“Zarander,” said Altyn, “those men were Red Lady cultists. You usually find her devotees here and there, but they rarely act so blatantly. They tend to prod others along. They certainly don’t do something this extreme. That makes me afraid. Who could convince them to do this? I fear that there is a Red Sybil in town. If there is a Red Sybil, I fear that she has learned to make Red Snake.”
Maran had no idea what a Red Sybil was, other than that she was connected to the Red Lady.
“What’s a Red Sybil?”
“They are footnotes in history. A few epics mention them. Unless you are well schooled, you shouldn’t know about them. They are oracles, directly speaking to Red Lady and bringing her will to her favored. Where her sybil goes, upheaval, strife and civil war follow. I do not want such things here.
“How could I explain better? Imagine if the Reckoners got their way. How many people could they kill? Or imagine if the food stopped, and the hungry crowds took their revenge on the farmers. How many of your people would die? This town is a powder keg waiting for a spark and the Red Sybil would be smart to touch that spark. No army would need to march in here. We would enthusiastically destroy each other, then our enemies would simply walk in and enslave what remains.”
Maran did not like the sound of that at all. She had also not realized that Altyn saw the city in so bad a light.
“Ma’am, if things are going to get more dangerous, then maybe you had best stay in the guildhall. It’s safer there. You’ll be in less danger of killing people.” Maran wanted to cover her mouth. She had stated her fear.
Altyn looked incredulously toward Maran. “Safer? The world is a strange place when the Ironmongers are safer. But you are half-right. I can’t keep killing people. If nothing else, I’ll make the Kommissars curious. They might be bullheaded fools, but they are smart bullheaded fools. They would figure out that there is a Red Sybil and go after her themselves. That is not what I desire, so I had best relent. I will go with you. Help me pack and get dressed.”
The dryad girls were done now. Altyn paid them and sent them on their way. “Those three remind me of my own friends. Three is a most perfect number, filled with harmony.” Something deep in Altyn sighed, if not mourned.
“I’ll pack up.”
Packing took longer than Maran anticipated. Altyn had a large amount of alchemical glasswork. “These are all Vitrean pieces. If any piece gets stolen, I can’t replace it. I don’t have the cash to smuggle more in.”
The Vitreans had seceded when the Phoenix Empire withdrew from the war. They no longer traded with Jura City, and the city now banned all glass products, which made no sense as humans also made glass.
Altyn took her time examining each glass piece and placing it into a preformed spongy container, each shape designed to hold a particular glass piece.
“I used to travel quite a bit,” Altyn said. “This was the only way to move my things safely. I still lost pieces sometimes, even if they were Vitrean made. Their products are nearly unbreakable. I have a pen knife somewhere that’s entirely glass. I used to have some pens made of glass, but I haven’t seen them in a while.”
Somewhere in Altyn’s sorting, Maran sat down on the bed and nodded off into a fitful sleep with dreams of poppy boiling in a pot. The pot was silvery, but too dull for silver. The handles were black, but not wood. The bottom was copper. It sat on a fire with no visible fuel, the fire seemingly controlled by dials.
Altyn sang Maran awake. “Rouse up sleepy head. It’s time for me to change.”
Maran could still smell the poppy boiling. She could see the texture. She could taste it. It needed something, but that something quickly faded from her thoughts.
It was mid-morning now. Maran had slept far longer than she had expected. She should have been in her kitchen working. The Kurfurstin would have words for her. At least Annalise was there. She would feed everyone. With the fires out, it was all cold food anyway. Annalise could easily handle that.
While Maran slept, Altyn had put up her long hair, pinning strands up with painted sticks. On her bed lay her proper clothes, including a cloak and hat made of peacock feathers. They looked so beautiful that Maran had to touch them to make sure that they were real. She had never seen peacock feathers before.
“These are such nice clothes, Miss Altyn.”
“They are my working clothes. I usually only wear them for special rituals, but the Kurfurstin was clear about her expectations. ”
Maran helped Altyn don her blue and white silk robe. Over that went a shaping piece, accenting Altyn’s general lack of hips. Secretly, Maran wondered how humans made do with such little hips.
Altyn picked up her umbrella and fan, then led the way like a proper Astrean lady. Maran followed. Surprisingly, the two bouncers still stood outside her door.
Pointing upward, Altyn ordered the bouncers, “Go upstairs and get my trunk. Don’t drop it. Follow me to the Ironmongers.”
The bouncers went upstairs and Maran waited.
A few minutes later, when the bouncers emerged with the large chest between them, Altyn strode off through the morning, avoiding the revelers and aiming for the forge.
Forge Street was crowded again as it always was. The hustle and bustle was a little less than usual, but still extremely busy by Maran’s standards. The lines in front of the Food Bank wrapped clear around the block several times. The Food Bank would close at noon today in honor of the holiday, then open again after the new year. Everyone looked anxious to get their share. Anyone who missed would go hungry for the next few days.
The realization set in for Maran. The humans would go hungry while the dwarves feasted. Maran felt bad about the situation. Back at home, the tables would be full. She might have grown up poor, and even seen privation, but she had never seen such continuous privation as the humans had.
A shoving match caught Maran’s attention. A brief fight erupted between two women in line. Knives emerged from baskets. Seconds later, the fight concluded. The line jumper fled away with a slit arm while the offended woman held her kitchen knife and screamed profanities at the top of her lungs.
Strife. Was this the mark of the Red Lady? Or was it just the hot sun pounding on the line? Or was this just how it was in this city?
As they approached the main gate of the forge, the guards at the gate looked suspiciously at Altyn. Maran knew these guards and did not like them.
“I reckon she’s not a dwarf,” one said.
Maran saw little vines around the guard’s eyes. The other one had little vines around his eyes, too.
“I reckon the whore should go to the servant’s entrance.”
The guards stared at Altyn. Altyn stared back. For a moment, Maran had no idea what would happen.
From behind the gate, speaking slow and folksy, another dwarf yelled, “I reckon, and I mean RECKON, that you two are stupider than a rabbit in a wolf pack.”
Opening the gate from the inside was a Horsebreaker protector with a gold nose and one good eye. He glared at the guards from beneath his oilskin hat. Even this lowly Horsebreaker protector outranked a mere gate guard. He tapped both on the head with his staff of horse bones.
“I reckon that you two morons don’t know who y’all are talkin’ to. I will assist you.” The protector saluted Altyn. “Good to see ya, ma’am. Congratulations on your appointment as Burggraf.”
“Thank you, Protector Fleck, and good to see you.”
The guards, realizing that Altyn was Burggraf, stood to attention.
Altyn strode through the dwarf-only gate followed by her train. Protector Fleck fell in behind her.
“What brings you out, Fleck?” asked Altyn.
“Your note. That, and my nose itches. Do you reckon it’s a you-know-what?”
“Your nose works well, or should I say ‘right good’? I’ll explain later when there are fewer ears. Fleck, what do you think of the Loam?”
“Diggers? Not much.”
“You should revisit that opini
on.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Muster up some volunteers. Ready their guns. I might not get permission, so be ready to move without orders. Shoot to kill.”
“Powder’s in short supply. The armory ain’t givin’ out these days, but I squirreled a bit away. We’ll be ready, ma’am.”
Maran spoke up. “Miss Altyn, those guards had vines around their eyes.”
“Did they? Fleck, get those guards arrested for something. Make it plausible. They are on Red Snake. Maran, tell Protector Fleck about any more vines that you spot. All those guards need to get pulled as soon as possible.”
At the guildhall proper, the more senior guards who stood there saluted Altyn. They knew her by sight.
Just inside the guildhall, Fleck motioned to the bouncers. “Drop that here and get gone.” He dug into his pocket and gave them some pennies. “Off with you.”
The bouncers looked insulted, but Altyn silenced them with a hand wave. “We’ll settle up later.” The bouncers accepted her word, then bowed.
Maran led Altyn to the Kurfurstin Mother’s suite. It was mostly empty there now. Inside the suite now sat an old table and a wrought-iron chair. No other piece of furniture was left except for the ugly bed.
Altyn put her arms behind herself, pointed her toe, then twirled slowly and gracefully, learning the room. “I may as well start. Find me the household books. They must be somewhere.”
On hearing them, Osei wandered out of the kitchen, his considerable human frame making him far too tall for the dwarven architecture.
“Good morning, Miss Altyn. Do you need anything?”
“Where is the Kurfurstin?”
“She is still sleeping off last night. She didn’t go to sleep until dawn. I don’t expect her up anytime soon. She drank too much and lost at tiles.”
“Should I make breakfast?” asked Maran.
Before anyone could answer, gunfire reported from somewhere, followed by screams. Behind that, more guns fired.
Everyone in the room ran out to the balcony. Out in the street, near the Ironhaus Food Bank, smoke drifted upwards from the front gate. Humans scattered everywhere. More shots reported. More smoke drifted.
The gate guards were shooting into the crowd.
Live By the Rod
At the Ironhaus Food Bank, blood and bodies lay thick on the ground. Few were wounded. Most were dead. The Ironmonger guards were crack shots, and they always shot to kill. Maran wished that she had never seen these tragedies before her. Most of the dead were women, and the rest were children.
Altyn guided an inebriated Strikke along while Osei watched for trouble. Behind them came every guard available. Maran walked among the guards, looking for those on Red Snake. She pointed out several, and Fleck sent them away.
Overseeing the situation on Forge Street was the Captain of the Guard. He saluted Kurfurstin Strikke as she approached. He eyed Altyn and Osei warily. Maran saw little vines growing on him, too, giving his eyes a dazed look.
“What should we do?” asked Strikke. “This is terrible.” Maran doubted that the significantly drunk Kurfurstin understood what she saw.
With the Kurfurstin incapacitated, and her Protector a human, many eyes looked toward Maran instead. They expected her to speak for the Kurfurstin.
“How many dead?” asked Maran, barely keeping a steady voice.
Proudly, the Captain responded, “None, ma’am.”
Maran pointed to the corpses. “What about them?”
“The drifters will clean them up,” said the Captain.
A just anger welled up in Maran. “Those are women and children!”
“You need to calm down, ma’am. They were a threat. My men acted rationally and with due restraint.”
“Due restraint? This is not self defense. This is not justifiable. This is blasphemy. This is a massacre. This is the Feast of All Gods. You have no idea what you’ve done. None. The gods will surely act against us.”
The Captain stepped up to Maran, using his height to full advantage. “You’re a Loam. You would think that. How about you go back to the kitchen and lick your frying pan.”
“I am the Eighth Rod here, and you will listen.”
Before the argument could continue, a guard ran up and reported to the captain. “There’s a large crowd of drifters forming down the street. A few hundred. They threw stones at me. That’s a shooting offense. They’re coming this way. They look like trouble.”
The captain yelled to all the guards present. “Form up a line. Fix bayonets. Prepare to fire in your own time. Ma’ams, please move to safety.”
Maran turned to Altyn. “He’s on Red Snake. You take over. Eighth Rod says so.”
Altyn nodded, acknowledging the fact, then turned to Protector Fleck. “This captain is addicted to Red Snake. Relieve him of duty. The gate guard is also on Red Snake. Relieve them of duty and put them in the stockade. Close the gates and hold tight. Let the people yell their heads off. They have a right to be mad. Maybe if we let them yell, they won’t burn the city down.
“Osei, if you would, take the Kurfurstin inside immediately. We must keep her safe.”
Osei took Strikke’s arm and moved her along. Strikke took a handful of steps, but then stopped to lose her stomach.
Altyn turned back to Fleck. “Call the regiment up. Have them form a line along the fence, but no loaded guns. Put women on the roof, rifles loaded. If their officer is clean, she can order a kill. Shoot anything illegal or immoral. Use the minimum amount of violence necessary.”
Fleck saluted.
Altyn turned back to Maran. “That should do it. If we ride this out, we might just avoid more bloodshed.”
“I’m not so sure,” replied Maran. “The gods will be offended over this one. I don’t want to say this, but I need to get to Justice herself and find out how to make amends, if we even can make amends. I don’t know how I’ll sort this out or what she’ll ask for.”
The spirit world still scared Maran. That place was all new to her. All she knew about it was the Steel City and the Iron Duke. The rest of it made little sense. Yet, if she was to reach Justice, she had to go there.
Altyn nodded. “That sounds dangerous, but you are correct. This is your new normal. You must do what you do.”
At times like this, Maran hated having a sense of duty, but she did. Now she had to go back to the Steel City, which she hated. Gods scared her and she never wanted to deal with another one again. Even so, her feelings did not change her duty. Maran walked up to her kitchen, hoping to delay her task. She found Annalise on the balcony looking at the situation, along with the seamstresses.
“It’s bad ma’am?” asked Annalise.
“Quite bad. The gate guard shot into the crowd. Stay here and keep your head down. You should be safe. I have to dress up and do guild things that I don’t want to do. I don’t know when I’ll be back. And keep people fed. Break open the cask of corned beef if you need to. And start the pickles. I forgot about the pickles.”
“Already started, ma’am.”
“You’re a wonder, Annalise.”
Maran walked back to her room and grabbed her good overdress and hat. She needed to look her best when visiting a god.
Maran’s good overdress was made of an elven cloth which was both burn resistant and cut resistant. That made it perfect for the kitchen, which was why Strikke had chosen that material. Strikke had also had it embroidered all over with herbs and plants. Maran still felt that she did not deserve anything like this beautiful dress, but at a time like this, she appreciated its formality.
From her room, she also picked up her husband’s riq. The tambourine-like instrument was the one thing that reminded her of Kirim. He was dead now, and his death had begun this difficult time of her life. She could have stood there for hours remembering him as he played that riq, but she had responsibilities that she could not deny.
Back in the hallway, Maran walked slowly to the entrance, hoping for interruption, and to her
relief Weber stopped her. “Osei said that you going to visit the gods. I don’t know what that means, but I’ll not have you go to them looking disheveled.” She straightened out Maran’s dress and adjusted the fit. “Now, you are free to go. Go on.”
Freed from her seamstress, Maran walked down the hall and out of the guildhall. Even as she hurried, hundreds of others hurried as well. They dashed from shed to forge, donning their armor and checking their weapons. They shouted more than the kitchen staff. Near the fence, a single soldier stopped in the middle, and around him, a line formed.
The Ironmongers now had a life to them that Maran had not seen before. She had never seen Ironmongers do more than gamble, drink, and chew opium. They had always just barely existed as they tolerated their place in life. Now, they seemed alive just as they always should have been. They had purpose. They had work. They had war.
What was a dwarf without work? How could she ever reconcile that work and war were the same? How could she reconcile the blood that ran in iron?
The Ironmongers were ironsmiths of the highest quality. They did things with steel that no other ironsmiths could do. Most importantly, they could produce steel by the ton. To do that, they used buildings far larger than Maran had ever seen in this world. Inside, hidden from prying eyes, they had devices of astonishing size, the most important of which was the Converter which changed iron into steel. That was the secret heart of the foundry, the holy of holies, for the foundry was not merely a foundry, but a temple to the Iron Duke.
Maran walked for the entrance to the foundry. Already the guard there had increased to an entire company, and all were loading their guns. They guarded the secret of mass-produced steel, and they were willing to kill to defend it. Maran scanned the soldiers, and all seemed clean.
Their company’s captain recognized Maran and let her through.
Normally, there was no way that a Loam would enter an Ironmonger temple. The Loam thought iron unclean and had no desire to desecrate themselves. Meanwhile, the Ironmongers only let their initiated know their secrets. It was because Maran had met the Iron Duke, the god of Iron, that they permitted her inside. The Duke welcomed her, so who were they to disagree? That’s what made her the Eighth Rod, the highest position in their religion. She could talk to the Iron Duke himself, and so all secrets could be known to her.
Standing Between Earth and Heaven Page 6
