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Stories from Conclave: The Journal of Rishta Vallans, Volume One
Part Two: Ashoyin.
'The visitor to the Fragrant Waterlily region cannot help but be impressed by the bravery of the small cities of Akt, Galis, Zeiher and others that stand guard against the barbarians of the east. The regional capital is the city of Ashoyin, perched on stilts upon the shores of Two Rivers Lake. This testament to the skill of Imperial engineers and the native cunning of the local fishermen boasts many fine artistic endeavours. No visit to Ashoyin is complete without a trip to the magnificent Temple of the Emperor.'
- From 'The Noble Lands of the Eastern Empire' by Jaxius Zem. Published in the 23rd year of Radiant Enlightenment.
We made the trip to Ashoyin by river. With all the local trouble, travel by road is too dangerous through that region, and besides there was a boat going our way.
Over the past few months complaints had been coming in from League members about the increase in piracy along the Anhoi river, and every so often the League liked to send a message (and appear to be doing something). In the instance of the boat on which Dhalooth and I travelled, it was a fat merchant barque wallowing low in the water. Not that she was weighed down with cargo, but with League marines; a nasty surprise for any boarders. Hidden under canvas on the foredeck was a ballista with a selection of bolts - pitch-coated to deliver fire, and wide-head to slice through rigging.
So there we were, with a hold full of meat-heads, looking for a fight. To be strictly accurate, Dhalooth and me were 'civilian observers'. This wasn't my mission and so we weren't going to get involved if we could help it. For secrecy reasons, the grunts didn't know who we were anyway. As far as their sergeant (a man with both skin and voice like pumice and a habit of hawking spit onto the deck by my feet) was concerned, we were two dead-weight merchant lackeys with effete manners and no stomach for honest living. I did nothing to disbar him of that notion.
To be brief, the meat-heads got their exercise. Six little lateen-rigged single-masters came upon us from upstream, using the current to pounce. We waited until they had grappled and boarded before unleashing the nasty surprise. The fight was short, the marines did their job efficiently and they ended up with fifteen pirates (accounting for three boatloads) to take home to Llaza. I was glad we were near Ashoyin since what with the meatheads and their prisoners the barque was getting overfull. Of the rest of the pirates, some were killed, some jumped into the river and swam away. The ballista crippled two of the remaining boats, leaving one to escape to spread the story. Hopefully this exercise would make any further would-be pirates think twice about attacking what looked to be an easy target. I took no part in the fighting. Dhalooth used a few Raindrop strikes to knock out some of the pirates who came too close to our place at the stern. The pirates were all young and scrawny. Their weaponry was mainly fishing gaffs, marlinspikes and the like. They were probably fishermen who could no longer make a living thanks to continually having their catch 'commandeered' by various paramilitary groups, and decided to go the same way themselves. Sergeant Pumice and his men laughed and joked about the fight. I studiously ignored them.
A few days later we were dropped off at Ashoyin docks, and I asked a stevedore for directions to Tenji's Cookhouse, where we were to meet our contact. It turned out to be in a middle-class neighbourhood, near the ruins of the Emperor's Temple (pulled down by a vengeful mob). Tenji's seemed like a reasonable eatery, and the food only slightly likely to give the unwary diner a dose of the trots. Our contact had arranged to meet us here. I sidled up to the counter and ordered two chicken shimsha.
'They say it's warm in Dronistor this time of year,' said the server as he handed over the pastries, and winked theatrically. I sighed inwardly. Cloak and dagger wannabes I can do without.
'Just tell me which ones I'm supposed to meet,' I snapped back.
The cookhouse server gave me an injured look to go with my shimsha.
'You're supposed to say the counterphrase,' he said in injured tones.
'But it looks like an early winter," I replied, bored. 'Now, suppose you point out the ones I'm supposed to be meeting and let me get on with my job?'
He pointed to a rake-thin old man and a young woman in courtly dress. I'd seen them on the way in and suspected as much. To some people 'inconspicuous' is something the servants are supposed to be. I sat down at their table, and Dhalooth hopped up onto the seat next to me.
'Rishta Vallans, this is Dhalooth. What's the deal?'
'The League sent you?" asked the old man. His tone was well-educated and upper class. He used the form of "you" reserved for speaking to social underlings. He wore a heavy roabha in plum colours and a white tunic underneath. Undecorated, so at least he wasn't advertising magisterial rank, if he had any. His grey hair was cut short, and he wore a pill-box hat that matched his robe. The young lady was bedecked in similar heavy layers, crimson and gold. Her dark hair was bound up in an elaborate style that would be just slightly out of fashion in Llaza. There was a suggestion of curl to it that she had tried to remove, hinting at some Anhoine ancestry to go with her predominantly Asharan features.
'Who do you think? The High King of Denra-lyr?' He ignored the retort and placed his hands on the table carefully and deliberately, the style of movement a magician makes when casting a spell. Or pretentious courtiers with too much time to study etiquette.
'You're not quite what I was expecting,' he said stiffly.
I shrugged. 'The League told me somebody needed a package escorted from Ashoyin.' I saw the young lady stiffen slightly at this. A thought came to me and I turned to her. 'They meant you?' I asked. She nodded as demurely as she could manage, despite obviously being needled by my complete lack of manners in using such a direct form of address.
'This is the Lady Mei-Juin. She is the niece of Most August Minster In Exile Es-Gadar. She is to be escorted safely to the Minister for the Interior in Corbasal,' the old courtier told me. 'No one is to know of the Lady's true identity during the trip.'
'She might need to change her wardrobe then,' I replied dryly, with a glance at M'Lady Mei-Juin. Her placid demeanour (from years of training in proper decorum) hardened slightly.
'I am well aware of the requirements, Humble Vallans,' she told me tartly, using a form of address that quite clearly placed me below her in social standing. I gritted my teeth, and I swear I saw Dhalooth hiding a smirk. Babysitting a spoilt rich girl all the way to the land of bamboo and peppers. Not the most exciting of prospects, but at least I didn't have to assassinate anybody. A few weeks with M'Lady Mei-Juin, though, and I might be ready to.
(c) 2006 The Creative Conclave.
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