Allegio’s first words when they step off the boat were “Don't touch anything.”
The Astral Knight’s metallic white armour pops against the muted browns and greens of the huge space he stands in, and his form towers over the dock workers that bustle around him. His blank visor swept across the crowds that jostled under the high-vaulted ceilings. Behind them, long golden boats float in a pool of crystal blue water. The air is thick with noise and heat and shouting in many different languages.
“Don't touch anything,” Allegio repeats. “Don't speak to anyone you don’t have to, watch your money and don't get under my feet.”
“Awww, but-” The complainer was the younger of the pair, apprentice reporter Cirral Lampyridae. While her voice sounded annoyed, her expression made it clear she was still highly fascinated by the visit they’d been given. But even a complaint in jest was too much, if the gaze of her mentor Kennedy Wilson was anything to go by. A simple look was enough to get Cirral to cut her sentence off.
“Right. We’ll take notes and watch, and that’s it.” Kennedy replied. Next to him, Cirral straightens up. “Yeah, I understand! This’ll be enough for ten articles even without anything extra!”
“Good. I won't have to babysit you again.” Allegio's wings clinm against his armour as he moves towards the exit of the docks. People make way for him - colliding with a ten foot tall suit of armour tends to ruin one’s day. “Come on, then.”
As the trio leave the port building, they see the following in rapid succession.
The crowds of people, even more intense than inside, pushing and shouting in the heat. Beyond them, the river, enormously wide with fat sailboats cruising on its waters in a strange mirror of the land traffic. Beyond even that, a shock of greenery, with white towers and monuments stabbing towards the cloudless sky. And in the far, far, horizon…
“You get used to it.” Allegio nods his head at the colossal figurehead, facing away from them and made translucent by distance. “A reminder that Rahmhotep is a holmwessel. A World boat, if you're taking notes already.”
Both of the reporters have been taking plenty of notes, alternating between scribbling down various shorthands, sketches for reference in Cirral’s case, and simply looking at the surroundings. This, though, is enough to give them both pause. After a minute to simply take in the appearance of the enormous vessel, Kennedy resumes writing about the worldboat, but Cirral spends a minute longer looking at it.
“It’s called a worldboat, and it’s that large… Is it self-sufficient? How much does it interact with the other vessels? Who does the figurehead represent?” Questions are already written on her notepad, just waiting for more answers.
“That's far too many questions at once. One moment.” A small haggle of people have gathered near them, watching them like hawks. Allegio stabs an ivory finger at one.
“Ikit um Hussel?”
His target, an olive-skinned man who appeared to resemble a dehydrated date, nods. “Hussel, ish! Di munet minin! Knight hushi, ish?”
“Ish.” Allegio turns. “I have secured transportation. I will answer your questions as we go. The answer to the first one is no, by the way.”
“Huh.” It’s very clear that the answer just raised more questions in Cirral’s mind, but she simply confines herself to waiting for the remaining answers. One at a time appears to be the order of the day, and she marks down a quick “no.” Kennedy writes a few lines about the man’s appearance, before catching Allegio’s attention. “If you could, please pass on our thanks for the transportation.”
“Thank me in gold, kopani!” comez the man's enthusiastic shout before Allegio could respond. He leads them down to an open-topped carriage that looks as if it been through, if not a war, then at least a small border skirmish. “I speak many languages very badly! Sometimes I think my Rham is getting worse every day, ish?”
Allegio steps into the back of the carriage with a squeak of axle. It is harnessed to something that looks like cross between a cow and a lizard, in dark green. It grunts as they set off.
Kennedy smiled a bit to himself - while it was quite the surprise that the driver understood him, it might make asking a few other questions easier. One at a time, of course. Cirral was too busy pressing her face to the side of the carriage, looking out on the city itself as they head towards their destination. Allegio could notice she did some more sketching, including a couple reproductions of the buildings they’ve seen that caught her eye most of all.
Kennedy, however, took only the occasional glance outside the carriage, more focused on the transport itself and the unfamiliar beast - but when one has been reporting on the Kobbers for months, the strange creatures of elsewhere become an interesting two paragraphs in a future article, rather than a show-stopping end to the day. After making a few preliminary notes on it, he leaned forward and coughed to get the driver’s attention. “If you don’t mind me asking, how long have you been in the business?”
“Fifty-three years of our God-Queen’s reign, bless her soul!” The driver smiles as he coaxes the carriage through the streets. People part around it, not giving the passengers a second glance. “My son, he’s also a driver, and my grandson, he wants to be a priest. I tell him no, no, priests don’t get paid like we do, but he has a big head full of ambition! Wants to move up in the world!”
As they rattle on, the streets narrow and the buildings grow taller, wildly jutting like broken teeth. The noises of ships being docked and the stink of fish is surpassed by the thick stink of spices and the rattling of cookware.
“Mmmm…” Cirral sits back, simply taking in the smell of the market - much more pleasant now, certainly. She looks around, trying to make out who’s selling what, and pondering if they can perhaps try some on the way back. Exotic foods are part of the tour, right?
Kennedy, meanwhile, listens to the driver, one particular line catching his interest. “Fifty-three years… quite the reign. Could you tell me a little more about the God-Queen? I’ve heard of her, of course, but I don’t know much myself.” He looks over to Allegio, checking to see if the Knight is going to cut him off or let him pry into this topic.
“Ah, the Queen, she lives in all of us, yes?” The driver jabs a thumb at the prow of the Worldship, still visible over the rooftops. “She built this boat, she sails it through the stars, she provides for us… nothing she can’t do! You find yourself a children's history book, it tells you everything a Rahm knows.”
Allegio doesn't have a face, but he manages to give Kennedy a Look anyway.
“You’re foreigners, ish?” The driver smiles. “Stay a while! This is a good place to visit. Old Pakat - that’s me - knows where all the good places are. Stay out of the tourist traps! Ramhotehp is a good place. It’s cheap to live here, don’t need to struggle!”
The Look is enough to give Kennedy the signal, and he silently decides asking the driver more about the Queen would not be the best option. Instead, he simply nods. “Foreigners, yes. Franzika is truly fascinating when you see it for the first time.” “Heyyy, you know where the good places are, right?” Cirral asks. “Does that include places to eat? Because I’m ready for lunch!” The junior reporter certainly looks interested in the conversation, even as she keeps stealing glances at the worldship. Its size alone would be imposing, but the implications of its culture, even from afar, are more than enough to keep someone curious wondering as they get closer.
“Hey, no problem, kopani!” Pakat pulls the wagon to a halt outside of a stall, and delivers a rapid sentence of Rahm to the woman working there. She nods and vanishes behind a series of steaming pans for a minute, then re-emerges with two sets of skewers bedecked in meat and multicolored vegetables, wrapped in paper. Money changes hands, and two greasy parcels of warmth are passed to the reporters.
“There you go! Finest ikama, very spicy! Traditional here if you’re a driver like me! Also, you owe me double, hahaha!”
Allegio makes a noise like a door creaking shut.
“...I’ll cover it.” Cirral comments sheepishly, before starting in on her lunch. Finding it spicy, yet not too much, and with a good mix of meat and vegetables, she eagerly begins to scarf it down - at least it’s worth the money! The flavors mix well, and she’s pretty quickly devoured the entire thing. She’s definitely not going to ask for more.
Kennedy, meanwhile, works on making his lunch last, taking the occasional bite as he watches the city go by. Deciding to avoid any sensitive topics for now, he writes a bit about the ikama, watching Pakat’s skill with the carriage and the continued progress throughout the city. A carriage’s-eye view is definitely a better way to get a look than walking, considering how much more room they have to take notes and simply observe. “It’s worth the money. You have good taste, Pakat. Is this a more traditional meal?”
“Yes! Easy food to make, you know? Made by soldiers out on long desert trips when they took whatever they could from the land. Best way to make the food go far!”
The carriage turns a corner. Here, the jagged line of the buildings breaks - a pile of rubble punctuates the row on the right, with logs sticking out like broken bones. A crowd hovers nervously as forms move amongst the rubble, clad in white with golden bangles draped over their necks and arms.
“Hey hey hey, this is no good…” Pakat pulls the carriage to a stop, eyes squinting as he spies someone in the crowd. “Illah! What happened?”
A woman, head wrapped in a thin scarf and clad in a bright purple robe, turns to Pakat. Her face is prematurely aged by worry. “Oh, it’s terrible, Pakat! Bulah, he owed money and he couldn’t pay! Now the priests have evicted him!”
Pakat tuts, shaking his head. “Ahh, should not have taken up gambling. The Franzikan games, they are demon’s work. Where is he staying?”
As their driver continues his conversation, one of the white figures stands up fully, and Cirral and Kennedy realise he is dead. Half of a skull peers out from between the linen wrap.
They say it’s rude to stare, even if you’re a reporter. That’s why Kennedy spent years working on how to stare at someone without making it obvious. Now’s the perfect time for it, as he keeps unobtrusively watching the dead figure and its actions, talking to Pakat at the same time. “I’ll steer well clear of them while I’m here. I’m curious, though - is it normal to demolish the building?”
Cirral, on the other hand, knows she can’t make it look as natural as Kennedy yet. She also knows that if she asks someone too openly, she might step in a pothole - with how natural everyone’s treating them, it could come off as anywhere from rude to disrespectful. So instead, she slides closer to Allegio and asks him quietly. “That guy’s dead. Is he supposed to be? It looks like it, but it still feels odd.”
“Normal if you cannot pay rent, or if your house catch fire.” Pakat’s eyes are still fixed on the building. “Easier to knock it down and rebuild here, especially if the priests want a new shrine there instead. Not much you can do about it. Just keep head down and pay.”
Allegio, in response to Cirral’s whispering, inclines his head. “Necromancy is common here.”
Keep your head down… well, it’s clear to Kennedy that the priests are very important here, and very much not to be trifled with. He makes a note to be careful if they run into any. Deciding not to question the system for now, he nods. “Unfortunate for his business, then. I suppose- hmm?”
The crowds part.
Atop them, like the crest of a wave, is a golden platform. On that platform is a bed of red silk, and on top of that is an impossibly beautiful young woman draped in thin purple veils. Her eyes transfix straight ahead of her. She is motionless, but around her bustle white forms like overworked ghosts. These ones are in clean wrappings. Golden masks grant them peaceful blank expressions as they delicately peel fruit to push past the woman's lips. More white surrounds the platform itself - mummies in golden armor, hefting the palanquin with a mechanical stamp of feet.
Pakat, muttering under his breath, backs the carriage up and out of the way. Allegio leans back until his upper torso is in the shade of the building next to them.
The two reporters, meanwhile, are not prepared in the slightest. Before either Kennedy or Cirral is really aware of it, they’re staring at the woman sitting on the platform, pens and pads forgotten as neither one makes a move to act, simply taking the scene in as the procession continues on its way. Kennedy registers somewhere that the mummies here are clearly far more important than the ones from earlier, but for now he’s mostly content to keep gazing at the otherworldly figure. As far as Allegio and Pakat can tell, the two of them are happy to just keep standing there until she finishes passing through.
There's a shout. A thick man, face ruddy and a bottle in one hand, staggers in the way of the procession. He raises the bottle, and the reporters catch a glimpse of fire at the mouth of it. Someone shouts a name - Bulah. The recently homeless man.
A mummy steps forth, sweeps a long curved sword. The man drops and is lost amongst the tide of stamping wrapped legs. When they pass over, the body is gone. The beautiful woman on top has not moved an inch, staring into oblivion.
Pakat winces.
“Ai, Bulah,” he mutters. “Bad way to go.”
Watching the man be felled by the mummies is more than enough to knock both of the reporters back into reality. Cirral now looks a little queasy at the sight, but she’s already beginning to take notes on the mummies and their importance… although she steers clear of taking notes on the woman herself. A small voice at the back of her head tells her that might not be the best idea. Kennedy, on the other hand, shakes his head. It’s not the first time he’s seen a death in the field. Stepping back, he asks Allegio one simple question, still looking at the woman but no longer transfixed by her.
“Is that the Queen?”
“No.” Allegio's voice is a low rumble. “Though somewhere in that empty head might think so.”
Pakat grumbles and goads the carriage forwards. “Apologies, my friends. I chose a bad route today. I'll take you by the river, yes? Less rich people there. More fun! You can see the crocodiles.”
“...Yes. Yes, I think that’d be a good idea.” Kennedy replies. “Come on, Cirral.”
“You’re right!” Cirral responds, but her voice is still a little shaky. Now’s just not the time to mention why, is all.
The carriage sets off. Allegio leans back in his chair and thinks, blank helmet staring ahead as the noise of the city washes over him.
