by Levi Jacobs
Ralhens puffed on his pipe, watching the passing fields. “Don’t know as I can say, Ella. I will miss having you on board.” He paused, then, “If you ever need anything—while I’m in port, I mean—“
He’ll what, refuse to help us again?
Ella nodded, ignoring LeTwi. He might not follow through, but he meant well, and any friendly sentiment was welcome at the moment. “Thank you, Captain. It really has been a pleasure.” She stood up. “I should go. Pack my small things.”
He nodded, straightening too. “And I have deckhands to wrangle. Good luck, Miss Ella, and be careful out there. Not everyone will be as understanding of your… lifestyle.”
She nodded, and with a clasp on his wrist took her leave.
The Ayugen docks were a bee’s nest, twig-haired Achuri men scrambling alongside Seinjial and Yersh seahands to haul in boats, vendors crowding the dock, shouting their wares. Fish stank and roastmeats wafted and gulls wheeled in the air above, riding air currents toward the densely-terraced bluffs of the city. This is where I live now, Ella thought. At least for the present. It was a strange feeling—the Swallowtail had been her home for the last year and a half, in some ways more home than she’d ever had.
She was dressed in a modest Councilate gown, pale green with laced sleeves. Odril had frowned when he first saw her—he was likely the kind of man who preferred women in full makeup and evening wear. There would have to be some adjustment there—she was a calculor, not a keisua. Meanwhile, she had a city to explore and a thief to catch. Ella knew the names of every man on the boat by now, and she intended to find out who had done it.
Some of them stared at her as they waited to disembark, but to his credit Odril didn’t seem to mind. He seemed in fact in fine spirits.
Ella adjusted her braids. “Are you happy to be back in the South?”
“Hardly. Filthy place, Ayugen, full of backstabbers and mudhairs. You’re going to hate it.”
Ella cleared her throat. “I’m actually looking forward to it.”
He shook his head. “Suit yourself.” He put a hand to the small of her back, and Ella stepped away. She would have to tow a line with this one.
The streets were a patchwork of humanity--begging children, Achuri vendors, Seinjial men jangling with metalwork and Yersh women with straw-colored hair tied in glass beads. She was surprised at the amount of lawkeepers—nearly every corner had a pair standing guard. “Is the city normally this… militarized?”
Odril grunted. “Didn’t see the wreck in the docks? Word is rebels burnt it, and the Arbiter’s out for blood.”
Ella nodded, then gaped at a passing man, towering and thick-bodied with scarlet hair covering nearly every part of his body save the eyes.
“Never seen a mountain ape before?”
“He’s Minchu, isn’t he?” They were subject more of legend than rational observation—she ahd never seen one, and not even Markels had made it to their mountain homelands.
Odril spat. “The lot of ‘em. Come out of the east, don’t speak a word of Common but work like dogs digging mines.”
Ayugen’s buildings were as she remembered them, smoke-darkened wood covered in elaborate carvings—vines and scrolls and human figures, some entire walls covered in single scenes, though here and there newer planks showed, done with inferior carving or left totally blank. “Is your house in New Ayugen?” Most of the Swallowtail Mistress’s passengers stayed there, she gathered—a kind of separate community for citizens of rank. The first place to look for her thief, once she got some yura.
“Nah. Newgen’s full of backstabbers, and scatting pricey besides. I got a place in Riverbottom.”
“Is it far?” They trailed a team of porters hauling Odril’s trunks and her things, bureau and feather mattress looking very out of place on the backs of Achuri men.
“Not too much farther, you’ll be happy to know. I’m docking portage fees from your wages.”
“Wha—“ Ella spluttered. Portage fees? “Very well. I trust you have a room for me.”
“Don’t expect too much.”
Odril’s house was the second story of a dye factory, reeking of vinegar and echoing with the calls of workers downstairs. The building was fine and old, had been grand in its day, but was now somewhat in disrepair, a few of the glass windows replaced with oilpaper, much of the interior plaster flaking, in need of a paint job. “It’s… charming.” Incense cones burned in the corners, smell warring with vinegar in the warm air.
“No it’s not,” Odril said, dropping his bag on the floor. “But it’s cheap. Living in Newgen would break me. Tunla will show you your room.” With that he started through the wide drawing room, piles of papers and bags and old clothes everywhere. “Work starts in the morning.” He shut the door.
“Welcome to patronage,” she muttered. Somewhat less glamorous than a gold-digger’s dreams.
Tunla was an Achuri woman in her mid-thirties, lustrous black hair reaching to her waist. “Is he always this cordial?” Ella asked.
The woman stifled a grin, glancing at his door. “Quite, milady. Can I show you to your room?” Her Yersh was accented but fluent, and the eyes that regarded her were intelligent.
“Yes, thank you. Are you the… maid?”
“Another calculor, actually,” Tunla said, leading the way down the flat’s single hallway.
Ella started. “Are you… licensed with the Councilium?”
Tunla laughed. “Ancients no. Don’t need a license for what we’re doing. But you—are to be his calculor?”
There was a possessiveness to his that made Ella uncomfortable. “Temporarily. I got into a bit of a bind on the passage up and—but where are my manners?” She began to hold out a hand in the Councilate style, then remembered her studies and reached for the woman’s shoulder. “Ellumia Aygla.”
Tunla returned the gesture, forming a circle of arms. “Tunla of Wenla, of Wensir.”
Ella cocked her head. “Those are… your father’s names?”
“Mothers. We trace our lineage through our mothers, as you do through your fathers.”
“Interesting.” Markels had written only of patrilineage—but then he’d likely only been speaking to men. “Do women also take a portion of their mother’s name as their own? I notice a similarity between yours.”
“We do. Or, we used to. Many women prefer Yersh names now, for their young.” She cocked her head. “Why do you ask? You’re the first lighthair I’ve met who’s even wanted my name, much less its origins.”
“I—have an interest in lifeways. In preserving them, or at least recording them. I think it’s a shame that women are dropping the traditional naming system.”
Tunla gave her a long look. “You are from Worldsmouth?”
Ella laughed. “Yes. But I don’t really fit in there.”
“Nothing wrong with that. We could use a few more lighthairs like you.”
“And less like Odril?”
Tunla grimaced, glancing down the hall. “Aye,” she answered, lower. “And a few less like him.”
The room was of a piece with the house: shabby, untidy, furniture covered in moldering stacks of ledgers and broadsheets. The bed and floors had been kept clean, but it still stunk of vinegar and old newsprint. “Well,” she said, dropping her satchel of books on the bed. “This is—pleasant.” She’d been about to say something different, then realized it might look nice to Tunla, might be better than a lot of Achuri homes.
Tunla snorted. “And I’m a cobbler’s shoehorn. I’ve tried a few times to get the place cleaned up, but Odril seems to like it like this.”
Your room is a reflection of your mind, Ella’s mother used to scold, on the few times she’d visit. Ella grimaced. “Well. No need to get too settled then. I’m going to go out for a while. I’ve never really seen Ayugen.”
“Out?” Tunla hesitated. “You—might not want to do that.”
“Why? Is it dangerous?” The ports of Worldsmouth were edgy, but with talk of a new rebellio
n in Ayugen, this might be worse.
“They’re dangerous enough,” Tunla said, handing her a satchel, “but Odril’s worse. He doesn’t like us leaving without permission.”
Ella stood up. “Well he’s going to have to get used it. There’s no way I’m staying inside with a whole city to explore.”
And a thief to catch.
Tunla shrugged. “As you wish.”
The city air was a relief after the stench of the dye house, though its smoke and sweat and refuse piles were still a far cry from the fresh air of the river. Ella wandered up the main road, trying not to stare like a peasant girl. Ayugen had clearly changed since contact with the Councilate, buildings bearing scars of fighting, others burned down or newly built, but the beauty of old Ayugen, of Markel’s Ayugen, was still there: the rushing watercourses, their pale blue waters melted from the ice sheet itself, the cobbled wood streets and quaint smokehouses climbing the bluffs. It was nowhere near the size of Worldsmouth, perhaps forty thousand souls, but still on a par with the capitals of Yatiland and Seingard, and with a style the Councilate hadn’t managed to stifle.
Not yet, anyway, LeTwi put in. Give it time.
The first order of business was yura. She would feel a lot better about being alone in Ayugen, about living in Odril’s house, if she could use her resonance.
The problem was money—not only did the thief take her yura cache, he’d taken her means to buy more. Kellandrials had written much about Ayugen’s black market and the cheaper moss available, but all the yura shops she passed had lighthaired proprietors and high—if still cheaper than Worldsmouth—prices.
Worse, none of them were willing to take barter. While the thief had gotten all her money and moss, he’d at least left her jewelry—and she’d trade it in a heartbeat for a little peace of mind. But where to find a black market? In Worldsmouth it would be signaled by fruit vendors selling rotted fruit, or cobblers with broken shoes, but she saw no such vendors here.
They saw her instead. Halfway down an average street, lined with low-end woodworking shops and children begging coin, a bright-eyed girl with salt-and-pepper hair called to her. “A few coins for a smile, milady?”
Her Yersh was startlingly good, down to the high country accent. Ella stopped, realizing there might be more to these children than begging. “Well you’re a bright one. Are you selling more than smiles?”
“We have moss too.”
Aha. “Well then. How much for a ball?”
“It would be twenty marks, ma’am.”
“Twenty marks?” They were eighty or more in the capital—her mind leapt at once to the dobby woman, and Kellandrial’s experiment overdosing on yura. At these prices, she could afford to try it. “How much for more?”
“Two balls for thirty-five, three for fifty…”
She smiled and shook her head. “A lot more. Say, thirty balls.”
A street tough to her left choked, but it was a cute boy to the girl’s right who answered. “Five hundred!” Were they all in it together?
No matter—it was still too much, but good to know. “We—could give you a discount,” the tough said at her hesitation.
“So you’re in on this too?” If it was anything like Worldsmouth, the tough likely protected the kids in exchange for some of their beggings. “How much of a discount?”
“Say—three hundred fifty.”
She nodded. That was one session of bookwork. “And how much for a hundred balls?”
The tough looked suspicious. “What would you need that many for?”
Did he know? Did the Achuri know about overdosing on yura—was that their secret to resonating? “For experiments. I’ve heard the Achuri can use their resonances without yura—is that true?”
Too soon—the tough squirmed, looking uncomfortable. “Some of us can.”
“Can you? Can any of you?”
The tough hesitated further, but the young boy jumped in. “He’s the Blackspine! He’s the toughest fighter in the whole city--he killed forty soldiers all by himself!”
She raised an eyebrow. “Is this all true, Mister… Blackspine?”
“Tai. It’s just Tai. And that was a long time ago.”
“But he could do it again if he wanted,” the boy pushed. “And he doesn’t need yura for anything!”
“How did you do it?” Excitement welled--this could be her break. “Did you overdose on yura?”
“I—“
The tough was still hesitating. Could she pay him? Ella reached into her pocket.
“Hey!” someone called. Ella glanced over--a lawkeeper was striding toward them, one hand on his cutlass. “What’s going on here?”
Scatterstains. Ella stiffened—but they hadn’t actually done anything wrong. The tough sprang to his feet, muttering.
“What was that?” the lawkeeper demanded.
“Shut up, lady, I was saying.” The tough nodded at her, then started speaking in what sounded like Achuri.
Rude. But if it got the lawkeeper off their back—she really needed to talk to this man. Tai, his name was. “Not trying to sell her blackmarket yura, then?” the lawkeeper asked. “If I take you in and search you we won’t find way too many marks and moss balls on you for a street tough?”
The tough squinted. “Tulric?”
“That’s Alson Tulric to you, meckstain. I’m practically a lighthair these days. Now lift ‘em up, you’re going to the mines. ‘Less you want to see if I can get you a job?”
The tough spat at him. “And work for the Councilate? Never.”
Ella felt a hum in her bones—the lawkeeper was resonating. A brawler, likely, from the low pitch of the buzz. This was getting bad—but she couldn’t let it fall apart now.
“He was doing nothing wrong,” she cut in, summoning her mother’s righteous tone. The men goggled at her, and she suppressed a smile. “You’re a guard of the Councilate, right? Sworn to protect Councilate laws and citizens? Well I am a citizen of the Councilate, of Worldsmouth itself, and I tell you this man was doing nothing more than having a polite conversation with me.”
“I—“ The lawkeeper stammered.
She smiled, victorious. What was that about ideas taking time to change, LeTwi? “You will release him at once.”
“I appreciate what you’re saying lady,” the lawkeeper countered, “but I’ve got a quota to fill.”
“A quota? As if there’s a certain amount of law breakers every day, and if you don’t find that many then you make some? That’s ridiculous.”
The darkhaired man shrugged. “Orders from above, lady. And anyway, guys like this, they’re always doing something.”
Behind her, the tough took off at a dead run.
“See?” the lawkeeper grinned, resonance returning, and took off after him.
Ella grit her teeth in frustration. This was exactly what was wrong with the Councilate—quotas for lawkeepers? What kind of stupidity was that?
One you should be familiar with, my dear. And anyways, she glanced after him, Mr. Tai appears to be making a handy escape.
Ella sighed. “And here I thought I was going to help him out.”
Let me say it again: bad ideas have their own inertia, just like good ones. You’d do better if you stopped expecting the Councilate to change at your first whim. Ultimately we all die, after all. Better to enjoy the time you have.
She disagreed, but like usual with LeTwi couldn’t find the words to express it. Instead she walked a few more streets, the black market kids having cleared out, until she found another line of begging children and lingering street toughs. There was another with decent Yersh, and though the boy knew nothing of resonating without yura, he was willing to take an earring in trade for two balls of yura.
The sun setting, she returned to Odril’s house, pleased she could find it with a minimum of effort, only to find the man irate and pacing his front room. “First day,” he said to her, not exactly in return to her greeting, “first day with my new calculor and she’s not
even here. I have to wait up for her.”
She cocked a head, undoing the laces on her shoes. Tunla was gone. “I didn’t know you were expecting me.”
“Of course I was expecting you! I was expecting you to be here, for supper, not wandering the town doing gods know what! We have a contract, woman, and part of it states you don’t leave the workplace without my permission.”
“But this isn’t—“
“This is the workplace, until I say otherwise. And if you even try to renege on our contract, I’ll have lawkeepers on you so fast you’ll think you were still on the point of Pruitt’s sword.”
“I…“ How did you respond to that?
“Good. Now get to work.” He gestured at a pile of books on the floor. “I’ll want those collated by morning.”
Ella nearly bit into her yura and let him have it, right there. No one talked to her like that. But anything short of killing him and the man would hold to his promise, she was sure of that. And he had paid off the men on the boat, to the tune of six thousand marks.
So taking a firm hold on her anger, she gathered the books and returned to her room to begin working. The numbers settled her, pages and columns of disorderly figures turning into neat rows and taxable calculations under her practiced hand. She’d lived through worse than this. Much worse. This was just a setback, and a good excuse to do some research into the Achuri. She would find her thief and pay Odril off and be on her way. And if not, she would find a way to pay the debt off fast, work extra shifts and take extra clients.
She would get free, either way. Ella smiled, quill scratching in the lamplight. And woe to anyone that tried to stop her.
6
That someone must do the work, there is no doubt. But fellow members the men returning from these mines are hardly human: wasted, pale, malnourished and blinking at the daylight. Can we abide lighthairs, even Yersh peasants, being subject to this?
–Society for Decency in Commerce broadsheet, Yiel 95
Tai was up before dawn, breath fogging in the blue dark, air chill even in the height of summer. He’d buried their savings in waxed bags horns, fifty or a hundred marks to a spot, in the forests and fields outside town. Fortunately it was all there, a hefty pile of iron and redgold and solium coins. Tai packed it in the kind of burlap sack smallholders used to carry produce, all too aware of the risk he was taking if someone realized what he had and attacked.
