Weaving his way across the network of docks, Wellynd eventually reached the cobblestone road that marked dry land. The dockside strip was lined with large warehouses owned by Revenshore’s most prolific shipping companies. He eyed a half-open door a few warehouses down the street, catching a glimpse of a sailor moving barrels around on the inside.
There were a handful of private inns this close to the water, but they were meant for visiting diplomats and other people of import. Even if they were public, it was unlikely he could pay one tenth of what they’d cost per night. For most visitors of the port town, the inns further up the hill were the usual destination.
He would probably stay at his usual haunt, Mermaid’s Tavern, about half-way up the main street. Once he had secured his bag in his room, he would start making deliveries for the day. Better to leave the majority of his skald in safe keeping, Laine had often warned. Clients had previously gotten pushy when they found out he had more of the product on his person, so it was always best to just bring what they had ordered.
He moved through the bustling crowds of dock workers and merchants, and began to hear a familiar droning hum permeate the din of the crowded street.
The conveyer was Revenshore’s greatest piece of machinery. Jant-powered, the large belt of interconnected platforms chugged up the hill. The strange device carried all sorts of crates, barrels, and goods up towards the city on one side, and down towards the docks on the other.
A line had formed, snaking through the crowd, and merchants placed their cargo one after another on the great machine, only to then begin the long ascent up the cobbled steps beside it.
Turning up the hill, Wellynd followed after a rather burly looking merchant, his robes billowing over top of his large belly. The man had just placed an ornate box on the conveyor, its dark metal glinting with strange symbols.
Wellynd always loved guessing what was in the more securely bound packages, especially the wooden crates that had foreign script or mysterious insignias on them. He liked to imagine that they contained powerful artefacts, or legendary weapons that he read about in Usum. In reality they probably contained fruit from Port Alshin of Melyar or even more likely, simple Vertan fabrics. But they couldn’t all contain ordinary wares, could they?
A shout came from up the conveyor path. Looking up, he saw a man chasing a barrel that had come loose from the conveyor and was now bouncing down the steps directly towards him. People ducked into side corridors, shouting in alarm as they jumped from the steps. But one person, a figure with a black cowl loosely tied around their head, didn’t move. Instead, they locked their foot to the cobblestone at an angle, deflecting the fast barrel down a side alleyway, before quickly darting after it. The man who was chasing the barrel yelled out “Stop, thief!” as he eventually rounded the corner some seconds later.
Most onlookers either shook their heads, or shrugged their shoulders and quickly returned to their business.
About half-way up the hill, Wellynd stopped in front of a three-story building, significantly wider than the small food stalls and shops that surrounded it.
Mermaids Tavern was etched across a wooden sign above the double doors on the ground floor, several open windows to each side of them. Above, a few broken windows plagued the second and third floors, and cracks had formed in the stone foundation of the roof. The place had seen better days.
A hearty laugh echoed from one of the ground floor windows, followed by the smashing of glass and a series of cackles. Wellynd sighed as his shoulders slumped, the weight of the bag on his back suddenly feeling unbearably heavy.
The tavern wasn’t that bad. And, best of all, it was cheap. He’d be able to save some of the money that Laine had left him for the job. But, he’d always been able to deal with the inn’s shortcomings, namely the loud noise deep into the night and the smell of stale beer and fish that permeated every room, because he saw this delivery job as temporary.
Now, it seemed like this was his life for the foreseeable future. His hands began to sweat at the thought. Another cackle echoed out of the tavern, followed by a scuffling of chairs and a commotion.
He looked up the hill. If he could find some place reasonably priced, it might be nice to stay somewhere different. Maybe, just tonight, he’d stay somewhere a little nicer.
“Screw it” he muttered to himself as re-hefted his pack and continued his climb.
Nearing the top of the conveyor, the rough and sturdy buildings that characterised most of the strip yielded to much more ornate structures. They were still made of New Town’s signature terracotta stone, but many of the walls were adorned with moulding, full reliefs, or etched trim around the windows and doors. Many of the rooftops of the higher buildings were also rimmed with brass or copper.
The gardens that sat atop the buildings, even from below, appeared more opulently decorated; pergolas with burgundy silks gently wafting in the wind must have been the current fashion, because Wellynd counted at least a dozen of them as he walked.
When he finally reached the top, he looked around at the spacious courtyard that complemented the conveyor. While the machine was now a common sight to him, it truly was a marvel of engineering. It ran for more hours in the day than there was sunlight, and he’d never seen it break down. Right next to it stood a large wooden platform and a series of carts that were meant to haul the cargo the rest of the way to the warehouses a few blocks west.
A handful of people hustled about on the platform. As he caught his breath, Wellynd watched a team of workers, red and sweaty in the midmorning sun, moving crates between the conveyor and the wagons. He suddenly felt lucky that he was able to unload crates in the cool confines of Laine’s seaside warehouse.
This area of Revenshore was often called “Hightown”, and it contained not only City Hall, but most of the finest inns and dining establishments of Revenshore.
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He scanned the square, his eyes settling on a crier out front of City Hall shouting about the successes of the Vertan campaign. After listening for a minute, he made his way around the square until he came to a set of large wooden doors.
He knew this building. The Crest’s Inn. Many years ago, he had made a pact with his friends that once they all gained entrance into the Observatory, they’d come spend a night here.
That obviously wasn’t happening anymore.
Face souring, he wondered if Bertrand and Neera would still come here without the rest of them.
He knew he shouldn’t be angry, but he couldn’t help but scorn the idea of them dining and sleeping there while he collapsed from exhaustion in his attic room at Laine’s cottage, or had to calm down some drunkard trying to force his way into the closet-like lodgings at Mermaid’s Tavern.
Maybe he’d beat them to it.
He looked up, admiring the carved terracotta faces that sat above the top of the door. The Crest’s Inn stood out from the rest of the buildings in the courtyard. It had been darkened with some sort of grey varnish, and, at five stories tall, it towered over every building nearby. For a long moment, he stood in front of the large walnut doors.
Part of him felt like this was wrong, but he ignored it and stepped forward, placing his hand on the door. Pushing it open confidently, he walked toward the attendant that stood in the surprisingly small lobby. She was a small and mousy figure with short brown curls and a stark white uniform adorned with gold seaming. The shine of her shoes threatened a quick distraction as the pure flames from the clean-burning oil lamps cast playful light around the interior decor.
“Hi, I’m looking for rooms tonight,” he said, mustering up a confident voice in an attempt to sound familiar with the space.
The attendant looked at him, her face not betraying the judgement that he assumed would befall him. His brine-kissed clothes were considerably more wrinkled than usual from the morning's events.
“Unfortunately, sir, we only have one of the lower suites left, and it has recently been discovered to need some slight repair. I wouldn’t want to put you in that.” she said, coolly, her eyes twinkling in the ambient light.
“Uh…hmm…yeah I am not too sure about that. Is it all you have? It may still be better than what’s dockside.” he hedged, not wanting to seem desperate.
“What repairs does it need?” he asked, scrunching his face slightly, feigning concern.
“It’s a small leak in the bathroom. You’d be able to hear it dripping all night. But apart from that, it’s in typical form, which of course, is excellent if I might say.” she divulged, an apologetic smile brushing her face.
“And how much is it?” Wellynd asked, trying not to laugh. The fact that the room had its own bathroom was already unbelievable. The mermaid’s bathroom is essentially a trough out back.
“That would be 12 Grellic Marks, our typical rate for the lower floors.” she said unapologetically. “But, I could see about lowering that given the circumstances.”
“That would be great.” he said, a little too quickly.
“I could do 9 this evening, and of course, that would include the usual fare for meal service at no extra charge.”
His head spun. Even with the discounted rate this was triple what he’d pay if he stepped only a few minutes down the conveyor. But, it also occurred to him that he’d need to pay for his own meals at Mermaid’s. He took a few more moments before giving his response.
“Yeah, okay. I’ll take it” he finally responded to the clerk, who had started working in the logbook in front of him.
The clerk looked back up and nodded, marking something down before holding out her hand expectantly. Wellynd stared for a moment before realising what the gesture meant.
With some internal resistance, he handed the woman 9 Grell who, looking slightly surprised upon receiving it, deposited it somewhere underneath the desk before grabbing a velvet tassel behind her, causing a bell to ring out.
Within seconds, a boy stepped out from seemingly behind the wall opposite the desk.
The boy stepped over to Wellynd.
“May I take your bag sir?”
Wellynd reflexively grabbed the strap on his shoulder before shaking his head and replying “uh, yeah it's kind of fragile so I’d rather carry it myself if you don’t mind.”
The boy nodded. “If you’ll follow me I can take you to your quarters.”
Wellynd gave his ascent and followed the boy to the far end of the front lobby to a staircase that bent around the corner and out of sight to the above floor.
They ascended one flight before turning down a long, dimly lit hallway with a dark burgundy rug and mahogany panelling, each doorway framed on either side by polished brass candelabras.
They went about halfway down the hall until the boy turned to a door and pulled out a key, unlocking it. He then turned to Wellynd and handed the key to him.
“Breakfast begins at 5 in the morning and will run until noon. Can I do anything else for you, sir?”
“Uhh...no I don’t think so...yeah. Thanks!” Wellynd replied.
The boy nodded and promptly glided back down the hall. Within moments, the only indication of the boy’s presence was the faint tap of leather shoes upon the stone echoing down the empty hallway.
Unable to control his excitement, he walked into the room. Somehow, a lantern sitting on a dark wooden desk in the far corner of the room was already lit, illuminating the small but sophisticated apartment that stood before him.
Apart from the desk and the lamp, there was a large four-post bed with white sheets, and against the wall was a large velvet curtain from floor to ceiling. He pulled the curtain open.
Before him was a view, but not much of one. He looked to be facing away from the main courtyard and into a small alleyway. The darkened street seemed to be the likes of which would be used for garbage and other sorts of temporary storage during normal operation of business hours.
This would be a great alley for robberies, escape routes, or any number of other crimes if it were a little closer to dockside, but the unlit street was eerily silent, the still cobblestone offering no scuffing boots, nor did any cries echo down it.
He exhaled. It was nice to have a little peace, he thought, the stark difference of Mermaid’s loud interior and exterior still echoing in his mind.
He went to close the curtain before hesitating. He had no real reason to close it given the street seemed to be safe enough, but his instincts made him close them all the same.
He turned around to inspect his room once more, but this time with a closer eye. He felt around the floorboards of the bed, the edges of the desk and along its underside. Everything seemed in order. There was no false door, or hidden latch to yield any secrets.
He relaxed onto the bed with a huff. The pillows and bedding, padded with some sort of feather, embraced him, and he found himself sinking into the warm sheets, his eyes growing heavy. Perhaps a few hours of sleep would do him good.