Ch 41: Etling

The town was drowning. Blood poured freely from the tallest buildings, flowing down and drowning those beneath before washing them down into the gutter. Not that I have any right to complain, I’m one of the men making the blood flow.

• The Endless Gutter, Emeril Farlow

The first time that he had passed through Etling, the weather had prevented him from being able to properly see the city. This time the weather was still a bit gloomy, but without the pouring rain he was better able to take things in. Etling was an odd blend of old and new. The city was originally the capital of a different kingdom a long time ago that had been absorbed by Drakthiss. There were still a number of older buildings built of stone. The mayor’s residence and several of the houses of the nobility in particular had been converted from these old structures. The old kingdom had favored thick columns of dark stone with perfectly symmetrical layouts. Around these old structures were homes and buildings much more in tune with the rest of Drakthiss. Homes built of brick or even wood were all mixed in.

The city was one of the furthest from the capital and because of this it was a much cheaper place to have a residence or even purchase a large piece of land. As such it had become popular for many of the minor nobility who preferred to exist as great lords in a small kingdom rather than something higher nobles would peel from the bottom of their shoes. Merchants too had favored the area, not only because of how much cheaper it was to own land, but also because of how much cheap labor was available there. On the outskirts of the city were dozens of factories that produced everything from weapons and armor to textiles.

Solomon saw one of the factories as they entered. It was an ugly windowless building with a number of men and women shuffling in and out. He could smell an odd chemical scent to the air as they passed it.

The city proper had a rather chaotic layout. It wasn’t a planned city so the streets narrowed and widened seemingly at random and anyone who wasn’t a native would have tremendous difficulty navigating it. In spite of that Duncan seemed to have no trouble at all moving them through, and Solomon was able to relax and watch out the windows as factories turned to slums, then businesses, and finally manors.

The carriage came to a stop in front of one of these. It was a manor with a large central building of black stone, clearly in the old style of the city, but it had been expanded and built on top of with red bricks to make it something approaching a proper Drakthic estate. Duncan brought the carriage right up to the main gate where a man preemptively dressed in a rain cloak was waiting. Solomon heard the vague exchange of words between them and then the gate opened and the carriage moved through it.

They passed through a very pleasant and understated garden that was filled with white flowers he didn’t recognize the look of, but the smell they gave off was light, sweet, and familiar. He inhaled it deeply, recalling memories of an awkward tea with a girl in a frilly dress with big gold eyes. The carriage came to a stop in front of the main door where a man stood waiting.

He was tall, just shy of Solomon’s height, but broader than he was. He wore a brown suit in a very slim and modern cut. His hair was black with a streak of white near the center, and his eyes were the bright gold that marked him as a member of the Byar family.

Melissa let Solomon out of the carriage and he stepped out with his walking stick in hand, walking up the steps and extending his hand toward the viscounts as he reached the top.

The man extended his own hand, showing two gold rings the color of his eyes and they shared a firm handshake.

“Solomon Morrow, I welcome you to my home.”

“Viscount Byar, I appreciate your invitation. Your manor is quite spectacular, and your garden…” Solomon paused for a moment. “These white flowers you’ve planted. Were they your sister’s favorite?”

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The viscount’s expression shifted to surprise for a moment, his voice growing soft. “They were, yes.”

“The smell of them reminded me of her.”

James smiled and swallowed before gesturing toward the door. “Please, come in and have a drink with me while your things are sorted.”

“Gladly,” he responded, giving a nod to Melissa and Duncan as he stepped inside. The interior of the manor was firmly entrenched in the newer fashions of the capital. The rugs were simple geometric patterns, likely woven by Birdfolk artisans, the walls had no tapestries, but instead favored fantastical moulding on the top and bottom showing ornate flowers, and the art was all the more realistic and sharp painting that had recently come into fashion rather than the softer, more impressionistic art that had been favored in the past. It was very different from the Morrow estate which had always been firmly entrenched in history rather than modern trends. Solomon didn’t care for it, but then he didn’t care for his family estate either. He felt a blend of old and new based on individual taste was usually best.

He followed James into a parlor with a large window that looked out onto the garden and a number of comfortable chairs. There were several instruments on stands that looked to be meant for when one wanted music played while they sipped their morning tea and looked out at the flowers.

Solomon sat on a heavily padded dark-blue chair, and James sat across from him. In less than a second a butler approached.

“Wine sir? Or something stronger?”

“Let’s start with two Sazerac’s, strong.”

Solomon allowed the host to choose the drinks. Sazerac Ryland was his great grandfather, so he wasn’t sure if it was a subtle joke or James simply enjoyed the drink.

They sat quietly looking out the window until the drinks arrived. Solomon took a long sip. He didn’t favor drinking, but he’d been trained from a young age to be able to hold his alcohol properly and keep his mind clear. He distinctly remembered half a bottle of red wine empty as he was made to answer math and history questions while maintaining eye contact with his tutor, barely keeping himself from vomiting all over the man’s shoes.