“Angus?” Ortis interrupted. “Do you often talk to yourself in strange languages?”
“Was I mumbling again?” Angus asked. “I have that tendency when I study new and unfamiliar spells. Voltari tried to break me of the habit, but he wasn’t successful. He only stopped me from doing it in front of him.”
Ortis looked up. “The lift is coming. It’s time to gather your things together.”
And my thoughts. Angus nodded and put Teffles’ book—his book now—in his backpack. As he did so, he gradually became aware of a soft, metallic squawk of protest descending from above them. He looked up and saw the source of the noise: a pulley on the lift needed oiling. Then he realized the size of the lift and wondered how they were able to raise and lower it at all.
“We have to wait over there,” Ortis said. “The passengers coming down will be let off first, and then we can board her. Do you mind heights?”
“Heights? No,” Angus said. “Why?”
“They have two sections on the lift. One is completely enclosed, but the other is a kind of balcony where you can look out over the valley as it goes up. It is a wonderful view, and it will give you a better sense of what the terrain around here is like. The enclosed part is mainly for horses; the height makes them uncomfortable and nervous.”
“I think,” Angus said, “I’ll stay in the enclosed area. I don’t mind the openness of the wilderness or walking along the edge of a mountain, but I’m much more comfortable in enclosed spaces. Until I left Blackhaven, I never ventured outside its walls. In fact,” he added, half-smiling, “I was tempted to stay in the stables. They were more like my room at Voltari’s than the inns I’ve stayed in since I left.”
“You still can,” Hobart offered as he joined them. “We paid for both sections and one of the stalls is free.”
Angus shook his head. “It would make visiting the city too complicated.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Ortis said. “You didn’t seem to mind the wait for the lift.”
“You’re right,” Angus said. “It gave me a chance to look at Teffles’ book.”
“Was it interesting reading?” Giorge asked as he settled in a bit too close beside him.
Angus nodded. “What I was able to follow,” he said. “Teffles had his own style of writing, and it will take time for me to interpret it. I’m confident I will be able to do it eventually.”
“How much time do you want?” Hobart asked.
“I’m not sure,” Angus admitted. “Ask me that after three or four days of study. I’ll be able to give you an accurate estimate at that time.”
“We’ll hold you to that,” Hobart said.
The lift was near the platform now, dropping at a slow, steady pace of about fifteen feet per minute. “Why doesn’t it come down faster?” Angus asked.
“Safety,” Hobart said. “Horses don’t like it much when it goes faster than that.”
The lift—little more than a giant wooden box on strings—fell into place next to the platform and settled with a muffled clang. Once it finished shuddering, the guards on the platform hurried up to the sliding doors and unlocked them.
“They lock it from the outside to prevent people from opening it while in transit,” Hobart said. “Before they added that safety feature, there were a few people who panicked and flung themselves out the doors. They probably wouldn’t have done anything about it, but one of the people who plunged to their deaths was a wealthy merchant’s son. They almost got rid of the balcony, too, but too many people complained about it.”
The guards pulled the sliding doors open, their metal rollers grating against the grooves. When they stepped aside, the guards on the inside ushered the passengers off the lift. Those with horses were first, their masters leading them by the reins onto the platform and down a short ramp. Once they were outside the lift area, they mounted their horses and rode off.
“They look like an advance scout party,” Hobart said. “There must be an early caravan coming.”
“You may be right,” Giorge said. “That light blue jerkin is typical of the Western Kingdoms. They’ve got a plant there that creates dyes of that color. I wonder why they’re coming early.”
“It doesn’t matter, does it?” Ortis said. “Or are you planning to guard another one this year?”
“No need,” Giorge laughed, patting the pouch inside his tunic. “We have plenty.”
The passengers who were afoot scampered onto the platform and kept going. When it appeared the last one had gotten off, the guards looked in, nodded, and gestured for those waiting to board the lift to enter. When it was their turn, Giorge and one of Ortis headed to the open-air balcony while Hobart and the other two Ortis joined Angus in the enclosed section. It was a large area, much larger than he had expected, since there were two tiers. The bottom was for the riders, and the top barely had enough room for Hobart to keep from bumping his head. The top tier was well-lit by large openings in the ceiling that let in ample sunlight, and a bench ringed the thirty foot square walls, providing plenty of sitting room. Even after the last passenger had boarded, there was still plenty of room left, but they closed the doors and, less than a minute later, began moving up at the same plodding pace.
“They must have passengers waiting up top,” Hobart said. “Maybe that caravan is already here. Normally they wouldn’t raise the lift until the whole thing was full.”
There was a clicking sound coming from the corners, as if someone was clacking together two metal bars.
“What’s that sound?” Angus asked, tensing despite the fact that the lift had no doubt been used daily for years.
“That is another safety feature,” Ortis said. “It’s a brake system in case the ropes break. There’s a gear system involved, and that clicking happens with it moves from one notch to the next. The notches are arced like a cat’s claw, and they only go in one direction. If they try to go in the opposite direction, the gears catch and hold each other in place. As long as the pulley gears don’t break, it will hold us in place if the ropes give out.”
“I’ve never heard of that happening,” Hobart added. “There really is nothing to worry about.”
“I know,” Angus said, not quite convinced.
“Angus,” Hobart interrupted. “We’ll stop at Hedreth’s long enough to stow our gear and get rooms. After that, we’re going to drop off Teffles’ body and go to the Wizards’ School. The Temple of Muff isn’t on The Rim. We’ll have to get directions to it.”
“And a hand cart,” Ortis said. “I am not carrying this body into the city.”
Hobart nodded. “Easy enough to accomplish,” he said. “There are always carts for rent near the lift area.”
“Do we have to ride a lift down on the other side?” Angus asked, feeling a slight turning in his stomach. It wasn’t quite nauseating, but it was the queasy beginnings of it.
“No,” Hobart said. “There is a ramp and a stair on each wall. They go in opposite directions. We won’t know which one we’ll need to use until we know where the Temple of Muff is.”
“The cart….”
“If the temple is close to the stairwell, I’ll carry Teffles. He isn’t that heavy,” Hobart said.
“No,” Ortis agreed. “But the herbs are wearing off.”
Hobart shrugged. “I’ve smelled worse.”
“I know,” Ortis said, his orange eyes twinkling. “I was there when you did.”
Angus rolled his eyes and snickered.
“Oof,” Hobart said. “It wasn’t my fault, now was it?”
Ortis shrugged. “Nevertheless, I would prefer not to have to deal with this stench.”
“All right,” Hobart said. “Hand cart, Hedreth’s, the Temple of Muff, and the Wizards’ School. Is there anywhere else we need to stop tonight?”
“Giorge says he isn’t staying at Hedreth’s,” Ortis said. “His contacts prefer lodgings that are not so close to the army.”
Hobart nodded. “I thought as much. Tell him h
e has to pay for it himself.”
“He knows.”
“How quiet is Hedreth’s?” Angus asked, a sudden vision of drunken soldiers badly singing bawdy songs came to mind. “I might want to join him.”
“It’s not too bad,” Ortis said. “You should be able to sleep well enough.”
“It’s not sleep I’m concerned about,” Angus said. “I will be spending much of the next few weeks in deep concentration. Unwanted disruptions could be dangerous.”
“Well,” Hobart said. “The common room will be louder than Fenbrooke’s Inn, but your room should be quiet enough. Just ask for one in the basement far from the common room.”
“Yes,” Ortis agreed. “If you found the stables appealing, you’ll be quite comfortable in one of those rooms. They are notched into the wall in the same way as the stables are. Hedreth uses them for storage, but he’s bound to have a few empty ones this time of year. He replenishes his supplies as the caravans pass through.”
“It won’t be furnished, though,” Hobart mused. “Knowing Hedreth, he’ll charge you for moving the furnishings from one of the other rooms into it.”
“I don’t mind,” Angus said. “If it gives me solitude and silence, I will be happy to pay for it.”
“I’ll talk to him about it,” Hobart said. “Since you’re under the protection of my banner, I’m sure he will make allowances. But you may not be able to stay in there for long if the caravans are coming early.”
“Perhaps he can store the goods in the room I would have taken?” Angus suggested.
“Ha!” Hobart said. “Knowing him, he’ll rent that one out too! And with the caravans, there is always someone in need of a room.”
“No point worrying about it,” Ortis said. “We’ll find out when we get there.”
“Right,” Hobart said. “First things first, and the first thing we need to do is get a cart. We’ll worry about Hedreth after that.”
“How far is it to Hedreth’s Inn?” Angus asked as the lift came to a stop.
“About half a mile,” Hobart said. “The area immediately around the lift’s entry point is like the waiting area down below. The marketplace for travelers is next, and the inns are just beyond it. If you want other services, they’re arranged around The Rim in strategic places. If it isn’t there—like those libraries you want to visit—you have to get permission to go into the city proper.”
“They’re ready to open the doors,” Giorge said. “The guard said there’s a caravan waiting, and they want us to hurry. It’s a small one; they’re trying to capitalize on the market before it’s saturated.”
Hobart nodded, watching the passengers line up at the stairs to the first tier. When it began to move, he reached down for the saddlebags he was carrying. Angus followed suit, stepping in line behind him. Ortis picked up Teffles’ body and joined them a few paces behind.
Hobart led them out of the lift and past the waiting throng of the caravan—mostly pack animals and riders—until they reached the edge of the crowd. He led them to the railing on top of the inner wall and said, “Well Angus, there it is: Hellsbreath.”
Angus stepped up to the wall and looked out over the city. In the center was a smoke-colored granite spire that rose almost as high as the walls. At the top of the spire was a circular walkway with three blue-robed wizards on it, one facing him, and the other two facing east and west. He assumed there was a fourth opposite him, facing south, but the spire tip was blocking his view. As his gaze went down, the spire broadened and became a complex cluster of buildings that spread out to form a tight circle at its base. The Wizards’ School, Angus noted. Hobart said it would be easy to find.
The Wizards’ School was ringed by gardens, and fanning out beyond them was a grid of streets arranged in perfect squares. Within each square there were small buildings with wooden roofs and a few stone ones of larger size that seemed to blend into the granite background of the cobblestones. The largest buildings were near the city walls, many of them using that barrier for stability. Some of the large buildings were clearly temples, judging by the ostentatious display of icons in front of them or on their roofs, and he wondered if one of them was the Temple of Muff.
The walls were far from the smooth, mortared barrier he had seen in Wyrmwood; these had stairs and ramps leading up from the city or down from The Rim, most of them only went part of the way, and all of them were lined with cave-like openings. Some of these caves were covered with a drape or wood partition, and he pointed at one and asked, “What’s that?”
Hobart looked and shrugged. “It could be a shop of some sort,” he said. “Or someone’s home. The walls are riddled with them.”
“Doesn’t that weaken their integrity?” Angus asked.
“Not enough to worry about,” Hobart said. “The walls aren’t really here for protection against an army of invaders; they’re here in case the magic keeping the volcanoes at bay fails. When they built them, they expected the population to grow and planned for the expansion. The Wizards’ School draws a lot of people to the city, both the ones who study there and the ones seeking the protection it offers. Most of those openings only go back about ten feet or so; the rest is a façade. A lot of the people who live in them are newcomers trying to survive.”
“All right,” Angus said. “That’s the Wizards’ School, and those buildings near it are houses and the shops that cater to wizards, right? What do the rest of the people do who live here?”
“Different things,” Hobart said. “Some are prospectors. Others provide services to the caravans or soldiers. There are a lot of metalworkers here, too; the volcanoes are excellent heat sources for forges, and they channel the hot air under the city in tubes. A lot of ore comes through here to get smelted. There are farmers, but they stick to the south, just outside the wall. The mountain slopes far more gently in that direction, and it’s quite fertile. The growing season is limited, though. Those are the major enterprises; the minor ones are too numerous to list.”
“The large buildings near the walls are mainly storage,” Giorge added. “They have to stock up on supplies when the caravans come through, and they store the surplus in them. There’s a lot of trade here even outside of the caravan season.”
“Wyrmwood has coal mines,” Angus said. “What do they mine here?”
“Gems, mainly,” Giorge said. “The volcanoes are too unstable for mining gold and silver unless it’s near the surface. There’s some iron, too. Not much; the dwarves are pretty thorough.”
“Don’t forget the fertilizer,” Ortis said. “See that smoke over there?” he pointed to where threads of smoke rose above the southeast corner of the town. “They have a crusher by the river where it bends south. After it rains, they go out and gather up the hardened layer of ash and bring it back. The crusher—it’s like the millstone they use to grind grain seeds into flour—grinds the ash into a fine powder, and then the wizards use their magic to separate out the bad stuff. They fill wagons and oxcarts with what’s left over and take it into the Western Kingdoms, where it’s most needed. The winds generally blow east, like they are today, and it takes the ash with it, spreading it as it goes. The plains of Tyr are quite fertile because of it, so Tyr doesn’t need the fertilizer.”
“If you go south,” Ortis added, “don’t drink the water in the river until you pass the rapids. They’re about six miles from the city. You’ll know why when you see the river.”
“Let’s get that cart,” Hobart said. “We can talk while we walk if you want.”
“One last thing,” Angus said. “I’ve noticed a few temples down there; do you know which one is devoted to Muff?”
“No,” Hobart said. “We didn’t know Teffles long enough to find out anything about his beliefs.”
“All right,” Angus said. “Where’s the cart?”
“This way,” Hobart said, leading them along. “It’s too bad the caravan wasn’t larger. It’s an amazing site to see them crossing over the town.”
“W
here’s the bridge?” Angus asked. “I thought you said it spanned the city from one lift to the other.”
“It does,” Ortis said. “But you can’t see it unless it’s in use.”
“The wizards built it,” Hobart added, as if that was explanation enough.
And it was; Angus nodded knowingly and decided he would have to take a long look at it when it was more convenient to do so. For now, there was too much to do, and he couldn’t even give it even a casual glance….
8
“Do you know of a cobbler named Ungred?” Angus asked the man pulling the cart carrying Teffles’ body. He was a stout, barrel-chested man a few inches shorter than himself, and he seemed to guide the cart with little effort. His clothes were the standard fare—wool tunic and breeches, leather boots, belt—but he kept them cleaner than most of the people he had so far seen in Hellsbreath. If it weren’t for the sweat stains under the armpits of his tunic, Angus would be tempted to think he lived a life of leisure with servants to do his bidding.
“Aye,” he drawled. “He’s a fine one, that Ungred. His shop is not far from the ramp entrance. Wall side, whitewashed, no sign. He doesn’t have to advertize; everybody knows he makes a fine pair of boots. Costly though.”
“How costly?” Angus asked.
Ungred shrugged. “Enough he doesn’t haggle. He usually has back orders lined up for weeks. Caravans come through, make an order, and when they return, he has them waiting. Even that little one that went through today will probably keep him busy for a week or two.”
Angus frowned. “If I order a pair, I’ll have to wait until he has time to make them, then?”
The man shrugged. “Have to ask him,” he said. “He’s been known to make exceptions. For a price.”
They walked in silence for a little while, Hobart behind the cart and Angus walking beside the cart man. The slope of the ramp was significant but not overwhelming, and he fought against it to keep his cart from propelling him forward at a reckless speed. When they reached the bottom of the slope, he moved the cart to the side of the road and set it down so he could flex his fingers and shake his arms for several seconds. “It won’t be long now,” he said, gripping the handles and lifting the cart up again. “Three streets over.”
The Tiger's Eye (Book 1) Page 16