“You came in with the morning tide,” Caleb said, once they had some room to themselves. “I think everyone in the city is either going to the docks or leaving them.”
Emily nodded, feeling sweat trickle down her back. Two-thirds of the city’s economy depended on fishing or trade. No wonder so many people wanted to get down the ladders and onto the docks. And yet…she hoped General Pollack didn’t have any trouble getting the coffin up to the house. She didn’t pretend to understand why the general wanted to take an empty coffin home, but she respected his choice. It meant something to him.
The streets still thrummed with life. A handful of broadsheet singers shouted at the top of their lungs, inviting potential customers to buy a broadsheet and read the latest set of exclusives. Emily smiled as she saw the broadsheets, spotting a couple of titles she recognized from Cockatrice. The original broadsheet boom had slowed as the market grew saturated – too many printers had tried to go into the newspaper business – but the survivors were turning into reputable establishments. Their reputation for telling the truth was far stronger than any herald’s.
That will change, she thought, cynically. But people here worship the written word.
“I picked up a copy,” Frieda said, nodding towards one of the sellers. “There were only a couple of lines about the war.”
“Too far away for most people to be interested,” Emily pointed out. Beneficence was one of the most cosmopolitan cities on the Nameless World, but Tarsier and Farrakhan were still thousands of miles away. Farrakhan wasn’t even on any of the major trade routes. “They wouldn’t notice the war unless it impinged on them.”
She frowned as they turned into a street lined with temples. Incense hung in the air, a cloyingly sweet smell that made her head swim. Large crowds were gathered outside the larger buildings, either waiting to join the service or chatting as they hurried down the street; street preachers stood on the pavement, calling to passersby. People glanced nervously at a set of statues, positioned outside one of the largest temples. Emily shuddered as she followed their gaze. The statues were…grotesque. They looked as though they were screaming in agony. The Nameless World worshipped some pretty odd things – there were cults everywhere – but the statues’ aura chilled her to the bone.
“Caleb,” she said. “What are they?”
Caleb frowned. “It depends on who you believe,” he said, as he tugged her on. “I’ve been told they were Judged.”
“Judged?”
“By Justice,” Caleb said. “The witnesses claim that they saw the god petrify them.”
Frieda looked up at him, disturbed. “Those are people?”
“A number of sorcerers claim they’re just statues.” Caleb’s face darkened. “But if they are statues…what happened to the missing people?”
Emily shuddered. The Gorgon had petrified her, once. It had been an accident, but Emily knew she’d come far too close to losing herself. If her mind had faded away completely, she would have died. And the only thing left would have been a perfect stone statue. If the victims had been petrified, their souls destroyed…
“Surely the sorcerers could have done something,” she said.
“If they were transfigured, the sorcerers should have been able to transfigure them back,” Caleb said. “But they insist that the statues are just…statues.”
Frieda had a more practical question. “How many?”
“There are five known statues,” Caleb said. “Rumor says that there are more, many more.”
Emily glanced around. She wasn’t the most sensitive of people, but even she could sense an…edge in the air. The crowd was nervous. Fear clung to them warning her to be careful. The people on the street knew something was badly wrong. Even the chanting from some of the temples seemed curiously muted.
A trio of red-robed men appeared from one of the temples and headed down the street. The crowd parted to allow them to pass, their expressions fearful. Emily’s eyes narrowed, remembering the last time she’d seen the men. The Hands of Justice, if she recalled correctly. They were the closest thing she’d seen to religious policemen.
Caleb hurried her through a maze of streets, coming out near a row of banks. Lines of people waited outside, their faces torn between enthusiasm and a kind of nameless dread they didn’t seem to want to acknowledge. A midsized line of people outside the Bank of Silence quietly waited for…something. She promised herself, silently, that she would see Markus as soon as possible. The line of armed guards – and enhanced protective spells – surrounding the banks didn’t reassure her.
“We’ll have to go to the temple tomorrow,” Caleb said. “And then…”
He glanced at Emily, then Frieda. “What would you want to do?”
“I don’t know yet,” Emily said, as they rounded the corner and walked into the magical district. “It depends.”
She braced herself as she sensed the magic in the air, tingling against her wards. A pair of street magicians were playing with fire, young children clapping and cheering as they swallowed hot coals and breathed out gouts of flame. No one above the age of seven looked interested, she noted. Anyone raised among magicians would know that such tricks were simplicity itself, the spells so basic that anyone with a gram of talent could cast them. Behind them, a suspiciously intelligent horse was showing off its math skills. She studied the creature for a long moment, then rolled her eyes as she realized that the horse was actually a transfigured human. The watching crowd didn’t seem to care.
“By tradition, there will be five days until the funeral,” Caleb said. His words jerked her awareness back to him. “We’ll have time to explore the city.”
“I need to visit the bank,” Emily said. “After that…”
“I’d better come with you,” Frieda said. “Who knows what you’d get up to in the bank?”
Caleb looked annoyed. Emily didn’t blame him.