8. The City of Dreams And Corruption

Different varieties of white stone formed the bulk of Iskander’s buildings. The cliffs bordering the city matched the older buildings—white, flecked with black flint. Some, especially the grander structures like the spires, clock towers, and palatial edifices utilized marble. Meanwhile, the newer structures reminded Lukas of a childhood school trip to Rome. It wasn’t so much the architecture but the construction material. The color and texture strongly resembled Roman concrete. 

As knowledge from the past sixty years warped and faded, everything preceding it seemed to grow sharper. It was as if all the extra information or something in the Plane of Primordials had kept all earthly knowledge suppressed. Now, he could almost feel the texture of the Pantheon and Trevi Fountain under his fingers like barely a day had passed since.

Walking through the streets was an interesting experience. His brain knew the buildings were all the same color, but the varying finishings and how they reflected ambient lights made them all appear distinct. El-One oohed and aahed, fawning over everything they passed. Meanwhile, Lukas inhaled everything Stefan had to say and show.

“Draper’s Alley is the best place for all your clothing needs,” he said, pointing at a long, narrow street, full of stalls hawking clothing and fabric. Stretched out lengths of cloth hung over them, providing shade and coloring the surrounding stone with countless shades. Vendors called out their specialties, best products, and prices while patrons haggled, questioning all of their claims. “Any material you can think of, cut and stitched in whatever design you can imagine. There will always be someone to meet your needs. Spots along here are highly contested. People who cheat their customers, provide shit products, and don’t pay their dues get pushed out. So, you know you’re going to get the good stuff and best rates.”

“Where do the rejects go?” Lukas asked as they walked along one of the many canals that crisscrossed the city.

“Rejects?”

“I mean the ones that get pushed out.”

Stefan raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Just so I know where to avoid if I decide to take my business elsewhere.”

“There are similar, smaller streets closer to the wall,” Stefan answered, pointing in the opposite direction from where they had come. He then gestured toward the center of the city where the buildings were almost all taller than the rest and made primarily of marble. “The shops and markets around there are the most expensive but the products aren’t necessarily better. More than often you’re paying for the famous artisan’s personal signature or flair. That’s unless you’re after enchanted or rune-marked products, of course. Then, there is no place better between Iskander and the Gray.” 

The streets were clean and busy with trade and traffic. Lukas let his clone memorize and analyze them. Meanwhile, he studied the side lanes they passed instead. The narrower paths between buildings, draped in shadow, were where he learned his craft. In a city riddled with crime and corruption, the dark alleys were where the real money and power changed hands. Lukas needed to know them and their rulers well if he wanted to survive, thrive, and accomplish his goals. Freedom demanded power and he was thirsty for both.

El-One chose well. 

The options had left Lukas torn. He had no interest in the plains. They were ill-suited to him, and how he used the shadow clones. However, Iskander and the Gray had appeared just as good as the other. 

The latter came with the option of field training against the world’s monsters but he was far from pursuing or training in such a path. Arcane Clone was a powerful ability but said power lay in the ability’s utility. Each individual clone had little to offer without additional shard abilities, magic, and equipment. The Gray was apparently rich with artisans and researchers magical but Lukas expected policing was strict too. The harsh climate and beast-filled mountains likely kept everyone on edge and made law-breaking activities more difficult. Lukas lacked the patience to follow the honest path. 

Iskander was ripe with crime and corruption and they had already shown their friendly faces. He intended to take full advantage of both for his rise to greatness and the clone had guessed as much.

Stefan changed direction. Instead of guiding them deeper into the city toward the heart and walls, he led them parallel to the docks.

“In general, you want to conduct business and work on this side of City Hall,” the guard captain said. “The port brings in the bulk of the city’s food, materials, and products. Most of it gets processed or traded here and then goes back on another ship to be taken elsewhere. Things get worse and pricier near the walls since passing through Iskander’s heart means going through toll roads or smuggling underneath them. Bandits and beasts make land trade more dangerous and expensive than sea trade.”

“What about pirates and sea serpents?” El-One asked. “My cellmate wouldn’t stop talking about either.”

“They’re a risk too but considerably rarer. Most decent trade vessels employ scryers and diviners to help avoid them. There aren’t as many obstacles or arcane interference at sea and most can avoid the dangers in time.”

“It seems the best inns, eateries, and entertainment is also around here.” El-One eyes scanned the balconies above as he spoke. Scantily clad men and oiled men stood on them waving, beckoning, and dancing. It was the middle of the day but foot traffic in and out of the buildings was high. The patrons appeared giddy with excitement. “You’ll agree when you see the mess around the jailhouse, brother. It’s ugly around there.”

Then that’s where we need to go.

“Sailors come to these parts on shore leave.” Stefan grinned. “If you lads want a good brothel let me know. My cousin works for a wine merchant and they deliver all along here. He knows where the girls—” Stefan hesitated, glancing at El-One. “—or guys are prettiest, best-endowed, cleanest, and the rates are best.”

“It’s not our kind of place,” Lukas said before El-One could crack an unsavory joke. He could think of sixteen different things the clone was likely to say. “Why pay for something you can get for free?”

Stefan looked amused as he looked Lukas and his clone up and down. “The pair of you don’t seem particularly experienced or familiar with… the pub scene.”

Pub scene? Is this the journal translating lingo for my benefit?

“We just have mad riz—”

Lukas smacked the back of his ‘brother’s’ head. It seemed he had the same thought but the method of testing it was beyond poor and juvenile. The lack of inhibitions which pushed the clones to risk their life and limb also seemed to make them want to say the first thing that came to mind. They had little to no filter for their inner monologue or juvenile humor that he had learned to suppress.

“Call us idealistic if you will, captain. But paying for affection and intimacy is not something that appeals to us.”

“It will be a long time before we can afford it too,” El-One added, rubbing the back of his head. He threw up an arm, guarding against another smack. “I just mean they’re good for business and contacts. That’s what my cellmate said anyway.”

“Your cellmate was a serial adulterer and Pink Sellis dealer,” Stefan said. “The red light streets are vital for his business.”

 “It makes sense for men and women who spend months on end at sea without any physical contact or intimacy,” Lukas said. “But not for us.” He nodded at a man in some sort of military uniform. Shoulders hunched. Hands in his pocket. Eyes red. “I’d rather not be that guy.” Unconscious, vomiting or sobbing men filled the alley he had just exited. “I have nothing against the profession or the people who seek its service, though.”

“We just not rather be either of them,” El-One added.

“You don’t need to convince me, lads.” Stefan laughed, throwing up his hands. “I’m a married man with grandchildren on the way. Work takes me into these fine establishments more often than I care and the wife ignores me for days if she smells them on me.”

Stefan and the clone lingered on the topic for a while longer but Lukas’s mind wandered. He made a mental note of landmarks, planning solo exploration for El-Two later. Lukas memorized the locations and landmarks around the mage towers, shops, academies, and poster boards. It was unlikely he’d make enough money to take classes. Instead, he put his hopes in finding a second-rate mage or researcher, seeking an assistant or employee. He didn’t need or want a master or apprenticeship. 

Lukas wished to learn the basics from someone just to get him started and then have the clones practice them endlessly until it was all second nature to him. It was what he had done during his previous life. Unfortunately, magic was sparse and monopolized. The latter was likely true on Fracture too, but Lukas could feel arcane energy in the air, ripe for absorbing and making his own.

Despite the dense crowds and countless panhandlers and urchins, Lukas saw no shortage of help-wanted signs. On closer inspection, he noticed that many had fine print requesting all applicants be sharded, have experience in a relevant field or shard abilities related to specific pillars. Many demanded improved strength, dexterity, toughness, or reaction time. Some only required employees to not be a mundane. Stefan led them into one such business.

The shop front was empty except for a sleepy two-headed hound. It suspiciously eyed Lukas for a moment before sniffing the air. Then, the dog wandered over to the guard captain, licked his outstretched hand, and flumped down at his feet, legs in the air and tongues hanging out. 

“You good, old girl?” He asked, rubbing her belly while the ‘twins’ looked around the shopfront.

Armor pieces and full sets hung from the walls while blades, hammers, and axes sat in display cases or hung from pegs. They looked simple but well-made. Several pieces appeared refurbished. They also featured runescripts but seemed incomplete, damaged, or inactive. Besides armor and weapons, there were bins of miscellaneous tools, brackets, bolts, and parts Lukas didn’t recognize. 

The dog’s more wary head let out a displeased howl when El-One picked up a stilleto-like blade. “Sorry,” the clone said, quickly putting it back.

Loud, stomping footsteps followed. A petite raven-haired woman, no taller than Lukas’s shoulder, came charging out through the door in the back of the shop. The volume of her footsteps didn’t quite match her size and frame. “Plague eat your eyes, you thieving—” The woman cut herself short on spotting Stefan. “Captain. I wasn’t expecting you today.” She suspiciously eyed Lukas and El-One. “Who’re they?”

“Refugees from across the mountains,” Stefan answered. “They fled a wyrmkin raid with nothing but their weapons and clothes on their back. Is your pa around? They’ve got decent bits for sale.”

“I’m just as capable of appraisals and purchases, thank you very much.” The young woman frowned, putting her gloved hands on her hips. Lukas thought how her nose crinkled adorably but then reminded himself to focus.

This body might be young and eager, and full of mad hormones but you’re eighty. Keep it in your pants.

“I didn’t doubt you for a second,” El-One said, shooting her a playful wink. Lukas struggled to suppress a groan and resisted the urge to dispel the clone straight away. They placed the hatchet, a dagger, and the sheathed shortsword on the counter behind which we stood.

“We’re not looking to sell everything straight away,” Lukas said. “Just get prices. As Guard Captain Stefan said, we not long arrived in town with empty pockets and need coin for room and board. At least we find jobs, at least.”

“Speaking of jobs.” El-one rested his left elbow on the corner, leaning against it and toward the woman. “I noticed the sign in the window. If you’re willing to accept just anybody, I’d like to fill in an application.”

“Fill in an application?” The woman raised an eyebrow, looking him up and down. “You barely look like you can lift a hammer. Are you even sharded?”

“Newly so and rearing to go,” the clone replied.

“I’ve tested them myself, and they fought off wyrmkin, Kat,” Stefan said. “I can vouch for the pair.”

“Hiring is up to Pa,” she said, picking up the hatchet and studying it closely. “Clearly wyrmkin made and shoddily as expected.” Kat pointed at the axehead’s edge which had a rippling finish. The metal appeared to have melted like wax toward the shaft. “You can see it here. They rely more on magic and crappy fire breath over genuine artisanal skill.”

“How much will these fine pieces fetch us?” Lukas asked.

“The metal is good and strong. If wyrmkin were any good at smithing, they’d take advantage of all the magic they pour into their work.” Kat paused, putting down the hatchet and grabbing the dagger. “The hatchet is only worth the scrap metal. Cracks. Chips. It's seen too much abuse for refurbishing. I’ll give you two crowns and five shells for it. The dagger, on the other hand, can do with a little reforging, a nice polish, and maybe even some reinforcement or sharpening runes.” She paused, holding it up to the light, testing the hilt, and tapped the blade. “Five crowns, three shells, and fifty chips.”

“A hundred chips make a shell, and ten shells make a crown,” Stefan explained when Lukas looked to him for confirmation. “It’s a modest price.”

“It’s a deal—”

“I think you can do better.” Lukas cut off the clone whose eyes hadn’t left Kat. She flashed El-One a little smile before frowning at his clone. “Why not round up to an even ten crowns? Scrap or not, metal kissed by Wyrmkin Fire can’t be easy to find. Right?”

“I’m doing Stefan a courtesy here and already offering generous rates.” Kat’s eyes narrowed as she returned the dagger to the counter. “If you want a nice round number, I can do seven crowns.”

“Guard Captain, how about you guide me to the other smithy you mentioned,” Lukas said. “I’d rather find the best rates instead of relying on the kind lady’s generosity.”

“Let’s not be hasty, Lukey.” El-One’s statement went ignored as the shopkeeper and Lukas stared each other down. 

“I don’t know what he’s talking about,” Stefan said, looking worried. His eyes wandered past Kat toward the curtain behind the counter. The hound sat up and growled at Lukas.

“Eight crowns,” Kat said.

“Nine,” Lukas replied.

“Eight-two, and fifty.”

“Eight-seven or I walk.”

“Then walk.”

“How about we call it an even eight-five?” The clone asked, pushing the hatchet and dagger toward Kat. 

“I’d be okay with that,” Kat said, not breaking eye contact with Lukas.

“I suppose I can live with eight crowns and five shells.” Lukas sighed. “How long will that last us, Captain?”

“The pair of you can live on thirty chips a day if you don’t mind the risk of your throat slit,” Stefan answered. “It will be close to the wall.”

“What about somewhere safe and close to here or the docks?” Lukas asked.

“A shell a day for a room with two beds and dinner. Maybe a bit less if you get somewhere with a single bed and take turns using it.”

“We’ll go for the latter.” Lukas returned his attention to Kat. “About the job. How—”

“It’s not up to me but I’ll advise my father against hiring you. Your brother on the other hand…” She picked up the shortsword and unsheathed it. The scabbard proved a hand longer than the blade, but Kat didn’t comment on it. “This beauty will fetch you twenty-five crowns, at least. I’d need Pa to appraise it to be sure. But it's expertly made.” Kat pointed at the eyeball-sized stone in the hilt. “This is an arcane focus. I’m no expert on the matter but I think you could cast up to first-circle spells through this.” Her fingers ran along the minute script running from the guard up the blade. “This was made for a spellblade’s temporary enchantments. Wind and lightning favored.”

“We’ll hold onto that one for a rainy day,” Lukas said, taking the shortsword from her. He tucked it into his belt and let his coat hang over the weapon, concealing it. Finding a weapons trainer to help him regain lost melee fighting skills would likely prove considerably easier than learning Fracture’s magic. “How about we see your Pa and then we can go on our way?”