The Stars Were Right [Preview]

Two

Hunger had set in. Before dinner, I had a few errands to run. The first of these, of course, was an evening snack. Priorities, right?

I found a noodle cart on the fourth level of the King Station district. It was a comical little thing, boxy and rusted with a faded canvas umbrella of red and yellow. At one time it probably was mobile, but time had turned it into something a little more stationary. A line of stools and a small bar sat opposite the grill. It was currently devoid of customers.

A pot-bellied man stood behind the cart, wearing a sweat-stained undershirt, gray trousers, and just the brim from a wide-brimmed hat. He probably hadn't shaved in days and it was impossible to tell the last time he had bathed.

He whistled the first bars from Mother Holiday’s "Gloomy Sunday" as he seared a small mountain of noodles. At opportune times he would squirt various oils and sauces from a line of plastic bottles that stood in formation on the top of his cart.

Settling on one of the stools, I ordered a bowl of the house noodles and a small glass of ruou de. The vendor nodded and worked at my order. Steam rose in wisps disturbed only by the passing pedestrians and the occasional bicyclist.

"Rain's coming," said the cart owner, his voice thick with alcohol and an accent I couldn't place. He smiled a toothless grin and poured a small glass of foggy ruou de for me. I nodded along and took a sip of the rice liquor.

"There was sun earlier," I said. The liquor was good. The right amount of burn. It helped me forget about my blisters, and I found that with a bit of a buzz the mugginess of the sublevels was easier to bear.

"How'd you go about seeing if there was sun earlier?" asked the vendor as he looked around the dimly lit street. King Station was southeast of Pergola Square and had no real view of the outside. It could’ve been months since he’d seen the sun—maybe years.

"Just came into the city this morning," I explained.

"Ah. I see. What do you do?" he asked as he handed me my bowl of noodles and a pair of pull-apart bamboo chopsticks.

I dove into the noodles. "Caravan master."

"Ah. A caravaneer. What do the elevated call you, roaders? Something like that. Could never do that work. Personally I don't like the open sky so much—feels too, I dunno. Open."

"Not for everyone," I said with a nod.

The cart owner nodded and turned the conversation back to the weather. "Mark my words. It'll be rain before too long. I can feel it." He tapped his elbow meaningfully.

Rain. I didn't like that idea. It was hot, high summer in Lovat and rain only meant one thing: more mugginess. It brings out the worst in people, drives them mad.

I shoveled noodles into my mouth and continued to make small talk with the cart owner. He did his best to follow along in his half-drunken state. Nodding at the right time. Asking a few questions about caravanning. I didn't mind, the ruou de had me buzzing and the noodles were good, spicy with a zing of citrus. We spoke of sports, politics, and the recent violence to the south in Destiny. It was the same routine I'd be having with cart owners all over the city for the next month. I was relishing it.

I lingered at the cart longer than I really should have. My feet hurt, and sitting down and drinking a few glasses of the rice liquor went a long way toward making my blisters feel better. The cart owner matched me drink for drink, and though thoroughly drunk, was still able to resume his whistling of “Gloomy Sunday” as I walked down the street toward my next appointment.

* * *

You meet a lot of interesting folks on the trail. Scavengers, traders, and caravaneers like myself make up the bulk of the traffic, but you'll still come across lawmen, barristers, Road Priests, wandering judges-for-hire, and the occasional pilgrim. The roads of the territories are a great source of stories and an even better source for goods to trade. A week’s supply of hardtack can mean life or death to a professional wanderer, so they're willing to let goods that would sell for a lot more in a city go for a pittance. This often works in my favor.