← City of Dreams: Chapter 1
In the eyes of a hunter, the intent of a gun is to provide for his family.
In the eyes of a soldier, the intent of a gun is death; his or his enemies.
The gun does not change, only how we see it.
The rickshaw moved light and easy despite the terrible load that it bore. I had, of course, taken it upon myself to haul our equipment. Simply because I had the foresight to travel light did not mean that one of the others hadn’t brought something which might save my life. Should that happen, good graces could be earned by reminding them that they hadn’t dragged their own equipment along. Besides, it kept my mind off the fact that I was walking down a smooth white tunnel with no visible light source.
I was surprised, however, when Miss Ellicott moved close to me, whispering conspiratorially. “I’m surprised that the wall has held up so well.”
“It heals itself. The Garmgrad Army blasted a hole in the wall back during their last invasion. Their last message before they entered said that they observed a healing that was both too slow to see with the naked eye, but too quick to be unnoticeable. Sadly, their entire force charged in — it would have done us all good had they retrieved pieces of rubble for study.”
“Indeed,” she mused.
I cast her a glance. It was tricky to speak both quietly and with sufficient volume to be heard over the marching of the Garmgrad troops. “If I might be so bold, why ask me?” Especially as I was engaged in such physical activity.
Miss Ellicott’s lips quirked into the hint of a delightful smile. “A thoughtful man who studies when the rest of us are content to chatter? Surely, I know who will provide me with information. And anyone who is able to elicit such a crass greeting from the esteemed Sir Wallen must be worthy of consideration.”
She was being coy, but I took it as meaning no deeper than such. Indeed, that bear of a man only seemed to speak freely to those whom he felt a kinship to, and should he be vulgar, then truly you were his friend. I was blessed to have such a relationship.
I had little time to think about it, though, as our massive expedition reached the second gates. “Brace yourself,” I whispered as the Rhilian once again approached the control panel. As he fiddled, I looked up; this passage might be covered, hiding it from the heavens, but I could see plenty of places where people might be able to stand and rain death down upon us. What would at first glance be a featureless tunnel had slits large enough for a man to stand in far above our heads. I had a secondary reason for pushing this rickshaw, after all — its wooden roof provided me a meager token of protection.
It was, however, a touch down putting when people began to show their alarm when the gates behind us began to close. I’d figured us all for people of quick wit and logic. One would not create such a long entry if both gates were to be open at once. Again, it was only a matter of breaths before those gates silently closed, and the ones before us opened.
Before us laid the City of Dreams.
It was both beautiful and repulsive to me. The buildings were a hodgepodge of styles. Some reminded me of home, with their intersecting gables, bay windows, towers, and verandas; some were reminiscent the simple huts of the natives of either the southern continent or the new world. Some, no doubt, the Zipong would feel comfortable in. Others harkened me back to what I recalled of drawings various previous companions had made during their adventurers in the Qurab countries. More still I couldn’t identify an influence guiding their hand. No doubt, that of the native culture.
It should not have disgusted me so, save for the realization that the City had closed its gates hundreds of years ago. How could they mimic the design styles of those great architects such as James Ruskin or William Millhew and their Renaissance Revivalist designs so accurately?
I had little time to ponder this, however, as the Gramgard forces pushed forward, rifles at the ready. No doubt they wished to make sure that our point of entry was secure. Bully for them. As we all followed, though, I noticed something over the ruckus we made — an absence of screaming or howling madness. It was as much a relief as it was dreadful. I feared for when it might begin.
As soon as we all passed the gates, they began to close on us automatically. Because naturally they would, even without our direction to do so. Were this to be so simple, I would be even more concerned. Nevertheless, we all fell within the semicircle of Gramgard troops, awaiting them to give the all clear.
At first, I was convinced that we would be waiting uselessly, until one soldier bristled and barked something. Immediately, all of their soldiers were even more alert.
It surprised me, then, when Mr. Taylor moved to my other side, leaning in so that he might whisper. “Footsteps.” I had not expected him to be so fluent in their tongue. And was he of the same opinion as Miss Ellicott? No, something felt off about the way he spoke to me. I would have to investigate when time permitted.
After but a few scant moments, I was surprised to see a woman come into view. Her dress was well past its prime, her golden hair wild and unruly, and her entire demeanor disheveled. A Gramgard soldier barked something which needed no translation. As if by his command, she fell to the earth in tears, blubbering in Deuzsh.
Mr. Taylor whispered with the utmost care. “She’s saying that it’s been so long that she had given up all hope.” A Gramgard officer, the leader of his portion of the expedition by the looks of him approached her, speaking with surprising tenderness.
“He’s asking her to calm down and tell him what happened,” Mr. Taylor continued to translate. The woman wailed an answer. “She says that she was part of the last journey here to make an entrance to the City successfully. That she she’s survived despite the dangers. That…” Mr. Taylor’s face creased in a deep frown. “That the City hasn’t let her age.”
I wouldn’t put it past the City to have something that caused something akin to an unaging immortality. I had seen a village of savages who had based their entire religion around a Wonder that, when water was poured through it, would treat the water in such a way that it would restore vitality, cure wounds, ease ill humors, and bestow a host of other beneficial effects, leaving the imbiber with a state of mild euphoria.
One of our members had tried it, seeing as he was suffering at the time, and reported the change as it happened over a number of hours. It was a pity that we found him on the trip back with a gun pointed at Sir Wallen, demanding access to the samples we returned with. We were able to subdue him, but by the time that we reached a friendly port he had been driven quite mad without more of that water. It was later, after he had been committed to a madhouse, that he drowned himself seeking a hint of that water.
The officer and the woman began to exchange words now, and Mr. Taylor thankfully continued his translation for me, as my knowledge of the Deuzsh tongue was admittedly weak. “He’s asking what dangers. She claims that there are monsters and worse lurking the streets. She says that her expedition was whittled down man by man as they learned the rules of the city and how to survive, and only through their brave sacrifices has she been able to survive.”
The officer gently lifted her onto her feet, and she was starting to come t her senses. A blessed relief. There was nothing quite like seeing a woman wail like that; not the graceful, restrained tears, but the kind of wailing where fluids come from almost every orifice in the face.
“He’s asking about these rules.” Pragmatic. I approved. The woman grabbed his hand and tugged at it. “She wants to show him.”
I immediately ducked underneath the bars of my rickshaw. “Stay here,” I ordered. “I need to see what she’s showing him.”
“I’m coming with,” Mr. Taylor said quickly. “You’ll need my help.”
We weren’t the only ones. A Rhilian and a Tsullist came with us. It was no surprise that the Zipong didn’t come, considering that their numbers. Together with a small handful of soldiers, the woman lead us through the streets, pausing at a building. She spoke before turning to a window.
“Normally, your breath will disappear from a window,” said my erstwhile companion. I watched as she put her hand on the frame and blew. As she withdrew her hand, indeed, the fogging around the handprint slowly disappeared. As soon as it was gone, she clutched for the officer’s hand again, leading him away. A few buildings down was one in an older design; solid oak planks made up the walls, and the windows appeared to be sagging with age. Truly, I could easily envision this in an older village than in such a grand city. A sign hung above the door; Honigkrug, I noted.
Once again, the woman repeated the process of putting her hand on the window and leaning close to blow on it. After a moment, she withdrew to show us her handiwork. This time, the fog around her handprint showed no sign of disappearing at all. She spoke again, and rather than strain myself to translate, I waited for Mr. Taylor. “She says that when it stays around a handprint, you have protection from all dangers.”
Interesting. How in the world had they figured that out? Most likely the same way we learned about wonders: trial, error, and blood.
The officer was silent for a moment, running a hand over his neatly trimmed beard as he looked over the building. He was probably a noble of some low rank, but I didn’t hazard a guess as to what, or what he might have done to be assigned this duty. Still, with his height and his bearing, he struck me as a nobleman, and that was enough for me.
The officer said something to his soldiers and before Mr. Taylor could explain, he turned to us. “May I assume that you all understand what was said?” he asked in surprisingly good tongue. The four of us gave our agreement, and he nodded. “Then this is what we will do. We can see the gates from here, so my men and I will set up and prepare defenses. We will use this as a fallback point in case of disaster. Meanwhile, you will report to your camps how to ensure your safety. Nightfall is soon, and if any creatures are to attack, it would be then. In the morning, I’d request that everyone visit us so that we might share information.”
We all found that agreeable, so haste was made to return the scant handful of blocks to the others. I saw this, however, as an opportunity. “I find it strange that you show me so much more interest than before.”
Mr. Taylor fixed me with a grim smile. “We need solidarity in these trying times.”
“Indeed, however you are showing me favor over the others.”
The other man nodded. “I find my opinion of you has changed as of late. I fear that it might not be true for the others, but I now hold you in the highest of esteem.”
How queer. “Is it because of the words that I shared with Sir Wallen?”
His lips twisted upwards a bit. “No, my opinion changed before then. However, had that not been the case, I may very well have. This, however, can be discussed after proper sleeping arrangements are made.”
Indeed, I could see the logic behind such a decision. I looked at him now, taking in his appearance as if for the first time. He was mostly a clean-shaven man, save for an immaculate moustache, and his frame was tall but not reedy. His dark hair was cut shorter than fit his face’s angular features, which I found interesting. Was this his style of choice, or was had he taken the pragmatic approach that I had and realized that we might not die instantly, so seeing a proper barber might be some time?
I let Mr. Taylor handle communicating what we had learned to the others in our party, instead focusing on the rickshaw. Soon we were walking again, Miss Ellicott looking uncomfortable as she hiked her skirt somewhat to keep up with us in these initial legs. She hadn’t needed to worry for long, however, as the Rhilians soon took a different street than us. This, in turn, left us free to begin the otherwise silly process of blowing on windows.
Darkness was fast approaching before Mr. Dewar let out a noise of excitement, having found a building which retained his handprint. I was surprised to see, however, that it was not a house, but a department store and boutique. The building was tall, but appeared to be made out of a single slab of marble that extended all three stories, and strangely bore a flat roof. There were large windows on the ground floor, but each of the windows on the upper levels seemed to be of the bay variety. There was something else odd about it, something which I found myself incapable of discerning accurately; some measure to it that seemed out of place, an unknown quantity that made my stomach wish to move simply by looking at it.
A handful of others stepped inside to examine it, finding an entrance to living quarters above the shop accessible from the interior. For how dismissive I was of them before, they were wise to check almost every window.
With that out of the way, I finally slipped from the push bar of the rickshaw, only to find Mr. Lyons’ portly form in front of me. “Bring my equipment up to the top floor, won’t you?”
Ah, obviously I’d made a misjudgment in my decision to push the rickshaw. Whereas I had done it for personal safety and to ensure that those who weren’t as familiar with running as I wouldn’t result in us losing all of our gear should the worst come to pass, he had taken it to mean that I was the manual laborer of the group. With a heavy heart, I reached into my left messenger bag and withdrew one of the few things that I hadn’t considered a tool which I brought with me on this expedition. My back straight and with purpose, I offered the letter to Mr. Lyons.
With a smirk, he took the letter from my hands, but paled almost immediately as soon as he saw the broken seal on it. He cast a glance to me, but I only nodded once. With mounting dread, he began to read silently. I was aware of eyes upon us, but offered nothing. It could wait.
At long last, his trembling hand offered the parcel back to me. “Forgive me, good sir.”
I turned to the assembled group as I returned it to its proper place. “I believe that you all are due an explanation of what he has just seen. When the call went out for members of this expedition, it was an open invitation. However, two people received personal invitations, addressed from His Majesty. One refused. I did not.
“He specifically requested that I attend due to my familiarity with Wonders and their effects on people, as well as his familiarity with me. When he was but Crowned Prince, I was blessed enough to spend an evening dining in his company. Once again, I was granted his presence over tea as he discussed this expedition, and my role within it. I am to ensure that even should we succumb to madness, we will at least report back useful information.
“I did not wish to inform you all of this, lest I be viewed our leader. By how we have behaved thus far, and by our disparate fields of study, I believe that one of us declaring ourselves the leader will only cause unnecessary friction between us.” I looked among the twenty assembled bodies. “Instead, I will offer the following suggestion. The able-bodied men of this expedition, which I believe that all of us are, will unload the rickshaws, while the ladies are allowed to freshen up. We aren’t savages, after all.”
Everyone agreed to that, and we set to work. I was surprised by the department store — it had such a strange assortment of fashion that made little sense to me, but some that made half-sense. At least it had proper trousers. Miss Ellicott took the opportunity to nick some, since the owners appeared to be long gone.
The apartment above was lavish, with plenty of plush furniture and a fully stocked kitchen, filled with canned goods that appeared to still be edible. We refrained from trying any, owing to the comments of the Gramgard woman. We had our own provisions for now, thankfully. Mr. Nolan informed us that he would attempt to feed some to the mice that he brought with him in the morn.
As our last true action of the eve, those with a more technical mind set up our talkie. As they did so, I took a look at the devices available to us for study, identifying them for Mr. Wilkinson. Most were simple — a torch, a device to open cans, a cash register. Many, however, were beyond my knowledge and would require patient testing.
As soon as the talkie was set up, we each took turns giving our initial observations. I waited patiently, willing to go last. I hoped that the battery of Leiderdorp jars held out.
Fortunately, after but an hour, it was my turn. “Sir Wallen?”
I heard the deep, booming laughter of my old friend, and could see that smile which threatened to swallow the world in my mind. “I was wondering when you would speak. What have you observed?”
He might be a bear of a man, but his mind was keen and he was quick to the point, two of my favorite qualities about him. “The architecture is multicultural, which is what we expected. I will endeavor to sketch some of the more unusual buildings and see if the Gramgard can launch it in their daily mortars.” They assured us that the shells they’d designed to transport samples and written records would go over the walls, but I held my doubts.
“So far, there has been little noise and only one person.” Before he could interrupt, I quickly amended my statement. “I’ll talk about her more tomorrow. I would prefer to wait for her to be more calm before interviewing her. She was quite hysterical.”
“A pity,” Sir Wallen said solemnly.
“I am filled with an eerie sense of dread here. Everything is far too quiet, without even the sounds of insects. Were it not for the thin layer of dust, I would guess that the building that we are holed up in was occupied as little as a day ago. Worse still, we’re no closer to discerning the source of the howling madness that is heard over the talkies.”
“Give it time, old friend. I know how important that particular mystery is to you, but you cannot get all of your answers in a scant few hours. I have faith in your abilities to unravel it and report as strong as my faith in the Lord.” He paused for a moment. “You have little to report directly, then?”
“Not at this moment, I’m afraid. You’ve already heard about the handprint, so there’s little else at this point.”
“Very well. Then what are your plans for tomorrow?”
“Some simple exploration, seeking out more exotic devices here. To meet with the Gramgard, and possibly interview the woman. And lastly, to assist my erstwhile companions as best I can.”
Sir Wallen snorted. “More of a plan than you usually have. Then God’s grace be with you, both now and in all things.”
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