Outside, the high wind was cold but fragrant, soothing my exertion-dead muscles. This section of Ith-Korr was a vast planked shelf built around a huge redwood. Little holes had been chiselled out of the bark, all jungle-folk sized, and stalls were set up. This late at night, only a couple still had their dimmed oil lamps flickering and they were both bars.
Looks fun, but not what we need right now.
Across the way I saw a large painted sign above a salon-style cabin with the same grey-green badge as the Warden Captain was wearing.
“That’ll be the cop bar Raka was talking about, we owe him fifteen copper.”
“Half of sixty-seven is —”
“Not the bounty. The bounty was thirty, so half is fifteen,” I said. Lenya pursed her lips, probably annoyed that I thought of it and she didn’t, but Alator smiled approvingly.
“You’ve earned a good meal and a night’s rest, Talbot,” Alator clapped me on the shoulder. “That was incredible earlier, the way you read the situation and knew exactly what they would do, just from a glance.”
Lenya shuffled her feet, still with that exaggerated expression torn between disapproval and awe.
“It was . . . impressive. It was the first time I’ve used my magic in that way. My mo— the Queen and I discuss po— discussed possibilities often, especially in the recent days, but . . .”
She trailed off. Again, her bright grey eyes, lit by starlight and the glow of the vines, glazed over wet and she turned away.
I brought the subject back to food and sleep.
“Unlikely we’ll find an inn in this part of town, let’s try the next . . . giant tree.”
The broad planks, all different sizes but some a full yard in breadth and many more in length, moved slightly under our feet with the wind. And always from every vine and patch of curated moss, like lampposts, came the slow, rhythmic glow of unnatural green like unripe living tomato seeds. Occasionally, the massive vines that descended at least fifty yards from the canopy — which held the entire city aloft, save for a connection at each tree — would twitch and curl, pulling and stretching the planks at our feet, raising or dropping us a few inches.
The first few times it did, Lenya yelped and leapt for me, and for my shame, each time I turned to her, held out my arms, but she didn’t reach me in time before the moment passed. In my normal state of mind, I would have been much more cognizant of the type of person she was, but with my body how it was it felt like I’d just got off the hardest day of work in my life, and I’d appreciate a hug. Or, as my girlfriend had dumped me months ago, I’d appreciate the opportunity to set up Chatti the AI Chatbot to play me some ASMR.
We stumbled — I stumbled — around the tree and between two others in a long, winding street that made the planks underfoot feel more like a rope-bridge than anything else, and found a section of the city with more life; a few groups of jungle-folk were either staggering home with a bottle in hand, or else still sitting at the broad round tables outside. Over an awning was an enormous thinly-cast bronze horn, set to point to the roof of the canopy, covered in dents. My eyes were drooping as I pushed between a couple of loudmouth fur-covered drinkers, though it felt like I stepped over them with how short they were, & almost fell through the hinged swinging doors.
Inside, a soft amber glow was cast over the low vine-woven ceiling by dim-burning oil lamps and the air was thick with pipe-smoke and the stink of watery mead. The wooden floor was worn smooth and creaked faintly as the dozen or so patrons moved about or shifted their weight on the polished chairs, and my sandals stuck or slipped slightly with every other step.
As we walked towards the door, there was a smash and a groan from the corner of the room, between a tall banner and I presumed the door to kitchen. An old man, something like an orangutan, was scrambling on the floor, pushing his lips into the planks and trying to loudly slurp and suck up the ale he’d spilt.
“Okay, that’s enough for dumbledor for you, nata,” a jungle-folk woman leapt on all fours over one of the tables and wrenched him up from the floor in two hands. In a movement that seemed to have been practised one too many times, her tail grabbed the tablecloth and threw it on the ground to soak up the spill, and with the old man’s arm over her shoulders, she brought him outside for some air.
She rushed back into the bar in a huff and took quick, easy steps back over to the table, collected the bigger shards of glass, then brushed the rest to the skirting, hoisted the tablecloth over her shoulder and marched past us.
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
“Welcome, drifters, to the Woven Vine! Kah’sika?”
I forced a smile, then mumbled, “Need a . . . two or . . . room.”
“Oof, you look ready to keel over, Mista!” Her fur was long, straight, brown and blonde, and she had startling blue-white eyes with thick dark lids, standing out doubly so as the top half of the skin of her face was a shining black, like a brown spider monkey. Her arms were much longer than her legs and stretched all the way down the long bar to pick up a clay mug, which she held behind her, twisting her body at the waist. With her tail, she tapped the copper spigot and waited just long enough to fill the mug to the brim, all without looking, then brought it back round and dropped it on the desk with a light thud and splash of a pale brown, opaque liquid. “Finish that and we’ll talk.”
I bent far, far down to reach the counter-top to sip the first half-inch of thick foam from the mug, then stood and brought it up. With the crown of my head pressed against the vine-woven ceiling above, I couldn’t exactly throw it back, but I downed the small mug in two gulps.
Gasping and smacking my lips, I put the mug back on the table. The crisp taste and slight burn hit me as an afterthought, a buzz settled over my tongue almost sickly-sweet.
The barmaid beamed a playful smile, “Will never get used to how you niraki can drink! That much mibege would knock any one of us on our arse!”
Swallowing a burp, I leant down and perched myself a little awkwardly on one of the stools by the bar, my knees up to my ribs.
“The name’s Keza,” her voice was soft, warm and welcoming, a kind and very welcome change from the sharp-barking jungle-folk men I’d experienced so far. “I’m afraid we’re just about at last orders, but I’ll leave a table out for you if you want to wile the time away before dawn?”
“No, thank you,” I rasped, shaking my head. After clearing my throat, I continued, “Would you have a couple of rooms for us?”
“Looks like there are three of you.”
“Alator and I are happy to share.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t be happy sharing a Vyneshi room, I don’t imagine! First time in Ith-Korr?”
“It is.”
“Well, first, congratulations on getting past the wukkahi at the gates!” Keza gave a big, knowing smile. “You don’t seem to be tradesmen or merchants, so it’s quite an accomplishment by itself. Anyway, you’ll find the rooms a little small to share, unless you’re taken to sleeping on top of each other.”
“Three will be fine,” Alator said.
“Brekis!” Keza called up a staircase to our left that circled round to the first floor. A grumble came in return, and a few moments later a dark-furred jungle-folk stamped heavily (as heavily as a monkey can) down the wooden steps. He had a long face that looked always in some state of shock, with a thin nose and wide mouth almost from ear-to-ear, and close-set brown eyes like a macaque, with and a small disc of longer-cut fur on his head like a monk, set in a middle parting. “These niraki want board.”
I placed a copper piece on the bar for the drink and turned to the old monkey-man.
“Three of us, please, just the one night, if that’s okay.”
“Greetings, drifters. That’s fine — late arrival and want to see more of the city tomorrow, h’m?” His voice was measured and gentle, though we’d clearly just woke him up. “We’ve not many travellers in at the moment, two copper for three for the night.”
I handed over the money and followed him up the tight spiral staircase to the third storey, where he pressed himself against the wall in the thin hallway and pointed down the way. “End three rooms will do you. If you’ve not stayed here before, know that our food and drink is vastly superior to the . . . sleeping experience, for outsiders at least. Would you like a wake-up call?”
“Oh, yes, thank you! Just after dawn, please.”
He yawned as if on command and reluctantly said, “Of course, Mista. For all three of you?”
He pointedly looked to Lenya, who I only now realised had slumped herself against the wall and was almost entirely asleep already.
“She can sleep in a little,” I whispered. She moaned wordlessly, and trudged off towards the end of the hallway, her golden trinkets tinkling slightly as she stepped with pride and precision — despite her near-unconscious state, off to bed.
“See you bright and early, then,” Brekis the innkeeper nodded his little macaque head and his little circular ruff of hair flopped about.
The second floor ceiling was even lower than the ground floor, keeping me slouched at all times. Ducking underneath a door-less arch, the room was set at a sharp right-angle, with the bed tucked away running parallel to the hallway. I stubbed my toe on the foot of it when stepping into the blackness of the room. I reached for [Vigour : Endurance] for a moment, but the effort proved too great and I didn’t manage to find the Skill. I chuckled to myself that my reflexes had already adjusted to my powers in this weird New World, though I suppose I’d been here a full week.
A full week! I wonder how that stands up to others who come to this place. I’ve not run into many; just Yorrick and Kikiara the Seeker so far, and Alator and Lenya, I suppose; so clearly there aren’t many who last very long, or else . . . no one chooses Barbican. . . . No one chooses Barbican. . . .
A cowardly thought crept lazily into my mind.
There’s life here, happy people, but also so much suffering. Could I just leave? Go home? Let the World-Eater gorge itself on this foul and savage world?
BUZZ.
“AH!” I jumped and fell off the bed, my shoulder slid down the six-inch or so gap and grazed against the wall and the wooden cot.
QUIETER.
// SYS : You were thinking so loudly, I thought you’d be prepared. //
With a bit of squirming struggle, I pulled myself back up and onto the thick, dense mattress.
What do you want?
// SYS : Just wish to add a moment of clarity to your rambling. Barbican is the World in which you can make the quickest progress with the boons that I have granted you. Barbican is the World currently at threat. If you fail, or refuse your task, the World-Eater will simply move on. //
Oh.
// SYS : Put simply, Earth could be next. //