The Missing Traveller
Bastium

Alister’s eyes instantly filled with wonder. It didn’t seem so long ago he’d marvelled at the size of Delemor, but Bastium was so immense it disappeared into every direction. It was true; Bastium was built on a plane.

More people than he’d ever seen before walked around the city in stylish clothes. Women wore corsets and blouses of all kinds, and huge billowing skirts lavished in lace and bows. Stairs—let alone a mountain—would be impossible to climb in those dresses, but then again, a woman who never left Bastium would never need to climb. Men’s suits weren’t too different from those in Delemor, except for the occasional tailcoat. People with skin darker than Tarael’s strode by, as well as men and women with orange, blonde, or impossibly curly hair. Estelle wouldn’t have looked out of place in Bastium.

A high buzz zoomed towards him and Alister whirled around and jumped out of the way of a strange, two-wheeled device a child rode by on. He stared after it, his eyes wide. What was that? Arglebon and bharals led other wheeled carriages, and the scent of burning jadar filled Alister’s nose.

Ronan twittered and poked his head out of Alister’s pack for a moment.

“We’ll be at an inn soon, Ronan.” The hawk in his pack reminded him of the Defenders. He searched through the hundreds in the crowds before him, but the grey uniforms of the Defenders would hardly stand out among all these people. Alister looked over his shoulder to ensure Ronan was once again hidden; it was all he could do to blend in before he had the chance to buy new clothes.

The city of Bastium distracted him from his worries within three seconds. Buildings, built from the ground up, were wide and varied in size and design. Alister stood in an open space, but just ahead of him lay hundreds of buildings and streets, too many to look real.

Alister glanced down to the map the conductor gave him, and his eyes bulged. It made sense the map was from the sky looking down, but all the maps Alister had ever seen showed a vertical view. He scoured the map for his location; the conductor said it was on the edge of a district called Evon. He pulled the map closer. Even Evon was split into two sections: Al’Evon and De’Von. His jaw dropped when he found his location.

The huge clearing which he stood in was minuscule on the map, which covered such a large area it showed only clusters rather than individual buildings. Blue lines split Bastium into eight triangular sections, all meeting in the middle and labelled as either canals or rivers. Alister walked west, towards Rowan Canal, where De’Von became Al’Evon. Caves in Wenmire and his bath at home were the only places he’d seen water not falling from above. This city is bizarre.

Where in Delemor he’d been the subject of glowers from the inhabitants, so many people here dressed in such different ways, he often didn’t receive a second glance. Everybody seemed in a rush, while Alister walked in a daze to the west.

Dozens of slow-flying wind-chasers filled the sky, as well as one or two darting kites. Alister supposed it would be quicker to cross town on a wind-chaser rather than walking, or riding one of those strange two-wheeled devices. The plane of Bastium was so large, he couldn’t even see the back of the city where the cliff-face would be. Fog, tinted with orange from the jadar, shrouded the Mount above him, too. He’d expected to be able to see and hear Sanctuary Falls as it split off on either side of the city, but the fog hid it, and if the rush could be heard from where he was, it was drowned out by the music and shouts and bustle of the city. Alister walked westwards with his eyebrows raised into his fringe at everything he saw. He now understood the buildings on the cliff face in the elevations before Bastium; the city was so filled with structures and people. Those who lived on the cliff face were the overflow.

Alister’s pack shifted; Ronan was restless. According to his map, inns scattered across the entire city, and many surrounded the canals on his map. Alister followed one of the streets that led straight to the canal while his head whipped around at every new kind of building, or wheeled device, or group of people. The buildings had glass windows and slanted roofs, and between every fifth building lurked a thin ally.

It was strange enough in Delemor to be able to walk on a long flat for a half hour, but in Bastium it was all flat, as far as the eye could see. A constant stream of people walked in and out of the buildings on the street; stores were everywhere.

When he reached Rowan Canal, the waters flowed at a low speed, bubbling towards the west. It was nothing like the roar of the waterfalls he’d seen so far in his travels, nor the caves in Wenmire. An arched bridge led over Rowan Canal, into Al’Evon. Alister approached the bridge and cast his eyes down the canal. Buildings lined the stream of water the same way they did the streets, and a couple of people travelled in thin, curved boats, pushed along by a worker with a long pole.

Alister shook his head in amazement and walked back to the closest inn with a sign that declared itself The Riverside Lodge. His hand paused on the golden doorhandle for a moment before he opened it, expecting a similar scene of people relaxing in the tavern he’d experienced in Wenmire and Delemor.

Instead, soft music played by a strange, large instrument with keys drifted over from the corner. Two roaring fireplaces surrounded people who sat in soft chairs, reading or murmuring to each other while they sipped wine from curved glasses. They glanced at Alister when the door shut behind him, and went back to their conversations.

“May I help you, sir?”

Alister jumped and turned to a man in a black blazer with raised, thin eyebrows and a pointed nose. He was like a tall, skinny mouse.

“I’d like to stay here tonight.”

The mousy man nodded and went behind the desk to check a book. “Your name?”

“Ali.”

The man sighed and pushed thin eyeglasses further up his pointed nose. “Your full name, sir?”

Alister narrowed his eyes. “Why do you need my full name?”

“Well, if you want to fill your booking then I’ll need your full name.”

“Booking?”

The man raised his eyebrows again and looked him up and down. “You do have a booking, don’t you?”

Alister shook his head, and the man pursed his lips.

“The Riverside Lodge is very popular, sir. We don’t have any free rooms, and if you don’t have a booking, then I’ll have to ask you to leave. You could make a booking for next month, if you like. It’s three fifths per night, a tenth less than the average price in De’Von.”

Alister’s jaw dropped. He wouldn’t even be able to stay in Bastium for a week before all the coin Eugene gave him was spent at The Riverside Lodge. “Three fifths? And that’s less than average? Are all the inns of Bastium so expensive and crowded?”

The mousy man raised his chin. “You pay more for a riverside inn. And of course, you’ll always need a booking. If you’re looking for an available inn which is…cheaper…then you should try De’Rogier. I see you have a map there. May I?” He took the map even before Alister held it out for him, and pointed to the different districts and sections. “Silvian is the most expensive district, followed by Estar, and then Evon. If you’re looking for cheaper accommodation, I’d recommend Rogier, somewhere near the edge. The closer you get to the centre of Bastium, or to the canals, the more expensive it will be.” He handed the map back to a stunned Alister. This is only the third most expensive district? What must the prices be like in Silvian?

He managed a thank-you and left the inn to begin his walk to De’Rogier. It was on the other side of the South River. Three of those wheeled devices sped by. Alister wasn’t certain he could ride one, but that didn’t stop him from staring after the riders enviously.

By the time he reached De’Rogier, the sky had darkened. Alister swung his pack around to bring out a lantern, but as he did, tall poles on the sides of the streets lit up. Alister glimpsed the silhouette of a person sliding down a ladder after one lit up, and put his pack on again.

Without the lantern to warm him, Alister rubbed his hands together and shoved them in his pockets as he ventured further from the centre of the city, and avoided the canals. The mousy innkeeper said inns in De’Rogier would be the cheapest in Bastium, but Alister bit his lip as he made his way through the streets which were still far more lavish than those in Rindor. What if it’s still too expensive?

He stopped in front of a tall inn and cast his eyes up its many levels. The windows weren’t stained in patterns, and some of its wooden boards were chipped, but the sign declaring it as The Kite’s Way was still carefully engraved above a polished door.

Alister’s eyes slid to the alleyway. If The Kite’s Way was too much coin, perhaps he could sleep on the street. A gust of wind prompted him to pull his coat tighter, and he stepped inside the inn.

It was still three times larger and more impressive than the inn at Delemor, but the people inside didn’t sip on wine glasses with quiet voices; they played cards, drank from mugs, and laughed with each other. At each table sat a rusting oil lamp, surrounded by cards and dice. Wallpaper had begun to peel, and tattered curtains draped across each widow. The common room looked about to fall apart compared to The Riverside Lodge, but with its blazing fireplace and cheerful chatter, the De’Rogier inn was far more welcoming. Alister wandered to the front desk, his eyes cast around the common room, and asked about the price.

“Three tenths, two traces a night for a room on the second level.” The pale innkeeper then introduced himself as Fillion Platt. Alister sighed in relief and handed over some of the coins. It was still more than he expected, but he could at least stay in Bastium for longer at The Kite’s Way.

He walked straight up the stairs and into the second door on the left. The key Fillion Platt gave him ground in the rusted lock, but opened the door. Alister slid the pack off his shoulders and let Ronan out.

The red-winged hawk crooned, stretched his wings and flapped them a couple of times without a flinch. At last, he was improving. Alister reapplied some of Ama’s salve to Ronan’s wings, anyway, before he collapsed into his bed and fell asleep within minutes.

Long accustomed with waking up in an unfamiliar place, Alister took only a moment to survey his room in the morning. Aside from the bed, only a dresser, rug, small table, and hatstand sat in the room. It hadn’t been much over two weeks since he’d woken up in his cluttered bedroom back in Rindor; Alister still ached when he thought about his home. But his homesickness was far from the most important problem on his mind.

Alister glanced back at Ronan—the bird roosted on the hatstand—and made his way downstairs and to the front desk.

“Are there any open spaces where there aren’t many people?” Alister asked Fillion, who raised an eyebrow. “I’m looking for a place to practice a torenn.”

“I see.” Fillion’s mouth puckered in thought. “Hmm. There’s a small garden out back where there might be enough space. Not too many people walk through this early in the mornin’.”

Alister furrowed his eyebrows and pulled his father’s timepiece out of his pocket. It was the sixth hour of the morning. “This is early?” In Rindor, his parents would often force him awake as soon as the sun lit the sky.

“You’re the first guest awake.” Fillion gave a small, tired smile. “You must be from them lower elevations.”

Alister suppressed a roll of the eyes. Even the innkeeper of a place like The Kite’s Way spoke to him in a condescending tone. Did people in the higher elevations sleep so late? Fillion directed him to the back door and Alister was again surprised at what was considered small in Bastium. Tall trees created somewhat of a canopy over the garden, which was at least the size of the inn. Small white flowers dotted shaped bushes, and in the centre sat a shallow pond.

Alister walked to the clearing and closed his eyes, before taking himself through the eight strikes, kicks and stances. He moved swiftly into a slow Rolling the Boulder, and was about to practice the form for a second time at full speed.

“What’re you doin’?”

Alister’s eyes popped open; a blonde boy about his age stood at the door to the inn with a large knife.

Alister’s wary eyes didn’t leave the knife. “Who are you?”

As the boy tilted his head, a piece of his sculpted hair fell onto his forehead. He followed Alister’s eyes to the knife, and he laughed. “Hey, this don’t mean nothin’. I’m a gardener.”

“Gardener?”

The boy raised his eyebrows. “Aye. You know, weedin’ plants, shapin’ bushes and the like.”

“Oh, of course.” Nowhere he’d been before had room for a garden big enough to need a gardener.

“So what’re you doin’?”

“I was practising Elin-tor. I promised a friend I’d practice every morning.”

The boy walked over to a clump of bushes and snipped sections off. “You know there’s a torenn temple just ’cross Joan Canal. Why not train there?”

“I only got to Bastium last night. I didn’t know. But it would probably cost a fortune, am I wrong?”

The boy laughed. “That’s a fair guess.” He glanced up from his gardening. “Name’s Ethan Platt. Innkeeper’s son. I help with all the inn chores. He ain’t been able to do them all, ah…recently.” Ethan cleared his throat. “What’re you called?”

“Ali. I came here from…” Alister scoured his mind for a city nowhere near Delemor, where he may’ve been spotted. “Illeryan. Things got a little boring there, so I decided to go and see the Union.” He pushed down the shame felt from lying; it was wrong, but if he were to be inconspicuous, then he would have to be dishonest too.

If Ethan thought his pause was suspicious, he didn’t show it. “Well, Ali, if you need helpin’ with anything, that’s pretty much why I’m here.”

“Thanks.” Alister glanced down his clothes. “Actually, do you know where I can replace some clothes a bit more suited for Bastium? And perhaps aren’t as expensive as what everything else seems to be here?”

Ethan’s mouth widened into a mischievous grin. “There’s always The Kite’s Way’s lost room. People go leavin’ things here all the time, even clothes, though I don’t got any idea how they manage that.” He pointed to another door which led into the inn. “If you go in there, the lost room is the second door on the left. There ain’t many rooms on the first floor, but. So if you’re in the kitchen or the common room, that’s the wrong one.”

I probably wouldn’t get too much more Elin-tor done while Ethan’s here, anyway. Alister thanked him and followed his directions through the inn.

His eyes widened when he opened the door to the lost room. It was filled from bottom to top with clutter and clothing stacked atop shelves. Alister rubbed the dust out of his eyes that settled there when he opened the door, and sorted through the masses of lost items.

By the time Alister strode through the streets of Bastium in his new clothes, it was nearing midday and everyone in the city seemed to be awake. Ethan helped him pick out a simple grey shirt which buttoned at the front, as well as a black vest and breeches. It had taken a while to replace a suit jacket which fit him, but now he donned a grey jacket with torn inside pockets. He brushed water through his hair to sculpt it up and to the side like Ethan had, but it fell back to its place near his eyebrows after a minute, much to Ethan’s amusement. He wrapped his timepiece around his wrist with its brown leather strap instead of leaving it in his pocket; the people of Bastium wore their timepieces like bracelets.

Without the huge pack on his back and the heavy, torn, and somewhat bloodied coat hanging off his shoulders, Alister blended into the crowds seamlessly. He resisted the urge to look at his map at every junction in the road, and instead followed the signs to the House of Travels in Al’Rogier, which Ethan had told him about. Joan Canal, which separated the two districts of Rogier, sported a modest and simple wooden bridge. Alister crossed it and scoured the street signs for the House of Travels. The streets of Rogier were grimier than those of Evon, and the alleyways which separated the unorganised masses of buildings seemed to twist along into the distance. Alister slowed down and scoured the street signs.

“You need help a-replacein’ things, mister?”

Alister looked around at a boy, no more than ten years old, who stood beside him. The boy’s face was wiped with grime and his hair scruffy, but he grinned at Alister from underneath his worn-out hat.

“I’m trying to replace the House of Travels.” But would the boy would know one building from the thousands?

The boy’s head bobbed. “I know the way! Follow me.”

The boy took Alister by the hand and led him through the busy streets of Al’Rogier. It was refreshing to have someone offer help. They passed musicians on the side of the street, whose melodies wafted through the air as pleasantly as the smell of roasting meat from the hawkers. Noise of the crowds bustling threatened to overtake the music.

After they made their way through the twists and turns of De’Rogier—and Alister wasn’t convinced he’d be able to replace his way back—the boy stopped and pointed to a tall building that could’ve been four stories high, with dozens of tall windows on every level. “That’s it here. You have a good one, mister!”

“Thank you.” Alister’s mouth pulled into a smile as the boy walked back in the direction they’d come. The House of Travels loomed over him, and he wandered in with his hands in his pockets.

It was a fine building on the inside, also. Where windows didn’t cover the walls, remarkable landscape paintings did instead. From what he could see, they depicting scenery and cities throughout the Union. He recognised the forests of Rindor and the glow-worm caves of Wenmire amongst the other misty paintings, and a splinter of homesickness pricked his heart.

The man at the front desk cleared his throat. “May I help you?”

“Yes, please.” Alister tore his eyes away from the wall art. “I’d like to know what the process is for obtaining a Seal Card and a Deemstun Seal.”

A stony man, dressed in a formal grey suit with dark red trims, stepped forward. Alister had been so entranced by the paintings, he only noticed the Defender then. He drew in a sharp breath. “King Baudouin isn’t accepting travellers at the moment. What is your business there?”

The man at the front desk cracked a smile. “He doesn’t need to answer yet, Romos. He was only asking about the process. The reason for travel to Deemstun is part of that.”

Defender Romos’ jaw tightened. “Very well, Danvers.” His sharp eyes rested on Alister. “You haven’t seen or heard of a red-winged hawk in this area, have you, boy?”

Alister’s hands clenched in his pockets and he forced his expression to remain neutral. Of course the Defenders would be all throughout Bastium, most of all in buildings which handled travel to Deemstun. “A red-winged hawk? I’ve never seen one in my life.”

Defender Romos’ eyes narrowed a fraction. “Is that so? They’re rare, but can and are sold as pets in Bastium.”

Alister’s heart skipped a beat and he gulped. “Well…I live in Rogier and…I ain’t been to the other districts more than once. We don’t buy fancy birds in Rogier.” The desperate hope this was true, and that his accent was similar enough to Ethan’s, outweighed Alister’s aversion to lying. If Rogier was the cheapest district like the innkeeper at The Riverside Lodge had said, then they surely wouldn’t buy pets.

The man at the front desk, Danvers, who seemed to be more amused by the minute, chuckled. “There’s no need to interrogate him. Yes, red-winged hawks are sold in Bastium, but in a place like Rogier, it’s perfectly normal for this boy to never have seen one.”

Defender Romos’ stony demeanour vanished into the friendliness Alister had come to expect from Defenders. The man was somehow more threatening with a smile. “I suppose you’re right. I was just curious, is all.” He turned to Alister, who raised his eyebrows. “The bird belongs to a dangerous travelling merchant, and it was last seen with a boy in Delemor. It likely was carrying stolen federation property, and so you see, it’s imperative we track it down.”

What was the property the Defenders kept bringing up? Was it something to allow Baudouin to use the Stone of Dominus, or the fabled belsandra Tarael mentioned? Alister’s head pounded at the reminder of Baudouin’s plans.

“I ain’t seen any red-winged hawks.”

“Can I explain to him now Deemstun’s Seal process?” Danvers asked the Defender, who laughed once.

“Aye, of course. Sorry for interrupting, Danvers, but that bird is why I’m here. You understand?”

“I know, I know. It’s all part of the job. I almost don’t want you to replace this hawk so you can keep helping out here.” Danvers laughed, and looked back to Alister as he shuffled through the papers at his desk. “Anyway, you said you would like to know the process for obtaining a Seal Card and a Deemstun Seal? A Seal Card is a mark. To apply for a Deemstun Seal, there is a fee of two marks, and then you must provide two forms of identification. If your reason for travelling to Deemstun is for family, you must provide evidence of your relation to them, and both you and your family members will sign declaration forms. If you’re travelling for business purposes, your company or manager from your usual place of work and your Deemstun correspondent must both sign…”

Alister’s heart sank. To even pay for the application and Seal Card he would have to spend more coin than he had, and he certainly couldn’t provide the necessary documentation for the application to succeed. Deemstun must have accepted independent workers like merchants when Lark obtained his Seal.

He thanked Danvers and left the House of Travels, away from Defender Romos’ eyes. He let out a sigh of relief when the door shut behind him. The Defender’s friendly pretence wasn’t as believable as Alister thought it would be, or perhaps that was because he expected it. Nevertheless, Alister couldn’t afford a Seal Card. How am I going to get to Deemstun?