As the ship guiding them docked, the
Llothriall
moored alongside and the captain of the vessel leaped across to greet them.
The man was dressed in dark clothes; a vest of black silk and leather breeches that were inscribed with a pattern of intertwined flowers. His ears and eyebrows were heavily pierced and Dunsany couldn't help but notice the ridges beneath his vest that told of more piercings on his torso. The captain held out a many ringed hand, the back inked with a tattoo that appeared to show the sun rising out of the shadow of Kerberos.
"Well, this is a surprise. And a pleasant one."
Dunsany took the man's hand. "I'm Dunsany, the captain of the
Llothriall.
This is my second-in-command and resident mage, Kelos. Behind us stands Silus, Ignacio, Jacquinto and Father Maylan. Below we have Katya and Emuel."
"And Zac." Silus reminded him.
"Yes, and Zac. Newly arrived in this world."
"A most diverse and unusual crew," the captain said. "I'm Winrush Searah Jaxinion, child of Kerberos and Archduke of Morat. But you can call me Win. May I ask how just the nine of you manage to crew such a vast ship?"
"Ah," said Kelos. "That's because this is no ordinary ship. It is based on ancient elf design."
"Yeah, but we sort of broke it." Jacquinto said. "Well, something broke our eunuch. Anyway, it's a long story."
"Indeed. Clearly you gentlemen are tired and hungry. I think that we can converse more easily over some refreshment and a decent meal. I'd be honoured to have you as guests at the palace."
"Palace?" Jacquinto said. "Now you're talking!"
"That's a yes then? Splendid. Follow me gentlemen. And welcome again to Morat."
As soon as Dunsany stepped off the gangplank and onto the cobbles of the Morat docks, his legs told him just how long he had been at sea. They felt filled with the water upon which he had sailed and on each step he overcompensated for the rolling deck that was no longer beneath him.
Kelos watched him lurch down the street for a moment, before supporting him with an arm around his waist.
"Come on, we can stagger like drunks together."
Behind them followed the rest of the crew with Silus at the rear, his arm round Katya, who was carrying a squealing bundle close to her breast. She looked more tired than any of them, and her footing was less sure. Dunsany only hoped that Win could provide a suitable bed at the palace for her.
They followed Win along narrow streets hemmed in by tall buildings. There was a face at every window and doorway they passed. Most turned away at the first glance though, expressions of disappointment on their features, as though they had expected the strangers to be more exotic, maybe even creatures of a different race. Dunsany understood and shared their disappointment. Here they were on a previously uncharted island and the people around him could have been his fellow countrymen. The buildings that towered above them looked as though they could have been built from Turnitia stone. When they had planned the voyage, he and Kelos has been full of visions of fearsome new lands, peopled by strange beasts and promising exotic treasures. But what they had found was merely more of their own kind.
Dunsany had to concede, however, the fact that Morat rode on the back of a vast wave really was impressive.
It took a long time to move through the outer districts of the city, as Win insisted on stopping every few minutes to shake the hands of his subjects and inquire after their well-being. It seemed that he knew almost everyone they passed on a deep personal level.
"This you must taste," he said, stopping at a market stall and handing each of the crew a small pastry, before paying the trader.
"For the love of - " Ignacio exclaimed after taking a bite. "Well, I think that I may no longer have any taste buds."
"My eyes are watering." Dunsany said.
"Indeed, it is a little bit tart," said Father Maylan, finishing his pastry in two bites.
"Fantastic aren't they?" Win said. "Worth stopping for I think. Anyway, onwards."
Eventually the narrow streets turned into wide thoroughfares which started to descend in a series of terraces. Win led them through a district where the buildings were lower and larger than those near the docks, each displaying a lavish garden, through which rang the sounds of children playing and water trickling.
"This is the education district," Win said. "There are many specialisations. That building there, for example, is the Institute of Mechanised Puppetry. And over there we have the School of Salinity Studies."
"Sorry, but are you saying there's a place where you can go to learn how to measure the saltiness of things?" Dunsany said.
"Well, yes. Of course." Win said, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. "There's a school for pretty much every discipline."
They carried on downwards, negotiating flight after flight of precipitous stone steps. Dunsany noticed that in a dark alcove beneath each were candles burning in front of what appeared to be shrines. On closer inspection he found that in each shrine there was a carving depicting Kerberos; most often with the sun edging out of its shadow, sometimes with the added symbol of a ship sailing away from the planet.
"You wish to make an offering to the Allfather before we enter the palace?" Win said.
"No. It's just interesting to see that Kerberos holds religious significance for the people of Morat. It is the same on Twilight, although I'm sure that your church is much less dictatorial than our own."
They were leaving daylight behind now. Even though the sun was still a long way from setting, very few of its rays reached this deep into Morat. They had descended to the city's lowest levels and the streets here were lit with torches that gave off a curious fragrance as they burned, reminding Dunsany of the Allantian spice markets. Fewer people moved through this district, and those that did were attired in clothes which marked them out to be officials of some sort.
"Welcome to the palace of Morat," Win said.
"Palace?" Jacquinto said, looking about him. "Where?"
They had stopped in front of a dark wood door set into an unremarkable wall, which followed the curve of the street on either side and stretched high above them.
"After you, honoured guests," said Win, opening the door.
The palace was as modest on the inside as it was on the outside.
They entered a damp stone corridor, lined at regular intervals with more of the aromatic torches. The only concessions to luxury were the rugs that lined the floor, but even these were threadbare and black in places with ground-in dirt. As the crew crowded into the cramped space Win closed the door behind them and then shouldered his way through the group - apologising profusely all the while - before leading them along the corridor.
They followed the curve of the wall round to the right, occasionally passing doors, from behind many of which they could hear voices raised in what sounded like theological or academic argument.
"Ah, the chaos of the ministries," Win said. "Politics was never my thing I'm afraid. Which I suppose may be deemed a bit of a disadvantage for an Archduke. But one can't help it if one is born into a role."
Extracting a key from a ring on his belt, Win unlocked a door and led them up a flight of stairs to the first floor.
Here, at last, there were windows, but instead of light they admitted a steady bitter draft and a host of pigeons. Feathers moved lazily in the steady wind that whistled down the corridor, while more crunched underfoot, along with a litter of tiny bones and bird carcasses.
"The rookery," Win said.
"Get off you feathered bugger!" Father Maylan suddenly exclaimed, trying to brush away the pigeon that had landed on his shoulder.
"I'm so sorry," Win said. "They're not used to guests you see. For her, you are just another perch. Come on my darling. Win can be your branch today."
The bird jumped onto Win's head and shat down his back. He chuckled as it flew off, like an exasperated but loving parent humouring a child.
"It's alright," Maylan said, composing himself. "It's just that I have this thing about pigeons."
"Then we shall hurry onwards and leave our feathered friends behind."
Eventually they came to another door and Win led them up another flight of stairs.
As they came out onto the second level of the palace they were hit by a wall of heat. From vents in the walls poured forth a muggy warmth, while pipes lining the ceiling shuddered and hissed out plumes of steam. Soon the crew's clothes were plastered to their bodies and Dunsany began to wish for a return to the icy winds of the rookery.
Win dug in a pocket and produced several handkerchiefs, which he passed out to his guests.
"For the mopping of one's brow." He explained. "It does get rather moist up here."
Dunsany was beginning to feel dizzy by the time they reached another door, and he was beginning to worry how Katya and Zac were coping with all the exertion. When he looked back, though, Katya sent him a reassuring but tired smile and Dunsany began to pray that behind the next door would be the dining room, rather than another surreal tour of the palace service tunnels.
A staircase spiralled down and when they exited at the bottom Dunsany had to suppress a growl of anger.
The corridor in which they were now standing was lined with dirty threadbare rugs. The door on the left was the one through which they had originally entered the palace.
"Excuse me, ah, Win. But isn't that the way we came in?"
"Yes it is. But the door there leads to my quarters, and we couldn't possibly have approached it from an anticlockwise direction."
"No, no indeed." Father Maylan said. "Where would the logic have been in that?"
"Quite so, my friend." Win said, completely missing the sarcasm in the priest's voice. "Quite so. That just wouldn't have made sense."
When Win opened the door, Dunsany was relieved to see that what lay beyond was not another corridor. Instead, they followed the Archduke into a room that was warm and inviting.
A fire burned in an ornate grate in one wall, while the opposite wall held barnacle-encrusted sculptures in niches, candles placed around them filling the room with a gentle light. In the centre of the room was a low table surrounded by cushions and laden with food, all of it smelling utterly wonderful to the exhausted and famished crew.
"Please, eat." Win said, gesturing to the feast. "Do not delay on my account."
They didn't.
Only Katya held back. After taking a couple of mouthfuls of bread she turned to their host.
"Win, would you have somewhere where we can rest for a while? I'm afraid that I'm beyond exhaustion."
"Of course my dear. Please follow me."
Win led Katya, Zac and Silus from the room, returning a few moments later.
"I'm glad to see that you are enjoying the food." He said. "The palace chefs are really second to none."
"It's wonderful," Father Maylan said. "Trust me, we would get nothing like this back home."
"And where is home?"
"A land far from here. I must say I was rather glad to leave it."
"Oh really, why was that?"
"There was a conflict of faiths, let's put it that way."
"It is strange that we have never come across your land on our travels."
"Yes it is." Dunsany said. "Your entire city rides on the back of an enormous wave. There can't be any stretch of the sea that you haven't explored."
"We follow the path that the Allfather has laid down for us. But yes, there is another place. There is the Isle of the Allfather where, once a year, the path leads us, so that we may speak with Him more directly in the hope that He will call us back to His bosom."
"Well, I don't know about you fellows. But I'm confused." Jacquinto said. "Emuel, does this make any sense to you? You're pretty weird after all."
The eunuch had remained silent ever since they had disembarked from the
Llothriall
which, in itself, wasn't that unusual. What was unusual, however, was that he had a smile on his face.
"The songs are here." He said. "Can you not hear them? The beautiful songs."
"No," Jacquinto said. "That would be just you I'm afraid."
"Win, tell us of Morat." Dunsany said. "I would really like to hear the story of your people."
Win filled his glass and, after having drank, began his story.
The Allfather - or Kerberos - had once been the home of the Moratians. But, many generations ago, some great sin had been committed against the Allfather and the people were sent out in exile from the cradle of their civilization. As to the nature of this sin, not one of the Moratian legends spoke of its origin. Maybe the shame of the ancestors was such that they had sought to erase all memory of their trespass. All the Moratians knew was that the anger of the Allfather had been so great that it had flung them into the airless gulf between worlds.
But the Allfather's anger hadn't been so great that he had abandoned his people with no hope of survival. For he had sent them out with a part of himself, an immense stone that enabled them to survive the ravages of the void.
And so - after many years of travel - they came to this world of storms and endless water.
Here the stone of the Allfather continued to guide them, shaping the waters surrounding Morat, bending the environment to the will of the people while drawing them along the decreed paths through the angry seas.
All the while the Allfather looked down on the people of Morat and his implacable face was a constant reminder of their guilt. In their ceremonies the high-priests channelled the remorse of the people; crying out to their creator in prayer and song, their hunger to return a fire that burned at the centre of their worship.
Once a year, the path that Morat followed through the dark waters brought it within sight of a small island. The Allfather seemed to hang lower and larger in the sky over this land and some people claimed that they could even make out his true face. So, it was decided that here they would build a temple in his name.