Goris pulled his pack tighter, his sore shoulders protesting as he trudged a step behind Hesler. The rest of the journey towards Caran had been uneventful, following a frantic night putting as much distance as they could between themselves and the mysterious mage they had encountered in the abandoned village in the hills to the north.
The journey had worn Goris down. The days were long back home and his family didn't have much, yet he was guaranteed a good meal and a warm bed when his work was done. On the road, good meals and warm beds had been absent, and a malaise had set in despite Hesler’s attempts to maintain spirits.
They lumbered along the road step by arduous step. The packed dirt had seen signs of repair and regular upkeep; a sign, Hesler had said, they were nearing the city. Goris had guessed as much from the steady flow of traders, soldiers, and other travellers moving in both directions. Nonetheless, his feet dragged, his mind alternating between thoughts of a hot bath and a hot meal; he couldn't decide which he craved more.
Conditions were less wild here than in the hills. The river flowed slow, lazy and wide to the side of the road, contained by man-made banks. Evergreen trees lined the slopes of the valley to either side. That valley had become narrower over the course of the morning, curving gently round to the east.
He barely noticed Hesler's scuffed steps slowing until a firm hand clapped him on the back. He frowned, looking at his brother. A wide smile spread across Hesler's grime-covered face as he stared into the distance. Goris followed his gaze.
‘The Curtain,’ he whispered to himself.
Before him lay the famous stone wall. It was impossible to say at this distance, but it looked a hundred spans high, running the entire breadth of the valley. A third of a league, at least. Goris had never seen anything like it. He now understood the proud tales of how Caran had never been breached.
Silhouetted figures patrolled the top of the wall in pairs. The legendary Curtain Guard, the vaunted veteran troops of Caran, fireside stories coming to life before his very eyes.
Hesler gave a reassuring squeeze to the back of Goris’ neck. 'You look suitably awestruck, brother. Come on, let's get a closer look at Caran, shall we?' Their steps rediscovered some of their former bounce. Any nervousness about the festival of Adenne's Night evaporated, boiled away by the prospect of having a city to explore.
Their passage through the Curtain Gate had been thrilling, if somewhat slow. Caran was full to bursting, leaving the only major entrance and exit to the city congested with people, carts, horses and more. Goris had never seen so many people in one place; it was like someone had kicked an anthill, a seething press of humanity scrabbling every which way.
Other youths in country garb gaped at their surroundings. Buildings four storeys tall seemed on the verge of pitching forward to smother him. Booming voices shouted their wares above the constant thrum of people; an old woman with a bent back selling charms for the festival on one corner; a burly man whose shirt didn't quite stretch down over his belly touting his boar pies as the best in all of Caran. Carts and wagons traversed the cobbled streets, foul-tempered drivers cracked their whips ever closer to unwitting passers-by. Beneath it all was the whisper of the river neatly bisecting the city as it made its way towards the Cut - treacherous and churning - and the ocean beyond.
He scowled at an elbow in the ribs from Hesler.
'Hey! Remember what I told you, act like you’ve been here before. We'll be at the docks soon.'
It was the fourth time he'd received the same warning from his brother, who was concerned they would be easy pickings for cutpurses, or worse. The way Goris saw it, there were so many other people from the outlying villages and hills, Tumult would have to deal them a very poor turn indeed to run into any serious trouble. He'd tried explaining as much to Hesler and had been quickly and sternly silenced.
The chatter of seagulls rose as they hurried along the North Bank towards the docks. The crowds thinned as city folk turned north into the Merchants Quarter or south through tunnels under the river to the other half of Caran. Leaving merchants complete with bodyguards, those new to Caran, and a ragged bunch of dockhands, sailors and others Goris couldn’t place, leering with secret smiles. Goris' eyes went wide upon hearing a string of choice curses from sailors with dirty faces and thick forearms. He listened closer so that he might remember a few such phrases to repeat to his friends back in the village.
Hesler moved quicker, subtly pointing out various groups of mean-faced men loitering on corners, or at the mouth of alleys between warehouses. Goris’ head whipped around at a muffled cry to his left. A rakish man at the entrance to an alley cast a sly look in both directions before slinking between two buildings.
Hesler squeezed his arm and shook his head. 'Keep walking. Not the sort of attention we want.'
Goris felt a wave of nausea as he heard a desperate scream from deep inside the alley.
‘Shouldn’t we help?’ he hissed at his brother.
‘You see anyone else helping?’
Goris looked around. Everyone else carried on about their business as though nothing untoward had happened. His giddiness at exploring the city disappeared in an instant, replaced by a sense of foreboding that gnawed at his gut before a dull shock cast itself upon him. The only thing that mattered was putting one foot in front of the other and staying close to Hesler. His mind dared to wonder what might have happened to him if he’d made this journey alone, and he ran from that thought as he would from some hidden horror emerging from a dark alley.
When they arrived outside an inn, he couldn't recall which direction they had travelled, or how much time had passed since the incident at the docks. He glanced up at the painted wooden sign depicting a boar with an apple skewered on its tusk. The words 'The Hog and Apple' were painted in faded scarlet at the top of the sign. The entrance was guarded by two toughs who looked like they'd lost more fights than they'd won, both displaying an impressive array of scars on their faces, necks and arms, and noses that bent in both directions. As they approached the entrance, Goris shrunk from the guard’s predatory grin.
'Watch how you go in there, my lovely lads.’ The other tough let loose a laugh that sounded like gravel being shaken in a sack, punctuated by a hacking cough.
Goris nearly fell over Hesler as they entered the common room. The air stank of ale, sweat and vomit; it was all Goris could do not to cover his nose and mouth with his coat. They descended a few rickety wooden steps and edged tentatively towards the bar. More than once they found their route to the bar blocked by a wall of backs, with Hesler's polite requests for passage met with challenging stares.
They scurried through a gap which opened to let a serving girl pass. Reaching the relative sanctuary of the bar, Goris took a deep breath and leaned close to Hesler. 'Do you think they have any rooms? Because I'm not sure I want to stay here.'
Hesler looked as though he shared his brother's reservations. 'I'm afraid it may well be here or the streets, brother. Dusk approaches, and I'd rather spend a night here and move elsewhere tomorrow than risk the Rattle after dark.'
Goris’ stomach clenched. The din of the common room meant that he had to lean in and shout in Hesler's ear to be heard. 'I don't see any other villagers.' He’d imagined sharing an ale and a pie with people just like him, coming to the city for the first time from their village. Sons and daughters of shepherds, miners and masons. He didn’t know what the men and women in the common room did for a living, but there wasn’t a friendly face among them.
Hesler took a quick glance around. 'Maybe they're all in their rooms. Or maybe there's a kitchen, or somewhere quieter. We'll just have to ask, won't we?'
Goris was grateful for his brother's attempts to appear calm, even if he was looking every which way, as if expecting the worst. As Hesler set about trying to secure a room, Goris noted a man at a table a few paces away, staring right at them. He looked cleaner cut than most in the common room, his grey eyes calm yet knowing. He sat in a relaxed manner but appeared ready to spring into action at any moment. Goris had the overwhelming sense this man was the most dangerous person in the building. He broke eye contact, pushing down a swell of panic. We've walked straight into a living nightmare! Hesler leaned over the bar, trying to get the attention of the innkeeper.
A grimy-faced, burly man in a tattered grey overcoat plodded towards Goris. Goris looked around frantically for an avenue of escape, but it was too late. The man casually batted Goris aside. Losing his balance, Goris collided with a pock-nosed drunk and was drenched in sour ale. Snarling, the man turned a vicious glare on Goris and swung a tankard at his head. Hesler caught the blow just before it landed.
Goris froze as the drunk wrestled with Hesler. Another man drew a notched, rusty knife from the sleeve of his coat, approaching Hesler from behind with a toothless grin. Goris tried to shout a warning, but his throat constricted with panic. Unable to breathe, he fell to his hands and knees and vomited violently, desperately trying to take a breath.
The rusty blade clattered to the floor as No-teeth’s legs were kicked from under him. As he pitched upwards, an elbow cracked into his sternum and he landed with a crunch. He lay unmoving in the spreading pool of Goris’ vomit. The clean cut man from the table stood between Goris and Hesler, inviting any further challenge.
Pock-nose backed away, hands raised in apology as he repeatedly ducked his head. ‘Sorry, Hesp. Didn’t mean no harm. My ale was spilled, is all. Man’s got a right to be angered over spilled ale.’
Hesp sneered, roughly pulling Goris to his feet by the collar of his coat. Hesler, a thin trickle of blood running from above his eye, breathed heavily following his altercation. Goris opened his mouth to thank the stranger. 'Sir, thank-'
'Save it,' the man snarled, tightening his grip on Goris’ coat and marching him towards the exit. He nodded for Hesler to follow.
The thugs guarding the door bowed their heads at a look from Hesp, who handed each of them a silver coin. ‘For your trouble, friends.’
The Rattle was a different world now the sun had disappeared behind the hills to the west. Shadows loomed longer with every heartbeat, carrying the promise of violence. Hesp had a firm grip on Goris' arm, dragging them left and right through a maze of narrow streets and alleys. He paused briefly in the face of Hesler's frantic questioning. 'Shut up. You're not in any danger. But it's best for everyone if you're not seen with me. Now, let's proceed. Quickly.'
They reached the end of an alley that opened up onto a wide street. Hesp surveyed the street before turning back to them. 'There's an inn, thirty paces on the left. The Carpenter's Cup. The innkeeper, Delder and his wife Jula, they're good people. Tell them Hesp sent you. They'll find you a room.'
'You're not coming with us?' Goris asked, nervous about being on his own for even a short amount of time.
'Got business to attend to. Overdue business, after saving your scrawny hides. Go, now.'
Hesler pulled Goris along, muttering his thanks to Hesp as they left the alley, and scurried towards the entrance of the Carpenter's Cup.