The first thing he noticed about Dhvari was the smell. Before he saw or heard anything of the northern continent. Even as the bullock cart jostled against the lumpy road, and curious travellers pushed their heads through its mouth.
Neto was excited and delighted by it. Sweet like holiday bread and charred like a dying fire. It smelled of salt too; the kind which wafts into coastal towns and lands on your tongue.
The next thing he noticed was the heat. His heart thumped under the command of the foreign climate, and his clothes clung to the sweat on his back. Each breath filled his lungs with wet, fiery air.
Soon the canopy of shade disappeared, replaced by brown and black dunes that rolled away with the road. The acres of slum stretched as far as he could see, and met the horizon in a dirty shimmer.
The miserable shelters were patched together from rags, scraps of driftwood, reed mats, and bamboo sticks. They slumped together, sometimes attached to one another, or dissected by narrow lanes which wound like a maze between them.
His first impression was that some catastrophe had taken place, and the slums were refugee camps for its abject survivors.
He learned, months later, that they were survivors, of course. Poverty, famine, and bloodshed ripped them from their villages and hurled them into Dhvari. Four thousand of them arrived month after month, year after year.
As the slums rolled on, guilt gripped Neto's heart, and he found himself unable to look away from the squalor. He observed the people therein.
A woman stretched to brush the patched fur of an ox. Another bathed her children in water from a copper dish. A man led two goats with red lines dyed to their backs. Another pressed a thin razor to his beard in front of a cracked mirror.
And Children played everywhere. Men carried buckets of water. A tireless crowd repaired a collapsed hut. And everywhere Neto looked, people smiled and laughed.
The cart stopped in in a stutter of traffic, and a man emerged from one of the huts nearby.
He was a foreigner, pale skinned as the new arrivals ogling him, Neto included. His sole garment was a clean strip of loin-cloth. He stretched, yawned, and scratched unselfconsciously at his naked belly.
The cart lurched forward, and Neto lost sight of the man, but what seemed incomparably strange and remote from his experience was suddenly possible, comprehensible, and, finally, fascinating.
He looked at the people again, and saw how busy they were. Bustling, industrious, and energetic.
Occasional glimpses inside the huts revealed astonishing cleanliness: spotless floors, and neat, tapering towers of shiny metal pots.
Last of all, he noticed how beautiful they were: The women wrapped in soft, colorful fabric; the women walking barefoot through the tangled, shabby paths with ethereal grace; the white-toothed, panoramic eyed handsomeness of the men; and the playful affection of the strong-limbed children. Older ones played with younger ones, and many supported their siblings on sturdy hips.
After four days, for the first time since his journey began, Neto smiled.
"Shitty place." the older man beside him spat, securing the straps on his boots.
He was a delver, the iron gilded crest on his doublet declared: Lanky yet broad-shouldered, with grey eyes, and shoulder-length brown hair.
His companion looked like a younger, compressed version of himself; they even wore identical stonewashed trousers, and padded, loden coats.
"Excuse me?"
"This is your first time." He replied. Neto nodded. "Thought so. All you country bumpkins have the same stupid look on your face."
"Damn right." His companion agreed.
"But don't worry. From here on in, it gets a little better. Not so many slums by the delving district. You got a couple nice auction towns nearby as well. Some use pyre-crystals to light the streets at night."
"That so? Where are you guys headed?"
"Grand Void," His friend yawned. "We'll be workin' with a subsidiary branch of our guild."
Two pairs of clear blue eyes bore into Neto. He couldn't tell if they were waiting for him to respond, or judging him.
"You signing up?"
"Sorry?"
"You signing up for a delving license, or working a civilian job?"
"I don't know" Neto lied, casting his eyes to the floorboards. "I haven't got any plans yet. But I think I'll stay in Dhvari for a while."
The pair looked at each other with suggestive grins. They knew the price of a delving license well, it seemed. Even in Dhvari, they wouldn't be cheap.
"Well, we're stayin' overnight before we start our journey. If you want, we can share a room. It's a lot cheaper with three."
Neto met the stare in his conniving eyes.
Maybe it would be better to stay with them a while longer, he thought. Their travel documents were probably genuine, and their status would help smother his counterfeit papers.
"And it's a lot safer," he added.
"Yeah, right," His friend agreed.
"Safer?" Neto asked, assuming his role as the deceived.
The cart was moving slower, along a narrow road lined with mercantile caravans.
Food stalls gave them the aroma of spices, sizzling meat, and steam. Unfamiliar music rippled through the air, and rows of alien fruit stretched into the horizon.
"Oh, sure, it's a lot safer. This city is fucked up, man. The street kids here could steal the hair off your nose."
"It's a delving city thing man," the shorter one explained, "Same story where we came from. 'Cept even the lord of the southern region was gettin' greedy. The tax is lower here. If only the locals weren't such a problem. They're all dirty and they're all crazy."
"I swear, the goddamn taverns are in on it," the tall one added, "You can get ripped off just for sitting to have a smoke and a drink. Safest thing, 'specially for a newbie, is to travel in a group. Take my word."
"And stay in the nicer parts of the city." the short one said. "Holy shit! D'ya see that?!"
The cart had turned into the curve of a wide courtyard that was edged by a border wall. A small colony of black, ragged, slum huts were strewn beside it like muscles on the shore. The huts were collapsing under a gaping sinkhole.
"God-damn! Look at that guy! He's fallin' in, man!" The tall delver shouted.
Everyone in the bullock cart lurched forward to watch as the sinkhole engulfed a wide stretch of the slum. A woman and child ran to its growing edge to grab hold of a man who was hanging on four fingers. Other people were spilling out of their huts to evade the collapse.
"D'ya see that? He fell in, man… That guys gone, I tell ya."
"Damn right!" the short one gasped. "Look! It's stopped growin'!"
The cart driver slowed with the other traffic to look at the sinkhole reverse, closing its lips around the people who fell inside. Soon, a sterile patch of dirt was all that remained.
None of the caravans on the busy road stopped. Business as usual.
At the end of the long boulevard, they paused to let the border guards along the wall inspect their travel documents. Neto swallowed his unease, but they paid his stolen papers no more than a cursory glance.
Soon after, they made a left turn onto a wide, cobbled road, lined with proper buildings. There were majestic Inns with doormen in colorful uniforms. Next to them were exclusive restaurants with flowery courtyards.
The harsh light seemed gentler against the trimmed grass and polished stone, and wide awnings spanned from fancy street stalls, sheltering pedestrians from the afternoon sun.
The native people walking there were dressed in fine mercantile robes, and the women wore expensive silk. They walked with purposeful, sober expressions as they sauntered to and from medicine shops, guild offices, and armories.
"We're almost there," Neto's companion declared. "Krahash is just a few blocks away. It's not the best entertainment district, but it's where all the cheap inns are."
The two senior delvers took their travellers documents from their pockets and pushed them down the fronts of their trousers. The smaller man even removed his delving badge, joined by other valuables, and slipped them into the makeshift pouch of his underwear.
He caught Neto's eye and smiled.
"Hey," he grinned, " can't be too careful."
Neto stood and bumped his way off the bullock cart, but a crowd of people prevented him from moving down the street. They were street operatives: chaperones from the various inns, 'medicine' dealers, and other various businessmen from the city.
They shouted at Neto and the other foreigners in broken common with offers of cheap rooms and bargains to be had.
First among them was a tiny man with a large, almost perfectly elliptical head. He was dressed in loose, white, cotton from head to toe. He shouted a few words at the businessmen around him, and then turned to Neto with a wild, blinding smile.
"Good afternoons, sirs!" He greeted us. "Welcome in Dhvari! You are wanting it cheap and cleanfull rooms, isn't it?"
He stared straight into Neto's eyes with his unwavering, enormous smile. There was something in his expression: an honest, yet mischievous excitement that intrigued Neto, and allowed him to trust the man on insthe spot.
A number of passengers filed off their carts and swatted away the soliciting natives. The two senior delvers made their way through the crowd unbothered, smiling broadly at anyone who crossed their path.
Watching them dodge and weave through the people, Neto noticed how fit they were. It seemed unnatural the way they moved, like their bodies had fully acclimated to the twisted terrain of unbound space.
He decided in those moments to accept their offer to share the cost of a room. In their company, the crime of his existence was invisible and unthinkable.
He also decided to try and befriend the little guide. With a native friend, the pair would be less likely to take advantage of him, he thought.
The little guide grabbed Neto's sleeve and led him away from the sea of bodies, toward the front of the bullock cart.
The coachman slipped off his saddle in one, smooth, motion, and flung Neto's travel bag into his arms. Other bags were thrown onto the cobblestone road in a sickening, crunching cacophony.
As the other travellers ran to stop the violent rain of their belongings, the guide led Neto away once again, to a quiet alley a few paces away.
"My name is Neeraj," He stated in his melodic accent. "What is your good name?"
"My good name is Liam," Neto lied, using the name on his false documents.
"I am Dhvari guide. Very amazed excellent Dhvari guide, I am. All Dhvari I know it. I know it where you will find the most of everything. I can show you even more than everything."
The two delvers joined us, pursued by other guides and businessmen. Neeraj shouted at his unruly peers, and they retreated a few paces, staring feverishly at their collection of bags.
"What I'd like to see right now," Neto said, "Is a cheap inn. Clean, preferably."
"Very good sir!" Neeraj beamed. "I can take you to a cheap inn, and a very cheap inn, and a too much cheap inn, and even such a cheap inn that the stupid people will not go there also!"
"Hmm, okay Neeraj. Not super interested in the latter options. Let's have a look at the cheap inns."
"Hold on, wait a minute," the taller of the two delvers interjected. "Are you going to pay this guy? I mean, I know the way to the best Inns in town. No offense, buddy- I'm sure you're a fine guide and all- but we don't need you."
Neto looked at the guide. His large, black eyes were studying Neto's face with open amusement.
"Do I need you Neeraj?"
"Oh yes!" he cried in reply, "You are needing me very much so, I am almost crying in tears for how much you are needing me! Only the gods are knowing what terrible things are happening to your handsome body without my guiding in Dhvari!"
"I'll pay him," Neto told his companions. They shrugged and lifted their packs.
"Alright, lead on Neeraj."
He began to lift his bag, but Neeraj grabbed at it in protest.
"I am carrying your bags, sirs," he insisted.
The huge smile faded to a pleading frown.
"Please sir, I have it a strong backs. No problem."
Neto took a step back, revolted at the suggestion.
"I'd rather…"
"Please, Mr. Liam, this is my honour. Look the people."
Neeraj pointed with his upturned palm to the other guides who'd managed to secure customers from the caravan. Each man toted a bag or backpack and trudged off, leading their party further into the city with brisk determination.
"Yea, well, alright...." Neto muttered.
The smile stretched around Neeraj's face once more, and then he grappled with the backpack, working the straps onto his shoulders with Neto's help.
The bag was heavy, forcing him to lurch forward into a stumbling shuffle. Neto's calmer strides brought him next to the guide, and he looked into the man's straining face.
But Neeraj laughed. He chattered about Dhvari and the sights to be seen, pointing out landmarks as they walked.
He spoke with incessant amiability to the two delvers. He smiled, and called out greetings to acquaintances as he passed them. And he was strong, much stronger than he appeared: he never paused or wavered in step throughout the twenty-minute journey to the inn.
Four steep flights in a dark and mossy well of stairs, at the rear end of a large, sea front building, brought them to the reception hall of the Dhvari Guest House.
Every floor on the way up bore a different crest– Ashripa Inn, Star of Dhvari Guest House, Seaside Inn– indicating that the one building was actually four separate Inns, each one accompanying a single floor, with its own staff, amenities, and aesthetic.
The group tumbled into the small reception hall with their bags and packs, where a tall, muscular native, wearing a glaring white shirt and a black tie, sat behind a mahogany desk.
"Welcome," he said. A small, wary smile dimpled his cheeks. "Welcome, young gentlemen."
"What a dump," the taller delver muttered, looking around him at the flaking paint and veneered wooden partitions.
"This is Mr. Aditya," Neeraj interjected quickly. "Best manager of the best Inn of Krahash."
"Shut up, Neeraj!" Mr. Aditya growled.
Neeraj smiled the wider.
"See, what a great manager is this Mr. Aditya?" he whispered, grinning at Neto. He then turned his smile to the great manager.
"I am bringing three excellent delvers for you, Mr. Aditya. Very best customers for the very best Inn, isn't it?"
"I told you to shut up!" Aditya gnashed.
"How much?" the short delver asked.
"Please?" Anand muttered, still glowering at Neeraj.
"Three people, one room, one night, how much?"
"One hundred twenty tupa."
"What!" the shorter one exploded. "You fucking with me?"
"That's too much," his friend added. "C'mon, let's go."
"No problem," Aditya snarled. "You go somewhere else."
They began to gather their bags, but Neeraj stopped them with an anguished plea.
"No! No! This is the most beautiful Inns. Please sirs, see it the room! Please Mr. Liam, just see it the handsome room! Just see it the handsome room!"
There was a momentary pause.
The delver's hesitated in the frame of the door. Aditya studied the Inn's register, suddenly fascinated by the entries.
Neeraj clutched the sleeve of Neto. He felt some sympathy for the street guide, and admired Aditya's firmness. He wasn't going to plead or persuade them to take the room. If they wanted it, they took it on his terms.
When he looked up from the register, he met Neto's eyes with a frank and honest stare.
"I'd like to see it, the handsome room," Neto said, betting his safety on the good will of the two natives.
"Yes!" Neeraj laughed.
"Fuck, here we go…" the delvers sighed.
"End of the passage," Aditya smiled in return, reaching behind him to take the room key from a rack of hooks.
He tossed the brass key and it's splintery wooden tag across the desk to Neto.
"Last room on the left, my friend."
It was a large room, with three single beds covered by sheets, one window that opened to the sea, and a row of windows that looked down upon a busy street.
Each of the walls was painted in a headache inducing shade of yellow.
Steady thumps, creaks, and moans leaked up from the floorboards. Papery scrolls of paint dangled from the corners.
Three small side-tables fashioned from driftwood and a battered oak dressing table with a cracked mirror were the only pieces of furniture.
Previous occupants left remnants of their stay: A candle melted into the brown neck of a bottle; dusty footprints; and a few scraps of paper.
"I'll take it." Neto decided.
"Yes!" Neeraj cried, scurrying away at once to the reception desk.
Neto's companions looked at one another and shook their heads.
"I can't be bothered arguin' with this idiot. He's crazy."
"I hear ya," the shorter one chuckled. He bent low and sniffed at the sheets before sitting down carefully on one of the beds.
Neeraj returned with Aditya, who carried the Inn's heavy register. They entered their details into the book, one at a time, while Aditya checked their travel documents.
Neto paid for a week in advance.
Aditya gave the others their papers, but lingered with Neto's, tapping it against his chin thoughtfully.
"Langwick?" he murmured.
"So?" Neto frowned, wondering if he made a mistake. Had Aditya had seen or sensed something? What does he want? What does he know?
"Hmm. Okay, Langwick, you must be wanting something for smoke, some spirits, maybe some bottles of spirits, change coin, business girls, good parties. You want to buy something, you tell me, na?"
"Hey, pal, look at the kid. Don't go offering him spirits, okay?" The tall delver snapped.
Aditya smiled. "These people from Langwick, they look younger than their age, yes?"
He winked at Neto, snapped the papers back into his hands, and left the room, still glaring malevolently at Neeraj.
It was true, the only man Neto had met from Langwick, the man who's stolen documents carried him all the way to Dhvari, was much older than he appeared.
The guide cringed away from Aditya in the doorway, cowering but smiling happily at the same time.
"A great man. A great manager." Neeraj gushed, when Aditya was gone.
"You get many people from Langwick here, Neeraj?"
"Not so many, Mr. Liam. Oh, but very fine fellows they are. Laughing, smoking, drinking, having sexes with women, all in the night, and then more laughing, smoking, and drinking."
In the corner of Neto's periphery, he noticed the delvers searching him with their eyes. It seemed he didn't have enough insurance.
"U-huh. I don't suppose you'd happen to know where I could get some hisha then, Neeraj?"
"Noooo problem! I can get it one tola, one pada, ten pada, even I know where it's a full warehouse…"
"I don't need a warehouse full of hisha, Neeraj. I just want enough for a smoke please."
"Just so happens I have one tola, the best Krahashi hisha, in my pocket. You want to buy?"
"How much?"
"Fifty tupa," He suggested, hopefully.
Looking at Neeraj's beaming face, Neto guessed it was less than half that price. But fifty tupa–about two of his large, copper coins– wouldn't make a dent in his purse. A small price to pay for his purpose.
"Okay. Take some out and we'll try it. If I like it, I'll buy it."
His two roommates were perched on their parallel beds. They looked at one another and exchanged similar expressions, creasing their brows and pursing their lips as Neeraj pulled the piece of hisha from his pocket.
They stared with fascination and dread while the little guide knelt to make Neto the cigarette on the dusty surface of the dressing table.
"Are you sure this is a good idea, man? I'm sorry for assuming you were a kid, but still…"
"Yeah, they could be settin' us up for blackmail or somethin'!"
"I think I can trust Neeraj. I don't think we'll get busted," Neto replied, unrolling his travel blanket and spreading it out on the bed beneath the street side windows. He certainly trusted the little guide more than his companions.
There was a ledge on the window sill, and Neto began to place his keepsakes, trinkets, and lucky charms there– a piece of obsidian, a shard of amber encasing a seashell, and a bracelet of intricate knots.
He had no home and no country. And his bags were filled with things that friends had given him. The clothes he wore and the boots on his feet were stolen.
"By all means, guys, if you don't feel safe, take a walk or wait outside for a while. I'll come and get you, after I have a smoke. It's just that I promised some friends of mine that If I ever got to Dhvari, the first thing I'd do is try some hisha, and think of them. I'd like to keep that promise. Besides, the manager seemed pretty cool with it to me. Is there any problem with smoking some hisha here, Neeraj?"
"Smoking, drinking, dancing, musics, sexy business, no problem here," Neeraj assured them, grinning happily and looking up momentarily from his task. "Everything is allow no problems here. Except the fighting. Fightings are not good manners at Dhvari guest house."
"You see? No problem."
"And dying," Neeraj added, with a thoughtful wag of his elliptical head. "Mr. Aditya is not liking it, if the people are dying here."
"What? What is he talking about, dying?"
"Is this guy fucking serious? Who the fuck is dying here?"
"No problem dying, bhoda," Neeraj soothed, offering the distraught delvers his neatly rolled hisha cigarette."
"The taller man took it, and puffed it alight.
Good, Neto thought. Now, if anything went missing in his purse or bag, he would have some dirt on the delvers. And two native witnesses.
"Not many people are dying here in Dhvari Guest House, and mostly only junkies, you know, with the skinny faces. For you no problem, with your so beautiful big fat bodies."
Neeraj's smile was disarmingly charming as he brought the cigarette to Neto. When it was returned to him, Neeraj puffed at it with obvious pleasure, and passed it to the delvers once more.
"Is good for smoking, yes?"
"Yea, it's real good for smoking, Neeraj," the taller man said. His smile grew warm, and it seemed to Neto that his money was no longer on their minds.
"I'll take it," Neto said. Neeraj passed it to him, and he broke the tola into two pieces, throwing one half to his roommates. "Here. Something for your trip to Grand Void tomorrow."
"Thanks, man," he answered, showing the piece to his friend. "Say, you're all right. A bit stupid and a bit crazy, but all right. I'll have to visit Langwick some time."
Neto pulled a bottle of spirits from his pack and cracked the wax seal. It was another promise he made, to a fellow slave in Langwick, a girl, who'd asked Neto to have a drink and think of her if he managed to smuggle himself safely to Dhvari with his stolen documents.
The little rituals– the smoke and the drink– were important to Neto. He lost his family years before the slavers got hold of him, and every friend he'd ever known, after they made their escape that fateful night. These rituals were the last threads tying him to his past.
He was sure, somehow, that he would never see his friends again. He was alone in the world, with no place to return to, and his mind was held captive by a bog of unpleasant memories.
He was about to take a sip from the bottle, but an impulse led him to offer it to Neeraj first.
"Thank you too much, Mr. Liam," he gushed, his eyes wide with delight. He tipped his head backward and poured a measure of spirits into his mouth, without touching the bottle to his lips.
"It's the very first, very best drinking. Oh, yes"
"Have some more, if you like."
"Just a teensy weensy, thank you so." He drank again, glugging the liquor down in throat-bulging gulps. He paused, licking his lips, then tipped the bottle back once again.
"Sorry, aaah, very sorry. Is so good, this spirits, it is making a bad manners of me."
"Listen, if you like it that much, you can keep the bottle. I've got another one."
"Oh, thank you…" he answered, but his smile crumpled with a twinge of sadness.
"What's the matter? You don't want it?"
"Yes, yes, Mr. Liam. Too much I am wanting it. But if I knew this was my whisky and not yours, I would not have been so generous with my good self in it's drinking."
The delvers burst out in laughter.
"You know what, Neeraj? I'll give you the full bottle, to keep, and we can all share the open one. How's that? And here's the fifty tupa for the smoke."
The smile shone anew, and he swapped the open bottle for the full one, cradling it like a baby in his arms.
"But Mr. Liam, you are making a mistake. I say this is the very best hisha, is twenty tupa, not fifty."
"U-huh."
"Oh yes, twenty tupa only," he declared, passing one of the large copper coins back to Neto dismissively.
Some time later, the little guide left, and Neto's companions passed out in a liquor-induced coma.
Neto lay on his bed and stared at the swirling yellow ceiling.
"I won't let it go to wast," he mumbled, "Sarah... Peter... I promise, I won't let our freedom go to waste."