Week #1: I completed approximately 6000 words, which is about 4000 words short of my goal. Crap. I'm going to do some heavy writing today though, and hopefully get caught up! If you find typos, please feel SO free to point them out as I transcribed this from my notebook rather quickly.
Here is the text:
The sun rose, light twinkling over the tiny waves in the bay. Ships were already hives of activity, each a small city with citizens scrambling to be the first to cast off and sail away. The ships that were still unloading cargo to be sold were still and quiet, the sailors either recovering from a rowdy night on the town, or not yet back.
Above the harbor, the city of Zydobe rose. The city was built in a bowl that surrounded its harbor. Low walls separated the districts. The docks district was built mostly of wood, with the occasional stone tower that housed a transit station. The next levels were residential, shining white houses with red clay tile roofs. Above the residential district was the merchants’ and business district, multistory buildings that loudly proclaimed their wares with signs and banners.
The very top of the city was the government district. It was the smallest district, with sparkling buildings, made entirely from stone and set with flakes and chips of gemstones.
Even though the sun was still rising, the city was bustling. Shop keepers were double-0checking their supplies and their staff, innkeepers were shouting at cooks and maids, and messengers ran from nearly every government building and stone transit tower.
Above an inn in the business district, there was a peculiar sign. A staircase led from the ground directly to a door at the top of the building, and the landing hung a sign that declared “private investigations”. The sign itself was divided in two, with hinges suggesting it could be folded in half and closed. From the roof of the inn-slash-detective agency extended a windvane.
The door of the agency opened, and a tall man, with dark blond hair that reached scandalously beyond his ears, escorted a lovely woman onto the landing.
“I shall begin my research immediately, Madam Nave,” the young man said, his voice low and reassuring. “Please check back with me in three days if you haven’t heard from me.”
The woman smiled smokily. “I most certainly will, Master Cartwright,” she said. “Thank you for taking my case.” She touched his arm gently, and though she was dressed for high society even at this early hour, the touch promised things no lady would publicly contemplate.
Cartwright’s eyes swept across her pale gray traveling dress, her white gloves, the pearl-tipped pins in her hair and matching necklace, and her flawless makeup. He smiled at his client, but didn’t speak. Instead, he descended the stairs with her on his arm, and directed her to the nearest transit tower before returning to his office.
The inside of Cartwright’s office was meticulously neat. The walls were an unobtrusive pale wood color, with neutral paintings of flowers and landscapes, hung at equal intervals. Clients occasionally asked why his office was so bright and warm. Cartwright always shrugged and smiled, then changed the subject.
He walked through the office, across the luxurious tan carpet, and through the back door into the apartment portion of the office.
This section could not have been more different. No paintings, black painted walls, no windows. The only light came from a few tangles of mist that floated around the ceiling and glowed.
Cartwright collapsed into one of the two armchairs in the room. He glanced over at the kitchen area, considering making breakfast for himself, but quickly abandoned the idea in facor of closing his eyes. Early morning clients were often lucrative, for the privacy concerns, but they played merry hell with his sleeping schedule.
Before he could drift off into a peaceful nap, a voice with far too much energy interjected itself in his thoughts.
“Alexander!” caroled Isaac, the owner of the inn downstairs. Truth to tell it was mostly a bar, since the only room was under a long term lease to Alexander Benjamin Cartwright.
“What?” Alexander growled, refusing to open his eyes.
“Sun’s up, that means it’s time to start the day!” Isaac replied. Alexander appreciated many things about Isaac, but his storm-blasted morning cheer was not one of them.
“I’ve already started my day, thank you,” Alexander snarled, curling his long limbs into a ball on his chair. “Can’t do any more until a client walks in.”
Isaac began whistling, ignoring Alexander’s reasonable protests entirely. Cabinets opened and closed, and soon the sound and smell of bacon frying reached Alexander.
“I know you want some,” Isaac sang. Alexander sighed, and opened his eyes.
Isaac was taller than Alexander, with short black hair and mischievous hazel eyes. He had skin that made Alexander fiercely jealous, pale and naturally blushed, and the stubble – which was somehow permanently the same length – showed up beautifully against it. Right now, he wore a blue silk shirt and dark pants, with a cream colored apron. Along with bacon, he had tea in a kettle and was cutting slices of bread.
“Eye and Needle, Isaac,” Alexander swore. “Why do you always have to make me hate you before you make me love you?”
Isaac grinned at him over his shoulder. “That’s just how I am. Jelly?”
Alexander shook his head, but got out of the chair to help Isaac. The tea kettle began to scream, so he took it from the stove. While he pulled cups out of the cabinet, he listened to Isaac ramble.
“I’m going to open the bar at two o’clock today. We can go out to lunch, we haven’t gone out in ages!”
“Isaac, we went out last week,” Alexander pointed out, pouring the tea. Isaac made a dismissive noise, grinned, and reached for a jar of strawberry jelly.
Alexander, a spark of mischief in his own eyes, focuses on the jar. Just as Isaac was about to touch it, the jar slid across the counter.
“Alex! That’s cheating!” Isaac whined. Alexander shrugged, playing innocent, then focused on the jar again, dragging it closer to himself.
Isaac, apparently pretending to be a jungle cat, growled and pounced. Alexander shot the jelly back to its original location before the bartender landed on him, pushing him to the floor. Their mouths met, and Alexander allowed the kiss for a few moments before breaking it.
“Isaac, I have to go out. Investigation. You know.”
Isaac sighed. “Can’t you eat breakfast first? I feel like you’re avoiding me.”
Alexander reached up to touch Isaac’s face. “I’m not avoiding you, I just really have work to do.” He let the truth of his words vibrate in the air. Isaac felt it, and relented, letting Alexander get up from the floor.
“The bacon burned anyway,” he announced. “I know you like it all gross and raw.”
Alexander got to his feet. “If you cooked it, I’ll eat it,” he promised, rubbing Isaac’s shoulders. Isaac smiled at him, this time a smile of nothing but love. They exchanged one more kiss, then Isaac busied himself making plates.
“So, what kind of case do you have for Madam Earlybird?” Isaac asked as they sat at the tiny table.
“Standard cheating husband. I’ll go interview their maids, butlers, and the like. Maybe I can arrange an ‘accidental’ meeting with her husband, get a read on him.”
Isaac nodded. “Well, good luck to you. If you need a place to have your meetings, my common room is always open.”
Alexander smiled, ate the last of his piece of break and got up to leave. He walked briskly through the office, but paused at his front door. He closed his eyes, and focused. Sometimes he could catch a glimpse of what the weather was going to do, if the winds were right. He raised his left hand, pointing due west, and drew on the air with his fingers. The little ritual had no real significance, but it helped him gather the tiny amount of Ventus power he could muster.
A gust of wind struck his building, and for a brief second he saw on the backs of his eyelids, pouring rain and lashing wind, crackling lightning and miserable pedestrians. The vision lasted but a moment, and was vague enough that Alexander guessed it was a few days away. He left the black umbrella on its stand and headed out into the city.
At the moment, the sun was shining brightly and the winds were mostly calm, though the occasional playful gust found its way up from the harbor. This was perfect weather for Alexander, who functioned best with this kind of forecast.
As he walked down the staircase and into the street, he went over the information the Lady Nave had given him. Her husband was frequently gone on business trips and he’d been cold and uninterested in her for months. They had no children and they employed a small but effective staff of servants. He would question them individually, note their lies, and see if he could build a picture of what was really happening.
*****
Across the ocean, to the north, past the endless First Storm, just northwest of the pirate-ridden Felda Archipelago, the city of Port Nanfula stood. Unlike the architecture of Zydobe, which hugged the natural landscape, Port Nanfula defied the plains that surrounded it. Buildings rose proudly into the sky, mimicking the mountains to the north.
The districts of this city were not as obvious as those of Zydobe. Subtle differences in the height, cleanliness, and construction of the houses gave clues to the astute watcher. The richest homes had flakes and chips of gemstones in their walls, just like in Zydobe. The business shared the universal language of signs and banners. Gray stone transit towers were more frequent in wealthier areas, but even obvious slums had one every once in awhile, often attached to a church.
Near one of these church-transit combinations, a tenement building loomed, dark with moss and water damage. Part of the building was housing for the poor, with a soup kitchen and a donations center. Part of it was paid housing to help fund the kitchen. In one of the small, but relatively secure apartments, a young man was getting ready for his business day. He was starkly out of place, with bright clothes, a very neat living area, and well-groomed hair. He was checking his reflection in a modestly sized mirror, carefully going over his hair and clothes. Once he was satisfied with his appearance, he grabbed a messenger satchel and left the building. Unusually, he left by leaping out of his open window.
As he cleared the window frame, a faint cloud of golden light leeched out of the stone
walls of the building. The cloud of light was sucked into his body. His window was on the second floor. When he struck the cobbled street, the golden light puffed out of him like mist of smoke. He landed with bent knees, catching most of the impact on his feet and hands. He straightened, glanced at his palms to see if there was any damage, then strolled down the street toward the church.
He didn’t enter the church through the main doors, instead walking jauntily around the back, where the transit tower was located. The transit tower was about two stories tall, made of gray stone and undecorated by any signs. Transit towers were ubiquitous and identical; no one could confuse them with anyone else.
He entered the tower, pulling his membership token out of his pocket. The white card, decorated with the Kosmima glyph, proved that he had paid for unlimited transit for a year. It had been astoundingly expensive, but more than worth it.
The tower was austere. There was a desk with a clerk, a desk on the opposite side of the circular room with the Kosmima adept on duty, and the transit apparatus itself.
Four lampstands, placed at cardinal directions with enough space between them for a single person. Hanging from the ceiling, directly in the center of the lampstands, was an inverted bowl of black stone. The bowl was lined with a variety of topaz stones, no two alike. In the center of the bowl were five yellow agate stones.
“Morning, Devon,” the clerk said. Anson was a small man, with glasses and a bald head. His mouth was framed by a light blond goatee.
“Morning, Anson,” Devon replied. He continued into the center of the room, standing beneath the transit dish.
“Good morning,” he said to the Kosmima adept. She didn’t respond, just looking at him expectantly. Devon smiled cheekily and showed her his card.
Once she’d seen his proof of payment, the woman strode forward, standing outside the circle of lampstands. She wasn’t a skinny woman, but she wore clothes that fit well and made her look very well-proportioned. Devon had seen many women in his business, who tried to pretend their size didn’t exist by wearing clothes cut for much smaller women. The results were never pretty.
“Please keep your hands and arms inside the circle. The Order of Gemsmiths is not responsible for any damage caused by-”
“I’ve heard the speech, darling,” Devon interrupted. He smiled at her, just at her. He focused a little bit to the east. He had extremely small Panida influence, but he could turn on an animalistic aura that usually made women like him.
This woman gave him a flat look. “We wish you a pleasant trip,” she said, before looking up at the transit dish. She lifted her hand, and pointed due south, straight through the two lampstands. The agates in the dish began to give off a brightly colored glow. Devon felt the power as trickles in his skin, crawling all over him. The Kosmima woman snapped her arm up, and the topaz began to shine. Devon felt the power reach a crescendo, and his vision whited out.
After a brief second, he could see the inside of an identical transit tower. The arrival circles were all around the edge of the room. The circles were double lined, made of iron, with agates inside the two rings.
Devon hopped out of the circle, waved at the clerk, and exited the tower. The transit station in Devon’s neighborhood was too small and poor to have connections to every station in Port Nanfula. Instead, it linked to the central transit tower in the center of the business district, from which you could go to any tower in Port Nanfula, or even other cities if you had the money. Multiple leg trips weren’t any more expensive because of the difficulty in connecting every tower to every other one. Devon didn’t understand exactly how it worked; his talents were in the completely opposite direction.
Devon walked purposefully, but not hurriedly, to an inn a few blocks away from the central transit tower. He recognized the brilliant yellow flowers that the owner kept carefully tended in window boxes of the inn as soon as he rounded the corner. He smiled, which was the whole reason Sarah had the window boxes. Her inn was not one where negative emotions thrived.
Devon walked through the front door of The Laughing Maid, and was struck, as always, by the bright and happy atmosphere of the common room. As he entered, a chorus of greetings came at him from the waitresses. It was too early for lunch customers, but too late for any of the overnight guests to still be in the common room.
“Morning, handsome,” the head waitress, Ashleigh, said to him. She bustled past him, picking up the remnants of breakfast customers had left behind. Ashleigh was tall and buxom, with hair that changed colors with the flowers outside the inn. Today, she wore a green hat with a red feather, a white shirt that left her midriff exposed, and a short black leather skirt over black leather boots.
“Sarah lets you dress like that?” Devon asked, eyeing her up and down doubtfully. Ashleigh opened her mouth to make a reply, but was beaten to the punch by Devon’s other favorite waitress.
“Sarah hasn’t seen Whorepants McSkirt yet,” Amber yelled from the kitchen. Devon let out a surprised guffaw as Ashleigh’s jaw dropped. Amber walked out of the kitchen to greet Devon. She wasn’t as tall as Ashleigh, or even as tall as Devon, who often claimed that his height merely concentrated his charm. Her dark hair matched her eyes, and while her curvaceous figure would never be made into a statue or fountain, it was certainly popular with the regulars. The only reason Ashleigh was head waitress over her was that Amber often double-dipped as the inn’s singer, providing entertainment on cold and stormy nights.
Devon hugged both of them. “So where is the lovely innkeeper?” he asked, swatting Ashleigh’s hand away from his thigh.
“She’s sleeping off a night of drunken patrons,” a new voice announced. Sarah Knowles walked into the common room from her office in the back. Her black hair was hanging loose, and despite her words she wore a practical white blouse and green skirt, belted with a red sash.
“And you wake even more beautiful than before, sister dear,” Devon said, walking over to hug and kiss his sister. She pushed him playfully away.
“So why are you here, distracting my waitresses from cleanup?” she asked, looking significantly at Amber and Ashleigh. They immediately began looking as busy as possible, though once Sarah turned away Ashleigh sat on a table and began fanning herself as Amber picked up the remaining dishes.
“And put on a vest!” Sarah called, and though she was looking at Devon, Ashleigh jumped and hurried upstairs to her room.
“Seriously, what do you need?” Sarah asked, guiding Devon to a stool at the bar. Devon immediately checked his appearance in the mirror behind the bar, making sure his black hair was still coiffed and his clothes were straight.
Sarah gently grabbed his chin, turning his head so her blue eyes were staring into his identical ones. “Devon, why are you here?”
He broke free of her grip. “I have a pickup scheduled at the Capitol at noon, and it’s top priority, so I’m not taking any packages beforehand,” he explained. Sarah’s face lit up.
“A delivery for the Capitol? That’s wonderful, your reputation must be spreading! This calls for a drink!” She reached under the bar, pulling out two mugs, and filling them from her open tap.
Devon accepted his mug with thanks, and they took the first drink together. Before he could say more, Ashleigh’s voice came from the stairwell.
“What’s the celebration?” she called. She’d put a black leather vest over the white half-shirt, and while it technically covered her more, it only emphasized her appeal.
“You can drink when you clean up at night instead of the morning after,” Sarah yelled back, unfazed. Ashleigh sniffed, and went back to watching Amber clean dishes.
“So who called you for the deliver?” Sarah asked, ignoring the continuing shenanigans of her wait staff.
“I can’t say, it’s all very secret,” Devon replied. He dragged his fingers idly around on the counter. “But I have several pickups this afternoon that I can totally dish about.”
Sarah’s eyes widened with gossipy glee. “Any from that handsome clerk in the Kosmima tower by your building?”
They settled down to gossip for awhile. Ashleigh and Amber eventually joined them, and despite Sarah’s earlier words, she pulled mugs for both of them. Eventually, Devon glanced up at the clock on the wall.
“It’s time for me to go. It was lovely talking to you ladies.” He gave a smile to each waitress. Ashleigh batted her eyelashes back, but Amber only waved him away. They both knew they were the wrong kind of woman for him.
Devon left, though he had gained a package of cold sandwiches for lunch later. He went back to the central Kosmima tower. He showed the clerk, a woman reading a thick book, his membership card and told her his destination. She set the book down, thumbed through a stack of cards, and handed him one with “Northeast Central Tower” written on it. Devon thanked her and walked toward the lampstands in the center of the room.
The central transit station had a large number of landing circles, but only three departure circles. It had something to do with the rarity of topaz. Devon joined the line behind the closest departure circle.
He enjoyed watching the teleportation process. No matter where you were going, it was the same every time. Brief warm-up period, a bright flash of white light, and you were gone. The biggest frustration was that only one person could travel at a time from the station. Each of the three circles alternated, so while one person teleported the other two dishes were cooling down. It was still a slow process to wait in lines. The total time was still tiny compared to walking across town, but Devon often wondered if there was another solution.
Eventually it was his turn. He weathered the safety speech with patience, turned in his destination card, and was sent to the Capitol building.
Though it wasn’t the tallest building in Port Nanfula, the Capitol building was extremely grand. The walls were said to have pearls and sapphires built into them, drawing notoriety and money to the very buildings. Devon was often called for deliveries to and from its smaller cousin buildings, but today was the first time he’d visited the Capitol building itself.
Four years ago, on his twenty-first birthday, Devon had decided his future. He would begin an independent messenger-slash-delivery service. Messengers were the primary mode of communication in the city, and there were a couple major businesses with multiple employees that had monopolized the market. Anyone who wanted could be hired; there was such a demand for messengers that anyone with swift feet and a memory for streets was welcomed.
But Devon had a dream. He wouldn’t work his way up a corporate ladder. He wanted to build the ladder himself, and stay at the top. He wanted to make his own mark on Port Nanfula.
And for the last four years, he’d done so. With no one to support but himself, he gleefully undercharged for deliveries and messages. He made a reputation among families, small businesses, and priests. He’d lived comfortably on taking a cup of sugar across the neighborhood for three years. It was good work, easy work, but it was fun and Devon was satisfied.
Until one day he’d been summoned by one of the largest millineries in the city. They’d asked him to deliver forty packages to a ship that was departing in a matter of hours. He had no cart, no horses, and no assistants.
It had been the most exciting day of his life. His Petra blessing let him memorize short cuts and roads with ease. It also let him draw the strength of rock beneath his feet into his body. Two packages at a time, he’d leapt from roof to roof, traveling from business to dock in bare minutes.
That run had gained him notoriety. So many people began seeking him out he’d been forced to purchase a Kosmima speaking stone, a medallion studded with agate and pearl, with a single sapphire in the center. The medallion could be used by anyone with a Terros blessing to send a voice message. They were very expensive, and no one with an Atmos blessing, or no blessing at all, could use one.
He’d become known for completing impossible deliveries. He never took a job he knew he couldn’t finish, so he stayed under the attention of major delivery services, but larger businesses began to send him requests and pay him handsomely. He could move out of his apartment in the slums easily, but he was comfortable there. Not to mention the proximity to a transit tower; that would be far more expensive in any other district.
Someone crashed into him, knocking him to the ground. He caught himself before he fell completely and ruined his shirt, and stood to give whoever had run into him a piece of his mind.
But there was no one there. No one walked on the sidewalk where he’d stood, admiring the Capitol. No one was entering any building nearby. There hadn’t been enough time for a person to vanish, and the day was too warm and still for any kind of supernatural stealth.
Puzzling. But Devon had a job to do. He hitched his messenger satchel, which contained a couple of his tricks, higher on his shoulder and strode confidently toward the imposing building. He didn’t enter the main doors, of course. Even though he was meeting with an actual official, no tjust a clerk or secretary, he entered through the side door, reserved for deliveries and messages and the people who carried them.
He entered holding his head high, and looking around for a desk of some sort. The room he entered was spare and efficient. There were several doors in the white stone walls, and an unassuming gray carpet. A desk was indeed shoved against the far wall, manned by a somewhat tall man with short blond hair and bright blue eyes. He was on the heavy side, but Devon could tell he had a lovely smile from the laugh lines that already appeared around his eyes, despite his youth.
“Can I help you?” the man asked, his voice cool and professional. Devon gave him a brilliant smile of his own.
“I’m scheduled to meet Andre Nitsin for a delivery,” he said, batting his eyelashes. Subtly, so that they could be confused with blinks, but batting them nonetheless.
The man opened a large black leatherbound book. He turned a few pages, then made a notation with his fountain pen.
“You can find His Honor in the offices on the second floor, east wing,” the man aid, stressing Devon’s employer’s title. “You’ll need this temporary badge for clearance.” He pulled a lanyard with a yellow square of paper on it that declared “VISITOR” in black letters from a drawer under his desk. “Return it to me, or anyone at a desk outside an office when you leave.” Not once did he crack a smile.
“Thanks, friend,” Devon said, taking the badge and putting the lanyard around his neck. “I didn’t catch your name?”
“I didn’t throw it,” the man said. “Second door from the left, up the stairs.” With that, he turned his attention to the documents he had been reading before Devon’s arrival.
Devon stood there for a moment, then turned and left. He took the indicated door, and climbed the first set of stairs he found.
The further inside the Capitol he walked, the grander it became. The walls remained white stone, but the carpet began to gain lushness, texture, and color. The walls acquired paintings and tapestries. Kosmima light fixtures studded the walls, usually made of inexpensive emeralds set in opal.
On every door he passed was a brass plate with a name inscribed on it. He read each one, eventually finding the door he sought.
He knocked, not timidly but not obnoxiously. A voice from within called for him to enter.
Inside the door was the office of a Kosmima gemsmith. The walls were covered with trinkets. Half of them gave off an even light, which despite the variety of gems was a clear white. The other half were carefully cut and arranged. Each gem would have been cut to maximize its virtue and minimize its bane, and then arranged with precision against other types of gems, canceling out similar banes and supporting similar virtues. Much like teleportation, Devon understood only the bare bones of gemsmithing. Give him a good chunk of granite any day.
Andre Nitsin, master gemsmith and judge in Port Nanfula’s mercantile court, was an elderly gentleman with gray hair, a once-lithe frame, and heavy black robes. His wig, much fuller of hair than he himself, sat on a featureless mannequin head. Judge Nitsin was well known, and his thinning hair was no secret, but he wore the wig to symbolize that the Judge was a different person than he himself. Another thing Devon could barely understand. Why pretend to be two different people?
“Good day, Your Honor,” Devon said, nodding politely. The gemsmith looked up, then smiled.
“And good day to you, Devon Knowles. I am pleased you accepted my offer. The message I ask you to carry is of a delicate nature, and must be delivered with speed and care.”
Devon nodded again. “I charge extra for delicacy, but speed is part of the package, Your Honor.”
Nitsin chuckled. “So I have been assured. Here is the package.” He handed Devon a large tan envelope, stuffed with paper. “As for your payment, would you prefer currency or a trinket?”
Devon’s eyes widened. “No one’s ever offered to pay me with a trinket before, Your Honor.”
Nitsin smiled. “”Trinkets are much more accessible to me than currency, I’m afraid. I take it you are interested? Which virtues would you like?”
Devon thought quickly. A trinket, even with a single gem, was worth a month’s rent. And a master gemsmith who wanted a job done quietly would make quite an impressive trinket indeed. He struggled to remember the virtues of the ten major gems.
“How about emerald and pearl?” he asked. The judge’s eyebrows went up.
“An unusual combination. You want to ward off disaster to your home, but leave out agate?”
“You misunderstand, Your Honor,” Devon said. “Pearl to draw rumor, emerald to ward off ill-luck and bad thoughts.”
The judge nodded, understanding coming to his eyes. “You want a trinket for notoriety. I will not be able to weaken the pearl’s bane very much, however.”
Devon smiled. “I can handle someone making a pass at me in an inn or at a bar, Your Honor. It’s worth the main effect.”
Judge Nitsin nodded solemnly. “It shall be completed by dusk, then. Visit my shop on Gemsmith’s Row to pick it up. Now, as for the delivery.” He picked up a narrow book, bound in dark brown leather, from his desk and leafed through it for a moment. He found the page he wanted after a short time, inked a pen, and began to draw on a clean sheet of paper. Every so often, he checked the design he drew against the book. When he was done, he shook the loose paper to dry the ink, then handed it to Devon.
“Go to the central transit tower, and give that to the clerk. He will transport you to your destination. When you arrive, the first person you see will take the package. He will then return you to the central station. I trust I need not remind you to not attempt to discern your location?”
“I’ll keep my eyes closed the whole way, Your Honor,” Devon promised. Though he was a flirt and a bit of a scalawag, he took his jobs seriously. “Your delivery is safe with me.”
Judge Nitsin stood, and shook Devon’s hand, then gestured at the door. Devon took the hint, tucked the package into the main pocket of his satchel, then exited the office, whistling cheerfully.
On his way out, he passed a few people who were so convinced of their own importance they practically floated down the halls. Each glared at him, despite his VISITOR badge. Or maybe because of it. Either way, Devon would not be brought down. He’d earned his first major trinket. Things were looking up.
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