A Fist Full of Sand
Page 10
Even the loss of my daggers couldn’t dampen my wonder of the city for long. The midmorning crowds got thicker as we approached the market, human and dwarven, halfling and elven, and sometimes a clockwork man, each one built to a wholly unique design and style.
“They say the gnomes built them.” Sarah told me when I pointed them out.
“What’s a gnome?”
“A kind of dwarf, I think. No one’s really sure. They’re all extinct now. They came from the island of Miahlis, in the middle of the Miahan Sea, and had daughter cities all over the world. They say gnomish cities were entirely automated, running on clockwork, like, well, like clockwork. They believed in a kind of utopia, without guards or beasts of burden or servants. There’s a gnomish city under Triport, even.”
“What happened to them?”
“The one under Triport got buried under piles of ash and lava the last time Mt. Temperament erupted. The island of Miahlis sank. Everyone says gnomes must have been so clever, since no one has been able to replicate their engineering, but I think if they were so smart, why does everything they made work so strangely?”
We stepped aside to let a boarox bus go past, and I tried to look like some other halfling, in case the driver was friends with the last one I ran into.
“We had a gnomish pasta making machine, once, that someone traded to Isha. It was terrible. It spat dough all over everything, which hardened like concrete, and then it kept gathering up ingredients all by itself, and then it wouldn’t turn off. Mother finally subdued it with a frying pan. I think, if it was any example, the gnomes probably sank their own island and set off Mt. Temperament, too. It certainly hasn’t erupted like that in the thousand years since.”
I was still chewing over this as we came to the market area Ramsey and I had visited earlier.
“Umm, I heard you need special permission to get in there.” I said, worriedly. I wondered if Sarah would be fine with meeting me in there after I snuck in over the rooftops.
“You do, but we can’t afford anything in the City Market anyway. We’ll go around Outside Street. They do business with all sorts, and I know all of the good second-hand stores.”
We branched off from the line of City Market people and followed the wall east, towards the docks. Before the air turned too salty, we took a shortcut through an alleyway and emerged onto Outside Street, which curved around the perimeter of City Market in a grand loop of stalls and storefronts, selling everything I could imagine and quite a lot I hadn’t. A huge, many windowed building was revealed to be a fishmarket, tucked in next to a series of hole-in-the-wall shops advertising leather repair, discount enchantments, and used books. Sarah gave the used book store a wistful glance.
We passed a large tailor’s studio, and she led me around the back where they had racks of old clothes, rejected bespoke suits, and drawers full of all kinds of used, worn goods. Even here, my few coins didn’t stretch far.
“No, not that one.” Sarah said, yet again, about something I had managed to find in my size. “That’s made for children. If you want to be taken seriously, you have to dress like an adult, just a small one.”
My haul so far included a leather belt with a couple of pouches on it, some warm undergarments which were made for kids, but which, as they wouldn’t be seen, didn’t count against my dignity, a nice waxed rain cloak with a hood, and a tattered blue dress that made Sarah roll her eyes, but which at least had no added frills or flowers.
“How do you tell if it’s made for kids or halflings? It’s all the same size.”
“It’s about subtlety. When you get dressed by your parents, it’s like, a parody of adult styles, almost. When you’re little, you think it makes you look older. When you’re older, you realize that the similarities in style actually highlight the difference in ages, and lack the quality and finesse of something you don’t expect to outgrow in six months. Don’t you remember what you wore as a child?”
“I didn’t wear clothes.”
“You what? How did your parents ever let you get away with that?”
“My family didn’t care about stuff like that. I was raised by the desert.”
“Even in the desert, surely you need clothes! Protection from sunburn, and such.”
“Not in the desert, though, yeah, that too. I was raised by the desert. My mother was the sun. She wouldn’t burn me.” No, I thought, holding in the tears. Just kick me out.
Sarah gave me a very disturbed look. “Sam, are you, um, ok? In the head? I mean, did you suffer some kind of trauma?” She took a breath, and steeled herself. “I mean, you can talk about it. They say that’s supposed to help.”
“I’m fine.” I took my own steadying breath. “Really.”
Sarah did not look convinced. “Well, if you don’t want to talk to me, I get it. But you should talk to somebody. I mean, otherwise you could have, you know, issues.”
I quailed at this thought. I don’t have issues. I’m not a victim.
Instead I gathered up my haul for purchase. “Maybe there’s some other stores we could try.”
Sarah said nothing as we made our way back onto Outside Street, but I ogled at the wonders inside every storefront. A line of people holding packages of every shape and size moved into a post office, where the packages were deposited into holding bins that couldn’t possibly hold them all. Those must be some of those pocket dimensions Ramsey was talking about. Packages went in, money changed hands, and meticulous notes were made by uniformed employees in smart grey suits.
A small standalone tower, like a miniature minaret, sold magic scrolls out of the first floor, while scribbling wizards hurriedly transcribed more on the upper floors. A stall next to it sold potted plants of all kinds. A branch of the Great Bank of Triport, identified by gilded letters two feet high inscribed into its stone facade, gave out stacks of coins in exchange for sigils, carefully drawn by the withdrawing customer in their own blood. I watched in slightly disturbed fascination at one of these perfunctory transactions between a teller and a well-dressed elf, who casually waved away the offered sharpened quill, and instead produced his own, pricked his finger, and signed a sigil with practiced ease.
This ominous thought was driven completely out of my head as we rounded the next corner, and my attention was captured by the display behind an actual plate glass window.
“Wait, Sarah, we’ve got to check this one out!”
Sarah looked over and rolled her eyes again. “A weapons shop. Of course you want to go in there.”
The collection of steel in the display window was nothing compared to the inventory inside. Weapons of every imaginable variety hung on pegs on the walls: made of iron, made of steel, gilded in silver. Locked floor to ceiling display cases held even more exotic wares: swords of every descriptor shimmered in coatings of flame.
SPECIAL SALE TODAY ONLY! Read a well foxed sign next to one case. FLAMING WEAPONS, HALF PRICE!
“Is there anything I can help you with?” asked a dwarf who appeared from around the sales counter.
I peeled my nose off of the display case. “They’re so beautiful.” I said under my breath, unthinkingly.
He smiled. “Aye, I suppose they are. I see ‘em so much, I forget what it’s like, the first time.”
“The first time?”
“Oh, aye. Every new adventurer wants a flaming sword. Thinks it makes them bloody invincible. Think all you need’s a flaming sword, and that’s it, you’re a hero, time to go kill a dragon. I sell ‘em by the dozens. Then I sell ‘em again, when the idjits go off and get themselves killed.”
The dwarf brooded at the glowing, flickering display. “I’ve sold that there longsword, what, three times now. I’m thinking of just renting ‘em instead. Save me the trouble of buying ‘em back off the scavengers.”
I peered at the thrice-sold-sword. “How much is it?”
“That one? Nine gold. Four gold, five silver,
today only.” This was delivered in a much rehearsed tone. “Ten gold for the mace, eight for the daggers, and twelve for them exotic ones, like the bastard sword. Mind you,” he said meaningfully, “the fireproof scabbards are sold separate.”
I pulled the remainder of my change from my pocket. A single tarnished piece of silver glinted up from my palm.
“If you want to get ahead of the pack, I tell everyone, don’t go with fire. You’d be amazed at how many flammable monsters in the Triport area have gone extinct. Natural selection, and all that. Now over here,” he led me over to a much smaller display, “are the cold ones. Better value for your money, and you don’t even need a special scabbard.”
The weapons behind this window radiated a menacing chill. Delicate feathers of frost etched the multifaceted blades, and sapphires glittered in the hilts.
“Just keep ‘em away from kids, or some idjit will always go and lick one, for a dare.”
I showed the dwarf my lonely silver. “Is there anything I can get for this?”
The shopkeeper shook his head. “An arrow, maybe, but it won’t do you any good without a bow to shoot it. You prefer melee, or ranged?”
“I like daggers.”
He nodded. “Good choice, good choice, for a little slip of a thing like you. I do like someone who knows their strengths. I got this plain steel dagger here for three gold, but it’s as cheap as I go. I don’t sell rusty junk what don’t hold an edge.”
My face fell. It seemed I had no way of replacing my daggers after all.
He gave me an appraising look. “I don’t sell junk, but I do buy scrap metal for the forge, and I do trades. You find any kind of good weapon what’s too big for you, or just isn’t your type, you bring it back here, and we’ll find you something what fits.”
Another customer came in, distracting the shopkeep, and Sarah and I left. I fingered my last coin, wondering if there was anything I needed that I could spend it on.
mentioned Voice, glumly.
The smells of the market started to turn towards lunch time, savory and sweet and spicy.
“Chicharrones!” cried a vendor in an accent I didn’t recognize, stirring a huge concave wok with a long ladle, inside which frying lard hissed and popped.
“Candied fruit!” cried another. “Honeyed almonds, roasted chestnuts, sesame seed cakes!”
Frugally, Sarah produced a wrapped package from her bag for our lunch, which proved to contain a couple of slices of some kind of meat pie.
“Where did this come from?” I asked, my mouth full of salmon quiche.
“There’s a sealed cabinet under the mixing table.” Sarah replied, licking her fingers. “Mother and I hide the leftovers there, along with anything else Isha’s too proud to sell or tries to throw away. If it’s more than we can eat, we’ll take it home to old Mr. Bently next door, or give it to Ramsey. I suppose he pawns it.”
[Food bestowed: 3 Hit Points]
[Hit Points: 7/12]
“He doesn’t.” I replied, somewhat to Sarah’s surprise. “He gives it away to the street people.” A large, colorful shop across the square caught my eye. I nodded towards it. “What’s that one sell?”
Sarah looked. “Oh, that’s the Illusionarium Emporium. They sell high-end cosmetics.”
“We should go check it out!”
“We really can’t afford anything in there. Everything in the IE is magic.”
“Well,” I temporized. “What if we just went in and tried some stuff on? And then,” I hurried, before she could object, “you can show me what I’m supposed to look like. To be respectable. Then I’ll know what to look for, in the other shops, if you’re not around for advice.”
Sarah finally let herself be persuaded. A wooden mannequin in the window displayed a brightly colored, many ruffled costume, suitable for a noble ball, but as I watched, the costume faded, leaving only a crude wooden scarecrow wearing an opal beaded necklace. Before I could remark on this, a new suit of clothes, professionally businesslike, faded into existence. Sarah and I stood in wonder as the mannequin cycled through six more outfits.
Inside the IE, it was quite busy. One of several salespeople detached himself from the crowd and hurried over to us.
“Welcome, welcome, ladies! Welcome to the Illusionarium Emporium, where seeing is believing!” He winked hugely at us, saving some special flirt for Sarah. “Are you here for costumes, enhancement, or décor? We have just one of Silvia’s Four Seasons left, if you’re interested.” He waved his hand at a large tapestry on the wall, depicting Triport in the autumn, full of gloriously red maple trees, with golden aspen higher up on the hills. I stared at it for a bit, but it did not cycle like the mannequins. “It always shows the upcoming season, something to get excited about! And reminds you to prepare for fall fashions, remember, good tailoring takes time. Unless you run out of time, of course, it’s never too late to be fashionable here at the IE…” The salesman’s hand had managed to slip behind Sarah’s back, gently leading us over to a series of headless, armless busts, each with a necklace on. He took one of the necklaces off and handed it to Sarah, turning her towards the mirror. “Go ahead and try this one on.”
Sarah deftly slipped out of his reach and put the necklace over her head. As soon as the opal pendant touched her skin, a wondrous hunting dress appeared, all copper and orange, complete with a peaked hat sporting peacock plumes, and a long, satin train that might flow over the back of a horse. Sarah squeaked in surprise, putting her now gloved hands to her mouth.
“But I don’t feel a thing!” She turned back and forth in the mirror, admiring the laced back.
“This is only a level one illusion, of course. Single sense only. We have a level two as well, which will rustle when you walk.”
My eye was caught by a domino mask to my left, a simple tabby one with whiskers and pointed ears. Carefully, I took it down and put it on. In the mirror, my entire head transformed into a cat; slitted green eyes, fur, and tufted, whiskery cheeks. “Cool!” I said, and long slender teeth glinted in my mouth. I took the mask off and my own face reappeared, tanned skin and dark eyes and hair bleached to the color of rust.
Sarah actually laughed.
“It’s never too early to shop for Masquerade Day!” reminded our salesman, “Here, try this fish one, the scales are very realistic…”
We spent a while trying on one of everything, with Voice in the back of my head offering enthusiastic commentary on them all. When it didn’t appear we were going to make him any immediate commissions, our salesman flitted off to assist other customers, most of which were gathered around a table on the far wall.
“Which one would you get?” I asked Sarah.
“Oh, none of them.” She removed a comb from her hair, and the associated top hat faded into nothing. “Even if I had the money.”
“So… I’m poor because I’m new to the city, but why don’t you have any money?”
“You mean besides the fact that someone ruined any chance I had at getting tipped from the wealthiest dinner crowd we’ve had all season?” she snapped.
I opened my mouth to apologize, but she relented.
“We’re not that poor, it’s just that I’m trying to save up to go to the university. To study magic. Then I could make my own illusory dresses, if I wanted. If I became an illusionist.” She looked around the IE, appraisingly. “They offer scholarships, sometimes, but apparently I didn’t qualify.” Her voice turned bitter. “They said I don’t have enough raw mana to be a threat to myse
lf or anyone else, and so they weren’t obligated to train me. Well. I’ll show them. I’ll just do it the hard way, and study, every book in the library if I have to, even if I have to pay for everything myself!”
In spite of our differences, I found myself grinning at her rant. She caught my eye and smiled too, temporarily forgetting she didn’t like me.
“Anyway.” She looked away, smoothing her dress. “I have just enough to pay for the entrance exams, if I sign up early. First application is in two weeks.”
Behind us there was a stir from the gathered crowd.
“Here here!” cried a halfling woman, standing on the counter. “Come and see, just in, new hair coloring fairies! Every shade you can imagine, changed instantly! Beards included, step right up, never seen before in Triport, come now, who’ll be the first! Fifteen gold per bottle, all your naturals, twenty for exotics!”
Excited murmurs and shuffling amongst the crowd eventually yielded a teenaged boy, pushed forward by his friends, who bravely slapped a pile of coins on the counter and pointed at a crimson colored bottle. The woman disappeared the coins and presented him the bottle with a flourish. The crowd stepped back.
The boy pulled the stopper out of the bottle, and an eruption of twinkling red fairies buzzed out on humming dragonfly wings. They swarmed his head, sparks flying, while his hair began to stand on end in a cloud of static. The humming increased, the sparks flew, thicker and thicker, and finally there was an electric snap! and the fairies cleared out. The boy’s hair settled down, now a brilliant ruby red, and his friends burst into a cheer.
“I want one!” I agreed. “If only —-”
We watched as several more people bought bottles, all with the same effect, if in different colors. One woman in studded leather armor turned her pony tail neon blue, a dwarf turned his curly grey hair and beard solid black, and then, thoughtfully, peeked down his shirt before smugly patting his chest. A tall elven lady changed her long platinum blonde hair to a slightly different shade of platinum, not actually distinguishable to me, but apparently pleasing to her. A bald man even bought one and popped it open, temporarily mystifying the fairies, who finally turned his eyebrows orange before taking off.