Inkblots: A Tale of Magic, Adventure, and Romance

XXXIV. News from Beldara

Kit was still dead to the world when she awoke. She'd had every intent of  doing something with that placard--she wasn't sure what, but something useful--in the morning, but she couldn't just sit there and listen to him breathe.

The longer she sat, the longer she found herself staring at the way  his lips were just slightly parted, and the careless arm that sprawled off the side of the mattress, and the soft rise and fall of his flat stomach, plenty visible under his rumpled linen shirt.

Alia fled as quickly and quietly as possible.

The stairs were silent and empty, and the common room, so crowded the night before, seemed abandoned. But there was a great roar of noise from somewhere outside. Not too distantly, hundreds of voices rose and fell in gossipy murmurs of speculation and loud yells of urgency.

Against her better judgment, Alia let her feet pull her out and into the masses. The first few groups who passed her by spoke in Rijobish, or something even more foreign, but their fluttering hands and flashing eyes had her even more certain something was happening. An acrid smell seemed to prickle at her nose, but maybe that was her imagination. Then, from one passing couple, she caught a sentence fragment: "...refugee status, he says. The demand will..."

And then they were too far to hear. She moved quickly toward the main road, eyes on the thicker crowds of people there.

A merchant, trailed by two young assistants, rattled off orders faster than they could tally notes. "Two tonnes of the lumber in the western warehouse, and I want the remaining green curing immediately, that grain store from Scypia transferred straight onto the wagons, crew of, let's see,  five drivers and at least 12 guards. Make that high priority as they'll be--"

She stumbled around the corner, suddenly jostled arm to arm with the crowd, and was abruptly cut off from that source of information, but it didn't matter.

"But my family--" "Fire?" "How many?" "What do you mean, closed!" "Total chaos."

A passing matron saw her look of perplexity and pointed toward the market square as she rushed away. "Posted in the square, dear."

Gritting her teeth, Alia dove forward into the mass of people. Her steps grew more urgent as the snippets of conversation around her more and more frequently included the word "Beldara."

When she reached the edge of the harbor square, it was one solid sea of humanity, making yesterday's business seem empty by comparison. Everyone was oriented toward one corner. Distantly, she saw a thin man being lifted up to stand on a makeshift table, waving a length of parchment in the air.

He bellowed something, waving both arms widely, and it seemed that the air grew a bit quieter. Not enough for Alia to hear anything he was saying, unfortunately. She started dipping, ducking, and weaving, but with every step gained forward, the wall of people grew tighter.

"Shhh!" "Hist!" Now the sounds of shushing were louder than the talking had been.

"...thus decreed, in accordance with our moral duty to ally and neighbor, that sanctuary be issued freely to one and all who shall accept our gracious bounty. This day, so on, so on, Adamo Bravotja, illustrious Sopervizoro and servant to his majesty, le Reo eternal de Rijobo." At last, she could faintly make out the rumbling voice, but the message seemed finished.

Clearly, something of import had been said, because people were suddenly streaming from the front looking excited or worried, all at speed.

This opened up space for her to shove forward again, and she was well within hearing distance when the man reached for another piece of parchment and began to speak again. Unfortunately, these words were obviously in Rijobish.