The day neared its end at the same time as Amos' journey along the Armastan. He nursed his aching muscles in the setting sun's light. He was sitting next to Ink in silence, both filled with thoughts of the possibilities that lie ahead. Trepidation and anticipation mixed within Amos' heart in equal measure.
As they came nearer and nearer to Port Ryndem, the air began to smell of salt. Where once the Armastan River was a solitary journey, alone on alternating rushing and tinkling of the blue waters, other boats began to appear. The mark of civilisation filled their surroundings and Mondir made his opinion of it evident with an exaggerated choking, spewing sound. It sounded like he had practiced that noise just for this moment.
Amos' mind lingered on all he had lost. In exile from his family, away from his true home, his friends were the closest he was going to get to comfortability in this new world. Bin sacrificed herself for him. Mondir did too, in a way. Yakob was in a dangerous position he couldn't leave to see him. Even Aquila was gone now.
But it had not all been loss. He gained a friend in Ink and Mondir, even Arria was growing on him now. Supposedly, Shanty was going to be in the Avidia Institute too. She was... interesting.
Slowly, the river became choked with boats - merchants, travellers, cartographers, guild ships, and even what looked to Amos to be triremes: The warships of old from his world. Banners of various colours flapped in the wind, stamped with insignias and coats of arms.
In the distance, chimney smoke pierced the horizon, accompanied by steam whistles, bells, and the shouts of sailors and merchants. The medieval skyline of Port Ryndem sprouted from the empty spaces between masts and smog either side of the river.
Squat buildings first, little more than shacks on the outskirts of the city. Then it grew upwards, multi-story buildings with large windows, a giant stone church steeple dotted with stained glass. There was even a tower adorned with the symbol of the Trenmir - the potion bottle with crossed arms - except that this symbol was twice the height of a man and adorned by an eight-pointed star behind the bottle.
Up ahead, the glittering river water slowed as it met with the crystalline expanse of the Northern Ocean. Sea spray threw its salty scent across the air, and gulls circled high above, calling raucously to each other.
There was a deep breath, then a happy sigh from Jasper at the back of the boat as he rowed. "Home, sweet home," he said.
"Nothin' sweet about it," Mondir grumbled.
"You're still a wanted man, Amos," Arria reminded him. He had been looking around with wide eyes at the sheer amount of people. It was a veritable throng - business was booming. If he didn't know any better, Amos might think the population in Port Ryndem was comparable to the modern city of his original world. But that just wasn't possible, not with a lack of logistics to feed the people of this city.
Resultingly, it was hard to hide from the hundreds of eyes that skimmed their faces. Amos kept his head down and mumbled to Ink to do the same. Regardless, Amos felt the blanketing pressure of someone watching him as they sailed down the river.
Jasper directed his canoe through a gated entrance, massive city walls dwarfing them on either side. A small commercial dock was available for water taxis, and the ferryman stopped there.
Still, that feeling of being watched persisted as they disembarked, leaving Jasper behind.
"Hey," Arria called out to him, "I know where you live. Don't do anything stupid and we can both have good lives." She patted the knife at her side.
Jasper gulped and nodded his understanding, then pushed the boat away, seemingly pleased to be rid of the eclectic menagerie.
The flow of the crowd mimicked the river below. While they were dwarfed by buildings on either side, casting a gloomy darkness that was accentuated by the fog, they were not in a back alley. No, this seemed to be a veritable thoroughfare of foot traffic and Amos was pushed and jostled. It seemed the best hiding place for him was in a crowd; that feeling of being watched had disappeared.
Arria shoved Ink in front of the group and told him to lead them forwards. His large frame and tattoos meant the people around him gave a little more berth than they would otherwise. Amos was only lucky he had nothing in his pockets to pick.
Fishmongers called their wares from stores as they passed. Ink turned his head at every merchant's yell, too gullible to know not to make eye contact. Several times they were waved over and Ink being the leader meant everyone else was stopped by hawkers of knick-knacks, street food, and rubbish.
Eventually, after much ado, Mondir pushed past Ink for the lead and led the group up and out of the gloomy dockside streets. He found a brief moment of reprieve for them all, then sniffed the air and stomped off in the direction his nose pointed. They arrived at a square, not entirely devoid of people, but not incredibly busy either. In the centre of the square was a large tree, its wood reminiscent of melting wax. Amos and Ink shared a knowing glance.
They all sat by the trunk of the tree to catch their breath. Finally able to look around without fear of being identified, Amos took in his surroundings.
The buildings were tightly packed. It was a far cry from the solitary farmhouse in the Aquila farm's fields. The buildings were squarish with sloped rooves on low angles. Every so often, large stone obelisks would pierce through, or perhaps they were towers. Amos counted exactly eight. The regular homes were made of brick and tile, more affluent even in the simpler things than Amos' experience of wood, stucco, and thatch.
They were on top of a hill, and Amos felt dizzy observing the grids and winding roads, back alleys and rows of near identical buildings. Two lighthouses stood on either side of the river delta, where the ocean mingled with the city. A thin blanket of fog hung above the rooftops, spewing forth from chimneys.
Factories, then. This place is undergoing industrialisation?
The people milling about the square wore a mix of colours, though mostly earthy tones - dull greens, reds, and browns. More than a few had brass goggles with cut crystal lenses strapped around their faces.
Perhaps it was the already overwhelming nature of Port Ryndem, but the last things Amos noticed were the beggar in ratty clothes and the black-cloaked Trenmir unit that had just stepped into the square on a lazy patrol. A recipe for disaster. The Trenmir were dressed slightly differently to the ones Amos had seen in Botre. Where the Trenmir Yakob joined wore an insignia with a skull in the centre of the potion bottle, these had a screaming mouth engraved into their insignia.
Yakob is part of the Tomb Trenmir... I wonder if these guys have different abilities to Darian's creepy necromancy shit. I better not mess with them.
"Please ma'am," the beggar was saying, "one chime, just one."
"Get off me, you filth!" cried the woman he spoke to. She wore a blue gown that was slightly too large and scratched bronze jewellery.
"I'm so hungry ma'am, please" he reached out and grabbed onto her gown, twisting the fabric in his thin, bony fingers.
The lady shrieked and pushed him away, turning to run. Amos looked around to see if anyone else had seen the exchange. The Trenmir unit were off in the distance, laughing jovially with each other. They hadn't seen anything. Ink was staring at the sky, pulling grass out from between the tree's roots and chewing his lip. Arria and Mondir shared a look with Amos.
Amos shrugged. If the Trenmir weren't doing anything...
The beggar's form began to twitch and writhe. His shoulders were exposed from his ripped and torn shirt, dirt-stained cloth covering dirt-stained skin. Amos realised the beggar was laughing. Something was wrong. He saw a glint of sunlight off a metallic object as the beggar pocketed a bronze bracelet.
He stole from that lady!
What should I do....
Before Amos could make a decision, the beggar was up and hobbling into a dark alley. He disappeared into the mouth between the buildings, the entrance (if it could be called that) ringed with refuse.
"Come on," Amos said to his friends as he began to follow. "That guy just stole from the lady."
"So?" Mondir said. "She's rich, she'll live."
"We need to get to the Institute," Arria complained, already knowing what Amos intended to do.
"Stealing isn't right!" Ink said, jumping to his feet. "That guy's mean!"
Amos shot him a glance and ignored Arria. He didn't want to explain the nuance of morality of theft at this moment, but he knew he couldn't let this slide. That woman's dress barely fit her - she wasn't rich, she just wanted to look rich.
Amos' friends followed reluctantly as he angled for the dark alley.