Chương 39: V2: Chapter 11 - Little Gur Em

The chimes of Grom Galimus rang out the midday bells as Royce led Hadrian past the harbor where dozens of sail-stripped masts looked like a forest in winter. They had spent the morning walking around the city. Royce had moved with the speed of intent, which kept Hadrian from asking questions. Royce never cared for them, and Hadrian assumed everything would reveal itself in time.

Hours passed, marked neatly by the cathedral bells, as they cut through crowds crossing the bridges to the west side of the city, then circled back. Returning to the plaza, which by then had filled up with its usual crowd, Royce led the way south along the river, taking what appeared to be a nonsensical route that zigzagged streets to the harbor.

"Where are we going?" Hadrian finally asked as they passed between a pair of giant elephant tusks that made a gateway into a neighborhood of narrow streets.

"Hmm?" Royce murmured, glancing back as if he hadn't heard exactly what Hadrian had said, which was a sure sign something was up. The blocks past the elephant tusks were so tightly packed that clotheslines stretched between buildings created a complex crisscrossed webbing. Those not covered with drying clothes were decorated with colorful flags or flower-laden garlands.

The passage was jammed with people who edged around the obstacles of vendor stands where merchants purposely placed their carts in the way of traffic and shouted at customers in more than one language. From some unseen place, rhythmic drums pounded an addictive beat.

"Are you heading somewhere or just wandering?" Hadrian shouted as he dodged around a dark-skinned woman carrying two caged chickens that fluttered and squawked.

"Are you looking for the driver in the crowds?"

"Oh, no." Royce shook his head.

"I know where the driver is, but there's no sense in going after him until tonight." Royce made an elegant spin, dodging around a wagon of firewood, his cloak sweeping behind. Trying to keep up, Hadrian nearly plowed into a mother holding the hands of two children, but halted at the brink. All three looked up at him and smiled. He smiled back, concluding a silent but clear conversation that included understanding, forgiveness, and a bit of humor.

Slipping past, and around the wagon, Hadrian struggled to catch Royce as he darted and wove from one hole to the next—holes that all too often fit only Royce. Is he trying to lose me? They broke out of the narrows and merged into a broader marketplace, where Hadrian was able to use his long legs to cut the distance.

"So... what? We're sightseeing?" Royce glanced back to show the irritation on his face.

"What, then?"

"I'm looking for another place to lodge. Another boardinghouse. Figure there has to be something else. We didn't look everywhere. Maybe in the less affluent areas we'll find something. I'd rather share a room with rats than have another breakfast with that woman."

"Are you serious? The city is booked, and the room we have is fantastic."

"Our room is being let out by a crazy person."

"She's nice."

"She's demented and will likely knife us in our sleep."

"Evelyn Hemsworth? You can't be serious."

"No, I'm not. I'm obviously speaking metaphorically. It is far more likely that she'll poison us with tomorrow's breakfast. That's how her type usually works."

"Her type? What do you mean, her type?" Royce didn't answer. He was moving again and once more eluded Hadrian. This time he cut around a group who gawked at a veil-draped young woman dancing with zills on her fingers. At her slippered feet lay a cloth hat littered with a few copper coins. If Hadrian weren't concerned about losing Royce in the crowd, he would have lingered a bit.

They were in the heart of the neighborhood dominated by colorful pottery, flatbreads, bright clothes, baskets, wood carvings, and exotic spices. Several signs denoted the location as Little Gur Em, a reference to the jungles of Calis, which were both dense and dangerous. To Hadrian, who had spent time in the real Gur Em, it seemed like a slur, but the residents appeared to have embraced the name, adding it to their carts. LITTLE GUR EM OILS AND SERUMS, one plaque read, GUR EM JUNGLE TEAS, another.

All around, dark-skinned Calians spoke in accents or in the harsh jungle tongue of the Tenkin language. Old wrinkled men in loose wraps clustered at open-air tables, playing games of Heker, drinking coffee, and smoking from tall brass water pipes. Hadrian recalled the salt and pepper shakers on Evelyn's table and realized that immigrants spilling into Alburn had brought all the flavors of home. The music, the smells, the voices and faces all threatened to unlock mental doors Hadrian preferred to keep closed.

Moving down that street, he wasn't pushing through a crowd so much as through a thicket of thorny memories. This was an era of his life he'd walked away from. One he had vowed never to return to. He struggled to ignore the street and focused on Royce.

"Evelyn isn't crazy," Hadrian said.

"She's normal. That's your problem with her. You don't know how to deal with normal."

"She's not normal."

"Sure she is. The woman is upstanding and decent. You can't even recognize it anymore because you're so... so higgery-jiggery." Royce stopped and looked back at him. The thief wanted to scowl, to show his anger and disdain, but he was having trouble. Royce looked like a person trying not to sneeze, but that wasn't what he was holding back. He fought down an unwanted smile.

"Don't be absurd," he snapped.

"A person can't be higgery-jiggery. Higgery-jiggery is something a person does." Hadrian chuckled.

"Oh, so you speak fluent Evelyn Hemsworth now?" They had ended up in front of a pushcart painted with a landscape of a jungle waterfall. The picture offered an impressive display of carvings in wood and polished stone. The man behind it, a short, thin fellow with a white beard and big teeth, eagerly jumped to his feet.

"You need a gift to settle a dispute with your girlfriend, yes?" he said to Royce. The thief looked at the Calian cart worker, aghast.

"Ah yes, it is clear from the look of distress on your face. You have had a squabble and now you must make up with a present!" the merchant declared.

"That is the only way to properly resolve these setbacks with a sweetheart."

"She's not my sweetheart."

"My apologies, good sir!" The merchant smiled and clasped his hands before him, revealing long thin fingers.

"And I can see the problem clearly now. Oh, yes! It is a bickering feud with your wife that brings you to my cart. Ah, yes, a far more serious state of affairs than a mere misunderstanding with a trollop. Never a good thing when the wife suspects you of higgery-jiggery!" He grinned.

"But better than jiggery-pokery, yes?" He followed this with a wink that left Royce staring at the man as if he had three heads. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

"Now, what you need is a peace offering." He rubbed his hands together then flexed his fingers as if he were about to perform a magic trick.

"A fine bit of artistry to make her forget your transgressions." The man snatched up a figurine of a man and woman in a passionate embrace. He held up the finely carved sculpture.

"This— this will make her remember why she married you, yes? Hand-carved in Dagastan by a ninety-year-old blind shepherd who was rumored to have once been a pirate. And because you are in such a dire state, I will sell it to you for only a single pair of silver tenents. The answers to your prayers, yes?"

"No!" Royce snapped.

"Are you sure, Royce?" Hadrian grinned.

"The little missus might forgive you when she sees that." Royce didn't respond except to draw up his hood as he started to walk away; then he stopped. His sight fixed on one of the other figurines in the back.

"That one," he said, pointing at a hefty sculpture of a man standing triumphantly with one foot on a defeated foe.

"So your wife is a devotee of the arena games?" the happy cart man asked, lifting the figurine up with some difficulty. This was no lightweight bauble.

"And not a better choice will you find should you look the world over."

"He's not looking for a gift for his wife." Hadrian pushed abruptly forward.

"He isn't even married. We aren't looking to buy anything. C'mon, Royce. We should probably find something to eat. Maybe we can—" Hadrian stepped away, but Royce didn't follow.

"What's the story with this one?" Royce asked.

"Why does the man have three swords?"

"Ah!" The merchant grinned at them both, and Hadrian noticed how all his teeth were yellow and crooked.

"This carving is a beautiful work of art created to commemorate the greatest warrior in the world: Galenti, the Tiger of Mandalin, the Hero of Calis, the Courtier of the Queen, and the Bane of the Ba Ran Ghazel."

"I'm hungry. Aren't you hungry?" Hadrian clapped his palm to his stomach.

"I think there's a place that sells meat on a stick over there. Smells great. Ever have meat on a stick?"

"Greatest warrior in the world, eh?" Royce asked.

"That's hard to believe."

"Only to those who have never seen him fight, I would imagine. He was already well-known for his battles against the Ghazel when he arrived in Mandalin. But it was his victories in the arena that brought about his conquest of the queen."

"Is that so?" Royce took down his hood and smiled at Hadrian.

"And who is this queen?" The man turned and plucked another figurine from his inventory—this one of a beautiful, sultry woman with slanted eyes painted in decorative outlines. She had a round, doll-like face with a small pouting mouth accentuated by brilliant red lips. She wore a hat with pheasant feathers and a silken dress that appeared no more than paint on the figure.

"Rea Rhys Ramsey, the illegitimate daughter of the king of Calis. Her half brother, Lemuel Ramsey, ordered her death, but Rea Rhys escaped and retreated to the one place she knew her brother would never look—the east. She followed the Estee River into the ancient Erbon region in the center of the country. There, she rediscovered the ruins of Urlineus. She claimed the ancient imperial city as her own and renamed it Mandalin. Her restoration of the old arena and resumption of the games made her quite popular.

Now she rules Eastern Calis, while her brother rules the west from Rolandue."

"Oh, so she's still alive?"

"Very much so. Rea Rhys is notorious. Living on the fringe of civilization, she manipulates Tenkin warlords by day and battles the Ba Ran Ghazel at night. She has the beguiling beauty of a starry constellation and is as seductive and dangerous as a viper. For nearly two years, Galenti was her paramour and she his patron. The two swam in lakes of liquor, beds of tulan leaves, and pools of blood until his last fight." He pointed at the other statue.

"They call Galenti the Tiger of Mandalin because he battled against a great striped cat."

"Last fight? That statue shows him victorious. Did the beast eventually kill him?" The merchant laughed.

"No, no, Galenti could never be defeated. Like all good legends, he simply disappeared." The man made a flamboyant show of throwing his hands up, as if releasing a dove to the heavens. Then he halted as he looked at Hadrian. The vendor's eyes narrowed as they shifted focus from one sword to the next. Royce turned to Hadrian.

"What do you think? Maybe my missus would like this one. Should I get it?" Hadrian frowned and walked away.

"I'm getting something to eat." Royce didn't buy either statue. This didn't surprise Hadrian. There was no way Royce would walk around with a one-foot figurine under his arm. Nor could he see him riding back to Melengar with it strapped to the back of his saddle. Thus, Hadrian didn't find it odd when Royce joined him at the Erbonese Teahouse without either gift for the missus, but he was surprised when Royce's only question was, "What do they serve here?"

Partially in the street and on the edge of the traffic flow, the café provided a grand view of the city's human parade. The two sat at one of a dozen wobbly tables, which were nestled under an outdoor thatch-covered pavilion. The structure did little to block the wind or sun. The proprietor was a native Alburnian, but all he did was greet the customers. The ones doing the work were Calian immigrants.

"If it's authentic fare," Hadrian replied, "rice and tea. Although if you're adventurous, you could try Hohura. That's a Calian liquor. If you're absolutely insane, you could get a mug of Gurlin Bog, goblin liquor that hisses and tastes like something a campfire vomited."

"I think I'll avoid intoxicants for the time being."

"Then you'll want to steer clear of anything with grenesta in it, and they tend to put the herb in everything. I once had a fabulous stew; ten minutes later I passed out." Royce peered at him with a grimace.

"You're making me long for the Meat House."

"But this place has chairs and a better view." Few areas of the city had thus far matched Little Gur Em for activity and interest, and Hadrian revised his assumption that the name was derogatory. Perhaps it began that way, as the real Gur Em was as universally cherished as Black Fever—which was often contracted in the selfsame jungle. Still, the Gur Em was wild, colorful, fragrant, and bursting with life. In this way, it was mirrored by the Calian district of Rochelle.

Hadrian remembered Calis as overwhelming to the senses, grand bazaars and vast markets set in old cities on the ocean coast, or vibrant villages in the dense brush, but here the experience was jammed into a tiny urban neighborhood of stone buildings and cobbled walkways. It was indeed a jungle of sorts. Without a word, a barefoot man in a long, unadorned tunic delivered a communal bowl of rice and vegetables, which was accompanied by a plate of piled flatbread and dark tea. The food was so hot it steamed.

Hadrian knew the dish as fried kenase. Royce sniffed it dubiously then waited until Hadrian took a bite before joining in.

"How come you didn't ask me about Mandalin?"

"You mean all that stuff the guy said about the queen and a tiger and arena fights?"

"Yeah."

"The truth?" Royce asked.

"Sure."

"Not interested."

"Really?" Hadrian set down his tea, surprised.

"A man tells you this fantastic story about bloody battles and a notorious queen of Calis, and you aren't even mildly curious?"

"If our pasts aren't our present, there's likely a reason."

"So you won't ask me, and I shouldn't ask you?"

"Something like that. Besides, I'm sure in a contest of bygone horrors, I've got you beat." Hadrian peered across the lip of his steaming cup.

"You think so?"

"You don't?" Royce appeared genuinely surprised.

"A whole city still has nightmares about me." Hadrian nodded, then hooked a thumb back in the direction of the merchant.

"You weren't paying attention. An entire country knows about my murderous past."

"Maybe. But they like you. No one is making carvings of me."

"In Calis, they also craft the likenesses of Death and Pestilence. They're an odd people."

"He didn't talk about you like you were a scourge."

"Because all he knows is the myth. Have you ever wondered how a soldier of fortune could be so..." Hadrian paused to take a sip of his tea.

"Naïve?" Royce offered. Hadrian swallowed.

"I was going to say optimistic."

"Really? I suppose it could be described like that. Yeah, I've puzzled over that one for some time. Most mercenaries are a bit more—""Jaded and cynical?" Hadrian offered.

"I was going to say realistic and practical."

"Really? I suppose it could be described like that. But what you might not be considering is that maybe I'm on the return trip."

"Huh?"

"Do you have nightmares of people you killed?"

"No."

"There you go."

"There I go, what?" Hadrian took the clay pot left on their table and poured tea into his cup until it overflowed.

"Every cup is different, but each can only hold so much. Eventually you either stop pouring or make an awful mess. Make a big enough mess and you have to clean up; you have to change." Hadrian looked at the pool of tea dripping through the slats of the wobbly table.

"I made a really big mess, and it wasn't tea I spilled." They were both looking at the puddle of tea when the screaming started.