We drew a lot of attention, of course. Warped are rare to begin with, and few of them have the support needed to remain in the mostly hostile kingdom. And anyone as fully warped as Doreen was bound to cause a stir. Being in the company of Mable and a Shape that was obviously above tier I, however, marked Doreen as associated with a Shaper, and gave her enough of a leeway to walk unhindered into Whitecliff.

Nonetheless, the residents and visitors of lower Whitecliff stayed well away from the three of us, and I felt as if we were inside a bubble of clear space flowing through the crowded streets. Marjory and I hadn’t been to this part of the city on our previous visit, and I was struck by the difference between it and the clifftop quarter, or even the top of the face.

Historically, Whitecliff was founded on top of the cliff and used it as a bulwark against warped beasts and raiders, and when Gerald Forrester cleared the area at the bottom, the rich and the well-established middle class remained on top, leaving the less well-to-do to spread downwards. So while at the top of the cliff the city sported well maintained avenues wide enough for chariots and wagons between fancy manors and businesses, the lower city was a messy sprawl of narrow streets and alleys, run down homes and taverns, and an endless mob full of beggars, hawkers and cutpurses.

None of which dared approach us as we made our way towards the bottom of the cliff. There was something desperate in the eyes of the people surrounding us. We were walking through what should have been the main bazaar of the lower city, and while I hadn’t expected the stalls to be full of the high quality produce and merchandise as the markets in the upper city, they were still emptier than I would expect. But despite this desperation, and despite the fact that every other traveler who looked even a little prosperous was mobbed, our bubble of space remained undisturbed.

The walk across the lower city took about an hour before we reached the foot of the cliff. It was strange to me to see the clear cut border between the slums on the bottom of the city and the middle class commercial district that was the cliff face itself. One moment we were walking in the only wagon-accessible street that cut through the lower city, a run-down market on either side of us, and the next the trail turns sharply to the left and starts to rise in an angle shallow enough for horse drawn wagons to manage, with a steadily rising drop on one side and respectable looking workshops and storefronts on the other.

The road was wide enough for two wagons to pass side by side, but none of the commercial traffic that must have ordinarily filled it was in sight. All of the merchants who would have been heading towards Gerald’s Rest had stopped in Whitecliff to reconsider their next destination, and none were coming back in the other direction. There was still some foot traffic and hand-drawn carts heading back and forth, but the road was mostly empty, and we had no trouble walking up to the top of the cliff.

We’ve discussed our destination before leaving the Swift, but in the end we didn’t really have a lot of choices. Doreen was probably the only one of us who’d been to Whitecliff for more than a few hours, but she’d spent most of that time in the White’s manor, and had little familiarity with the rest of the city. And none of us had any intention of getting close to the White family, if we could help it. In the end, we’d decided that the Rickety Rukh was probably the best option available to us.

The city grew livelier the higher we climbed. Whitecliff was still receiving merchants from the interior of the kingdom, after all, and the villages and farms on top of the mesa were probably undisturbed by the attack on Gerald’s Rest, and still supplied the city with food. But between the abandoned farms between Whitecliff and Gerald’s Rest and the fact that the upper city got to the merchants first, and that at least some of the richer residents were probably hoarding provisions in case of further disruptions, there was little left for the lower city.

By the time we reached the top of the cliff and the Rukh, the city looked almost normal. Merchant stalls were full and doing a brisk business, wagons were moving back and forth, and craftsmen were hard at work in their shops. But everyone was talking a little too loudly, bargaining a little too tightly, and watching everyone else a little too closely. Whitecliff was spooked, and waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The Rukh was open for business, and the sounds of a boisterous evening crowd greeted us even before we opened the door. The eyes of the customers closest to the door fell on us, and a circle of almost absolute silence started to spread across the common room as more and more of the tavern goers turned and saw us, until it felt like every eye in the crowded tavern was looking in our direction.

It took a scant moment for the silence to reach the barkeep, whose eyes grew wide with fear at the sight of Doreen and my Marine.

“You can’t let those things in here!” the man’s voice screeched at Mable. “Shapes are not allowed in the Rukh. I need the space for people who actually eat and drink! And definitely no warped allowed!”

“Everything is all right,” said a familiar voice before any of us could even think to answer. “These are my guests, and they’ll be joining me in my room.”