chapter 6
previous chapter
Up on the Upper Spire, the view is magnificient.
From this high up, you can see for miles around. The scenery on the ground forms an amazing tapestry of colour: but since most of the ground is the City, the tapestry's colours consists mostly of various shades of brown and grey, which is, nonetheless, fascinating in its own special way. The outlying islands are just visible in the distance, and the stream of airships, coming and going, is strikingly similar to a line of ants ferrying food to their nest. When the popper fruits rain down, an observer in the Upper Spire sees a massive shower of purple dots, slowly expanding and spreading sustenance to the waiting populace below.
The atmosphere in the Upper Spire is markedly different, too. Way up here, far away from the pollution and noise of the City, life is slow and the air is fresh. Small, quaint villages jut out of the vertical cliffs, supported by a network of wooden platforms. After generations of selective breeding, the mountain goats in the Upper Spire are able to walking up vertical slopes, thanks to hooves that are harder than diamonds, capable of clinging on to any rock surface. The Upper Spire goats spend their days clinging vertically to the slopes, calmly chewing on the horizontally growing grass. Occasionally a cliff-climber will risk life and limb to milk the goats.
And in the spirit of all scenic, quiet, out-of-the-way locations in existence, the main economy has shifted from traditional activities (such as milking vertical goats and staring blankly at clouds passing by) to... tourism. City dwellers were willing to spend large amounts of gold to travel many miles from the hustle and bustle down below, and the locals were quick to capitalise on this opportunity.
First came the hotels, of course. Due to the pressure of space (mostly the complete lack of any horizontal building space), the hotels were built horizontally, jutting out of the sheer cliffs. In the lower parts of the Upper Spire, multi-coloured hotels sprang into existence like candy bars, and an entire section of the Upper Spire was a warzone of neon signs and billboards, all jostling for the all-important Tourist Dollar.
Unfortunately, the hotel owners soon realised there was a limited number of tourists to fight over, and soon a second mini-economy boomed. Gigantic elevators were built to make it easier for more tourists to reach the hotels, and the cut-throat competition soon lowered prices to such an affordable level that large numbers of City Dwellers were able to reach the Upper Spire's ring of hotels.
One of the phenomena related to a tourism boom is the sudden appearance of stalls selling a wide selection of souvenirs. There were genuine goods, well-made fakes, and fakes of such low quality that you would have to be incredibly short-sighted AND stupid to believe that they were genuine. And by some twisted law of economics, the price of everything within the tourism zone goes up triplefold(at least), with goods being sold at a slightly more sensible price after intense haggling.
Eventually, someone set up a bunch of casinos and a theme park, and soon the entire bottom half of the Upper Spire was no longer quiet nor out-of-the-way. The villages and goats complained about the constant noise and moved further up the slopes, and life went on.
* * * * *
Night time.
The five Ancients passed through a little village in the Upper Spire. Clinging to a nearby wall, a goat stared at them curiously, then shrugged and continued chewing a particularly interesting blade of grass.
* * * * *
Cantrip woke up in a tiny cell.
His mouth felt drier than a drought in a desert, his body felt like it had gone through a blender (with sharp blades) several times, and his head felt like something was trying to crack it open by hammering it from the inside. His last coherent memory was leaping out of the
dust-filled stairwell like a creature emerging from the smoking depths of hell, and then he remembered his muscles finally giving up after the strain of running while carrying a man a lot heavier than himself.
And now he appeared to be in a cell. A prison cell, by the looks of it. Seraph was nowhere to be found, and after that blow he had taken, Cantrip was not even sure if Seraph was still alive. The cell looked exactly like how Cantrip imagined a prison cell would look like: a small barred window on one wall, three walls of solid stone, and a fourth wall made entirely of thick, steel prison bars. He was lying on a wooden plank suspended from the walls by diagonal, rusty metal chains, and there was a hole in the floor emanating a foul smell. The only light there was came from the corridor: outside the barred window was the dark blue shroud of night.
Cantrip tried to move, and failed. His muscles were sulking, and were currently ignoring all instructions from his brain. Cantrip gave up, and went back to sleep. At least he did not appear to be in any immediate danger at the moment.
* * * * *
Time rolled on, slowly and ponderously, as it had always done.
Cantrip opened his eyes. A faint light streamed in from the window, so it was either dawn or dusk, he couldn't tell. Someone has shoved a plate of food through the bars: over-ripe, worm-infested popper fruits, and some kind of unidentified meat. There was a tin cup filled with dirty water as well.
Cantrip groaned and stirred. At least his muscles were working again, even though his whole body ached as he moved. He rolled off the makeshift bed, and took a bite from the fruit, carefully spitting out any stray worms, and washed down the foul sweetness with the water. Urgh.
He peeked through the bars, but the only thing he could see were more cells. There was no sign of other prisoners: either there weren't any, or they chose not to be seen. Most likely the latter.
Great, Cantrip thought. What a day. Dragged along on some wild goose chase by a total stranger, almost killed by a metal freak of nature, barely escaped a collapsing underground cavern, and now stuck inside a prison cell in who-knows-where. And what's worst, the total stranger who started all this was nowhere to be found.
There were footsteps down the corridor.
* * * * *
The City Watch was the most ruthless civil defence force on the island. Actually, it was the only civil defence force on the island, but that didn't stop it from being utterly ruthless and slightly corrupt anyway. There was an actual law of the land written down somewhere, in a big book, no doubt, but the Watch long ago considered it to be more of a book full of friendly (and more importantly, entirely optional) advice on how to maintain peace in the land.
Strangely enough, this method did manage to keep the peace, of sorts. Petty criminals were hurled into a jail cell without trial, and their sole punishment was meted out by the other, less petty criminals already inside the prisons. Anyone convicted of a capital crime (conviction is used loosely here, since the Watch served as both jury and judge) was kept in the cells for a day in case anything else turned up, and then they were executed in the morning.
The members called themselves Watchmen, and they moved in pairs. While lower ranked Watchmen cleared the traffic and chased vandals and street urchin, the higher ranking Watchmen were highly trained street brawlers who were extremely good at dishing out the pain, and eventually crime around the island was bullied into submission.
The Watchmen incorporated a lot of nifty tricks in their fight against crime, carrying all manner of concealed weapons and making full use of the latest technology. Every Watchman, for instance, carried a box with a small imp inside.
The thing about imps was their ability to work tirelessly for years and years, as long as they were occasionally fed a small lump of cheese. They were also very magical creatures, so they could be used for all sorts of things. In this case, the imps could be persuaded to very magically exist in TWO PLACES AT THE SAME TIME, and so they were both inside the box AND not inside the box. Not inside the box specifically referring to being inside the communications room of a Watchpost, where multiple imps relayed information to each other. It was, admittedly, exactly like radio, without the pesky batteries and electromagnetic waves.
Why do things the hard way?
* * * * *
To Cantrip's utter shock, a Watchwoman appeared and peered in through the bars. He supposed it was entirely possible that Watchwomen existed, but he had never actually seen one before.
She had greying hair and muscles like a horse, and looked like a grizzled veteran of many street fights. She shot Cantrip a weary glance.
"Hey, you can't keep me in here!" protested Cantrip feebly.
"Oh? Really? And if anyone else is found in a room full of dead people in the future, we shall certainly not hesitate to let THEM walk away too," replied the Watchwoman sarcastically.
"I didn't kill those people!"
"Maybe, or maybe not. But what we DO know is that you were there, and until we figure out what you were doing there, you are staying put in this cell," said the Watchwoman. She gazed coldly at Cantrip, and there was several seconds of embarassed silence. The Watchwoman turned to leave.
"Hey wait.. where's the bounty hunter?" wondered Cantrip.
The Watchwoman paused. "We have him in the Infirmary, and he looks pretty messed up. But he'll survive. And between you and me..." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "...good job back there, almost every dead guy we found is on one of our wanted lists. But we figured you'd be safer in the cells. Oh, and my name is Tiffany, but all my friends call me Tiffy," and this was coming from a woman who could probably break every bone in Cantrip's body effortlessly. Using only one finger.
And with that, she winked and walked away, leaving a stunned Cantrip clawing for a reply, and failing. His mouth opened and closed like a goldfish, and gave up. Some things were simply beyond comprehension.
next chapter
Up on the Upper Spire, the view is magnificient.
From this high up, you can see for miles around. The scenery on the ground forms an amazing tapestry of colour: but since most of the ground is the City, the tapestry's colours consists mostly of various shades of brown and grey, which is, nonetheless, fascinating in its own special way. The outlying islands are just visible in the distance, and the stream of airships, coming and going, is strikingly similar to a line of ants ferrying food to their nest. When the popper fruits rain down, an observer in the Upper Spire sees a massive shower of purple dots, slowly expanding and spreading sustenance to the waiting populace below.
The atmosphere in the Upper Spire is markedly different, too. Way up here, far away from the pollution and noise of the City, life is slow and the air is fresh. Small, quaint villages jut out of the vertical cliffs, supported by a network of wooden platforms. After generations of selective breeding, the mountain goats in the Upper Spire are able to walking up vertical slopes, thanks to hooves that are harder than diamonds, capable of clinging on to any rock surface. The Upper Spire goats spend their days clinging vertically to the slopes, calmly chewing on the horizontally growing grass. Occasionally a cliff-climber will risk life and limb to milk the goats.
And in the spirit of all scenic, quiet, out-of-the-way locations in existence, the main economy has shifted from traditional activities (such as milking vertical goats and staring blankly at clouds passing by) to... tourism. City dwellers were willing to spend large amounts of gold to travel many miles from the hustle and bustle down below, and the locals were quick to capitalise on this opportunity.
First came the hotels, of course. Due to the pressure of space (mostly the complete lack of any horizontal building space), the hotels were built horizontally, jutting out of the sheer cliffs. In the lower parts of the Upper Spire, multi-coloured hotels sprang into existence like candy bars, and an entire section of the Upper Spire was a warzone of neon signs and billboards, all jostling for the all-important Tourist Dollar.
Unfortunately, the hotel owners soon realised there was a limited number of tourists to fight over, and soon a second mini-economy boomed. Gigantic elevators were built to make it easier for more tourists to reach the hotels, and the cut-throat competition soon lowered prices to such an affordable level that large numbers of City Dwellers were able to reach the Upper Spire's ring of hotels.
One of the phenomena related to a tourism boom is the sudden appearance of stalls selling a wide selection of souvenirs. There were genuine goods, well-made fakes, and fakes of such low quality that you would have to be incredibly short-sighted AND stupid to believe that they were genuine. And by some twisted law of economics, the price of everything within the tourism zone goes up triplefold(at least), with goods being sold at a slightly more sensible price after intense haggling.
Eventually, someone set up a bunch of casinos and a theme park, and soon the entire bottom half of the Upper Spire was no longer quiet nor out-of-the-way. The villages and goats complained about the constant noise and moved further up the slopes, and life went on.
* * * * *
Night time.
The five Ancients passed through a little village in the Upper Spire. Clinging to a nearby wall, a goat stared at them curiously, then shrugged and continued chewing a particularly interesting blade of grass.
* * * * *
Cantrip woke up in a tiny cell.
His mouth felt drier than a drought in a desert, his body felt like it had gone through a blender (with sharp blades) several times, and his head felt like something was trying to crack it open by hammering it from the inside. His last coherent memory was leaping out of the
dust-filled stairwell like a creature emerging from the smoking depths of hell, and then he remembered his muscles finally giving up after the strain of running while carrying a man a lot heavier than himself.
And now he appeared to be in a cell. A prison cell, by the looks of it. Seraph was nowhere to be found, and after that blow he had taken, Cantrip was not even sure if Seraph was still alive. The cell looked exactly like how Cantrip imagined a prison cell would look like: a small barred window on one wall, three walls of solid stone, and a fourth wall made entirely of thick, steel prison bars. He was lying on a wooden plank suspended from the walls by diagonal, rusty metal chains, and there was a hole in the floor emanating a foul smell. The only light there was came from the corridor: outside the barred window was the dark blue shroud of night.
Cantrip tried to move, and failed. His muscles were sulking, and were currently ignoring all instructions from his brain. Cantrip gave up, and went back to sleep. At least he did not appear to be in any immediate danger at the moment.
* * * * *
Time rolled on, slowly and ponderously, as it had always done.
Cantrip opened his eyes. A faint light streamed in from the window, so it was either dawn or dusk, he couldn't tell. Someone has shoved a plate of food through the bars: over-ripe, worm-infested popper fruits, and some kind of unidentified meat. There was a tin cup filled with dirty water as well.
Cantrip groaned and stirred. At least his muscles were working again, even though his whole body ached as he moved. He rolled off the makeshift bed, and took a bite from the fruit, carefully spitting out any stray worms, and washed down the foul sweetness with the water. Urgh.
He peeked through the bars, but the only thing he could see were more cells. There was no sign of other prisoners: either there weren't any, or they chose not to be seen. Most likely the latter.
Great, Cantrip thought. What a day. Dragged along on some wild goose chase by a total stranger, almost killed by a metal freak of nature, barely escaped a collapsing underground cavern, and now stuck inside a prison cell in who-knows-where. And what's worst, the total stranger who started all this was nowhere to be found.
There were footsteps down the corridor.
* * * * *
The City Watch was the most ruthless civil defence force on the island. Actually, it was the only civil defence force on the island, but that didn't stop it from being utterly ruthless and slightly corrupt anyway. There was an actual law of the land written down somewhere, in a big book, no doubt, but the Watch long ago considered it to be more of a book full of friendly (and more importantly, entirely optional) advice on how to maintain peace in the land.
Strangely enough, this method did manage to keep the peace, of sorts. Petty criminals were hurled into a jail cell without trial, and their sole punishment was meted out by the other, less petty criminals already inside the prisons. Anyone convicted of a capital crime (conviction is used loosely here, since the Watch served as both jury and judge) was kept in the cells for a day in case anything else turned up, and then they were executed in the morning.
The members called themselves Watchmen, and they moved in pairs. While lower ranked Watchmen cleared the traffic and chased vandals and street urchin, the higher ranking Watchmen were highly trained street brawlers who were extremely good at dishing out the pain, and eventually crime around the island was bullied into submission.
The Watchmen incorporated a lot of nifty tricks in their fight against crime, carrying all manner of concealed weapons and making full use of the latest technology. Every Watchman, for instance, carried a box with a small imp inside.
The thing about imps was their ability to work tirelessly for years and years, as long as they were occasionally fed a small lump of cheese. They were also very magical creatures, so they could be used for all sorts of things. In this case, the imps could be persuaded to very magically exist in TWO PLACES AT THE SAME TIME, and so they were both inside the box AND not inside the box. Not inside the box specifically referring to being inside the communications room of a Watchpost, where multiple imps relayed information to each other. It was, admittedly, exactly like radio, without the pesky batteries and electromagnetic waves.
Why do things the hard way?
* * * * *
To Cantrip's utter shock, a Watchwoman appeared and peered in through the bars. He supposed it was entirely possible that Watchwomen existed, but he had never actually seen one before.
She had greying hair and muscles like a horse, and looked like a grizzled veteran of many street fights. She shot Cantrip a weary glance.
"Hey, you can't keep me in here!" protested Cantrip feebly.
"Oh? Really? And if anyone else is found in a room full of dead people in the future, we shall certainly not hesitate to let THEM walk away too," replied the Watchwoman sarcastically.
"I didn't kill those people!"
"Maybe, or maybe not. But what we DO know is that you were there, and until we figure out what you were doing there, you are staying put in this cell," said the Watchwoman. She gazed coldly at Cantrip, and there was several seconds of embarassed silence. The Watchwoman turned to leave.
"Hey wait.. where's the bounty hunter?" wondered Cantrip.
The Watchwoman paused. "We have him in the Infirmary, and he looks pretty messed up. But he'll survive. And between you and me..." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "...good job back there, almost every dead guy we found is on one of our wanted lists. But we figured you'd be safer in the cells. Oh, and my name is Tiffany, but all my friends call me Tiffy," and this was coming from a woman who could probably break every bone in Cantrip's body effortlessly. Using only one finger.
And with that, she winked and walked away, leaving a stunned Cantrip clawing for a reply, and failing. His mouth opened and closed like a goldfish, and gave up. Some things were simply beyond comprehension.
next chapter
posted by nerdook at 12:06 AM
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