chapter 3
previous chapter
The City was home to more than five million people of all shapes and sizes, squeezed into a circular area around a very improbably shaped mountain, and located within the bowl of the island. There are many drawbacks to such and arrangement, up to and including the possibility of massive loss of life should there ever be a fire or flood, since there isn't actually anywhere to run to (which doesn't involve a sheer drop into the clouds, that is).
The other major problem was the lack of land for farming.
Sure, the airships bring in a lot of food every day, but five million people consume so much food that thousands of airships would be required to ship enough food into the city. This was a problem for several years: people can tolerate oppression for many years, but widespread hunger tends to get bumped up right to the top of any government's list of priorities.
Much like the airships, there were many spectacular failures before they found a solution that worked: popper fruits.
Popper fruits were a real find: they grew only on rocks, soaked moisture from the air, started bearing fruit a year after they were planted as a seed, and each bite was equivalent to a million sugarcanes condensed into one small purple-coloured sphere. The only disadvantage: they were not named popper fruits for nothing. Whenever the fruits are almost ripe, they suddenly expand in size (like very purple popcorn) and pop off the stalks.
Popper fruits were the staple diet in the City, because they were so readily available. Most of the fruits were grown on the practically vertical lower slopes of the Spire, and every month or so the mountain was covered with purple explosions as fruit drizzled from the sky into the City below: the locals call it the Purple Rain.
* * * * *
Cantrip grabbed a popper fruit as it hurtled through the air, and took a bite. Across the city, popper fruit gatherers swooped in, collecting as many fruits as possible to be sold in the market later. City folks are nothing if not enterprising.
Seraph absent mindedly dodged a purple projectile as he slowed down, and stopped in front of a rather nondescript door. Cantrip took a quick look around and realised they were right at the edge of a very dodgy part of the city. Dodgy would be too good a word, in fact: even the street urchins avoided this neighbourhood. It straddled both the City and the Undercity, and contained the worst of both worlds.
Cantrip could have sworn there were unseen eyes gazing intently at him. He shrank closer to Seraph: nothing reassures like a buddy with a belt full of sharp steel knives, and most importantly, one who (presumably) knows how to use them effectively.
Seraph stepped up to the door and pondered quietly for a while. Finally he asked Cantrip, "Hey kid. You any good at picklocking?"
"Who me?" Cantrip grinned. He sidled up to the door and glanced at the lock. Cantilever IV locks, with extra special tumblers designed to make it harder to pick, and triple springs on random tumblers for that extra security. In other words, a piece of cake. Like magic, a small bendy metal paperclip appeared in Cantrip's hand, and he went to work. Six seconds later, the lock clicked and the door swung open.
Cantrip had just enough time to catch a glint of cold steel, there was a shout, and then everything else was a violent blur.
When it was all over, he realised he was flat out on the floor. There was a general feeling of unpleasantness in the air, which was possibly due to the fact that everyone in the room beyond the door was either a) really dead, b) wishing they were dead, or c) pretending to be dead, except for Seraph. The bounty hunter's knives were currently spread strategically across the room, mostly in various body parts of the unfortunate people from categories a) and b).
Seraph's sword was drawn, and he stood in the middle of the room, every fibre in his being trembling with the wrath of a thousand angry wives. Cantrip could have sworn he was posing, and a passing breeze obligingly blew Seraph's hair. Cantrip slowly pulled himself off the dirty alley floor, and crawled into the room.
"I say..." he whispered in a trembling voice. "Er. What exactly are we doing here?"
Seraph stirred from his Harbinger of Death pose, and shoved his sword back into its sheath. "I've got another person to pick up, and then I'll drop both of you off on the way back," he explained as he plucked a bloodstained knife out of somebody's thigh. "Saves time, you know, since I'm passing through this neighbourhood and all."
"Right... and all these people are...?"
"Brigands and other assorted scum of the City. Think of this as.. performing my civic duty," Seraph grinned, and gave a hearty thumbs up. Bonus points for that quote, he thought to himself, you have to admit it has potential.
Cantrip groaned. "And who exactly are we looking for?"
Seraph did not reply, and instead bounced across the room and stopped in front of a very normal looking candlestick holder set into the wall. Next to it was a grubby sign proclaiming:
DoN'T PuLL THe CaNDLeSTiCK. oR ELsE.
Seraph gripped it and pulled.
* * * * *
Up on the mountain, the Ancients were preparing.
Long forgotten cupboards were opened, releasing decades of dust and decay. There was a hint of leather, and a buckle was pulled tight. A swirl of black cloth, kicking up a mini storm of dust. A soft 'clink', and the sound of weapons being checked and resheathed. Hoods were pulled over heads.
And then they were ready. Within the hour, the fortress had been locked and emptied. The Ancients were on the move, and there was nowhere to go but down.
Hidden in the shadows, the messenger watched them leave.
next chapter
The City was home to more than five million people of all shapes and sizes, squeezed into a circular area around a very improbably shaped mountain, and located within the bowl of the island. There are many drawbacks to such and arrangement, up to and including the possibility of massive loss of life should there ever be a fire or flood, since there isn't actually anywhere to run to (which doesn't involve a sheer drop into the clouds, that is).
The other major problem was the lack of land for farming.
Sure, the airships bring in a lot of food every day, but five million people consume so much food that thousands of airships would be required to ship enough food into the city. This was a problem for several years: people can tolerate oppression for many years, but widespread hunger tends to get bumped up right to the top of any government's list of priorities.
Much like the airships, there were many spectacular failures before they found a solution that worked: popper fruits.
Popper fruits were a real find: they grew only on rocks, soaked moisture from the air, started bearing fruit a year after they were planted as a seed, and each bite was equivalent to a million sugarcanes condensed into one small purple-coloured sphere. The only disadvantage: they were not named popper fruits for nothing. Whenever the fruits are almost ripe, they suddenly expand in size (like very purple popcorn) and pop off the stalks.
Popper fruits were the staple diet in the City, because they were so readily available. Most of the fruits were grown on the practically vertical lower slopes of the Spire, and every month or so the mountain was covered with purple explosions as fruit drizzled from the sky into the City below: the locals call it the Purple Rain.
* * * * *
Cantrip grabbed a popper fruit as it hurtled through the air, and took a bite. Across the city, popper fruit gatherers swooped in, collecting as many fruits as possible to be sold in the market later. City folks are nothing if not enterprising.
Seraph absent mindedly dodged a purple projectile as he slowed down, and stopped in front of a rather nondescript door. Cantrip took a quick look around and realised they were right at the edge of a very dodgy part of the city. Dodgy would be too good a word, in fact: even the street urchins avoided this neighbourhood. It straddled both the City and the Undercity, and contained the worst of both worlds.
Cantrip could have sworn there were unseen eyes gazing intently at him. He shrank closer to Seraph: nothing reassures like a buddy with a belt full of sharp steel knives, and most importantly, one who (presumably) knows how to use them effectively.
Seraph stepped up to the door and pondered quietly for a while. Finally he asked Cantrip, "Hey kid. You any good at picklocking?"
"Who me?" Cantrip grinned. He sidled up to the door and glanced at the lock. Cantilever IV locks, with extra special tumblers designed to make it harder to pick, and triple springs on random tumblers for that extra security. In other words, a piece of cake. Like magic, a small bendy metal paperclip appeared in Cantrip's hand, and he went to work. Six seconds later, the lock clicked and the door swung open.
Cantrip had just enough time to catch a glint of cold steel, there was a shout, and then everything else was a violent blur.
When it was all over, he realised he was flat out on the floor. There was a general feeling of unpleasantness in the air, which was possibly due to the fact that everyone in the room beyond the door was either a) really dead, b) wishing they were dead, or c) pretending to be dead, except for Seraph. The bounty hunter's knives were currently spread strategically across the room, mostly in various body parts of the unfortunate people from categories a) and b).
Seraph's sword was drawn, and he stood in the middle of the room, every fibre in his being trembling with the wrath of a thousand angry wives. Cantrip could have sworn he was posing, and a passing breeze obligingly blew Seraph's hair. Cantrip slowly pulled himself off the dirty alley floor, and crawled into the room.
"I say..." he whispered in a trembling voice. "Er. What exactly are we doing here?"
Seraph stirred from his Harbinger of Death pose, and shoved his sword back into its sheath. "I've got another person to pick up, and then I'll drop both of you off on the way back," he explained as he plucked a bloodstained knife out of somebody's thigh. "Saves time, you know, since I'm passing through this neighbourhood and all."
"Right... and all these people are...?"
"Brigands and other assorted scum of the City. Think of this as.. performing my civic duty," Seraph grinned, and gave a hearty thumbs up. Bonus points for that quote, he thought to himself, you have to admit it has potential.
Cantrip groaned. "And who exactly are we looking for?"
Seraph did not reply, and instead bounced across the room and stopped in front of a very normal looking candlestick holder set into the wall. Next to it was a grubby sign proclaiming:
DoN'T PuLL THe CaNDLeSTiCK. oR ELsE.
Seraph gripped it and pulled.
* * * * *
Up on the mountain, the Ancients were preparing.
Long forgotten cupboards were opened, releasing decades of dust and decay. There was a hint of leather, and a buckle was pulled tight. A swirl of black cloth, kicking up a mini storm of dust. A soft 'clink', and the sound of weapons being checked and resheathed. Hoods were pulled over heads.
And then they were ready. Within the hour, the fortress had been locked and emptied. The Ancients were on the move, and there was nowhere to go but down.
Hidden in the shadows, the messenger watched them leave.
next chapter
posted by nerdook at 10:18 PM
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