-talk: starboard this, port that, stow the line, heave to. No words that mattered to him. Suddenly, he snapped to attention.
“Edgar, listen to them,” he pointed to the ship. “Their voices sound familiar.”
“But Uley, we don’t know nobody here.”
“Be quiet and listen.” They both leaned toward the sailors’ talk.
“Uley, they sound like . . .”
“. . . the men at the beach who were looking for us. Let’s get out of here before they see us.” As carefully as they could, they ran atop the rotting pier and made their way into the maze of tackle shops, ships chandlers, saloons, and boarding houses lining the wharves and searched for some alley to hide in. The densely crowded harbor had a business tucked into every nook and cranny, some shops no wider than a doorway. Every type of person imaginable jostled along the narrow streets, crowding out Ulrik and Edgar’s chance of finding a hidden refuge. Finally, the pair broke free of the crowds and made their way up a steep street when they heard someone running up behind them. They looked for an opening but found none.
“Here’s your cross!” Barty yelled, holding out the necklace for Ulrik to grab like a relay runner passing the baton. “Hurry, we need to get out of here!”
Running after Barty the best he could, Ulrik panted along, dodging shoppers, vendor’s carts, and passers-by. “What happened?” he said.
“Sore losers,” Barty replied.
“Barty, what did you do?” Ulrik accused.
“I played fair. I even used their dice. Let’s find a better part of town.”
Their legs ached after the hard climb up the cliff-side streets of Aeolioanopolis, Exhausted, they found an inn with the sign: “The Perch- Lodging, Meals, Hot Baths at Reasonable Prices.” They stopped, breathing hard. Between gasps of air, Ulrik said, “Looks like the place. Hope they let us in.”
“I’ve got a key that opens many doors,” said Barty as he jangled a make-shift bag of coins. “Let me handle it.” He went in and within a few minutes a serving girl came out.
“This way, please.” She kept her eyes cast down to avoid looking at them. Instead of taking them through the front door, she led them around the back through the kitchen pantry and up the back stairs. “I hope this will be to your liking, sirs,” she said after opening a door and directing them in.
Steam poured from the room she showed them. From within Barty called, “The water’s great, come in and have a good long soak.” Ulrik stripped and joined his cousin immediately; Edgar hesitated.
“It’s all right, Edgar, it feels great,” reassured Ulrik.
“Never had a bath before,” he said. “Might hurt.”
Barty rose from the water, steam pouring off his body. He wrapped a towel around himself and crossed the room, “Edgar, you did a great favor for me once, and I didn’t deserve it. Let me repay in a small way. Believe me, you’ll never be the same after a good long soak.” He carefully helped Edgar out of the rags he wore, handing him a fresh towel to hide his embarrassment. Edgar, not used to the lives of the nobility, grew red, clutched the towel in front of him and refused to let go of it as he stepped into the water.
“It’s hot,” Edgar said.
“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it,” Ulrik said, coaxing him in.
Edgar attempted to sit down but as he neared the water, he stood up. Once, twice, but then the third time he sat in the tub. A sigh of gentle relief eased from the big man as the water pulled the ache and tension from his bones.
“Barty, what did you tell the innkeeper?” asked Ulrik.
“I told him,” a broad grin covered his face, “as little as possible. Like I said, some keys open all doors. The innkeeper let us in, but I don’t trust him.”
“Why were we brought in through the back?” Ulrik asked.
“I said you and your servant, Edgar, were painfully shy and discretion would be richly rewarded.”
After a few minutes of meditative soaking, Ulrik pondered aloud, “How much did you win at your gambling?”
“The value of half a ship’s cargo,” said Barty. Ulrik’s jaw dropped.
“And I used their dice, not mine,” added Barty
“We certainly were blessed by that bit of luck,” said Ulrik
Edgar chimed in, “Helga always told me that there’s no such thing as luck.”
With their newly gained wealth they bought new clothes to replace their rags. Much to Barty’s chagrin, Ulrik insisted that they dress plainly to blend in as much as possible. Dressed in their new clothes, they set out to explore more of Aeolianopolis. No longer did the jeers of “beggar or scum,” greet them at every turn.
No one noticed them as outsiders because the city was filled with people from many lands, different types of people dressed in a great variety of styles. Ulrik could spot the merchants and sailors easily enough, for all sailors carried a certain swagger and the merchants wore a hunger for profits. Ships of all sizes and shapes had begun filling the harbor so that even the rotting wharf they had once sat on was pressed into service for the ships arriving late.
“I never knew the world was filled with so many kinds of people,” Ulrik said to no one in particular.
“You haven’t seen half of it,” a gentle voice commented. A middling man stood next to him, of middle age and middle height. Little distinguished him from the rest of the people that they had met on the streets and markets during their past two weeks in Aeolianopolis, except for the aura of peace around him. “You’re new, aren’t you? If you were from here this would all be familiar to you. And you’d know why the harbor is so busy this time of the year,” he said as he turned to go. “If you need help, maybe you should check your map. Pax et Bonum.” The crowd absorbed him and he disappeared from sight.
“How did he know about the map?” said Ulrik, worried over the stranger’s suggestion. His worry, however, didn’t prevent him from taking out the scroll and looking at it.
Aeolianopolis appeared larger than when he last looked at the map. The gap in the mountain appeared in greater detail. The vast area beyond the gap bore the label, “Desert of Hope” and beyond the desert a second mountain range appeared faintly.
“The map looks different,” Edgar observed.
“You’re right. This is very peculiar. Look where we came from; some of the markings are barely visible and where we are going is bigger than it was.” said Ulrik.
“Where did the map come from,” Barty asked.
“The Mage said he took it from the castle’s archives. I don’t think he had any idea what it does. I’m thankful we have it,” said Ulrik.
“Amen,” added Edgar.
“The map is directing us across the desert,” Ulrik said. “I don’t know what’s on the other side of the desert, but that’s where we’re being led.”
“How are we supposed to get across this Desert of Hope? Strange name for a desert,” said Barty.
Without a real plan they went to explore the greater parts of the city in the hopes of discovering something that would answer their questions. On their wanderings through the city they kept hearing bits and pieces of conversations that enabled them to piece together what they needed to know. They learned that once a year a great storm struck the coast, headed by a forceful wind. The mountains funneled the storm through the gap. The people of the city had learned to harness this wind by sailing upon its front edge in ships that floated through the sky like giant dandelion seeds. The silken sails of these ships were the size of clouds. The ships suspended beneath these sail
s were made like baskets that, despite their appearance, were extremely strong and could withstand the impact of landing on the far side of the desert where Aeolianoplis’ older sister city, Ruachlahem, lay.
The slightest error in setting up the ship would send it and its crew crashing into the side of the mountain or face being dragged along the desert floor. A mistake in navigation meant a desert crash and death. The spices they carried fetched the highest prices and each successful flight over the desert brought a fortune to the captain and crew. The most successful of these sky-captains was Bombastus Euphrates, captain of Hurricane’s Handmaiden.
“Crazy, that one,” said a woman in the market. “I won’t let my man sail with him even if we’d be all the richer for it. He takes too many risks crossing the Hopeless Desert.”
“Hopeless Desert?” asked Ulrik, “I heard it was called the Desert of Hope.”
“Hope?” she laughed. “Ain’t no hope in that place; nothin’ but more’n a thousand miles of desert and rock. Nothing lives there. You fall over the skyship’s side and you’re dead. That place claimed many a good man, like my brother, Solomon.” She moved away, embarrassed by her tears appearing in front of strangers.
After a while they decided that more could be learned if they split up. Barty decided to return to the harbor even though it remained a dangerous place. They needed information and harbor fronts are always full of news. Ulrik took Edgar back to the inn with instructions to wait for his or Barty’s return since the pair of them stood out too much.
Ulrik felt drawn to hike the road up the cliff. The steady climbing strained his legs. Even though they had been in the city for a while, they were not yet used to the constant ascending and descending the thousand stairs they met at every turn. Up and up he climbed, noticing that as he moved higher, the houses grew larger and more palatial. The people he met wore finer clothes and carried themselves more elegantly so that he felt out of place, an odd feeling as he was of royal blood. Eventually, he passed by the houses of the wealthy and discovered more rocks and fewer stairs. Not many people came to this place he realized, as the few steps he found there crumbled under his feet. When he saw the mountain’s summit, the urge to reach it growing stronger and stronger. He struggled to finish the climb as the jagged edges of the rocks cut his hands when he reached out to catch himself with each stumbling step.
The desert stretched out before him. The mountain dropped straight down as if it had been sliced with a knife, for a sheer cliff dropped for more than a mile. A rock rolled from under his feet and fell noiselessly out of sight. As he looked out, the brightness of the desert first blinded him. Such a vastness of space with nothing to break the view, no fields, no green plants, no trees, not so much as a large rock, only the unbroken waves of sand. From his perch he felt the moisture being drawn out of him as a magnet draws iron. The desert pulled on his breath. He began feeling dizzy, pulled toward the emptiness, toward the hot, burning emptiness before him. Gone from his heart were the cries of his father, gone from his soul was the love from Helga, gone from his mind was his devotion to Edgar and Barty. There was only the lure of the emptiness, the nothingness drawing him towards it. He felt his feet begin to shift beneath him but he no longer cared.
He was about to fall when he was pulled back from the precipice. “That’s no way to reach your goal.” It was the same man with the peaceful mien who knew the secrets of the map. “This is a very dangerous place. The desert’s call seduces, but this isn’t the way to answer it. Come away from the edge.”
Slowly, Ulrik’s senses returned. “I almost fell. I wanted to fall. I wanted to give it all up; to end it all. I’m tired of it all. I’m tired of the wandering, tired of the looking, tired of wondering who or what will happen next. I’m tired and I wish that I were back . . .” He broke off his sentences because he realized that his words came too freely for the stranger’s ears. Still, there was something about this man that evoked trust. His calm peace, his being at the right place at the right time, it all moved together so that Ulrik wanted to reach out to him.
“You need to return to your friends. The end hasn’t come yet, and you know it. Remember this: greater strength lies in weakness more than you realize. I believe you can make your way back down now,” said the stranger.
“Won’t you come with me,” Ulrik pleaded.
“No. I need to stay here a while longer, “Pax et Bonum.” the stranger said and smiled such that confidence filled the prince for his return to the main part of the city.
Ulrik began the long descent. Before going too far he turned to see the stranger kneeling where he had been standing, facing the desert.
Edgar had dutifully remained at the inn. Ulrik found him sweeping the back courtyard. “Needed something to do,” Edgar explained. “Missed Uley too much.”
“You’re finally back,” growled the innkeeper. “Your big friend was moping around here, whimpering and following me around so I stuck a broom in his hands to keep him busy. But look at the mess he’s made of it. I’ll have to do it all over again. Give me that!” he snatched the broom out of Edgar’s hand and attacked the spot where Edgar had attempted to sweep. Edgar looked to the ground, eyes sagging with hurt. The innkeeper muttered something about a big, dumb ox and walked away.
“Sorry, Uley.”
“I probably shouldn’t have let you alone for so long. Let’s get out of here.”
“What about Lord Bartemeus?”
“After what we’ve been through, call me Barty,” said a familiar voice.
Turning, they looked at him and exclaimed, “What in the world happened to you this time?” Barty’s right sleeve hung by four threads, flecks of blood decorated his shirt, a bruise spread across his nose extending to each of his eyes. As he entered the courtyard they saw he tried to hide a limp.
“You weren’t cheating at dice were you?” accused Ulrik.
“As tempting as it was, no. I wasn’t gambling at all. I met some old friends of ours.”
“It was the pirates—wasn’t it? What did they want?” said Ulrik
“They hurt Barty!” Edgar exclaimed.
“Don’t worry, I’m all right. I may be bruised but I learned much. Let’s get something to drink and I’ll tell you about it.”
Over a pitcher of punch flavored with the delicate spices that can only be found in Aeolioanopolis, he told them what happened. “I wasn’t sure what I was looking for. I was trusting to luck I would find with we needed, and I did, in spades.” he rubbed his bruises. “We were right. The pirates are looking for you. I think the wizard is scared we’ll get the ionia flower and bring it back.”
Barty’s statement stunned Ulrik. Didn’t the wizard want him to succeed? Wasn’t it true that only he could find and bring the flower? Hadn’t he alone been given this mission? He knew that evil beyond all understanding filled the wizard, but couldn’t evil be used for good?
“Uley . . . Uley . . . Ulrik!” Barty’s voice pulled him out of his thought. “We have to go on. We have to get out of here before it’s too late. They know you’re here. They thought I was connected to you and that’s why they did this.” He opened his shirt revealing a red and blistered spot the size of a dinner plate. Edgar stared, a sympathetic tear rolling down his cheek.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t say anything. We’ve got to find this captain we keep hearing about, this Bombastus Euphrates.
“Who spoke my name!” erupted a man on the other side of the room. The size of the voice matched the man. When he stood up, he filled the entire room. In four great strides he was the table, looming over them, arms on his hips. “Which of you said my name?” Deep blue eyes glared out from under reddish- grey brows, riveting each of them to the spot with a long and deliberate stare. Under his steady glaze they wilted. “I know it was one of you.” His growl vibrated the glasses on the table. Barty timidly raised his eyes and replied, “I did, sir.”
“You did, eh?” His scowl furrowed his brow into deep ravines. “Well, glad to meet
you.” An enormous smile split his face. “Had you going, lads! Why are three young . . . uh . . . gentlemen looking for the likes of me?” He pulled a chair from the table, gave it a spin around, straddled it and sat with his arms crossed on the chair’s back.
“We need to get across the Desert of Hope,” Ulrik blurted.
“Desert of Hope? Only the oldest folks call it that. Where’d you learn that name?” He leaned forward and studied the prince, boring a hole into him with his eyes.
“Read it in the . . .” Edgar started to say but a quick look from Ulrik stopped him.
“Read it, eh?” The captain relaxed and leaned back. “No matter. Keep your secrets. Most men around here have more than their share.” He leaned in again. “I hope you realize that this is a business proposition,” he said, raising an eyebrow
“Don’t worry, we can pay,” Barty told him.
“By the looks of what happened to you, somebody already made you pay plenty!” he roared in laughter.
Barty pulled out the pouch of their money and set it on the table making sure the coins rattled as they hit it.
“It wasn’t money they were after, was it?” questioned the big man as he stood up, leaned in with his knuckles on the table and said, “I’ll take you lads, and my fee for you three little lambs . . .” He reached into the pouch unopposed and took out three of the smallest coins. “ . . . is one of these for each of you. Meet me at the Gap, Dock Number One, find the Hurricane’s Handmaiden. Looks like the weather’ll be up in three days. Be there or miss out. Storms and Bombastus Euphrates wait for no one, no matter who their parents are!” He turned from the table left with a roaring laugh and threw the coins to the innkeeper, “Use it to buy a few rounds for the house.” The innkeeper pocketed the money and eyed Ulrik, Edgar, and Barty.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Barty was put to bed to recuperate. Ulrik and Edgar set about making preparations for their journey. As they neared the Gap, the vendors of charms and talismans competed for travelers’ attention by barking their wares: “Best charms here!” “Guaranteed protection!” “Wear this, be safe.” “This one’s made from potent vulture livers.” Amidst the noise and chaos of the marketplace, a small doorway radiating quiet was out of place. Recognizing the same perfume of sweet smoke that had drifted in Elijah and Joanna’s cabin, Ulrik moved toward the door. He and Edgar entered to find an enormous stone table holding a large open book in the center of the room. A brass container stood on a nearby table—blue smoke curled upwards, making small clouds on the ceiling. When they neared the table, a short man rushed out from a shadow with hands outstretched to snatch up the book.