by M. Woodruff
“Alright, Casandra, I won’t say anything. We’ll just go get some of those Tongue Ticklers and I’ll be happy.”
Nels wasn’t happy at all.
It turned out Tongue Ticklers started out as a hard round sweet ball you held in your mouth for approximately a minute when all of a sudden the shell would crack releasing…things…hairy, squirmy, slimy, bug-like things with legs that would crawl around inside your mouth and even try to make it down your throat without your permission. Having to keep up the pretense of being a Tickler addict, Nels managed not to die, but just barely. The kids were having a blast, shrieking and running around, pulling the supposed-candy bugs out of their mouths and showing everyone then swallowing them whole.
Nels became convinced the candy was a way for the shopkeeper to get rid of real bugs at a profit when he spied a long hairy bug crawling on the floor by the counter. The shopkeeper, watching Nels’ gaze, smoothly stepped around to the side crushing the bug under his sandal then scooted his foot back behind the counter without ever lifting it, smiling at Nels the whole time. Maybe Denali did have the right of it after all.
Having said their goodbyes without Denali’s husband ever being introduced—apparently Sandrid practiced different rules of etiquette—Nels and Casandra were back out on the street. Nels was ready to go back up on the flying rug to wait for Javin, surely he wouldn’t serve bugs. But Casandra had different ideas. “We have to get you some proper clothes. And it’s best if we get them down here, and then we can go to a tailor up above for some truly proper clothes. Yes, that’s a good idea,” Casandra said basically to herself. “All right then, follow me,” to Nels.
She led him down the street to a tailor’s shop, called The Prickly Needle. Nels thought the owner surely could have done a better job in picking a name for his establishment. But, it was crowded in the small shop. The building itself was very narrow and tall. It was painted in different color patterns for each floor: red and yellow, brown and green, blue and purple, and orange and black for the top—on the inside and the out. The lower floor sold buttons and various embellishments from tassels to shiny glass beads; the next held simple garments already made, such as tunics and pants; the third floor was where the measuring and fitting occurred for the men’s wraps and displayed a wide array of fabric choices from thick and heavy to gauzy; the top floor was where the robes were designed. Nels found himself a little bit surprised. He wouldn’t of thought the robe-men would frequent this place, and they didn’t, but men were men and liked to wear their robes no matter where they lived.
He had first been escorted to the third floor, then back down to the second after he saw they had fabric wraps in mind for him, then up to the top after Casandra thought about it for too long. No tunics and pants, Nels was just going to have to adapt to the current fashion. So he had a cheap robe fitted for him then and there. Picking the plainest pale green linen fabric it had taken one of the tailors less than thirty minutes to have it ready. Nels even was able to procure a pair of slip-on sandals that pinched his toes without having to visit a cobbler. He drew the line at a hat, though.
Having the clerk wrap up his old clothes and boots, with a raised eyebrow from the man, Nels wore his new look out into the light of day with a renewed sense of confidence. He wasn’t wearing his leather gloves, because they looked stupid while wearing a robe, but he didn’t mind. He had to admit the robe felt good—it was rather freeing. And while he was sure pale green wasn’t his color there was a certain fleeting perversity to wearing something so out of character for him. That he couldn’t describe why it made him feel that way didn’t make it any less so.
Doing some stretching and shaking his limbs, Nels queried Casandra, “Okay, so now where to?”
Casandra gave him an appraising look now that he was out in the sunshine and put a finger to her lips. “I’m hungry.”
Nels felt a phantom tickle in his throat at the thought of food, but his stomach growled in agreement. “I could do with a bite myself, but nothing alive, mind.”
“Yes, yes. I know just the place down the street. Everything they serve is delightfully dead.”
Nels wasn’t sure he liked the look in her eye. Delightfully dead? Who says that? “Maybe we should just go back up to Javin Bone’s?” Surely a man who lived in such opulence would serve the best of food as well.
Casandra shook her head. “No. Not yet. You may not get a chance to come back down here and I’d like you to see a bit more of the city.”
Nels acquiesced reluctantly. The wind was starting to pick up and he could swear he was feeling sand where it definitely should not be.
Passing through the crowds he began to notice many men had huge longswords strapped to their backs. Upon further scrutiny he realized most men had some form of weapon attached to their person, whether it be a bejeweled dagger to ornate blades that formed all kinds of intricate designs. Some were S-shaped, others looked to be complete circles.
He had never seen anything like it. In The Kingdom only The King’s Guard had honorary swords—he’d never heard of one being actually used—and the constables just carried large clubs, sometimes with iron spikes nailed in to the tips, but that was generally frowned upon by the local populace. No one minded getting a good drubbing, but possibly getting an eye poked out made even the hardened types a bit squeamish. Certainly bandits carried swords, but they were mostly only for show, as there were no blade training schools, legit or otherwise. Men, and women, preferred brute force using fists, heads, teeth, feet, elbows, and occasionally bellies or buttocks. Usually accomplished by unlikely co-conspirators.
Case in point was when Widow Wilberforce began noticing arrows drawn in the dirt around her house. The first arrow trail she followed led to her garden where several choice vegetables had been arranged in decidedly unnatural fashions for vegetables, but rather too natural for humans. The next day, the arrows led to the shed out back where once again certain tools had taken up inappropriate positions Widow Wilberforce was sure she hadn’t put them in. The last straw was when no arrows were drawn, but the widow had settled down on her settee to finish sewing one of her much-loved personalized quilts that she always donated to the elderly and young alike. She was planning to add a final moustache and pair of spectacles to Widower Hardwicke’s quilt—he was known for his fashionable eyewear and extremely large moustache—when she gasped in horror. Someone had crudely sewn indelicate cuts of peach-colored fabric to the already placed moustaches and spectacles.
Having had her lovingly-made quilt besmirched in such a fashion sent Widow Wilberforce marching as fast as she could with evidence in tow to the local tavern, a place she had never entered before. But, now she did, holding up the quilt with tears running down her face, not speaking a word. The tavern stilled to a hush, then a collective intake of breath was heard from the outraged crowd, except for Jos Hardwicke—the widower’s son—who giggled. Everyone immediately recognized the true culprit for he had been a mama’s boy and all knew the widow and widower were often seen accidently meeting one another dressed in their finest. Jos, realizing his error in perceived humor too late, could only issue a squeak before being set upon by every tavern patron, including Widow Wilberforce, who delivered a well-placed kick with a giggle at her own brand of humor.
So while Nels was used to seeing tavern and street brawls, to see so many men armed was a new concept. Surely they weren’t all constables? And they couldn’t all be brigands walking around so openly. “Why are all these men carrying blades?” he whispered to Casandra, hoping in the press of bodies one wouldn’t overhear and decide to answer his question with irony.
Casandra shrugged. “There’s no law against it. In fact, there’s no constabulary here, so it’s just a matter of precaution I would guess. A warning to stay away. Or it could be for religious reasons, some people dedicate themselves to their gods’ sense of justice or their family’s.”
“What do you mean no constabulary?” Nels asked incredulously. The Kingdom had minimal
enforcement and usually only in the larger towns or cities. But, to have none, in a place like this…
“Just what I said. Sandridians handle any crimes amongst themselves. The People’s Justice, they call it. For instance, if I murdered you your family would come and murder me, so now we’re even.”
Nels thought this sounded a little too simplistic. “But then what if your family decides to murder the member of my family who murdered you? And so on, and so forth. It would never end!”
“Well, maybe. But Nels, you have to think realistically, at some point some murdered person’s family will be glad they were done away with, so the back-and-forth vendettas would stop with a happy ending for all.”
“Hmm, well maybe.” Nels still thought this was a bit optimistic in such a large population. But if no one was complaining, he supposed they knew best. It did work similarly in The Kingdom, usually though an official witness was called to observe the execution of a murderer caught in the act. The execution method was the family of the victim’s choice. The King’s citizens weren’t very creative, usually, which meant most murderers were put to death by being clubbed in the head repeatedly.
If a murder had been committed, but no one actually witnessed the act then a constable was called to look for clues. If no reasonable suspect could be found without too much trouble, it was generally considered to be an act of banditry and therefore no action would be taken. Murders were rather rare in The Kingdom because most people were fairly skilled in fisticuffs from an early age and knew how to defend themselves. Murder-for-gain involved too much forethought and were easily detectable by the constables making the risk-to-reward ratio too high to even contemplate.
Curious, Nels asked, “How do they deal with thieves?” In The Kingdom it was the standard beating, of course.
“Oh, it depends. A shopkeeper who catches a thief could technically kill him, I suppose, but they may just cut off a hand or finger or something. Once, I do remember a man being hung upside down by his ankle all day. Kids had fun hitting him with sticks to learn new curse words. Really, Nels, I don’t know why you’re so fascinated with crime all of a sudden; I’ve never had any problems here. You see I carry my purse out in the open.”
He did see. Yet, at the same time he couldn’t help but wonder if there weren’t something more going on here. Things just felt different. Maybe that was because he was in a totally different world—of course, it would feel abnormal to him on many levels. And really, neither Sandrid nor The Kingdom had a crime problem, so what mattered if they only had a few, or no constables?
“Do they have laws?”
“Not laws per se, more of customs, often decreed by the gods. Sandrid doesn’t have a supreme ruler, like The King. The gods just have spokespeople who announce what the god wants. If certain people want to follow what that god specifies, they do. If not, they don’t and that way whatever consequences happen are on their own head. A list of weekly decrees is placed on boards at each crossroads and in front of each god’s temple. It’s quite lengthy reading, though, if you want to read all the gods’ pronouncements; most people just pick a god they like best and go with that one.
“There is an archive, complete with a Master Chronicler and many clerks who keep up with the history of the gods’ decrees. I’ve been to the archives many times, and Javin used to be a clerk there.”
Nels felt his mind go to mush. He had never experienced anything as alien as a society that built its government on invisible beings that one could chose to follow or not. The Kingdom had no gods; all of its rules were decided by The King and were absolutely to be obeyed. This wasn’t an issue, as all The King’s rules heretofore were thought of as being good for everyone, so people went along willingly, probably most in ignorance. Up until now, with the kingdom so spread out, most of the rural areas were hardly aware there were any laws, but with the new King’s Bards being sent out with directive information, straight from The King’s own mouth this wouldn’t be a problem anymore. Most of the rules were for more populous cities, making sure day-to-day life ran smoothly and any future growth had standards that fit The King’s own ideas.
Nels was also unfamiliar with an archive. The Kingdom had no history. No one had any record of how the kingdom came to be. It just was. Parents would pass familial stories on to their children of past ancestors, but only to a point. No one even knew how old The Kingdom was. Old timers would sometimes relate old tales in taverns, but no one much cared unless it was extremely funny or especially lurid. Even bards focused on current events, otherwise they would be shouted down and receive no free drinks. It was a world devoted entirely to the present: the past was forgotten or never was, and the future was The King’s prerogative.
“Can just anybody visit these archives?” Nels asked skeptically. He was pretty sure the King kept records, but couldn’t imagine they would be available to the population at large.
“Oh yes. They’re quite busy actually. You can’t take any of the documents with you, but you can read whatever you like while there. They have a cataloging system, so any clerk can help you find what you’re interested in.”
“Can all the citizens read?” In The Kingdom, only a few could. There wasn’t much to read. All children were taught numbers by their parents; numbers were considered of primary importance over reading for practical reasons. Basic reading and writing were useful for complex business transactions, but the average villager needn’t worry about being involved in those. The King’s proclamations were printed out and posted, but they were primarily read aloud by a bard or mayor.
There were a few books with information about things like farming, wildlife, and mining; though anyone involved in these occupations already knew enough without having to read about them. Pamphlets were also distributed sometimes for coin; they were mostly pictures commemorating a festivity held by The King showcasing attendees in the newest fashion. These were generally ignored in favor of the locally drawn broadsheets that put faces to names of those who had involved themselves in scandalous regional gossip. These usually sold out, no reading was required, as all had already heard the stories; the objects of the drawings were the first in line to purchase a copy to hang proudly in their living rooms.
“I’m sure not all can, but most, yes. Some upper-crust families hire private tutors for their children and the temples provide classes for all the rest.”
Nels looked around, wondering, “Are there temples down here? We haven’t seen any, have we?”
“Yes, there are temples everywhere. Down here they aren’t as opulent as you’ll find above, but everyone has access to any temple no matter where it’s located. Here, why don’t we go find one?”
Nels nodded agreement as they continued walking. When they reached a crossroad, he looked to his right and was shocked to see as far as was visible the buildings and people continued. Looking left, he saw the same scene. “How big is this place?”
“Oh it’s huge. I’ve never seen all of it. It’s probably larger than The King’s City. We’ll have to ask Javin if he has any comparison. Have you ever been there?” Casandra asked.
“No, I haven’t,” Nels said, “never had any desire to see it, truly. I prefer areas with less people and more nature.” Suddenly feeling the press of the crowds, he felt slightly claustrophobic. “Where’s this temple?” Hopefully, it wouldn’t be crowded.
Keeping straight, Casandra crossed the street. “Just up here.”
The temple to Veda turned out to be very small and very dark. It was housed in the smallest, narrowest building Nels had ever seen. It was two stories tall with no second floor. The width was only enough for three people to stand side-by-side. Thankfully, it was somewhat longer, but it was so dark Nels couldn’t tell how far the one window on the rear window actually was. It was a plain glass window with no adornments. Looking up, he saw the ceiling, barely; it was made of a smooth stone painted a dark red that also appeared to be running down the dark gray stone walls. Surely the paint wasn’t actually mov
ing? What was with Sandrid and its taste in architectural details that moved? Nels realized he liked his details to stay put.
Nels was about to mention this to Casandra when a figure stepped in front of the window. It was swathed head to toe in what looked to be a bed sheet—no eye, nose, or mouth holes, just a solid covering. In fact, it literally looked like someone had just put a cream-colored sheet over his head and walked out.
“Welcome,” said a voice that echoed from behind them instead of in front like it should have. “You have found the temple of Veda and it is indifferent that you are here.”
Nels pulled a face; what was that supposed to mean? Indifferent we are here? Whoever heard of such a dour greeting?
Casandra gave a slight nod and said, “Thank you. We are indifferent to be here in the presence of Veda.”
“Alas, Veda is not here right now,” spoke the sheet.
Nels cleared his throat.
“Ah, well…perhaps you could tell us something of Veda. We have never been in its temple before and…” Casandra promptly closed her mouth as the sheet screamed.
And screamed. And screamed.
And if Nels didn’t know better, was trying to slap them from under the sheet.
Exchanging glances, Nels and Casandra—suddenly glad the temple was so small—beat a hasty retreat to the door.
“What was that about?” Nels asked once outside.
Casandra burst out laughing. “I have absolutely no idea. I’ve never been treated like that in a temple before. Most gods’ spokespeople are very polite and gracious, eager to share their knowledge. I will admit, that was quite strange,” she said, unable to stop herself from laughing again.
