17th Trial, Cylus, Arc 713
Outskirts of Foster's Landing
17th break
Outskirts of Foster's Landing
17th break
He wouldn't have been able to read on a wagon or a cart. Too much movement. Candle bumping around, jumping with every patch of uneven ground, jerking and jostling, buffeted as if by wind even if the air was still. Kasoria would have spent more time striking sparks from his tinderbox than actually reading. But a barge? Well, the river winding south wasn't always a smooth ride. The eve of the Cold Season would bring great deluges that would swell the waters, make them rush and roar instead of flow gently to the sea.
But in the Time Of Night, as his father had called it, the black waters were calm. He peered at them occasionally, looking so much like quicksilver in the moonlight. Molten and shimmering, almost solid in patches, as if he could step right off the boat and walk over to the hidden shores.
Ranks of looming trees stood there. Still and quiet and watching. Sometimes things moved in there, just flitting shadows, accompanied by calls and cries and... silence. Just the hint, and then nothing. Kasoria remembered being young and concocting all manner of beasts and monsters that could be prowling in those deep, dark woods. Places unknown to the tread of man where fell creatures lurked, awaiting daring heroes.
He was a man, now. His book was more interesting. More practical, certainly.
And he'd long since learned the truth about monsters.
"Good read?"
Mastes' Balls, every sodding time...
He ignored the question. Quite studiously. Pointedly, in fact. So much so that a half-savvy watcher would get the hint and leave the little man in a ratty olf coat to his candle and his reading and go elsewhere. Alas, such a watcher, Sigmund was definitely not. He repeated his question and Kasoria looked up into a round, friendly face. Well-fed so much that his dimples deepened into sinkholes when he grinned. The traveler nodded to the old book and sat himself down opposite him.
Oh, no, by all means, please.
"Good read, I said. You, ah, been bent over that old thing for going on a break. Don't think I ever spent that long on a book, even when I got me schooling. Y'know, a hundred years ago!"
He chuckled, good humor brimming from his open, honest face. Kasoria blinked and subconsciously checked his purse was still where it was. Not to mention his weapons. A lifetime living in Etzos made him instantly suspicious of nice people, mainly because it was far easier and more useful to seem that way than actually be it. But he nodded and smiled, like he'd seen other people do. Yeah, not so difficult. He'd been human once, pretty much. Friends and jokes and nights on the town and everything.
Hadn't he?
"So what's it about?"
"Cooking."
That seemed to take the man by surprise. He looked the little man over - hand-me-down clothes, beard and hair unseen by any sort of grooming utensil, not a young man and yet with a glow about him, a presence - and tried to match cooking to what he saw. It wasn't easy.
"You... You mean... recipes?"
Kasoria nodded slowly, as if talking to a small child. Then he handed the book over, very carefully, keeping it in the aura of the candle's light. Damnit, those things weren't cheap, either. He was wasting good wax on this gormless sod. The man peered inside and flipped a few pages. One of them a little roughly, and Kasoria's brow furrowed a touch as he heard a tiny rip.
"Huh... recipes. Some of these look pretty good."
"Man has to eat," Kasoria muttered, taking back his book and finding his place again. Roast pork loin with parsnips. A couple more reads and he'd have it burned into his brain. "Can't eat at the cafe every night."
"No, no, I suppose not. Helps to have a wife, though. My Ellie, y'know, she could make a meal out of a cauldron of piss and an old sock!" Kasoria let his distaste for that idea hide behind his polite smile, wondering all the while how he could extricate himself from this situation. "You married?"
Water lapped and animals made muted calls from the shore. Other travelers on the Esmeralda chatted genially with each other, staving off the gloomy nature of the endless with talk and gossip. But Sigmund wasn't getting a... very social feel from this man. At his question he just turned away and stared at his candle. Stared for a while, actually. Until Sigmund got uncomfortable and opened his mouth to apologize, or maybe just change the conversation. But before he could, the man licked his thumb and finger and-
Tsss
-the light showering them both was killed stone dead. The candle went back in his pocket, after a quick shaking off. Then Sigmund saw moonlight staring up at him. Twin pools, like liquid metal. Cold and disinterested, with a voice to match, speaking without lips he could see moving.
"No. No wife. No children. Just a job I need to get to." The twin pools shifted over Sigmund's shoulder. "There."
There was the silver water and the darkened shore, but beyond it there was light crafted by man. As the barge ambled steadily down the river, it seemed to turn a corner and there, blazing on the horizon, was Foster's Landing. Sigmund seemed to forget his new friend and stood, walking a little closer to the edge of the boat. Kasoria stayed seated, tucking the book back into his bag. A few more feet wouldn't improve the view.
A town, similar in many ways to Etzos, but so much smaller. Mud and dirt were its roads for the most part, and good luck finding the towers of the Citadel there. Instead they had a forest of masts ever-gliding from the sea, a dozen languages gabbled in every street that you'd rarely hear in Etzos. Soldiers marching to and fro, more of them after those southern cunts tried their luck a few arcs ago. A place brimming with armed men looking for excitement, and traders looking to make a profit.
No wonder Vorund had interests in the town.
"A'right, all!" The barge pilot's voice boomed and echoed off the water, passengers already bustling to readiness as he spoke. "Another break and we'll be docking at Foster's Landing! Check yer goods, check yer bags, check yer young 'uns! Leave any of 'em on the ship, and they're mine!"
Another chorus of chuckles, though Kasoria didn't much understand their humor. Any fool could tell the man was mostly-serious. No smile alighted that craggy face, no "just kidding!" graced his lips. There was a man who meant what he said and survived on long, hard, boring work, and whatever he could squeeze in on the side. Like smuggling, for example.
Killer and bargeman met eyes for a moment, exchanged a quick nod. Slattery had five gold nels in his pocket, handed over by Kasoria but both knowing where the money came from. Five more were waiting for him when Kasoria needed to go back to the city. When was that, had been Slattery's sole question. Vorund had smiled, multiplying wrinkles with the gesture.
Not long. He's very businesslike.
"Well, I need to, ah... you know."
"Safe travels."
"You, too!"
Well, at least Sigmund ended their chat on a good note. That seemed to make him happy, pumping Kasoria's arm up and down as he shook it before taking his leave. The little man watched him go and wondered at how such a blithe soul could survive in the world. The thought didn't last long. He had names and a description, but he also needed a bed and a meal. Fortunately, he'd be able to learn about the first two when he got to the last two. In the meantime, he waited and watched the smear of lamplight and torches loom up closer, as if Foster's Landing was some great beast pondering towards their little boat.
Bits passed. Not even a full break. Shadows in the water became wharfs and jetties. More boats, fishing and trade and canoes and barges, the smell and stink of goods and offal and waste. City smells. Trading smells. Commerce and maritime ventures both. The barge turned as quickly and gracefully as one would expect from a massive, rectangular lump of carved, flat-bottomed wood. Slattery and his crew used poles and ropes to swung her around, then sidle sideways to the jetty. Easy... easy... eas-
Thunk
They docked and Kasoria was stepping off onto solid ground (well, as solid as an oak jetty can be) for the first time in seven trials. Foster's Landing was ahead of him, braziers blazing and torches twinkling along the streets. Already he could smell the perfume of whores and the stink of stale ale, burning weeds and just faintly, under it all and hidden from concern, the coppery miasma of blood.
Just like home, he thought, shifting his bag across his back and squelching through the mud towards the inn.
