Devon woke slowly. He’d gotten into the habit of talking himself into getting up every morning, and he had already started his daily litany of encouragement when he realized he wasn’ tin a hammock, there was no salt-laden breeze, and he had blankets and pillows. Most of all, he was alone. That realization was followed by a wave of sheer, profound relief, and Devon melted into his glorious mattress.
For several minutes, he relished the ability to just lie there, no one shouting, no sails creaking. He eventually decided that he really should get up, so he swung his legs out and stood up. He had stripped out fo the clothes Abram had given him, but looking at those and the clothes ehe’d bought with him gave him the shudders. He forced himself to slide into the stinky, stained outfit that belonged to him, and rolled the others into a small, unoffensive ball and stepped out of the room.
The inn was set up with all the rooms on the second floor, with a common room, bathing room, and landry on the first. Devon walked down the back staircase, which led directly to the bathing room. He gave the attendant there a copper coin, collect3d a towel, and went into one of the private rooms.
He stripped out of the clothes again and sank gratefully into the bath. It was the first time he’d gotten to clean himself in over two weeks, and he intended to take full advantage. The hot water here was supplied by mother of pearl strips laid around the rim of the ceramic tub, which was sunken into the ground. There were two small levers on the edge of the tub. One would open the drain at the bottom of the pool, and the other would open a spout in the side that would let more water in, to be heated by the mother-of-pearl that a gemsmith had inlaid.
For quite a while, Devon simply soaked, enjoying the feeling of being truly warm. While his body relaxed, he began to set his map lore. Since he wasn’t going to be in Zydobe long, he didn’t want to completely learn the town, but he needed to find a clothing shop, and a ship to take him back north.
He let his map loer go, and felt it stretch out. It would let him know when it had located the clothing stores, and it possibly might find a ship. Map lore was a tricky thing: buildings and vessels developed a sense of what they were after a time. The map lore could read that and find the best way for Devon to find it. A ship that had only been to Port Nanfula and Zydobe would light up to his blessing, but one that had been to several different ports might as well not exist.
Once he’d finished with that, he pulled the drain lever. When the tub had emptied, he pushed it back and opened the refill faucet. The water came out warm, and heated as it filled the tube. The strips around the tub glowed as they drew in heat from the air around them. Devon was impressed; such installations were costly and required a lot of skill, since they had to be active at the right times without a blessing directing them.
He started srubbing in earnest, using the soap and brush left by the tub for his use. He’d finished and was ducking his head to rinse his hair, finally rid of the awful buildup of grease, when his map lore lit up the air around him. He got out of the tub, dried off briskly, and suffered into the filty pants and shirt. The shoes, at least, were still in fairly good shape.
He left the inn, dropping the sailors’ clothes into the bin marked “Donate”, required by the priests of Panida, who was the patron godri of the poor, in every laundry facility.
He stepped into the street, very grateful for the bizarre fog that still cocooned the city for hiding hisappearance. He hated looking less than his best. The map lore lita path to a clothing store like a golden thread hanging in the air, one end plunged into his chest, the other connected to his destination. He followed the cord, careful to move slowly and to stick to the edge of the street. He didn’t want to have a collision.
Every once in awhile, as he walked, the fog would end and there would be a bubble of open, clean air. Usually, these followed people walking by, presumably using a Ventus blessing. Occasionally, though, he passed through large bubbles with no one at their center. His lore led him up the city, through the docks district and into the wealthier mercantile levels. The higher he climbed, the closer he stuck to the fog, not wanting to be mistaken for a homeless person in his appalling clothes.
One of the longer bubbles he encountered had a phalanx of terrifying mercenary types clustered near an alley. A blond woman who had Fytevo energy sparkling aroundher in pink and green bursts was interrogating a blond man, while her fellow fighters stared at anyone passing by. Devon could tell that all of them who had Terros blessings were formidable fighters, fully attuned to the eath and ready to rip someone limb from limb. He moved as quickly as he could to the other side of the clear space.
His golden cord wsa thickening, a sign that he was drawing closer to the goal. It juked up,a warning that steps were imminent. Devon slowed further, having learned his lesson from the first time he’d misjudged where the steps had begun and fallen on his face.
At the top of the step,s the cord stretched out and ended in a golden sunburst. He strode confidently toward the end of the line, and walked into a clear air bubble just in time to crash into someone.
They would have fallen, but he drew hard on the earth and gripped the man he’d crashed into, a handsome fellow with short black hair and sparkling hazel eyes. Once he was sure of his balance, he released the other man.
“Sorry. This fog makes getting around difficult,” Devon apologized. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, thanks,” the man said, looking disdainfully at Devon’s disheveled appearance. “Take care.” And with that, he was gone, though the fog didn’t retreat from him. Devon shrugged and continued into the clothing store.
It was an upscale establishment, with a rainbow of colors and fabrics all around. Devon definitely stood out, and quickly attracted the attention of a clerk, who came over with a very forced simle. Devon forestalled her her sure-to-be-painful greeting with an upraised hand and a winning smile, though he didn’t exert any kind of Panida aura.
“I know, I look awful. I need your help to fix this mess,” he said, gesturing at himself and looking sheepish. The clerk’s smile became much more genuine, and she led him into the store.
As she handed him shirts and pants to try on, he asked her questions about Zydobe.
“So why isn’t this fog disappearing? Shouldn’t it have burned off by now?” he asked, standing behind a screen and trying on a pair of pants the clerk swore were all the rage right now. “Isn’t it summer?”
“Where were you last week?” the clerk asked, handing him an undershirt. “There was nearly a huge crash in the harbor! It took hundreds of people putting up Tranquilus shields to keep the ship from smashing the docks to pieces. They made a…” she paused to search for the right word. “…an imbalance in the weather. The fog’s been here for days,a nd the priests say it’ll last until a natural storm comes through and redresses the problem.”
Devon pulled on the dark pink shirt he’d chosen. “I don’t understand. How fast was the ship going? I don’t see how a sailing ship could be that dangerous.”
“You really weren’t here, were you? It was an airship, not a sailing ship. Second crash since they started their tests,” she said. “Does everything fit?”
Devon stepped out from behind the privacy screen. “Seems to. Though should these pants be so tight?”
“That’s the way they’re supposed to fit,” she assured him. “So where are you from? You can’t be from Zydobe, everyone knows about the airship crashes!”
“Port Nanfula,” Devon replied. “My ship got in last night.”
“Port Nanfula? Is it true the city’s under attack? Are there really mercenaries killing and raping any girls they find? I have a cousin that lives there and I haven’t heard from her in months!”
“Nothing like that was happening when I left,” Devon said. “I can’t imagine that anyone has attacked, though. Where did you hear that?”
“It’s all anyone is talking about!” she told him. “Ships aren’t sailing from there anymore, and the transit stations refuse to send you there. They even blocked transits from Port Nanfula!”
Devon’s jaw dropped.
“That’ll be two silver kings,” she continued. “Would you like hangers for the other clothes you bought?”
Devon paid, using about half the money he had left, and walked out of the store with several days worth of clothing, and a completely new set of worries. HE stepped into the fog and swore. He needed to sit for a moment, and he was going to have to use his map lore just to find a bench. Muttering imprecations, he did just that, and an aura of golden light sprang up to his left. He stomped over to the light, though he couldn’t see the bench even when he was a few feet away.
Once he’d gotten seated, he closed his eyes and got ready to send his map lore out searching again. He was extremely grateful that his was so strong, and he’d gotten so much practice with it lately; being in a strange city was disorienting enough. HE needed to find the Temple of Terros. His map lore flexed and shot out, finding the Temple instantly. He got up, made sure he had a good grasp on his baggage, and set off toward the Temple. The cord led him down levels, and he found himself moving west across the city as well. HE tried focusing on his Panida as he walked, hoping it would give him a clue as to when he was about to run into someone. He couldn’t tell if it was working, though he knew he was doing something.
Petra and Kosmima depended on power inherent in stone and rock. Fytevo worked by combining power from plants and his own personal energy, and PAnida was alla bout drawing power from himself. Usually, Devon felt like his blood as filled with slivers of scarlet light that he could slowly tease out. He did that now, sending tendrils and darts out into the fog as he walked. Once, he hit a body with one of the flickers, lighting it up with a faint scarlet aura and gettinga burst of emotional information – irritation, impatience, and a hint of fear. The person was headed in the opposite direction, and he quickly lost track of her, but he did take a moment to grin giddily at his success.
HE continued making his way through the desne fog. HE didn’t encounter anyone else, so he sassumed this was not a well traveled district. The golden cord grew steadily thicker, and soon he found himself opening the door to the Temple of Terros. He gratefully sat on one of the many pews lining the walls, taking a few moments to enjoy being able to see more than an inch in front of his face.
The room was massive and eight-sided. At the cardinal directions, shrines to the four aspects of Terros had been carved. The other walls held stone arches that housed staircases leading up into the higher levels of the Temple. Devon looked interestedly at the shrines, which were much more elaborate than the poor church in Port Nanfula.
Petra in the north was a strong farm woman, wearing a simple dress, boots, and holding a spade in one hand. For all her lack of accoutrement, she was still stunning, with wide eyes and elevated cheekbones. Across the hall in the south, one wall over form where Devon sat, Kosmima stood, gemstones in his hands. He was a slight figure, wearing pince-nez, and well-fitted tunic and leggings. To the east was PAnida, notoriously difficult to represent. Panida was the Godri, both male and female, and ze was supposed to be aggressively attractive. This sculptor had captured that by suggesting, rather than depicting. Panida’s chest rounded slightly, and the statue’s hips had a subtle flare, but the Godri was muscular and stood in an assertive, masculine stance. Baby fawns and birds sat at zhir feet, and zhis expression was one of gentleness and love.
And to the west, the distant Godfen Fytevo stood, fenced in by plants. Fytevo was the patron Godfen of knowledge and science, and while xie would occasionally intervene for xis priests and acolytes, praying to xir was not very encouraged. Fytevo would much rather you use the tools you had to solve a problem. Xie had a stern and harsh face, suitable for the most unreachable of the pantheon.
Devon noticed a sign on the wall to the northeast. It was the symbol of Panida, a pair of wings framing a set of antlers, and it marked the House of Alms, where the Temple would provide lodgings for the needy. Typically, it was for the poor, but Devon was lost and homeless in this foggy city. He stood up and walked over to the stairway and began to ascend.
At the top of the stairs, a spacious room filled with tables and benches waited. A monk walked up to Devon, smiling.
“Greetings, my son. How many we of the House of Alms help you?” The monk was an elderly man, with a neat salt and pepper beard and deep set brown eyes in a wrinkled face.
“I need information, mostly,” Devon said. “Is all travel to Port Nanfula currently cut off?”
“Indeed. The Guild of Kosmima has removed all Nanfulan topaz from their transit stations for fear the fighting will spill over to our cities. Ships might travel there for a price, but I fear that price would be much too high for anyone one persont o pay. Are you trapped in Zydobe?”
“You are astute, sir,” Devon said. “Could I have lodgings, at least for a few days? I don’t know how long I’ll be here.”
“Of course, my son. Shelter is always available to those in need. If I may be so bold, however, I would point out the charity box. You appear to be a man of means. We do not require a donation, we only ask you consider it.”
“That’s certainly fair,s ir. Should I put my things somewhere in particular?”
The monk led Devon into a tiny cell, with a bed, a chest, and a window. Devon thanked him and began carefully arranging his new clothes in the chest. While he worked, the monk departed and he tried to think Sarah could take care of herself, and as an innkeeper she would have a commodity an invading force would need. He didn’t know exactly what was going on in Port Nanfula, but he couldn’t do anything from here. He had to find a way back, and the best way would be a Kosmima transit.
When he had the clothes chest filled, he walked back into the larger common room and approached the monk again.
“Sir, could you tell me what you know of the situation in Port Nanfula?” he asked. “I left family there, and I haven’t heard anything reliable. What do you know?”
The monk rubbed his lips with his thumb, thinking. “We have received little word from our brothers in Port Nanfula. Two and a half weeks ago, a fleet of mercenary ships attacked the Nanfulan harbor. The Nanfulans were caught completely by surprise and could not fight them off. The last message I heard that I would trust was that the President has been killed and the harbor chancellor has taken over in his absence.”
Devon felt the blood rush from his face. “The President is dead? And Aron Mark has taken over?”
“As I said, that was my last message. Did you know the President?”
Devon sat down abruptly, rudely ignoring the monk. ARon Mark had sent a message – except it had never been delivered. The navy had been caught off guard because…because…
“Eye and Needle,” he swore, forgetting he was in a temple. The House of Acuity had the funds for a mercenary fleet. Mark had the motive, and Judge Hanover was well-known as having an interest in the maneuvers of the Nanfulan fleet. The messages had been the first steps in a coup.
Except, wait. IF the messages hadn’t been sent, wouldn’t they have aborted? Not receiving a message would be a terrible signal for an attack.
He’d been outside the Lord Marshal’s office when he was assaulted. Wheels spun in his head as he followed the logic. If Hanover had been warning the Marshal of the impending attack, while Mark and the House were finalizing their plans, it made sense that Devon’s attacker hadn’t been merely a thief, but had had the intent of getting Devon out of the picture. It really had been a terrible robbery anyway. That wind must have een intended to steal his messenger bag.
Would they have gone after Sarah? He’d told her about the messages, and she’d even been suspicious, her old life as a political informant giving her the perspective to see the connections. If he’d been followed that early, they might have tried to silence her. He had to get to Port Nanfula, somehow.
He stood up, absently thanked the monk, and ran off, already priming his map lore to search out the nearest major Kosmima transit station.
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