Troven Guilder, Spring, 1745
The Doctor asked me to write down me days doings for him, as and so he can compare it with people in other cities. I says to him that I'm not so good at writing, but he says to me that he'll rewrite and fix spelling in it so's people can read it better, though he'll not change the words. Which is fine by me. My name is Troven Guilder.
So I runs a stall in Red Moon Square in the great free city of Bael Areen. Me licence allows me to sell foodstuffs and wooden goods, which covers a broad range. Of a morning, I sells breakfast parcels, which have got fashionable and modish in the last two years. Used to be they were only eaten by labourers and workmen, but now you get professional gentlemen and some professional ladies having them too. A parcel is what you'd get on a breakfast plate in a coffee shop, but it's all in a little wooden boxy baskety thing, and wrapped over in oil paper, and there's a wooden fork with it. Most days I puts in eggs and bacon and fried potatoes, but once in a while I gets a good deal on herring or mackerel or something brought in from the sea, or eels or the like from the Deep, and so that goes in instead. I knows what most of me regulars like and don't like, and I makes sure to keep a few for the odd folks who don't like fish. There's a fellow down in Scandal row who reckons he can get me smoked fish, and I know that's what the finer coffee houses is putting in their breakfasts now, so if that works out it'll be a good one.
But this's supposed to be me day, not me business. So I rises at or before the crack of dawn, where I lives with me family in South Grand Register Street, which aren't so grand as it once were, by any manner of means. It were a fine street once, about a hundred years ago, but the fashions moved on a long time back, and now the houses've been extended into shopfronts for all manner of places from broomers to nailmongers, and the houses themselves, where they're not storage for whatever's at front, has apartments in them, and we keeps six or eight families in where one used to live, and still have room. I and me wife Sashy have three rooms on the top floor, and an attic, what we calls the garret. We has five kids, and another on the way again, though we've not had one last past four days in the last two, but we keeps the hopes up, and Sashy's in better health this time, it being the springtime coming in. The kids are Troven, like meself and me da and grandda, and he's comin' on twelve years now, one third me own age, he says, he being good with his numbers. Then Pentar, after me brother, he's ten and a wee bit, and then Sasha, after her ma, and her ma, and so on, who’s just past eight. Then Tetremachus, for me friend Tetro, who’s been like a brother to me for many’s a long year, and he’s seven years, and last Pelkara, after someone Sashy read about and liked the name of. Pelka, she’s called, is three.
So up early, then, and off out to the stall. I walks across, unless the weather’s particularly awful, in which case I snags a lift on a barge going most of the way. I’ve known a lot of the bargemen for a long time, and they don’t mind giving a float to someone. It’s slower, but I arrives only a bit damp and a lot warmer than otherwise. So I gets to the stall, lights up me fires, and within a minute or two, someone’ll be over from Griggy’s with me eggs and bacon and whatever else. Griggy’s an old fellow, he don’t do the runs any more himself, but he oversees it. They’re sort of what you’d call a courier business, if they were a bit more upmarket - they goes and gets things from suppliers, and brings them to the people who want them. They do stuff in bulk only, and they takes regular and special orders. So I stays at me stall, while they do the fetching, and it don’t cost me all that much. Sometimes young Troven comes with me, when he’s not at his schooling.
Costs a pretty penny, that schooling does, but it were reading and writing, as much as I do of it, what got me out of the gutters and into a nice apartment. I’m bound on the kids getting every bit as much and some more, and I’ve told them that as and when they can write something I can’t understand, but their teacher still can, they can stop schooling. It’ll be a bit yet, though Sasha’s getting close.
So the first customers show up within a few minutes of the runner from Griggy’s, they’d be people on the square who know the routines and see me setting up. And from then it’s cooking and parcelling for a good three hours, until the last of stragglers go by. I never tries to do coffee or tea or anything, because the lassie next stall down has that sewn up, young Ghilly. We does better doing what we does best and having customers buy from two of us than we does for trying to do everything, and besides, since I’ve two licences already, a third one would be very pricy.
After the breakfast run is done, I gets to go wandering for a bit, so I close up the stall, and head off. Most days I’d go down the market at Preference Street, see what’s coming in and if anyone can give me a deal for the next day. If they can, I’ll leave the order with them and drop round Griggy’s to arrange a pickup. If not, I’ll have a chat with a few people and wander on. Then I might try the markets round Morrow Lane and Penance Way - they’re not as good, but I’ve got good bits round there sometimes, more in the wood end than the food one.
So come afternoon, I wanders back in, and opens up the other half of the stall. Me licence is for wooden goods, which covers all kinds of things, from wooden bracelets and earrings to breadboards and carvings. There’s a whole lot of woodcarvers in the city who don’t have stall licences, or don’t want the bother, and sometimes you can pick up some fine things in the pawnshops down Knack Row and Perjury Street. There’s few enough regular customers for the woodwork, but there’s enough passing trade to make it well worthwhile. I stays at that until things quiet down, which is early in the winter and can be well into the night in summertime.
Then I heads off home. Sashy’ll have sent one of the kids down to see when I’ll be in, so she’ll usually have food for me when I gets in, unless she’s off out someplace, in which case I’ll get meself some bread and meat and stuff. It makes a differ having room enough for your own kitchen, me Da’s place never had that and we had to buy what we were eating on the day. That gets more expensive, right quick. It’s funny, that, the more money you have, the less you spend on food, until you get up to people who own their places in the country and can grow what they need and pay nobody for it.
If Sashy’s in, then I’ll settle in for the evening, make sure the kids do their schoolwork, and read a book. Mondojorin’s a fellow has an apartment in the same house, and he has a few hundred of books, and I’m working my way through them. Some of them are rubbish, and some of them are too complicated for me to get my head about, but I does what I can with them.
If she’s not about, she’ll have taken the kids to one of her sisters’, or to a friends, or down the park, so I takes meself down to the tavern most evenings, and finds a few friends to talk to. Most of these fellows have been living around here for years, so we knows each other well enough by now. Of a summer evening, I might go wander round some of the more fashionable places, see what’s on the menus and in the shops and such, and keep an eye.
That’s it, now, and it’s like that most times, except on the low-fare days, when Sashy and me takes the kids off to someplace so they can see something other than the city. Last Midwinter, we went all the way out to Thousand Spires, because Mondojorin was going that way, and reckoned he’d get the kids to carry books back for him, and paid their tickets for it. He didn’t have to, and I wouldn’t take it for myself, but I reckon it’s worth for the kids to see places, and not a bad thing for them to earn their tickets, neither.
Naegwara Dehosthenes, Winter, 1745
My name is Naegwara, of the house of Dehosthenes. I am one hundred and ten years of age, and I live in the city of Bael Areen. I have given up trying to explain my profession to people, but Doctor Amenides has asked me to set down my day in writing, and so I suppose that once more, I must set it forth. I am an aeromancer; I work with the winds and the airways of the city. This sounds to most people as though I do little and am little needed, and to be fair to them, in any other city, this would be true.
However, consider: in Bael Areen, something between four and six hundred astral ships dock every day. Ten or twenty flying ships, of various configurations, arrive. There are winged beasts, flying carpets, and people taking to the air under the influence of magic, not to mention that there are several hundreds of thousands of pigeons. The air of Bael Areen is crowded. And should a flying ship collide with a pigeon, there is little loss, unless that pigeon should be caught in the rudder or strike the helmsman in the face, but if one ship should collide with another, or with a wyvern, then the collision will injure many, and the impact upon the buildings below will kill more.
So my task is to ensure, by means of watchful attention, that this does not happen. To this end, I spend my days aloft, either flying, or in the niches of the CASC Skytower, clearing the paths of ships and riders with a combination of main magical force and telepathic persuasion. There are nine of us in the main line of this task, working in overlapping shifts. My shift has been, for the last few years, from noon until eight in the evening, four days a week, and it looks likely to continue so for some time. I am paid by the Council, and provided with a place to live.
Thus, my working day begins at the Airhouse, wherein I, the other city aeromancers, several druids, and about a thousand birds of varying kinds reside. My apartment is high up, and while it is small, I like it well – it has great shutters instead of the outer walls, which can be folded away to give a view of the city below. Above, there is an eave that holds off all but the worst of rain, and so I need only close the shutters in a storm, or in the coldest of weather – or when I have a guest who fears heights. I rise at about ten of the clock, and eat sparingly – a little fruit, and in winter, some bread. Having done so, I fly down to the ground levels, swim in the Long Pool, and wash. This takes place even in the very depths of winter, when I need to break the ice in the pool – I do not much feel the cold.
Having done so, I don my robes, my circlet and my cinch, and rise to work. While I can do my work from almost any point above the city, I have a few set places that I fly between – a sort of patrol, if you will, which lets me keep an eye to most of the predictable events of the day. Most days pass swiftly, although stormy weather can keep most people on the ground, and toss me about in the air, which makes the day rather longer.
At eight of the evening, I am free of my duties, and generally rather hungry. I can, if I wish, get a meal in the Councilhouse, but it is not generally of a standard that pleases me. Instead, I will meet a friend or lover, and either cook and eat with them, or go to an eatery of some kind. Of late, I have spent many evenings in the new eateries of Perjoint Square, which is the current locus of the set of artists and mages with whom I most associate.
Thereafter, the evening’s events will depend on who I am with. In some cases, it is clear from an early stage that retiring early to bed in company will be the intent. In others, we may sit long after dinner and talk, or visit an exhibition, play, or concert. Sometimes, there is a project afoot with which I may lend some help – an individual task like painting a room, or something grander such as display statuary, or the construction of street puppets. Sometimes, too, I go to the Storm Temple to pay my respects to Mesil and Salar.
I am also beginning to be involved in a project to restore the Swift of Aryondis to working order. The Swift was an airship that crashed in 1356 in Southern Aryondis. The bulk of the wreckage was transported from the swamp in which it fell to Bael Areen in 1600, and then left in a warehouse. Obviously, it was in poor order, but it was bought in 1739 by an artists’ collective, and it will probably fly again in around 1750.
There are three days a week that I do not work – formally, at least, although I may spell a colleague for an hour or so, should a need arise. On these days, I sleep late, swim longer, and then seek out friends. Of late, I have often spent these days with one or more of a quartet of friends, in or out of bed in their townhouse, or in teaching their elder children some of the rudiments of magic. While I do not yet feel much urge to settle to steady relationships – I am young yet, among half-elves – the possibility is beginning to make itself known.
Lokmasso, Winter, 1745
My name is Lokmasso. I am an orc. I am a priest of Temm, the Bringer of Peace and War. I hold the rank of Battlemaster. At present, I am the Guardian of the Remethos Temple, in Bael Areen. Herein, I set forth the actions of my day, and my meditations thereon.
I rise early, at the fifth hour, which is marked by a chime from the temple bell. I dress in light clothes, stand to utter a prayer of preparation for any battles that I may meet in the day to come, and go to breakfast. My room in the temple dormitory is one of many; all are similar, for none of us are here for long. What is served for breakfast will depend on the season, and what has been in the markets; it can vary from a plain porridge with fruit to meat, eggs, and bread. It is usually good; our priesthood takes food seriously, and breakfast more so.
After breakfast, I go to the training grounds or to the training hall, alternating by day. This happens regardless of the weather; one cannot choose the situations in which one will fight. If a Warmaster is present, they will direct the training. Otherwise, I direct it, setting exercises, bouts, and so forth as necessary. All the priests in the temple will attend this training, save those who guard the entrances.
By the eighth hour, training has finished. I wash, and don my armour and rack, and go to the duties of the day. These vary according to the season and the celebrations, and according to the other ranks present, as well as the necessities of the ministry. On most days, I will conduct one or two rituals, and be otherwise found in my office, wherein I work through the administration of the temple and the holdings in Bael Areen. I have held this position for two years now; I will seek to move on in another year, although it may take some time before another priest agrees to take the post. A plain lunch is served at noon, and by the fifth hour of the afternoon, the working day has been completed. I do not dislike the tasks of the day, but sometimes they grow wearing, especially when I must apply disciplines.
A training session takes place between the fifth and seventh hour, again in either the hall or grounds. This one is conducted in armour. After this, and having washed again, dinner is served in the dining hall, but I do not always attend this. Sometimes some extra work will be needed, and I will have some light food brought to my office. At other times, I have appointments elsewhere in the city – events or invitations – to attend. Otherwise, my time is my own until the evening ceremonies, and I engage in my hobby of urban cartography, or walk, or visit with friends. I am not always required for the evening ceremonies, but if I am, I return to the temple for them. Unless there is a social occasion, I am abed by the tenth hour, and generally, I sleep deeply.
This routine is sometimes interrupted by events. I may be called upon to give counsel to the city’s leaders, to other priesthoods, or to priests of my own Order who have some unusual issue. Sometimes it is necessary to leave the city entirely to deal with a problem of some kind, or to meet someone in other territories.
Every few months, my husband visits, and I take a few days from my duties to spend time with him. Generally, we explore the city, spend some time in taverns and eateries, and visit friends. Sometimes we find a woman to share between us, though not as often as the accounts of the Order would have it. My husband is a mercenary, a member of the Band of Khaesar, and well regarded by others in the Order.
When my time in this post ends, I have several options. One is to return to the life of an ordinary priest, travelling from temple to temple, attending to such events as I pass by. Another is to take the post of Guardian in a different temple; several would be available. A third is to take the position of a Chaplain to the Band of Khaesar, although the leaders of that company prefer women in those posts. Much depends on how the world looks at that time.
When I grow old, I will retire to my homeland, which lies south of the goblin cities. Thereat, I and my husband will settle with whatever descendants we may have by then who are of like mind, and we will found a village. At present, between us, we have three sons and two daughters. The younger children yet live with their mothers; the eldest is apprenticed as a summoner.
Thus my day, and my meditations thereon.
Mandragin Cooper, Winter, 1745
The good Doctor has asked me to set down in words my activities for a typical day, and thereby my view of the world. My telling him that I have no typical day has been admirably countered with the notion that that is indeed my view of the world, and so I concede the point.
My name is Mandragin Cooper, and I am an enchanter, working in the city of Bael Areen. My father, and his father, and his father before, perhaps all the way back to the point where the Thûk looked at a newborn, made barrels for a living; hence the name. Indeed, my eldest brother makes them still, or at the least, oversees their making.
My day often begins at my rooms in Waterberg Street, at seven or so of the clock. I rent a suite here, and prefer the distance to my working premises in Red Moon Square for a few reasons. First and foremost, Red Moon is a busy place, and liable to be noisy at odd hours of the night. Second, I enjoy the walk, most mornings, and enjoy it more in the evenings as I return. I pass through Perjoint Yard, most usually, and there has been a fascinating progress there from an area almost abandoned by the city to one where the nobility and the modish can be seen daily – or, perhaps, nightly.
Waterberg Street is a quiet place, and most of its residents are like myself in some way – professionals working elsewhere, usually without direct family. A few people on the street have spouses and children, but it is more usual that they own the entire building in which they live, rather than renting a room or suite. They tend to of be well-established mercantile families, often guildmasters of one kind or another. I receieve regular invitations to events in each of these households, and very often I attend. I don’t have a great deal in common with them, but I hold that it is good to know one’s neighbours, and to have an insight into the politics of the city.
I buy breakfast on my way to work. I am a passable cook, this having been a necessity when I attended the University, but on a working day, I much prefer someone else to do it. If it is a pleasant morning, I will sit outside a coffeehouse, and take coffee and bread there, though on the more ordinary sort of day, I buy a parcel from a vendor and eat it when I arrive in Red Moon. There are, of course, both coffeehouses and vendors a-plenty there, but if I go there early, I will be waylaid by a colleague, competitor or customer, and the morning will be lost.
Arriving at my workshop, I will peruse the morning’s post and papers, though not in any great detail, as I clear the benches and make ready for the day. I have tried, often times, to clear up in the evenings, so that I may start fresh, but I find that the process of putting away goods from the previous day allows me to pick up where I left off, which is often the more valuable. It is, perhaps, telling that I use the term workshop, where many of my profession would say laboratory. A laboratory, though, is for tests and determinations – workshops are for production.
I am what is known in the trade as a consultant enchanter. Essentially, this means that I receive items from craftsmen, other mages, and sometimes the public, and place enchantments upon them, then passing them back for sale, examination, or use. My speciality is in enchantments that are difficult to place, and in the repair of those that do not function as they should. As examples, I have recently placed an armour spell on an chain ankle bracelet, which is difficult because the object is not rigid, repaired a centuries-old moth-proofing enchantment on a wardrobe, and, for some reason known only to the customer, enchanted a jug to spill every time it pours. That last was, in fact, the more difficult of the three; enchanting an item to act against its nature is not easy.
I work steadily during the morning, ignoring any calls or knocks at my door – my opening hours are clearly posted there, and state that I will only answer in the afternoon. This has been a new development for me, since I used to receive customers at any time I was present. I find, however, that restricting their hours makes for far more work being done, and frees me to talk to them in more detail, take coffee, and be generally pleasant when they are allowed in.
Occasionally, some object will prove more difficult than usual. In this case, I have a few lines of recourse. The first is to dash off a note to the client, informing them of a delay of unknown duration, and asking if they wish me to continue, or if, under the terms of my work, they will collect it as is and pay nothing. As I otherwise charge by the time required, this is fair, and indeed, I have only very rarely lost the work. Next, I will go out to one of the libraries. There are seven paid libraries on Red Moon Square, and there are more than fifty within a mile of the place. I have memberships of something over a score of these, some quite specialised. If no solution is found there, I will drop a note or message to some of my colleagues, enquiring as to when they might be free to discuss the matter. Very often they are free immediately, and the matter can be talked over. In the rare case that this does not serve, I write some longer letters to other experts, some of whom are competitors, and send them off. Professional courtesy ensures a reply, if they can be of aid.
At noon, I receive a delivery of lunch – a vendor in the square does a good business delivering hot meals, and while I do not know what I will get until it arrives, she knows my tastes well enough by now to ensure it will be enjoyable. While I eat, I will read some of the broadsheets or magazines in more detail.
Once I have eaten, I open my doors. Sometimes there is a customer waiting; more often one will arrive within a few minutes, having been watching from a coffee house. The afternoon is given over to dealing with customers, writing letters – often responses to the queries of other enchanters – and, if time and space allow, doing a little more work. I also use this time to assess my supplies, and make notes as to anything I will need. Once a week, this is sent to my supplier. Once a month, or so, I take a day to tour the suppliers, stalls, and shops to seek out new or unusual supplies.
In the early evening, I close the doors again, and do some further work – an hour or two, unless something is unusually engrossing, and I have no appointments, in which case I may well look up at midnight. Otherwise, however, I close up at about six of the clock.
Often enough, there is some dinner invitation, party, or other event to attend. In most cases, I will return home first, others - the more casual - I will go directly to. If there is no appointment, I will arrive, generally, at my club for dinner. Sometimes I will spend the remainder of the evening there, if the company is agreeable, or if I have a good book. Otherwise, I may take a fishing rod to the river, attend a lecture, or visit a gallery or museum. Betimes, I will visit family - my siblings and their children, or a cousin or two.
Sometimes a dinner invitation will come with the offer of a bed for the night, or if I am otherwise out late, I will stay at the club rather than walk home. In case of this, I have long ago enchanted my wardrobe and other storage at home to be accessible to me from anywhere, so that I may easily dress and proceed into the following day.
From the above, it may appear that I live a life of routine. However, what I describe is the ideal, what should happen, rather than what occurs. To clarify: in the last two months I have spent some six nights in my own house. I spent seven days travelling in the mountains south and east of Ibraer, seeking rare plants as components for spells, accompanied by some friends. Two days were spent in Thousand Spires, seeking a particularly difficult reference. Three nights were spent watching over a friend who had managed to get himself possessed by a ghost of some ilk. Another four days I spent in the Elemental Plane of Water, listening to a lengthy account of a particular enchantment from an ancient blue whale. And in more leisurely terms, I spent a good five days at the estate of a friend in Parmechanos, on the far side of the world – where it is summer – swimming and engaging in other seasonal activities.
I hope that this gives Doctor Amenides what is needed for his accounts. If not, I can be sure that he will let me know.