The Buried Symbol (The Ruins of Issalia Book 1) (4 page)

The wall, which surrounded three sides of the city, was about four strides deep. The outer rim of the wall was waist-high at the low points and was lined with merlons just above Brock
’
s head at the top.

Brock and Tipper turned and walked toward the bay. At the midpoint between the gate and the western wall, they each climbed onto neighboring merlons.

They sat with their legs dangling three stories above the ground. Palms swayed in the wind, their movement synchronized as if dancing to the slow song of the ocean.

The cool breeze ruffled Brock
’
s hair, causing him to squint and blink as it dried his eyes. Looking to the west, Brock saw the last rays of the sun reflecting on the water at the distant horizon. The low evening sun cast a red hue on the clouds above. In mere minutes, it would be swallowed by the ocean. The last ship of the day was nearing the docks, its sails down as it drifted into port. Workers scurried around the docks in an effort to finish the day
’
s business before the last remnants of light gave way to the black of night.

To the south was the majesty of the Southgate Bridge, rising over the Alitus River. The blue stone bridge appeared purple in the reddish hue of the fading sunlight. One lonely wagon rolled over the peak of the bridge before disappearing from sight on the downslope. Beyond the river were the straight lines of farm fields stretching into the hazy distance.

Brock sat in quiet, relishing the peaceful view as the light of the setting sun continued to fade. He tried to internalize the tranquility of the moment, hoping to mend his broken heart. After ten minutes of silence, he finally spoke.

“
Ellie died,
”
he said without looking at Tipper.

Tipper knew how much Brock
’
s aunt meant to him. He also knew she was quite ill.

“
I
’
m sorry, Brock.
”

Brock turned to look at his friend.
“
Tip, I had the gold needed to pay a medicus to come help her. I got the last bit I needed from that dirty apothecary and I went straight to the medicus the next morning.
”
He looked down as emotion welled up inside.
“
But when we got back to my pa
’
s place, she was already dead.
”
He paused as a tear dropped off his cheek, carried away by the breeze.
“
Why couldn
’
t she hang on a little longer? Why did she have to die?
”

A quiet moment passed before Tipper spoke.
“
You did your best, Brock. She was very ill. What else could you do?
”

He turned toward Tipper and shouted.
“
I could have saved her if I knew how!
”

Tipper glanced around.
“
Quiet! Do you want them to catch us up here?
”

Brock turned toward the ocean. His mind drifted back to his last conversation with Ellie. After a minute, he spoke again.

“
I can
’
t live this way, Tipper. I want to make a difference. I need to do something.
”

Tipper responded,
“
What can you do? We
’
re stuck with the lot we
’
re dealt in this life. We just have to ride it out and hope for a better one in the next life. That
’
s what the Ministry tells us, right?
”

Brock turned toward Tipper.
“
I
’
ve decided I won
’
t accept that line of thinking any longer. I want to do something more. I need to try to make my own life, a better life. I don
’
t want to live like this.
”

Tipper stared back intently, nodding.
“
Okay. I assume you have a plan. I know you don
’
t do anything without a plan.
”

Spinning around, Brock jumped off the merlon onto the wall. He waved Tipper down as he started toward the gate.

“
Let
’
s go. We have to visit a man at the Aspen Inn.
”

.   .   .

Stars were appearing through the dim light of dusk as dockworkers and sailors streamed through the gate. Like two leaves caught in a swift stream, Brock and Tipper were swept along with the crowd.

The glowlamps lining Center Street provided an inviting path through the heart of the city. The further they walked, the thinner the crowd became as groups peeled off to their evening destination. By the time they neared the Lower Wall, only a few stragglers remained.

Brock continually scanned the signs of the shops and inns as they passed. Spotting a sign with a single tree carved into it, he and Tipper broke from the crowd and entered the inn.

The common room was buzzing with loud conversation. The air carried the aroma of spiced lamb. While some patrons were consuming bowls of stew, most simply had a tankard of ale in hand.

Brock stepped to the bar and signaled for the barkeep. The man had a round face and bushy black mustache. With sleeves pushed up to his elbows, he wore a dirty apron around his portly mid-section. After handing a fresh ale to a patron, the barkeep slid over and gave them a stare.

“
What do you boys want?
”

Brock addressed the large man.
“
We
’
re looking for a fellow named Alonzo.
”

The barkeep snorted.
“
Is that so? Well, you
’
re in luck
‘
cause he
’
s right over there.
”

He nodded toward a man at the end of the bar, his balding head sporting less hair than his beard-covered face. The barkeep stepped away to help another customer.

Brock traversed the bar, claiming the stool next to the man as Tipper sat at another.

“
I
’
m looking for Alonzo. I hear he can help me with something. Are you the man I
’
m looking for?
”

The man glanced over, squinting to assess Brock before responding. Brock noted the rune of
Mercator
on the man
’
s forehead, marking him as a trader.

“
Might be. It depends on why you
’
re asking,
”
the man responded.

Without taking his eyes from Brock, he took a swig of ale.

Brock replied,
“
My aunt suggested I seek out Alonzo at this inn. She said he could help improve my situation.
”

Brock brought his hand up to his forehead to ensure Alonzo understood his meaning. Alonzo
’
s eyes followed his hand, obviously noting the lack of a rune.

“
Might be that I can be of assistance, but it ain
’
t free.
”
Alonzo took another drink, setting the mug back on the bar.
“
I
’
ll be needin
’
five imperials.
”

Brock sighed. He only had two imperials and nine silver marks left. The rest had gone to pay the medicus for Ellie.

Brock responded,
“
Okay, but I need a little time to pull that much together. Where can I find you?
”

Alonzo smiled.
“
I
’
m right here every night. When you get the gold, come see me and we
’
ll do business.
”

Brock slid off the barstool, motioning for Tipper to follow as he headed out the door. Once outside, he began walking back toward Southgate.

Tipper caught up to him.
“
What was that about? What did you mean when you said he has a way to improve your situation? What situation?
”

“
This life, Tipper. The situation of this dead-end life,
”
Brock replied.

CHAPTER 5

Brock needed more gold and only knew one way to get it.

About halfway to Southgate, he and Tipper ducked into a dark alley. Once beyond the mouth of the narrow corridor, they put their backs to a wall and watched the alley entrance. Confirming they weren
’
t followed, Brock tugged on Tipper
’
s sleeve and continued.

They crossed a dark intersection, circling around the trash and old barrels that had been discarded there. The alley soon terminated at a stone wall, creating a dead end. Brock put his hands on the wall and began feeling the stones. He could barely see the wall in the darkness, but that was irrelevant. Even in the light of day, you needed to feel with your hands to find the trigger. After a bit, he found a stone with a pattern of five shallow dimples.

He leaned against the stone, feeling it sink into the wall. A distinct
click
sounded as a section of the wall began to move with the force applied. A door cut into the wall swung open. The rank stench of human waste wafted from the pitch-black space within.

Brock stepped inside and removed his glowstick. Once activated, the blue light illuminated the upper portion of a stairwell that led into inky darkness. With Tipper close behind, Brock began his descent. In the dim light of the glowstick, they could barely see the far wall of the sewer tunnel, fifteen feet away. A
thud
sounded when the stone door behind them closed, echoing in the quiet tunnels.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, they continued down the tunnel, carefully navigating the narrow brick ledge that ran along the wall. They soon heard a dull roar ahead, the noise growing louder as they drew closer. Reaching a recessed door in the side of the tunnel, Brock knocked five times. After a couple seconds, he opened the door and light poured into the tunnel.

The dull roar instantly transformed to the rumble of loud conversation. Big Ed nodded as they entered. He then set his cudgel back on the floor, leaning it against the wall near his stool. The bouncer crossed his beefy arms and resumed monitoring the crowd.

Patrons sitting at tables were chatting, eating, and drinking. A man in one corner was celebrating a winning dice throw, hooting and jumping around. Two intoxicated men were harassing a pretty waitress as she deftly swatted groping hands from the curves of her body.

These were common traits found in any taproom in Lower Kantar. However, this was no ordinary taproom.

For one thing, nobody in the room had a rune on his or her forehead. This place was a secret refuge for Unchosen. It was the one place in Kantar where they felt welcome and were treated as equals. Treated like humans.

The second unique aspect of the taproom was Sally.

She was an attractive middle-aged woman with long brown hair. Though a bit plump, her weight was distributed in all the right places. This gave her a voluptuous figure that the male patrons admired. However, those men soon learned that Sally was to be respected. Unwanted attention would likely to earn them a cracked head and see them tossed into the sewer outside.

As Brock approached the bar, Sally
’
s eyes met his. A smile spread across her face. He gave a broad smile in return. It was difficult
not
to smile when Sally smiled at you.

She finished pouring a tankard of ale, set it before a man at the bar, and pocketed his copper. Brock and Tipper grabbed two open stools as Sally walked over to greet them.

“
Brock, Tipper. How are my favorite boys?
”
She smiled at Brock.
“
Where
’
ve you been? I haven
’
t seen you for weeks.
”

Brock flashed a smile.
“
Hi, Sally. Sorry I haven
’
t been around. I ran into a bit of trouble with my pa and was on lockdown for a while.
”
He paused and the smile slid off his face.
“
Ellie died, Sally. She
’
s gone.
”

Sally
’
s face clouded with sympathy. She reached across the bar and held her hand to Brock
’
s cheek.
“
I
’
m so sorry to hear that dear. She was a good woman. I know how much she meant to you after your momma died.
”