Honey for Celephaïs: Chapter 5

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Sergeant Jabari walked out into the Cirque of the Moon with the Captain.

Most of it was parkland, with tended gardens, grassy slopes, walkways separate from larger streets for carts. It was scattered with key city buildings—theater, armory, a variety of key storehouses, and of course the Ten Noble Estates. Each of the nine Muses had her own Estate, a stone temple built with stone of exotic colors and textures, fascinating the eye and the mind. They were all different, of course… the earthy agates of Thalia, the black onyx of Melpomene, the soaring crystals of Polyhymnia… they were all beautiful, each in its own way.

Drax was the tenth Noble Estate, though not a Muse… and fittingly, his building was not a temple, but a library, imposing and elegant in the classical Greek tradition.

In the center of the Cirque reared the Pinnacle, a blackish-brown talon of bedrock thrusting upwards toward the stars. With sheer cliffs on most sides, a single switch-backed road ran from its base—at the terminus of the Street of Pillars, running straight to the sea—to the Palace of the Seventy Delights at the apex. Walls and buildings of pink marble were scattered across its surface like cherry petals in the spring breeze.

The Chief Artificer was at a smaller, unassuming building relatively close to the seadocks.

The captain walked in unannounced, scattering lowly clerks and draughtsmen in his wake, directly to the Chief Artificer’s room at the rear.

The door was open; he walked right in.

A large glass window let the sunlight shine into the room, illuminating the shelving covering one entire wall. The shelves were packed with stacks of paper and scrolls, information and drawings of every part of the city and its mechanisms. They were catalogued and maintained, replaced when found to be falling apart, or damaged by mold or water. Rumor had it a duplicate set had been created and was hidden on the Pinnacle.

In spite of the constant care and the catalog, however, the shelves still looked like a rat’s nest.

The Chief Artificer was bent over a table full of detailed plans of the city, deep in conversation with two other men.

“You two, out,” ordered Captain Ragnarsson, hooking his thumb at the door and shutting it behind them after they scurried out. “Artificer Marcus, forgive me. The matter is urgent.”

The artificer, who had stood silent while the other men left, stylus in hand, nodded.

“I gathered so, from your rather abrupt entry,” he said dryly. “The cistern?”

“Not directly, but perhaps… Sergeant Jabari here has a short tale to tell.”

He turned to her, and gestured impatiently.

She went through the inspection of the Wall, and the discovery of the tunnel, skipping the fire, murder, and honeydrops entirely.

“How close was the water level to the walkway?” asked Marcus.

“About a palm’s width,” she replied.

“It has to be a swimmer,” he stated, nodding. He walked to the shelving and, without searching or hesitation, pulled out a map.

He rolled it open on the table, plunking weights on the corners to hold it spread wide. It showed the underground waterways for High City and Skala Eresou area.

“These are arched tunnels, which means the ceilings are curved upwards to better support the weight, but during the course of construction the artificers also built in horizontal blocks of stone in many places, specifically here and here,” he explained. “Most of them come down to the height of the walkway. Some have narrow through-holes to allow us to pass, but not these. If by boat, they would have to get into the water and pull the boat underwater, under those stones, before they could proceed. Several times.

“So it really has to be a swimmer, either from some other entrance or up from the sea itself.”

“I’ll need maps of what other access points are possible,” said the captain, picking up the map and beginning to roll it up.

The Chief Artificer grabbed it out of his hands.

“Take your hands off that plan, young man! This does not leave this room, ever!”

He was furious, and even the captain took a step back in shock.

“I will have a copy made for you, showing where the closest access is. Still, if the swimmer is a strong one and knows their way around the tunnels, they could enter anywhere in the city—or even from the ocean—and get there.”

“They couldn’t get in from the Slarr Aqueduct?”

“Impossible. It is fitted with a variety of nets to keep out debris, and is inspected daily. Out of the question.”

“I see…” The captain thought for a moment. “Do you think this could have anything to do with the cistern?”

“With the cistern…?” Marcus scratched his head. “The cistern is well upstream from there, but they are on the same line…I suppose it’s not impossible, but it would take a mighty strong swimmer to swim back upstream to the cistern from there! That’s pretty close to the aqueduct intake, and is a major feeder for a large section of the city. A lot of water goes through there pretty fast.”

“No human swimmer,” mused Ragnarsson. “What about a gnorri?”

“A gnorri?” The Chief Artificer was taken aback for a minute. “There aren’t any gnorri cities near here that I’m aware of, but I suppose a gnorri could swim it easily enough. Or up from the sea. It’d have to be able to stand the sewage, though… there’s not too much coming down from High City there, but the lines run straight through the city to the sea, and they get worse as you go.

“You don’t want to ever go near the downstream end if you can possibly avoid it…”

“You speak from experience, it seems.”

“Oh, yes, I know them well… every young artificer starts at the bottom, and that is the very bottom,” he laughed. “The stench is as bad now as it was when I was cleaning them.”

Captain Ragnarsson nodded, and dutifully smiled.

“When can I expect those maps?”

“The plans will be in your hands tomorrow morning, Captain,” corrected Marcus. “Your office near the sea cargo docks?”

“Yes, thank you.”

After we left the captain asked me quietly, “Why didn’t you mention the murder or the Honey?”

“Didn’t seem relevant,” I said, “and I figured if you thought differently you’d bring it up.”

“Good decision,” he grunted. “Hmm… no way I can join you tonight to keep watch?”

“If you order me I’ll allow it, sir, but I’d really prefer not to… Mary the Boneless is hard enough to get along with now, and she’s already upset with me about the surprise wall inspection.”

“Mary the Boneless… stupid bitch.” He kicked a pebble. “Alright, but I’ll be waiting at the Boreas Gate, and I want a runner immediately if anything happens.”

“Yessir.”

* * *

It was only a short walk from there down to the seadocks, and Captain Ragnarsson decided to pay an old “friend” a visit.

The warehouses were packed quite closely here, usually separated by narrow paths that were usually blocked by carts and people. He knew his way around, though, having spent the better part of a decade on the docks.

And he knew enough to visit this particular alehouse during the day.

If you looked closely enough you could still make out the name on the wall—Rancy Seahorse—and might guess it was an alehouse from the raucous laughter and the stench of thagweed seeping out of the half-open door, but it was clearly not the sort of place a tourist would drop by. Not that there were any tourists here in the dark heart of the docks.

He stepped inside and waited for a second to give his eyes a chance to adjust to the darkness.

There was some light seeping in through the filthy windows up above, and oil lamps scattered about on the tables, making it just possible to see that every face in the room was turned toward him.

Three men near the door stood and began to walk toward him, hands on their weapons.

The largest of the three growled, “Coppers don’t come here with less than a couple dozen men.”

“Maybe you’re in the wrong alehouse, yeah?” chimed in another.

“I’m here to see Captain Rab,” he replied.

“Time to go, copper.”

Captain Ragnarsson held his hands out, empty.

“Tell him Ragnarsson’s here.”

“Let ’im pass,” came a bellow from the back of the room. “If that’s Ragnarsson ya couldn’t stop him anyway, ya little pisses.”

The three stepped back a fraction, allowing the Captain barely enough room to squeeze by, but he didn’t move.

“Get outta the man’s way, dimwit! Ragnarsson’s my guest!”

They stepped back a little more and grudgingly allowed passage, closing in behind him like an escort.

At the back of the alehouse was a broad booth, with an enormous black man sitting in the middle, legs stretched out and leather boots on the table. His bald head and bronze earring glittered in the lamplight, and white teeth shone through the thicket of his beard. He had a liter-sized mug of ale in one hand and a half-naked woman in the other, and nodded when Captain Ragnarsson approached.

“Sit, Cap’n,” he said, pointing, then roared “An ale for the Cap’n, boy!”

The boy came running with a mugful of ale, bowing again and again, and placed it on the table while staying as far from Captain Rab as possible.

Rab picked it up and slammed it down on the tabletop in front of Ragnarsson.

Their mugs clashed against each other, and they drank.

Ragnarson wiped his mouth on his arm and relaxed, letting off a long sigh of contentment.

“Ah, Rab, you know how to treat a constable right, you do. That’s some fine ale.”

“Always happy to show my appreciation for the fine job you do, Ragnarsson.”

Captain Ragnarsson lifted his mug again in thanks and took another slug.

He had known Captain Rab for a long time… they’d grown up together, here on the seadocks, and had crossed paths more than once since. Ragnarsson had entered the Constabulary, and been stationed here for years, while Rabhitandra—Rab—had instead found work as a cargo wrangler. They had both risen through the ranks over the years, one rising to Captain, the other to the unofficial ruler of the seadocks.

Rab knew everybody, and while he never actually broke the law himself he always seemed to have a hand in everything, one way or another. Two, possibly three of the Wardmasters here were Rab’s men. He ruled with a relatively light hand, enforcing peace and honest dealings on the wharves in return for the modest “service fees” he charged.

It was probably illegal, but as long as he kept his fees reasonable and kept the docks operating smoothly—not to mention, as long as he continued to enjoy protection from certain nobles in High City—Captain Ragnarsson was content to leave things untouched.

Informal meetings like this one were invaluable in scratching each other’s back, and they both knew they had more to gain through cooperation than war.

Besides, Ragnarsson thought, at least Rab is honest about what he does, unlike a lot of the people I deal with in High City.

“Mug’s getting a little light, Rab…”

“Boy! More ale! And bring a pitcher!”

Once their mugs were refilled, Captain Rab pushed the woman away, swatting her ass and suggesting she “Go for a little walk, will ’ya?”

The two captains set alone.

“So what’s on ya mind, Ragnarsson? Haven’t seen ya in here for quite a while.”

“We’ve got a little problem and I need a little information, Captain,” he replied. “Have you gotten any reports of gnorri around here?”

“Gnorri?” Rab scratched his beard. “Around here? No, don’t think so. Why?”

“Well, I can’t really go into that, I’m afraid, but I’d, um, appreciate it if you’d look into it, and let me know if any of your people hear anything.”

“They fish in their waters and we in ours, and anyone straying into the other’s waters are dealt with pretty quickly. Usually on a friendly basis, too, unless it’s deliberate. I can’t imagine any of the gnorri from the cities I know venturing out this way.”

“Hmm. I can’t imagine them coming this close to Celephaïs, either, but… things have happened, and I need to check.”

“I can look into it for ya,” said Rab, stretching out his hand.

They shook on it.

“Thank you, Captain Rab. I’ll be sure to appreciate any assistance you can offer.”

“Cree’lo! The Cap’n’s leaving! Walk with him out to the main so everyone understan’s he’s my guest, will ya?”

Cree’lo, one of the three men who had stopped him at the door, grunted and stood waiting.

“Safe voyage, Captain,” said Ragnarsson, draining the mug and slamming it back down on the table.

“Safe voyage, Captain,” replied Rab, raising his mug in a salute and then draining it dry.

The audience was over.

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Honey for Celephaïs: Chapter 6