Paperback Writer [Open]
Posted: Tue Apr 23, 2019 9:56 pm
The Turtle • Mugroba/Thul Ka
On the 24th of Intas, 2718 • Afternoon
Three days in Mugroba, and Adam still hadn't learned much of the language. What he had learned was that Mugroba was wildly different than Anaxas. Most of the people were as human as he, not a lick of a field around them. In a way, he was grateful for that. Not having to keep the presence of galdori constantly in mind was liberating, in a way.
Nothing would happen much in Vienda while he was away. The languid heat of the summer slowed everything to a crawl, and he wasn't much worried about any particular incidents.
But he hadn't come here on a vacation. He'd come here to take the measure of the White City. Thul Ka was a city of walls atop walls, each one built in succession. There were city walls in Vienda, obviously -- ones he was well aware of -- but the array of them over here was enough to be almost baffling.
He braced himself on the side of the cable car, fearing the winds shaking the car to and fro -- but it glided to a surprisingly smooth landing close to one of the gates. People who looked little like him thronged the market. Remembering the locale's history, he wondered how many were passives. It would be impossible to tell, unlike a galdor or a wick, but he'd find out nonetheless, somehow.
Whatever this gate was called, it was the one he'd intended to land at. The maps had been drawn up for illiterate humans, and even a journalist like he had to admit he qualified in Mugrobi. Still, the roughly drawn sketch of a book was impossible to mistake, and so was the dizzying array of books for sale in the market, pages and covers fluttering in the Yaris wind. For a moment, he was back in the Vienda Library, but there was someone telling him in Mugrobi to move it; the cable car was about to depart. He didn't have to speak the language to understand the sentiment.
Giving the cable car operator a quick smile that he hoped seemed apologetic enough, he plunged into the Way of the Book, looking for nothing in particular, but waiting to see who might take notice of him, a human visitor from another land. A few skeptical glances were cast his way, but nobody spoke, yet.
He paused in front of one of the booksellers, getting his bearings. Surely there would be something written in Estuan, worth taking a look at -- or a glossary of Mugrobi, if nothing else. It always paid to pick up knowledge, and his command of the language hadn't come very far at all, so far.
Nothing would happen much in Vienda while he was away. The languid heat of the summer slowed everything to a crawl, and he wasn't much worried about any particular incidents.
But he hadn't come here on a vacation. He'd come here to take the measure of the White City. Thul Ka was a city of walls atop walls, each one built in succession. There were city walls in Vienda, obviously -- ones he was well aware of -- but the array of them over here was enough to be almost baffling.
He braced himself on the side of the cable car, fearing the winds shaking the car to and fro -- but it glided to a surprisingly smooth landing close to one of the gates. People who looked little like him thronged the market. Remembering the locale's history, he wondered how many were passives. It would be impossible to tell, unlike a galdor or a wick, but he'd find out nonetheless, somehow.
Whatever this gate was called, it was the one he'd intended to land at. The maps had been drawn up for illiterate humans, and even a journalist like he had to admit he qualified in Mugrobi. Still, the roughly drawn sketch of a book was impossible to mistake, and so was the dizzying array of books for sale in the market, pages and covers fluttering in the Yaris wind. For a moment, he was back in the Vienda Library, but there was someone telling him in Mugrobi to move it; the cable car was about to depart. He didn't have to speak the language to understand the sentiment.
Giving the cable car operator a quick smile that he hoped seemed apologetic enough, he plunged into the Way of the Book, looking for nothing in particular, but waiting to see who might take notice of him, a human visitor from another land. A few skeptical glances were cast his way, but nobody spoke, yet.
He paused in front of one of the booksellers, getting his bearings. Surely there would be something written in Estuan, worth taking a look at -- or a glossary of Mugrobi, if nothing else. It always paid to pick up knowledge, and his command of the language hadn't come very far at all, so far.