Chapter 8

‘I don't have any of those A.M.I.s!’ Tomga tried to keep his voice friendly, but after the hundredth trader it was becoming increasingly difficult. ’And please leave my sword and armour alone; I'm not offering anything in exchange.’

‘Selling. No one here wants to trade.’ Seroin glided through the dense crowd of traders like a snake through the grass. ’Keep your head down, there's another tunnel up ahead. Hands on your pockets and don't look anyone in the face.’

The two had strolled from the heart of the Sagvi-quarter to its border with the Ieswibe-quarter and entered one of the narrow alleys that would otherwise have been avoided. The walls of the alley had a peculiar feature: they were riddled with countless roughly hewn holes. From these dark openings, they were greeted by joyful eyes or greedy hands eagerly offering a wide variety of goods. They pushed their way through a jungle of dried meat and cheap junk.

The walls on the right and left regularly merged into a ceiling above them, providing support for a road on the roofs of the shady alleys. Seroin and Tomga scurried through such a tunnel, the one strangely delighted, the other close to a nervous breakdown.

‘I've had my bottom grabbed, often.’ Tomga pushed herself out of the end of the tunnel and shook angrily. “Your traders know no bounds, it's disgraceful.” The elf checked his pockets, in the quick order that Seroin had taught him earlier. ’I can't even use magic against it...’

The young woman tied her dark brown hair into a plait and looked up at the sky. More and more of the little Plattis were flying in her intended direction. ‘It's the fastest path. The alternative would be through the Badazan canal system. And you don't want to see the abominations down there, magical freaks! But you're right. You can teach the hands in there a lesson.’ She quickly scurried back to the tunnel and pulled a small metal rod out of her belt. ‘A.M.I.s for deaf powder? Anyone?’

Immediately, countless eager faces pushed out of the holes in the tunnel wall, looking at her with wide eyes. Slim fingers formed into a begging gesture already stuck out of the tunnel.

‘Deaf powder? I have bone dust and dried-up hearts. Good as an ingredient, safe as an ingredient!’

‘A sack of fingernails, specially collected, in all sizes. Good for potions and as jewellery, take, oh please take.’

‘Glass balls. Good glass balls. With the best spells in them, safe to use and long tested!’

The young woman raised her staff, turned it in her hand and opened her fingers. Instantly, the bright sunlight shot out of the small glass tube in the metal, burning through the tunnel and illuminating even the smallest notch in it.

The crowds of traders squealed and howled various insults as they disappeared back into their holes like roaches.

Seroin giggled and twisted towards Tomga, who looked at her with some disgust. ‘Oh, calm down. They are fine. A prank, nothing more.’

‘You're allowed to do that. Why can't I do magic?’

‘Because mine is a fake, a cheap copy. And you are the source. You can provide enough A.M.I.s to buy dozens of these things.’

‘When you said there were more people here than I had ever seen, you were quite wrong. More creeps, certainly, but that's it.’

‘The Dirt-Finger-market is not for growth. But it is the best and fastest way to the heart of the feeding line. It's worth the risk if you want to remain undetected and be quick.’ Seroin gestured in front of him. ’There's our staircase. Let's go!’

The thin steps gaped in the high wall and led steeply out of the lane, as if they too no longer wanted to linger in these dark corners. At the end, two tall figures in blue robes with a proud ‘I’ on their chest awaited them.

Tomga's dark blue eyes sharpened, his hand slid slowly towards his sword.

But Seroin hissed at him. ‘Not here, not now! They are already annoyed enough as it is.’

She pointed at a small, huddled figure in front of the two inspectors. A young girl with thinning hair, brittle skin and dressed in dirty rags stared up at the two men with milky eyes. Without a word, she lifted a small basket filled with the goods she was selling.

The one inspector, a corpulent elf with wide braids, raised his hand in her direction and the crackling of lightning began.

But the other man, a slender human with high features, intervened and lowered his hand. ‘Just a child. Not twelve years old. And I know her.’ He leaned down to the girl and gently stroked her delicate head. ‘You know, the Feeding-street is not for you, Emila. The same goods? How's the flutter disease? Worse?’

The girl searched his face with her milky eyes, beamed for a brief moment and shook her head.

‘I'm not buying any of this. But here.’ The man put an almost empty cylinder into her skinny fingers and closed them firmly around it. ’Let your mum and dad do the shopping for you, okay? Something greasy, with lots of meat. You're all scrawny, Emila.’

The blind girl nodded with the joy of a puppy, sought out the inspector's hand and placed a single dry kiss on it. Then she turned around and slid down the stairs on her bottom, back into the dirt of the Dirty-Finger-market.

Tomga's anger at the inspectors immediately turned into a compassionate look. The sight of the little one broke the man, yet he couldn't stop looking after her.

Seroin, on the other hand, cheerfully approached the inspectors. ‘Generous. And merciful. Role models from Badazan. We would love to trade, on the Feeding-street, of course.’

The thin human gave her a brief smile. ‘That? Oh, you poor thing. Her mother was fluttersick and gave birth to her. Little Emila came into this world like that.’

‘But you give her A.M.I.s, isn't that commendable? You bring food and water to the table.’

The man shook his head. ‘I hope I'm giving her death. The girl now crawls two steps next to the stairs, takes the A.M.I. and injects it into her arm. Then she lies there and feels magic in her body. Maybe it will help her see. Or just feel normal. Every day, Diersa decides whether Emilia will try again the next day at one of the stairs or whether the flutter sickness will take her with it.

Now it was Seroin who suddenly looked at the inspector with a dark look. You would have thought that the young woman would pull out her crossbow at any moment and shoot the man.

Tomga must have sensed this too. ‘Still. Perhaps she is not to be given more than this, at least in this existence. In the Daumaje, we soldiers knew about the idea of madness, Ihees. Some were touched by it. We could only make their remaining days more beautiful, but could save nothing more. But that is precisely the love of Diersa.’

The other inspector pulled himself together. ‘Veneration of the entity Diersa is forbidden here! Do you want an entry in your…’

Again, the human rejected his colleague, keeping his eyes on Tomga. ’You were in Daumaje?’

‘Arabara. From the first day until the last. In the northern part of the continent. There weren't many of us left at the end.’

‘My father served under Lady Ferl. The first-born of Death. The tolling of the bell. She always told me that the Lady of Death was crueller than any enemy. Friends and foes would have given him nightmares at the same time.’ The human eyed Tomga more and more respectfully with each of his words.

The knight nodded. ’You know the saying. We don't talk about Lady Ferl. There was a good reason for that. Ferl is as kind as a mother and at the same time as cruel as the world. She always was. We were lucky that she was on our side, on Diersa's side, back then. She's sitting in Calicedam now, on the other side of the continent. She lives there and rules. And we carry on, the mortals always carry on. I should have realised that your father served. You stand tall and with dignity. You are magicians?’

The human nodded, his face radiant with pride.

Tomga patted his chest. ‘I can do a few little things too. That's why. Please. We're looking for a souvenir from the Daumaje at your market. I'm a … growth and my friend here told me you could find almost anything here. And I can pay for it ...’

‘You are no beggars from the Dirt-Finger-market. That much is certain.’ The human's words were directed more at his colleague, the fat elf. “Therefore, you may pass. But watch your bags up there as well. Diersa thinks and loves.’

Tomga's face lit up at the words. ”Diersa thinks and loves. Thank you. Just a moment.’ The knight hurried back down the stairs and disappeared into the dark alley. A few moments later, he returned, a gentle smile on his face. “I cannot go on without donating something to little Emila.’

The human shook his head happily. ”Only Diersa can teach you to love like that. On with you.’

Now it was Tomga who grabbed Seroin's arm and dragged her along.

The young woman had not changed her expression during all this, only just managing to fall from absolute rage into her usual expression of emptiness. She hastily reached into her bag and pulled out a powder-soaked fork. She pricked her arm with it and Seroin relaxed immediately. ‘Showing yourself as a magician and veteran wasn't that clever, but you know that. Let's quickly finish everything here, otherwise we'll attract the eyes of strangers again. Still, nicely resolved.’

Tomga nodded. ‘It was risky for your city, I know. But the man used Diersa's name, I sensed that he thought like me, believed like me. It was worth the risk to me. We're through, aren't we?’

Seroin looked back briefly. ’What did you give the little one? You don't have any A.M.I.s left, do you?’

Tomga stared into the sun, his face no longer really recognisable. ‘The same as we gave to the men touched by madness.’

Seroin looked indifferently at his weapon. ’Your sword?’

‘My hands. A last embrace and a broken neck.’

For a moment, the young woman tried to imagine the scene of the gentle and otherwise so friendly elf roughly twisting the neck of a small, blind girl. But she hardly succeeded, she had too much powder in her veins and had already buried a similar child once.

If Tomga was astonished, he didn't let it show.

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The bottom of the stairs led to a broad road built over the roofs of the district. This structure looked like a bridge from nothing to nothing. But from the elevated road, further stairs rose up to the right and left, ending in large, round plazas supported by several gigantic columns. It reminded of mighty treetops in a forest, only made of solid stone. The broad, elevated surfaces of the trade robbed the houses below of their place in the sun.

The visitors of the market pushed to these high places, there was a lot of shouting and gesticulating.

Seroin gestured. ‘Allow me to introduce the Shove-lane. Once a proud project of the city, they wanted to connect all quarters with a ring road above the roofs. Then came the Plattis and nobody needed the road anymore. Now it lies between Sagvi and Ieswibe and the traders are delighted with it. And with the trading places higher in the air, it forms the Feed-Street.’

As if conjuring it up, a small Platti lifted off from one of the squares and flew slowly south. Immediately, another platform hurried down to take the place of the old one. With its arrival, more and more people pushed their way onto the associated square. In doing so, everyone took care not to step too close to the edge of the road. The push alley was a good 30 feet above the roofs of the neighbourhood, and the round squares were even higher. A glance showed that there were enough hungry mouths and greedy eyes below to make someone fall and disappear forever.

Tomga snorted with amusement. ‘Feeding-street. Like a mother bird with her young. That... that Platti was it? They land and new wares flow from top to bottom. But there really are a lot of people. The street is wider than any trade route I know. And so fully packed. How am I supposed to make it up all those steps with my leg?’

‘Your leg has healed, remember? Get used to it. You just flew up those stairs. After you broke the little girl's neck.’

Seroin's words triggered a burning look from Tomga, but her indifferent face held it back. The young woman simply gestured down the alleyway. ‘Every place serves a kind of commodity. Meat, cloth, magic, everything has its place.’

‘And the thief we are looking for?’

‘Dala Mesmoli.’

Tomga paused. ’Mesmoli. The line name? Shee...’

‘You might know it, I don't know. Dala is a growth, like you. At least she was. Now she knows the alleys of the city better than any local. Dala is clever, never wants to be found or even seen. If my experience with her is correct, she is in the square with the fewest visitors. The question is, which one is that today?’

Now Tomga stood in Serein's way, towering over her as if it were a threat or the start of a kiss. ‘This could take hours, maybe days. There seem to be dozens of places in the air.’

The young woman fought the urge to jump away. Someone so close to her body made her mind burn and everything screamed to resist. ‘We have to start somewhere. And I know she's usually here!’

The elf moved even closer to her, his scarred face now resting against her forehead. He cautiously raised his hand between their two bodies at the level of his heart. ‘Let us pray.’ Without delay, he hummed a verse, silently and only to himself.

Seroin saw a single small leaf on his hand.

She was about to push him away, maybe even slap him, when a gust of wind whistled between them and the leaf flew away in small circles.

She looked up at him in astonishment. ‘Was that you?’

‘I prayed for a way. And it was given to me.’ Tomga beamed. ’I wasn't sure if Diersa would even answer a prayer in such a godless place. But no matter what your guards say, Diersa thinks and loves. Here, too, her love grows. Maybe not with banners and images in the sky, but in the hearts of the smallest, maybe even just that of a mouse. Where?’

Seroin had to suppress his scorn and nodded in the direction of a square. ‘Growth market. Honestly, I don't believe a word of it. But what the heck, we have to start somewhere. It flew directly towards the procreation trading centre. Right there. There. To...’

Now Tomga couldn't suppress his grin any longer. ‘No? And this. Your will is my command.’ With a joyful step, he approached the nearby steps leading to the marketplace for growth-related goods.

In front of the steps stood a statue of fine stone, almost human-sized and smoothly polished. It was a woman, wrapped in a simple cloth, lovingly stretching out her hand to gently touch it. The woman's face was covered by a veil, her features veiled and rather meaningless.

Tomga went down on one knee and ran his fingers over the hand of the statue. ‘You think and love.’

Seroin couldn't help but look around in confusion. ’That's her? Diersa? I never saw a picture of her. But that? Purely symbolic, right?’

‘No one knows exactly what she looks like. No one even knows if it's a she at all. But we've always described her as she and Diersa never seemed to object. Yes. That's her. And look. In the middle of the main street, safe and secure. This is her will, so be it.’ Tomga smiled as if he had found his lost mother again.

‘It can't be. Just like that. Here? Statues of ideas are supposed to be reported. So open?’

A stranger from the trading centre in front of them strode down the steps to Diersa and stroked her hand.

Seroin leaned forward. ‘A question for you, sir. What's going on at the Growth market up there today?’

The man waved upwards. ‘Not much going on, but we have an important visitor. Lady Olva of the Wooden Surf. Up there is part of her estate. They buy and sell diligently. Good wares, mam, good wares.’

Seroin thanked him and stepped over to Tomga. ’That could be a reason why Dala might be there. If there is a significant person here, that might also explain the statue. Does Diersa mean good luck for trade for you?’

The elf seemed even more delighted. ‘I forgot. What a joy! Olva is here? I must see her! And Diersa, she means everything!’

‘Ah yes.’ Seroin watched with amusement as the big man hurried up the steps. When he had already advanced a little, she turned to the statue of Diersa once more. ‘I don't know you, and I may not really like you. But he does. And I like him, reminds me of a lost dog. Break his heart, and I'll test if one can kill a god.’ Seroin secretly stroked the stone hand before she hurried after Tomga down the steps.

The space for trading with growth was only half full, but the shouting of the traders on their floating Plattis echoed just as well across its expanse.

A man held a good in the air and immediately the crowd below him began to yell, shouting offers, mostly A.M.I.s but also other things, such as services or rarer goods. If the dealer liked an offer, he waved at the respective dealer and lowered his platform towards the ground. The goods and A.M.I.s were exchanged by quick throwing or sometimes directly from the hands, after which the platform rose again and the next goods were presented to the crowd.

Tomga beamed, but kept his hands close to his pockets. ‘I know that. The cries of the market and the cunning of the traders. Noisy, but familiar. Don't worry. I keep my pockets covered. If everyone here does that, there's a thief on the loose.’

Seroin couldn't help but smile, putting her lips to his ears. ‘Very well, my advice seems to be bearing fruit. But our thief doesn't look for goods in the hands, but in the mind. Dala Mesmoli is a dream dancer, like Liku from the Aderlass. She flits through the crowd and touches strangers, searching their minds for important information. If she finds anything, she memorises it, writes it down and sells the information. It's a common trade in Badazan, but she's the best at it. And there seems to be a significant person here, so she must be here.’

‘How will we recognise her? This crowd is quickly searched.’

Seroin shook her head slightly. ‘No. No searching, no questions. Dala can sense such things. Besides, she and I... didn't part on the best of terms last time. If she knows we're looking for her, she'll disappear.

Tomga nodded in understanding. ‘So it is the thieves’ custom. Her appearance, how can we recognise her?’

‘That's the problem. She usually has short red hair, a young face, and wide, light eyes. But Dala is a damn good magician. She has a command of illusion and disguise magic that is second to none in the city.’ Seroin slowly scanned the colourful crowd in front of them. ’She could be lurking behind any of these faces.’

The knight looked at her in astonishment and turned to her. ‘Good. This is the plan. I cross the square. I introduce myself and pretend to know some of the people here. She will take notice of me and then try to make contact with me. Liku touched our hands back then, is that usual for these dreamers?’

Seroin nodded, even enthusiastic about the elf's initiative. If she didn't know better, it seemed to be fun for him. ‘Right. Or on the head. These are the best places. If a dream dancer uses their magic for such memories, you will inevitably be reminded of them as well. But Dala is good, very good. She can disguise her magic, only take fleeting glimpses of your mind. Every memory that flits past your head now could be her. So control your mind. Calm down and focus. And are you sure? Attention to your name, you know how I feel about that!’

Tomga looked briefly into her light brown eyes, his gentle dark blue ones full of compassion. ‘I'm always grumbling about your city, I see a lot of things here as strange. But you had to live in it, grow up in it. My sympathy, Seroin. But I thank Diersa, because only in this way do I have a clever and helpful comrade at my side. And yes, it's worth the risk!’ Without a word, he strode into the crowd.

Seroin slowly blinked herself awake. With horror, she felt a long-buried feeling welling up inside her. She hastily reached into her bag again, and another load of powdered dust stifled her into a state of emptiness.

The elf, on the other hand, lived up to his role. He wandered through the crowd, vigorously shaking hands. If Seroin didn't know better, she suspected he actually knew a few people here.

She stayed back at the entrance, pushed her scarf up a little over her face so as not to be spotted too easily, but also not to look too conspicuous.

Many greeted Tomga with joy, but some also with confusion; they didn't seem to know him well enough to politely refuse him. After a while, a few of those present whispered to each other, and various figures approached Tomga.

First, a woman in a pure white robe approached the knight. The elf was actually pleased by her presence and exchanged words with her for a long time. Then she raised her hand and gently touched his forehead, and they prayed together. With a respectful bow, she stepped back from him.

A tall man in worn leather armour pushed his way to Tomga. The stranger whispered to him. The elf blinked in puzzlement, but managed to catch his composure and answered the stranger briefly and concisely. Then the man held out his hand to Tomga, revealing a partly patchy, putrid yellow smile. The elf shook hands, appearing more bewildered than anything else during the whole encounter.

Seroin watched the stranger for a few moments longer. If this was Dala, she seemed to want to stay here, no reason to confront her now. So Seroin examined Tomga's opponent again and started to giggle.

A handful of young ladies, all dressed in the traditional clothes of growth, were squeezing in front of the knight. The enthusiastic faces beamed at Tomga, and some of the ladies even dared to touch him on the arm or shoulder. They threw words of adoration at him, with invitations for an evening visit partly hidden behind them.

Tomga waved the compliments away, but enjoyed the attention of a certain young lady in particular. He maintained eye contact and tried a few jokes, all of which were greeted with resounding laughter. Finally, he took her hand and kissed it gently, waved goodbye to the whole group, but especially to this one lady.

After that, no one sought direct physical contact with him.

After a long wait, Tomga strolled inconspicuously over to Seroin, and the two of them walked to the edge of the square with their backs to the crowd and stared down into the alleys of the Dirt-Finger-market.

‘So? What do your feelings say? Did you see anything? Did an unusual memory come to mind?’ Seroin opened her braid and stared into space.

Tomga sighed and ruffled his blond mane. ‘It's hard to tell. What's the difference between a strange memory and a normal one?’

‘Let's go through it, every touch. Who was the woman in white?’

‘A sister of the Diersasi. She knew my name and wanted to bless me, praise me for all my deeds. She knew me through a man named Sister Lufarion. He was also a good man, a warrior and now a historian. He wrote about me, at least that's what he called my name.’

Seroin raised an eyebrow. ‘Sister... Lufarion?’

‘The Sisters of the Diersasi order all bear the title Sister. As I said, we see Diersa as a woman and we are all her Sisters.’

‘Fine, fine! But what were you thinking when she touched you, what did you see?’

The elf stared at his boots. ‘Diersa. And her love. And the Diersasi that I know. But I felt this was normal.’

Seroin clicked her heels. ‘Good. And the big one? He seemed brash, too direct for Dala. But I don't want to rule him out either.’

‘He asked me strange questions... Offered me lots of those A.M.I.s for my services... he sounded fake. But it can't be this Dala. I kept my thoughts only on him, his appearance. And I thought of nothing else.’

‘Your bags?’ Seroin nudged Tomga. “Maybe just a simple thief.’

‘Still there, as far as I can feel.” The elf looked over at the group of young ladies. ’They come from the court of Lady Olva of the Wooden Surf. Lady Olva and I have known each other for a long time. When she is here, I must visit her. The noblewomen asked about my exploits, apparently they've heard a lot about me.’

‘And couldn't keep their hands off you. What were you thinking about? Your family?’

Caught, Tomga avoided her gaze. ‘A knight is allowed to be praised now and then, isn't he? And no. I had clear thoughts, I think, didn't let myself be distracted.’

Seroin took out an A.M.I. and turned it over and over between her fingers. ‘Dala might only be interested in these Diersasi, maybe that's why she's disguised herself like that. I don't understand her approach to this.’

Suddenly, Tomga's head shot up. ’Memories shoot into your head? And a dreamer prefers a certain touch?’

The young woman just managed to nod before the knight stormed off, his step as determined as a war march. He marched down the steps of the trading centre, back to Shove-lane.

Seroin hurried after him. ‘Do you have a guess? Are you sure? Was it the woman? The stranger? That fine lady?’

Just as she caught up with him, the elf drew his sword with a single fluid movement, the steel gleaming eagerly in the sun. His blade came to rest right at the neck of the finely polished Diersa statue.

‘You disgusting street rat, how dare you misuse her for your own ends?’ The knight was shaking with rage, his gaze worse than that of a hungry wolf.

The head of the statue shimmered, a shock of short, bold red hair and two bright eyes revealed themselves as the image of the stone glittered and disappeared. The new features contorted into an evil grin. ‘Is that any way to speak to your goddess?’