The Bloodbaths | Page 5

chance: Pathii, Seaboard, and King's Dice, at a glance. Crixus ambled between the tables, studying the men and women as he passed them and the piles of coins massed before the winners. Many of them would be working for him on the construction of the small aqueducts for the incoming estates. If the sales closed as he hoped, he would be dealing with the contractors personally. They would paint a rosy picture of the sturdiness and reliability of their laborers, but a few nights' drinking in the inn would provide more insight than those interviews.?
On his way out, Crixus passed a shrine to Kaolis, goddess of idyll and reflection. He thought it an ironic choice for a tavern but made the requisite two fingered tap to the forehead as a matter of habit.
The printing shop and home of the family Dramonicai was located on the next hill, nestled between a bakery and a jeweler. If there was one thing Restia needed no more of, it was hills. Sixteen hills of varying elevations surrounded the town. Aqueduct construction benefited from the slopes, but the additional labor to tunnel through their sides could run costs higher than budgeted. Fortunes would be made in Restia, all because of a road.?
Crixus appreciated trudging about the town. He had to pass through neighborhoods which a sightseer would never visit, and as a hopeful future resident, he was awarded a glimpse of the true face of Restia. Growing up in Greater Rond, he was used to urban sprawl, service on every corner for every need, the reek of waste cast out of second story windows. The coziness of Restia reminded him of his outsider status. Taking a local wife would not necessarily change that.?
The mother with her sons, lounging outside of the three story apartment building; the farmer wheeling the remains of his stock from the day's market; the message boys, faces tight with purpose and exertion; the gossiping merchants at the snack bar, sipping wine and nibbling on nuts; the dour sanitation workers, sweeping animal refuse into the sewer grates--they were all strangers to him and would remain so even after he built a house for himself and Kharrina.?
He envisioned a modest house for them despite his extensive knowledge of building techniques. Yet there would still be an atrium, and of course it would have a fountain. And running water for the house as well, even if he had to absorb the extra cost. As a water artesan, it was a point of pride, and a good selling tool. In fact, a modest house with running water impressed rich clients more than a grand mansion, because it was a luxury they did not expect to see. Kharrina loved plants, so their home would be lush, verdant, full of light and water.?
The fading light of dusk spelled the end of the day for most of Restia's workers. They clogged the streets, buying loaves of bread for dinner, stopping for a drink with friends, or, most notably to Crixus, pausing to bet on dice games in booths adorned with roses. He resisted the urge to stop and investigate. Later, he promised himself, when I don't have a lovely woman to see. The bettors' faces bore the many stages of excitement, triumph, and disappointment that livened up a good game of chance, and he tore away his gaze with effort.
A unique combination of smells presaged his arrival at Kharrina's block: the musky scent of printer's ink combined with the lingering smell of baked bread. In the morning the bakery won out, a victory for all concerned. By the evening, a day's worth of ink elbowed the bread aside. Perhaps a houseful of flowers would restore some of Kharrina's poor abused sense of smell.
The Dramonicai Printing Company faced the street. The front rooms were open to view and to sunlight though protected from rain by an overreaching blue awning on the second story. Alman Dramonicai pulled oilskin tarps over a case of paper samples. The influx of new business concerns meant more work for the printer, and thus more initial expenditures on stock. Crixus knew from his discussions with Kharrina that her father had misgivings about the changes to his town.
He waited until he was within hailing distance. "Good evening, Master Dramonicai," he called. Alman glanced up, finished with his tarps, and wiped his hands on his apron. Whether it cleaned his hands or dirtied them more was, by the day's end, debatable. He shook Crixus' hand with a firm grip.
"Artesi Oraan," he said. "My daughter is storing ink. I trust you're here to see her." He turned to fetch the girl.
"I'll have printing for you soon, ser, but today you are correct," Crixus said to the man's retreating back. His prepared small talk would have to be used