Shadows of the Scriptures

SEVENTEEN: Two Shades

“Chisteen – sanctuary of knowledge and harmony,” proclaimed Sadh. “Capital state princedom of Baendol.”

“Better known as ass of the world,” said Doin. “You want to know why, new girl?”

“You call me that again, you won’t live to tell the reason.”

“Feisty. Anyway, this so-called ‘city’ is dubbed the world’s ass because anyone can come here and take a dump on them. They’re a pacifist people, can you believe it?”

“Careful,” said Addie. “Your tongue may just be enough to turn them violent.”

Gryphik gave them the eye which warned them to be quits with this crap. That silenced them, and they pursued the smugglers on mules like a cur does its tail.

Edgaar Roiland, who was at the front of their group, kept pointing with his middle finger at what appeared to be a floating white circlet high in the cobalt sky. It took Addie some time to register that the circlet was not afloat rather on the head of an unnaturally large statue of the great Khannar Shmeg. Towards it they were headed.

At what had to be the heart of the city – the Capma District, it was called – there was a bedlam of toy sellers, illusionists, fortune tellers (not Seers), soothsayers, wagon wrights, vegetable barrows and other homeless folk. Men selling felts and women selling charms. Spice vendors and vendors of glassware. Firecrackers which made all sorts of explosive noises, on which Maihui scoffed, saying the alchemists’ guild would make these look like child-in-a-bonnet’s play.

For the most part Addie was impressed by the city. There were no beggars that could be seen, and more shockingly, no cutpurses – either that, or they were very good at what they did. No men of the Watch carrying scabbards on their tabards. No discernibly starving people. The children didn’t have that feeble look about them like the Hicks’ children in Rivate did. They didn’t seem scared of strangers.

Many pulverized stone buildings walked up to meet them. Further in, and gray tiles paving the main street were shattered. Shingles lay strewn about. Eaves of many a house looked like they’d fall in a sneeze, like they’d been newly, and shoddily, replaced. Roofs made originally of slate had been replaced by thatch, some with straw, even. Something unfortunate had happened here. And not too long ago.

Past the District a posh area peered down at them. Ford Gdrag’nar, an awning in front of a shuttered establishment read. A lot less hullabaloo here. Yet something was wrong here also; fine residuum of board and timber poked at the air. “They have been attacked recently,” Gryphik observed quietly.

When they were passing a huge, windowless, rectangular building eight stories high painted leaf-green and grey, Addie dumbly realized this was the renowned Educatori. An institute Khannar Shmeg had founded, an institution which had honed some of the sharpest minds in the last two Eras – be it Arrupe or Madhiya or Deshna.

“Trust me, you’ll get a much better education at the Pheeliax,” Sadh whispered to her. “A much more relevant education.”

Around the building men in friar coats and burnooses were swarmed like a bunch of dragoses.  They smelled of capon, sausage, aspic and earthenware. Addie’s stomach churned.

“They’re running for presidency elections,” Sadh said, reading the curiosity on her face.

“Presidency?”

“Presidents are heads of educational organizations. In this case the Educatori.”

To Addie this was a peculiar, peculiar and ridiculous, idea. Such democracy would doubtlessly lead to violence – either inflicted by hired muscle or by glib tongues.