Day 1
(1): Unknown
3:23 PM
Chilled melon, mistress? The perfect remedy for the afternoon heat! Picked fresh from my orchard and drizzled with honey. Three kel, normally, but in honor of the holiday, I will give it to you for two.
By the thing that made you, why would you wish to see him? Yes, I know where he lives, but I will do you a favor in keeping silent. Not even Ba‘l Melqart knows the hour of our passing, but surely none of us will remain forever above the ground. You would do better to sit in the sun and eat my melons than waste the rest of the day listening to the puffed-up rantings of an old man. The past is the past. Go digging in a graveyard, you’re sure to find a corpse.
Will you not try a melon? Two kel is nothing for the pleasure it will give your tongue, and it might go some way toward loosening my own.
* * *
Forgive me, Amanuensis, I did not—I did not see your brand. Forgive me. Take your second right and follow the alley upslope. His house hangs over the hill like a torn thumbnail. You will not miss it.
Of course, take it and be welcome.
No, no charge. Call it penance for my rudeness, in trying to charge for what ought to have been free. And it will give you something to do during the hours to come. I told no lies on that account. Nutesh is a man who loves the sound of his voice more than bees love roses, more than rats love carrion, more than Amata loved Kiri.
It is nothing. May the God King’s eyes watch over you.
(2): Nutesh
3:37 PM
Yes? Yes, I am he.
Come in, please come in! May I get you anything? Tea? I have a bottle of . . . no? Excuse the mess, I was re-cataloging my collection of pre-Ascension medals. The Anathema’s forces—there were few enough honors given out amongst we revolutionaries. Though they were earned! They were earned and earned twice over!
Thank you! I think I do myself no undue honor in saying that, as regards the Rising, there is no finer collection of artifacts anywhere in the city, or at least outside of the Spire. Twenty-five years I have been assembling them, digging through stoop sales and side bazaars, keeping my eyes out for anything which might keep the memory of those times alive. I had almost given up hope that anyone would recognize . . . but no matter. You are here now. And with the Jubilee only three days away, what better time for a proper reckoning?
Where shall we start? Ah! Here is something special—protest posters, fliers for discussion groups and meetings, all from the old Academy! That one there—with the skyline redesigned as a cage—was drawn by the pen of Laqip himself! We would paste them around the city, or leave them scattered in cafés and parks, but I always made sure to keep one for myself. I was always a bit ashamed of it; it seemed to be taking from the cause. But even back then I knew that we were on the cusp of something extraordinary, something which posterity was owed a piece of, the just inheritance of future generations!
Let us see, what else might be of interest to you? All of these ratchets are from before the Ascent. Their blades are steel, not hard carbon, but the edges remain as sharp as ever. Do you see that one in the center? With argent and purple trim? A collector ought hold no more favorites than a father, but that was the sidearm of Amata herself! I know it sounds like a barker’s pitch, but I can state it as a point of certainty. Many were the evenings I saw it on her hip! And it is said she wielded it with great distinction in the battle for the Spire, though I admit I was not there to see her do so.
We met at the Academy, in my poetry seminar that first year. I was far too shy to speak, though this was not a problem for Amata! Tomorrow, on her feast day, you will see many an old man like myself outside of the Cathedral, wet-eyed at her memory. So many were lost in those days, but I think never was there one more justly mourned than Amata. But it was as she would have wished—with her life’s blood she ushered in our age, and her memory resides still with Ba‘l Melqart, blessed be His name.
No doubt you know that Amata founded the student committee for resistance, her and Laqip. Anyone who was there will tell you that she was the animating force. She organized the students into cadres, she walked at the head of the vanguard during the Sanguinary March, she held the placards when they were bathed in red.
Alas, no. An intestinal complaint, would you believe the luck! One bad bit of street meat and I spent three days retching on the floor. Often I think back on that misfortune, and what I missed. To have been at that crux of history, the hub on which the great wheel turned! Well, we each have our role to play, as Ba‘l Melqart tells us. All are valued, from the lowest to the high.
If you seek firsthand experience of the March, you might do well to visit Seluku. He was among Amata’s closest companions, and a great aid to the revolution, once upon a time. He owns a club off the Lower Heights, near the Academy. If you do go to see him, you will be . . . polite, yes? If ever a man has suffered, it is Seluku. The things that were done to him . . .
Well, thank Ba‘l Melqart that you were born into the era of His benevolence.
The lockets on the far wall? Remembrances, they were called. It was the fashion in the days before the Ascent for lovers to have them made for one another. When opened they present a simulacrum of the subject. The images have faded over the years, but you can still make out rough outlines. Sometimes at night I take one off the wall and wonder after the person who appears—if they are alive or dead, if they have grown fat or withered away. If the person they gave themselves to was faithful or treacherous, if they married and had children, if they loved those children, if they knew regret. I suppose most of them did not lead very happy lives, or they would not have sold away pieces of themselves. They were quite expensive at the time, though these days you can pick one up for a few copper across the Grand Bazaar. Less, if you haggle.
You have one yourself! A fellow antiquarian. But then you would have to be, given the nature of your enterprise. Is there a nobler purpose than to preserve the wisdom of past generations for those to come? Within the boundaries of Ba‘l Melqart’s laws, it goes without saying. May His light shine in the darkness.
Let me take a look. Do you see this emblem on the back? It’s from the old Academy—why, this might very well have been given by some old acquaintance of mine, some old friend!
Of course, I would be happy to look at the image itself, though I cannot imagine that I would be able to recognize it. We do not all have your eidetic gifts, and if the simulacrum has faded, my memory has rotted twice as swift.
* * *
No, I’m afraid I’ve never seen her before. Really, she could be anyone. Twenty-five years is a long time, and there were so many who died during the Rising. I’m afraid Seluku will be of no help to you in this matter. Yes, I am certain. Abundantly certain.
Did I say the Heights? If you say I said it, then I must have—but thinking now, I am not sure how I could have stated it with such confidence. It has been many years since I have visited the Lower Heights. Most likely Seluku has passed over or retired.
It was an honor, Amanuensis. You are welcome and twice welcome. Blessings of Ba‘l Melqart upon you, in this, the holiest of seasons.
(3): Street Preacher
4:43 PM
Ungrateful children! False and treasonous, vicious and undeserving!
You pass by in your ignorance, in your foolishness! You see my rags and you think me mad, but all are naked in the sight of Ba‘l Melqart! He takes no measure of your silk and brocade, He cares naught for your diadems and sterling. Your wealth will not avail you on the day of judgment. Samite will not hide your crimes, nor gold deflect your sin; He will read your history on the folds of your heart, and in the strands of your hair, in your eyes and on your skin!