Asunder: A Gathering of Chaos by Cameron Hopkin (electronic book reader .txt) 📗

“I’m sore, and I don’t like sailing. It’s overstatement. To make the point, give it some impact. You know? Don’t you ever do that?”

Gamarron cocked his head, frowning blankly.

“No, of course you don’t.” Kest snorted and shook his head, annoyed all over again at being stuck with this humorless, straightlaced, boring old man.

“I prefer to say what I mean,” said the monk carefully. “It causes less confusion. Though I suppose I can see –”

“Never mind. Forget it.” This arm cannot heal fast enough. He wished, just has he had every single day stuck on the dinghy, that he had successfully bonded his rhino. It would have accelerated his healing. Not as much as some of the other animals, but enough. I will be free of this man one way or another. He stomped down the dock, wishing he felt a little less like a spoiled child as he did so.

A quick conversation with the dirty, weaselly dockmaster was sufficient to relieve them of their little Weaver boat and give them a couple of sapphire flats, which Gamarron pocketed almost before Kest had seen them. Then they walked the “streets,” which were not streets at all, but rather narrow walkways between ships supported on all sides by the adjacent floating structures. The planks were suspended just above the level of the water, and there were dangerous gaps where the unwary walker might fall in and drown. Many ships had their street-facing hulls cut out and reframed to make storefronts, and every now and then the walkway would ascend to the level of the ships’ decks when it was useful for the owners on both sides.

Some of the nooks and spaces between ships had been converted into rooms and small houses suspended over the water, and every inch of space was put to use. Vessels of every description crowded in on all sides, some with improbable multi-story structures rising from them. How do they stay afloat? That much weight ought to sink. The still, brackish water between the boats was skimmed over with rancid filth. That smell and a dozen others that he couldn’t name mixed in his nose, and he couldn’t decide if it made him hungry or nauseated.

And the people! Brown people, black people, white people, even some people with skins tinged red or yellow. They all wore a greater variety of clothing than he had ever seen, bright colors next to grays and blacks in a riot of hues that made his eyes hurt. Everyone was wearing too much clothing, as if they expected cold weather at any moment, with aprons layered on skirts for the women and jackets over shirts for the men.

Most troublesome was just how many there were. The sun had already set, but still Kest could see no less than a hundred people on the gangway ahead of them. People bumped shoulders with someone every few seconds, and there was not a single place he could look that didn’t have people in it – the street, the well-lit shops, the decks above. There was even a ragged man huddled in a threadbare hammock strung five meters high between two ships, snoring blissfully despite the noise. The shouts of vendors and the talk of passersby in no fewer than five different languages melded with the braying of cart-pulling chagas and the barking of koira to make an overwhelming babble of sound. Kest’s head began to feel light. How can anyone choose to live in such a place? Gamarron, for his part, seemed entirely unaffected by it all.

“Where are we going?” he called ahead to the tall man as his black-clad legs and supple boots flashed out from the hip-high split in his curious robes. “Will it be much longer?”

The northerner looked back at him, a small smile of understanding flitting across his weather-worn features. “We’ve a quite a way to walk yet, my friend. This is just the Docks Tangle. It will be busier once we reach Center.”

Busier? How is that possible? Then they merged on to a main gangway, and he discovered how. All of the people in the world had decided to be in this place, right at this moment, all at once. It was the only possible explanation. Strangers walked shoulder to shoulder on a broad walkway made of the same crab-shell chitin as a Seafarer’s boat. It felt much sturdier than the flimsy planks they had trod on the side streets. The way was packed end to end with handcarts and narrow wagons and carriages of every possible make and design. The cacophony was deafening. Kest put his hands to his ears until he saw Gamarron smiling at him. After that he forced himself to endure it. They were swept up into the flow of humanity, and the only choices were to push ahead or be trampled. No one looked at them, even when they pressed flesh together in the crowd. “Where are they all going? Is the city being emptied? Has there been some accident?” He had to nearly yell to be heard; the monk was three bodies away in the press of people.

“No, it’s simply the end of the workday. Everyone is going home, and the markets are carting their wares back to the storage barges. It will ease up in an hour or so.” The man’s cultured, penetrating voice worked like some sort of magic – when others heard it, they gave way to him. He was able to work his way over to Kest. “Perhaps it would be best to find a meal and wait for the crowds to thin, do you think?” Overwhelmed, Kest was only too happy to agree.

They made their way up the main boulevard for another ten minutes before Gamarron guided them into the eddies of the stream of humanity and on to another side street. The comparative freedom of only having one or two people within arm’s reach at any given moment made Kest breathe a sigh of relief.