Back to The Book of Ninety and Nine Doomed Cities
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The Hyacinth Dawn, after laying in each winter at one of the ports of Narak, used always to depart for northern seas. It would return to Phar-ash-Anthus at the close of the summer, and from its hold two or three hundred bales of stuff would be taken to the warehouses of Athran and Tlar. Under cover of darkness, by as many as threescore Nathian porters, the bales were stowed in one of the deep chambers below the Hill of Ambergris; the hidden chambers, marked with the sign of the merchants Athran and Tlar, that lay many turnings beyond the iron gate where the sleepless ones stand guard.
Long before sunrise, the Hyacinth Dawn would be on its way to Narakhil or Great Charn, where its captain was well known to the keepers of wineshops and dealers in aromatic oils. And in a few weeks the Hyacinth Dawn would put in at Ketlak, or Dal Peroon, and the jewellers of that place would rub their hands together, and the most accomplished courtesans would darken their skin with ejd and perfume their shaven thighs with caparrhine essences. And in a few months more the captain of the Hyacinth Dawn would dispatch a weighty parcel from Hurvad to a village in the mountains. Then, when the crew of the Hyacinth Dawn had drunk their fill at every wineshop from Oth to Ash-Shamish, and the stars of ill-omen rose, it would wait out the winter again in one of the little harbours of Narak.
In those days there were many rumours, which one could hear in any wineshop on the Three Coasts - which is to say, from Oth to Ash-Shamish - concerning what was in those two or three hundred bales. And many different tales were told of a distant land where the captain of the Hyacinth Dawn went to find his fortune. Many were the vessels that set out before dawn, in the wake of the Hyacinth Dawn, to try and discover where she went when the stars of ill-omen sank beneath the horizon; but all that returned said they had lost their quarry in endless white fogs, or in the wide belts of kelp that lie north west of Darming. And there were many that did not return. So it was whispered in many wineshops along the three coasts that the Hyacinth Dawn was in league with Argandarr pirates, and that her captain had made a pact of daughter’s blood with the Kelp-Wolden to let him alone pass, and even that on some lost island in the kelp he had found a Ship of Stone, and gathered his treasure among the stars.
And then one year the Hyacinth Dawn did not return at the end of summer, nor in the months of autumn, and the jewellers of Dakh Sereev sadly put away their bracelets of Ebionite. And not until the stars of ill-omen stood high in the north and the skies were black and wild did the Hyacinth Dawn straggle back to Sathnor, its skeleton masts clad in scraps of tattered sail. Gaunt apparitions with pale hungry eyes, the sailors could hardly be recognised by their friends; and the captain, who sported a fierce red scar on his brow, strode angrily to the offices of Athran and Tlar, and spoke to no one as he went.
Next spring the Hyacinth Dawn was sold to a company of Cirilmen, and after some years coasting to Yatharrim was lost in a hurricane. Those who sailed on her last voyage to the northern seas found new ships, and were soon dispersed to every coast of T’sai. Year by year they died or returned to natal villages far from the sea, and the tales they told of the Hyacinth Dawn did not agree, and were held to be lies. The captain sold some of his rings for passage to Hurvad, and his siter’s husbands met him there with fresh riding beasts. They rode with him to a village in the mountains, where his family had plantations and vaulted mansions in the new style. He invested heavily in palisander wood before the rise of the iconoclast emperor, and when his forutnes had dwindled greatly spent the last of his substance on a ship in Hurvad, the Snow Queen. He sailed her into northern seas and was never heard of again.
In the wineshops of the three coasts there had arisen many new rumours, purporting to explain the last northern voyage of the Hyacinth Dawn, to join the fabulous tales previously told of it. Some said the Nathian Sea-Demons, the white eyed Vaan, had demanded another sacrifice from the captain of the Hyacinth Dawn, one he would not make. Others, that he ahd quarrelled with his friends among the Argandarr, or lost to them in a game of dice the enchanted stone that alone could lead him to his treasure hoard. All these rumours circulated again after the disappearance of the Snow Queen, and then when no curious events followed were replaced by talk of other happenings, and mentioned more and more infrequently, so that a new generation arose that knew nothing of the Hyacinth Dawn.
Now it happened that I had business concerning an inheritance in Phar-ash-Anthus, and ended up spending several weeks in that city; far logner than I had hoped. The papers I needed were incomplete, and a certain signet ring had been filed in the wrong hall of the archives; one executor I had counte don turned out to be dead, while another, with whom I had enjoyed a lengthy and cordial correspondence, was irretrievably insane. I spent many hours in the Palace of Justice, making appointments with cadis and scribes, and many more making depositions before various advocates on the Street of Brass Instruments but most of my time was spent merely waiting, and had to be filled in some fashion. Although I follow a conservative philosophy, I was of the age between thirty and sixty years - nearer the latter than the former - so I hope you will not think poorly of me to know that I frequented places where I could meet with others of my kind, engage in games, and discuss natural philosophy. I came to favour a club called the White Tower, on the Hill of Ambergris. Although assignations took place there, the White Tower was primarily a gaming hall, and few stimulants more powerful than Kal were permitted within. It was there that I met Hran, whose it-mother (I was reliably informed by a third party) was none other than Tlar, of the merchants Athran and Tlar. He was at this time nearly fifty-eight, and his humours were chilled by the approach of the change, but he was still in the habit of visiting the White Tower, where he would sit and converse on many subjects through the heat of the afternoon. He had a companion whose name was Hunhaon, or Mhenaon - I forget which - who came with him almost every day.
At any rate, when once told of the kinship of Hran to Tlar, I remembered the rumours of the Hyacinth Dawn I had heard as a youth, and I asked Hran what he knew of the vessel. What follows, as near as I can recall, is our conversation, though I have made so free as to omit a few foolish interjections made by Mhenaon, and some of Hran’s more colourful comments. He had a weakness for ribald jests, and could only with difficulty restrain himself when an opportunity arose. Normally his manner was cold, and he expounded his outrageous lecheries with grim sobriety, but that day he had been chewing preserved kal flavoured with aromatic oils, and his manner was less restrained than usual, even jolly.
“No doubt you ask because of the many foolish rumours once bandied about by ignorant persons,” said Hran, “but I would not think ill of you for that. I never saw the vessel myself.
“It was a very profitable vessel for my it-mother and her partners. As I recall, it made the difference between a net proift and loss in several years, while I was a podling and in the years before. Though my knowledge of the old accounts is not what it was. It occupied a pivotal role in the firm; indeed, I think the firm would have attained its present position with considerably more difficulty had it not dealt with us.” (here I omit an extended discourse on obtaining positions with difficulty. I succeeded in returning Hran to my original point after some time.)
“I still remember when the news came that the Hyacinth Dawn had returned, from its last voyage. I was not yet of an age to be sent to the lodge, and I remember quite clearly the distress of my pod-mates and I when our it-mother cancelled the morning lesson. Tlar was a very fastidious parent, and took great pains to educate us correctly. I do not recall that it had ever cancelled a lesson on account of its own business before. Not even once, which shows a rare degree of dedication. I have often thought that few podlings can have been given a better education than we were, and I can say with confidence that none of us ever brought any shame on our parents.”
‘We were of course too young to know what was going on; we only knew that our it-mother was upset. We gathered from what was said in our presence over the next few days that a Thudun had failed our parent. We hated the Thudun for that. I never have dealings with them myself, if it can be avoided, and I know Tlar felt the same. An untrustworthy race.
That the Thudun had failed to acheive its goal on this particular occasion did not seem to be a matter of great importance to Tlar; what worried our parent rather was that it claimed there would be no future occasion on which the goal might be achieved. And this seemed to worry our parent a great deal. We knew the matter had something to do with a ship, and we were all intensely interested in the sea. I suspect we may have been selected in that way, though I can’t begin to imagine what algorithm one would use. So we kept our auricles clean, and before too long we had worked out what you alreasy know, and you; that the Hyacinth Dawn was a ship of the Thudun that had laways sailed to unknown northern lands in the spring and returned each summer with a valuable cargo, on which Tlar’s firm made an excellent profit.
But you have not asked me to tell you what everyone else knows, have you, my friend? You want to know the things that only I, the child of Tlar, of the merchants Athran and Tlar, know. And why should I tell you my secret? It may be the only one I have, the sole mystery in my care. Why should I cast it so carelessly away?”
Hran made an elaborate ceremony of preparing a bit of preserved Kal for chewing. “For the sake of our friendship?” I ventured.
“Ah, but I am better friends with Mhenaon than with you, and he does not know. By the fact that my secret is not spread from Oth to Ash-Shamish you may be fairly certain that I have in fact revealed it to no one at all, and that I am not quite so ready squander my precious possessions in this way.”
“Then, for the sake of posterity, so that it might not perish with you, now that Athran and Tlar and the ship’s Thudun master are all dead, and the crew of the Hyacinth Dawn likewise dead, or scattered to the ends of the sea? For might it not be true that you know things that even the crew of the ship did not know, which may have been said in secret between Tlar and the master of the Hyacinth Dawn? Even if it is unwise to bandy your secret about in this age, it would surely be more foolish to let it pass away from T’sai entriely, rather, have it inscribed on tablets that might be locked away until ninety and ninety and ninety years had passed?”
Hran found my passion at this point amusing; at any rate, his colour changed, as had mine. Mhenaon and he exhanged words to the effect that I hardly looked my age, and exchanged words together in an animated fashion. As I have stated before, I am an adherent of a conservative philosophy, and I found the manner of their speaking unsettling.
“Your fine argument is almost convincing, my friend. Have you had more than the usual training in rhetoric?”
I had modestly refrained from boasting of my position on prior acquaintance, and now had to admit I was usually occupied as a scholar and rhetorician in one of the oldest lodges of Great Charn.
“Say, then, that your argument - while not convincing me entirely to tell you what I know of the Hyacinth Dawn - has convinced me to a lesser degree. Perhaps not even half, but perhaps a third of a conviction. Would you then be willing to play a game with my companion and I, on the agreement that if you win I will tell you my tale, but if either Mhenaon or I are victorious I will not, and you will instead perform some agreed upon service for us?”
“I am of a mind to agree, but I am aware of how highly you value your secret. It fills me with some degree of trepidation as to the magnitude of the service you might require of me.”
“It will not in any way endanger your life, or your reputation, nor do we have any intention to deprive you of your possessions. I, for one, have all that I require, and in a few years will be passing to a position of high honour as one of the chief elders in a notable firm.”
Some discussion followed as to the nature of the service which I should perform, and in the end I agreed to what Hran and his companion suggested. I hope you will forgive me if I pass over the matter, and for the moment at least keep my own secret, and neglect to mention any particulars.
“Are you familiar with the game of K’shan R’klei?” asked Hran, and I admitted that I was. “We shall play a full three cornered tournament game, according to the Laani rules - that is, no limitation on the number of sets, both Red and Green Dzaghi to be rethrown - with the victor taking the prize agreed upon. Yes?”
I agreed to these conditions, though I could see that they were unfavourable to me; the others were evidently practiced in the game, while I had little experience of it, and with no limitation on the number of sets it would be easy for them to join forces against me, despite the ostenisible three-cornered nature of the contest. Hran gestured to one of the servitors, who came forward with a freshly brewed flagon of tea, the spindles, and three golden cups in the shape of the hemispheres. The shape of the cups was an occasion for more ribald jest on the part of Hran, and as the servitor poured us our tea the subject of triple hemispheres and spindles was attacked from every direction. Now even some of the patrons at other couches were beginning to show interest, and joined in the riot of low humour; I am ashamed to say that a number of the jokes were made at my expense.
“Do you wish to have the first throw, my friend?” asked Hran courteously, when we had drained the tea, and gravely examined the spindles for imperfection. As customary, we had found fault with one, which had been replaced. “It would honour my family,” I replied, placing the spindles in my cup.
In my confidence I threw the spindles too high, but as there is a power in the unvierse that safeguards the interests of fools, they completed a smooth parabola to the ground, where they showed a White Velk.
“I declare for Elders,” I said, since a White Velk wants only two ciphers to be that combination.
Hran complimented me on a successful first throw and the spindles were passed to his companion. That worthy threw; we chased the flashing spindles. I had the good fortune to win the first point with Elders, but Hran had a sharp eye and took the next two with Maturity and Youth.
“You yourself are as curious as a youth,” he said, once the rhthym of the game was fairly established. “It is unusual for you to agree to our conditions solely in order to obtain a little knowledge to write on a tablet. Come, tell us the truth; surely you do not hope to follow the path of the Hyacinth Dawn? To plot the course its master plotted, to go where it went, and find yourself a fortune? For I can tell you now that such a course of action is certainly doomed to failure.” Hran interceptedmy throw and cast a Small Petal, again declaring for Youth. I in turn intercepted Mhenaon’s for a Finitude, one of the most ambiguous casts. “Elders,” I said. “Perhaps I am as curious as a youth; but I am a scholar by nature and profession, and have for this reason an unusual interest in many matters. I have no desire to seek for myself what the Hyacinth Dawn found; indeed, all my life I have had a morbid dread of the sea. “ I caught and returned Hran’s throw in a way I thought quite difficult to stop, but Mhenaon snared it with a deft motion and expertly passed the spindles on to Hran.
“Indeed? That is a grave misfortune.” Hran’s expression indicated a lack of sympathy for sea-loathing. “I should like to hear more of your scholarly interest in the Hyacinth Dawn.” And the spindles shot out of his cup like sparks to the floor. A Red Dzaghi. He threw again - and according to the Laani rules, unopposed - and made up the last cipher of Youth, which gave him the point, and the first set.
“I have a scholarly interest in ancient times,” I said, “in the peoples and cities that flourished once but are now no more. I have found a tale in an old book, hinting of a vanished land of which I know nothing, and which seemed to me might be connected with these voyages of the Hyacinth Dawn. If you wish, I will relate the tale to you, and you can tell me what you think on it.”
“I do so wish,” said hran, and he and his companion joked together lewdly, and we began to fight out the second set.
“To the north of all these lands, across the sea, lies the frozen land of Greater Nath, as you are well aware. And you know that the coast of that land is long, with many gulfs and inlets of enormous size, which reach great distances inland, and in which drift mountains of ice. Lately I have found an account in the writings of one of the scholars of Servihan of a city which is rumoured to lie at the head of one of these gulfs. It is described as a massive fortress, a day’s walk around, standing on a piece of high flat ground above the sea. For the most part it is said to be only a tumbled mass of cut stones, scoured and worn as though they had lain for a long time on the bottom of the sea. And it is said that no one knew who had built it, but that it was occupied once a year by a race of Ruhurdh, as white as rambutan crabs, who would journey there in bygone times from their hunting grounds inland. They would bring with them form an unknown place strange artifacts of beauty and power, which they would trade with mariners for wine and knives and spearheads. Every year the ships of Serivhan were used to travel to that place, whose name is not recorded, and under the walls of the dead city trade with the white Ruhurdh of the wilderness. And the note further says that one year the first of the ships of Serivhan came to trade at this city, but found the entrance to the gulf blocked by a great mountain range of ice, and never since that day has anyone found their way hence.
Now, it seems to me probable that the Hyacinth Dawn had found some way through the treacherous waters of that coast to such a place, where it would trade with some people of the frozen lands, and on its last voyage found the way hither choked with ice. This is my hypothesis, which I have a scholarly interest in confirming, both to assuage my curiousity and to enhance my name among future generations.”
While I lectured in this way, as though among the podlings of the H’kran lodge, the game continued furiously; poorly for me, as my concentration was slipping, and I made a fault.
“Why bother yourself with such things?” asked Hran. “So many things have happened that it is useless to try and remember them all. So many nations rising, and falling, nineties of years falling one after another like drops of rain; should we recall all of them, our own streets would be choked by the works of historians. And we are only one world.” He took the cup and tumbled the spindles high in the air, as if he would have them join the sky. Mhenaon caught them near the floor and sent them up in another fabulous arc; and then they were in Hran’s cup again, and then flying by me on every side, so that I hesitated as to which one I should catch and missed them all. Another White Velk.
“But what have you to say concerning my hypothesis?” I asked. “Can you tell me any flaw in it without revealing your secret?”
“This much I will say,” said Hran to me. “There is some truth in your story. But it is mingled with falsehood, like white and black sand together on a beach. And the journeys of the Hyacinth Dawn were very unlike the journeys you describe. “ “Perhaps events will transpire so that you will tell me the particulars of those voyages,” I said, casting a Green Thrin.
“Perhaps they will,” said Hran.
He cast a Green Dzagh, rethrew, and won the point with Maturity.
Suffice it to say that I lost the game of K’shan R’klei. You will have observed that I was not playing well. I performed the service which I had agreed to perform for Hran and Mhenaon, and departed Phar-ash-Anthus knowing for certain no more than I had before of the voyages and fate of the Hyacinth Dawn. Hran became an honoured leder, lived his thirty years, and when he died his bones were lacquered with exotic resins and inlaid with ebionite; you may view them in the Temple of Chelt in Phar-ash-Anthus. I heard that his companion died tragically some years short of his ninetieth birthday. I have been unable to find any of the crew who sailed aboard the Hyacinth Dawn.
And now I too am approaching my final change, and I must apologise to you, my reader, for this poor treatment of the last of my lost cities, about which I have been able to tell you nothing at all. Neither its name, nor whether it existed for certain, nor who built it, nor where it lay, save somewhere north of Gadara, which is half a world. If it is true that only Hran knew these things, then by my actions that evening long ago I have lost this city myself, for which I crave your pardon. You may comfort yourself somewhat with the thought that if it is lost cities you wish to read of, you can read of none more lost than this. For if a city were to be any more lost, even the rumour of its existence would be gone, and you would be left with a book of empty pages.
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