Spit and Song (Ustlian Tales Book 2)

by Travis M. Riddle

  It was no surprise to Kali that the east side was where Vonoshreb’s shop was located. Evidently the man had a penchant for traveling to seek out the most exotic wares that he could then sell for high prices to the city’s wealthiest denizens, fueling the cycle of wealth among the neighborhood.

  No wonder Bryieshk felt so bitter.

  She sidled up to the impressive clay building sporting a sign that read VONOSHREBKA CRESTIHTH and stepped out of the way for people exiting.

  Unlike the rest of Yspleash’s messy, fluid architecture, everything in the east side was meticulously crafted, even more so than other cities in the country. Centripts were the best builders anywhere, able to mold the adobe with precision, so those with money to spend took great care to hire the best sculptors they could find.

  Breaking from the typical hive design of the other neighborhoods, the area in which Kali now found herself housed towering rectangular buildings with unique web-like designs carved into the clay. Each building also had a distinct trim, with flourishes that varied from monochrome flower petals to geometric patterns. Kali knew from when her father was starting his business that sculpting the clay and keeping it in place while it completely dried could be a frustrating endeavor, so the detailed designs were remarkable.

  A bell dinged above her head as she stepped through the doorway into the centript’s shop. Several individuals were browsing the store, unlike the barren wasteland that had been Bryieshk’s shop the previous day.

  Another difference between the shops was the organization. The Bazaar was crammed with shoddy shelves lined messily with any object that could fit, while Vonoshreb’s market was neatly organized with items in clearly designated sections of the store. There was a section for jewelry, one for weaponry, one for books—the way the shop was laid out was the clearest indicator yet that Vonoshreb was operating on a higher tier.

  In the shop was a centript woman examining jewels. Centript jewelry was fairly different from what more humanoid individuals wore. While faifs, jeornish, and others wore earrings or pendants strung up on glittering chains, centripts instead bought gems and placed them into silver or gold inlays, which were then drilled into their carapace. Kali smiled at her as she slipped by toward the back of the building, where she anticipated finding Vonoshreb.

  Near the back wall was a counter topped with tens of glass bottles, all differently shaped and sized. Most contained liquids of varying colors—pink, green, one an unappetizing muddy brown—but there were a few repeats, which were encased in similar bottles. The most common of these potions was a dark purple substance in a tall, cylindrical bottle with little glass wings jutting out on either side. An unnecessary feature, but it did look nice and set it apart from the other bottles.

  Three centripts were gathered around the collection of winged bottles, vying for them. Two of the centripts, both with shiny, blue carapaces, appeared to be quite healthy. The third, however, possessed a red shell that seemed to be dulling on the segments that still had a shell at all. Several segments of his body were bare, exposing puffy, discolored gray skin underneath. The mold.

  A centript man she assumed to be Vonoshreb stood on the other side of the counter, tapping numerous fingertips on the wooden top. It sent a vibration running through the table that lightly shook the glass bottles.

  Vonoshreb was a tall, imposing centript with a golden carapace. His crimson head shot back and forth between his three customers, his eyes squinted with glee at the sales he was about to make.

  He spoke to the three in rushed Carsuak. “Kuweat zutih tunyut vurur,” he chittered, tapping his many fingers impatiently.

  Kali would never be as skilled as her sister, but she managed to make out the number “six” in what he said. So the bottles on the counter were all that was left of his stock, if he was telling the truth and not simply trying to encourage a sale. An artificial shortage.

  “Quweat tunyut cri!” the sick centript shouted. “Quvruk ceu pioruhts tunyut lae. Kuyui ghi tunyut vurur. Kujku blonsk!”

  Once again, all Kali could understand was the number he had said, which was “one.” The man was clearly upset about something, though she had no idea what. He pounded a few fists on the table in agitation.

  Vonoshreb muttered something too rapidly for her to make out a single word, while pointing toward the front of the store. The two healthy centript women exchanged uncomfortable glances. They wanted the interaction to end.

  I really need to ask Lissia for some Carsuak lessons, Kali thought to herself as she watched the conversation unfold. She needed to brush up on more than just one-digit numbers and random phrases.

  The sickly man slammed a fist on the table again and Vonoshreb said, “Quyui xhara.” He glared at the man across from him, his tone low and grave.

  “Fuck you,” the sick centript spat before pushing past Kali toward the exit. She instinctively flinched and scooted away as he passed, though in her mind she knew that the mold was not contagious to centripts, and she couldn’t even catch it at all. She hoped he hadn’t noticed.

  “Kujku hihtsh,” Vonoshreb apologized to his remaining customers. Kali could at least recognize that phrase: “I’m sorry.”

  The two women finalized their purchase of all six winged bottles and shuffled out of the store a few minutes later, chirping excitedly.

  With them gone, Vonoshreb turned his attention to Kali. “Hello,” he said, tilting his head downward in greeting. “I apologize for that scene. What can I help you find?”

  Kali started, “I’m actually not looking for anything. I was wondering—”

  “Well, if you’re not looking for anything, I see no reason for you to be here,” Vonoshreb interrupted her. With a crooked, condescending grin, he said, “That doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. Right?”

  She blinked, staring at the centript, who stared right back. Her mouth hung open mid-sentence, processing, seeking a response.

  Finally, she said, “Right.” She swallowed down her frustration, but pressed on. “Okay, well, I was looking for that medicine you just sold. I presume it was the mold cure I’ve been hearing about?”

  This pleased Vonoshreb. He emitted a delighted click. “I see word of my goods is spreading across the city. Even into the more unsavory areas, as you unfortunately witnessed.” He was referring to the sick centript who had been attempting to buy the cure. “I must be honest, though, and tell you that I’m out of stock. That was the last of my supply that just walked out the door.”

  Kali feigned surprise. “Well, shoot,” she said. “Do you know when you’ll be getting more?”

  “What does a pretty faif girl like yourself need a mold potion for?” Vonoshreb asked.

  “I have a friend back home who needs it. We have ranneth, of course, but when I heard about this more powerful brew, I thought I might try to bring some back for him,” she lied.

  Not that it’s any of your business, really, she added in her mind.

  Vonoshreb nodded. “I don’t know for certain when I will obtain more. Whenever I visit Restick again, I’ll be returning with a bundle and a half, I can assure you,” he said.

  “Restick?” she said, pretending this was new information. “Can I ask who you bought it from in Restick?”

  The seedy centript chuckled. “If I told you that, then you would just buy it from them and not from me!” he said. “And it appears that you’ll already not be buying anything from me.”

  Kali heaved a sigh. Like a true businessman, Vonoshreb’s sole priority was his earnings. That was no doubt how he ended up with the largest shop in the wealthiest part of town.

  She said, “I suppose that’s true. My friend is desperate, though. I really need to get my hands on some.”

  Vonoshreb shrugged. “I’m sorry I can’t be of more help,” he said. “I encourage you to check back soon to see if we have anything that catches your eye.”

  Kali had to stop herself from audibly groaning.

  She spun on her heels and scoured the shelf imm
ediately behind her for the cheapest object it held, which turned out to be an old, pathetic dagger with a price of five crescents.

  Good enough.

  She snatched it by the hilt, surprised by the blade’s heft. It did not feel as cheap as it looked.

  The blade clattered against the tabletop as she slammed it down before Vonoshreb. “I’ll take this, actually,” she said, continuing the man’s charade.

  “Ahh, I’m glad you found something you like!” he said as if she had not grabbed it at random right before his eyes. “That will be five crescents, if you please.”

  She handed over the money, counting herself lucky that he had not raised the price on the spot. At least he had some amount of integrity, however little.

  But the thought had come too soon.

  “Actually,” Vonoshreb said, “I’m noticing now that this is an antique.”

  The dagger was definitely old, but it was no high-quality antique. Kali wanted to throttle him.

  “I’ll have to ask for slightly more, I’m afraid. I can’t just let go of my valuable vintage items for so few crescents. I’m sure you understand,” he smiled.

  “I’m not giving you more money,” Kali refused. “How about this: I’ll throw in two bottles of ranneth.”

  Vonoshreb laughed. “What makes you think I need ranneth?” he asked her. “Mere minutes ago you saw me selling a potion that renders ranneth obsolete. The people want noxspring now.”

  “But you don’t have noxspring. You just said it yourself, you sold all of your supply. If the people want noxspring but can’t get it, then they’re gonna want ranneth. And I don’t see any on your shelf, here.”

  Vonoshreb considered her words as she went on.

  “You know who does have ranneth, though? Bryieshk’s Bazaar. I know because I sold him some yesterday. If they can’t get any from you, they’ll go to him. You’ll lose business.”

  He scoffed. “I don’t make much from ranneth anyway,” he deflected.

  “True, but it gets people in the door. They come in to buy a bottle, and maybe a nice tunic catches their eye…”

  Vonoshreb grumbled. She could tell her argument was getting to him. He was going to accept her terms.

  Sorry, Bryieshk, she thought with a pang of guilt.

  “Fine,” said Vonoshreb. “Five crescents and three bottles of ranneth.”

  “Two bottles. If you want a third, you’ll have to buy it.”

  Vonoshreb waved her away. “Just two,” he muttered. He tapped his hand on the counter and clicked his mandibles as if to say get on with it.

  Kali obliged and rummaged through her bag for two bottles of the potion. She placed them down with a clack on the table beside the dagger she had just reluctantly purchased. It was still an unfortunate loss, but at least it was a loss on her terms and not whatever absurd price hike the man had been plotting.

  “About that merchant,” she said.

  “The one you want to find so you can buy noxspring for your friend? Why not give him this ranneth you just gave me?” Vonoshreb prodded.

  “I wanna give him the good stuff,” Kali said with a fake smile. The centript was pushing it, but she wouldn’t let him get under her skin.

  Vonoshreb narrowed his six eyes and nodded. “I bought it from a woman in Restick named Zara. Jeornish woman from Atlua. Small ship, small crew, but good products.”

  “Does she own her own ship?” Kali asked.

  “Seemed like it.”

  “What’s the name of the ship?”

  He shrugged. “I do not pay attention to such details. I simply wander the marketplace and buy whatever catches my eye. It doesn’t matter to me which bucket of wood it was hauled off of.”

  The merchant’s name would probably be enough. “Thank you,” Kali said, grabbing her “antique” dagger and turning to leave.

  As she headed for the door, Vonoshreb said from behind his counter, “Could I interest you in a sheath for that?”

  Lorrne looked happy to see her as she drew near the stables outside of Yspleash. His wife Zashi accompanied him today, and their son was visible in the distance, running through the dunes chasing a friend. Enjoying their free time before returning to school the following day.

  “Only one night then, eh?” said Lorrne with a grin.

  Kali nodded, clutching her knapsack at her side. “Yep. Got everything done that needed doing. How was my boy this time around?”

  “A true gentleman, like always,” the man said. “Let me go grab him.” He disappeared into the stables while Zashi stepped forward to give Kali a hug.

  Her white hair was much longer than her husband’s, trailing down to her belly. Kali didn’t understand how the woman could stand it in this heat. They embraced, and Zashi gave her a friendly pat on the back.

  “Sorry I missed you yesterday,” she said as she pulled away. “Busy day. Seems like every day is busy, though. It just doesn’t stop.”

  “I can agree with that,” Kali said.

  If she wasn’t selling, she was traveling. And if she wasn’t traveling, she was gathering products to sell. The cycle never ceased, though part of her enjoyed always being occupied with something to do. She often yearned for time to relax at home, lounging in bed reading, but whenever she took a day or two off she couldn’t help but feel restless and guilty. Like precious time was being wasted.

  Lorrne soon returned with Bango plodding alongside him. The ayote was thrilled to see Kali, and she was sure to give him ample ear and chin scratches.

  If she could get her hands on that exotic ranneth—what Vonoshreb had called noxspring—maybe she could afford to buy her own ayote. Maybe even Bango. Make sure he lived the best, most comfortable life possible.

  But first, she would need to reach Atlua, where she could sell all of her Herrilockian goods and pick up Atluan fare to sell back home.

  But it won’t be cheap.

  She had looked into tickets for passage to Atlua during a previous trip to Restick, so she knew it was far out of her price range. Continuing to sell ranneth and duragas to people like Bryieshk wouldn’t cut it.

  Striking a deal with a fellow merchant would be more cost-effective than buying a ticket on a passenger ship, but it would still be costly. Her best bet might be to track down the merchant Zara. The woman could be her ticket to Atlua.

  Bango yipped happily as Lorrne saddled him up for her.

  Zashi asked, “Where to next? Any other stops on your route?” They knew she sometimes traveled from Yspleash to the Repository to visit her sister, but that was not the case this time.

  “Just home,” Kali replied, watching Bango stamp his feet in the sand. He was ready to get moving. She handed her bag over to Lorrne and he hitched it to the saddle. The ayote yowled with giddy impatience.

  With the task finished, Kali then purchased a sack of dried beetles to feed Bango on their journey back to Seroo’s Eye. It would take a few days to reach their destination, and she was running low from the first leg of the trip.

  It was mid-day and the sun was at its peak. Not the ideal time to venture forth into the desert for most, but faifs had few issues living in the desert climate, which made travel a lot less strenuous for her than some of her colleagues. Kali also knew that if she set off now, she would reach the first outpost by nightfall, giving her plenty of time to settle in.

  She hopped up onto Bango’s back, positioning herself in the saddle, and tied her bright red hair in a high ponytail to keep it off her neck and stave off some of the heat. Her skin was strong against the sun and would not burn, so there was no worry about leaving her neck exposed.

  “Know when we’ll be seein’ you again?” Lorrne asked with his hands on his hips. Zashi wrapped an arm around him and they both smiled up at Kali on the ayote’s banded shell.

  Kali gave the question serious thought for a few moments, then answered, “I’m not sure.” She hoped to find some way to make it to Restick soon, and then from there, Atlua.

  After a few minutes�
� travel, a good distance away from the city at her back, Kali tore off her facemask and crumpled it in her hand. She breathed in the fresh, hot desert air and reached forward to rub her hand on Bango’s neck. Already she knew she would be spending the next few days silently reflecting on how to raise enough money to buy passage on Zara’s ship.

  “Let’s get goin’,” she said, and gave Bango a flick on his right ear.

  He took off, spraying sand beneath his feet.

  - -

  Rather than seeking out any sort of enlightenment, Puk did what he did best: got drunk.

  His favorite tavern in Seroo’s Eye was a joint called the Tilted Tailbone, which was meant to be a reference to the fact that the city was housed inside a skeleton, but nevermind the fact that the bones of Seroo’s tail were located all the way in Restick.

  Puk sat at the bar (after a struggle to pull himself up onto the, in his opinion, very tall stool) with a glass of neat whiskey in his hand. In his other hand he held his head, propped up with his elbow on the dark wood.

  The bartender was an old, rough-looking rocyan with knotted gray fur and a single fang protruding at the end of his long snout. The heat had to be killer, having a body covered in thick fur.