In Marash you could count at least three taverns for every church.
The largest church in town was Emilia’s, goddess of the hearth, a large stone structure that preceded the outpost by a century, whose outer walls had been freshly repainted with colorful murals. The Virgins could be seen walking in and out of it, blue-clad women in robes of varying quality who hid away everything including their faces behind veils. They provided free healing services for all those in need, gave out spiritual guidance to those in distress, and offered their tireless hands for any good that needed doing for the better good of all, whether that meant taking care of the elderly, building a ditch, or even fighting off goblins. There was a reason every town had a church for Emilia even if it lacked anything else, and that was because the Virgins were like little blue bees that kept every community safe and running.
Beyond this there was the shrine of Tibet, a rundown timber building near the edge of town that didn’t even have a priest. Inside there was only a roughly carved statue of a smirking redhead who had two grinning goblins with painted faces perched on his shoulders. The young god of gamblers and extreme chance-takers. Tibet favored only the bold and the insane.
Then, in a well-kept wooden building right besides Emilia’s church was the boring domain of Sarest, the god of law, commerce, safe travels. His priests, such as they were, spent most of their time inspecting goods, settling disputes, and forging contracts. For a price, they would bless and enchant any shipment to ensure its safe journey across a great distance, but Esmi had never once seen one of them actually worship their god. Their real faith, as far as she could tell, consisted in piling stacks of coin and writing up contracts.
Apart from the large open market that surrounded the church of Emilia, there were taverns at the edge of town that offered their services for men from all walks of life. The Red Bear was the only other stone structure in town, a cheerful inn with vines growing up the facade, surrounded by a gated wall, with a richly flowered balcony, and a stable with one of the most handsome workers Esmi had ever seen—a freckled boy with kind brown eyes and brown hair tied in a ponytail, whom she could stare at for hours and did every day as she passed him by, hoping she would get noticed by him. If only they still had the family horses she could have struck up a conversation, but her father sold them all off, even Blacky, whom Sandra had loved so deeply…
Truth be told, it was unlikely they would even let her enter. The Red Bear was only for wealthy clientele and the armed bodyguards stationed at the gate kept a watchful eye on passersby. Esmi may have made it into town, but it became apparent that the geese had ways of keeping out their own, too, and not just gypsies. Even these wealthy burghers and aristocrats that she could see entering the inn likely had places they were denied entry to somewhere in the wider world.
Thinking about that pleased her.
The most popular place in town did not even have a name, and was only referred to by the name of its owner: Tomis. It was part-whorehouse, part-inn, part-drinking hole and gambling den, and it was where most came to bury their sorrows and drink away. Tomis’ hole was where Manu and other gypsies from camp spent most of their time in town.
Not where Razlan went to, though…
No, her father went to a sad little place just behind Tibet’s church. A long and windowless structure made of a rotting timber frame, equipped only with a small bar run by an old man that looked like a corpse, who served customers that were there neither to whore or cheer up. Men that drank somberly and quietly, waiting only to die.
It was, without a doubt, the most accursed place Esmi had ever laid eyes on, and its sepulchral aura could drain every happy thought from her.
Thankfully, she was not chasing after her father today. Instead, with coin-in-hand, Esmi went around the market looking for tasty morsels and things to buy.
First, went over to Baklal’s stall and bought herself one of his beloved skewers. He was a onyx-skinned man that came from far away who barely spoke a word of Rovinan, but who put together such delightful combinations of honeyed meat and charred vegetables and fruit that it all melted in in the mouth and left the customers with warm tingles. Some, it was said, even fainted from how good it was. The aromas were beyond what any of the local geese could produce, and the despite his foreign appearance and odd customs Baklal was most beloved in Marash, even above the Virgins.
Esmi sat down at one of the small stools planted over the carpet in front of his stall and ate together with the geese, all of them reverently and quietly nipping at the goodies on their skewers as they watched Baklal’s deft black hands grilling another batch. No one dared break the master’s concentration, not even to compliment him.
“Good, yes?” Baklal would occasionally ask, turning towards all of them with a grin. Esmi first noticed a scar under his eye, but over time, she realized that it was not a scar but a marking, a strange and unfamiliar one that must have been carved directly into his flesh.
As he cooled off the new batch with a slim panel, Esmi stood up and padded over meekly. “Could I have another?” she asked, offering a gleaming coin.
Baklal eyed her and grinned. “You like to eat.”
Esmi giggled. “Yes. Very much.”
“Become big?” The black man held his hands out a few inches from his waist and chuckled.
“Not too big, I hope…”
Baklal handed her another and patted her on the head, a surprising gesture that warmed her heart. When Esmi came around for a third, he said, “You are gypsy, no?”
“Yes. I think so, at least…” Nowadays, it was hard to say what she was. Things had just changed so much. They hadn’t been on the road in two years. Though they were technically gypsies, they were acting as geese in all but name.
“You know karat gypsy?” he asked.
“What?…”
Baklal turned his attention back to the fire for a time, then swung his face back to her. “Karat,” he repeated, the pointed to his eye. When she did not understand, he pointed to a man behind her. Still, Esmi did not get it. “Karat.” As a group of Virgins passed by the stall, he pointed, “Karat!”
“Blue!” Esmi cried excitedly. “Blue, you mean blue? Yes, blue eyes. Manu? Or my dad… Though I kinda doubt you mean him.”
“Karat gypsy danger,” he said matter-of-factly. Then he lifted up her face by the chin and smiled. “You no karat. Very nice gypsy.”
“Why, thank you kindly.” Esmi grinned and bought another skewer.
She had eaten beyond her full to the point that she felt a little ill when she stood up to go. Wandering the market in the shadowy cool under the awnings, she was assaulted by a variety of scents and smells, some mouth-watering, some absolutely vile. As always, she was drawn to the weapon and armor merchants, though she knew their goods were far, far beyond her means. A rusted knife she could probably get back at camp from a fellow gypsy for free. But one of these fine swords with gleaming cross-guards and ivory pommels could run up to twenty golden alastri. It was a sum so vast that she could not even imagine it in her head.
“Coin” to her were just the normal saresti she used in her day to day life. But she knew that seven-hundred and thirty-four of those made up a silver leras. And then fifty-three of those made up an alastri. Their wagon alone would likely not fetch even one gold alastri. But twenty? She tried to think of how much that might be in saresti, but her mind didn’t know how to play with numbers so grand.
As always, Esmi’s eyes were drawn to the same sword which hadn’t been sold in the entire time since they arrived in Marash. It was longsword lengthier than she was, with an ivory pommel shaped like a screaming goblin and a crossguard etched with calligraphy she could not read or understand. The steel blade was so shiny that she could see her reflection in it, and one time when the salesman wasn’t looking Esmi had even run her fingertips across the icy steel and got goosebumps. The feeling was exhilarating.
Every time she saw it, she prayed that no one would buy it. Because someday soon, she would get it herself. Not with the crazy alastri required, probably but she could steal it, then steal a horse, and then ride off for the great wide world with everything she needed.
That, at least, was the idea.
“Get away from here, gyppo,” said the mustached salesman as he noticed her. He was too far away to touch her, but he reached out as if he meant to shove her off and Esmi took a step back instinctively.
Meanie, she thought. I’m only looking!
Esmi intended to use her remaining saresti wisely on some food to last them the remainder of the week, but as she walked the market a new thing took her attention. An exquisite dress for a woman about her size was on display. It was blood red and distinctly shiny, almost as if it were wet, and what got her attention most of all were the delicately crafted roses around the upper half that had been shaped out of the same fabric.
For a moment, Esmi thought back to Adda and her own flowery dress, and regretted opening up those locked-up memories. Instead, she thought of that stable boy, and how impressed he may have been if she just casually walked by him wearing this thing. He might think I’m some princess…
The tailor behind the stall, a fleshy woman with an endless amount of hair bundled on top of her head that kept falling in uncontrollable strands, noticed her. Instinctively, Esmi stepped back.
“Hey, that’s okay!” said the woman, whose voice was surprisingly gentle and high-pitched despite her size and age. “You can look.”
Warily, Esmi came close and pinched the dress’ fabric between her fingers. It was smooth. So smooth. Like water made into fabric…
“How much is it?” she asked innocently.
“Two and three.”
“Twenty three coins?!” Esmi asked excitedly. She only had about ten left, but she could find the rest, surely…
The woman put her down kindly and warmly. “Two alastri and thirty leras.”
At once, the wind was knocked out of Esmi. How did all these people have such money? “Is everyone here rich?”
The woman chuckled affably. “This is a lawless trading outpost, little dear. Nobody here is buying anything for themselves. We buy and sell to go directly to the rich folk in Arlat. You don’t think they’d bother coming all this way themselves, do they? They’re busy eating cake and such over there at the capital.”
Stolen novel; please report.
Esmi barely knew this fat woman, but she decided she liked her a lot. “Even I could do that.”
The woman smiled. “You’re telling me. Who doesn’t love a good sweet? I’m Rika.”
“Esmi.”
“What a sweet little name.”
“Well, it’s Esmeralda…”
“Still very pretty! So tell me, Esmi, what did you want a dress for anyway?”
She shrugged. “No reason. It’s just nice.”
“That it is,” said Rika, but her playful green eyes lingered. She served another client, during which Esmi stood there admiring the elegant red dress undisturbed. I could just take it, she thought idly, seeing that Rika was too focused to even glance at her. She isn’t even looking. But she kept her hands to herself and remembered Manu’s words. This wasn’t a place to steal in. This was a place of business. And Rika was kind and gentle.
When Rika finished with her client, Esmi said, “There is a boy I would’ve liked to wear it for.”
The woman laughed. “Your boyfriend, is it?”
“No. Just a boy. The stable boy at the Red Bear.”
“I don’t know him.”
“He’s cute.”
Rika folded some fabrics and then said, “A boy or a man?”
“A boy!”
“A dress won’t do much for you there. Have you tried talking to him?”
Esmi blushed. “No…”
“You might want to start with that.”
“I’m just a gyppo anyway,” she muttered, a thought which had been on her mind since the beginning. Of course he wouldn’t like her. Sure, some geese liked gypsy men. But a geese boy with a gypsy girl? Esmi never heard of such a thing. Even her father had been half-gypsy.
“So?” Rika said, shrugging it away like nothing. “Look at you. You’re a cutie. If he doesn’t like you, then he’s stupid. It’s a simple as that. Just be careful. Your mother taught you about boys, right?”
“I guess so,” said Esmi quietly, trying to remember her mother’s lessons. But they weren’t many, and the memories were becoming fainter by the day.
“Don’t go with him anywhere far off. And stay within earshot.”
“Right.”
Rika studied her thoughtfully. “Come by tomorrow, Esmi. I might have something for you.”
“For how much?”
“Just come by,” she insisted.
Leaving the stall, Esmi wondered if she would be gifted the red dress. No, that was crazy. But then what? Guess I’ll see tomorrow…
She bought some potatoes, some grapes, some fish and bread, then made her way back out of town and back home.
When she arrived back at the wagon, she entered to find her father seated at the edge of her bed, looking pale and half-dead. “Esmi,” he croaked lovingly, clutching the sides of the bed so tightly that his knuckles went white. “You’re back.”
Esmi watched him without a word. He was still drunk. She could smell it. “I brought food.”
“You eat it, sweetheart,” he said. “I don’t want any.”
He closed his eyes and sat there for a couple more minutes. Then, suddenly, he bolted past her and rushed out of the wagon. Esmi grimaced as she heard the violent spray of vomit splatter the ground. He fell to his knees and coughed as he threw up breathlessly, beating on his chest with his fist.
Disgusted, she sat at the edge of the bed, glaring towards the sunny threshold, wishing he would just disappear.
At length, Razlan rose back up to his feet and came up the stairs of the wagon, wiping the vomit from his face with his sleeve. “You got everything you need, Esmi?”
She shrugged. “I guess so.”
“Food, water…” He sounded so tired and hopeless. Almost dead. “You got what you need?”
“Yup.”
Razlan nodded slowly and struggled to collect himself. “Okay. Good. Then I’ll see you later, alright?”
“Sure,” she said coolly. “See you later.”
He closed the door to the wagon as best he could and took off, staggering back up the road towards town.
Esmi ripped the corner of the bread with her teeth, feeling her blood rush. She could just imagine where he would be later in the evening, or next morning. Maybe lying in a pool of his own vomit or passed-out and half-frozen to death somewhere by the roadside, waiting to be found by some frightened traveler. It was only going to be a matter of time until Manu or someone else came to announce that he was just found cold stiff and lifeless.
Just thinking about it wracked her chest with sobs. Dead, just like her mother. He was going to leave her by herself.
All alone.
I wish you would just fucking die already, she thought angrily, and hot tears welled in her eyes as she gnashed the bread crust between her teeth.
----------------------------------------
The pale moon shone and the stars twinkled silverly in the sky.
The three gypsies waited at the secluded wharf by the slow-moving river in the same place as always, hidden under the deep shadows of the brooding forest surrounding them.
Manu was sad that he couldn’t wear his newest coat, but it was a surprisingly chilly night for late June. He he was starting to think this year might skip summer altogether. Maybe not, he considered right after, thinking it unwise to question the gods and their workings of the world.
Standing next to him were his most trustworthy men of late, Danil and Bogdi. Both of them were big beefy apes with little going on in their heads, but they were useful enough. Danil was a gypsy that hadn’t been with his clan since he ran off as a little boy, and Bogdi wasn’t a gypsy at all, but they were both men that knew to do what needed to be done, and were good at following orders despite their limited intelligence. Like children, they were easily entertained and quick to anger.
Bored, Manu flicked his lucky lera and studied the two. “She had an ass big enough to work as a wagon!” exclaimed Danil. “You could see it under her robe.”
Bogdi chuckled and looked inwardly to paint the mental image for himself. “The slut. She probably loves showing off that way. Virgin my ass. We had some of those back in my town. They’d fuck everyone. Even the dogs if you let them.”
Women were always on their mind, and as thrilling as these repeated conversations could be, Manu had little patience for them. “Two gypsies come across this wagon full of gold that had collapsed by the roadside. Everyone had been attacked by giant wolves and eaten, but the riches were untouched.”
Knowing they were in for a tale, both Danil and Bogdi stopped their interaction and peered at their boss expectantly, giggling in advance.
Enjoying their rapt attention, Manu took it it slow and acted it out as he told the tale. “So they go back home, bring the wagon, and load it up. But there’s so much gold that they couldn’t possibly take all of it at once, so then they go back again and bring sacks, fill those up too, and strap them to the roof of the wagon. By the time they pick up every last bit of gold, the wagon is so heavy that it can barely move. The horses are pulling for dear life just so the wheels can move a hairsbreadth.”
Bogdi laughed with delight. “Fucking idiots, just do two runs!”
“But this gold, of course,” Manu goes on, “isn’t just there. It belongs to the king. So days later when the shipment doesn’t show up, his men go searching for it. Riders scour the land till they finally find the wagon that the two numbskulls couldn’t even bother to hide. So, naturally, they take to the road and eventually come across the gypsies, that were barely out of the area at the pace they were going. So the rider goes up to them and, suspecting something, asks, ‘What have you got in the bags?’ ‘Seeds,’ they say. ‘Seeds. Where are you taking them to? Isn’t it almost winter?’ ‘To Calar,’ they say. ‘Calar? Isn’t that just a day away?’ The gypsies say, ‘That’s why we’re going to slowly. We’re hoping to arrive during sowing season.’”
Manu smirked. Bogdi laughed hysterically, but Danil stared at him, half-laughing, half-confused. “So they let them go?”
“You idiot!” snapped Bogdi, smacking him in the chest. “Don’t you get it? They were going so slowly that it would take them till spring to get to this nearby town!”
“Oooh!” Danil laughed along, though he did not seem to really get it. “I see. That’s funny, real funny. You come up with these yourself, boss?”
“Unfortunately,” said Manu, and switched his bored gaze to the moonlit river. “My mind is an over-active place.”
Eventually, after a long wait, the slender ship appeared at the bend in the river where the waters disappeared beyond the overlooking cliff. It rocked forwards slowly, laden with cargo, and there were no lamps to light its way. It came to a halt by the wharf, then a few men, with the help of Bogdi and Danil, secured it.
From the ship emerged a slender man of short stature, with little hair on his head, accompanied by a massive, hulking orc, a creature big enough that it made the ship bounce up from the waters when its weight left it. Manu had seen the orc enough times that its hideous face should have no longer unnerved him, but it did. Not only could he barely reach the chest of the monster, but the flesh on its face was mangled and gnarled, deeply scarred, and two pair of baleful yellow eyes watched his movements unblinkingly. Such a fiend could take a small army of men with ease, no doubt, and it was impressive that Thieves Guild could bind an orc to its will in such a way. Whatever trick it took to tame it, it was one Manu hoped to learn.
That vampire against this orc, he considered, thinking back to the fat blond beast that had slain his father. Who would win? Perhaps the vampire would, at least at first. But how many orcs could that undead northerner take till his cold, tired body gave out? The orcs would chop him to pieces till there was nothing left. Then, if Adda were still with him, Manu would let them have their way with her, too. The searing image of their fates excited Manu greatly.
“Warm greetings, friend,” said Rogoz.
He extended a gloved hand for a handshake and Manu bowed his head respectfully. “How’s things?”
“You know how it is,” said Rogoz with a knowing smile. “Let’s make room for the boys to unload all the goodies.”
Danil and Bogdi brought over the horses and wagons while Rogoz’ men got all the crates off the ship. Inside there were mostly fabrics, but also lots of clothes, ranging from hats, to belts, gloves, aprons, to coats of various sizes. “Not bad,” said Manu.
“Only the best,” said Rogoz happily. “You have the payment, I hope?”
Manu himself went to his horse, took the simple wooden chest and brought it over to the small man. Rogoz crouched down to open the lid, then glanced down into the depths of the alastri-stuffed chest with delighted eyes. He rummaged through the coins to the bottom, picked one at random, then bit it and held it out to the moonlight.
“You’ve got all two hundred,” said Manu. “Count it.”
Rogoz closed the lid. “I trust you, of course. Nobody would be stupid enough to swindle the Thieves Guild, after all. You gypsies know better than most what we’re capable of.”
Manu agreed; but the truth was that he was hurt by the careless reaction. He had even added twenty extra in there for Rogoz himself as a token of his friendship. In time, Manu hoped their relationship could lead to bigger and better things, and perhaps to him being induced in the Thieves Guild himself rather than dealing only with the fence. Despite the fake smiles and calm words, however, Rogoz remained unfriendly at his core, and it was hard to say if this was because of Manu being a gypsy or if it was simply the case that the man was a natural cunt.
Manu opened up one of the crates and noticed a beautiful gold-lined robe that he knew Mira would appreciate. Upon removing it, he noticed a far worse fabric underneath with some suspicion. Green and timeworn, he drew it hastily and unfurled it to see the weathered banner of some noble house. All the other items in the crate were similarly worn and ripped banners. “Rogoz, buddy, do you think I’m going to fucking war? What am I supposed to do with these?”
Rogoz, standing in the black shadow of his terrifying orc, shrugged with indifference.“Sell them. What else?”
“Who will buy these? They’re so damaged that not even the houses they belong to would want them displayed!”
The old rogue clicked his tongue, then sighed as if he were losing patience with a petulant child. “Listen, you know how this goes. I sell you a lot of goods for cheap and you take them in bulk. There could be items in there that might be worth a small fortune—if I had the time to sort through them all, I wouldn’t sell them off to you. For the best price you can get, everything in there is worth way more than you’re paying me. That’s your end. So what’s the problem? This is how it’s always worked. Sometimes you get treasure, other times you get shit. Usually, you’ll luck out with some items of great beauty to make a profit on and eat a little shit on the side. That’s life, kid, a gamble. You wanna make it? Don’t act smart—get lucky.”
Realizing he had made a grave error by complaining, Manu giggled and tried to play it off. “Oh, don’t you worry, I’ll find a buyer. I always do.”
“And if you can’t, maybe you can make one of those shitty tents of yours out of them, eh, gyppo?” Rogoz followed the insult with a few furtive orders to his crew, then barked a command to the orc in a language so guttural it raised goosebumps along the gypsy’s arms. The orc snarled, picked up the chest of alastri, and jumped back onto the top deck with surprising grace for a beast that big.
Fucking hell, thought Manu, grateful he wouldn’t have to face it at any point. He would sooner face that vampire a hundred times over than this orc even once.
Rogoz strolled over and whispered into his ear. “I’ve got something extra special coming next time, if you’ve got the coin.”
Manu raised his brows with interest. “How much?”
“At least five times what you gave me now, maybe more. But you stand to make ten times that.”
The gypsy snorted at the idea, but he could see that the rogue wasn’t joking. “What is it?”
Rogoz winked and turned around. “You’ll see. Till next time!” he said, waving back daintily with a gloved hand as he padded back to his ship.
As it took off, Danil said, “I always gotta go on empty before I see that orc, else I’ll piss myself.”
“You think that’s ugly, you should see the hogs those northerners take for wives.”
His lackeys chortled at his back, but Manu just watched the light ship cutting through the waters smoothly, feeling anxious and uncertain.
Five times the alastri he paid now. He had nowhere near that.
In fact, until they managed to sell off this new shipment, he had nothing at all.
I guess I’ll just have to find a way to put it together by then, thought Manu, and began to scheme his next move.