Chapter Six The Poet and the Ruffian #2
Ilden’s friend came strolling down the hall, carrying a loaf of bread and a bottle of wine in his pale arms. He wore an eclectic mix of Oraanu and Ederi fashion—the modern Oraanu high fashion made its appearance in the black silk robe embroidered with yellow suns and flowers draped over his trim figure.
He had left it untied, the usual sash on the waist missing, so that it revealed the Ederi sensibility underneath: the suspenders strapping down a low-necked shirt to his slim-fitting breeches, which disappeared into a pair of knee-length black boots.
A long-stemmed wooden pipe was tied to one of his belt loops, bouncing off his thigh.
He made the combination look effortlessly natural as he swept toward them with a slow grace rarely found in folk of the south.
“Well met,” he said, red lips curling in stark contrast to his milk-white complexion. Shunvi’s dark monolidded eyes were so sharply pointed by the edges it rendered his gaze intimidating, but they softened and crinkled as he smiled.
“You ought to have come spectate today, Shunvi,” said Ilden, after introducing Lythlet and Desil. “An incredible match for a bunch of first-rounders. Say, which part of Setgad are you two from?”
“Southeast,” Desil said.
“A-ha, fellow slumdogs!” Ilden paused and turned to her. “Wait, Lythlet, are you from there, too? I thought you’d be from elsewhere. You speak differently.”
She blushed. “No, I’m from Southeast.”
“My bad. Well, I was from there—Tresta Ward—but Shunvi and I have made a home for ourselves up in Northeast now.”
Desil let out a low, wistful whistle. “From the slums to the Sector of Stone and Steel. Well done.”
Setgadians often gloated to outsiders about the city-state’s design, regurgitating a nebulously cited factoid that cartographers have always been fond of drawing Setgad on their maps of the greater Edesvena continent—there was something aesthetically pleasing in the way the outer boundaries of the city’s four larger sectors came together to form a precise diamond.
Within the rhombus of the city, a total of five sectors were cut out: four of equal size, and the last a round, elevated platform occupying the center.
The highborn peers and their descendants had the privilege of living there in Central Setgad, the Sector of the White Sun.
Those of a lower class, still wealthy enough that the comfort of not just themselves but of their next generation was secured, found housing in Northeast, the Sector of Stone and Steel, and Northwest, the Sector of the Hawkers.
But all Lythlet had ever known were the southern sectors, renowned for their squalor and their neglect. Life thrived in Southwest and Southeast amidst outbreaks of rusted roofs and rotting shacks, always in full view of the Tower of Setgad gleaming in Central.
“Oh, my journey was bumpier than that,” said Ilden.
“A bad bout of the ekelenzi flu in my grandfather’s youth left him hacking up his lungs for the rest of his life.
Medicine used to cost no more than a penny back in the day, he’d always say, but with Governor Matheranos whittling away subsidies year by year, the health wards would demand more and more coin for the same thing, and he’d have to take out loans from scumbags to make ends meet.
He passed away when I was young and left me more than a dozen usurers demanding their coins back to deal with.
So I came down here to hide from them and the census scribes. ”
“You were unregistered?”
“Nearly everyone here is. The Homely Home’s a safehouse for the unregistered, one of many scattered around Inejio.
I lived here for a stint, and that’s when I learned about the arena.
Soon as I heard about the money to be won, I registered as a sole conquessor, then Master Dothilos paired me with Shunvi.
I couldn’t have been luckier, honestly. Best partner I could’ve hoped for. ”
Shunvi tossed him a hunk of bread by way of gratitude, and he heartily tore it open, stuffing his mouth with a tuft of soft, white crumb. Shunvi broke a couple more pieces off, passing them to Lythlet and Desil.
Between swallows, Ilden continued, “Thought he was the silliest git first time we met. He’d spend all his time doodling away in his conspiracy journal—”
“Not a conspiracy journal,” Shunvi said blithely. “Just a log of thoughts and keen observations.”
Ilden eyed him with a fond smile. “He fills up book after book with the nuttiest of ideas. Latest thing that’s keeping him entertained is trying to crack the case on who the Phantom is.”
With shameless confidence, Shunvi said, “The clues are falling into place, and it won’t be long before I figure out their identity.”
“His last three suspects all turned out to have rock-solid alibis,” Ilden whispered to Lythlet and Desil. “And his current suspect is none other than Corio Brandolas.”
Desil choked back laughter as Lythlet contemplated the notion that the controversial leader of the opposition party might spend his free time masquerading as the headline-grabbing thief who had captured the entire city’s attention for the past couple of years.
“It makes perfect sense,” Shunvi said, unbothered by Desil’s incredulity in a manner that hinted he was used to it.
“The man’s a firebrand trying to tear down Governor Matheranos on the grounds of corruption, doing his utmost to build a platform as hero to the oppressed—what does he not have in common with the Phantom, who steals from the richest in our city?
Many of whom are or have been affiliated with the United Setgad Party throughout Matheranos’s two terms? ”
Ilden was rolling his eyes, ready to retort, when Lythlet spoke up thoughtfully, piecing together the scant kernels of relevant trivia she’d picked up from gazette reports of the Phantom with Master Winaro’s political rants during his readthrough of Corio Brandolas’s book: “There was an unusually long break in the Phantom’s heists in the months before and after the publication of The Setgad Dilemma .
Perhaps Corio found his schedule too demanding to be carrying out heists then, if he truly is the Phantom. ”
Shunvi stared in silence at her, dumbfounded. It seemed as though this was the first time anyone had ever listened to his theories without condescension. A rapt light entered his eyes. “Precisely!”
“Oh.” Ilden blanched. “Oh, no. Please don’t encourage him.
Good grief, he’s never going to shut up now.
Anyhow! What was I talking about? Ah, yes, Shunvi and I, when we first met!
We spent a few rounds butting our heads against each other in the arena, but soon we grokked how the other fought, and we’ve been inseparable since.
Once Shunvi and I made it through the twelfth round, we pooled our jackpots together and sprang for a life up in Northeast. I even had enough to cover all the debt I was running from. ”
Envy and admiration entwined within Lythlet as she pondered if this was where the road of a conquessor would lead her. To a life in the north amongst the highborn? To a life free from humiliation, free from being hounded by loan sharks and violent employers?
She leaned in, seizing the opportunity to pick their brains. “Could I ask: did the match-master ever give any hints to help you prepare for your matches?”
Ilden shook his head. “Master Dothilos would sooner give up his title than help you. It doesn’t do him much good to be on your side, after all.”
“But why wouldn’t he?” said Desil, puzzled. “If he struggles to find quality conquessors of late, surely quietly helping them wouldn’t hurt.”
“If there’s one thing you ought to know about Master Dothilos,” Shunvi said, “it’s that he’s of good repute amongst those of ill repute.
He won’t cheat you on what he owes you, nor will he break his unspoken contract with the spectators.
They trust their bids aren’t being wasted on a manipulated puppet show.
It’s ill-advised to anger gambling folk, after all. ”
Lythlet nodded. “It also brings the match-master no benefit if too many bids are in our favor.” At Desil’s lost expression, she continued, “It’s different from brawling.
You earned the same amount of coin no matter how many people bid on or against you.
But in conquessing, we receive a cut of only the bulls’ bids—meaning those who’ve bet on us winning.
The more people bid against us, the less Master Dothilos is obligated to give us.
What works as an incentive for us is a drain on his own potential profit. ”
“Quite right,” said Shunvi. “The master wants the spectators to see you struggling out in the arena, and if he can constantly put you on the brink of death, all the better for him. Come, Ilden, I believe you’ve forgotten something! Naya told me you were meant to set the table—”
Ilden rose from his seat with a yelp, turning to a rickety old cupboard and pulling out stacks of chipped porcelain tableware. Shunvi joined him, helping to arrange plates, cutleries, and teacups.
“And something extra for our celebrating conquessors,” said Shunvi, handing Lythlet and Desil a short-stemmed goblet each.
He uncorked the wine bottle he’d been carrying and held back one of his long silk sleeves as he reached for Desil’s glass.
“A customer of mine gifted this to me just the other day, and I thought to pass it on to Naya as a treat. But she wouldn’t mind sharing with you two. ”
Desil covered the glass with his hand. “Many thanks, but I won’t be drinking.” He tapped the rosaries on his wrist.
“A man who keeps the vow of temperance,” Shunvi said in admiration.
“ Profane not thy flesh, lest thy thoughts and words manifest in profanity ,” recited Desil, hands pressed together and brought up to his forehead. With a sheepish smile, he continued, “Just a vow I keep for myself—no judgment upon those who partake otherwise, of course.”