Chapter Seven
Amerdan Lephar unbarred the door and set the heavy oak bar behind the shop counter. It wouldn’t do for such an item to be left leaning up against the door. Anyone could knock it over and cause a ruckus, and maybe break some goods. No, not good at all. He moved the bar another finger’s width to the left then stepped back a few paces, eying its new position relative to the counter. He nodded in approval.
Covering the doorway, he hung a beaded curtain, a custom he used to keep out flying insects and the street dust. The colored beads were arranged to display a string of red flowers over a yellow background, and attached to every fifth string was a silver bell. Welcome bells for customers arriving, warning bells for him.
Behind the counter stretched a row of shelves reaching to the ceiling, and in the shadows of the top right corner sat a patched, gray rag doll. It sat on a shelf of its own, as if to look over the place, to keep an eye on people from when they came in to when they left.
He swept the floor, reaching under cupboards and tables, making sure to catch all the corners. Fetching a bucket and cloth, he scrubbed the counter and the tops of tables and cupboards and the few stools placed there for a lady’s convenience.
Standing on the doorstep, he tipped the dirty water onto the cobbles, where it ran to the gutter in the center, then off towards the docks, presumably to end up in the harbor. Then again, what didn’t? The water close to the docks was ripe with floating rubbish, and who knew what was on the bottom? Some people knew, he mused.
Turning his head away from the morning sunlight streaming down the street, he took a deep breath. Wood smoke, baked bread, rain from the night before combined with the underlying smell of the city: unwashed bodies and piss.
From the open doorway of the chandler’s shop across the street emerged a pudgy shopkeeper, who waddled over to him without invitation.
“Hope today’s trade picks up from yesterday’s. News is a few ships docked late last night. Might be we get some passing trade from them. How’s business?” Botha asked.
Amerdan disliked the sheen of sweat that was a constant feature on the man, and he reeked of fried sausages from his morning meal. A stupid man with a stupid name.
“Well enough.” He glanced back to his shop doorway and shifted his weight from one leg to another. He didn’t want to be delayed by idle chat; there was plenty of cleaning left to do before opening up for the day’s trade.
“Good… well, that’s good,” Botha said. “I’m expecting a new shipment sometime soon, wax, fragrances and whatnot. Possibly some rose absolute, if I’m lucky. The ladies do love their fragrant candles and pay a pretty ducat for them, too. Silver ducats, though,” he sighed. “Don’t think this is the right profession to see gold. Still, can’t complain, eh? I have my family and my health!” He chuckled.
“That you do, sir.” Simpering fool, thought Amerdan. He cleared his throat and glanced inside his shop. “Well, I had better…”
“I always look forward to the Ghost Festival,” continued Botha. “In a few weeks the streets will be alive with people, feasting, drinking, making merry. Most of the young people these days don’t hold to the old traditions; they use the festival as an excuse to let loose, to make a bit too merry, if you ask my opinion. Nope, they might make a few offerings like the rest of us, but not in the same spirit. Still, us older folk stay true, eh? We know the old ways and keep them strong in our minds.”
The Ghost Festival was when the spirits of the ancestors came back to visit the living. Priests performed rituals to absolve their sufferings, and regular folk left food offerings to appease them. The more spiritual observers made their own stick and straw figures, representing ancestors and people they had known, which they burnt with incense, hoping this would ward against any danger the spirits posed. Anyone they had wronged or harmed was differentiated by a few windings of black cloth around the neck.
People had been stocking up on items from Amerdan’s store for a few weeks. String, small patches of colored cloth, and tiny beads were big sellers. These, together with some sticks and straw, were all the makings of the little figures, with their dead beady eyes.
“I’ve always thought the ancestors’ spirits were important,” said Amerdan. He hadn’t seen one as yet but had heard from people who claimed they had.
“My ancestor spirit candles sell well, and not just for the Ghost Festival. Though not well enough to ward off bad luck. Did you hear that Daphne the baker’s daughter has run off, too? Shame about that. I heard she was mooning after some lad down by the docks.” Botha sniffed. “Hasn’t been seen for days now. Left one evening, they say, pretty red belt and matching ribbon in her hair like she was off to meet someone special, and didn’t come back. Frantic, her family is. I don’t know what’s become of the world.”
“Terrible news.” Amerdan stifled a yawn.
He had first seen Daphne when she’d visited his shop. She had taken a long time choosing, too, often glancing his way and fidgeting over this or that item she was examining.
“I know, and such a pretty girl, too. She could’ve had her pick of any of the young boys around here. Why go off with someone she barely knows?”
“Who can say? Some people see something special in others and want it for themselves.” Amerdan’s free hand reached up to touch the pendant hanging from a silver chain around his neck in an unconscious gesture. “Now, if you will excuse me, I need to open up. Good day.”
Without waiting for a response, Amerdan turned and walked into his store. Still carrying the bucket, he strode out the door to the back of his shop, dropping the bucket outside the rear door leading into the yard.
Belying the shopfront and modest store area, the rear yard was a large open space of packed earth with a narrow cobbled path leading to a well in the center. Beyond the well, against the far brick wall, sat a pen, home to five large pigs. He had been lucky to find a place with such a big yard, with more than ample space for the pigs.
Inside, he surveyed the store. Some of the shelves were taken up with goods specifically for the Ghost Festival, the thread, string, cloth patches, cheap hardened foodstuffs which could be left out for the spirits without attracting too many insects and rodents. The rest was taken up with his normal goods, items people didn’t want to travel all around the city to umpteen different places to find, which he sold for a modest margin. Lanterns and oil, iron nails, door latches, buckets and scrubbing brushes, sacks of coarse and fine flour, knives, forks and spoons, tinderboxes, and a hundred other things everyone needed to get by.
As owner and proprietor of one of the few general stores bordering the docks district in Anasoma, he had been in business since arriving in the city two years ago. Dust-covered, weary, and above all hungry, he had arrived with a wagon of spices and a quantity of jewelry, which he pawned to aid in his relocation.
He’d wasted no time picking out a suitable building in which to set himself up, to build a successful business, which took care of mundane needs such as comfort and income, and left time for more important activities.
Taking five copper ducats from his pocket, he placed them on the gleaming wooden counter then aligned them just so, in a straight line, all touching. He turned to look up at the rag doll.
“What we have to put up with at the moment, my friend.”
The store was clean enough, with everything in the right place. Hopefully his idiot customers wouldn’t spoil the place too much. He sat on his stool and waited for the first customer of the day to arrive.
Chapter Eight
“What?” exclaimed Caldan.
“I said, tomorrow, if the winds are still down, the captain wants…”
“I heard what you said before,” he interrupted Miranda. “I wasn’t asking you to repeat it.”
“So why did you? The crew needs to get in a bit of sword practice in case there’s trouble, and she…well, I thought you could join in.”
Caldan remembered his sword slamming into Marlon’s chest and he
shook his head. He couldn’t face sparring so soon after the accident.
The ship’s bell had rung the third hour of the night, nine o’clock in the evening, according to the captain’s mechanical timepiece. This was his second night aboard the ship, and it hadn’t taken him long to realize the ship’s bell rang every three hours. Miranda had joined Caldan on deck as he lay on his back on wood still warm from the sun and watched the stars.
From the corner of his eye, Caldan had seen her take her time approaching him, making plenty of noise, giving him a chance to indicate if he didn’t feel like company. When he didn’t object, she had sat cross-legged near him.
“It would break the monotony. You don’t do much except mope around,” she added.
“I don’t mope.”
“If you say so.” She looked away and smirked. “Listen, if you want to let everything get the better of you and mope around for days then fine, I can’t stop you. But if you have been truthful with us about what happened…”
“I’ve told you the truth.”
“…then you should focus on putting the past behind you and look at what’s ahead.”
Caldan gave her an annoyed look. She was only a few years older and giving him advice? “I appreciate your candor. But I think I know what’s best for me.”
Miranda gave him a look, like he was something unpleasant she had trodden in. “You have no idea what a big city can be like.”
“I have no idea?”
“Yes. Believe me when I say that if you don’t have street smarts you might not make it past the docks district after we land.”
“I’ve read about Anasoma, you know. I know what to expect.”
Miranda sighed, obviously exasperated. “Listen. Reading and knowing isn’t the same. You can’t read something and think you know how to survive in one of the roughest areas of the empire.”
“That’s nonsense. Anasoma is a great city! People from all walks of life live together in harmony, and the greatest living scholars and minds travel there to collaborate together, to exchange ideas.” He waved his hands in excitement. “The nobles respect the lower classes for the work they do, and the working class know the nobles’ work is essential as well.”
Miranda was still looking at him, but now she was staring at him like he had grown a second head, and maybe a third.
“You really have no idea, do you? The docks district is run by gangs, who are mostly controlled by merchants. The lowest and most desperate prostitutes ply their trade there.” Her voice caught in her throat, and she briefly cast her eyes at the deck before continuing. “Bad things can happen to the unwary.”
Caldan shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t know what experiences you have had there, but they must not have been normal.”
“I didn’t have any ‘experiences’ there, but I know what the place is like. Everyone does.”
“Well, thank you for the warning.” He had heard, and read, about problems in the main cities of the Mahruse Empire. But surely the emperor was doing something about it. After all, every emperor had ensured continued prosperity for his people. He’d read about their achievements. “I’ll take the proper precautions when I’m there.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Anyway, back to what you were asking before. I am afraid I can’t do it.”
“Practice with us?”
“Yes.”
“I see… Why?”
“I can’t.” A bloody wooden sword arose unbidden in his mind, his own blood-soaked hand holding the hilt. He banished the vision with a shake of his head. “I just can’t.”
“Because of what happened?”
“I… yes.”
Miranda shifted closer and rested a hand on his arm. Her featherlight touch felt hot on his skin, which was chilled by the cool night air.
“It’s all right, really. If you don’t want to, then don’t.”
She withdrew her hand and stood, leaning against the gunwale, both elbows on the rail, hands clasped in front of her. After a moment, Caldan joined her, both looking out into the blackness of the sea.
“I don’t think I’ll stay much longer on this ship,” she stated, surprising him.
“Why not? It looks like you have found a good place here, with a decent captain. Why would you leave?”
“It’s not for me, the traveling and the changes. Oh, it might feel fine for a while, but I know it isn’t the life for me. I did it to escape, anyway.” She glanced at him briefly, and he didn’t know whether to pry or not.
“Care to tell me more? I’m a good listener.”
Miranda laughed. “No you aren’t, and you just proved it.”
Caldan let out a laugh, too. He couldn’t help it. “I guess I did.” He was glad the sun had sunk below the horizon and it was dark out at sea.
She straightened, wiped her hands on her pants then ran her fingers through her hair. “Well, I am turning in. Think about what I said, please. Books may not contain the truth.” And with that she walked off, leaving him there on his own.
Caldan wasn’t sure what to think of Miranda. She looked very much at home on the ship yet admitted it wasn’t a life she wanted or could stay with for long. Although his own situation felt dismal, it wasn’t bad considering the life other people less fortunate than him had. And he shouldn’t complain or get upset about his circumstances, since it could be worse. What he would do, he decided, was find an inn to stay at until he got back on his feet. He could present himself to the guilds, to the nobles as well, and should have no trouble finding a position to which he was suited. From there, with a secure and safe arrangement, he would have time to consider what his options were.
He could see how hard it would be to manage an empire of such size, to see to the needs of every single citizen, no matter what their lot in life. Since the Shattering, caused by ancient sorcerers, and the collapse of civilization at the time, the Mahruse Empire had been a beacon, gathering in people and smaller kingdoms who valued a stable society. Even so, much of its early history was rife with war and bloodshed.
If what Miranda said were true, then there was much he needed to learn. The lessons and books his knowledge was based on might leave much out. He could see how living on the island at the monastery could have skewed his views, and it was stupid to think that having experienced one particular place, all others would be the same.
Carefully, he thought over what the masters had told him regarding his parents. One hand moved unconsciously to touch the trinket and the bone ring now hanging from a chain around his neck, which he had bought from a sailor. He missed them… and his sister, who he had never really had a chance to know. His eyes grew moist, and he squeezed them shut, rubbing them with his fingers. Why they had been killed was a mystery, and maybe he would never find the answer. But he had to make an effort. For his parents, and for his sister’s sake. Small chance that whoever had done this to them could be brought to justice, but perhaps finding out about them and his trinket would lead him to them. It could be dangerous, as the masters had warned him, but…there was no one else to mourn his family, no one left to avenge them. Only him.
Revenge? He frowned, examining the word and all it implied. Certainly the masters wouldn’t approve. And he wasn’t the kind of person who would kill someone in cold blood. Shaking his head, he sighed. For all he knew, he wouldn’t be able to find anything about his parents’ past.
To leave everything behind and start afresh, or dwell on the past, possibly repeating the mistakes his parents made. Those were his choices. Would following the trail lead him to death? He didn’t know. But he did know he couldn’t let it rest. It wasn’t in his nature. Perhaps the masters had known this, too.
Caldan withdrew from the deck to his bunk. Though he hadn’t done much all day, he was bone-weary.
Chapter Nine
Caldan watched Captain Charlotte as she sat on her armchair across the desk in front of him. The sun had set outside, and a welcome breeze began to blow. Her elbows rested on
her knees as she intently examined the problem laid out on a Dominion board on top of her desk.
For the whole day the seas remained calm, and Caldan had spent his time on deck moving around as the shadows did to keep cool. He had avoided watching too much of the sword practice the crew participated in, then in the early afternoon a cabin boy approached him stating the captain required his presence, and he’d been in her cabin for the last few hours.
“It’s a trap, isn’t it?” she asked, eying Caldan.
He shrugged. “You have to consider that, of course.”
Initially, he wondered why she had summoned him then realized that, like the crewmen, she was bored with the lack of breeze and needed a diversion to while away the time. It wasn’t long before she unlocked a chest and carefully removed an exquisite Dominion set. It was made from eight different types of wood, both the three boards and pieces. Caldan recognized rosewood, maple, oak, walnut and one lacewood piece. Four other types he didn’t know.
“What are the woods used in your set?” he asked.
“Don’t try to distract me,” she said. “I know what you’re up to.”
“I wasn’t…”
“Of course you were. Everyone tries something to give them an edge.”
“I don’t need an edge.”
Charlotte gave him a penetrating stare. “Is that because I’m no competition?”
“Yes. I mean no. It’s been enjoyable playing with you.”
She returned to the board, muttering under her breath. In the last few hours they had managed two games of an abridged version playable on her set. She had lost both soundly, and in this third game she wasn’t going to fare any better.
After another few minutes examining the board, she sat back, scratched her cheek and poured out another measure of rum for her and Caldan. They had both consumed enough to be pleasantly warm, even with the cool evening breeze coming in the open windows.
A Crucible of Souls (Book One of the Sorcery Ascendant Sequence) (Volume 1) Paperback Page 9
