Black streaks on the horizon obscured the rocky crags of the metal island, as Farek’s schooner trundled across the clear waters of Copper Cove. They were arriving at Starath this day, as they drifted into a harbour surrounded by over a hundred other vessels. A coupled barge from Numa’nakres rested on the waves as solidly as a castle on rock and Farek looked at the umber-skinned bodies of the elite loungers upon its high deck. A child waved to him, and he waved his finger to wag it back.
The Numa’nakres lords and ladies did not drift closer to the stain on nature that was Starath. They sent their servants and crew ashore with a list of goods for purchase, but did not deign to enter the smog themselves.
Enormous smokestacks churned out the black clouds that billowed over what would otherwise be a idyllic island, while white steam rose from sewer exits on the fringes of the harbour. As Farek’s ship arrived, a glob of molten metal splashed out from one such vent, splashing and sizzling into the water with an explosion of white mist.
Farek hadn’t been to Starath in a decade, at least, but it was as he remembered, overcast by its own toils. On the docks, he hired a black-haired urchin to show him around. Diaren and the others walked with them—amazed by the sites of the great factories. They had never been here before.
“Some things are different,” the boy told them, “than in other cities.” As they left the harbour, they walked over a long metal grating, made of iron imported from the west. The boy explained. “You can see black water and sludge down there, can’t you? That’s the city’s waste, both human and metal impurities. See the blacksmith ahead? After he blasts copper or silver in his furnace, he shovels the refuse down underground.”
Sievus peered down over his stuck-out lip. “Wouldn’t it cool and harden again?”
“Great fires are kept burning down there by the Coal-skin to keep the sewers flowing,” the boy explained. His face was folded—not weeping, but close.
“What a cheery place,” Farek muttered.
Next, their guide brought them into what he called the Housing District. Despite it’s name, only inns and brothels populated the city ward. They only went there so the boy could offer Farek and his friends a chance to book a room for their stay.
After that, the tour went only to the “good” parts of town. They passed warehouses under names that Farek recognized and many that he did not. As they ascended the rocky slopes of the mountainous isle of Star’s Wrath, they approached the Houses of the Great Smiths, enormous palaces with towering spires and smoke-stained battlements. The largest castles rivalled the wealthy estates of Soros, but Farek knew some of the rulers of this city.
Upon arriving at the castle of Great Smith Ondrio, Farek dismissed his guide, giving him an extra coin for his trouble, and identified himself as Lord Gallendris to the servants at the front gate. Ondrio had done extensive business with the Bank of Soros, and he put down his fork and knife at the dinner table to invite Farek to a cushioned seating area on a balcony overlooking the estate’s gardens. Farek was astounded anything could grow under the layer of soot—he watched servants sweep a black pile of dust off a walkway, while he spoke with the lord. Though entitled Great Smith, Ondrio’s contributions to the trade ended there.
His contributions to Farek did not, fortunately. He was eager to help Farek as soon as the topic came up—he lent Farek a thousand Grey Sea coins in a small bronze coffer and told him ‘if you feel so obliged, return such a balance to my accounts in your home.’
Strongbox in hand, Farek first counted out a portion for the voyage home, and then went to the Silver Market, which the scrawny boy from harbour had told him was much more reliable than the Bronze Market. Located amidst the estates of the Great Smiths, Farek walked from stall to stall, looking over ornate brooches with imported gold gilded to copper or silver, and decorative daggers with smooth teak wood hilts or cast bronze sculptures of sea creatures for handles instead.
Though his men were astounded by the prices indicated by a colour-coded string system, Farek bought several things using the money he had borrowed from Ondrio. For his younger sister Simisar, he purchased a thin silver chain, a necklace with three small sapphires strung along it, and for Jannia he purchased a gold ring. It was likely overpriced as gold was not mined in Copper Cove, but he knew the Mazaar’s tastes—unadorned gold.
For Silea, Farek chose out a silver ring far more intricate; it looked like a necklace chain, but was an still band. A ruby teardrop sat at the top of the ring, in place of one link of the string design. Lastly, Farek purchased himself a ring, though he already wore two. He found a thin silver band, plain and shiny, that ended the loop around his finger with two small rectangles bracing a square emerald. The face of the ring looked like two flat panels of silver curtaining an emerald window.
“I would be happy with even that one,” Diaren said, pointing toward the least expensive bronze armband at the jeweller’s stall.
Matek chuckled. “Only way you’d get that is if we found out your were Farek’s long lost third sister.”
“Diaren? After all this time?” Farek asked, smiling and mimicking tears in his eyes with a rub of his knuckles.
Diaren pretended to swoon.
The jeweller, a pot-bellied man with a curly brown beard, rolled his eyes and handed Farek his purchases in a small velvet pouch. Farek paid the man with sudden forbearing, and led his jolly mercenaries out of the Silver Market before they broke something. The Housing District proved to be just as tempting for poor, apparently-broke Diaren, and Farek quickly brought them to the harbour, to an inn overlooking a storage yard of much less distraction. Next, they would sail for Noress-That-Was.