Old, stinking clothes stuffed into a jute sack, dangling from a strap over Valentina's shoulder, she glanced around the market square. It was their fifth visit to a merchant, a collection of offers for different types of supplies and food. Basic medical equipment, crates of mushrooms and tuber, the list was long and she had little patience to barter for prices. Her presence wasn't required and left her standing behind Reel and Janet as they took turns in increasing pressure to reduce prices or throw in a gimmick or two.
After all three of them had changed into local clothes, looking as bland as everybody else, people didn't avoid them by moving around an invisible circular force field. Barely anyone sent them a second glance. The Uppersider didn't belong here. None of them did. Yet the difference between the minority, the outsiders who were considered strange, weird and dangerous enough to scurry around in a dash, and fitting visually into the grander picture was astonishing.
Understanding currency had been on her list ever since they made landfall. There were three silver coins in her pocket. Duality Coins. Janet had paid the clerk in the clothing store with a single silver coin. There was change being returned! Either the economy on this rock was completely broken or the Inspector had handed her a fortune. Reel looked at her with raised eyebrows when she asked about the worth of a Duality Coin, but explained briefly after listening to her plead for a minute or so. Duality Coins had three variations. No hole, small hole and big hole, whereas exchange rates were not linear. Fifty with a big hole could be exchanged for a small holed coin, whereas 10 of the latter would be worth a regular coin without a hole. This also gave them their names. Respectively they were called a fifty, a ten and a coin. Unfortunately the Duchy had a different system, many of the islands in the far west had their own currency as well, it must be a headache for any trader.
To report back to the Inspector, she needed paper, pen and envelopes. When the negotiations for drinking water took longer than any other they had had, Reel grumpily pointed her over to the road up the slope, eventually leading to the cathedral. She'd find a dedicated shop for paper and writing utensils somewhere there. Her feet shuffled through atop the mud until she reached the road that lead from the port up the slope. Lighting became brighter and more colourful in this district. Both housing and shops felt different, prestigious and had a certain pomp to it. Many craftsmen producing everyday goods resided around the market square. Between tall houses, small paths squeezed through into backyards. Hammering could be heard from one such road. On the house front hung a sign which she interpreted as some smithy. Either for gold, silver or copper. It looked quite expensive, the carpentry on the door delicate and the wood emanating a majestic, expensive feel.
She reached a crossing about halfway to the top. More expensive craftsmen had their shops along the road. Luckily she spotted a sign with a feather carved into it, just across the road. On entering, a small bell above the door announced her arrival. Multiple ceiling lamps produced a generous, warm light. Most of it however concentrated on a large desk that showcased different pens. At least that was her assumption that they were pens. An old man in brown robes with a long, white beard stepped around a bookshelf with scrolls and stacks of parchment. The stereotype was strong in this one, she giggled to herself and let her gaze sweep across the room. "Greetings, traveller. May the lord be with you. How can this humble old man help you today?", he muttered, and sounded about as ancient as he looked. Behind the desk, he stopped and put both hands down, leaning forward curiously. "Hello!", Valentina greeted the man and gave him a weak wave. Ah fuck, awkward! All this lord thing is giving me the creeps. "I need to write a couple of letters", to which the man nodded and snorted, this being a shop for this exact thing, "So I need envelopes, sealing wax or something similar, sheets of paper and a pen". "Any preference to the paper size or the pen?", he wondered, but she shook her head and stepped closer to look at the instruments of writing in front of him. "All these will serve you well, I believe. They have small ink compartments and the capacity to write half a book before you need to refill!", of course they would have fountain pens as their main choice of pen, who could blame them, but it didn't matter, it just reminded her of school. "Not looking to become an author, I'm fine with a low end, cheap option", to which his hand picked up a wooden model and showed it to her, "How much is it? And can I try it?". "Why! Of course you can try it!", he threw up a paper with lots and lots of foreign scribbling. It reminded her that the books on the Marie Eclaire had been half French. Didn't people write the languages that they spoke? For the first time since her arrival, it bugged her. Did Glint have something to do with her speaking English, yet everybody understood?
After discarding this dilemma, she tried to write 'A frog ran through the jungle'. Holding the pen like she had learned in school didn't work. The ink didn't dispense equally and some letters had larger dots whereas some strokes lacked ink altogether. The clerk chuckled and took the pen from her hand, "Lean the hand to the side slightly, leave space for the ink to flow and do not put pressure when you stop and lift the tip", his ancient voice accompanied his exceptional calligraphy. This man was an artist. He could attend a haiku contest!
On second try, the writing improved. Hand positioning felt quite off and uncomfortable, something everybody needed to get used to, not just Valentina. Grudgingly she admitted that she'd require more sheets to train. "Ten fifties for the pen, another ten fifties for the wax", he explained and put five envelopes and ten sheets on the table, "One fifty for each envelope, one fifty for five sheets. How many do you want?". She eyed the wax and picked it up. It felt different, looked different, "This is no wax that you need to melt under a candle, is it?". The man blinked at her, "Why would you put wax under a candle?". All he got in return was an embarrassed shrug. "It's a wax stick. You rub it in a circle, repeatedly and a small coating of it sticks to the envelope, sealing it shut. Then you can press your seal into it, done. A post box is down at the port, in case you're wondering", he smiled and in that moment she knew that with all the free information she had gotten, he wouldn't haggle about the price.
Valentina sighed and took the pen, which the old man refilled quickly, the wax, 20 sheets of paper and 6 envelopes. After handing him a silver coin, not the one marking her as a spy obviously, he returned nine tens and twenty fifties. Something Reel had failed to mention was the large difference in size between the coins, which she traced back to material value. "I'd need to write a short letter, too. Could I bother you to let me do it here? Your shop might be inspiring", she smiled at him, making him snort, "'course, dear traveller. Use the desk over there in the corner. Thank you again for your purchase, may the lord watch over you!".
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
The whole church business was still weird, but she started to get used to it. Everyone said it, on the market, in the shops, even the port officials did. Somehow Rain's reluctance was tough to understand now. All these folks were doing was business and surviving, no one had caused any trouble for them. Gathering her thoughts toward the Inspector, a letter formed in her mind.
Dear Inspector
We made landfall in Damascus a couple of hours ago. A resupply stop to stock up on fuel, amenities and food. The plan now is to circle around the Foggy Vortex, trying to reach the Duchy to sell fleet intelligence gathered on the way.
It smells fishy. Janet may well be the spy you were looking for. I'll be in touch once we make landfall again, but it will be a while.
Best,
Valentina Neubauer
When her eyes focused hard on the letters, they blurred in an odd way. It had occurred to her while writing already, but something glitched. Focus brought the letters into a different order, even made them look weird. Was she even writing English? Her mind played some trick on her now, but she couldn't shake the feeling.
Time to be off. Fold the letter into the envelope. Circle circle circle with the wax, press the coin onto it secretly, done. She rolled up the paper carefully and put it into her jute sack. Pen, wax and sealed envelope finding a home in her large pockets. After yelling her goodbye and receiving one in response, Valentina made her way outside. Unfortunately the coins in her pocket made noises. She'd need to ask the others about storage for those coins. Why couldn't they just use bank notes? So much easier to store!
***
Maybe it was time to head back. The crowd in the streets had thinned significantly and down on the market square some merchants packed up their stands. A huge dong reached her, rang through her and made her jump in surprise. What the flying fuck? Another dong followed. The cathedral bells tolled. Five times total, but it lacked context. Not even back in Italy she could remember how often the bells tolled for certain events. Except that during Sunday mass consecration demanded the bells to toll throughout.
Had the colours changed since she looked at the huge building back on the Mercurial? It was possible. The lamps in this place, just like everywhere else, ranged between blue, red and green. Her steps led her along the road, uphill. Curiosity wasn't easily dismissed, she found and followed it. To her surprise the building was surrounded by a graveyard, yet the road split and lead up to one large side door each, through the cemetery. A low wall surrounded the resting place of the dead and lead around the church as far as she could see. One of the doors into the cathedral stood open, the other closed.
Intimidated by its sheer size, she let her eyes wander across it, slowly. Her guess about the Gothic architecture proved to be right. Pillars rose into the darkness above them, reaching ever higher. Only the two spires towered above them, one at the front and one at the back. Windows reached from above the doors all the way up, the pillars supported by arches attached to the main wall, each protected respectively by a gargoyle. Unlike earthen gargoyles, these ones resembled creatures like bats, worms and some even had tentacles. The imagination was inspired by the dangers everyone faced in their lives. Admittedly it was a marvellous piece of architecture, worth of protection and admiration just for this fact alone.
Humbled by the house of god, even though it may well be a different god that she knew from the Catholic church, her steps took her into the place of worship through the open side door. Luckily it was empty, yet still lit. Spotlights along the wall showed paintings of pleading people, of armies and combat, of a radiance and light emanating from a person wearing a crown. All across the nave, wooden benches stood, row after row. Down to her right the altar rose upward. Her eyes followed it, all the way up the spire. That's when her brain connected it. This cathedral had no roof, just the typical Gothic arched ceiling, as a marble frame holding the nave together.
The Uppersider quietly sneaked onto the central path, leading from the main entrance with its closed, enormous, intricate doors to the altar, glanced upward and turned in a circle to take in the marvels of this cathedral. "A new face. Welcome, child. Allow me to welcome you, in the name of the lord and almighty to the Western Syriac Cathedral in Damascus", a calm voice startled her and caused her astonishment to end. Behind her, as if he had casually strolled down from the altar, a young man clad in black, long robes stood. His hands were tugged into his sleeves, which met before his waist, as if his hands were folded in secret. Despite being shorter than Valentina, only his eyes looked up at her, the rest of his demeanour slightly bowed, the eternal servant. "Oh, you startled me", she admitted, "A beautiful cathedral you have here". "Thank you, child. It is rare that travellers come to this place with an open heart and mind. My name is Francis. I am the preacher, the caretaker and the missionary", he told her with a very calm, yet assertive tone in his voice. His eyes bore holes into her own. This man hadn't blinked a single time since she had first laid eyes on him.
"Just a visitor, passing through Damascus though. I'm not here to stay", the Uppersider pointed out, setting the circumstances so the man wouldn't try to convert her to his belief. "Yes, purchasing supplies for a long, dangerous voyage. Quite curious though", the man's eyes flashed white for a brief moment. Had it been her imagination? "What's curious?", she wondered, suddenly feeling a chill creep under her skirt. "A criminal, a sick child, a traitor, a soldier and a woman touched by Glint himself, taking a voyage across the Black Depth. I wonder if you all will accomplish what you seek to. If the gods will allow it", his face changed from benevolent to neutral and his eyes flashed white a second time. With it the chill left and vanished completely. Valentina squinted at the man and then peered left and right. "Safe travels, my child. Heed the lord almighty", Francis bowed slightly and as quietly as he had arrived, the man vanished through a door next to the altar.
Confused and irritated, the Uppersider walked outside. Fanatics? Really? Somehow she didn't quite believe it. Swift steps lead her down the hill, across the almost empty market square and she emerged next to the port authority building. Without much trouble, she found the post box and dropped the sealed letter to the Eye of Clarity. Part of her wished that she had waited until visiting the cathedral before writing to the Inspector, yet maybe some secrets shouldn't just be given up that easily. Movement on the Mercurial made her realise, the goods had been loaded and it would soon be ready to sail. She hurried over and boarded her floating home.