by C. K. Rieke
“Not at the moment. We are cleaning one up, though. It’s a two-bed—a bit much if you’re alone,” the barkeep said, his face red and swollen from too many late nights after hours, Zaan guessed.
“Yeah, a two-bed may be overkill for me. Do you have any recommendations where else I could stay?” Zaan asked.
“Hold your horses, young man. There are some options. The Raven’s Roost isn’t known for turning away customers. Give me a moment and let me check into another room. You do have money, don’t you?” He glared at Zaan.
“Yes, I do,” Zaan said bluntly.
The barkeep’s face lit back up. “Well then, have another drink and let me get something set up for you. He passed another cool, foamy ale to Zaan.
Zaan was feeling buzzed, as he had not eaten much and had run a great bit the day before, and weariness came over him. He looked around at the other patrons as the barkeep went off to find a bed. To his right was a man covered in soot; beer dripped from his long black beard, and his knees bumbled up and down. To his left was a calm woman, her head high, her gaze aimed above the bar. She wore a sweat-stained white skirt that fell along her ankles, she had bone jewelry hanging from her ears, and her hair was wild. She was drinking what looked like mead.
“Hi,” Zaan said to the woman.
She looked at him, then looked back at the wall.
The barkeep thudded back over. “Well, sir . . . What was your name?”
“Zaan.”
“Master Zaan, I’ve talked to a young man similar to you, and in the same predicament. He is renting a two-bedroom, and he has agreed to split it with you.” He paused, shut his eyes for what seemed like a hard blink. “I’m sure you’d like to meet him first, and he you. He’ll be down in a minute; his name is Gar.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
GAR came down the turning steps from his upstairs two-bedroom, which he had been renting the last few weeks. His eyes scanned the room to look for the individual he’d agreed to share a room with. Zaan didn’t make much of an impression on Gar, slumped as he was over the bar, looking like a shot of whiskey would knock him right over. Zaan’s greasy black hair almost touched his glass, his clothes were dirty, and his eyes were glazed over.
“Hey,” Gar said.
Zaan turned to meet his glance. “Hey.”
“My name is Gar, Gar Tilten. The innkeeper talked to you about sharing my room?”
Zaan looked up at Gar. Gar looked short, even elevated up on the stairs—probably a full head shorter than Zaan. He had dirty blond hair, was fairly stocky, and seemed quite strong. He wore short sleeves that showed veins running down his arms. A dull black ash could be seen under his fingernails. He had brown eyes and something of a mustache, as he probably hadn’t shaven in days. He was dressed in a green cotton shirt and tan pants. He had a good energy about him, Zaan thought.
“Yeah, said we might be sharing the room. He said he only had a two-bedroom available,” Zaan said.
“Well, I’m willing to split my room . . . You a weirdo?” He squinted his eyes at Zaan.
“Uhh. I don’t think so. I’m pretty normal, I think. Are you?” Zaan replied.
“Probably no more than you . . . Well, you seem okay and I’m very interested in splitting up the rent. It’s two solids a week total, so one each. Let me show you the room.” He paused. “Are you carrying any weapons?” he asked.
“Just a small knife.”
“That it?” Gar asked again to be sure.
“Yeah, why?”
“I just like to know, you know, what I could expect to get in the back from some weirdo in my sleep. Anyways, come on up,” Gar said.
Zaan took a big gulp of the remaining ale, and the barkeep gave him a motion to follow Gar up the stairs. “I’ll add it to your tab,” said the barkeep.
Gar opened the door and showed Zaan what he expected to see: a mid-size room with two beds and two chests, with one window in the center. The bed on the right was scattered with clothes and papers. The bed on the left was clean and neat. Zaan’s heavy eyes stared at the bed. All of his being only wanted to collapse on the soft linens raised off the warm wooden floor. He never wanted to sleep in the mud again.
“You should probably get cleaned up first, or you’ll be sleeping in a dirty bed for a while,” Gar said, startling Zaan out of his hypnotic gaze.
“Yeah, you’re probably right. Where should I go?” Zaan asked, wiping his eyes with the soft parts of his fists.
“Downstairs, the floor below us, on the right, is the washroom,” Gar said. “We can catch up tomorrow.”
Zaan washed up, went back upstairs to his new fresh bed, and slid underneath the warm, soft, and dry covers. He moved his legs around a bit to create some more warmth, buried the side of his head in the pillow, and fell sound asleep. He didn’t awaken until the sun was halfway up the following day.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ZAAN awoke to the intoxicating smell of freshly brewed coffee. He dressed in his only clean clothes and headed downstairs, following the trail of the wafting aroma.
Sipping his afternoon brew, he sat out front of the Raven’s Roost, watching passersby. Auracity’s inhabitants were an eclectic lot. The barkeep and Gar seemed to be kind, and many other well-dressed men and women smiled as they walked the streets in the sunlight. Yet there were others that were solemn, tended to drag their feet, and were mostly dirty, he assumed they worked the furnaces or the mines. He reminded himself that this was Harrow, which the traveler on the road had told him was a nicer part of the city. Zaan didn’t necessarily want to the see the other, dirtier parts of town.
He pulled out a pencil and parchment, and while sitting under the warm sun, he wrote a letter to his family. It was written lightly and consisted of him arriving to Auracity okay and meeting some nice people. No use in worrying them about him sleeping in the mud and almost shivering to death. He gave them the address of the inn he was staying at and left the letter with the barkeep to mail off.
He also settled up for the beers, coffee, and the half loaf of bread and small ration of butter he was about to consume. Altogether it was five shims and three slits, and he tipped a slit on top. He figured he could make it another two weeks on the money in his bag, but he would need more soon.
He hung around the inn for most of the afternoon, lying in his bed, washing his clothes, and making small talk with some of the other patrons in the inn. As far as he could tell, there were around a dozen other occupants there. Most were nice, but private.
Gar returned before suppertime. “Hey, you woke up. I thought you might have died last night, with how silent you were and how long you slept,” he said as he entered the room.
“Oh, man, you have no idea how nice it was to lie in this bed. It was a long walk here. Crazy things happened on the road,” he said, not meaning to lead into more about the golden-haired woman he may or may not have imagined.
“Yeah, I can believe it. My trip here was crazy too. I got robbed a half-day outside of the city. They got almost all of my money. Assholes,” Gar said. “Speaking of money, what are you going to do while you’re here?”
“I don’t know exactly. I was hoping to work at the university or something along those lines.”
“Well, I don’t know much about that stuff, but I do know almost everything that happens in this city is about who you know, and who they know. So if you’re going to get a job like that, you better get some rich friends. Around here, it’s pretty much factory work or changing chamber pots.”
“Hmmm, well then, what do you do?”
“I work at Gildur’s Armory, twenty-two streets away. Gildur may be looking for more workers if you’re interested,” he said.
“Well, I’ll think about it. Do you know where the university is?” Zaan asked.
“I’ll take you there now if you want,” Gar replied. Zaan nodded in approval.
As they walked uptown, Zaan realized that Gar did seem like a nice guy, and m
aybe someone he could be friends with. Auracity was much different than Fur-lol. There was no debating that fact, as most of his friends back home were married by seventeen. In the city, he saw few people his age with kids, even.
As they walked, they talked about Auracity: what parts of town were nice, and those to be avoided, which seemed to be many. The worst of those was Garangden District, full of thieves, murderers, and rapists. Garangden used to have a prison in it around a hundred years ago, and then the inmates tore down the walls and made their homes there. The royalty built big walls around Garangden, but the people could still come and go as they please. Zaan felt better about where was safe to travel in the city, which was good information to have.
As they approached the university, Zaan’s eyes lit up. The walls were massively high, again made of stone, but with light blue tinted stones scattered throughout the high walls.
“This is Auracity’s Grand University. Pretty amazing, huh?” Gar said as he looked up.
The Grand University was as wide as it was tall, which was impressive. It could hold around twenty-five hundred students. They studied all varieties of subjects here, including medicine, alchemy, and physics. Stained glass teardrop-shaped windows adorned the building.
They approached the front entrance and knocked with the heavy iron knocker. It thudded, and the echoes of it could be heard through the thick black wooden door. The door creaked open, and a small hooded woman peeked her head through the opening.
“Yes?” she uttered strictly.
“Hello, ma’am. I was looking for work in the university. Are there any openings? I am a student from Fur-lol. My name is Zaan, Zaan Talabard.”
“Are you a student here?” she responded.
“Well, not currently. I was looking to just work somewhere,” Zaan said.
“Do you have a letter of recommendation from anyone in the university or the palace?” she asked.
“No, but I really would like to work here. I think I have some valuable skills to offer,” he said.
“Look, you can either become a student and pay tuition, if you are smart enough to be accepted; or bring us a signed recommendation from someone who supports the university. Those are your best options, young man.” She wouldn’t even open the doors enough for Zaan to get a look inside the main lobby of Auracity’s Grand University. “I bid you farewell,” she said as she removed her head from the crevasse of the heavy door and slowly closed it.
Zaan looked at the ground, defeated. Then he looked up at Gar, who was expressionless.
“Wanna swing a big hammer and play with fire?” Gar asked with a smile on his face.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE following morning Gar and Zaan entered Gildur’s Armory. The smells of iron and flame were abrasive, and heavy black smoke hung on the ceiling. There were eight people around the four-walled building. Some wore masks over their mouths and had thick clear glasses, sometimes on top of their heads.
“Gildur should be over there. Follow me.” Gar pointed to the far corner of the room. Together they walked over to Gildur, and Zaan felt all eyes were on him as they drew closer.
“Hi, sir,” Gar said as he bowed, and he looked up at Zaan and motioned for him to do the same. Zaan bowed.
“Yeah, who’s the skinny?” Gildur replied gruffly.
“His name’s Zaan, and he’s looking for work. I can vouch for him,” Gar said.
Gildur stood up slowly, grunting as he did so. He approached Zaan and walked right up to him, stopping inches away from Zaan’s face and making it challenging for him to not step back. Gildur was at eye level with him, and breathed deeply as he stared into Zaan’s eyes.
“Open your eyes, boy. More. Open wide,” he told Zaan.
He stared at him for a few moments. “You a liar, boy?” he asked Zaan.
“No, no sir,” Zaan replied.
“I hate liars. You a thief, boy? You gonna steal from me when my back’s turned?” he asked Zaan again.
“No sir, I am no thief. I hate thieves,” Zaan replied.
“Don’t be smart with me, boy. You must be a smart one. I don’t like smartass boys.” Gildur was still inches away from Zaan.
Gildur was an intimidating man. He looked all muscle, his eyes were hard, and he had wrinkles around them. On his tan brow were thick black eyebrows, and he had a short, unkempt gray beard. His hair was long and pulled back, a few thin braids scattered throughout. Scars were scattered along his forearms and neck, and he smelled like his insides were composed of smoke. His hands were huge and hard like stones. Zaan said nothing.
“There you go. That’s better. I got three rules here: no lyin’, don’t ever steal from me or no one here, and you always show up for work. Got it?” Gildur said.
Zaan nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Know anything about forging?” Gildur asked Zaan.
“Not yet, but I’m a quick learner.”
“Well, you’ll learn here. Show him around, Gar.” Gildur stared at Zaan as the two walked away, then went back to the corner and sat silently.
***
Over the next couple of days, Zaan got more comfortable around the armory. It was called Gildur’s Armory, but the only armory was the shop next door, where Gildur sold the things made here. Gildur was known as one of the best smiths within hundreds of miles. People came from everywhere, it seemed, to buy his armor and weapons.
He liked to make full plate and medium-weight armors, and they were magnificent, Zaan thought. Brand new, they sparkled in the sunlight in the shop next door. The bestselling weapons were his one-handed straight swords and axes. He had a couple of extravagant items he seemed to make for fun, like a huge two-handed broadax, and a crossbow Zaan couldn’t even lift, it was so heavy.
Zaan found himself enjoying being there, and he liked the hard work. His main responsibilities at first were lifting heavy metals, organizing the inventories, and maintaining the charcoal for the fires. He loved working the bellows when someone was working on the anvils. There were three anvils and hearths in the shop. One was operated by Gildur, in the corner, who made the most marvelous equipment, and two others were for the smithy apprentices, Bomby and Alli.
Bomby was a quiet man about Zaan’s age, as far as Zaan could tell. Drinking was his only other hobby. He sweated at the hearth for hours, then replenished with gin at night. He didn’t talk much, but he came to work every day and made exquisite merchandise. He was best known for his shields, which were so reflective they were known to temporarily blind opponents on the battlefield.
Alli was Bomby’s girlfriend, and his opposite. She talked as she worked the anvil about anything that came to mind. People loved working by her side: she was incredible at the wares she made, and remarkable at conversation. She was around twenty-six and dressed nicely when not by the hearth. While at the hearth, she would have her long blond hair braided at her back, and her long arms and muscles glistened as the sparks flew from her hammer. She could make six daggers on her most productive day—really impressive for a smith.
The others who worked in the shop were generally good workers and mostly quiet people. They came and went frequently, for at Gildur’s, if you missed work for any reason that didn’t have to do with life and death, there was no reason to even show up the next day. Gildur wouldn’t even respond to you. Needless to say, Zaan showed up every day, on time, with Gar.
There was one person to speak of though, Tilda. Tilda worked next door at the armory. She was the one who sold the merchandise, and she was good at it. The first time Zaan saw her, she was stuck in his head for days. He went to sleep that first night thinking only of her. She was almost twice his age, with long braided hair consisting of browns and golds with scattered grays. She had blue eyes, a thin, perfect nose, and rosy red pouty lips. She was slender but with nice curves and had a black tattoo of a dragon, an anvil, and a sword on her shoulder. He had never seen anything like her. She was so confident and beautiful, and she hardly
noticed him.
Whenever Tilda entered the shop, Zaan was not the only one to turn his head; he would catch a couple of the other guys glancing at her. At least Gar didn’t seem to, which was nice, because Zaan didn’t want that divide in their friendship. During the first couple of weeks at the shop, Zaan said little more to her than “Hi,” always regretting that he didn’t say more.
Frequently during those same weeks, Gildur said very little to Zaan, but occasionally he would sense Gildur staring at him. He would look up at Gildur to find the smith watching him very intently. When Gildur had something to say to Zaan, he would call over Gar or someone else, and they would deliver the message. He found this confusing, he didn’t know if he was doing something wrong, or if Gildur just didn’t like him. Maybe Zaan had said something in their first meeting that upset Gildur. Regardless, he came to work every day and tried very hard to please the armorer.
For compensation, Zaan was paid three solids and two slits per week, which was enough to get by. He stayed in the same room he shared with Gar and got to eat at the restaurant next to the Raven’s Roost, which served aromatic ham and cabbage, along with various stews and steaks served with braised greens and lentils. He got to drink coffee, tea, or beer when he pleased. He became friends with a couple of people staying at the tavern, and after three weeks, he sent a package to his father that included some tobacco for him, chocolate from Vallenhalen for his mother, and a dried pork shank for Oscar.
Zaan and Gar would meet outside the armory a couple of times a week to play a game after work called zantzi. Zantzi was played by two teams facing a wall, with a small ball.
The thrower would throw the ball against the wall and try to get it to their teammate, but the opposing teammates would also try to intercept the ball, which they could then throw against the wall to their own teammates. The game and rules were simple, but the games often got intense, with players running into each other or even tackling the others when tempers flared. It took at least an hour to finish a game; even two sometimes.
