At the base of the tower, he shifted to groundling and followed the voices through the maze of alleys. Stone was in a little court, sitting on the paving with three groundlings. One had brought a metal brazier and from the smell, it was burning a fuel made from fish oil, unless that odor was coming from the clay pot set atop it. Two of the groundlings were the short fishy-gray variety, the third was larger with orange-tinted gold coloring, though his hair and beard had streaks of gray. All three wore gray and brown clothing, ragged and worn.
As Moon stepped into the court, the groundlings looked up, startled. Stone obviously hadn’t told them he had brought a friend.
Ignoring the stares, Moon went to sit next to Stone. Stone nodded to the gold man, then to the gray groundlings, who were both female. “That’s Enad, and Theri, and Rith. This is Moon.”
Enad lifted his brows at Stone, saying, “Where did you say you were from?” He spoke Kedaic also, with a thick accent.
Stone, scraping tea into the steaming clay pot, didn’t look up at him. “I didn’t.”
“We came on that trader ship,” Moon said. Every ship of any size in the harbor had been a trader ship, and he didn’t intend to be more specific. His travels had given him a lot of experience with how to appear to be willing to answer questions without actually answering them.
Enad nodded, his gaze flicking curiously from Moon to Stone and back. “The one from Bekenadu?” He didn’t wait for an answer, turning to the two women. “Times are hard for traders, too.”
Rith, the second gray groundling, regarded Moon skeptically. She looked older, and the blue-tinged gray of her skin was marked with creases, the scales at the base of her forehead crest turning white. “You’re traders?”
“No. When they stopped here, the traders upped the passage price.” Moon shrugged, leaving them to fill in the rest. Obviously traders would sleep on their ships, or pay for shelter near the harbor, and wouldn’t need to live in abandoned houses.
The skepticism faded and Rith nodded understanding. “There’s not much work here, except at the harbor.”
“Or the towers,” the younger one, Theri, said. Her mouth twisted. “But they’re particular about their servants.”
Stone caught her eye, and said, deadpan, “We’re not pretty enough?” His lips twitched in a smile.
She smiled back, laughing. “Too big, too…” She made a vague gesture.
“They like their servants to look helpless,” Rith added, rueful and bitter. “You look… not helpless.”
Enad nodded confirmation. He thumped himself in the chest. “Me, too.”
“All of them?” Moon asked. He hadn’t seriously considered taking work as a servant to get into Ardan’s tower, but it was a thought.
“All I’ve ever heard of,” Rith said. “Better to get work in the harbor.”
Enad began to elaborate on this, listing the various cargo factors he had worked for and how much coin they paid and what bastards they were. Moon considered how to turn the conversation back to the towers, then decided there was one question newcomers couldn’t fail to ask. When Enad stopped talking, Moon put in, “Who builds a city on a monster?”
All three sighed, and the two women exchanged weary looks. “Everyone asks that,” Theri explained.
Rith took up the story, cutting off Enad’s attempt to tell it. “Long ago, before we were all born, the leviathan slept in a cove, not far off the shore of Emriat-terrene. Great magisters held it with their magic and built this city on its back—no one knows why,” she put in to forestall the obvious question. “To show their power, maybe. They carried all the building stone and metal over on barges from the mines in Emriatterrene. They say the mountains were stripped to the bone before they were done. But the turns went by and the rulers of Emriat-terrene were overthrown, rose again, were overthrown, and the magisters lost their skill, or much of it. The leviathan woke and swam away, taking the city with it.”
Moon exchanged a look with Stone, who lifted a brow and shrugged. He was right; it wasn’t the oddest thing either of them had heard.
Rith continued, “The magisters found ways to keep the city together. They gave the traders spelled direction-finders, so they could still find the city when the leviathan moves. They made a warning bell that tolls when the leviathan grows restless so the fishers know to come back to port and to lift their boats from the water, and the traders know to cast off.”
Moon read the resignation in her expression. “It doesn’t sound like a good life.” It sounded as if the magisters controlled everything, and unlike most other cities, you couldn’t simply walk away.
Enad looked bleak. “It’s all right.”
Rith said, “Many of those who have the coin to buy passage leave.” She grimaced, dispirited. “The traders know how much they can charge now, and few can afford it.”
Theri leaned her head on Rith’s shoulder. “It would be easier if the leviathan went back to sleep for good, or went closer to the western shore.”
“The western shore?” Moon asked.
“That’s where most of the traders come from.” Enad admitted, “If all of them could find us, and not just the ones the magisters give the trade-right to, it would be easier to leave. Or stay, if more people came back to live here.”
Stone dipped a cup out of the pot and handed it to Rith. “What about the eastern shore, where the forests are?”
Theri laughed. “Everyone knows monsters live there.”
After the tea was finished, the groundlings went on their way, and Moon and Stone walked toward Ardan’s tower. Moon hoped it was open during the day, and that they could at least get a look at who went in and out of it.
If the doors never opened at all, he wasn’t sure what they were going to do.
The walkway they were on, a narrow passage winding between the tall gray walls, was empty at the moment. They had passed a few groundlings earlier, all hauling two-wheeled carts, heading toward the harbor, and Moon had heard a few others on the bridges and balconies they had passed under.
“You didn’t ask them about Ardan,” Stone said.
He didn’t sound as if he was arguing the point, just curious. He had been letting Moon take the lead in finding things out, something which Moon had noticed and appreciated. Of course, if they failed, it would be mostly Moon’s fault. “I didn’t want them to get suspicious. If we just got here, we shouldn’t know who Ardan is yet.” Also, Enad was a talker, and Moon could too readily imagine him repeating the conversation to anyone who would listen. If Ardan was aware that something had tested his barriers last night, he might well be listening, and willing to pay for information. “I might ask them about the metal ship, later. It’s different enough from the others in port that people must notice it.”
Stone snorted in amusement, and Moon said, defensively, “What?”
“You talking to groundlings. That’s a change.”
Moon set his jaw, annoyed. “We are not flying up to them in the middle of nowhere. These people have no reason not to think we’re groundlings. There’s a difference.”
They reached the plaza at the base of Ardan’s tower. It wasn’t much more occupied than it had been last night. A few people were crossing the paving, but all seemed to be heading for the walkways or stairs, just passing through. The tower itself was still tightly shut.
The second story wine bar on the east side of the plaza was still open, or at least the door stood open and the music still played. Groundling places that sold liquors or drugs usually only opened in the evening, but maybe living on a restless leviathan required constant access to intoxicants. Moon started toward it. “Maybe we can talk to somebody in there.”
“If they’re all like Dari, that might not be so helpful,” Stone said, but followed him anyway.
The stairway climbed over another house’s roof, and the gray tile steps had a few recent stains that stunk of vomit and some kind of sweet liquor. Words were painted on the wall in several different langu
ages, one of them Kedaic, advertising wine and smoke.
Moon stepped into the doorway. The place was bigger than it looked on the outside, winding back away in a series of oddly shaped rooms. Cushioned benches were built into the walls, groundlings sprawled on them, most asleep or barely stirring. The whole interior was filled with drifts of variously colored fog. The cloyingly sweet odor made Moon sneeze. Groundling drugs and alcohol had never worked on him, and he didn’t expect this would, either. He moved further in and Stone trailed after him.
As the main room curved away from the doorway, it widened out to a space where there was a small platform. Around it sat three fishy-gray groundlings, two playing stringed instruments and one a set of wooden pipes. On the platform, a golden-skinned groundling woman, dressed only in wispy scarves, moved to the music, though she looked half asleep. Dancing was another groundling thing that left Moon cold. The quick movements were often distracting and made him twitchy with the urge to hunt, and the slow movements were just boring. It was more fun to watch grasseaters graze.
Nearby stood an elaborate metal stand with a glass globe of blue water. The stands were scattered all over the room, fastened to bases built into the floor, and seemed to be the sources of the mist. Moon stepped closer and saw a little creature inside, a tiny amphibian with big eyes and feathery fins, gazing brightly back at him. That’s new, he thought, and looked around again at the semi-conscious groundlings. Whatever the fog was, all the patrons looked too far gone to be of any use. Dari was coherent compared to these people. That was a scary thought.
A woman stepped out of the fog and moved toward him, watching him inquiringly. “You want to buy some smoke?” she asked. She was tall and slender, her skin a smooth matte black, and she had a shock of short white hair. White brows outlined her dark eyes, and she had gold paint dotted on her forehead, nose, and chin. She was wrapped in a silky blue robe that covered her completely, but she was much more attractive to look at than the sleepy dancer. It took Moon a moment to remember to answer her question. “Uh, no, not smoke.” She seemed more amused than anything else, so Moon added, “We were looking for a place that sold food.” Not true, but it was a good excuse for wandering in here.
“Not here.” She nodded toward the door. “You’ll need to go back toward the harbor. There’s a market on the main walkway.”
“Sorry.” Moon turned to go.
She walked with him. “It’s all right. I don’t often get to speak to people who aren’t sodden with drink or smoke.” Stone, who had been wandering the shadowy areas, came back to Moon’s side. She looked him up and down and lifted a brow. “That’s your father?”
“Grandfather,” Stone corrected, and looked her up and down in return. It was as close to true as it was safe to get; most groundlings didn’t live to be Stone’s age.
Her mouth quirked in a smile. “Interesting family.”
She seemed to be finding them odd but not dangerous, which was the best they could probably hope for. It also meant they could ask questions without looking any stranger than they already did. As she led them out, Moon asked, “We’re looking for work. Does that tower hire laborers?”
“You don’t want to work there. It’s a strange place. It belongs to a magister. You stay away from them.” She stopped just outside, but leaned in the doorway and didn’t seem in a hurry for them to go. “They like their own way. Anybody like that is dangerous.”
She was right enough about that. “What does he do in his tower that’s so strange?”
“He collects things.” Her brow furrowed, and she tried to explain, “Trinkets and art. Things from far places. Some of it makes your flesh crawl. You can see for yourself. The tower will open at midday.”
“Open?” Stone asked.
“For anyone to go into the lower floors, to show off his collection and offer him new things. He does it every day. Likes to frighten people, probably.” She pushed away from the door, turning to go back inside. “You go see for yourself—just don’t ask for work there.”
“We will,” Moon said to her retreating back. “Thank you.”
It was still early, so they went to the market the woman had spoken of. Moon couldn’t count on being able to fly out to fish for remoras every day, and they needed to stay as well fed as possible. Moon traded one of their small sunstones for a couple of pots of cooked fish and clams, and a small pile of the marked metal bits that served as the local coinage. They sat down on the steps at the edge of a little plaza to split the food, watching the people in the market pass by.
It was busy, with stalls set up under the eaves of the buildings on each side of the walkway. Besides food, the stalls sold metalwork, pottery, a local cloth made of dyed fishskin as soft as the finest leather, and trade goods like silks and scented oils. Moon had looked at the roots and fruit, but they were all small, old, and far more expensive than the fish. But then they all had to come in on the traders’ ships.
The groundlings browsing the stalls were all better dressed than Rith, Enad, and Theri, but not in a much better frame of mind. Talk was muted, and people picked over the goods in a desultory way.
“Not very lively,” Stone commented. He hadn’t balked at the idea of eating cooked fish, but then Stone was odd for a Raksura. Though Moon did have to remind him not to gnaw on the clam shells in public.
“They can’t afford the roots.” Moon scraped up the last of the sauce. The stall holder had promised them four more bits for bringing the pots back. “Like Rith said, most of them probably want to leave.” They were speaking Raksuran, and Moon kept an eye out for anyone showing undue interest, but everyone seemed wrapped up in his or her own concerns.
“There’s something funny about all this.” Moon lifted a brow, and Stone added, “Besides the fact that they built their city on a leviathan, even if it was sleeping at the time.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know.” Stone spit out a piece of clamshell. “Maybe I’ll know when I see Ardan.”
“Planning on having a long conversation with him?” Moon asked. They couldn’t afford revenge; the only thing Moon was planning on was getting the seed and getting out.
“A pointed conversation,” Stone said, and smiled.
Chapter Ten
When the sun was directly overhead, something Moon could sense rather than see through the heavy mist and clouds, they went back to the plaza.
A small crowd had gathered near the tower. Some were wealthy local groundlings, all dressed in rich fabrics and smelling strongly of flower perfumes. Many had small ivory fans, though the day wasn’t warm. The fans, and the perfumes, might be a defense against the humid fog, which compounded the leviathan’s stench and absorbed every odor of the city. The others waiting to enter the tower wore subdued, work-roughened cloth and leather, and must be traders up from the harbor.
Moon and Stone joined the back of the crowd. A few of the traders glanced at them, their expressions ranging from thoughtful curiosity to annoyance, as if they feared competition. The locals ignored them, which was just as well.
Before they had left the market, Moon had taken another precaution. From a used clothing dealer he had bought battered pairs of boots for himself and Stone. They were just soft squares of fishskin that wrapped and tied around your foot and ankle. Stone had put them on without vocal protest, affecting an expression of long-suffering.
Raksura normally didn’t wear shoes. Even in groundling form, the soles of their feet were as hard as horn, and Moon had always found shoes impossible to shift with. Most groundlings didn’t notice, considering it just a physical quirk of another race. But if Ardan and his thieves had ever managed to see any live Raksura, they might be looking for such telltale signs.
As the doors opened, Moon sniffed, then unobtrusively tasted the air. There was a hint of decay, of death, under the rush of stale scents. It disappeared into the miasma of leviathan, perfume, smoke, fog, and anxious groundling before he could be sure it was mo
re than his imagination. Moon flicked a look at Stone, but his eyes were on the doorway. There was no hint of the magical barrier. Either it had been taken away so the doors could be opened, or it was only in place during the night.
They followed the traders through an arched entrance hall, the white walls carved to look like long drapes of fabric. Guards wearing coats of reptile hide and armed with short metal-tipped spears stood at frequent intervals. They wore weapons at their belts that looked like small crossbows, just from the brief glimpses Moon was able to get. Good, he thought sourly. First we have a groundling shaman, and now we have projectile weapons.
He had been expecting the inside of this place to be something like their abandoned tower, if on a larger and less decayed scale. But the size of it caught him by surprise.
The entryway opened out into a large circular hall, with a wide stairway curving up to the level above. The walls were set with alabaster panels framed by heavy carved drapery. Vapor-lights hung from sconces made to look like water serpents.
The knot of groundlings in front spread out a little, staring upward in astonishment. Moon looked up and froze, a quiver traveling down his spine.
Suspended high overhead was a giant blue-scaled waterling, its body a good sixty paces long. It was half-fish, half-groundling, with groundling-like arms and a scaled torso ending in a long tail, its fins as large as the sails of a small fishing boat. Its huge clawed hands dangled and its head pointed right down toward them, glassy eyes staring angrily, open jaw big enough to walk upright through, teeth stained yellow and black. It was dead—it had to be dead—stuffed and preserved and slowly decaying.
Stone bumped his arm, impatience mingled with reassurance, and Moon made himself move forward into the hall. That, or something very like it, was what had nearly grabbed Moon when he was flying low over the sea. The traders just ahead of them murmured in uneasy awe and discomfort. Moon was glad he wasn’t the only one.