The first object that caught Eve’s eye upon waking was the hideous snarling open jaws of a gargoyle. It provided enough of a jolt to thoroughly disperse the remaining fog of strange dreams and thoughts from her mind. She bolted upright on the soft woolen mattress of the hard stone bed.

“By the Grace of Om, it wasn’t a dream,” Eve mumbled, looking around.

The suite she’d been assigned as an esteemed guest consisted of a bedroom containing an enormous stone bed seemingly grown out of the dark-gray rock of the floor, a moderate-sized drawing room and a bathroom which was half as large as the bedroom. The cupboard in the bedroom and a couple of the strange-looking chairs in the drawing room, which were more like tiny thrones, were also stone-cast, and not by Manipulation. Eve could tell.

The stone bathtub had left her speechless last night. After climbing in, she’d almost cried in delight, and the warm fragrant waters had cleansed both the body and the mind. In fact, the bath had produced such a flaming soothing effect that she’d dozed off. For bells.

“More comfy than the bed,” Eve complained to the air. “And that’s saying something.”

Not that all was roses and sunshine, of course. Being an esteemed guest, she’d also been assigned a couple of full-time guides, standing at attention outside in the corridor. In full battle regalia. Massive shields, overlapping chest-plates, one-headed pickaxe and war-hammer – the whole shebang.

Only last morning she’d been an inconspicuous, if not inconsequential, runaway girl, standing in queue at a powercar depot, looking for a ride to Shillang. Eve’s eyes shifted to the first decorative piece she’d seen here, a gargoyle crouched on a ledge outside the window.

Did she manage to finally lose him? Could she hope? She let out her breath slowly, said a silent prayer to the Dualgods and slipped out of bed.

Less than half a bell later, three quarters of which was spent in the extravagantly decorated bathroom, she stood before the full-length mirror and assessed her reflection.

Nothing to write home about. Not that there was anyone left at home to write to. Ignoring the feeling of hollowness inside her Heart Chakra, Eve straightened the hide-leather jacket, adjusted the blue scarf, then glanced through the door toward the grandfather clock in the drawing room. Just as the strangely sonorous note of the tenth bell faded, a firm knock sounded at the main door. Silently cursing all stonehorns and their timeliness, Eve marched across the drawing room floor and slammed the door open, ready to give her guides an earful.

“Ready as rainbow, I see.” Kumil grinned, greeting her with a quick bow. “Want to go for breakfast? Though technically, it’ll be lunch.”

Taken off guard by the odd greeting and sincere smile, Eve blinked, the rebuke she was fully prepared to unleash dying on her lips. “Sure,” she said. “If you’re the guide.” She glared at the two soldiers who glared right back. “The only guide.”

“It’s a good thing then that I haven’t broken my fast yet,” Kumil said, rubbing his hands in anticipation.

“Ah, can we perhaps dine out? Or maybe a late lunch?” Eve ventured. “I want to see a bit of your wonderful city before we head off into the wilds of Kailash.”

Her fears that it was too bold or too forward a request were promptly allayed. “Of course,” Kumil said, drawing even greater scowls from her earlier guides. Restraining the overwhelming urge to grin in triumph, Eve ducked back inside and grabbed her duffel bag.

“I did promise to give you a proper tour of Balgistin,” Kumil said. “As much as you’re allowed, at least. We’ll start with the Old Market.”

The Old Market, as it turned out, wasn’t old. It was ancient. At least, large parts of it were. Other portions of the massive market, no more than a quarter of it, Eve guessed, seemed to have sprung up during the last century. At the latest.

A narrow fast-flowing subterranean river bisected the market, with more than a dozen wide stone bridges joining the two markedly different districts of Balgistin. On the far side, beyond the market and the relatively flat floor of the cavern, the vast stalagmites glowed faint blue from all the electric lamps. Crisscrossed by deceptively wide passages connecting some of the more affluent, and older, residential neighborhoods, the towers looked like gargantuan glowing sentries from one of the more horrifying tales of the Historica. Hundreds of elevators of all sizes could be seen moving up and down like ants on the body of some giant. More still traversed the raised steel causeway, ferrying passengers from the chest of one towering giant to another. Beneath the giant stalagmite towers, along the neat orderly network of broad streets, even smaller ants – in the shape of stonehorns – scurried around, but always with purpose, never idle. Eve hadn’t seen a single stonehorn lazying about anywhere in Balgistin. That thought led to another.

“What do you peeps do for fun?” Eve asked her guide, who had thus far proved to be immensely enjoyable company. Her mood was further brightened by the puffed spiced rice mixed with minced beef that she was munching on. The whole thing came in an odd cone-shaped biodegradable paper container. This was one of the dishes the Cavern was famous for, popularly known as Gumardilkar- something. Eve dared not even try to pronounce the jaw-breaking name of this wonderful culinary amalgamation – a sumptuous fusion between Aiminian spices, Arunian rice and tender beef from crossbred cattle raised in the Valley; a narrow the strip of land found between Balgistin and Dubilstin, the two main stonehornish settlements on this side of the Kailash.

Kumil opened his mouth to answer. “Apart from all the drinking, I mean.” Eve amended her question, taking another mouthful.

The amendment brought forth a frown, very much out of place on his admittedly handsome face. Admitted to none but herself, of course, and even that reluctantly. Soon the frown, the thoughtful frown, transformed into a wide grin.

“Theater,” Kumil said, pointing toward a distant tower that glowed green. “Theater district is over there. Too bad we’re short on time.”

It was Eve’s turn to frown, this time in confusion. “Bunch of bards singing? How’s that fun?”

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Kumil shook his head. An elderly stonehorn with steel gray beard and wearing enough leather to cover Eve twice over, gave a disapproving scowl as his eyes chanced upon the two of them. The scowl softened into a glare as his eyes moved to her guide. Standing on the sidewalk, at the apex point one of the numerous bridges, Eve was probably the only non-stonehorn in the whole district, though her short stature made her less of a spectacle.

Kumil didn’t comment on that, or any of the other friendly glances, she and even he, had been receiving. Seems he wasn’t unaccustomed to them, although sure as the twinsuns, it bothered him on some level. Eve felt this to be true from his demeanor, which was open, almost to a fault. His kernel signature, on the other hand, revealed absolutely nothing.

“Singing is optional. Humans don’t have theaters like we do.” Kumil stroked his well-trimmed beard, gathering his thoughts. “Think of theater as an audiovisual depiction of a story. And we have mountains of stories to choose from, some going as far back as the reign of King Guimlar, over a millennium ago. All stories brought back to life by playwrights, then rigorously practiced, perfectly choreographed by the actors. There’s a great big chasm between actors and bards. Bards lack chemistry when performing together.” His dark-brown eyes shone. “And of course, when it comes to designing sets and environments, we stonehorns have no equal, if I do say so myself.”

Having seen what her eyes have been fortunate enough to witness just in the past twenty bells, Eve could definitely understand the note of pride in his voice. She even agreed.

“Have to watch it to truly understand, then.”

“Exactly.”

Kumil’s smile was back. Eve was starting to like that smile. No agenda, no misdirection. Honest, warm and sincere. She forced herself to shift her gaze to the other bank of the river – more of a stream really, though her charming host insisted on calling it Market Canal.

The left bank of the canal was dominated by a mighty tower, well over a thousand feet tall, stretching from floor to ceiling, with the middle segment being the narrowest but still a good couple of hundred feet wide. It housed the oldest shops and was their next destination as they strolled to the end of the bridge and turned right.

And so for the next bell Eve gawked at all the packed glittering metal merchandise – that part of the market mostly catering to people who Kumil kept calling Metalmasters, equivalent to master blacksmiths or even Smiths in terms of capability, from what she could gather. All around her were bewildering collection of metal implements, ranging from simple household appliances to flamboyant war-hammers the likes of which she’d never seen. The proud owners of these mind-numbing collection of metal wares showered the two of them – well, mostly Eve – with typical stonehornish hospitality. One even staunchly refused to sell her a strelenium-knuckled leather bracer she fancied, even after Kumil’s intervention, insisting it had been promised to another customer.

Eve stormed out of the shop, with a profusely apologizing Kumil hot on her heels. “The same shopkeeper would sell it to you in Garbal, if she has a branch there. Many do. They,” Kumil cleared his throat, eyes contrite, “we,” he continued, “give priority to stonehorns. Everyone else comes later. She may also have other means of maximizing her profits from that gauntlet.”

“But the customer she mentioned only exists in her mind,” Eve accused. “Surely you saw that.” She lowered her voice. “You sensed her kernel signature just as I did, even though she, and from what I’ve gathered so far, all stonehorns, possess remarkable mental discipline.”

Their hostility also goes up a notch when talk turns to Manipulation, or Melwig’s Curse as some of the older peeps call it still. So Eve tried her best to speak quietly. She mostly succeeded.

Kumil pursed his lips. “It’s also true that we’re set in our ways, when it comes to interaction with the other species. Takes a few decades for us to warm up to any human, aditarus even longer. This sentiment, it’s far more pronounced here than among stonehorns living in any human kingdom.”

Eve snorted in frustration. This place was a shopper’s delight, if the shopper was five feet tall and possessed a beard, or at least whiskers. She was only lacking the last two. Knowing complaints were futile, Eve resumed her stroll through the sparsely populated market, now drawing even more gazes than usual.

“You seemed warm enough, almost from the start.” She quickly added, “For which I’m grateful. Don’t get me wrong. But now,” she glanced around, catching the glances of many, none altogether friendly. “Now, even my thick skin is starting to feel tender.”

“I’m more of an outlier than the norm,” Kumil explained, his face devoid of the grin Eve had grown to like so much. “Although even I don’t often find myself opening up so fast with relative strangers.”

“And humans no less, you mean,” Eve said, eyes narrowed.

Kumil produced his trademark sincere disarming smile again. It was an infectious smile and soon replicated itself on her face. “Once the interaction reaches a certain level of….” Kumil’s eyes locked onto hers, “friendship,” the last word was uttered in the form of a question, one which was answered by her smile and slight nod, “race matters not.”

Eve was about to delve deeper into their newly formed and freshly acknowledged friendship, when a familiar voice drifted over from up ahead, from one of the largest shops Eve had seen so far, dedicated to leather garments and armor.

Seems she wasn’t the only non-stonehorn in Market District, after all.

“How can it possibly have doubled in price in the span of a heartbeat?” the voice demanded. No, pleaded.

“It is what it is,” came the stoic reply from one who had to be a cousin of the rotten shopkeeper a few streets back. The tone held the same mule-headed stubbornness born of racism.

“How about seven silvers and an up-to-date map of western Aiminia?” The first voice began again in a reasonable tone, obviously forced. Eve could sense the bubbling cauldron of frustration underneath. It became even more readily apparent when they entered the shop, which held three people: the cousin, another stone-faced younger stonehorn, presumably his assistant. And Arjun.

Kumil ambled up to the counter. “What seems to be the issue?” he asked not the shopkeeper, but Arjun, instantly changing the mood in the negotiation.

Even the stone-faced assistant picked up on the body language. Kumil’s face seemed to be well-known around the marketplace, and more often than not, well-regarded, even respected. Exceptions include the other cousin. This one though, seemed to be less of a mule, and more of an eel. The man’s demeanor went through an instant change, and he replied before Arjun could.

“Young master here is eager to buy this leather armguard.”

With a flourish of the hand, he indicated said item which was located on top of a glass display case. Sturdy, well-made and judging by the faint purple-green glow in her essence senses, Alchemically treated, but lacking strelenium knuckles or retractable claws. She’d have to touch it to know more. Which Arjun had obviously already done as he kept eyeing it with clear desire. Not a great bargaining position to begin with.

“Seeing as he is your acquaintance, Master Engineer, I’d be willing to lower the price to seven silvers, but no less,” said the paunchy shopkeeper.

“But when asked by the last customer, you said it was seven silver. Then asked one gold two silvers from me.” Arjun looked disgusted. Eve could sympathize.

“A simple failure in communication, no doubt,” the old eel said with a deadpan face.

Arjun vented a frustrated sigh and Kumil produced a smile. Not the usual sincere kind. “Seven silvers, it is.”

As Arjun bagged the item and began counting out the seven coins, Eve couldn’t help but ask, “Bit on the expensive side, don’t you think?”

Eyes gleaming with a distant yet calculating look, Arjun muttered, “My gut tells me it’ll be worth it. One day.”