The claustrophobic nature of the wagon chafed at Frare, but for Sorore it was a sense of comfort. Still, with that confined nature, there were certain negative aspects that came with it. Namely, she noticed every time that Aya snuck out to go lost knows where every single night. She already noticed that Lillian was always the one on duty when Aya slipped away, and she was certain that the paladin knew.
Under certain circumstances, that might be comforting, to know there was someone keeping an eye on Aya’s nocturnal activities. But when paired with the uncomfortable conversation and the awareness of Lillian’s secrecy, it proved a caustic tonic to Sorore’s nerves. When she woke up to find the wagon moving on the final day, she felt almost as jumpy as her brother, but was relieved to know that they’d soon be back among proper society.
Perhaps all this strangeness would stop when they passed the walls of that city in the distance, or so the girl hoped.
The ride up to the city was fairly unremarkable, with only a thin lunch to break up the monotony of the fields. When they at last made for the city, they were forced to dismount by the guard, to Frare’s great relief. Unfortunately he was immediately held in place, walking down the central street of the great city.
Sorore would’ve loved to take in the sites of the lumber and brick architecture. The colourful lanterns and streamers, the vibrant clothes of everyone that stopped to look curiously at the newcomers, all expanded in a whirl before her eyes. However, as fascinating as all that was, she could tell from his flitting eyes and twitching fingers that her brother was agitated.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered to him, trying to match his step.
“Nothing,” he lied, eyes suddenly locking ahead, refusing to meet her own.
“It’s obvious,” she said, taking his hand, and finding it sweaty, “you’re nervous.”
“Nothing’s wrong,” he said.
“Was it the dream again?” she said, squeezing his hand.
She’d hit the mark, she knew, when he’d stiffed. Frare was not one to shield his emotions, regardless of whether he chose to deny them.
“I had one too,” she said, “a beast of metal, I think. I was in a desert. It said something, but I can’t quite remember.”
Frare looked at her, then refocused on whatever was so interesting before him. She gave his hand another squeeze, then let go, knowing that if she tried to push him, he’d clam up. They continued down the street, looking at shop after shop, wondering how old they were, craning her neck to try and catch a glimpse of the buildings on the mountainside to their left through the alleys.
When they got to the downhill street, she got excited, seeing the towers down in the water. When she saw the lift, she had to take deep breaths to prevent herself from vibrating. She loved such contraptions, taking every opportunity to ride the immense metal elevators that separated the upper city of Angorrah from its lower twin.
This one was but a slow imitation but she nevertheless greatly enjoyed the smooth motion that took them down to the canal. She climbed aboard one of the provided boats with her brother and Lillian, and they were off. The displays of colour and light were so coruscating that even her brother forgot whatever had so disturbed him. The intricate supports and suspension of the bridgework were like a magnet to Sorore attention.
By the time she reached the grand square, Sorore decided that she loved this city. Perhaps not as much as her homely Erratz, or Angorrah’s splendour, but it was close. The square was yet another marvel, and both Lillian and Frare had to spur her on several times as she stopped to examine the stonework.
They were given introductions to the various personages and nobles that had come out to greet them. When a man in a black coat practically tripped over his feet to introduce himself to Efrain, Sorore and the whole group stared at him quizzically. One of the other nobles stepped forward, took the man by the shoulder, and said something in the odd language of Kakros. The ‘mentor’, looking a bit chastened, stepped back and brushed himself off.
“Now, as I’m sure, you must all be exhausted by the journey,” said one of the nobles in a long coat of orange, ‘Bramste’ Sorore thought, “we would be happy to offer you rooms and succour, if you so desired. Soon the streets shall be full of people for the festival - we do get so excited.”
“Our utmost thanks for the gracious hospitality of your offer,” said Naia, who seemed glad to be in control of the conversation after the mentor’s outburst.
The nobleman spread his hand and smiled a genial smile.
“Of course, we have to introduce ourselves,” said Naia, who proceeded to recount himself, his captains, the paladins, the mage, and finally the children.
“Wards of the church, you say?” said Bramste, rubbing his chin with a ringed hand.
“Indeed, my friend. As such, they are under the care of our friendly paladins,” he said, “if possible, it would be best to room them together. Vows and oaths and all that.”
“Yes, yes, I see,” said Bramste, “I think that can be arranged. Kieren, your house should have plenty of room, no? Nothing but the best for these fine guests.”
A young woman, dressed in flowing, shining robes nodded.
“Of course Amicio,” said the woman, before coming before them, “shall we depart?”
The children were made to wait as Lillian and Niche exchanged words with the commander. Before long they came to a boat, larger than the one before and pushed by two polemen, dressed in the same blue-red colours as the woman.
“My boat, my friends,” said Kieren, “though, I must admit, it was not meant for six.”
Despite her veiled apologies, it proved more than adequate, as they were propelled down the canals and away from the main square. Kieren began to explain the history of the canals and of the city in general as they went under bridge after bridge.
“The oldest, proudest buildings are in the centre of the lagoon, farther to the south. The main square was originally the furthest north point of the city, before we expanded up and out of the waters,” Kieren continued, “there the estates of the original, founding houses of Eisen, Potash, and the regrettably broken Miram, still dwell.”
Aya, at the words, broke into a violent coughing fit. When Sorore attempted to take her hand, she brushed her off, assuring her that she’d just swallowed the wrong way.
“Regrettably broken?” asked Lillian, but her eyes remained solidly fixed on the upper walkways.
“Indeed. A fire, many years ago. Some Miram still survive, though they’ve taken names of the other houses, and cannot claim the heritage. The blood endures, the house does not. The ruins were left in memorial. You may catch a glimpse of it, should you have the fortune to be invited to the old district.”
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“‘Invited’?” spoke up Frare, “you have to be invited in?”
“Of course,” the woman said, “The way is blocked off by manned canal gates. Of course, many people come in and out each day to conduct business. Many original company offices are still in the district. However, to be invited into a founding house’s personal estate is a deep honour. I was lucky to be granted one into the estate of the Potash, when my family was to receive our licence.”
The questions and answers ranged on. Kieren was a trader, one of the few that was allowed to direct the companies that ranged as far as Angorrah and Nieth for goods and profit. Her family was relatively new, an ‘upstart’ in the circles of merchants that comprised the noble house of Karkos.
“That man seemed to be shuffling us off to you,” said Aya quietly, “back in the square.”
“Of course not,” she said, “you may understand the word ‘upstart’ as an insult. This is a mistranslation. He is of a senior and respected family, I am a representative of a junior house. The experienced council and guide us - after all, I am not his competition, none of us are. Working in harmony is good for all of us and the city as whole. The more wealth I bring in, the more opportunities we all have, and much the same for him.”
“That doesn’t really answer the question though,” Aya said, which Sorore thought rather rude.
“Trader Amicio was simply trying to determine which host was the most appropriate,” she said, “as wards of the church, my house might suit your simpler lifestyle. I’m sure your commander also needs the ears of people I might not be able to access as easily.”
“Aren’t we the-” Sorore began to comment on how, really, as the Bequeathed far outstripped any simple commander.
“We understand, and are very grateful,” Lillian said, speaking over her as her hand fell on Sorore’s shoulder.
The paladin locked eyes with the girl and shook her head slightly.
“The pleasure is ours, madam,” said Kieren, as they rounded another bend, “besides, you came at a good time, if you wished to see other members of the houses.”
“What do you mean?” asked Niche.
“The Festival of the Occluded begins tomorrow. Three days of feasting and drinking and games. You must have something similar in Angorrah.”
Lillian seemed displeased with that news, and Sorore could guess why.
“Does that mean there won’t be much travel in and out of the city?” she said, the trader turning to look at her.
“No,” she said, “only pre-scheduled ships or those on urgent business. The ports are partially shut down for the festival. Why are you-”
One of the poleman said something in Karkosian, and the woman looked around to the canal. Sorore became aware of some shouting up ahead, and could see other boats barely a poles length apart. The trader spoke some more in those funny words, and the polemen nodded in assent and began to push them in slowly.
“What is it?” asked Lillian, her hand lowering to her hip.
“Nothing you need be worried about. A minor dispute,” she said, “you should have no need for your arms. I will settle it.”
They halted just before the two boats, several youths on both sides were trading fast, angry words as they pointed and gestured. At first, Kieren seemed content to simply watch and absorb whatever was being said. Some, noticing that they were being watched, stilled and waited for the new player to speak.
However, there were a few that were so consumed in their conversation that they failed to notice. On and on they argued, the words getting faster and more furious with every minute that passed. Finally, Kieren appeared to have enough and drew herself up on the prow of their boat.
With a voice that seemed far more powerful than what should have come from such a slight woman, Kieren let loose her own storm of words. The group of interlocutors fell briefly silent as they listened to the trader speak. Many cast their eyes down, ashamed at whatever reprimand she was delivering.
One of them, a broadshoulded man with a pointed beard, dressed in deep blue, scoffed at Kieren’s intrusion. She responded with yet another string of words as she waved to the city. He crossed his arms and snorted some kind of insult that set the polemen behind them quivering with indignation. The two boats departed in opposite directions on the canal, trading thinly veiled looks of hatred.
“A minor dispute, you said,” Niche said dryly.
“For now, yes. I’m very sorry you had to witness that,” she said, “not that you would’ve come to any harm, my friends.”
“Is that kind of thing usual in the canals?” said Lillian.
“No, no, not at all, not here,” said Kieren, then realising that she now had to qualify it, gulped, “it’s just poor timing, that’s all. A scuffle broke out between two houses. They couldn’t have picked a worse time. The other senior houses will sort them out, I’m sure.”
“I see,” said Lillian.
They continued on, mercifully uninterrupted this time, and came to one of the ziggurats, adorned in red and pale blue cloth. The boat pulled up into a cut out of the rock, and they were helped out by the polement onto a wooden pier. They were led up towards an entrance in the stone, where light streamed out of.
It was quite unlike any place that Sorore had ever been to - the bulk of the pyramid was devoted to an enormous dining hall. The entrance became a corridor between two open kitchens where chiefs worked over pans and ovens. Beyond were the steps that led up to the dining tables, half filled with guests already working their way through a course. A man dressed in an even more elaborate dress than Kieren, but the same colours, raised his hands.
“Welcome guests!” he said, in passable if heavily accented continental, “share in our tables and beds tonight!”
They were swiftly inducted into places near the head of the table near the older man, as well as Kieren. Sorore’s hand found her way into Frare’s, finding it still sweaty. Her brother rarely got truly nervous about anything, but when he did he tended to linger. The course they were currently on were small, very salty fish, which most of the attending ate whole.
Sorore tried to emulate the behaviour, but nearly coughed it back up as it hit the back of her throat. The resulting laughs brought a flush of shame to her face, though it was soon plied with a goblet of spring water and words of praise for the attempt. Soon, she and Frare had managed to slid into conversation with other members of the feast.
Most were family, either direct or indirect, to the trader Balae, the man who’d greeted them. Kieren was his niece, and having no children of his own, given that his wife had died only two years into the marriage, was his almost certain heir. The twins were peppered with questions about who they were and what they’d come for.
As it turned out, some of the assembled were traders or sailors who’d made their way to Erratz in the past. Even better, Sorore was delighted to hear that some had even heard, though not dealt with, her father’s company. Most agreed that he was a man of good reputation in trading circles, and were delighted to welcome the twins as a sort of distant cousin.
The paladins mostly excused themselves from the courses that were served, saying that they needed nothing, but would be pleased to sample the hospitality. Aya sat and ate in silence, mostly politely fending off attempts at conversation. Several more courses were served - roasted and grilled fish, a simple porridge made from cereal flour, fruits poached in corresponding wine. Sorore made the particular acquaintance of a charming young man named Ivers, who plied her with stories of sailing the strait.
By the end of the dinner, even Frare was looking content, his concerns forgotten for the moment. The vast majority of the guests made their excuses and departed out of the pyramid to the apartments above. Sorore and the others were brought before a fire pit to sit in driftwood chairs besides their host.
“My deepest apologies,” said the man, his voice thick with wine, not helped by his niece serving him from a glass of amber coloured fluid, “you’ve come upon us at a dull time. The meals are sparse, sleep is early, all in preparation for the Festival.”
“Those are sparse feasts?” said Sorore.
To be sure they weren’t quite the grand fare they had in Angorrah, but Sorore had experienced meagre food on her father’s ship. The merchant smiled a broad, yellow-toothed smile and sipped at his glass.
“My young lady, just you wait until the morrow,” he said, his voice rising, “where all the great houses of our city unleash their larders on the unsuspecting populace!”
Kieren took a glass of her own and sat, failing to suppress a smile at her uncle’s theatrics.
“But even better,” Balae continued, leaning in and continuing in a conspiratorial whisper, “there’s a rumour that there’s some special casks being uncorked tomorrow. Wine and spirits that have just hit the cusp of ageing, some as long as twenty-five years! Yes! Twenty-five. I know where I’ll be tomorrow, that's for sure.”
“At the table of honours, your accustomed place,” said his niece, making a point of stoppering the decanter behind them, “which is also why you’ll only have one glass tonight.”
“Oh, you’ll sit at that place before the night is done. If I should sneak away for a sample,” her uncle chortled, “half the city knows you run my businesses already.”
Kieren rolled her eyes and sipped from her glass.
“But I digress,” said Balae at the cough of the paladins, “you must be exhausted. We’ll call someone and have you led to your rooms.”
Soon enough, an older woman appeared and offered to lead them to their rooms. The children got up to go, but before they could finish wishing their host a good evening, Aya reached into the folds of her clothes.
“Sir,” she said while rifling through her pocket, “I was wondering if you could help me with something.”
“Of course, of course, my girl! What do you need?” he said.
“Well, you see, my mother is from the city and-”
“Aya, this really isn’t necessary,” cut off Lillian, moving towards the girl, “you’ll disturb our host. I’m sure that he has many preparations to see to.”
“Nonsense!” Balae said, “Nonsense! I couldn’t be happier. In fact, it’d weigh on my mind if you didn’t get a good sleep before the Festival of all nights.”
He leaned forwards, squinting at the girl with considerable interest.
“So, you’re one of us, eh? I thought I spied something familiar about the complexion.”
Sorore thought Lillian looked… panicked. Of course not, that was ridiculous, what was there to be panicked about? By a paladin of all things?
Finally, it seemed that Aya found what she was looking for - a little bundle of green cloth, wrapped around a knife, as well as something small and bronze.
“She gave me this, said it was the pendant of our family?” she said, showing the bronze device to the man.
“Yes, yes, of course give it-”
Balae made a strangled sound as he stared at the sigil engraved on the bronze. Kieren screamed, dropped her glass, made an attempt to catch it, and failed as it exploded on the floor.