City of Hope & Despair
Angry Robot Books, 2011
|Series:||City of a Hundred Rows: Book 2|
|Avg Member Rating:||
A SECOND VISIT TO THAIBURLEY: THE CITY OF DREAMS, THE FABLED CITY OF A HUNDRED ROWS.
Dark forces are gathering in the shadowy depths, and the whole city is under threat. The former street-nick, Tom, embarks on a journey to discover the source of the great river Thair, said to be the ultimate power behind all of Thaiburley. Accompanying him are the assassin Dewar and the young Thaistess Mildra. It soon becomes evident that their journey has more significance than any of them realise, as past secrets catch up with them and unknown adversaries hunt them... to the death!
The Four Spoke Inn failed to be all manner of things. It wasn’t the cheapest place around, nor was it the warmest, the most welcoming, the largest, the busiest, not even the most convenient. Yet it was a little of all of these. The landlord, Seth Bryant, was well aware of this. He had long since come to terms with the hostelry’s strengths and limitations, determining to make the most of the former while learning to live with the latter.
Seth knew his clientele and what to expect of them. Many were regulars, but, the inn being situated where it was, just as many weren’t. This was one of the things he loved most about the place – it offered constant variety to spice up the underlying sense of stability, as comfortable as a well-worn chair, provided by familiar faces who could be counted on to appear more nights than not, picking up on conversations begun the previous evening or the one before that as if the world had stood still in between. There was little opportunity for boredom to set in, for life to grow stale, because new faces were ever imminent if not already arrived. Every time the door swung open and an unfamiliar figure strode through, the dynamics of the tap room would shift – sometimes by only a subtle degree, but by no means always.
This particular evening the bar was dominated by a group of bargemen who sat clustered around the long table by the window. They weren’t yet deep in their cups but a few of them were well on their way, the volume of the conversation from that part of the room rising steadily as the ale continued to flow. Ol’ Jake had taken to scowling in their direction at regular intervals from his accustomed perch on a stool at the right-hand corner of the bar.
“Don’t know why you put up with them,” he said to Seth as the latter drew him a pint of darkly sweet Dancastre ale.
“Yes you do,” Matty said from beside him. “It’s for the sake of their coin, ‘ey, Seth?”
The landlord smiled. “What can I say, Mat? You’ve got me bang to rights. The old women’ll be whispering in each other’s ears and word will spread like wildfire through Crosston and all the villages beyond – the shock of it! Respected innkeeper caught accepting honest coin in return for ale!”
Matty laughed and slapped Jake on the back.
His friend’s scowl only deepened. “All well and good, but do you have to accept it from them?”
“If you want the inn to still be here so you can keep coming in and moaning about every new face that wanders in then yes, Jake; I have to take coin from whoever’s willing to part with it. Besides, they’re not that bad.”
“So you say,” the old man muttered into his beer.
There were nine in total crammed around the long table – the crew of two barges, all male. Seth knew this lot; they’d stopped here before. Not all did. Some stayed close to their boats, sleeping on the great vessels as well as working them, irrespective of how prosperous a trip might have been, but not this lot. Their owner-captains were happy to let the crews enjoy an evening’s relaxation from time to time when a trip had gone especially well.
As long as their tankards were frequently replenished and nobody riled them, there would be no trouble from this mob, while the inn’s coffers would benefit considerably from their custom. Seth had ensured they were in good hands – he’d asked Molly to make a point of looking after them and she had plenty of experience with the like; knew how much cleavage to show as she leant across to collect the empties and how much of a wiggle to give her hips as she walked away again, while she wouldn’t take offence at their coarse humour or ribald comments and coped admirably with wandering hands. Thank goodness Bethany wasn’t on tonight. Younger, slimmer, less buxom, and by most estimates a good deal prettier than Molly, that one had a sharp tongue on her and a habit of not standing for any nonsense.
With no one waiting to be served at present, Seth left his station at the bar and wandered over to where the bargemen sat. “Everything all right, lads?” Contented murmurings rippled around the table. “Molly looking after you, is she?” At this the murmurings grew louder and more enthusiastic, with a few appreciative chuckles thrown in for good measure. “If you’re hungry at all, we’ve a few of this morning’s catch left – good plump sandfish, only a few, mind, which we serve basted in butter and lemon juice on a bed of fresh river samph – or there’s some mutton stew, steeped in a rich ale gravy, and we’ve a fully mature Cabrian cheese if you’d prefer. That comes with home-baked bread and I might even find you some really spicy Deliian pickle if you’ve a fancy.” He smacked his lips at this last. “Just let Molly know when you want to order anything.”
They assured him that they would and, with a final smile, Seth sauntered back towards the bar. He stopped en-route to exchange a few pleasantries with Lal and Si, who occupied their usual table in front of the hearth and were deeply absorbed in a game of checkers. No need to have the fire lit at this season, thank goodness, but this would form a cosy focal point later in the year as winter began to bite. Seth just hoped that, when it did, this winter would be milder than the last, which had been especially bitter, with even the Thair threatening to freeze over – something Seth had yet to see in his lifetime – icy skirts forming on both banks, though they failed to spread out and meet by covering the truly deep waters in between. A little chill could be good for business, encouraging people to seek solace in front of a roaring hearth while warming their hands around a cup of mulled wine or cider, but when it was that cold they generally stayed at home and battened down the hatches.
With a rueful shake of his head, Seth banished memories of such lean times and headed back towards the bar, where Matty looked ready for a refill, only to be stopped by two merchants at another table, who had evidently been discussing the origins of the inn’s peculiar name and were hoping for some enlightenment.
Seth smiled, trying to do so without any hint of indulgence; this was hardly the first time such a question had been asked of him.
“There’s been much speculation over the years on that very subject,” he told the two men – younglings both; the youngest sons of noble families most probably, who, seeing no opportunity for rapid advancement at home, set out flushed with dreams of making their fortunes by ferrying goods common in one area to places where they were not, little considering how many had already trod that path before them and how rare it was to find such undiscovered or unexploited commodities.
“Some would have it,” he continued, “that a vintner travelling from far Kathay suffered an accident on the road and, unable to make proper repairs, had to continue with one of his precious wagon’s wheels badly damaged and only partially mended, so that it boasted just four spokes rather than the original six. Yet that patched-up wheel carried him for many leagues, finally giving out here, where the great trade road meets the Thair. Taking this as an omen and judging it a likely spot, he set up shop where the wagon foundered and proceeded to sell his wines, doing very well in the process and establishing this inn as a result.
“Others claim the place was established by four strong-willed brothers who determined to go into business together but could agree on little else, arguing about every pernickety detail, until they found this spot. For the first time, all four agreed that this was where they should establish an inn, which they did, naming the place to reflect the four strands of their divergent personalities – all of which led away from each other in every instant but came together here and here alone.”
“And do you favour either of these origin tales, sir?”
Seth smiled. “Truth to tell, no. Both have their appeal yet strike me as fanciful. I prefer the more pragmatic theory.”
“Well, you’ll see that the inn is situated on the great trade route, that mighty road of commerce which stretches from distant Deliia in the east to the Atlean Sea in the west, bisecting the continent like the corded belt around some lanky cleric’s waist. It also stands on the banks of the mighty Thair, the river that stretches from fabled Thaiburley, the City of Dreams, in the south to the distant northern mountains. I believe that these are your four spokes, gentlemen: the road stretching in two opposing directions on the one hand, the river doing likewise on the other. Four passages to distant lands, representing the greatest trade routes in the world, all four conspiring to meet here, at the hub.”
One of the young merchants laughed. “Good...
Copyright © 2011 by Ian Whates
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