Anarchic Book 1: City of Rivers

Chapter 7

Despite the clamor still filling the main hall, Rose found Rus at Tabby's bar, head down and completely asleep.

"Tabby, did you give him any of that strange Warijian wine of yours?" Rose asked, giving Rus a gentle shove and confirming he was indeed dead asleep.

"Of course not," Tabby replied, bringing her hand to her chest in faux shock. "It seems like the poor young man hasn't had a break in quite some time."

Rose chuckled. "Can I leave him to you Tabby? I have to get back to my place before the manager locks up."

"Of course, dear. Want to leave a message for when he wakes?" Tabby asked.

"Tell him he better not blow his trial. And that I'll see him around." Rose said. "And thank you." She gave Rus a final pat on the back before she left.

Night had fallen, and Harmony Plaza was finally beginning to wind down. Vendors shuddered their storefronts and packed up their carts. Tourists and regulars alike began filing out and back to their inns and homes.

Rose started heading north, eventually leaving the plaza and stepping out onto the Goldroad. A bit ostentatious of a name perhaps, but not incorrect.

The Goldroad ran from Harmony Plaza all the way to the north gate, right through the heart of Tradesmen's Run. The Run was the center of trade and commerce for the City, and the Goldroad was lined with the most successful, well-regarded merchants and artisans. Bringing in coin not just from the surrounding towns and villages, but from the well-to-do of other Cities.

Before making more than a block, she spotted Pyotr, bag in hand, returning from his supply run. She called out to him, and he turned toward her, a smile filling his kind face as he jogged over.

"Miss Rose, heading home?" He asked.

"I am. Father has agreed to give Rus a trial run, and he's letting him stay at the hall." Rose replied. "Can you do me a favor, Pyotr?"

"Of course." Pyotr replied immediately.

"Look after Rus?" Rose asked. "He's a sweet kid, but he's new to Thiers and I think he could use a friend. Someone who might understand that feeling of being a fish out of water, you know?"

Pyotr nodded. "I will." His voice was earnest and weighty, as though he were swearing some sacred oath, rather than helping out a friend.

Rose smiled. "Thanks. I should head home, good night Pyotr."

"Good night, Miss Rose." And the two headed their separate ways.

Rose turned off towards the western portion of the Run. While money flowed freely along the Goldroad, it was only by the sweat and labor of those who worked in the Wedge.

The western edge, or Wedge to those who lived and worked there, was the relatively small portion of Tradesmen's Run that fell under the Militia's Western precinct. Bound by the Cheolainn and the edge of the Northern precinct, forming the colloquial wedge shape, it was filled with workshops and smithies and factories and towering tenement buildings. Where the Goldroad and its surrounding environs were lined with wellkept store fronts, and its paving dutifully maintained, the Wedge was its lesser-loved brother. Smoke billowed from the chimneys and smoke stacks, the ground was covered in scrap metal and the odd puddle of mysterious runoff.

In a vacuum, it wouldn't seem too dissimilar to the rundown streets of the Breach. But where Thiers' southern district had a haunting and disquieting affect, the Wedge was bursting at the seams with life.

Workmen filled the streets, bustling from one job to the next. Foremen shouted out orders and updates to their workers, while factory whistles signaled the end of the day's labor. While things slowed at night in the Wedge, the hammer of industry never slept. Even now, Rose could hear the hollers of the dockworkers and the clattering of their cargo on the winds from the various ports along the river.