Kex waited on a small slate causeway connecting the garrets of two row-houses. Three exaggerated dormers hid the area from the pedestrians below, of which there were fewer and fewer as evening advanced. Soon the sun would dip below the slow-turning Wheel and the twilight city would be bathed in daylight for a few precious moments before being plunged into night. It was during this time every dawn and dusk that the people of Oð would stop whatever they were doing, and turn their faces toward the light. Shopkeepers would step outside, children would stop playing, the world inside the city walls would grind to a peaceful rest. It was during an “evening light” this winter that Kex’s mother had passed. At her request, he’d dragged her chair to the window and thrown open the shutters. She’d shielded her eyes at first but then gazed directly into the golden disc as it passed from behind the Wheel to behind the wall. When the light finally faded so had she. He tried not to dwell on her memory, because it was still too fresh, too much for him to endure. She was the only family he’d ever known. He’d wrapped her in an old quilt and carried her to the Gray Guild, folded over his shoulders. She was lighter than he’d expected, in part because she’d refused food for weeks. As the cobbled streets passed beneath him he sang a song that she used to sing to him. At the guild, he laid her on a cart and paid the Mourner. He stood staring at the rolled quilt for some time before turning to go.

That was in Sharak, almost six months ago. Since then he’d met Arybe and they’d found reasons to meet here and there around the Sulyard. He’d caught her eye at the Clocktower Square. She was helping at her father’s stall, selling metal trinkets to strange Drole-like men who sometimes clawed their way to the surface to buy odds-and-ends before returning to their lairs. He inspected the stall wares for a few minutes, trying to determine what the items were for. He’d hoped to strike a conversation but couldn’t make heads-or-tails of the hardware and became tongue-tied as to how to begin. Arybe noticed his confusion and was the first to speak. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember what she said. His response must have been remarkable, no memory of that either, because she laughed and smiled in turn. Whatever it was he said, he couldn’t have hoped for a better reception. She explained that she didn’t know what all the trinkets were for, but knew they were for various machines. Her father had salvaged some and made others to order. They talked for a short time before her father returned and told him to buy something or leave. He was convinced that Kex was trying to distract his daughter so that he could pocket something. Kex had no money and so bid her farewell and left, making plans to return the next market day.

At home, Kex took a quick inventory of the few possessions he had. Sitting on the edge of their bed he scanned the walls, sloped ceilings, peeling wallpaper. The evening-light leaked through the shutters and across the plank floor where a mouse had returned, searching for scraps. The landlord had given him until month-turn to settle his debts or be gone. The landlord was on old friend of his mother’s and had allowed them to stay-on long after she’d stopped working. They called him Uncle, but he was no relation. Uncle had climbed the garret stairs a couple days ago, barely able to navigate the narrow passage due to his gross size. In a city where nothing grew and untold thousands scraped by with beggars’ portions, there was something vulgar about someone with Uncle’s proportions. The bed creaked menacingly when he sat on the frame. Kex threw the shutters open as the landlord lit a pipe and began filling the room with smoke. He spent the better part of a watch telling about his younger days working in Kryçàryn, loading and unloading the pilot boats that came into the harbor. He talked about the Ogdar and how awful it was working beside them. “Engorged”, he repeated often with a wink. “They could carry a crate under each arm and hang a sack from their third!” Kex chuckled politely. He’d seen the Ogdar at the Kreyard market before. They stood twice as tall as a man and were muscled like boxers. Each had a handler which directed the monsters with long crops. Merchant Guard stood nearby with their scabbards open in case there was an incident. While most people gave the monsters a wide berth, Kex remembered looking at their faces and thinking how hopeless they looked. Uncle eventually finished his pipe and his story soon thereafter. He then explained that he was losing money on the room and that while he “hated to do it”, Kex would need to move this month-turn if he couldn’t make rent. Kex explained, again, that he was looking for work but had received no offers. Uncle replied that he’d ask around and then left back down the garret stairs. They’d had this exchange every week since his mother died. He now had less than a month to get a job. Looking down at his hands, he looked again at his things: a few silver, his mother’s locket, and a folded piece of paper he’d found in the mattress straw. He unfolded the note and stared at the handwriting, wondering if he knew anyone that could read.

Early the next morning, Kex walked down to the Kreyard market. While still blocks away, he could hear the commotion of the Kryçàryn marketplace. Merchants yelled over one another to draw customers to their stalls. Arguments flared and dissipated, draymen cracked their whips, the keep gates shuddered and creaked as they opened and closed with each new arrival. Above all of this was the teeth-grinding shriek of the elevator pulleys, raising and lowering payloads from the harbor below. To one side a foreign-looking man with a curled beard and a ship’s coat shouted that he was looking for crewman, “no experience necessary”. Farther along the perimeter a small group of Danòkyr encircled some potential converts, promising them wealth, land, and sunshine just to the South. Kex had listened to their spiel before but there was something about their shaven heads, red robes, and manic delivery that bothered him. That, and he’d never heard of anyone returning from the fabled land of Danok. “Then again, why would they?” He muttered to himself. Winding through the crowds farther he found a temporary stage flanked by two windowless wagons. Atop the stage stood a peculiar man running his cane up and down the body of a boy bound in heavy ropes. Slavers were not uncommon in Oð. He knew this, but the scene made him shudder. The boy on the stage was not unlike himself. If he was unable to pay Uncle, he could be on this very stage at month’s end; such was the fate of debtors. He sometimes wondered if there was a conspiracy to keep people unemployed so that they could later be enslaved and forced to work for free. “Two Talas!” was the final cry as a collective gasp issued from the crowd. Kex needed to find a job.

As he turned to leave the auction, Kex felt a jab beneath his ribs. His body went rigid with fear until he heard a familiar voice, “So, you interested in buying someone? Not as poor as I thought.” Turning, he found the young woman from the stall grinning behind him, her fingers jammed into his side. “Chance meeting you here!” Kex exclaimed, failing to check his enthusiasm. Arybe smiled and looked across the crowd. There were thousands of city folk pressed shoulder-to-shoulder in the marketplace, all talking, all moving, a civil chaos. Kex found himself following her gaze, locking eyes only when hers returned to him. Her look was friendly but inscrutable; was she laughing at him? “What brings you to Southmarket,” she asked, “or is lurking around stalls your idea of fun?” Kex glanced at the boy being hauled away by the ropes that bound him. An older woman stood behind the stage counting coins out of a small purse. Two bodyguards stood to either side of her, watching the crowd suspiciously. Arybe whispered, “That’s Lady Ældar, one of the wealthiest women in the city.” Kex fixed his eyes on Arybe again. “How do you know that?” The young woman shrugged her shoulders. “It pays to know your neighbors,” she explained without answering. “So, what are you doing here again?” She asked. Kex sighed, watching the boy being led away. “Looking for a job. Trying to avoid that.” Arybe shrugged again. “What do you want with a job?” “I would like to not lose my home,” Kex answered thinking about the little garret at Uncle’s. “You have a job,” he continued. “That’s not my job,” she countered, poking at fish-heads as they walked among the stalls. “I just help my father now and then. He worries.” Kex was confused. “If that’s not your job, what do you do?” Arybe stopped near a vegetable stand, running her fingers across the produce. The seller glanced toward her but she smiled sweetly and he turned to tend to other customers. Soon, they were walking again. “I don’t have a job,” she adjoined, “I don’t need one.” Arybe turned to Kex and shook a pilfered carrot in his face. “You don’t need one either.” Kex tried to check his astonishment but failed. The young woman laughed, ate, and talked some more. “Your problem…” She stopped and looked puzzled. “What is your name by the way?” Kex answered. “Kex.” She seemed to be feeling the shape of the name in her mouth, with some distaste. “Hello, I’m Arybe.” They shook hands and with introductions out of the way, she continued, “Your problem, Kex, is that you’re asleep.”

Awakening

Written: 24 Apr 2012