This choice: Ten years later, an experienced wizard • Go Back...Chapter #4Ten years later, an experienced wizard by: Yote   The journey to Kvoss takes three days from Nalond, and the slow, steady boatride up the North-Western Aqueduct makes a pleasant respite from the dangers and duties of wizarding. It is made particularly enjoyable by the boatman, a half-troll who speaks barely a word of the common tongue as the long miles slipped past. No remarks of 'so you're a wizard then?' or 'so what's your business in X?' to spoil the peace.
Only once does he register your presence, fixing you with a hard glance the moment you dip a hand into the crystal-clear waters. "They chop hand off," he barks, his gnarled fist tightening around the thick wood of the oar. Kvossians are very protective of their water, as well they should be. It is the lifeblood of their city, and of the arid countryside that it supplies for a hundred miles around.
So precious are they that all eating and ablutions are performed away from the aqueduct, at one of the sluices-cum-guard-towers dotted every few miles. Terraces of vibrant, green plantations line the hills around each sluice - fruit, tobacco, tea, and grapes - a stark contrast to the hot, arid landscape beyond. At each of these stops, wrapped and bound bundles or the occasional keg are loaded aboard the small boat until it sits quite low in the water and the half-troll begins to sweat to make headway against the slight current.
At last Kvoss comes into sight just as evening is drawing in. Much like the plantations, Kvoss is built against the slope of a mountain in a series of terraces, but instead of crops there are buildings, each made of the local white sandstone. As the boat draws nearer over one of the 9 viaducts that emerge from the mountain, you begin to see the bath-houses, the summit palace, and the spacious villas with their rooftop gardens, all jutting out like the staircase of a giant.
The air here is humid and fragrant. There is a noticeable heat emanating up through the bottom of the boat too and the water begins to steam as you grow closer, freshly hot from the heart of the mountain. The aqueduct nears a level about halfway up the mountain and the half-troll’s boat comes to a berth in a boathouse. Porters dressed in little more than ornate loincloths hurry forward to unload the cargo, and a flurry of coin and tiny scrips of paper exchange hands. You clamber off the boat and once the hubbub has died down, you palm one of the porters a few copper in exchange for the direction of The Inn of the Prancing Ponce.
“Ahh, you want the fourth or third level, right next to the central cistern. Down two levels,” the man says cheerfully. “Say, you wouldn’t be a wizard, would ya? What’s your business in Kvoss then? Here to solve those murders, eh?”
You quickly depart.
Lanterns are being lit and despite the ill rumours that have been coming from Kvoss for months, there remains a atmosphere of joviality as you descend the broad, paved streets to the fourth level. Men, women and children emerge from their homes to walk the streets to eat, drink, and socialise. It seems peculiar coming from Lightgarde, where most law-abiding citizens would be inside by the drawing of night, but here the men openly adorn themselves with gemstones and bulging coin-purses, while the women wear fine silks. Each person seems to have their own, exotic perfume, until your senses are dizzy. The displays of wealth diminish as you descend one layer and then the next, though they never go away.
The Inn of the Prancing Ponce extends over two levels and occupies six floors. It’s many balconies ring with laughter and music, and the sounds of perhaps a bawdier entertainment coming from the lower floors.
I stand out like a sore thumb, you think as you step inside and forge towards the bar between revelers in their loose, colourful clothes, while you yourself are dressed in a dusty, heavy, woolen travelling cloak. Halfway in, your foot lands in water. There is a small channel of running water in the floor that winds between the tables, seemingly carrying empty cups and bottles back to the bar.
The barman is distracted, staring off at something with his brow furrowed, so you order wine from the barmaid in the vain hope that holding a cup of alcohol might help you blend in. Then you turn to the room and begin to look for your contact within the throng. Somebody who looks out of place. It isn’t long before you spot...   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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