1????????Soul Bound


    1.3??????Making a Splash


    1.3.2????An Allotropic Realignment


    1.3.2.11?Trust boundaries


    At first it looked like a bland terrace of identical two story houses, windows uniform but shuttered, doors in good repair but firmly closed. She couldn’t see any breaks in the roofline but, spread evenly along the terrace, every sixteenth house had part of its lower story replaced by a tunnel just wide enough for two people to pass each other, as long as neither of them were Lady Unguosa.


    But, as they crossed the street heading towards one of the tunnels heading into Tickton, she realised she’d misjudged the scale. The doors were significantly smaller than she was used to, more like those from Roman times, and so was everything else. Alderney would have been fine with the tunnel, but Kafana had to duck her head and poor Bungo was nearly doubled over.


    The yard they emerged into was rectangular and, under the shade of striped awnings, were small groups of young apprentices assembling decorative lanterns around heavy workbenches. No, not all apprentices. Despite their similar brown leather jerkins and short height, some of them were clearly older and more skilled. Industrious journeymen then, and (judging by his carefully curled beard and air of confidence), also one master.


    The next courtyard contained people making buttons from bone and polished wood. The one after that, groups using pliers to weave strips of trizantine chain from small buckets containing metal rings of various colours. Then groups scraping stretched hides that were suspended from the hooks of a wooden tenter frame. Then a group painting wooden marionettes, then groups polishing or sharpening table knives, then...


    She lost track. Bulgaria led them onwards without pause, through tunnel after tunnel, but she was soon hopelessly lost, and settled instead for enjoying the variety and trying to sense the patterns. Not all the yards were at the same elevation, causing some tunnels to incline up or down, but each yard had precisely three exits, and Wombles never travelled more than three tunnels in a row before being forced to change direction.


    Exits on a short edge of the rectangular yards were in the middle of the edge, but exits on a long edge were not. Yards that joined were either offset or oriented differently. Maddeningly, she could feel there was a pattern to it, but she couldn’t grasp it. It was too large or complex, and she was seeing only one small piece at a time.


    It was only by resorting to the orglife overlay map the Wombles had been generating, which allowed her to see each yard as part of a bigger picture, that she began to get a feel for the herringbone pattern. Anyone who wasn’t an adventurer or a local was likely to end up going in circles.


    The second similarity she noticed was how limited each operation was. A group either sharpened or polished, but not both. They either created buckets of tumbler pins, or they assembled locks, but not both. Tickton wasn’t as crowded as Gobwell had been, but what they lacked in numbers they made up for with speed and organisation. Spaced apart in the middle of each yard were two areas marked by coloured tiles, containing seemingly unattended buckets. Indeed there was a constant stream of people passing through the yards, either picking up a bucket from the circular area of ochre tiles, or dropping one off at the square of turquoise ones. No forms were exchanged or ticked, no coins were handed over, no words were spoken beyond casual gossip; at most there was an occasional look towards the senior crafter, who might give a slight nod or shake of his head. What was going on? What prevented thieves from just walking off with stuff?


    Kafana: “Bulgaria, why are they leaving their goods lying around like that, where anyone can take them? Is the whole of Tickton some sort of magic hive mind?”


    Bungo: “Looks more like a colony of ants to me. One that’s all workers; no queens or soldiers.”


    Bulgaria: “No, no telepathy or magic involved. As I understand it, when a crafter sets up a business here, they’ll invite individuals to their private homes, who they think might be potential suppliers or customers, for a leisurely meal. This might lead to an exchange of visits to each other’s workshops, by the master and his journeymen, for a demonstration of what they do and a discussion of needs, materials and quality. Eventually, if all goes well, a long term business relationship is formed, and apprentices have yet more buckets to fetch and carry.”Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    Tomsk sounded philosophical. “Well, that’s how apprentices are always treated. Load them up with tasks until they nearly collapse under the stress, and then keep doing it until their ability to withstand stress improves. It’s good for them.”


    Kafana eyed him. He was always nice to her, but she’d seen him be a terror towards his team of stuntmen when training them. Gregorio the skull crusher was the same, come to think of it. Was it a martial arts thing?


    Kafana: “So if a journeyman spots an apprentice trying to take a bucket, who they were not introduced to during the formal exchange of visits?”


    Bulgaria: “Hue and cry. The journeyman raises a shout, and half the workers in that and every neighbouring yard move immediately to block the tunnels. It’s a tradition, and any business that didn’t immediately stop work to help out would find itself the target of gossip and be lucky not to have its relationships severed.”


    Wellington: “If the supply of something decreases, because of pirates sinking ships, or demand increases because some noble decides they want ten thousand marionettes, are they able to adjust prices? Wouldn’t it be more efficient to deliver the buckets directly to the workbenches, and charge a price for each one that varied with that day’s supply and demand?”


    Bulgaria: “They value predictability. The impression I get is that innovation and opportunity are appreciated, but that anyone who price gouges rather than sharing the benefit with their allied businesses will be treated harshly in any future deals. Requiring that coins be exchanged each time would be seen as insulting, as a demonstrating a lack of trust.”


    There was a pause as they passed through a tunnel, then Bungo spoke up suddenly: “Where’s everyone gone?”


    The yard they’d entered was deserted. Buckets of cogs and springs sat on the turquoise tiles, and half assembled clocks stood on benches under pure white awnings, next to neatly laid out tools. There were even neatly folded leather jerkins set on stools. But nobody to wear them.


    Bungo had produced his shield and looked uneasy, as though not sure if an attack was coming or from which direction. Tomsk didn’t change his stance much because he was always balanced, nor did he draw his sword; but small signs let her know he was fully alert too, his every sense strained to its limits.


    She looked at the jerkins, then up at the white awnings, then back down to the empty jerkins again. An awful feeling crept over her. The courtyard was dead silent. None of the clocks were ticking. Even the finished ones. She spoke quietly.


    Kafana: “Bulgaria?”


    Bulgaria was standing still, his head bowed in respect. He finished slowly looking around before answering her.


    Bulgaria: “You said it yourself, Kafana. Basso bore the brunt of Bel’s attack upon Torello. The magically enhanced disease that brought bleeding lesions to every inch of skin. The Red Death. The plague that’s passed by touch. Or by touching something recently touched by someone else. Like a bucket.”


    Bulgaria: “Once one person in a workshop got it, everyone got it. Tickton was decimated.”


    More yards like this one, with white funeral awnings? One yard in every ten? She felt tears welling up in her eyes, pushed there by a wail growing inside her.


    She felt Tomsk’s arm around her shoulders, holding her tight.


    Tomsk: “Hey, hey. It’s ok. Look how many survived. You did that, Kafana. You saved them, remember?”


    She felt sick to the pit of her stomach, and her ribs vibrated with a sob she struggled to hold back.


    Kafana: “I could have saved more. I should have. I wasted time practicing cooking and looking for violins. I should have been learning healing, crafting those Hearts of Light sooner. Just one day earlier, how many would that have saved? Just one hour?”


    Her voice sounded ugly to her ears, cracked and broken in the silence of the yard. None of them answered, and only Tomsk’s arm kept her from falling to her knees.