LOG: Caleria
Who: Clive (howling_storm) and Elza (sternundmond)
When: This afternoon (in progress!)
Where: Caleria
What: Clive goes to the Guild to get answers. Elza gets company, a kebab, and the first hint of danger shot at. Cookies have yet to appear.
True to his word, Clive was there to meet Elza at the door of the inn. While he waited he had been sitting in the shade with his back to the wall and Sturm leaned against his shoulder, his elbows on his knees, staring out across the courtyard with a distracted look on his face. But when she appeared he stood up to greet her solemnly, brushing dirt and bits of grass from the back of his cloak. Together they could depart through the gap in the old stone wall that marked the entrance to Budehuc, and set out on the long road to Caleria.
Though dark clouds lingered over the sea to the west, the weather remained fine. The grasslands were open and sunny, smelling of fresh new spring grass and warm dirt. There was little to be seen along the plains, only boot prints worn into the dirt paths that most travellers followed to get from town to town. At one point a merchant caravan appeared in the distance: a small wagon with a canvas bonnet, drawn by a tired looking horse. Blankets were draped from its sides and copper pots and pans hung in the back. Men walked alongside it, some armed with swords- caravan guards, probably. But it was far away, and heading south towards Vinay del Zexay, and soon enough it vanished over the horizon, leaving them alone again beneath the cloud-swept sky.
By the time they reached the foot of the mountains it was sunset, and the sky was turning red. They could make camp there, in the shelter of the rocks. Clive explained that he hadn't brought a tent, wanting to travel light, but there were always bedrolls or blankets to roll up into, and a small fire for cooking and warmth. Clive spoke little; he seemed tense and preoccupied the whole time, his mind elsewhere. He kept Sturm beside him, as if uneasy to leave the rifle out of sight. But he was civil and careful not to speak of anything from their past that might spoil their tenuous peace, and they very likely spent an uncomfortable night asleep beneath the stars.
The passage over the mountains the next morning was also quiet. The sky was grey at dawn, and slowly cleared as the hours passed. The path was empty; it was still too cold for all but the hardiest travellers to willingly make the trip across it. Patches of muddy snow clung to the rocks and ice limned the bare branches of the few dead trees. It was a hard climb, and their breath would mist in the cold air as they trudged up the mountain, and their boots would slither and crunch in the loose scree. The view was spectacular though, vast and free, and at the peak the waterfall was flowing, sending bitter meltwater crashing into a stony reservoir hundreds of feet below. Even Clive seemed grudgingly impressed with the sight, though he grumbled a little when he realised that all of the mist swirling in the air had left his clothing damp and cold.
By the time they reached the bottom of the path on the other side of the mountain it was nearly noon. It appeared as if no one had followed them; between the two gunners Elza's senses were the keenest, but even to her there would be no signs of pursuit. They would both likely be dusty and tired from the long, rocky hike, but at least as they descended towards Caleria it was warm and sunny again, the winter cold left behind them. The tall sandstone walls around the city were still as imposing as ever though, and the mountains made a looming backdrop behind it. City guards clad in white, with dark headdresses and curving swords, stood casually at the entrance. Beyond them, the entrance of the market could be made out. It sounded busy.
Just outside the entrance Clive finally drew to a halt. He leaned onto one foot, dug a big pebble out of the tread of his boot, and eyed the guards. He looked tired after the walk, but his face was set. "I know of a safehouse we can stay at not far from here," he murmured to Elza. "It's a short distance from the market, and it's well hidden. Not even the Guild knows it's there. We can drop our things off there before we do anything else, if you like."
Elza took a moment to look around the city and take it all in. It was a lot like she had remembered it - busy and bustling... and people lurking in just about every corner. She frowned, more to herself than anything as she finally let herself feel exhausted from their trip. She wondered where this safehouse was, because she could have sworn that she knew every inch of Caleria backwards and forwards all on her own.
She heard Clive speak and it took her a moment to process exactly what he had said. Once she did, she replied, "Sounds good." With that, she watched him to see where it was he would lead her.
"It's just this way," said Clive. Taking care to keep Sturm hidden out of sight beneath his cloak, he stepped forward and strode past the guards, leading the way into the city.
Caleria was indeed just as busy as Elza likely remembered it being. The trade city was a hive of activity, bright and active beneath the sun. The streets were crowded with people, most of whom were dressed in the flowing clothing that the Calerians seemed to prefer, in shawls and scarves to ward off the sun. Horses were tethered outside of shops and dirty little mules pulled carts along the market square. The stalls were full of wares and curious browsers, and their colourful awnings and decorative blankets gently ruffled in the spring wind. Fruit trees stood here and there, their canopies fresh and green and blooming.
Walking briskly, Clive turned away from the market and led Elza down a narrow alley, walking single-file. It was cooler there, shadowy. The walls were tan sandstone and underneath their boots the path was paved in dished flagstones, worn down by the passing of hundreds of feet. Lines of laundry flapped overhead, pigeons swooped between the eaves, and at one point a small black and white cat peered at them from an open window. Meanwhile the din from the busy market echoed faintly in the distance, growing quieter the further in they walked.
Eventually he stopped at a small green door set into a wall. It had no windows, nor were there any windows in the wall, save for much higher up. There was only a narrow metal slot in the door at eye-height, evidently for someone inside to peer out. Clive reached up and rapped his knuckles against it, and waited. "The man who lives here, his name is Eugene," he said in a low voice, looking back at Elza. "He's used to helping out travellers passing through the city. He's cheap, and he's quiet."
"I...see." Elza didn't have much to add but was thankful that there was a chance to get out of the sun - even though her cloak reflected some of the heat that was coming from the blazing sun above them, it was still hot. "I hope he's here..." Elza couldn't keep her eyes from darting around the both of them as she checked to see if anyone around them was acting suspiciously.
"I do too," admitted Clive. He stood back and waited, rocking on his heels a little, trusting Elza to keep a sharp watch.
The alley was quiet for a minute or two. The laundry flapped gently on the lines overhead, and little bits of fluff from blooming fruit trees drifted in the air, glowing when it passed through a shaft of sunshine. Somewhere in the distance a rooster crowed. The little cat on the windowsill regarded them with slitted eyes, its paws curled under its furry breast. It yawned, showing sharp teeth. But there was no other movement aside from that. All was still and hushed.
Then, something thumped behind the door. After a moment the metal shutter slide aside with a 'shuck'. A pair of spectacles with wrinkled eyes in the middle peered out at them. "Eh...?" said a voice from inside.
Clive leaned forward. "Vino," he said.
The eyes squinted at him. Then they withdrew, and the shutter snapped shut. There was a sound from inside the door, of locks and chains being drawn back. Then the door cracked open, revealing a glimpse of a hallway. "Inside, inside," muttered the voice, and Clive stood back and gestured for Elza to step indoors.
Elza did as Clive motioned, and hurriedly entered, pulling the hood of her cloak back from her hair. It was a little cooler as she stepped inside and took a look around her, her eyes finally resting on Clive as she waited for the two men to say something so she could learn more about her surroundings.
Inside the door was a hallway. Visible beyond it was a small room, sparse but neat, with threadbare rugs on the floor and worn wicker chairs with cushions on them for sitting in. There was a counter in one corner, by a window lined with glass jars full of dirt with plants and vegetables growing in then, like a garden. Vines and leaves trailed all along the windowsill. Cloth tapestries hung on the sandstone walls, showing crudely stitched scenes of cities and gardens and horses. Another hall led away to the left, presumable towards a bedroom. It was a small, cramped space, but airy and clean.
Just inside the door stood a tiny, bent old man. He was nearly half the size of Clive, and had thin white hair and a bald dome. He wore round spectacles and trousers and a button-down shirt, with suspenders. As Elza stepped inside he was setting down a small wooden footstool; evidently he had stood on it to peer out the shutter. "Eh? Who is this?" he said when he saw Elza, frowning at her in a nonplussed manner.
"Elza, sir. A friend of Clive's." Elza looked at the little old man, then looked at Clive. She didn't want to say more for fear of sounding presumptuous - she had learned that usually if you didn't know what to say or how much to trust someone, the less you said, the better.
There was a thump behind them as Clive stepped into the small home and shut the door behind him. Meanwhile the old man - Eugene, presumably - greeted her with a bob of his head. He was very old, but he still had keen eyes, and he sized her up and down. "A friend of Clive, eh?" he said. "Then, you are welcome here. We don't let just anyone inside. This way, this way..."
He turned and gestured for them to follow him, motioning with his hand as he shuffled off down the hallway. "You want the room, ah?" he said. He had a curious accent, not Calerian, something more southern. "Miss Elza, you like Mister Clive, eh? Part of his strange group, same people...?"
Elza paused - she and Clive weren't entirely in the same group of people, but as someone told her long ago, you are whom you associate with. She nodded as a response to his question and paused for a moment to figure out where his accent is from. She watched Clive and wondered why he hadn't said anything yet.
Clive stepped up close behind her, looking serious and thoughtful. He had also pushed down his hood though, relaxing now that they were off the street; his hair was dusty from the trip. "It's all right," he whispered when he saw her expression. "We can trust him. I've been here before, in the past."
Meanwhile, the old man watched them from the hallway. "This way, this way," he said patiently, waving for them to follow. "I need your help with this."
Elza nodded to Clive and followed the little old man down the hall. The walls were bare - there were no pictures, nothing to make this place a home by any stretch. She heard Clive's light footsteps following behind her as she followed him to the room.
The hall was more tan sandstone. And Elza was right: there were few decorations, just a few faded portraits in oval frames. In the middle of the hallway was a trapdoor in the ceiling, with a rope hanging from it, knotted at the end so that it could be easily grabbed. The old man halted beneath it and peered up at it, adjusting his glasses. "I can't reach. Miss Elza, you are much taller... you see rope? Could you pull that down for me, please...? Open trapdoor?"
Elza saw the rope and pulled it down. Elza stepped back as a flight of steps seemed to slowly unfold from the door itself. She smiled slightly at that as she pulled until the steps were fully unrolled at their feet. She pointed upwards quietly as if to ask the little old man if it was all right for them to go ahead on up.
When Elza pulled the rope the trapdoor creaked open, showering them with a little cloud of dust. The folding ladder that slid and unfolded downwards looked worn by many feet, and it planted itself securely in front of Elza's boots. Another room was visible up through the gap. It looked brightly lit at least, not at all like musty attic; sunlight shone against the wall.
Eugene stood back and lightly dusted off the top of his head. When she smiled at him he smiled back, his face wrinkling pleasantly. "Room is all clean, beds clean, new sheets, water in the jug," he said, and motioned for them to climb the ladder up into the upstairs room. "Go right ahead, my girl, up, up. You'll like it there, good and quiet. Miss Elza, Mister Clive, I get payment from you later, eh?"
Elza was beginning to warm to the man's quick and bright personality. She smiled a little bit as she carefully climbed the creaking steps up towards the room. She turned slightly and looked out of the corner of her eye to see how closely Clive would follow her upstairs.
"Of course, sir," said Clive, and the old man patted his arm. Then the ladder gave a brief jolt as he stepped onto it, climbing up into the room behind Elza.
When Elza's head cleared the level of the floor she would get her first look into the upstairs room. It was a small room, large enough for perhaps two or three people to sleep in comfortably. Like the rest of the house the walls were made of the same tan sandstone, rough and simple. There were two rattan futons on the floor, wrapped in linen sheets with grey wool blankets folded at the foot. A large round rug lay at her feet, worn and a little dusty looking but nicely patterned in red and black. There was a small wooden table in one corner, with a white basin on it and a white jug of water standing beside it. Beside the table was a tall wicker basket, with a lid. The trapdoor they were climbing was also in a corner.
The room was just as sparse and bare as the living room downstairs. But there was a large, arching doorway in one wall, with curtains hanging from it instead of a door. In Caleria, it was so warm there was little need for doors or glass windows, apparently. The doorway led out to a small balcony, which had a black iron railing around it. There was a potted plant standing out on it, basking in the sunlight. The curtains were drawn back, so that fresh light and air could enter the room. It was clean, bright and airy. The only way into the room was through the trapdoor.
Elza surveyed the room quietly. It had the basic amenities, which was good. There was only one way in, but two ways out - if you had to go through the window as a last resort, you could. She walked over to the window and glanced at the crowds of people in the marketplace below. The window was at a good angle by which if they were sieged there, they could mount a reasonable defense. She looked over at Clive once she finished this mental inspection and nodded her approval to him, and then to the little old man for taking the time to show them to their room.
Clive strode up the last step and stood upright in the room, gazing about himself appreciatively. He unslung his rucksag from his back and threw it down onto one of the futon beds, evidently claiming it for his own. When he saw her nod at him he smiled a little, pleased that she found everything satisfactory.
Eugene meanwhile had creaked and climbed the ladder behind them, far enough that he could stick his head up into the room. He gave her a watery smile as well, tipped his glasses, and said, "Just pull up ladder when you want privacy," he said. "I see you later, Miss Elza, do enjoy room."
And then his head disappeared, and all that could be heard was the clump of his shoes on the ladder as he descended back to the first floor. A moment later Clive crouched down beside the trapdoor and began to pull up the ladder again, so that they could speak in private. "What do you think...?" he said, with a grunt. "It's not bad, isn't it...? We won't be bothered here, Eugene will see to that."
"It's not bad. It's comfortable." She sat down on the bed furthest from him and looked at him. "So. What now?"
Clive's expression grew serious at that. He sank down onto his bed as well and sat cross-legged on the end of it with his cloak gathered around him, without bothering to tug off his boots first. He ran a hand through his hair, absently brushing away the light dust, then reached around and laid Sturm across his lap. "And now, I think we should split up," he said. He lifted his eyes and met her gaze. "For safety, so we won't be caught together if things go bad. I'm going to go and meet the Guild administrator here in Caleria. And Elza, I wonder... if you could do a job for me in the city, to put a spike in the Guild's wheel in case things get really bad..."
A separate job? Already this was getting a little more complicated than she originally bargained for. Then again, nothing the Guild ever did or plotted was simple in the first place. "Mm hmm. What needs doing?"
"I know you don't want to get mixed in with the Guild while you're here or do- their kind of work again," said Clive in a hasty voice, lifting his hands from the rifle and holding them upright. He could still remember what she had told him about her missing memory, and her missing knives. "I'm not asking you to kill anyone. But while you're in the city, I was wondering if you could track someone down for me if you happen to go walking into the Market..."
"Who?"
"That's the tough part." Clive grimaced. "I don't know who the man is, or even what he looks like. It's been twenty years for me, everything has changed..."
He trailed off, thinking of how wrinkled and old Eugene had become since he last saw him, then shook his head. "The man supposedly works in the Market as a merchant or a guard, but in reality he's a spy for the Howling Voice Guild. I was told about him years ago, but I've never met him, so I can't describe his face. Only the administrator of the Guild chapterhouse here knows what this man looks like. If you go to the Market after I leave to meet with the Guild, could you... look out for anyone suspicious? If we can find out who this spy is, then we can be safe and avoid him in the future. Or deal with him," he added darkly, rubbing his thumb along Sturm's trigger.
She nodded. "Although, in a city like Caleria, everyone is the suspicious type." She wasn't sure if Clive had developed any more of a sense of humor in the time since they had worked together, but humor made her feel just a tiny bit better about this whole operation.
Clive blinked. Then his serious expression faded and he flashed her one of his rare grins. "That's true," he chuckled, lifting one hand to rub at the back of his head. As he scrubbed his fingers through his hair he added, "I'm sorry, I wish I had a better description of the man to give you. But thank you, Elza. It'll be easier facing the Guild knowing you're watching our backs. I'm glad you came."
Elza nodded. "I..." She paused. From Clive's disposition, she could tell that some part of him held out hope that the Guild hadn't gone as rotten as she had said, that they would never try to turn on their own the way they had turned on Elza, or the way that they had turned Kelly against her. She could see that tiny flicker of hope in Clive's eyes, and she couldn't help but wonder if that entire incident with Kelly was an aberration or the truth. Either way, it was a given that their questions may very well be answered here. "We both need answers, Clive. I'm glad... you asked me."
"You're the only person left I trust," said Clive, grim and earnest.
Then he closed his hand around Sturm and unfolded his legs, swinging around until he could set his boots on the floor. He stood up, his black cloak falling back into place around him, and then he drew in a deep breath. "I'd better go," said Clive, glancing at the archway that led out to the small balcony. His demeanour was unsmiling again as he steeled himself to his task. As he looped the rifle back over his shoulder he glanced at Elza where she sat on her bed. "If I'm not back by nine o'clock tonight, then something has probably gone wrong. But don't worry, I promise, I won't mention a word of you to the Guild members here. As far as they will know, you're nowhere near the city."
Elza pretended she didn't hear the last two sentences. "Where do I go to avenge you?"
Halfway to the balcony, Clive paused. Then he pressed his mouth into a line and turned and pointed out the archway, motioning to a tall stone tower standing far in the distance, its top visible over the rooftops of other shops and modest apartments. "There's a guard watchtower in the northwest corner of the city," he said, looking back at her. "It's not far from the Southern Frontier Defence Force headquarters. The Guild have paid the guards and the city officials to look the other way while they operate the chapterhouse out of that tower. They've probably told the SFDF not to bother them as well. That's where I'll be found. Sturm will accept you as its new master, I know it."
The Elza that had existed before would have taken that information and just accepted it without any more thought. However, now she couldn't imagine a world where she would be the wielder of Sturm. She couldn't imagine a world where the Guild would have turned against her. Then again, she had never imagined a life outside of the Guild period and she managed to accomplish that.
"Clive, don't say that. Just..." Words again failed her as her mind quickly rephrased her thoughts. "We'll finish what we have to do here and we'll go home and that'll be it."
"Elza..." Clive's expression softened a little and without thinking he took a step back towards her. Then, catching himself, he nodded instead and shifted Sturm further behind his back, concealing it from sight within his cloak. "I'll meet you back here tonight, nine o'clock," he said as he reached back and tugged his hood back over his head, so that its shadow fell face back over his face. "I promise."
At a loss for anything else to say, Clive lingered in place a moment before he turned back towards the balcony and strode out onto it. The black cloak flared briefly, and then he was over the railing as deft as a cat and had dropped from sight. Elza was left alone in the small sandstone room. A warm breeze stirred the curtains, and from the distant Market the sounds of calling merchants and braying mules echoed up, distant and quiet.
The right side of Elza's mouth curled up into a smile as she watched Clive fly over the side of the railing. It was his style, after all. She waited for a little while, then she let the trapdoor of the room down and made her way carefully out of the safehouse.
Down on the first floor of the safehouse the old man named Eugene was standing at the counter, chopping onions with a sharp knife; the pungent smell filled the tiny home. While Elza and Clive had been in the room upstairs he had been joined by an equally small, withered old woman in a navy-blue print dress and colourful shawl. They were speaking quietly together in a strange, rolling language, evidently quite unconcerned by the two gunners who had taken residence above their heads. When he had spotted Elza making her way out of the back door Eugene had said good-bye to her politely, and asked if she could pick up some lemon basil for him from the herb stall, if she was making her way over to the Market. He would pay her back when she returned, he promised.
Outside, the alley was still quiet and empty. The little black and white cat was dozing on the windowsill now, its nose tucked into its tail. Dust motes glowed in the rays of sunlight that shone down through the laundry hung on the lines overhead. At the eastern end of the alley the Market could be seen; people in flowing robes strolled past now and then, and the shouts of the merchants could be heard even more clearly.
"Lemon basil", Elza filed away in the back of her mind. She figured that it was the least that she could do for the two of them being so accommodating to the two of them while they were in the city. She quietly nodded to the two of them before she walked out into the blazing hot sun of the day. She turned and looked towards the end of the alley where the Market was, and began walking, mentally doing her best to blend in with the crowd.
Luckily for Elza it was a pleasant day out, and many people were walking back and forth for her to slip amongst. Many people wore white here because of the sun, white robes and white dresses and long white headdresses, and so her white cloak allowed her to mingle easily with the rest of the rest of the crowd. A few people glanced at her when she stepped from the alley into the Market...
The Market was arranged within a large central square. A wide variety of stalls were gathered within it, all of them brightly decorated in colourful awnings and blankets. There were stalls selling beautifully patterned rugs, scarves and jewellery, pots and painted urns, glittering blown glassware, clothing of the distinctly Calerian style, ironworks like candlesticks and lanterns- even weapons such as swords and gleaming knives were on display for sale. The merchants manning them shouted to passing shoppers, and even to Elza when they caught sight of her. Beneath her boots was hard-packed dirt; the tall stone walls that surrounded Caleria and made it look like a fortress glowed in the distance.
It was much hotter here than in Budehuc. The sun beat down overhead. There were no herb stalls in sight yet, but the market still continued along the crowded street to the north. From that direction blew the smell of warm dirt and cooking food.
Elza's attention was caught by one of the smaller booths selling small weapons. She paused for a moment to take a look at the things he was offering. Elza had to admit - she was a bit of a junkie when it came to knives, which was why she was so enamored of the set of knives that Mathiu had given her for Christmas two years past. She paused for a moment and listened as the vendor explained to her about the different materials that had crafted the knives (Elza already knew, but out of courtesy let the man tell her anyway) and which ones were on sale. He even tried to compliment her hair to get her to make the sale, but at that point Elza politely tried to extricate her from the conversation. At least, until the man said in a voice that was only heard by Elza:
"These knives here - it was rumored that they were part of an assassination recently..."
Elza's blood ran cold as she looked at the five-piece set of knives that had Celtic knots along the handles. Those knives could easily have been thought of as hers. She let her eyes dash along to either side of her as she leaned forward slightly and hissed, "What...?!"
"Oh! That they are! That their accuracy is almost a given! Look at the craftsmanship! Look at the metalwork! No matter what their use, these knives are a must have for any enthusiast!" The vendor continued his peddling as Elza leaned back, shaking herself for being so suspicious.
Then again, it was Caleria and nothing could be taken for granted here. She managed to move on from the vendor to make her way and caught the scent of oven-roasted chicken from a stall nearby. Figuring that this was going to be a long afternoon, she didn't think it would hurt if she picked herself up a chicken kabob from the stall nearby.
A few spots down was a tiny food stall, bright red in colour with dangling yellow charms and tufts of green herbs hanging from its awning. Smoke puffed from it like a chimney, and the air around it smelt delicious- like fried lamb and beef and chicken and all kinds of spices.
Inside the stall worked a heavy-set man in a greasy apron, holding a big knife. His head was wrapped in linen and his face was shiny from the heat of his cooking spit. Flames danced beneath rows of kebobs on wooden sticks; they sizzled and spat over the fire. Some of them had pieces of tomato and bell peppers and onions and mushrooms layered with them, while others were nothing but meat. The man poked at them watchfully, turning them over when they looked as if they might be burning.
There was only one person standing in front of the stall, a man in a brown cloak and hood. He seemed to be trying to decide what to buy. The cook meanwhile looked over at Elza when she drew near. "Hey, pretty lady," he called out gruffly, motioning to her with the knife. "Would you like a kebob, miss? They're very good, made only of the best meat."
She looked at the sizzling meat and vegetables on the grill and her stomach, as if it had a mind of its own, grumbled hungrily - neither she nor Clive, she believed, had eaten in a few hours, so she figured that it wouldn't hurt anything to stop. After all, the herb stall was across and down a little ways, and she could eat it along the way. She smiled politely as she motioned that she would make her order as soon as the person in the cloak and hood next to her had ordered.
The man in the brown cloak leaned over to examine the food sizzling on the spit. He rubbed his chin gravely. "I'll have a beef and bell-pepper kebab, please," he said after a moment of thought, and then turned his head and flashed a grin at Elza. He gestured to her. "And this young lady, let her get whatever she pleases- I will pay for both of our meals."
Elza raised an eyebrow, not used to someone paying for one of her meals out of the blue. She cast a sidelong glance at the man standing next to her, and nodded, not wanting to cause a scene by refusing. "I'll have chicken, tomato and bell peppers with a little sauce." She waited patiently while the cook smiled brightly and prepared her order.
The man in the brown cloak blinked at that. Though his hood was drawn up about his head his face was a pleasant looking one, with dark hair and smiling eyes and a small, neatly trimmed moustache. "Ohh, that does sound good," he said. "I rather wish I'd ordered that now instead..."
He gazed wistfully at the back of the cook and then waved it aside. "Oh well, no matter, haha, I'll get it next time. I'm sorry, miss, I hope I didn't startle you. Are you a stranger here...?"
"No stranger than most." Elza deadpanned as she casually looked over towards the stranger. "You live here?" Elza continued pleasantly, her eyes always searching for anyone that might overhear her speaking.
The man laughed, even as people on the street continued strolling past them in the sunshine. Men stood beneath a fruit tree nearby and spoke quietly between themselves, and old women sat bent on benches, their sticks under their hands. "Only sometimes...!" said the stranger. "I recently came back here after visiting my homeland. I enjoy the heat here, but I miss the wine back home. If you don't mind me saying so, miss, you don't look like someone from Caleria yourself. Your pale hair... you're from further north, perhaps...?"
"We just have a family of fair skinned people - I'm originally from Dunan." Elza knew better than to let people on to the fact that she was from Harmonia in any way - people seemed to treat her differently because of it. "You said something about 'the wine back home' - would you happen to be from Kanakan, by any chance?"
"Ah, yes...!" The man brightened visibly, grinning down at her. He did seem to speak with a light, rolling accent- curiously, it was similar to the accent that Eugene spoke with, though not as thick. He nodded enthusiastically and motioned with one hand. "You know Kanakan? I miss it very much, and the sight of the sea. There are many rolling hills there, many vineyards. It's an excellent place to live if you like to drink with your meal... or before your meal, or after it... or between meals..."
Elza couldn't help but laugh. "I only like it occasionally, with beef. I've heard that the Kanakan Reserve Red is especially good this year." She waited for a moment as the cook handed her her meal on a sheet of wax paper with a few extra napkins for good measure.
A moment later the man had been passed his own kebab, which he accepted and then held awkwardly until he could reach into his cloak and his trouser pocket to jingle out a few coins. He paid the cook, who grunted his thanks before returning to his spit, and then the man he turned to follow Elza, gingerly handling his hot beef and bell-pepper kebab as it dripped hot grease onto his fingers. "Oh, it's truly the best," he sighed happily, licking his fingers. "And the Bianca is magnificent, if you like a good white wine. Are you a wine connoisseur yourself, miss...?"
"Elza." She took a bite of her kebob and chewed it thoughtfully before turning back to the man. "I'm not much of a fan of wine, I only know what kind of red wine I like. You are...?"
"Orazio...!" said the man, tucking his napkin neatly beneath his kebab to catch the drippings when he held it up to his mouth and stripped a little meat off the stick with his teeth. He flashed another grin at her as he chewed. "It's very good to meet you, Miss Elza. I'm sorry if I've interrupted you- were you here at the market to shop...?"
Elza didn't want to seem too out of place to the man so she politely answered his question. "A little to sightsee, a little to shop, a little to catch up with old friends." Enough truth to answer the question, but not enough information that would give her away to anyone.
"I envy you...!" sighed Orazio, falling into a comfortable stroll. He gestured expressively to the street around them with his kebab; a woman walking the other had to veer to avoid it. She gave him a startled glance as she passed. "It's been over twenty years since I've been in Caleria. All my old friends who were once here have long gone. What are you shopping for? There are a few things I need to find myself, perhaps I can point you to the good merchants. Several of them here are not to be trusted. They'll skin you alive, if they think you have any money."
When he mentioned that he hadn't been here in 20 years, it confirmed Elza's suspicions that he was the person that Clive had been looking for. "Twenty years...? That is quite a bit of time, isn't it? I'm sure some of your friends must still be here...?" Elza had to think quickly on her feet for a way to let him know that he was being sought after without startling him or arousing suspicion in others.
When: This afternoon (in progress!)
Where: Caleria
What: Clive goes to the Guild to get answers. Elza gets company, a kebab, and the first hint of danger shot at. Cookies have yet to appear.
True to his word, Clive was there to meet Elza at the door of the inn. While he waited he had been sitting in the shade with his back to the wall and Sturm leaned against his shoulder, his elbows on his knees, staring out across the courtyard with a distracted look on his face. But when she appeared he stood up to greet her solemnly, brushing dirt and bits of grass from the back of his cloak. Together they could depart through the gap in the old stone wall that marked the entrance to Budehuc, and set out on the long road to Caleria.
Though dark clouds lingered over the sea to the west, the weather remained fine. The grasslands were open and sunny, smelling of fresh new spring grass and warm dirt. There was little to be seen along the plains, only boot prints worn into the dirt paths that most travellers followed to get from town to town. At one point a merchant caravan appeared in the distance: a small wagon with a canvas bonnet, drawn by a tired looking horse. Blankets were draped from its sides and copper pots and pans hung in the back. Men walked alongside it, some armed with swords- caravan guards, probably. But it was far away, and heading south towards Vinay del Zexay, and soon enough it vanished over the horizon, leaving them alone again beneath the cloud-swept sky.
By the time they reached the foot of the mountains it was sunset, and the sky was turning red. They could make camp there, in the shelter of the rocks. Clive explained that he hadn't brought a tent, wanting to travel light, but there were always bedrolls or blankets to roll up into, and a small fire for cooking and warmth. Clive spoke little; he seemed tense and preoccupied the whole time, his mind elsewhere. He kept Sturm beside him, as if uneasy to leave the rifle out of sight. But he was civil and careful not to speak of anything from their past that might spoil their tenuous peace, and they very likely spent an uncomfortable night asleep beneath the stars.
The passage over the mountains the next morning was also quiet. The sky was grey at dawn, and slowly cleared as the hours passed. The path was empty; it was still too cold for all but the hardiest travellers to willingly make the trip across it. Patches of muddy snow clung to the rocks and ice limned the bare branches of the few dead trees. It was a hard climb, and their breath would mist in the cold air as they trudged up the mountain, and their boots would slither and crunch in the loose scree. The view was spectacular though, vast and free, and at the peak the waterfall was flowing, sending bitter meltwater crashing into a stony reservoir hundreds of feet below. Even Clive seemed grudgingly impressed with the sight, though he grumbled a little when he realised that all of the mist swirling in the air had left his clothing damp and cold.
By the time they reached the bottom of the path on the other side of the mountain it was nearly noon. It appeared as if no one had followed them; between the two gunners Elza's senses were the keenest, but even to her there would be no signs of pursuit. They would both likely be dusty and tired from the long, rocky hike, but at least as they descended towards Caleria it was warm and sunny again, the winter cold left behind them. The tall sandstone walls around the city were still as imposing as ever though, and the mountains made a looming backdrop behind it. City guards clad in white, with dark headdresses and curving swords, stood casually at the entrance. Beyond them, the entrance of the market could be made out. It sounded busy.
Just outside the entrance Clive finally drew to a halt. He leaned onto one foot, dug a big pebble out of the tread of his boot, and eyed the guards. He looked tired after the walk, but his face was set. "I know of a safehouse we can stay at not far from here," he murmured to Elza. "It's a short distance from the market, and it's well hidden. Not even the Guild knows it's there. We can drop our things off there before we do anything else, if you like."
Elza took a moment to look around the city and take it all in. It was a lot like she had remembered it - busy and bustling... and people lurking in just about every corner. She frowned, more to herself than anything as she finally let herself feel exhausted from their trip. She wondered where this safehouse was, because she could have sworn that she knew every inch of Caleria backwards and forwards all on her own.
She heard Clive speak and it took her a moment to process exactly what he had said. Once she did, she replied, "Sounds good." With that, she watched him to see where it was he would lead her.
"It's just this way," said Clive. Taking care to keep Sturm hidden out of sight beneath his cloak, he stepped forward and strode past the guards, leading the way into the city.
Caleria was indeed just as busy as Elza likely remembered it being. The trade city was a hive of activity, bright and active beneath the sun. The streets were crowded with people, most of whom were dressed in the flowing clothing that the Calerians seemed to prefer, in shawls and scarves to ward off the sun. Horses were tethered outside of shops and dirty little mules pulled carts along the market square. The stalls were full of wares and curious browsers, and their colourful awnings and decorative blankets gently ruffled in the spring wind. Fruit trees stood here and there, their canopies fresh and green and blooming.
Walking briskly, Clive turned away from the market and led Elza down a narrow alley, walking single-file. It was cooler there, shadowy. The walls were tan sandstone and underneath their boots the path was paved in dished flagstones, worn down by the passing of hundreds of feet. Lines of laundry flapped overhead, pigeons swooped between the eaves, and at one point a small black and white cat peered at them from an open window. Meanwhile the din from the busy market echoed faintly in the distance, growing quieter the further in they walked.
Eventually he stopped at a small green door set into a wall. It had no windows, nor were there any windows in the wall, save for much higher up. There was only a narrow metal slot in the door at eye-height, evidently for someone inside to peer out. Clive reached up and rapped his knuckles against it, and waited. "The man who lives here, his name is Eugene," he said in a low voice, looking back at Elza. "He's used to helping out travellers passing through the city. He's cheap, and he's quiet."
"I...see." Elza didn't have much to add but was thankful that there was a chance to get out of the sun - even though her cloak reflected some of the heat that was coming from the blazing sun above them, it was still hot. "I hope he's here..." Elza couldn't keep her eyes from darting around the both of them as she checked to see if anyone around them was acting suspiciously.
"I do too," admitted Clive. He stood back and waited, rocking on his heels a little, trusting Elza to keep a sharp watch.
The alley was quiet for a minute or two. The laundry flapped gently on the lines overhead, and little bits of fluff from blooming fruit trees drifted in the air, glowing when it passed through a shaft of sunshine. Somewhere in the distance a rooster crowed. The little cat on the windowsill regarded them with slitted eyes, its paws curled under its furry breast. It yawned, showing sharp teeth. But there was no other movement aside from that. All was still and hushed.
Then, something thumped behind the door. After a moment the metal shutter slide aside with a 'shuck'. A pair of spectacles with wrinkled eyes in the middle peered out at them. "Eh...?" said a voice from inside.
Clive leaned forward. "Vino," he said.
The eyes squinted at him. Then they withdrew, and the shutter snapped shut. There was a sound from inside the door, of locks and chains being drawn back. Then the door cracked open, revealing a glimpse of a hallway. "Inside, inside," muttered the voice, and Clive stood back and gestured for Elza to step indoors.
Elza did as Clive motioned, and hurriedly entered, pulling the hood of her cloak back from her hair. It was a little cooler as she stepped inside and took a look around her, her eyes finally resting on Clive as she waited for the two men to say something so she could learn more about her surroundings.
Inside the door was a hallway. Visible beyond it was a small room, sparse but neat, with threadbare rugs on the floor and worn wicker chairs with cushions on them for sitting in. There was a counter in one corner, by a window lined with glass jars full of dirt with plants and vegetables growing in then, like a garden. Vines and leaves trailed all along the windowsill. Cloth tapestries hung on the sandstone walls, showing crudely stitched scenes of cities and gardens and horses. Another hall led away to the left, presumable towards a bedroom. It was a small, cramped space, but airy and clean.
Just inside the door stood a tiny, bent old man. He was nearly half the size of Clive, and had thin white hair and a bald dome. He wore round spectacles and trousers and a button-down shirt, with suspenders. As Elza stepped inside he was setting down a small wooden footstool; evidently he had stood on it to peer out the shutter. "Eh? Who is this?" he said when he saw Elza, frowning at her in a nonplussed manner.
"Elza, sir. A friend of Clive's." Elza looked at the little old man, then looked at Clive. She didn't want to say more for fear of sounding presumptuous - she had learned that usually if you didn't know what to say or how much to trust someone, the less you said, the better.
There was a thump behind them as Clive stepped into the small home and shut the door behind him. Meanwhile the old man - Eugene, presumably - greeted her with a bob of his head. He was very old, but he still had keen eyes, and he sized her up and down. "A friend of Clive, eh?" he said. "Then, you are welcome here. We don't let just anyone inside. This way, this way..."
He turned and gestured for them to follow him, motioning with his hand as he shuffled off down the hallway. "You want the room, ah?" he said. He had a curious accent, not Calerian, something more southern. "Miss Elza, you like Mister Clive, eh? Part of his strange group, same people...?"
Elza paused - she and Clive weren't entirely in the same group of people, but as someone told her long ago, you are whom you associate with. She nodded as a response to his question and paused for a moment to figure out where his accent is from. She watched Clive and wondered why he hadn't said anything yet.
Clive stepped up close behind her, looking serious and thoughtful. He had also pushed down his hood though, relaxing now that they were off the street; his hair was dusty from the trip. "It's all right," he whispered when he saw her expression. "We can trust him. I've been here before, in the past."
Meanwhile, the old man watched them from the hallway. "This way, this way," he said patiently, waving for them to follow. "I need your help with this."
Elza nodded to Clive and followed the little old man down the hall. The walls were bare - there were no pictures, nothing to make this place a home by any stretch. She heard Clive's light footsteps following behind her as she followed him to the room.
The hall was more tan sandstone. And Elza was right: there were few decorations, just a few faded portraits in oval frames. In the middle of the hallway was a trapdoor in the ceiling, with a rope hanging from it, knotted at the end so that it could be easily grabbed. The old man halted beneath it and peered up at it, adjusting his glasses. "I can't reach. Miss Elza, you are much taller... you see rope? Could you pull that down for me, please...? Open trapdoor?"
Elza saw the rope and pulled it down. Elza stepped back as a flight of steps seemed to slowly unfold from the door itself. She smiled slightly at that as she pulled until the steps were fully unrolled at their feet. She pointed upwards quietly as if to ask the little old man if it was all right for them to go ahead on up.
When Elza pulled the rope the trapdoor creaked open, showering them with a little cloud of dust. The folding ladder that slid and unfolded downwards looked worn by many feet, and it planted itself securely in front of Elza's boots. Another room was visible up through the gap. It looked brightly lit at least, not at all like musty attic; sunlight shone against the wall.
Eugene stood back and lightly dusted off the top of his head. When she smiled at him he smiled back, his face wrinkling pleasantly. "Room is all clean, beds clean, new sheets, water in the jug," he said, and motioned for them to climb the ladder up into the upstairs room. "Go right ahead, my girl, up, up. You'll like it there, good and quiet. Miss Elza, Mister Clive, I get payment from you later, eh?"
Elza was beginning to warm to the man's quick and bright personality. She smiled a little bit as she carefully climbed the creaking steps up towards the room. She turned slightly and looked out of the corner of her eye to see how closely Clive would follow her upstairs.
"Of course, sir," said Clive, and the old man patted his arm. Then the ladder gave a brief jolt as he stepped onto it, climbing up into the room behind Elza.
When Elza's head cleared the level of the floor she would get her first look into the upstairs room. It was a small room, large enough for perhaps two or three people to sleep in comfortably. Like the rest of the house the walls were made of the same tan sandstone, rough and simple. There were two rattan futons on the floor, wrapped in linen sheets with grey wool blankets folded at the foot. A large round rug lay at her feet, worn and a little dusty looking but nicely patterned in red and black. There was a small wooden table in one corner, with a white basin on it and a white jug of water standing beside it. Beside the table was a tall wicker basket, with a lid. The trapdoor they were climbing was also in a corner.
The room was just as sparse and bare as the living room downstairs. But there was a large, arching doorway in one wall, with curtains hanging from it instead of a door. In Caleria, it was so warm there was little need for doors or glass windows, apparently. The doorway led out to a small balcony, which had a black iron railing around it. There was a potted plant standing out on it, basking in the sunlight. The curtains were drawn back, so that fresh light and air could enter the room. It was clean, bright and airy. The only way into the room was through the trapdoor.
Elza surveyed the room quietly. It had the basic amenities, which was good. There was only one way in, but two ways out - if you had to go through the window as a last resort, you could. She walked over to the window and glanced at the crowds of people in the marketplace below. The window was at a good angle by which if they were sieged there, they could mount a reasonable defense. She looked over at Clive once she finished this mental inspection and nodded her approval to him, and then to the little old man for taking the time to show them to their room.
Clive strode up the last step and stood upright in the room, gazing about himself appreciatively. He unslung his rucksag from his back and threw it down onto one of the futon beds, evidently claiming it for his own. When he saw her nod at him he smiled a little, pleased that she found everything satisfactory.
Eugene meanwhile had creaked and climbed the ladder behind them, far enough that he could stick his head up into the room. He gave her a watery smile as well, tipped his glasses, and said, "Just pull up ladder when you want privacy," he said. "I see you later, Miss Elza, do enjoy room."
And then his head disappeared, and all that could be heard was the clump of his shoes on the ladder as he descended back to the first floor. A moment later Clive crouched down beside the trapdoor and began to pull up the ladder again, so that they could speak in private. "What do you think...?" he said, with a grunt. "It's not bad, isn't it...? We won't be bothered here, Eugene will see to that."
"It's not bad. It's comfortable." She sat down on the bed furthest from him and looked at him. "So. What now?"
Clive's expression grew serious at that. He sank down onto his bed as well and sat cross-legged on the end of it with his cloak gathered around him, without bothering to tug off his boots first. He ran a hand through his hair, absently brushing away the light dust, then reached around and laid Sturm across his lap. "And now, I think we should split up," he said. He lifted his eyes and met her gaze. "For safety, so we won't be caught together if things go bad. I'm going to go and meet the Guild administrator here in Caleria. And Elza, I wonder... if you could do a job for me in the city, to put a spike in the Guild's wheel in case things get really bad..."
A separate job? Already this was getting a little more complicated than she originally bargained for. Then again, nothing the Guild ever did or plotted was simple in the first place. "Mm hmm. What needs doing?"
"I know you don't want to get mixed in with the Guild while you're here or do- their kind of work again," said Clive in a hasty voice, lifting his hands from the rifle and holding them upright. He could still remember what she had told him about her missing memory, and her missing knives. "I'm not asking you to kill anyone. But while you're in the city, I was wondering if you could track someone down for me if you happen to go walking into the Market..."
"Who?"
"That's the tough part." Clive grimaced. "I don't know who the man is, or even what he looks like. It's been twenty years for me, everything has changed..."
He trailed off, thinking of how wrinkled and old Eugene had become since he last saw him, then shook his head. "The man supposedly works in the Market as a merchant or a guard, but in reality he's a spy for the Howling Voice Guild. I was told about him years ago, but I've never met him, so I can't describe his face. Only the administrator of the Guild chapterhouse here knows what this man looks like. If you go to the Market after I leave to meet with the Guild, could you... look out for anyone suspicious? If we can find out who this spy is, then we can be safe and avoid him in the future. Or deal with him," he added darkly, rubbing his thumb along Sturm's trigger.
She nodded. "Although, in a city like Caleria, everyone is the suspicious type." She wasn't sure if Clive had developed any more of a sense of humor in the time since they had worked together, but humor made her feel just a tiny bit better about this whole operation.
Clive blinked. Then his serious expression faded and he flashed her one of his rare grins. "That's true," he chuckled, lifting one hand to rub at the back of his head. As he scrubbed his fingers through his hair he added, "I'm sorry, I wish I had a better description of the man to give you. But thank you, Elza. It'll be easier facing the Guild knowing you're watching our backs. I'm glad you came."
Elza nodded. "I..." She paused. From Clive's disposition, she could tell that some part of him held out hope that the Guild hadn't gone as rotten as she had said, that they would never try to turn on their own the way they had turned on Elza, or the way that they had turned Kelly against her. She could see that tiny flicker of hope in Clive's eyes, and she couldn't help but wonder if that entire incident with Kelly was an aberration or the truth. Either way, it was a given that their questions may very well be answered here. "We both need answers, Clive. I'm glad... you asked me."
"You're the only person left I trust," said Clive, grim and earnest.
Then he closed his hand around Sturm and unfolded his legs, swinging around until he could set his boots on the floor. He stood up, his black cloak falling back into place around him, and then he drew in a deep breath. "I'd better go," said Clive, glancing at the archway that led out to the small balcony. His demeanour was unsmiling again as he steeled himself to his task. As he looped the rifle back over his shoulder he glanced at Elza where she sat on her bed. "If I'm not back by nine o'clock tonight, then something has probably gone wrong. But don't worry, I promise, I won't mention a word of you to the Guild members here. As far as they will know, you're nowhere near the city."
Elza pretended she didn't hear the last two sentences. "Where do I go to avenge you?"
Halfway to the balcony, Clive paused. Then he pressed his mouth into a line and turned and pointed out the archway, motioning to a tall stone tower standing far in the distance, its top visible over the rooftops of other shops and modest apartments. "There's a guard watchtower in the northwest corner of the city," he said, looking back at her. "It's not far from the Southern Frontier Defence Force headquarters. The Guild have paid the guards and the city officials to look the other way while they operate the chapterhouse out of that tower. They've probably told the SFDF not to bother them as well. That's where I'll be found. Sturm will accept you as its new master, I know it."
The Elza that had existed before would have taken that information and just accepted it without any more thought. However, now she couldn't imagine a world where she would be the wielder of Sturm. She couldn't imagine a world where the Guild would have turned against her. Then again, she had never imagined a life outside of the Guild period and she managed to accomplish that.
"Clive, don't say that. Just..." Words again failed her as her mind quickly rephrased her thoughts. "We'll finish what we have to do here and we'll go home and that'll be it."
"Elza..." Clive's expression softened a little and without thinking he took a step back towards her. Then, catching himself, he nodded instead and shifted Sturm further behind his back, concealing it from sight within his cloak. "I'll meet you back here tonight, nine o'clock," he said as he reached back and tugged his hood back over his head, so that its shadow fell face back over his face. "I promise."
At a loss for anything else to say, Clive lingered in place a moment before he turned back towards the balcony and strode out onto it. The black cloak flared briefly, and then he was over the railing as deft as a cat and had dropped from sight. Elza was left alone in the small sandstone room. A warm breeze stirred the curtains, and from the distant Market the sounds of calling merchants and braying mules echoed up, distant and quiet.
The right side of Elza's mouth curled up into a smile as she watched Clive fly over the side of the railing. It was his style, after all. She waited for a little while, then she let the trapdoor of the room down and made her way carefully out of the safehouse.
Down on the first floor of the safehouse the old man named Eugene was standing at the counter, chopping onions with a sharp knife; the pungent smell filled the tiny home. While Elza and Clive had been in the room upstairs he had been joined by an equally small, withered old woman in a navy-blue print dress and colourful shawl. They were speaking quietly together in a strange, rolling language, evidently quite unconcerned by the two gunners who had taken residence above their heads. When he had spotted Elza making her way out of the back door Eugene had said good-bye to her politely, and asked if she could pick up some lemon basil for him from the herb stall, if she was making her way over to the Market. He would pay her back when she returned, he promised.
Outside, the alley was still quiet and empty. The little black and white cat was dozing on the windowsill now, its nose tucked into its tail. Dust motes glowed in the rays of sunlight that shone down through the laundry hung on the lines overhead. At the eastern end of the alley the Market could be seen; people in flowing robes strolled past now and then, and the shouts of the merchants could be heard even more clearly.
"Lemon basil", Elza filed away in the back of her mind. She figured that it was the least that she could do for the two of them being so accommodating to the two of them while they were in the city. She quietly nodded to the two of them before she walked out into the blazing hot sun of the day. She turned and looked towards the end of the alley where the Market was, and began walking, mentally doing her best to blend in with the crowd.
Luckily for Elza it was a pleasant day out, and many people were walking back and forth for her to slip amongst. Many people wore white here because of the sun, white robes and white dresses and long white headdresses, and so her white cloak allowed her to mingle easily with the rest of the rest of the crowd. A few people glanced at her when she stepped from the alley into the Market...
The Market was arranged within a large central square. A wide variety of stalls were gathered within it, all of them brightly decorated in colourful awnings and blankets. There were stalls selling beautifully patterned rugs, scarves and jewellery, pots and painted urns, glittering blown glassware, clothing of the distinctly Calerian style, ironworks like candlesticks and lanterns- even weapons such as swords and gleaming knives were on display for sale. The merchants manning them shouted to passing shoppers, and even to Elza when they caught sight of her. Beneath her boots was hard-packed dirt; the tall stone walls that surrounded Caleria and made it look like a fortress glowed in the distance.
It was much hotter here than in Budehuc. The sun beat down overhead. There were no herb stalls in sight yet, but the market still continued along the crowded street to the north. From that direction blew the smell of warm dirt and cooking food.
Elza's attention was caught by one of the smaller booths selling small weapons. She paused for a moment to take a look at the things he was offering. Elza had to admit - she was a bit of a junkie when it came to knives, which was why she was so enamored of the set of knives that Mathiu had given her for Christmas two years past. She paused for a moment and listened as the vendor explained to her about the different materials that had crafted the knives (Elza already knew, but out of courtesy let the man tell her anyway) and which ones were on sale. He even tried to compliment her hair to get her to make the sale, but at that point Elza politely tried to extricate her from the conversation. At least, until the man said in a voice that was only heard by Elza:
"These knives here - it was rumored that they were part of an assassination recently..."
Elza's blood ran cold as she looked at the five-piece set of knives that had Celtic knots along the handles. Those knives could easily have been thought of as hers. She let her eyes dash along to either side of her as she leaned forward slightly and hissed, "What...?!"
"Oh! That they are! That their accuracy is almost a given! Look at the craftsmanship! Look at the metalwork! No matter what their use, these knives are a must have for any enthusiast!" The vendor continued his peddling as Elza leaned back, shaking herself for being so suspicious.
Then again, it was Caleria and nothing could be taken for granted here. She managed to move on from the vendor to make her way and caught the scent of oven-roasted chicken from a stall nearby. Figuring that this was going to be a long afternoon, she didn't think it would hurt if she picked herself up a chicken kabob from the stall nearby.
A few spots down was a tiny food stall, bright red in colour with dangling yellow charms and tufts of green herbs hanging from its awning. Smoke puffed from it like a chimney, and the air around it smelt delicious- like fried lamb and beef and chicken and all kinds of spices.
Inside the stall worked a heavy-set man in a greasy apron, holding a big knife. His head was wrapped in linen and his face was shiny from the heat of his cooking spit. Flames danced beneath rows of kebobs on wooden sticks; they sizzled and spat over the fire. Some of them had pieces of tomato and bell peppers and onions and mushrooms layered with them, while others were nothing but meat. The man poked at them watchfully, turning them over when they looked as if they might be burning.
There was only one person standing in front of the stall, a man in a brown cloak and hood. He seemed to be trying to decide what to buy. The cook meanwhile looked over at Elza when she drew near. "Hey, pretty lady," he called out gruffly, motioning to her with the knife. "Would you like a kebob, miss? They're very good, made only of the best meat."
She looked at the sizzling meat and vegetables on the grill and her stomach, as if it had a mind of its own, grumbled hungrily - neither she nor Clive, she believed, had eaten in a few hours, so she figured that it wouldn't hurt anything to stop. After all, the herb stall was across and down a little ways, and she could eat it along the way. She smiled politely as she motioned that she would make her order as soon as the person in the cloak and hood next to her had ordered.
The man in the brown cloak leaned over to examine the food sizzling on the spit. He rubbed his chin gravely. "I'll have a beef and bell-pepper kebab, please," he said after a moment of thought, and then turned his head and flashed a grin at Elza. He gestured to her. "And this young lady, let her get whatever she pleases- I will pay for both of our meals."
Elza raised an eyebrow, not used to someone paying for one of her meals out of the blue. She cast a sidelong glance at the man standing next to her, and nodded, not wanting to cause a scene by refusing. "I'll have chicken, tomato and bell peppers with a little sauce." She waited patiently while the cook smiled brightly and prepared her order.
The man in the brown cloak blinked at that. Though his hood was drawn up about his head his face was a pleasant looking one, with dark hair and smiling eyes and a small, neatly trimmed moustache. "Ohh, that does sound good," he said. "I rather wish I'd ordered that now instead..."
He gazed wistfully at the back of the cook and then waved it aside. "Oh well, no matter, haha, I'll get it next time. I'm sorry, miss, I hope I didn't startle you. Are you a stranger here...?"
"No stranger than most." Elza deadpanned as she casually looked over towards the stranger. "You live here?" Elza continued pleasantly, her eyes always searching for anyone that might overhear her speaking.
The man laughed, even as people on the street continued strolling past them in the sunshine. Men stood beneath a fruit tree nearby and spoke quietly between themselves, and old women sat bent on benches, their sticks under their hands. "Only sometimes...!" said the stranger. "I recently came back here after visiting my homeland. I enjoy the heat here, but I miss the wine back home. If you don't mind me saying so, miss, you don't look like someone from Caleria yourself. Your pale hair... you're from further north, perhaps...?"
"We just have a family of fair skinned people - I'm originally from Dunan." Elza knew better than to let people on to the fact that she was from Harmonia in any way - people seemed to treat her differently because of it. "You said something about 'the wine back home' - would you happen to be from Kanakan, by any chance?"
"Ah, yes...!" The man brightened visibly, grinning down at her. He did seem to speak with a light, rolling accent- curiously, it was similar to the accent that Eugene spoke with, though not as thick. He nodded enthusiastically and motioned with one hand. "You know Kanakan? I miss it very much, and the sight of the sea. There are many rolling hills there, many vineyards. It's an excellent place to live if you like to drink with your meal... or before your meal, or after it... or between meals..."
Elza couldn't help but laugh. "I only like it occasionally, with beef. I've heard that the Kanakan Reserve Red is especially good this year." She waited for a moment as the cook handed her her meal on a sheet of wax paper with a few extra napkins for good measure.
A moment later the man had been passed his own kebab, which he accepted and then held awkwardly until he could reach into his cloak and his trouser pocket to jingle out a few coins. He paid the cook, who grunted his thanks before returning to his spit, and then the man he turned to follow Elza, gingerly handling his hot beef and bell-pepper kebab as it dripped hot grease onto his fingers. "Oh, it's truly the best," he sighed happily, licking his fingers. "And the Bianca is magnificent, if you like a good white wine. Are you a wine connoisseur yourself, miss...?"
"Elza." She took a bite of her kebob and chewed it thoughtfully before turning back to the man. "I'm not much of a fan of wine, I only know what kind of red wine I like. You are...?"
"Orazio...!" said the man, tucking his napkin neatly beneath his kebab to catch the drippings when he held it up to his mouth and stripped a little meat off the stick with his teeth. He flashed another grin at her as he chewed. "It's very good to meet you, Miss Elza. I'm sorry if I've interrupted you- were you here at the market to shop...?"
Elza didn't want to seem too out of place to the man so she politely answered his question. "A little to sightsee, a little to shop, a little to catch up with old friends." Enough truth to answer the question, but not enough information that would give her away to anyone.
"I envy you...!" sighed Orazio, falling into a comfortable stroll. He gestured expressively to the street around them with his kebab; a woman walking the other had to veer to avoid it. She gave him a startled glance as she passed. "It's been over twenty years since I've been in Caleria. All my old friends who were once here have long gone. What are you shopping for? There are a few things I need to find myself, perhaps I can point you to the good merchants. Several of them here are not to be trusted. They'll skin you alive, if they think you have any money."
When he mentioned that he hadn't been here in 20 years, it confirmed Elza's suspicions that he was the person that Clive had been looking for. "Twenty years...? That is quite a bit of time, isn't it? I'm sure some of your friends must still be here...?" Elza had to think quickly on her feet for a way to let him know that he was being sought after without startling him or arousing suspicion in others.