Glass

Chapter Seven: The Glassblowers (Part I)

Mendessa City only seemed to grow more and more with every turn. On one street, a town square with detailed architecture and open space, and on the next, a crowded hub of merchants and aristocrats. And that was not even considering the places Sir Rafael and the others refused to take me - the dimly lit pathways leading to the unfavourable ditricts of the city which were teeming with thieves and vagabonds. I was kept on a strict path, even outside of my father's territory. But even still, I felt as though I had been given a new pair of lungs, and the city air was revitalising every part of me.

The one thing I could not shake off, though, was the watching eyes. It was impossible to blend in when I had an entourage of royal soldiers and their flag-festooned horses surrounding me. Every now and then, I heard my name, but surprisingly not in a jeering way. But it was in the same way commoners would call out to my mother and father on the rare instances of them making public appearances. Adoration. Despite my nerves, I was still the future king of Mendessa to them. A part of me was put at ease, while the rest of me still loathed all the attention. 

"You're gonna have to get used to this." Rafael had said.

We came to an arch which led us out onto the port bridge. By then, my legs were aching, and the sun was already high in the sky. I hadn't realised the time that had passed while I was taking in all the sights I previously had only dreamed of. To the soldiers, this had barely been a morning stroll, and they remained just as lively as when we left. Even the young Zolin, although he had saved most of his energy by not talking so much. 

The water below sparkled in the mid-afternoon Sun, looking almost clean enough to be drinkable. However, the ships in the waves were in varying states of cleanliness. I stared at them in awe regardless - even the ones which were falling apart or looked old enough to have brought cargo to my grandfather. The ones with chipped paint or violent scrapes; ones which told stories of facing off against perilous storms and sea creatures. New or old, small or gigantic - every single one captured my imagination, and once again it was like stepping into one of my books, about to set sail on a grand adventure. 

I looked enviously at the men in tattered old clothes carrying heavy barrels that had once touched a whole other land. I noticed many of them spoke in languages I'd never heard before, and even more so than the city itself, every new individual looked more unique than the last. I was in a single place where the entire world had decided to come and meet. 

For once, in the midst of the busy hustling, we were not recognized straight away. I was just another man again.

"Leave the horses. I, Sir Rafael, and Sir Zolin shall escort His Highness to the vicinity. The rest of you will question surrounding people who may have witnessed our maiden going to the Lagos Glassblowers before the ball."

"Yes, sir." The soldiers answered, immediately taking action. I was glad that Emiliano had taken the initiative, given I was so occupied in the port's dynamism.

Not so far over the bridge, the Lagos Glassblowers was within sight, and stood out among the buildings encompassing it. While the rest were made of the same grey stone, the glassblowers were decorated with a spectrum of shapes and colours. Wind chimes stuck out from above the immaculate stained glass windows, making a quiet melody as we came to the multi-coloured door.

"How magnificent." Emiliano wondered at the life-sized glass statue of a quetzal standing proudly at the edge of the rooftop. 

In the shade, the doorknob was a shock of cold when I twisted it, but the inside glow was warm enough to thaw my hand immediately. 

The heat and noise of the grumbling kiln could be heard as soon as I opened the door. Small chandeliers of every colour hung from the ceiling, the light bouncing off every single one of them to create a kaleidoscope on the walls. On both sides of the shop, shelves displaying miniature glass statuettes glistened and sparkled in an array of patterns. I did not dare to touch any of it, knowing that if I did, I'd find a way to accidentally destroy it. The desk at the end, where a shopkeeper ought to have stood, held a beautiful vase, decorated with a pattern akin to the wings of a monarch butterfly, and inside it, a grand bouquet made completely of opaque glass marigolds.