On the way to Ipalos

The rising sun was just a reddish glimmer on the eastern horizon. It was also a promise of the day to come, a day that would hopefully bring something better than the previous one.

So wished also the boy trudging along the sandy path, his mop of hair taking on its familiar golden glow with the dawn. To make sure no one was following, he turned several times to look behind him, to where the sun was beginning to rise.

Repeated glances caused the blond-haired boy's travelling companion to turn his wondering, warm brown eyes to his comrade and frown slightly. After all, their common destination was still ahead of them, a city shrouded in the dark mantle of night.

Ipalos stood out on the plain like an irregularly shaped sugarloaf in the middle of a dinner table. And if the town was a loaf, the small villages around it looked like lumps of sugar sprinkled on a table.

Although the city was quite large, the first thing to see on the plain was the wide ribbon of river that ran north to south across the region.

The mighty Frothy River picked up on its banks most of the villages in the area until it made a gentle bend and plunged into the city. South of Ipalos, the river widened even further, and during the day it was crowded with countless ships sailing upstream from the sea. These included small dinghies belonging to local fishermen, paddle steamers and ocean-going steamships.

Although darkness was just giving way to light, the earliest travellers were already queuing at the gates of Ipalos. At night, access to the city was restricted and only possible by paying a gate fee. Villagers, unwilling - and often unable - to part with their money at the gate, would arrive with their carts early in the morning to join the queue and scour the markets for the best selling spots. The range of products on sale was wide: nuts, vegetables, eggs, pastries, handicrafts and all manner of necessities. Fish, on the other hand, could be bought directly from the fishermen's boats in the river port of Ipalos.

Within the city walls, some began to wake up as well. As the ever greedy seagulls let out their first calls of the day in the skies above Ipalos, smoke billowed from the chimneys of the bakeries and manufactories, the early rising merchants swept the fronts of their shops, and the blanket-clad beggars scrambled to their regular places on the street corners illuminated by the first rays of the sun.

The daylight also drove some people off the streets. A drunken sailor who had lost his last few mites in a card game staggered back to his ship, a burglar slipped away to his hideout with a meagre haul, and a soldier of the City Guard who had been chasing him retired at the end of his night watch. Ipalos was one of those cities that lived at all hours of the day; only the people who walked the streets changed.

* * *

Josel

Ipalos, Andiol Empire

It was well into the morning when Josel and Zdain entered the city gates of Ipalos. They had agreed to slip into the city with the other travellers as discreetly as possible.

Luckily, there were no shadow sentries in sight, and the soldiers of the Ipalos City Guard standing at the gate watched lazily as the stream of people passed by, paying no attention to the two boys without luggage.

"So, Monteilon, how do we find the Merchants' District and Martha's house?" Josel asked. He and Zdain were standing in a small cobbled square, near the main street that led deeper into the city.

After passing the gate, the boys had quickly turned a couple of corners to make sure they were not being followed. The crush at the gate was gone, but there were still enough people here for no one to look twice at them.

"I'm not sure...it's been a while since I went to Ipalos with my father. Should we ask someone here for directions?"

"But from whom?" Josel replied, looking around.

"It doesn't matter. Like this beggar," Zdain said, nodding towards a shabby man sitting against the wall of the nearest stone house.

"All right, but you do the talking."

They took a few steps towards the beggar.

"Good morning," Zdain greeted, tapping his temple with a couple of fingers, as was customary in a polite greeting.

"Good morning, young gentlemen," the beggar croaked, peering at the newcomers from under his fluffy hair. The dirt covering the man's face and his tangled beard made it difficult to estimate his age. The tattered state of his clothes suggested deep poverty, but the facial puffiness and foul stench characteristic of drinkers were absent. Perhaps it was just a misfortune that had left him destitute.

Even in Paidos, beggars were not an uncommon sight. Curtus had described to Josel how technological progress had revolutionised human life. Jobs in manufacturing plants tempted people to leave the countryside and move to the cities. It did not always end well. There was drunkenness, debt and all sorts of other troubles.

"We could use some advice," said Zdain. "Where is the Merchants' District?"

"The Merchants' District," the beggar replied with a sly, yellow-toothed smile. "Nice area, I have no business there. Why are you going there?"

"Can you tell us how to get there?" Zdain inquired without answering the question.

"Sure, but it costs a few coins."

Zdain turned to Josel. "Sandkan...do you have...?"

Josel knew that Zdain had some large notes in his pocket, but it was not worth wasting them on a beggar. "Take this," he said as he nimbly took three coppers from his coin purse and dropped them into a cup on the ground.

The beggar made a blessing gesture with his hands and thanked Zdain and Josel profusely for being 'merciful gentlemen'.

"Answer, please," Zdain said, interrupting the man's bowing and scraping.

The beggar nodded. He began to explain the route in surprisingly meticulous detail, listing various landmarks. Josel and Zdain thanked him for his advice and hurried back from the square to the main street.

* * *

Ipalos was different from Paidos. Where Josel's hometown was ordinary, almost boring, in Ipalos there was something new and wonderful on almost every street corner.

There were far more foreigners on the streets than in Paidos, which was also, after all, located on a trade route. The sailors in particular brought a special atmosphere to the bustling streets of Ipalos. Josel gazed with awe at the suntanned, rough-looking rogues who had come ashore from their ships to roam the city and squander their wages.

There were plenty of stranger people than sailors on the streets, too. A dark-skinned man approached, a huge snake wrapped around his bare torso. The man walked down the street as calmly as if he had not noticed the whole snake.

"A Southlander," Zdain said with annoying knowledge after noticing Josel's puzzled expression.

Josel swallowed his angry words. He had seen Southlanders before, but the snake was new.

After walking along the main street, the boys ended up in the middle of the market. With both their throats dry and their stomachs rumbling with hunger, they bought a drink and steaming meat pies from a stall. After eating them, they continued on their way, passing the stalls of vegetable sellers and peasants selling pastries.

Zdain seemed to want to leave the market quickly. Josel, however, was drawn to the tables of merchants selling a variety of goods. He tugged at his companion's sleeve and said: "Wait, let's have a look."

"We have no time."

"You know very well that there is time," Josel said and flashed a smile. It was enough to get his way. For a moment it seemed that Monteilon would have joined in the merriment, but in the end he was content to furrow his brow with a slightly worried expression.

They turned to the stalls. Many of the vendors were selling homemade handicrafts and woodwork. There were also common household items, from knives to pots and pans, and elaborately illustrated paintings that were far too expensive for Josel. The same could be said for glassware and jewellery that sparkled in the sun.

Josel moved from table to table; he had always enjoyed looking at oddities. One shopkeeper had some disgusting-looking dried animal parts on his table: rabbit's feet, frog's legs, pigtails, even whole small animals preserved in glass jars.

The shopkeeper, a tiny old woman, cackled with delight when Josel startled and pulled his hand away after touching the stuffed dog's head. "Lucky charms, lucky charms! Young men, please do buy," the old woman persuaded.

The next market vendors sold even stranger gadgets.

"Relics, from the Age before the Oblivion!" The old man - an Afamatian, judging by his hooked nose - praised the objects he had laid out on the sales table.

Josel did not quite believe the vendor, for it had been well over a thousand years since the time called Oblivion. How could any commodity survive that long?

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

About a year ago, Josel's class had taken a trip to the Imperial Museum of Paidos. The relics they had seen there were unidentifiable chunks of rusted metal and fragments of small objects. Even on the sales table of the old Afamatian, some of the items were just useless junk, like pieces of copper wire covered with some soft material.

On the other hand, some of the relics for sale were undeniably interesting, such as a large battered horn attached to a tin box. Ignoring the merchant's scowl, Josel twisted the rattle sticking out of the box, but nothing happened.

"Broken piece of junk," he reckoned, picking up a new object from the table.

"What is this?" Josel asked about the odd item he had selected from the table. It was tapered and round, made of thin, sealed glass. One end had metal threads and inside was a funny-looking wire frame. It was completely impossible to judge the object's function visually.

"It's a relic, it doesn't have to have a purpose," grumbled the old vendor.

"Or rather, it's completely useless," Josel said, putting the glass sphere back on the table.

As Zdain hurried on, Josel moved on to the next stalls.

The biggest stall in the area was run by a tall man with a stooped back and the prices he charged were staggeringly high. The items on display were also astounding. To the crowd gathered in front of the table, the shopkeeper presented a tool that fired metal staples that bound a paper bundle together.

"Mechanics, very expensive, but at a discount from me!" he declared to the man in front of the table, who was shaking his head in amazement.

Josel looked at the device with interest, but Zdain spoiled his pleasure by telling him that such a device had been used in the house of governor Monteilon.

Next, the stooped shopkeeper picked up an instrument that looked more like a box. "This is a picture-catcher! A brand new invention," he announced solemnly.

"What does it do?" asked a woman in the audience.

"It captures pictures of anything. Of houses or even people," the salesman said. He mentioned the price of the device, which sounded exorbitant.

"How does it work?" the same woman asked.

"It takes a picture of the object and then spits it out on a piece of paper."

"I don't think so."

"Believe it or not, here are some examples of the citizens I've catched in a picture," said the shopkeeper, and his assistant rushed into the crowd to show the black and white pictures of men and women painted with incredible precision.

The man in the front row wondered aloud, "How are they so accurate, better than any painter's work?"

"The machine doesn't paint, it captures exactly," the salesman explained. "The image is exactly the same as the person in it."

"In that case, good sir, come here and my assistants will take a very nice picture of you, at a special price, of course," the stooped shopkeeper said, beckoning the man to enter the stall.

As he left the stall, Josel was pleased to see that Zdain looked thoughtful. Hardly even stinking rich Dareis Monteilon owned such a picture-catcher.

The market area was vast, much larger than the familiar marketplace of Paidos. The boys pushed their way through the crowds. Josel glanced at Zdain beside him. Monteilon looked pensive, but fortunately not bored. So they could continue to wander around.

They came to an area where live animals were sold. Josel quickly passed the horse dealers, knowing full well that Zdain might be interested in staying to inspect the horses. He himself wanted to see something special. A travelling carnival had visited Paidos the previous autumn, and the circus people had brought with them all sorts of animals from distant lands, from great apes to elephants. Perhaps the market in Ipalos would have something similar.

After the horses, there were dogs on the sale for one purpose or another. Most of them were caged. Some were wallowing in their cages, looking frightened, while others were barking and jumping at the bars in a frenzy.

Josel felt sorry for the animals. The noise of the market and the chattering people must have scared them. Most of all, it made him angry to see the mean-looking men trading the fighting dogs.

Many of the dogs were already covered in hideous scars, their ears torn to shreds and their tails bitten off. They growled furiously in their chains - fighting dogs were probably starved to make them look more ferocious to buyers. But the plight of the poor dogs was of no interest to the Empire's legislators, and probably never would have been.

Feeling dejected, Josel sighed and avoided Zdain's questioning gaze. Of course, stupid Monteilon doesn't understand a thing, he thought, looking away from the dogs.

The boys walked on and came to an area where rarer animals were exhibited. They saw a brightly coloured bird scratching the floor of its far-too-tight cage with its long beak. Equally unfortunate was a large owl sitting on its perch with one leg tied to a chain. A strange, weasel-like but larger predator was circling its cage. The animal's owner was throwing pebbles at it, probably just to kill time or entertain the public.

Josel clenched his fist in a rage. If he had a lot of money, he would have bought all the animals at the market and set them free. In addition, he would have thrown a big stone at the scavenger who was throwing the pebbles - hurting him.

A stream of people carried them towards the stage. A large crowd had gathered in front of it. Josel and Zdain were curious too, and pushed closer.

A big box covered with brown cloth had been brought to the stage. A hefty, balding man hovered around it, humming into a tin loudspeaker and beckoning the audience to come closer. He was wearing expensive-looking but stained clothes. His puffy, sagging body spoke of a desire to feast.

The crowd roared with anticipation as the man promised in a raspy voice that he was about to reveal something unprecedented beneath the canvas. The bloated man introduced himself as Isaak Burh, a merchant.

It prompted a middle-aged man standing next to Josel to blurt out to the woman in his company, "A merchant? 'A slave trader and robber' is a more appropriate job title."

"Slave trader?" Josel repeated, unsure if he had heard correctly.

The man who had just spoken turned his attention to him. "Yes, Isaak Burh is one of the practitioners of that disgusting profession. We certainly don't want to know what new collector's piece he's going to show the public," the man said and began to lead his companion away from the stage.

Josel was stunned to hear this. "Isn't there a law against slave trading?" he asked Zdain.

The brown-haired boy shrugged. "Practice and law are often two different things. Law enforcers and courts don't have time to deal with everything."

It was as if it had come straight from the mouth of governor Monteilon. Josel snorted in anger. "Do you approve of the slave trade?"

"I didn't say that," Zdain replied. "I said that the emperor's officials have many other concerns."

Josel was about to argue, but Isaak Burh, bustling on the podium, had finally decided to reveal the secret hidden under the fabric.

Burh's assistant - a large, bare-chested man - stepped onto the stage. He prepared to pull the cloth from the box as soon as Burh gave the signal.

The boastfulness of the alleged slave trader intensified. "Now you see something unique, something you've only heard about in stories. I have spent a great deal of money to bring you this experience. Ladies and gentlemen, I ask for a moment of silence."

Burh raised his hand pompously, and the shirtless goon grabbed the cloth covering the box. Impatiently, the crowd swarmed closer to the stage. As Burh's hand slapped his own thigh, his assistant snatched the canvas away. Beneath it was not a box, but a metal cage. There was something, or rather someone, inside the cage.

People were babbling among themselves, craning their necks to get a better look. Soon there were murmurs of disbelief and shock from the audience.

Josel saw what the others saw: the small prisoner had dark skin and was wearing a tattered dress. A child? A Southlander child, he wondered, but after a moment he was no longer sure. Although the prisoner was no taller than a seven-year-old child, there was something wild and weird about them. Unlike the jet-black hair of the Southerners, the prisoner's fluffy head of hair was milky-white, and the muscles of their arms gleamed darkly. A small child could not have looked so strong.

The prisoner's mouth was bound with a cloth, and he huddled in the centre of the cage, doing nothing. Just as Josel was about to ask Zdain's opinion of the prisoner, Burh raised his hand to silence the crowd.

The slave trader's voice rose again as he shouted, "I have brought you something that has not been seen in the Andiol Empire for ages. I have a goblin in this cage!"

The spectators stirred and seemed incredulous. "Can you prove it?" someone shouted from the front row.

"There's no need for proof, it's an obvious goblin. My best hunters have caught it in the Land of Ksingis," Burh assured him, spreading his hands smugly.

A lone person in the front row applauded, but several others continued to loudly demand more evidence. The claim of a fairy tale creature in Ipalos was hard to swallow, even for Josel.

"Okay. You're going to see some tricks from the goblin. They are intelligent animals, as you will soon see," Burh said. "My fire lash!" he shouted to his shirtless assistant, who carried a large, cruel-looking whip to Burh from the back of the stage.

The bloated slave trader fumbled with the whip in his hand and walked towards the goblin.

The small, gagged creature mumbled and tried to retreat to the other side of the cage.

"Jump!" Burh muttered to the goblin.

The creature made no gesture to obey.

Burh shouted his orders again, and the roaring crowd encouraged the goblin to jump. But nothing happened.

"Filthy beast! At least you're jumping now!" Burh snarled and hit the cage with his whip.

There was a strange crackling sound and a bluish light flashed. The slave trader had managed to lash the goblin between the bars. The small creature let out a heartrending scream, leaping to its feet. Then it slammed into the top of the cage and bounced like a ball from one cage wall to the other.

The spectators cheered, ignoring the fact that the goblin was howling in pain. Burh swung the whip again, which cracked with the same sickening sound and flash of light. The little goblin slammed into the walls of its cage, squalling all the while. The audience laughed and demanded for more.

The show was horrible to watch and the anger burned in Josel's chest. "Why doesn't anyone intervene?" he asked.

Zdain looked sick but did not respond.

Burh cracked his whip a third time, the goblin screamed and the crowd cheered.

"We have to do something!" Josel shouted, trying to push his way through the people on the stage. He no longer cared if the creature in the cage was a goblin. He had to help it.

"What are you doing!" Zdain cried out, trying to grab Josel's arm.

"Don't push!" someone in the audience shouted, punching Josel on the shoulder. A few others yelled insults. Josel ignored them and rushed towards the captured goblin.

Zdain darted between the shoving and cursing people and seized Josel with both hands. "Don't be crazy!" he snapped and did not let go.

Josel struggled to free himself from Zdain's grip. "The goblin must be saved!" he demanded.

"There's nothing we can do!" Zdain shouted back.

They both turned to face the stage. There, Burh listened smugly to the applause of the audience. The goblin, on the other hand, lay lifeless in its cage.

The sight cleared Josel's head. He broke free and glanced unhappily at Zdain. The boy nodded away from the stage and motioned for Josel to follow.

Josel stumbled after Zdain and they made their way through the throng, away from Isaak Burh, the poor tortured goblin and the bloodthirsty crowd. As they left, they heard the slave trader begin to receive bids from the spectators who wanted to buy the goblin for themselves.

* * *

As they reached the edge of the market, Zdain said, "What were you thinking? You can't save everyone in the world who cries out for help."

The boy's voice echoed accusingly in Josel's ears. "So you have no feelings," he spat.

"I'm not going to put us in danger with useless attempts."

"Haw, you are a coward," Josel said. "Even in Veilwood, you were shaking like a rail-carriage because of that damned fiend wing."

Zdain's brown eyes flashed dangerously. "At least I didn't cry like a little child after that Vargan chick."

"Shut up, you bastard!" Josel exploded, grabbing Zdain by the collar of his shirt.

Zdain grabbed Josel by the chest in return, but suddenly changed his mind and shoved him away.

"I told you you were a coward," Josel snorted, straightening his shirt.

"Idiot! Do you really think fighting will help?"

"Coward," Josel repeated when he could not think of anything more pithy to say. Annoyingly, Zdain had still not lost his temper. So Josel continued to irritate him: "And now? Is the former governor Monteilon planning to send the City Guard after me?"

Zdain made no reply. He merely glanced at Josel and said icily, "You're the most childish sixteen-year-old I've ever met." Then he turned and started to walk away.

Josel took one last grim look at the market and then hurried after Zdain. Together, but at the same time even more sharply apart, they continued their journey to Marta Donthav's house.

* * *