“Aye. More than I can tell you before we are on the other side. Stay away from the Oldport. Anything beyond the clock tower is neither safe nor honest. So, unless you want to be robbed or drawn into shady business, don’t go there. And don’t wander near the Silver Spires either, unless you are invited. The orderkeepers don’t look kindly on anyone disturbing the rich and noble.”
Kraghtol simultaneously tried to remember what she said and to make sense of the places she mentioned. While he could only guess where the Oldport or the clock tower were located, the Silver Spires were easily discernible as they glittered on a hill to the west in the morning sun. Kraghtol doubted the tall buildings were really made of silver, but even if it was just bright white stone, the sight was impressive.
“Got it, thank you. Can you recommend a place to stay? I don’t have many coins to spare.”
Before the old woman could answer, a sudden coughing fit struck her that sounded nasty in Kraghtol’s ears. The rattling breath suggested an inflammation of the lungs that was bound to only get worse if left untreated. Finally, she recovered, clinging heavily to the boat’s frame.
“Aye, sorry about that. There are many rooms for rent, but it might get difficult for you to find one, nevertheless. Can’t imagine too many people would be eager to house a green skin under their roof.”
Of course, Kraghtol thought. Sometimes he just wanted to rip this cursed green skin from his bones and… no. He stopped the unbidden thought before it could take hold and concentrated on something else.
“That cough doesn’t sound good. You should go see a healer about it.”
The ferrywoman laughed a dry laugh.
“A healer? Do I look like I’m made of money? No, son, that darn cough came on its own, and it will go away the same way.”
For a moment, Kraghtol was confused and about to answer that the services of a healer were among the more affordable ones whenhe suddenly remembered Merrick mentioning that the guild-dictated prices for treatment were different depending on whether you lived in a city or in the countryside. Since the city had a lot more patients per healer, the treatment prices were higher. This didn’t mean the healers were wealthier, though: the guild demanded the complete difference as taxes. Kraghtol clearly remembered being utterly confused by that, but his foster father had explained that the higher prices were there for one reason only: to keep the less wealthy from frequenting the healers and taking spots and resources from the more important citizens.
“I see. You should…”
They were drawing near the busy port now, and Kraghtol hesitated. But they were still on the river, and nobody would know if he gave out some advice for free. And it wasn’t like the guild would care.
“You should look for Foalsfoot. It often grows on the roadside and has broad, almost round green leaves. If you drink tea made from the leaves at least twice a day, the cough should get better soon. But if it gets worse and you get a fever, add some Mossfern to the tea.”
The ferrywoman looked at him in surprise.
“Well, that sounds like you know what you’re talking about. Thank you, son.”
“Don’t mention it.” Kraghtol replied, and he hoped that the woman understood that he meant that literally.
She just nodded and moored the boat to the wooden pier, only a few meters away from a much larger trade ship that was currently being unloaded. He thanked the older lady and climbed out of the boat, only to find himself right in the middle of more people than he had encountered during his entire journey. Workers were busytransporting goods from the trade ship to the warehouses, sailors eagerly chatted in the vicinity, and busy-looking passers-by hurried past, minding their own business and paying no attention to the noise and turmoil.
Kraghtol was in the middle of it all, and his head was swimming. There was so much going on around him, and his mind tried to process it all at once. A million smells invaded his nostrils, and even more distinct sounds and noises mingled together to form a symphony of business. The fall sun beamed down and created sharp shadows and bright spots, illuminating the bright colors of everyone around. And it wasn’t just humans either: Kraghtol could see a few dwarves among the busy people, and he was pretty sure the tall figure standing on the ship and supervising the unloading had to be an elf!
He was constantly aware of everyone moving his way and had to step aside more than once to avoid a collision. Suddenly, nine bell chimes rang from further within the city, which caused Kraghtol to freeze on the spot and promptly collide with a worker.
“Hey, look where you’re going!”
Kraghtol mumbled an apology and did his best to move his large body out of the way.
Only when he had reached the momentary safety of a building wall and wasn’t in danger of standing in the way anymore, did he realize something: Even though he was right in the middle of so many people, he wasn’t the center of attention. Sure, he received his fair share of curious or even suspicious looks, something he was used to his whole life, but that was it. Nobody stopped to scream and shout, nobody ran to the nearest orderkeeper just because of the color of his skin. It waslike the mere fact that he was within the city walls somehow meant he was no threat. A smile crept onto his face. He had no delusions that this magically meant everyone would like him. But it was a start, and he felt more accepted than he had ever felt in his entire life. The ferrywoman had to be mistaken. It couldn’t be that difficult for him to find a place to stay.
Four bell chimes from the impressive clock tower marked the seventh hour since Kraghtol had set foot in the city of Winterstone, and he had to correct himself. The ferrywoman had been too optimistic. It wasn’t just difficult to find a room; it was downright impossible. Even though his appearance didn’t cause panic — at least in the bright sunlight of day — the people were still wary of him. Most of the rooms available were simply not affordable for him, so he had to settle for the tiniest or most run-down places. But those were often privately owned and, just as the old lady predicted, the owners of these places wouldn’t even consider letting a half-orc stay. Sometimes, the rejections were veiled behind excuses, like the room needing renovation or it beingjusttaken, but other times, the distrust was out in the open. For the first few hours, Kraghtol had felt anger slowly simmering within him, stoked by every rejection, but after a while, that anger had dulled to a feeling of frustration. He had gotten to know the general layout of thecity: six districts were arranged in the shape of irregular petals around a central seventh one. Remembering the advice from earlier, he had avoided the rich Silver Spires and the dangerous Oldport district, but he had searched fruitlessly in the other five.
Right now, he was at the point where the central Commercial Quarter bordered the Oldport region: the clock tower. The tall building was a sight to behold, even despite Kraghtol’s sour mood. It was a carefully maintained stone building with a high-rising tower attached to it. And in that tower, at least three or four stories off the ground, was a large clock face on each side, showing the passing of time by two hands that advanced across the face by unseen forces. Kraghtol couldn’t even fathom what mechanical marvels were necessary to drive this contraption, but it worked flawlessly and constantly. Every full hour, a bell rang across the entire city, informing everyone of the current time, even when the clock itself was hidden from sight.
Kraghtol had never heard of something like that and at some point, he would have to ask someone about the building’s inner workings and why they built it right on the border to the city’s worst part instead of a more practical location like the Commercial Quarter’s center. But right now, he had more important things to worry about. He had two or three hours of daylight left, and if he didn’t want to sleep on the streets — which he was pretty sure was frowned upon — he would have to find a place to stay soon.
The half-orc pondered his options. The smallest — and thus most affordable — rooms he had seen were in the Crafters Quarter. But aside from the mistrust he had experienced, most of those rooms were reserved for apprentices and journeymen of their particular craft. And,unsurprisingly, nobody there offered a place for soon-to-be students of alchemy. The Commercial Quarter and Frostgate District inns clearly catered to wealthier travelers, such as merchants. He had the feeling he would have been able to find lodging there rather easily, despite his ancestry, but he didn’t have nearly enough money.
That left terribly few options. He could try to comb the Crafters Quarter again, head to the Silver Spires — whatever good that would do him — or try his luck in the disreputable Oldport.
He peered past the clock tower into the dirty streets. The afternoon sun filled the area with long shadows, and Kraghtol’s imagination added all sorts of bandits and cutthroats lurking in the darkness.
He shook his head as if to shoo away the figments of his imagination. He shouldn’t let his fears get the better of him. If anything, he was strong and intimidating. And poor enough not to be of interest. Most probably, the warning of criminals here was exaggerated, too. It was probably just the place where the poorest people of the city lived. His chances of finding an affordable place might even be best here.
Determined, the half-orc straightened his back and let his shoulders roll before passing the remarkable clock tower and venturing into the narrow alleys that wound between buildings that had seen better days.
