“Sorl, watch the shop,” the merchant barked at another the next stall over, who gave him a wave and a grunt. He led us back through a purple curtain to a small room, then rolled over a thick fur rug to loose several tightly-wrapped bundles of different lengths. He squatted down, untied the string and revealed them all, and held them up for me to inspect one-by-one, before lying them carefully on the fur.
“Each would be twenty copper — for the danger, you see.”
I still had no real grasp on Barbican money, so just nodded. When they were all unwrapped and laid out, I thought to touch the Analysis Card in my pouch.
Weapon :
Bronze Sword
Rarity :
Common
Description :
Short bronze blade with a strong midrib and oak hilt
Damage :
Stabs or cuts
Weapon :
Bronze Spear of Blinding
Rarity :
Common, Enchanted
Description :
Sturdy polearm of wood with a large, long bronze spearhead
Damage :
Stabs or cuts, chance of blinding
Weapon :
Iron Mace
Rarity :
Common
Description :
Heavy diamond-shaped iron atop an oak shaft
Damage :
Bludgeons
My eyes went wide reading the description for the enchanted Bronze Spear.
What a find! Why is he selling this at the same price? Hold on. . . . SYS, can people not tell when weapons are enchanted?
// SYS : On the whole, no. There are at any one time on Barbican, excluding offworlders, a small handful of people who understand anything about enchantment, and even they would be hard-pressed to find one out without study or practise with it. //
I assume people can fumble around and pick up [Crafting] or [Mysticism] to help with that sort of thing?
// SYS : Talbot. . . . The New Worlds are not games, nor some cynical literary device designed to hedge bets and introduce other places willy-nillily when one becomes stale. //
Willy-nillily, huh. . . . Well of course it’s not that; we’re in a living, breathing, coherent narrative. There aren’t any literary devices here, just good old-fashioned storytelling.
// SYS : Well of course. Quite. //
Quite.
// SYS : Anyway, if you want spoilers you’re going to have to be a lot nicer to me. //
My mind swam with further potential abuses of the Analysis Card, but I packaged them away for another time.
“And any of these weapons are twenty copper each?”
“That’s right, you — oh, I see. Don’t even think about it . . . There’s not enough iron on that thing to sell it for scrap, you wouldn’t get half what you pay for it.”
I clicked my fingers and feigned annoyance.
“In that case I’ll have the spear.”
“Pleasure.”
I had no idea just how much of a bargain I’d just received, but it was the first enchantment I’d seen, and it was on a spear, which by that point I was starting to consider myself well-trained with. As soon as he handed it over and my fingers clasped tightly around the pole, I felt his tension climb. A half-glance towards the door and a bead of sweat told me to get going.
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
“That will be us. Thank you, friend, I will forget all about your stash, and be out of the town within the hour.”
He breathed a sigh of relief, wrapped up the remaining weapons, and rolled the fur rug over them again. He stood at the threshold for a moment, moving the purple curtain an inch and peering through, before deciding that the way was clear, and ushering us out.
“Thank you, and you are always welcome!”
As we were making our way down the thoroughfare towards the glistening dark sea, I heard Sea-Shell Sed the merchant laughing and looked over my shoulder to see him packing up his wares for the day and making obscene gestures to Sorl, the seller beside him.
If only he knew.
The port was a short walk downhill towards the coastline, and after ten minutes of tamping heavily down sandy streets and between tall-looming coral spires, we were greeted with the first proper look at the Boiling Sea.
Stretching out from Zhai-Khul to the far horizons north and east, the sea was a deep black-blue. Noise of its churning reached us and even from the shore we could see pockets of steam burst like geysers from the surface and rise in columns in the distance.
The water lapped against the last of the deep-set coral buildings, connected by stilts and sea-crusted rope-ladders above the water, and a pier, made of pale salt-battered and heat-warped wood, stretched a hundred yards or so out. Along it were a dozen or so pitch-hulled ships with oars and limp sails — not so different from what we know of our own Bronze Age.
Khalnari sailors were lazily wiling the late morning away, or begrudgingly working on porting wares or supplies to and from their vessels. Asking the nearest coral-folk — sitting and scraping scrimshaw — where we could find Raik, he chuckled darkly under his breath and, without so much as a glance upwards, extended his short tortoise-neck towards the end of the pier.
Walking along it, I got the first whiff of eggy sulphur for a while.
Thought I was rid of that — will be glad when we get away from this area of the world.
Lying sprawled on a low chair, a dark amber bottle in hand, was our man. The rim of his tall, gnarled, weather-beaten shell, warped and scratched and pocked all over, stretched over his brow. Moving up to him, my shadow cast over and I cleared my throat loudly, but there was no response. I gently kicked one of trunk-like clawed feet and he wearily grumbled awake.
“Ah, it’s still mornin’, let me sleep. . . .”
His voice was raspy and . . . pirate-y.
“We want passage north.”
He burped loudly, then after stretching his head out, he squinted up at us both, trying to make sense of us.
“Outsiders, eh? You,” he jutted a flat, rounded chin out at me underneath the rough, scale-like beak of his upper lip, “strike me as one of those crazy traveller types that have been popping up the las’ few years, from some land far away, I understand? And you,” indicating Alator, “you . . . I’m not sure abou’.”
We gave him our names. Then, with a speed that belied his size and apparent age, he rolled forwards off the chair and to his feet, and corked the bottle he was holding. Then he pushed it into a deep pocket in the large, darkly-waxed sea-coat he wore, and slapped my shoulder, his massive, heavy arm almost toppling me.
“So, where to, lads?”
I blinked.
“Just like that?”
“Oh-ho, le’ old Raik the Salt-Crusted know where it is ye’d like to go, first, then we can discuss means and payment.”
“The Hanging Garde — the Hanging City of Ith-Korr.”
“Ah, I make that journey a few times a season — never want to make any bets against the sea, o’course; she be a tricky, malicious gal; but I can do tha’ for ye. Ten copper coins to get ye within sigh’ of the city and safely to shore.”
“Not into it? Or to a harbour?”
“En’ering Ith-Korr is rarely a simple thing, nor is i’ cheap. . . . Thir’y, and I’ll finagle your passage into the ci’y docks, as well.”
Pulling open my pouch, I saw I had just enough copper to rub together — I had exactly two. I glanced at Alator, who performatively tugged on the skirt-like tunic-lower-half, which was all he ever wore, indicating he was broke, and he shrugged.
“How’s about a trade?” I smiled hopefully.
Surprisingly, the old Khalnari’s eyes softened and his stance mellowed out. He clapped his massive hands together, salt and sand bursting off them.
“Now that’s more like it! What’’e ye go’ for me, then, traveller?”
What DO I have for him?
Moving to the side of the pier, to a set of decrepit driftwood shelves, I carefully laid out the loot I had in my pouch: the Frostwaith Claw; the Snowdrift Fang; the Frost Venom Gland; the Cinderback Claw; and the Inferno Heartstone.
As I slowly produced them all, his eyes widened and his long, thick tongue lolled out of his mouth. Eyes lingering, he turned back to me.
“Oh-ho, any one of ’ose will do very nicely.”
From my recollection, the only one that didn’t have interesting utility was the Snowdrift Fang, but apparently enchantment was a far-off venture, so I didn’t really have much preference. At length, I picked up the long, steel-like fang that the Snowdrift Serpent had plunged deep into my shoulder and palm. As I handed it to him, I felt a — hopefully psychosomatic — ache and chill from the wounds.
Taking it, he stuffed it into the deep pockets of his coat, and took one large, heavy stride into the ship beside him — a type of sloop, I guessed. It swayed precariously left and right, but his thick sea-legs kept him upright without a care.
Curious, while placing the rest of the loot back, I touched the Analysis Card.
Name :
Raik the Salt-Crusted, Level 3
Stats :
Str 6, Dex 4, Con 12, Mnd 4
Skills :
Survivalism Lvl 2
Inventory :
3 Rum Bottles, Snowdrift Fang, 12 Copper Coins
Weakness :
Will do anything for a drink
Home :
Zhai-Khul, Barbican
Will do anything for a drink. Damn. Really should get in the habit of checking this beforehand.
“Come on, then!” Raik waved us in.
“Right now?”
“Huh? If not, then when? . . .” he stuck his tongue out to taste the wind. “As good a time as — Oh, I forgo’ you soft-skinned folk have to eat every day. Better bring along a bit of scran — we’ll come to shore every nigh’, but I can’t vouch for the hun’ing prospects along the Breathing Sands. Will be a little better when we reach the woods around the Ribs.”
Now aboard, his pirate-y voice seemed further exaggerated and had a bit of a rhythm to it, to the point that it sounded like everything he said was the start of a shanty.
“I can do without,” Alator declared. I passed a wistful eye back in the vague direction of the Coral Wraith and its chargrilled kraken, then patted the bread in my pouch and climbed aboard.
The dark-hulled boat was maybe eight yards end-to-end, and only two across, like a broad canoe, but the resin-sticky planks felt solid underfoot. There was a heavy greyed sail folded up at one end, torn and mended all over, and two benches with four oars aside for rowing. I’d attended a MegaCorp team-building exercise once on the man-made lake on the outskirts of City One back on Earth, so I knew a little about sailing.
Alator stepped into it cautiously, and as his second foot descended the boat lurched with Raik’s movement readying the oars, and his eyes reflexively flashed yellow-gold and gripped the rough rope gunwale.
A grin crossed my mouth, but he shot me a shut up look, and I just shook my head and took my place on one of the benches. Raik set the oars to the crutches and leant them over to me. The hot leather over the heavy, rough wood was quite different to the soft rubber and carbon fibre that I’d learnt with, but I tested the weight and moved them quite comfortably. Raik gave me an approving nod, then, leaning out, untied the mooring line, took his place on his bench with the other two oars, and pushed away from the pier.
“And we’re off!”