Steampunk Nights - Chapter 2

Record Author: Izyad Mishtan, Acolyte of Osiris
Location: Ashen

After my needful purchase of ammunition, I wandered through the marketplace, seeing what other wonders I could find in this new town.

Passing through a narrow passage between buildings, I discovered several beggars.  As is proper, I gave one of them a coin with the blessings of Osiris.  I thought nothing of this act of kindness, but my action was the seed of a tragedy.  To think that my charity would cause woe is sorrowful, but Osiris’ determination shall be done!

But to continue my narrative in sequence:

I emerged onto a large open area covered by merchants, tents, carts, and hawkers of every kind.  Two large fellows wearing identical robes that hid their entire bodies walked past.  My eyes followed them as I attempted to discover if they were of a religious order.  Both men had some kind of patch on one shoulder and each had two huge scimitars sheathed on their backs, the sword hilts jutting up over their shoulders.  So?  Law enforcement, militia, or army?

As I watched them I was startled to see a heavily bearded man fall out of the next alley down, a dagger buried in his back.  I was astonished by the smooth grace that both of these warriors displayed as a weighty scimitar was drawn in each hand and they jogged to the body - four naked blades flashing in the sun. 

Curious, I followed to see what they would do next.

A woman followed the body from the mouth of the alleyway and stood over the body with a possessive air.   She nodded once to the two advancing men and stopped down to withdraw her blade, wipe it on the dead man’s tunic, and then sheathed it. 

“Dune Walkers,” she said in casual greeting to the two advancing men.  Could a murderer be so brazen?

At the sight of her, both of the armed men relaxed slightly.  One of them put away his weapons and held out an empty hand.

“Retribution Sister?  May I see your bounty hunter license?”

The woman pulled out a small silver disk and flipped it to the man who caught it, gave it a quick glance and then tossed it back.

“A proper contract?” The Dune Walker nudged the body with one foot.  The second Dune Walker put his weapons away at this question.

The woman nodded and pulled out a scroll, “Indeed.  A repeat offender – thrice warned of his victim’s intent.  He did nothing to stay the recompense or even appeal.  He said that my client was beneath his notice.”

“Not now,” laughed the Dune Walker.  His voice toughened as he grimly intoned, “Justice has been done.”

The two police bowed in obvious respect to the woman and then walked away, leaving the body on the ground.  The woman kicked some sand into the dead man’s hair and returned down the alley she had appeared from.

I stood stunned at this exchange.  Incomprehensible – from start to finish!  Unless the people here follow the ways of the Green Pharaoh unknowingly?

I spent several minutes pondering just what the justice system of this land is, but I must confess that I am still at a loss.  I will need to investigate this matter later.  Deeply.

Suddenly, I stopped and stared at the ground I walked on.  I had been walking as my thoughts reviewed this singular scene of bloodshed and failed to take note of where exactly I was going.  My feet were not on cobblestones, nor on sand, but atop a road surface unlike anything I had seen before.

Perfectly flat.  Firm, but with a slight feeling of give to it.  Black as midnight.  Wide as the entire market square!  It stretched off to the east in a sinuous line that followed the gentle contours of the land, threading between warehouses and inns on either side.

As I looked at this marvel of engineering, I could see one of the carts that I had spied from a distance was flying down the road towards the town.  I had an unobstructed view and analyzed it in great detail.

Not even with four horses drawing it has a cart ever moved with such swiftness at home.  And as it drew nearer I could see that this cart had no draft animals at all – the only clue to its motive power being a thick band of smoke that slowly dissipated behind it.

Then the size of it registered.  Why, it was huge! 

As I watched, the immense cart turned to one side and shuddered to a stop next to a warehouse a short distance away.  I could now clearly see the driver on the top of the cart, but instead of reins, the woman had her hands on several odd levers.  I walked closer to see if she would be willing to entertain my questions.

She began hollering aloud and soon four burly men exited the warehouse and began to open the rear doors of the covered cart bed.  Peeking inside, I saw that it was enormous and filled with crates and large plates or panels of some kind.

The woman glared at me as I drew near.

“I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling!” she barked.

“Oh, no!” I exclaimed, “I merely wish to gape at your fine cart and perhaps ask you about its sublime design.”

“Is that so?” the woman said with a measure of pride in her conveyance writ clearly on her face.  “I’ll tell you what.  I need to watch these louts unload my cargo, but it has been a dusty ride from Azar Harif.  Tell you what.  You go buy me a cup of wine and I’ll tell you whatever I know about this beauty!”  She slapped the side of her cart in a friendly manner.

“Done!” I agreed happily and returned a few minutes later with the price of her conversation.  She drained the cup without another word to me, sighed deeply with satisfaction, and cursed inventively at the slowness of the men who were still unloading her wares.  Her smiling eyes then turned back to me.

“Call me Alda, friend.  What do you go by?”

“I am Izyad Mishtan, Acolyte of Osiris.”

“Hiya, Izyad.  You must be new to Steam Carts, eh?  I can see it in your eye,” she said with a grin.

“Yes,” I agreed.  “How does your cart move without horses?”

“Come and see,” she said and held out a gloved hand.  I took it and she pulled me up onto the bench where she sat.  In front of her was a petite table filled with small devices and levers all set into the metal of its surface.  With a flick of her fingers on these controls, a panel hissed open with a blast of heat and steam.

Alda pointed into the opening and proudly said, “There she is!  The heart and soul of this roller!  I just had it rebuilt last month.”

Struts of metal with strong-looking hinges moved up and down in a steady rhythm.  I noted that the puffs of black smoke seemed synchronized with each stroke of the device’s limbs.  A flickering blue light filled the space where this metal curiosity was fitted.  I got a sense of power and of magic, but failed to comprehend what I was seeing.  The pulse did indeed remind me of a beating heart.  I shuddered a bit, thinking that perhaps Alda’s words were literal and that somehow a person’s soul had been bound to the cart to give it life. 

Alda quickly cured me of this fear.  She exploded into a fountain of words, most of it babble to my uninitiated ears, but I understood enough to realize that this was just another example of the Vincha’s clockwork.  A large and powerful example certainly, but of the same kind.

Alda’s confusing speech was interrupted as one of the workmen dropped one of the large plates to the ground.  I cried out when I saw that it was a large sheet of plate glass.  What a waste!  But then I looked again and my mouth hung open.  For the glass had not broken.  Instead, the corner of the plate glass had cracked a cobblestone in two upon striking the ground.

The woman laughed, “Never seen Alun glass-steel either, I take it?  You must come from a place pretty deep in the wilds, Izyad!”

“But how –”

“It’s glass-steel.  Those desert mystics have a way with glass – they can turn it into something hard as any metal.  Very useful.  And very profitable.  It’s almost all I’ve been moving this direction.  Yes, sir!  Glass-steel from Azar Harif and luxury foodstuffs from the Central Wilds back down to the city!  I’ve been making a fortune!”

“It is close by then, this city of Azar Harif?”

“A long days’ travel to go there and back again,” Alda agreed, “A bit more than 200 miles from here.”

I’m afraid I stared at her like a sun-stroked water buffalo at this.  What speed!  She laughed again and waved me off of her machine, closing the panel to hide its marvelous inner workings.  With a flick of a lever, the cart’s rumble ceased.

“Well, good luck to you, Izyad!”

And with a jump down and a dash inside the warehouse, she was gone.

Extraordinary.

I climbed down from the now silent cart, realizing that it had been vibrating with power before, and only now was it at rest.  I took a long sweeping gaze around myself, drinking in the sight of so many of these devices on the ground and in the air. 

Yes.  Surely I can learn what I must here in this land.

And to that end, I began to retrace my steps to Kazim’s tent.  I must explore further in order to gain the knowledge of this place and he is a man who can direct me to the path of learning by doing.

Imagine my surprise when I came across the same beggar that I had gifted some coins to, prostrate on the ground.  I stooped to examine the fellow and discovered that some blunt instrument had crushed his head.  He was dead.

“Who did this?” I said aloud.

“Hesam the Lame, that’s who,” I was surprised to hear in reply.  I looked to the voice and saw a little blind boy sitting on a doorstep.

“Explain this to me,” I asked in a softer tone, placing a coin into the boy’s outstretched palm.

“Hesam is an old Dune Walker.  He can swing his crutch like a sword and he rules over us beggars like an iron tyrant.  He saw someone give old Knut a coin and demanded it.  When Knut refused…”  The boy made a throwaway gesture.

“But it was I who gave this man a coin!” I exclaimed, “Along with the blessing of Osiris!”  Righteous indignation at the vile act of this Hesam the Lame filled my breast.

Thinking that this sinner must be somewhere close by in order to continue his evil reign, I stood and began exploring the alleyways.  I was not long in finding the man.  A huge brute, leaning on a crutch with a piteous expression on his face.  My inner eye saw past this mask to see the blackness of his soul.

“Hesam the Lame,” I said in my preaching voice.  “I have come to offer you a gift from Osiris.”

“A gift from who?”

“You have murdered a fellow beggar,” I said pointing an incriminating finger at his face.

Sensing that I was not there to give him charity the man sneered at me.  “What of it?  One less beggar to feed!  I did the world a favor!”

“To steal a single coin?  A coin that had been blessed by a representative of Osiris himself?”

“Wouldn’t know much about that – nor would I care to learn!  Take your preaching elsewhere, you fraud!”

“You deny the open hand of Osiris’ grace, then?” I asked sorrowfully, “You refuse to repent of your wicked ways while in this life?”

The man tipped his head back and cackled at me.  When his head came back down he spit into the ground. “There’s for your Osiris.”

“Very well,” I said slowly, “Then you will receive the judgement of Osiris instead.”

With this, I called upon the powers granted to me by my faith and laid a hand on the beggar.  A flash of necrotic power burned the life from the murderer and his empty body fell to the ground.  It powdered into dust as it fell, leaving nothing behind.

Immediately I felt better – my sorrow lifted.  Death’s retribution had cleansed yet another wayward soul.  I muttered a quick prayer for his departed Ba – hoping that Osiris would now be merciful.

Feeling like I had done Osiris’ will this day already in cleansing and renewing the land, I quickly found my way and entered the tent of Kazim with a light heart.

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