Commandment (5 page)

Most curious of all, locals swore that the statue actually moved! Many were convinced that it changed its posture over time. Ancient sketches purportedly showed the statue in a variety of poses over the ages. If the titan indeed moved, however, it was at an exceedingly slow pace, requiring many years to affect any noticeable shift. Lakif tended to believe such stories. The magnitude of its construction couldn’t have been solely due to its gargantuan dimensions. There was most definitely a sea of inner pistons, wheels, gears, and hootenannies that required such a herculean labor force. Lakif imagined that these inner devices gave the statue its supposed power of movement, although she had a difficult time imagining how the construct could shift position without demolishing surrounding structures.

Although it had initially seemed to occupy the next block, she was forced to march some distance before drawing near the goliath. As each minute brought her ever closer, the statue only swelled in stature.

She glanced through the rain toward a nearby structure, focusing on the fronting portal. In the tympanum, the space between the door and the overhead arch, a number was etched. Forty-three. Lakif groaned. Finding specific addresses in Grimpkin was often a chore in and of itself. She had found the Goblin Knight easily enough due to its sweeping reputation. But locating less stellar establishments was often challenging. As a rule, the streets of Grimpkin carried no names. There were, in fact, only a few named avenues winding through the district. Finding a given place was a mix of trial and error as well as sheer persistence.

In any event, she knew the route to the Vulcan, her destination. Judging by its triple digits, she knew she had quite a distance yet to travel.

Intermittent flaws slapped both cloak and cheek alike. Hardly any other pedestrians were afoot. Few with any sense would wander around in such weather. The Acaanan, however, hadn’t the luxury to remain indoors. It was absolutely essential to find the Vulcan—the sooner, the better.

With each step she battled the elements. The feeble umbrella struggled to maintain its integrity in the face of the heavenly spate. She was already winded from the walk well before she actually reached the statue’s base.

The avenue opened directly into the square housing the goliath. The plaza was large, nearly rivaling Dantillion’s Wares in breadth. Darkness fell across it. Indeed, the warrior’s shield was so large that it eclipsed the sun. Its shadow blanketed the entire square, along with some neighboring structures, in gloom. As she crossed the line into its shadow, Lakif felt that she was stepping into a different time. She well appreciated the irony of the change. Over a week before, night had briefly become day. Now, it was the converse, as a metal disk turned day into seeming night. Such were the perverse times in which she lived. Fortunately, the rain largely abated as well, repelled by the gargantuan buckler. Only a fine frozen mist scudded in from the north.

She emerged into the agora near the warrior’s right sandal. The square was all but vacant of the drably dressed businessmen that she had come to expect. Only a few isolated pedestrians crisscrossed the plaza.

The soldier’s foot compelled her interest. It was truly gigantic. The Acaanan imagined that a whole pride of duras could comfortably lounge on it. She suddenly felt the need to admire the craftsmanship at a closer distance.

Just as she was steering toward the sandal, the sky opened up and unkenneled a torrential rain. With it, a riotous gust blasted the square. It came in at an oblique angle, sliding under the warrior’s shield and hurling sheets of icy rain that stung like bodkins.

Lakif quailed before the onslaught. A sodden businessman charged past her, hoisting a briefcase above his head in hope of warding off the assault. Another fellow stood in the middle of the square, caught between the titan’s feet. His briefcase had snapped open, and all manner of papers whirled across the flagstones. The harried businessman dashed here and there in vain to snare the soggy documents. One paper landed square in another fellow’s face. The parchment was so sopping wet that it conformed smoothly to all his features, like a white mask.

Just as she was about to laugh, her umbrella inverted under the force of the freezing gust. She struggled to fix the capsized article, but it crumbled under the treatment. Stray metal wires protruded out in all directions, piercing the owl’s eye. Cursing the poor quality of the stolen booty, she cast it aside. Freed, it slid across the plaza like barbed tumbleweed.

Exposed raw to the elements, Lakif panicked. The freezing rain needled her face and hands mercilessly. She needed some form of shelter, pronto! A tavern would certainly do nicely.

She could barely make out her surroundings, as her eyes were waterlogged. A fleeting glimpse of a spectral figure in the offing inspired hope. From its speed, she surmised it was heading for refuge. Using her hand as a shield, she could see it was heading for one of the edifices fronting the square.

Even through the icy torrent, the structure was eye-catching. Its finer details were obscured by the downpour, but she could make out a flat-roofed stoa large enough to encompass the entire side of the plaza. Ornate pillars supported a classical triangular pediment. Its wide portico beaconed to her from under the beetled facade. There it was—a haven from the downpour!

Dashing through the swelling puddles, she raced for the shelter.

S
QUINTING WATER FROM HER EYES,
L
AKIF COULD FINALLY MAKE OUT DETAILS
of the portico. She was shivering at the base of a wide stairway that led up to an elevated structure. A row of pillars circumscribed this inner hub. The interior, however, was not freely exposed to the portico. Heavy curtains hung between adjacent pillars, effectively walling off the interior from view. Faint tendrils of hearth smoke curled out from cracks between the tapestries.

Although looking nothing like a tavern, the place’s unique facade compelled the Acaanan to investigate. The stairs opened into a vestibule that housed a wide-based brazier, the customary foyer guardian of Grimpkin. The coals within burned a healthy orange. The Acaanan cleaved to the roasting coals, vibrating with shivers. She rubbed her hands together and stamped heavy feet for warmth.

The outer columns circumscribed an enclosed space uninterrupted by any interior divisions. The pillars were not linked by curtains, as she had surmised from without, but by tapestries. Over a dozen blue-, purple-, and scarlet-yarn tapestries spangled the perimeter. Each was of grand dimensions, as wide as two men and at least three times that in length. Acacia wood frames helped support the flowing articles.

Unlike those of the Goblin Knight, these tapestries did not depict specific scenes, but were decorated with diverse themes. Each highlighted a different branch of the natural sciences. One depicted astrology. It was studded with a heavenly map consisting of celestial bodies and constellations. The sheer quantity of the stars dated the fabric, for the night sky hadn’t been blessed with such a roster for generations. Another illustrated a naked Human in the upright, anatomical position. It was denuded of flesh and muscle, revealing the inner apparatuses of the Human body. Arrows pointed to various organs such as the liver, spleen, testis, and other viscera that the Acaanan wasn’t familiar with. The arrows were keyed to a legend explaining the physiological importance of the organ. Another tapestry resembled a large scroll congested with mathematical formulas. To the Acaanan, this was in itself a foreign language. Other tapestries showcased the fields of chemistry, biology, and music, each clogged with their own unique jargon. The tapestries were themselves as ponderous as the subject matter they depicted, resisting ruffling by even the howling winds without.

The hall itself was a tribute to leisure. Braziers, nearly identical to those in the foyer, were stationed strategically around the interior to ensure a cozy warmth. A squadron of sofas draped in fine linen was deployed around the hall. Each was wed to a low table and surrounded by seat cushions. A plethora of plush carpets and red-dyed ram skins decorated the sleek floor.

Scores of men peopled the hall. Most were of Human stock, but a handful of Istani were present, paralleling the local population distribution. Collectively, they represented an aged vintage; the youngest member would have been twice Lakif’s own age. All wore loose-fitting, cool linen togas tied around the waist by a slender cord. Chlamys’ were clasped closed at the right shoulder by shiny brooches. All were barefoot, but the ample carpets spared their exposed soles much distress. Lakif was momentarily reminded of Torkoth’s penchant for airing his toes freely. Clearly, within this friendly forum, the men dressed for comfort.

Numerous duras lounged around the hall. They were habitually hibernating under a burning brazier or rolled up on a hide of sea cow. It wasn’t clear if the canines were pets of individual attendants or property of the hall at large.

The gathering was broken into isolated pockets, each enthralled in separate activities. One pair was embroiled in a somber chess match. The game pieces represented the various classes of statesmen in Grimpkin. Another rested on a sofa, leisurely reading a winding scroll. Still another was illustrating the physics of lens magnification to a colleague using a diagram with parallel rays. The majority, however, were dispersed into small groups engaged in tranquil discussions. These oases centered on tables ripe with amphoras of wine and dishes of olives, dates, raisins, and assorted delicacies.

The guests dined by gingerly cutting the treats into small pieces with silver knives, but this was where their use of utensils ended. With delicate fingers, they dabbed the morsels into honey and tucked them neatly into their primed mouths. This behavior pegged the diners as gentry, for the refined class despised utensils. Curiously, none of the diners ate sitting upright. All were leisurely reclined, as if they hadn’t a care in the world.

Lakif equivocated about stepping foot within the academic hall. First, the air reeked of culture and sophistication. As a rule, Lakif gave wide berth to anything remotely smacking of the arts or science. Moreover, as no woman or any Inhuman was present, she suspected it was the type of establishment that required a special membership. She wondered how the assembly deterred entrance by misfits or the uninvited. There were no visible guards, and no one present seemed capable of ousting an unwelcome guest. No doubt, the duras played a role in securing the premises.

Lakif entertained making a quiet exit. But outside, the freezing rain continued its relentless battery of the square. There was no doubt that she was marooned here for the time being. In fact, she felt a drink was in order, one to celebrate this new chapter of her life. It would also buy time for the spate to pass. She thought about pilfering one of those glistening ewers of wine and enjoying it in the vestibule.

As she vacillated, one of the members strolled up nonchalantly. Like the others, he was dressed in a lily-white toga. His bald head glistened in the flickering brazier light. Lakif braced herself; a reprimand for trespassing in the solemn hall was surely imminent. But much to her surprise, she was greeted with a warm smile and open arms.

“Welcome, traveler!” The man threw his arms around her. Lakif started at the emotional reception. She had never been hugged by a complete stranger. She didn’t know how to respond to the profuse welcome.

“It’s teeming out! You must be sodden. Come into the atrium and warm your limbs! Let me take your cloak and travel sack.” He patted Lakif on the shoulder in an avuncular gesture.

The Acaanan nodded nervously, questioning the authenticity of the invitation. Humans, as a rule, were lukewarm toward Acaanans. But perhaps this hall was a fountain of enlightenment and as such a home to spoony avant-garde socialists who accepted all races as equal.

Lakif didn’t feel comfortable shedding her cloak before the stranger, but it was sodden and she didn’t want to snub the host’s friendly gesture. Perhaps if she went along with the charade she could snare one of those glasses of ale. She complied and handed over her dripping cloak. The Rare Earth Stone was now safely tucked away in her belt pouch, so it was in no danger of being separated from its owner.

The elder hung the drenched garment on a stand near the braziers. The hall was so regal that even the cloak hook was silver! Lakif stowed her travel bag underneath the cloak. Anybody could take it, but she had little of true value within.

“Come!” The man gestured for the Acaanan to follow. Lakif wanted to adjust her scraggly hair before entering the hallowed hall of academia, but no mirror was at hand. Therefore, she simply ran her fingers through her mop and matted the locks behind her ears. Afterwards, she timidly followed the toga-clad elder into the midst of the pantheon. Pots of warmed spices suffused the court with a rich fragrance.

As Lakif followed, her eyes darted around, assessing the assembly’s take on her entrance. Curiously, it caused little stir. Most seemed to be too thoroughly engrossed in their personal activities to pay her any heed. Garbled conversations on lofty subjects rose from every quarter. Occasionally, she overheard discrete tidbits of conversation. But she couldn’t appreciate the topics through the highbrow language. Lakif had never heard such swollen, foot-and-a-half-long words in her whole life.

The guide led her toward the center of the hall, where two small divans flanked a glass table. A shallow spoon housed a burning pool of incense. A second scholar was seated on one sofa. He lay as leisurely as any of the others. His arm was draped over the sofa, and his hand feathered through a washing basin. This academician was dressed identically to Lakif’s guide, with a bleached toga. But he was many years older than her benefactor. Most striking was his ridiculous wig. The article gave him a neatly permed mane of thick black hair that clashed sharply with the map of wrinkles creasing his face. A conspicuous jeweled hairpiece added insult to the gaudy wig. The hairline was unnaturally low, a mere thumb’s width above his hoary eyebrows. The apparent abundance of hair looked preposterous on the crony. Furthermore, he wore blush in a vain attempt to cast the illusion of a rosy-cheeked youth.