The Songs of Loss, book one : Armanth

Chapter 9- The Callianis

Abba strode down the sloping terrace leading to the Radia Granateo shipyards, forced to weave in and out of the crowds massed in front of market stalls and onlookers in stroll. Even if his build cautiously encouraged people to try and dodge him, his same colossal build made him an obstacle often collided with "ho sorry" and polite, annoyed grumbles.

Jawaad, following in his old friend's footsteps, took advantage of his wake to move forward without too much trouble; with his hands in his pockets for good measure, he seemed unconcerned about the crowd. All he had to do was dodge the occasional tote bag, elbow or shoulder. The difficulties of the giant, who was also his right-hand man and who was vigorously trying to keep up with him in the flow of the human tide, drew amused glance from his friend. After yet another stroller impact, Abba barked in annoyance:

"Can you tell me why we're going through this terrace, when it's market day and it's always packed? We could have taken the horses and gone round by the canals to the south!"

Jawaad let out a smile.

"I love this crowd. There's my tea store down the road."

The master merchant nonchalantly pointed to a coquettish shopfront squeezed between two other food shops. A few customers were crowded in front of a large stall laden with colorful jars and jars of spices of all kinds.

The street was crowded with a motley mix of lossyans from all walks of life. The tan skinned Athémaïs dominated, followed by the blacks of the Fringes from Abba's ethnic group, the proud, haughty Eteoclians and the Teranchens, recognizable by their light brown hair and tanned skin. Armanth welcomed diversity and, simply by turning his head among all these faces, it was easy to spot tall, massive Northmen, even a few imposing-looking Dragensmanns and caramel-skinned, slant-eyed Hemlaris; and the list of peoples, ethnicities and exotic finery went on and on.

When he reached the stall, the young saleswoman spotted Jawaad and, abandoning the two customers with whom she was discussing the price of peppers, poked her head into the store's entrance:

"Daddy! It's for you!"

Abba was knocked down again as he tried to join his friend, restraining herself from catching the lout who was walking with his head down and shoulders hunched and had just bumped into him without a word of apology. His restraint was not so much motivated by fear of the constabulary. Armanth has no police force to speak of: security is provided for the most part, except around the Elegio palace and the Council of Peers, by mercenary guards hired by the merchants and craftsmen of each district gathered into guilds, but also financed by donations from master merchants according to their interest in supporting the town's businesses and congregations. The result is that, on the one hand, each district interprets the local application of laws and security in its own way, and on the other, apart from the city's aristocracy, who are not bothered in any case, the guards tend to be very lenient towards influential members of the Merchants' Guild, which was Abba's case. He could probably have killed someone in the street and got away with a fine for daytime disturbance...

But Jawaad was reluctant to have his tranquility disturbed, so the slaver refrained from provoking the scandal that nevertheless tickled him so. Not everyone in Armanth was armed, although few people didn't have at least one dagger in their belt for safety's sake. A slap in the face to punish an imbecile would be highly unlikely to end in a duel, not in the middle of a crowded market.

A wise old Oriental-looking man, turban and thinning goatee included, emerged from the cluttered store and readjusted his glasses as he caught sight of the master merchant, calling out to him in a friendly voice:

"Ha, Jawaad. I wasn't expecting you for another week! Have you run out of your stash so quickly?"

"I was in the neighborhood, old man."