Chương 24: Chariots of Wisdom

Our impatient paladin hauls on ropes as soon as Captain Adelaide gives any commands that might increase the speed of our ship and when Lady Horsta is not given a task to do, she leans against the prow of our fishing vessel, staring eastwards, oblivious to sudden lurches and cold spray. It's no use though, the wind is not favourable and we must sail mostly southwards, before bringing the sail around and going northwards, making a small amount of progress to the east with each leg.

A vigorously fluttering flag depicting a scarlet snake on black flutters from the stern. It proclaims that the boat is from Nekis, which is not entirely a lie. Tedious is the life of a sailor, I learn. At least when the wind is mocking us. I also learn that seasickness comes high on my list of the unbearable experiences. Each time the mainsail comes about for us to head southwards, nausea fills my body. I can keep it from overwhelming me, but only by concentrating on my tasks.

Sometimes hitting a wave so hard we seem to stop and sometimes dropping through the air because the water has disappeared, the lurching movements of the boat bring bile into my mouth. Only when we turn northwards again does the embrace of sickness relax, as waves now come to lift the stern and run beneath us. By the time we drop anchor in an inlet that our captain says is close to Cassikos, I have had six days of the life of a sailor, which is more than sufficient to let me know it would not suit me.

Urgency is all very well but so too is preparation for our next challenge. The extra days at sea have brought me up to 8 in Disguise, just two away from meeting the requirements for Doppelganger. Nor is Disguise simply a means to obtaining that intriguing magical skill: with each increase I cast a critical eye over my party and better transform them to sailors, paying attention to details such as the roughness of their hands and – much to Belle's annoyance – blackening their fingernails.

When the sun has set and twilight turned to night, there is a strange ruddy glow in the sky to our east. It is cloudy above us and the moon is a barely discernible blur. Yet like the approach of dawn, there is a definite pink hue to the eastern clouds. I am not the only one to notice.

'What's that light in the sky?' asks Aarax. Captain Adelaide looks up, unconcerned.

'That's Cassikos. The emperor has such an abundance of oil that he keeps lanterns lit all night on the main roads. Not to mention the thousands of homes with their own fires and lanterns. You are seeing the clouds above the city by the light of these fires.'

'How interesting,' says Belle.

'It must be a huge city; I can't wait to see it.'

'Rogues might not welcome all that light; they would miss the shadows of the night.' Adelaide, who knows that I am a rogue, gives me a smile.

'There is that. But I for one am glad to be able to move around the city after dark, especially on long, winter nights.'

I wake with the dawn and feel like singing along with the blackbirds, thrushes and warblers who are praising the return of the sun. Away from the sometimes-nauseating beat of the waves, in calm water, I am happy to be at sea. A floating home offers freedom and adventure; even better, I live in a floating home full of fish. While the others stir I take out a large skillet and braise some fish meat for their breakfast.

Before the anchor is wound for the boat to depart our sheltered mooring, our spellcasters meditate in order to obtain their spells for the day. Even with her book of symbols to help her, it takes almost an hour for Lisandra to memorize her full complement of spells. For our druid, Aarax, and for Lady Horsta's paladin spells, only a half hour of prayer is needed. Today, though, Lady Horsta shakes her head and looks worried.

'There's nothing there. No mana from Daspartar. That's never happened before.' No one responds, I do, however, notice Amaris frowning and he looks at me with his red eyes and I know we both have the same idea: it could be that Callondum has fallen and that Daspartar has been eliminated from the pantheon of gods who play the game of the Twenty-Five Kingdoms.

From her unsettled behaviour, it is clear that Lady Horsta has also drawn the same conclusion and to comfort her I say, 'when Lord Scrithax gave me his boon, he warned that all spells would cease soon.' At first she does not seem to have heard me. Then the paladin nods, 'It could be something like that. Daspartar might have gifted his mana today to those defending the walls of our capital.' With a good wind behind us at last, it is still morning as we clear a final headland and the city of Cassikos comes into view.

'How beautiful,' exclaims Belle. The vast metropolis is separated from orchards of orange trees and olive bushes by tall walls of a light-coloured stone with a faintly pink hue. From our distance, the true size of the city is hard to judge, but as we rise and fall with the waves and get closer I can see that many of the buildings are massive. The harbour is impressive. Two long, curved walls reach towards the sea like the mandibles of a giant ant.

Inside the protection of those walls there must be a hundred masts of berthed shipping. I have to acknowledge that Cassikos is three or four times the size of Nekis. Once we are between the lighthouses that have been built at the end of each wall, the motion of the waves ceases to trouble us and Captain Adelaide steers the boat carefully along a road of water marked by buoys, one that is clear of all moored ships and which leads toward a river that divides the city in two.

Slowly, we enter the mouth of the river and approach one of the great stone buildings I had seen from the sea. Close up, I am impressed by the sculptures that stand on the roof and the tall columns with curved tops that line the front of the building. Despite my curiosity and interest in the many people I can see on the quays I am not so distracted as to miss the sharp calls of our captain and haul on the ropes as required; with the mainsail entirely furled we drift to the quay and a row of metal bollards.

Neat as you like, crowlike, Captain Adelaide steps off the boat and onto the quayside with a rope that she whips around a bollard, then, as it stretches taught and halts the last momentum of our boat, she catches a second rope thrown by Amaris and pulls that tight around a second bollard. We are at rest. We have arrived in Cassikos. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

'Customs House.' She gestures with her thumb to the large building.

'I have to get a license from there to sell our fish. Normally, the crew help with filling orders but you lot can go. The innkeepers can send their own people. I think I'll have no difficulty selling our cargo.' She is looking at nearby fishing boats and the servants with baskets crowding eagerly around them.

'Thank you,' says Lisandra.

'We appreciate all your help.' Really, it should be the paladin who thanks the captain, they are from the same realm and the boat was assigned to us by the castellan of Dunshandan. Lady Horsta, however, is downcast and looking only at her belongings.

'Not at all. Good luck in your mission. If you need me, I intend to stay three nights in the city before sailing home. I'll get a berth somewhere in the harbour.' After bidding our farewells to the captain, we walk along the river's eastern quayside towards a gatehouse, following the general drift of people into the city. None of our party are fools and the assassin, in particular, is constantly alert, monitoring all those nearby.

If I were a rogue I would consider us too attentive and dangerous to attempt to steal from us. There is no difficulty with the guards as we enter the city proper and I'm immediately struck by the streamers and banners that are everywhere. They are mostly green and blue, although some are purple with the white owl I saw on the flags of the Arkine army. We pass a huge building with a copper dome.

'Level Five Library,' states Amaris when I move my gaze from the high roof to him. Asa, their god, is a goddess of wisdom and clearly the Arkines value learning: to have invested so much effort into making the city's library so large is extraordinary and a little disheartening. Crow and books are wary of each other. I treat reading as an unpleasant necessity and I am slow at it. The thought of all the books that must be in that building is daunting.

The next major building we pass is, according to the assassin, a Level Three church. At least Nekis has an equivalent, albeit ours is less fanciful, without the many pillars and statues that decorate the Arkine building. Moving onwards into the city, we are surrounded by increasing numbers of people, many of whom are wearing green or blue. And then we come to an enormous building, four stories high but so long that it would take me two minutes, sprinting as fast as I can, to traverse it.

Dozens of entrance arches are on the ground floor and that's where everyone is going. From within there are the roars of a large crowd.

'Hippodrome, Level Three,' says Amaris, licking his lips as though very satisfied to be able to convey this information.

'Shall we go in?' asks Lisandra, as people push past.

'Oh, we must!' exclaims Belle, taking my arm.

'Perhaps we should find rooms first?' our sorceress wonders. Amaris shakes his head, 'I wouldn't leave my bags unattended in any case.'

'Come on then!' and Belle tugs me towards the nearest arch. A short tunnel leads to an interior that is a long, oval, dirt racetrack, with steeply ascending rows of stone seating, rows that are dense with people, especially those near the track. Bewildered by the noise, I don't understand the guard in front of us.

'Green or blue?' he asks again.

'Blue.' Amaris leans forward to answer, shouting so as to be heard. The guard points to his right and we move that way, to a section of the stadium full of people with blue clothing, banners and armbands. The hippodrome is so full that it is only near the top that we find space to seat ourselves. I like it up here in the heights of the building. Away from the thickest crowds and the reverberations of their shouts I can gather myself. No race is taking place, but there are four chariots on the track.

Each is a very small vehicle, with tiny wheels, and with four horses harnessed to them. Their drivers are not decked in green and blue as I had anticipated, but orange, red, white and yellow.

'Isn't this exciting!' says Belle, clasping her knees, 'I wish my friends could see me now.' That thought appeals to me too. Mistress Withen would be astonished to see such a massive spectacle, Master Cathaldus too, although he would pretend otherwise and assume to instruct me on the subtle tactics of being a charioteer.

'It's great,' Aarax is keenly studying the track below.

'Doesn't the one on the inside have an advantage?'

'Or maybe the outside is better,' offers Gerard, 'seeing as you can cut across the corner at a safer angle?' Alert to the presence of pickpockets, I calculate that three are working their way towards us. And after all, why not? We have bags and purses and are obviously not from any local street. To the nearest, an elderly woman on the same row as us, who is pretending to have dropped something, I make the Thieves' Cant sign for "leave" and add "now". I can speak much more clearly in gesture than word.

For a moment I wonder whether Thieves' Cant is as universally known among the guilds of the Twenty-Five Kingdoms as I'd been taught by the rogues of Nekis. Then the woman scowls at me and turns away. The second is a youth who is attempting Stealth from the very top row, just back from us. All I have to do is look into his eyes and shake my head for him to hurry away. And the third is a middle-aged man, who is staring, horrified, at our assassin. Amaris is drawing a finger across his throat and glaring at the rogue.

No special language is needed to interpret this gesture. The man turns pale and hurries away. Believing us safe from being robbed, I turn my attention back to the arena, where the four chariots are lining up. The central section around which they will race is raised and has a bronze rail against which stand another audience: men, women and children whose gold bracelets shine and whose gem-studded jewellery glitters even from this far away.

In the very centre of this area is a platform that is raised further still, surrounded by fifty or sixty soldiers. On this platform is a large marble throne, currently empty; a purple draped couch beside a table containing food and drink. And beside the throne is a plinth made of a black, shining stone. There is a change in the tone of the crowd's cheers. A lady dressed in purple and standing on the central section near the chariots has a banner of an owl in both hands and is waving it, waving it, waving it.

Until she lets go. Long before the cloth has fluttered to the ground the charioteers are whipping their horses, urging them to leap forward while the crowd roars even more loudly than before. The race is underway. What must it be like to be a charioteer in this arena? With thousands of people watching you and shouting support. What must it be like to be dragged over the dirt by four eager horses, just a thin board beneath your feet, bouncing and jolting, reliant upon two small wheels spinning at breaking point?

Frightening, probably. Exhilarating, certainly. I would like to be one of them. After the first corner, which is taken best by the chariot in the third lane, it seems that they can move as they please and that there is a favoured line for the corners, as they all come around by starting wide, near our wall, and cutting across close to the interior wall; whoever is first in taking that line has a noticeable advantage. Yet horses tire and make mistakes.

After two laps, there are two chariots side by side for the lead. Before I realise it, we have a winner. The intensity of the crowd's voice diminishes and orange is riding a victory lap, waving to us. There are people on the track, raking it and also pushing a wooden staircase on rollers up to the central section. The victor springs from his chariot, while men and women in orange take the horses and lead them away. Now he mounts the staircase and is escorted by the woman in purple to the throne. No, the plinth.

'Is that a dragon tooth I see? The one we seek as a key?' With so much noise, there is no chance of being overheard.

'By Lord Scrithax's horns, I think you're right!' exclaims Gerard. Above the black plinth floats a dragon tooth and the winning charioteer goes up and clasps it, holding it above his head to cheers from all around the stadium. Then the key we need disappears, presumably into his inventory.