Margery was beginning to learn that the smell of Wall Dorian was of fireplace smoke, Chimneys topping every home puffed out gray plumes, clumping and swirling in the air, becoming more and more faint as they disappeared into the dark skybed.

They passed through the district to get to the Penta, but Margery had been in such a hurry that she hadn’t taken anything in. No better time than now. The wide street left a path full of turns, twists, and breaks, like the branches of a tree, congested with the traffic of the city. Ser Duncan gently pulled her aside as a horse-drawn carriage clopped past, spindled wheels creaking and rattling and bumping over the cobbled road.

Civilians lounged on their porches and balconies, having drinks or talking in groups. A group of men were throwing dice in a dark alley, cheering and cursing at various results. Lovers and families strolled down the walkway, men in dark clothes hid the contents of their robes and ducked into rotting sidelong passages. The local school was in the distance—big gray walls, a flat shingle roof, and two windows peering over the inclining road like black eyes.

The working people ruled the neighborhoods of Wall Dorian, one of the four major walls surrounding and splitting the city into various districts.

The scent of spices stole Margery’s attention as a chain of eateries and shops began to line the street of Eaters’ Walk. One shop with a red roof had a symbol of an apple- stuffed pig with a fork and knife in its trotters drawn into the plaque above the door. A sweaty man standing outside called to the people milling about the area. “Finest pork in the city! You’ll not find a better meal for a better price!”

Melted butter oozed off baked bread at the next restaurant. Margery’s mouth watered a bit as she watched a little girl bite into it, the butter dripping off her lip. Spiced roast meat was served with sweetcorn and potatoes one table over, and past that a clean-cut fish cooked so perfectly the bone slipped right out. The temptation alone nearly convinced Margery to smile, and it was with regret that she put Eaters’ Walk behind her.

The Fountain Plaza was where most of the streets in Wall Dorian connected, at least that’s what Margery had put together so far. She’d visited before, several times actually, but it was never for very long and she didn’t explore much either. Now that she’d be living here, she’d need to get used to the bustling city life. It was a big intersection, the main road connecting to the great circle which then forked out into the four smaller roads. She imagined that most of those paths were interconnected too, not only topside, but underground as well, like a giant spider web. Gransmede was said to be built on top of another city whose name no one knew.

Margery followed the brick shaft of a passing building down to the wide plaque with the symbol of a hammer on an anvil—a blacksmith shop. Sure enough, soot-covered men were shuffling about inside the building. Sweat peeled in bullets off bare backs, the windows were left open so air could circulate. Her skin tingled as she heard a long hiss, steam engulfing one man as he dunked a red-hot blade into a water barrel.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“Spices!” Margery turned her head at the sound, spotting a crooked-looking man on the far side of the plaza as he urged people toward his makeshift stand. “Finest spices in the city! Sunpepper straight from Zarazei! Purest salts and sugars!”

“Dye and polish! Red silks for three pewters! Red silks!” announced a woman merchant with a thick accent. She hefted a huge pack off her back as teenage girls began to crowd around, purses in hand.

Margery moved to step out into the street to get a better look at the merchandise when she collided with Duncan’s outstretched arm. She’d all but forgotten he was there. She was about to question him for stopping her, but got distracted by the stampede.

A boiling crowd of people were filling up the plaza, shoving and snarling at each other, scrambling toward something. Shouts and murmurs of discontent were carried to them on the din, and Margery caught a pensive look on Ser Duncan’s face. He tugged her close as he forced his way through the crowd. The shouts of one man managed to overpower the rest—a man who was pinned to the ground by several others. Pale skin, long and inky black hair, a bony filthy body in patchy clothes—an Ishtarian.

Watchmen, the policing force of Gransmede, circled around the man, blue tabards flapping in a stink-carrying breeze. Some held their clubs as they yelled at their captive and held back the swelling crowd. A woman’s scream rang out, an Ishtarian like the one on the ground. A watchman restrained her before she could reach him, and she bit her captor’s hand to get free. The woman scrambled for her friend, tried to shield him from the beating she must have sensed was coming. She was right to. Wood struck bone with a wet crack and the woman fell still in front of her writhing partner.

“Apologies, m’lady.” Ser Duncan said, as he guided her around the crowd, and down the open lane, away from the disturbance. “Been some problems in the city lately. Protests and such. Nothing you need to be concerned about.”

“Hm,” Margery hummed with disinterest. “Protests?”

“Its nonsense, m’lady. Just poor men demanding more than they’ve earned. The noise will fade away. It always does.” Duncan didn’t sound like he believed that. “Come, Main Street is up this way.”

Margery couldn’t help but look back. The Ishtarian man had broken free of his captors. Weapons were drawn, sharper ones this time, and they all belonged to the watchmen.

Margery turned away as the Ishtarian man fought anyway—screams and shouts faded into the distance. She wiped her mind clean of it.