City of Towers_ The Dreaming Dark - Keith Baker [17]
“A long story, and not one for the street. Perhaps you’ll join me for dinner this evening? There are many of us in Sharn, and I’m trying to bring the refugees together.”
“Of course,” Daine said. “I’m sure it can’t be worse than what they’ll be serving at the Manticore.”
“Wonderful,” Teral said with a slight bow. “It’s the black tent in the central square. I’ll see you at sunset.”
Daine inclined his head respectfully, while Jode made a dramatic bow. The elderly man smiled slightly before turning away and disappearing into the crowd. Daine watched him go.
“What do you make of that?”
Jode shrugged and continued walking. “He’s a generous man trying to create a bastion of Cyran values. Or he’s an opportunist hoping to capitalize on the anger of the refugees to form a power block. I know which seems more likely to me, but does it matter?”
“I suppose not.” They walked a ways in silence, eventually passing through the gates of High Walls and into the tower of Tavick’s Landing. “So where are we meeting Alina?”
“It’s called Den’iyas. It’s in one of the other towers. It’s going to be a long walk, I’m afraid. Unless you’d like to take one of the skycoaches …”
“After that worked out so well yesterday? I don’t think so. I’m not about to let you throw away any more of the money you made from my family sword.”
“Speaking of family,” said Jode, “have you told Lei?”
“No. I’m not going to. And neither are you. Is that understood?”
“Whatever you say. But if there was ever a time—”
“No. And that’s final.” Daine stopped and knelt down, grabbing Jode and spinning him around. “Do you understand? No hints, no jokes. Leave it alone.”
“All right. But I still think—”
“Jode!”
“All right! My lips are sealed.”
“Don’t give me ideas.”
They walked on in silence for a few moments, until Jode tugged on Daine’s leg. “Over there.”
A line of people were shuffling onto a raised circular platform. It seemed to be some sort of stage—about twenty-five feet across and enclosed by a low metal rail. The wide ramp seemed to have been designed for wagons. “What about it?” said Daine.
“That’s where we’re going,” Jode said, leading Daine onto the stage.
“We’re meeting Alina here?”
Jode rolled his eyes. “No. This is how we get up to Den’iyas, Captain Can’t-afford-a-skycoach.”
At that moment, the platform began to rise.
The district of Den’iyas was located amidst the upper spires of the Menthis Towers, high in the sky. Daine was beginning to adapt to the noise and bustle of the lower streets, but Den’iyas was something else again. The lower levels fit Daine’s vision of a large city—grime and poverty everywhere, with merchants hawking their wares and beggars assailing any who would listen. By contrast, Den’iyas was an image from a storybook tale. The streets were clean, the buildings bright and cheerful, the air filled with song and laughter. On a street corner, a troubadour was teaching a group of children to weave light from air, tracing hypnotic patterns of shimmering color with his fingers; as Daine watched, one of the onlookers produced a shaky but similar trail.
They were gnomes. Den’iyas was the heart of Sharn’s gnome population, and Daine towered over the vast majority of the people on the street. Just over three feet in height, taller and stockier than halflings, the gnomes reminded Daine less of human children and more of miniature adults. They wore fine clothes in a rainbow of colors, and everyone was impeccably groomed. Most of the men had well-trimmed beards and long mustaches, while the women wore an astonishing range of elaborate hairstyles and headdresses. While there was as much variety in skin and hair tone as in the human crowds below, most of the gnomes had fair hair and pale skin touched with a golden sheen. It seemed almost like a circus or a dream, with wind chimes drifting through the air and entertainers juggling globes of light.
“Watch your step,” Jode warned. “I know it looks pleasant enough, but