Ioth, City of Lights

by D P Woolliscroft

  There was one thing that was still making her slightly uncomfortable however.

  Jill.

  She could tell she was a good maid, or lady-in-waiting, or whatever you wanted to call her. Alana knew this because Jill was better at the role than she had been to Jyuth. She brought her meals on time; laid out her clothes; helped brush her hair; cleaned up after her; while still making sure to mark her place in whatever book she was reading. Alana had tried to resist at first but Jill was having none of that, and so Alana had reluctantly acquiesced. But she still didn’t know anything about her.

  Alana put down her pen and looked at Jill, who was also quietly reading in the corner of the small cabin.

  “What are you reading?” she asked.

  “It’s just a book of poems. A friend of mine gave it to me.”

  “Oh.” Alana wasn’t sure how to respond. She’d never read any poetry. The closest she had been to poetry were the songs that bards and minstrels sang, but she knew enough that the similarity was passing. There was a sizable collection of verse in the palace library but it hadn’t really appealed to her; from a cursory glance at a few such titles it seemed they were all about love and she was much more interested in the real world. Taking a different tack, she switched subjects. “Where are you from, Jill? I don’t think you told me.”

  “I’m from Ioth, ma’am. We’re sailing to my home, though I haven’t been there for a few years.”

  “Really?” exclaimed Alana, immediately very interested. Is this why Mareth had picked her? Someone who knew the city would be very useful. “How long has it been? Why were you in Kingshold? Are you looking forward to going back? I’m sorry.” Alana laughed nervously. “I ask too many questions.”

  “That’s fine. I don’t know as there is much of a story to tell. I was born in Ioth, and grew up there until I was twelve. But my parents grew up in Kingshold. They worked for an Edland merchant who operated out of Ioth; they moved there before I was born, to work for him. But the merchant grew old and decided to sell his business; my da said he was tired of how difficult it was to do business as a foreigner. He gave my father the choice of staying in Ioth or having paid passage back to Kingshold.”

  “Did you want to go?”

  “Oh, no. I was young and had friends. I liked my school and we had a nice house that overlooked a little canal. But I didn’t have any say in the matter. This will be the first time I’ll see home again in six years.”

  A wistful expression on Jill’s face and Alana pitied her being taken from the place she grew up. She was remembering something about Ioth. Alana wondered if Jill’s memory of the city would match the reality of visiting it as an adult. She knew how fondly she looked back on her childhood days with her parents in the Narrows, though now her eyes were open wider and she had been exposed to more of the city, she realized that the place where she had grown up was far from remarkable.

  “What do you miss most?” asked Alana.

  “The lights,” said Jill, her eyes opening wide at the memory. “Kingshold is dark at night. But Ioth, they call it the City of Lights for a reason. Lamps line the streets and canals, flickering flames of lit gas pushing away the shadows. I used to stand on the roof of our house and watch the city come alive in the night.”

  Jill smiled and Alana matched it. “It sounds beautiful.”

  “Oh, it is ma’am. When you get those nights with the stars above and lights below. It’s like… flying.”

  Alana thought for a moment, content to let her maid revel in her memory. “Tell me, Jill. Would you care to help me with my research? You could help explain how the city works?”

  Jill nodded, looking excited at the prospect. She pulled her chair over to the table and looked at the book that Alana was reading.

  Well done, Mareth, she thought. I don’t know if you meant to find such a marvel but I am grateful.

  Five days had passed since they stopped in Redpool to resupply before continuing the next leg of the journey, and the days proceeded enjoyably like the others. Jill had been a helpful study companion, able to tell her stories from her childhood to add some color to a dry example from a book, and in a few cases to correct what had been written. Alana was beginning to understand the players in Ioth, and cultivating a plan B if it wasn’t as simple as the Speaker agreeing to all they wanted. She may be new to politics, but she thought that his easy acquiescence was a highly unlikely outcome.

  It was before noon, and so Alana was on deck with Florian and the usual audience, going through her training routines. Florian decided that today she would practice with a dagger against his sword. To even things up he was using his left hand. She pointed out that he fought with both hands but he laughed that off before getting started. She found his lessons inventive; he wanted her to use the dagger to parry, whilst bringing her environment into the fight too.

  Alana dodged and parried Florian’s advances, each clash of steel jarring her arm, but she had a good strong grip of her weapon now. She gave ground with each advance, grabbing objects with her left hand to throw at her ‘attacker’. A wooden cup bounced off Florian’s head; a coil of rope kicked at his feet left him unbalanced; a pewter plate spun through the air like one of Jyuth’s discs and hit him on the collarbone. He flinched at this last dinnerware attack and she leapt forward to move inside his guard and score the mark. Her blunted dagger punched him in the gut.

  “Shit!” he exclaimed shortly. “Nicely done,” he added through short breaths. “It’s still a bit tender there.” Florian held his stomach where he had been injured in Redpool, and sat back down on a crate with a sigh. A worried Motega rested a hand on his friend’s shoulder as Alana, concerned she had caused a real injury, came over to see if he was alright.

  “Ships! Eight points off the port bow!” came the call from a lookout above. Crews and the lookout exchanged further instructions but from his vantage point near the wheel it was apparent he couldn’t see anything. Crews climbed the mainmast to the lookout platform as fast as any of the other sailors. Alana caught herself watching his backside and tore her eyes away, blushing, as he disappeared up high, the cloudy gray sky as backdrop. Crews was up there for some time before he clambered back down, the others on deck waiting patiently for his assessment. The Admiral had been nervous since they left Redpool. Though they were not marked as an Edland navy ship they were still traveling alone, and everyone had heard what had befallen the Edland navy when it engaged the new Pyrfew fire ships. Alana was glad that they were sticking close to the coast line.

  Crews leapt the final six feet from the rigging to land on the balls of his feet. “Looks like four of the blighters to me.” Alana nibbled at a finger nail without thinking. “Don’t worry, we’ll outrace them. There’s no faster ship on the Sapphire Sea than The Seal.”

  They’d all heard that before. Now they’d get to find out.

  The Admiral ordered all hands on deck and for any non-crew to get out of the way. Training was done for the morning. Alana went below deck, Jill following shortly behind, as the orders rang out amongst the crew to tighten the sails and prepare to run.

  She pulled out the book she had been working through most recently, Arloth and the Rise of Ioth, and tried to continue her studies. But after an hour or so she found herself unable to read anymore from the constant moving of the ship against the waves and supercilious tone of the academic narrator.

  “I can’t just sit here, not knowing what’s happening. I’m going up,” she said.

  Jill tried to convince her to remain below deck where it was safe but Alana ignored her protestations. The deck shifted beneath her as she took stock of what was happening. The breeze had picked up since earlier that morning and a thin, wind-swept drizzle left her face dripping wet in moments. Crews was in his usual position at the rear of the ship, and after a stumbling passage over to him, she found that he looked very much like he was enjoying himself. His wet hair was slicked back against his head, and a toothy grin was visible on his face, even before he
noticed her.

  “How goes it?” she shouted over the wind and the pounding of waves on wood.

  “Well, my lady. The Seal is fast and slippery,” he shouted back, laughing at his own nautical joke. “Do not fear. Those turtles will not catch us.”

  Another week passed without sight of Pyrfew patrols and the overall unease amongst the passengers dissipated with each passing day until eventually Alana’s usual daily rhythms returned. The weather had improved and the rest of the journey had been relatively smooth sailing. The only notable point occurred when they had anchored half way between Mori and Ioth, just a way out from shore. That was where Motega, Florian and Trypp were ferried to the beach on a longboat. Alana said her goodbyes to her friends on board The Darting Seal. She received three strong hugs and promises that they would see her soon.

  By this time, she’d also gotten to know Sergeant Morris a little more, though he was hardly talkative. It had taken some significant cajoling to get him to explain to Alana the origins of the names of the rest of the Ravens, but as he got going, he became more animated in the telling of the various tales.

  There were nine others to the Ravens. Molely, a perpetually-cheerful man whose face and arms were covered in skin blemishes; and Midnight, a woman with shocking white hair who seemed to be his second-in-command, though he reiterated that there was no rank below him. They had both been in the Ravens for a long time, going back to the time when Florian, or Twins as they called him for some reason (Sergeant Morris was insistent that it was not his place to share the details of that nickname), was in the squad.

  The big man of the group, Forest, was Florian’s replacement—his thighs were as big as tree trunks. There was Bors, a wiry man with serious sunken eyes that reminded her of certain unsavory folk in the Narrows, named so because he used to hunt his namesake animal and also because spelling was not one of the groups strongpoints. A woman with tight curly red hair and freckles on her face was Cherry. Alana asked if that was because of the color of her hair, and then blushed a shade of red herself when the sergeant explained it was because she always popped the cherry of new recruits. He pointed out Crabs, a man who, from a certain angle at least, might be considered handsome. Crabs scratched constantly at his groin; Alana decided she didn’t need to ask where his name had come from.

  There were three other Ravens; a man named Joe who had also served alongside Florian and who had so desperately wanted a nickname that they all made sure he was always called by his true name; there was Syd, a young man, not much more than a boy in reality and who was the freshest of recruits but who seemed very much at ease with the rest of the group. The sergeant called him cocky but without a trace of judgment. And finally, there was Morrissey. When she asked Morris if that was his true name too, he replied, “nah, he’s just a miserable bastard.”

  Knowing the names of those who Mareth had sent to protect her made her feel more comfortable with the whole situation. She knew that now she was officially important enough to warrant her own guards, even if she wasn’t really sure about that point herself, but at least now she could think of them more as friends with martial benefits.

  And so, it came that Alana saw her first sight of Ioth. The call had gone up that they were nearing the port city and the first thing that struck her were the twin lighthouses that marked the entrance to the grand canal. They were huge columns of stone, rising high above the buildings around them, each topped with great flames that released tall black plumes of smoke into the clear blue sky. From this far out, the city gleamed white, occasional spots of sunlight glinting off what must be metallic ornament. As the ship closed on Ioth, the Sanctum of Arloth became visible; five white shards reaching for the sky. For a moment she thought there was another sun in the sky above one of those shards but then she realized it was the gold cap to what must be the Finger of Arloth.

  But even the Finger was dwarfed by the tall towers behind it. These did not gleam, though they may once have been white; instead brown lines streaked across the tall grey constructions and wove a lace between them. Thin streams of smoke from open windows added to the overall hazy effect of the towers; if you squinted, you could almost imagine they were just an angry stationary rain cloud.

  “They always keep growing,” said Jill sadly, who had appeared unnoticed to stand beside her. Alana looked at her quizzically. “The Ladders. More and more people coming to Ioth for a better life. And ending up there…”

  Alana remained at the bow of the ship, looking at the hustle and bustle of boats and ships that came to and fro, while Crews dealt with a customs official who had appeared in a small galley. The official called out through a metal cone, so Alana could just about hear what he was saying, and though Crews’ shouts were muffled from his hands, the official eventually waved them forward to proceed, his face never lifting out of deep-seated scowl throughout the entire exchange. He sent them away with two final words: “Foreign quarter!”

  The Seal headed toward the entrance of the grand canal between the two great torches, Alana drinking in the sight of the other parts of the city that revealed themselves. Jill pointed to an island on their right. “That’s the Armory over there. Where they build ships for merchants or for war. Whoever has the coin.” Alana could see ships resting on scaffolding, others moored; some of them were huge constructions, as great as the biggest ships she had seen of the Edland Navy, though many were much smaller. Were the Pyrfew ships still being built? She hadn’t seen any before, and wouldn’t have been sure on how to recognize them anyway; she would have to ask the Admiral later.

  They sailed on past the grand canal, coming around the next island to find a bustling dockside, though smaller than that reserved for local traders near the lighthouses. This must be the foreign quarter that the official had directed them to. In Kingshold they didn’t have a place where only the foreigners could live and work but she knew, unfortunately, there were more than a few people who thought that was a good idea. Keep the outsiders separate. It was interesting how many of the people with that view who had stood in the election, were also the kind that had encouraged military action against Ioth. Keep them separate but have them be part of a burgeoning Edland empire. She really didn’t understand some people.

  As the ship hauled in the sails to dock, Alana could see another island, separate from the city and free of the white stone buildings that Ioth was famous for. Great green tents were pitched in lines and in the center of the island was a flag flying high—green background with a gold tree and star emblazoned on it. That must be where Pyrfew was encamped and there seemed to be a lot of them.

  Alana went down to her cabin to finish packing her things while the ship was directed into an open berth. By the time she came back onto the deck, The Seal was safely tied away. She had changed, too; out of her comfortable traveling clothes and into another dress, a cloak fastened about her neck to provide some shelter from the stiff sea breeze. A black carriage arrived at the dockside, marked with the crest of Kingshold in gold letters. Her belongings were secured to the top before she, Jill, Dolph and Crews stepped inside. Sgt Morris and Forrest stood on the footboard, the rest of his squad trotting along behind, their black armor making them look like the long, broken shadow of their conveyance.

  They did not have to travel far but the ride was far from smooth. The cobbled streets made the carriage rattle, and she was jostled from side to side into Jill. It was also slow going—the streets that weaved through the bleached white stone buildings were not really wide enough for four people abreast, much less a carriage, and when they reached the bridges that spanned small canals the driver had to fight to clear a path. As they crossed those bridges, she looked out of the window to see people from all walks of life, slowly gliding along the canals in long boats, narrow enough for only one or two people to sit or stand. The canals were busy too, but that was the way to travel. That or walk. She didn’t intend to use this carriage again.

  Eventually they came to a stop outside a grand two-story mansi
on on the grand canal. She was helped down by Sergeant Morris and then quickly swept inside. The smiling staff greeted her in a long line; the chief steward, a man by the name of Rawley, introducing her to each person and she tried her best not to give away her discomfort at her change of station. From the sound of their names they were all Edlanders. At least they were at one point anyway, their life in this city seemed to treat them well; their glowing tanned complexion made them appear almost identical to the few locals she had seen so far.

  Ambassador Katterick waited for her at the foot of the great marble stairs. He was not one of Mareth’s appointments. Katterick looked like a symptom of the previous Edland regime’s policy of excess in every regard. He was most definitely fat, wore expensive clothes, and the hand he held out for her to shake was covered in gem-encrusted rings. He had the look of a man that in her previous life the younger maids would try to avoid, fearful of attracting his lustful attention.

  But Alana was no longer a timid maid. She reminded herself of that continuously. After exchanging pleasantries with Katterick, she was escorted to her suite where again she had to remind herself of her new role—it would not be a good first impression if she was to pee herself with excitement at what she saw. Alana had expected a nice room, as one befitting her new station as special Ambassador, but she had not been expecting the royal suite. An entire wing of the mansion, looking out onto the grand canal at one end and overlooking the courtyard gardens at the other, was a little mind blowing. She was unsteady on her feet—Jill helpfully ascribed that to the long sea voyage and only just getting used to dry land—and was helped onto a plush, silk-covered divan.

  And that’s when it hit her.