Smoke lay above it like a pall through which the towers reached, like the snouts of beasts seeking upward for air. My eyes watered, just looking at it. If there were not wind before evening, it would be thick as soup in that bowl which held the city of Betand, the City Which Fears the Unborn.
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3
Perlplus
* * *
IT TOOK SEVERAL HOURS TO REACH THE CITY, and a wind had come softly from the north to greet me as I rode by the outskirts of the place, inns and caravansaries, stables and eating houses, taverns and stews. I decided to have a meal before entering the city. There was a place there called the Devil’s Uncle, and it seemed as good as any other from the point of cleanliness and better than most from its smell. The stable boy took my beast without making any signs at all, which I took either as a sign of sophistication or of total ignorance. Either many Necromancers came here or none did. It did not matter much which.
Once within, I saw a few curious faces, one or two down-turned mouths, but no ward-of-evil signs. I ordered wine and roast fowl and a dish of those same stewed ferns Riddle had fed me on the outward journey, evidently a local delicacy. They were not laggard with the food, nor was I in eating it. No one there paid me much attention until I was almost finished and had only half a glass left in the jug. Then a wide-mouthed Trader sat opposite me and showed me his palms. I raised mine courteously, and let him talk.
“Laggy Nap, fellow-traveler,” he greeted me. “Trader by Talent, philosopher by inclination. What brings one so young and horridsome to the city of Betand?”
I did not know whether to be offended, which I was, or pretend to be amused. I chose the latter as having the lesser consequence.
“Merely one who would travel through Betand on his way to somewhere else,” I said. At which he laughed, repeating my remark to some others who also laughed. I supposed there was something entertaining in the intent to travel through Betand, so ordered wine for those around and asked, all innocence, if the city were accounted so amusing by all who went there.
“Oh, sir.” said the Trader, “it is my amusement to ask new wanderers whether they intend to go through Betand, and then to offer them a meal at my expense at the Travelers’ Joy, which is on the other side of the city. You can tell me then whether you were amused, and I will be entertained by your account.” He fixed a glittering eye upon me, seeming to look further than I would have wished. He was a man with down-slanting brows and deep furrows between his eyes, wide-mouthed, as I have said, with a long, angry-looking nose against which his eyes snuggled a bit too closely. His eyes belied his mouth, the one being all motion and laughter while the others were cold and full of accounts.
“You do not wish to tell me why I will be… amused?” I asked him. He merely chuckled, elbowed some of those around him, and together they engaged in laughter of a mocking sort. Almost my hand sought Dorn in the pouch at my belt, but I decided against it. No point in stirring up trouble. I took my leave of them and went on toward the walls, a gaping gate full of torchlight before me.
I began to identify myself, to give some sort of name such as “Urburd of Dornes” or “Dornish of Calber.” Chance and I had made up a whole list of them to be used as needed. The guardsman gave me no time. He laid a hand upon my arm and said intently, “Sir, you are nobody here. If you would not be charged with a grave offense, remember that. You are nobody.”
He passed me on to another guardsman who gazed me in the eye with equal intensity, seeming unafraid of the death’s-head. “Who are you now, sir?”
“I am … nobody?” I said, wondering what fools’ game they played and whether I was the fool for playing it with them.