When autumn winds blow
not one leaf remains
the way it was.
—Togyu
Our ship limps into port. None of the crew would have recounted our short trip to the mainland as a smooth journey but we made it. The day is bright and warm, and the water is calm as if an apology from the sea for the harsh treatment it had provided for us thitherto. The city itself is a great sprawling construction surrounded by walls and tiered up two large hills that form a rough bowl shape with the well-maintained harbour at its heart.
As we sail up to the port a few dock workers help us into land as a huge man covered in jewellery and fur lined silk wanders down the pier. A few boards groan and crackle slightly beneath his girth and each time the waves of fat on his frame jiggle in alarm as a thin man next to him writes a note in his notepad. I can guess that this is probably the main reason for such well-maintained piers.
He calls out to the quartermaster and asks for the goods detail. The merchant grins as he reads the script between snorting chortles. "I am afraid this particular rice you are carrying is taxed extra at the moments due to trade tensions with the province. I will take an extra 10% cut from that." He is still grinning as he continues to list off where taxes are higher or lower than usual and surprisingly does not tax any of the small stash of spiritual herbs or the books. He does buy a few among other wears which are either finer or useful for the dock. The whole process quickly bores me. There is a strange lack of currency in the heavens.
After nearly an hour of the captain and quartermaster butting heads with the dock-master and his companion they have decided on prices for goods purchases, the amount of tax and the prices for the dock-workers services for both repairs and unloading. As I leave I can't help but respect the proficiency in the business knowhow on both sides. I have no part in the proceedings of the ship and the free passage was more than enough thanks for the help I provided on the voyage and apology for the harshness of the trip.
Ben and his companions wave as they pass us and run off. They will probably go and spend their coin or collect it from the group that is paying them. Dodging through crowds
The city smells unpleasant up close with a strong scent of fish guts and a far weaker scent of bodily waste as is present in any mortal settlement of too large a population and too inefficient a sewer. The main streets from the harbour are wide and lined with stalls selling goods both local and exotic. Among the merchants there are beggars and performers of all kinds. I pull Mari close to avoid getting separated or pick pockets finding her to be a suitable target. It does not take long to escape the throngs of people in the markets and enter the main city.
Most merchants from the port prefer to not stray far from their ships. The variety of the crowds have therefore decreased. The shops are far better established here as well. I search for an inn that will house Mari. After a wandering around and asking some guards for directions we book a room and sit down for dinner. Soon a bowl of hot stew arrives. We both eat. “What are we going to do now.” Mari asks. I ponder for a second before replying “I guess we have to find our next goal. I think we should keep traveling, earn money and deliver this letter.” I pull out the letter I got from the dying man. It is addressed to a place in the capital, which, if I remember correctly, is north-west of here.” Mari nods and then tilts her head. “Why don’t you just give it to a person that delivers letters?” she asks. I nod. “It is because of a promise and pride. I must do it myself.” With a plan in mind we head to our room to sleep.
The next morning, we head out to find a caravan to reach the capital. There is an old saying. “To travel fast go alone. To travel far go together.” With no men chasing my tail and less fear of betrayal we have less need for speed and more for company. I first go to the quester’s guild and ask for caravans going to the capital. We enter and are greeted by a cheerful atmosphere and a smiling receptionist. “There are none going directly there but we do have one going to Yaolin, a large town on the way.” I nod and smile at the receptionist. “When does this caravan leave?”
“In two days’ time. They request that you visit the butterfly tavern near the north gate.” I nod, thank the receptionist and leave. We need several things for the trip, travel food and some medicinal ointment in case of injury. The second we have been without for too long. First, we go back to the market and spend almost the whole morning haggling down prices, avoiding pick pockets and weaving through crowds that show little care for us. It was an hour before I began disguising Mari’s ears and tail then bought us both cloaks. It seems people here are not too kind to those that aren’t human, and merchants charge more when one is present.
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Over the course of the morning we discover that there has been a kraken sighted along the cost and a few skirmishes and raids between the empire and the tribes living in the mountains to the west. It is soon time to eat and in response to Mari drooling over the scent we buy some odd but delicious kababs from a street vendor for lunch. Afterwards we agree it is a good idea to greet our new traveling companions.
The butterfly inn is a neat inn with white walls and dark wood for support. The sign shows a tankard with a multicoloured butterfly perched on the rim. I swing open the door that makes nearly no sound due to well oiled hinges and enter. Inside there is one group that dominates the room. They have pushed together multiple tables and fill most of the seats. The group is diverse and clearly divided. The clothing identifies the divides.
One group is wearing flamboyant dress of performers with one person having a lyre slung over their back and another scrawling on a page whilst conversing about a story they encountered. The second group is a family with wealth, probably merchants. They are the cleanest and fattest of the group with smart clothes. The last are a party of commoners each with stains, tares and patches in their clothes.
I walk up and sit down in an empty seat on their table. “Hello, I assume you are heading to Yaolin.” I say as I sit down. They stare at us for a short while. I must admit we do make an odd group. A woman and a young girl in strange foreign dress traveling together. The continent has a far less accurate perception on the capabilities of a woman than the island we left. The sailors’ superstition probably means that there are very few like us even on a major port town. In response to their stairs I introduce myself and Mari and where we have travelled from.
The first to return the courtesy is the entertainers, a rather strange group themselves. “We are the wind whistlers.” the person holding the lyre states. “I am Shiro, the musician of the group and the desire of many a fine lady, if I don’t say so myself. The bookworm that writes our songs and plays is Yoma and the dark dancer is Yawey.” I shake his hand across the table. The next to answer is the merchant. “I am suoh a merchant. This is my fine wife Tilda and my son Janus.” I nod. And turn to the last party. “We are not the kind of people that need such an introduction, just humble travellers and serfs hoping that the grass is greener on the other side of the horizon.” I nod again. Sometimes an introduction is not necessary.
We chat about our adventures until nightfall. Some are rather interesting. Others are simply tales of hardships and how to avoid them on the road. My two favourites are one from a serf and a second from the merchant.
The story from the surf was simple. He talked of a time he was lost. He was deep in a wood, following a road in circles, taking the one that looked like it leads to a city. It had marks of travel. The surf said that this was how he usually found himself when lost. Finding civilisation. Eventually, exhausted and hungry he took the other road, the one less travelled by. He found a kill made by a predator and left. The meat saved him. He found a small village that needed help and had goods that were in excess as few serfs and merchants had travelled there. “I now take the road less worn. I get lost more and it takes to my destination but find far more interesting places.” Finished the surf.
The merchant’s story was more fun. His father was going to meet a prince that lived to the south in a palace that never saw winter. He was a boy that followed to learn the trade. They had a waggon of fur, scales, oils and wheat from a land far to the north. When meeting the prince, he spoke of water in low temperature forming solid blocks that an elephant could stand on. He was thrown out by the prince for a false accusation of telling lies and being a fraud. “I will never forget what my father said that day as we sold the wheat to prominent farmers and the furs to noble and holy men looking for exotic items. He told me that he should have known better. That the price does what we all do. He assumed that what he knows and has seen about the world can predict what he doesn’t know and how the world will be beyond his sight. The prince never considered that water can be anything other than liquid or that temperature would make a difference. Know your audience. One day you may be the prince, thinking that the sun will always rise and you will live to see it rise next time it does.” The merchant gives us a bow and we nod to the wisdom of his father.
After a few days of preparation and deciding on a road we depart. Mari plays with Janus in the car, a game with pieces and a board or cards. Mari is far faster and always wins games like hide and seek or tag but Janus knows the board games better. He always has the upper hand in that regard. Mari is catching up slowly though. Soon he will have to play without handicaps in order to win so decisively.
Mari loves the games almost as much as the endless changing scenery. She has long been able to stave off boredom, but Janus still makes the voyage far more enjoyable. If I didn’t know better, I might say he had a crush on her. It is almost a shame I don’t share Tilda’s desire to wring every last bit of gossip from life. I just find it more interesting to see the beauty of the fields without digging through the manure. The day draws to a close and the carriage trundles on. I wish this moment could last a while longer.