Greywolf-Bukhara

I'm tempted to slip into the Shadowlands and back out again, but don't, instead racing along the bridge as fast as I can until I reach them. Two of the soldiers move their spears towards me and I raise my hands to show I'm unarmed. I stop next to Asena as Porthos speaks to a soldier wearing a red sash, probably their leader, who laughs at something the merchant says. I'm pretty good at picking up new tongues, but they're talking way too fast to catch more than a word or two.

The two nod at each other. Then Red Sash barks a command, the other soldiers raising their spears and stepping away from us as Porthos turns and smiles. "Just a simple misunderstanding," he says, returning to speaking Greco-Roma. "Follow me." We walk underneath the gate and back into the warm sun, the main road now a square plaza with a round fountain in the center. Bronze statues of women with pitchers in their hands from which water flows into the fountain have turned green.

We pass women filling ceramic jugs from the flowing water, though most seem to gossiping among themselves, their voices growing silent, then excited as Asena goes past. The older women seem to favor flowing clothes covering them head to foot, while the younger leave their stomachs and ankles bare, the material gauzy in as many colors are there are flowers being sold by street vendors. Or spices that other vendors are hawking out of wooden push carts. Their smells fill my nostrils with intoxicating scents of rose, saffron, cumin, and more. But they can't completely cover the dusty smell of crumbling brick.

From the plaza, the main road curves and follows the river as the city expands outward, leading to a walled section at the opposite end with a palace rising behind it. Closer to us, another road goes straight back to another walled section only a stone's throw away, with massive wooden doors banded in black iron like the main gate. Rising behind these walls are tall pyramids and other buildings dedicated to their 'gods'; the Temple District, as I heard several merchants call it during the trip, and a place I want no part of. The last thing I need are temple priests taking an interest in me.

Porthos leads us deeper into the city, each building facing the road separated from the others by narrow alleyways, with wooden signs hanging above its shadowed entrance. I can't read the flowing script, but each sign also has a carved picture indicating what lies at the end of the alley. Porthos takes a right into a lane with a sign depicting a Direwolf standing on one leg with its other leg and front paws waving in the air. As our footsteps echo off the walls to either side, he says, "I forgot to mention the inn boasts a bathhouse, located directly behind it, as the central bathhouses are restricted to residents of Bukhara."

"I'm heading there first."

Asena snorts. "Just like your father." At the end of the alley, single story inn made of the same white stone as the bridge, sits behind the buildings to either side. Porthos strides up to the wooden door, which chimes as he opens it, and steps inside. Asena ducks her head as she follows, and I'm at her heels.

We enter a dimly lit, large room with colorful woven rugs hanging on the walls, and long, low tables surrounded by seat cushions on a floor made of flagstones. The air's fragrant with the scent of almond from the oil lamps set into the walls. The back of the room's lost in shadow, but the only people sitting are a couple men wearing leather armor, who look up as we enter. To our left, the wall extends several feet to a doorway covered by long strands of beads and a few small bronze bells, which softly chime as a man pushes through them. "Welcome to your oasis of rest from your burdens," a bald, skinny man wearing an apron begins in Greco-Roma. "My name is Parnax, and I will be your- urk!"

The innkeeper goes still as a mouse in a hawk's shadow as Porthos smiles. "Be at ease, my old friend, for the gods look upon you with favor this day." He switches over to their language, the innkeeper's face going from fear to surprise to greedy slyness, before slipping back into a pleasant mask. Porthos stops speaking and claps me on the shoulder. "First things first. Greywolf would like a bath and clean clothes."

I ignore Asena as she snorts again while the innkeeper's expression grows sharp. "Use of the bathhouse is included with the room, but minor-mage Ishi charges extra to do laundry."

I blink. "You have mages doing laundry?"

"That lazy slut? She has a manikin that does it for her."

"A what?"

"Manikins are wooden dolls as tall as a small woman," Porthos says, "which are fully articulated and enchanted to perform specific acts the mage needs done, like doing laundry. All the mage has to do is make sure the manikin is charged with mana and it does the rest."

"Waste of mana," Asena growls. "Why doesn't she just use a slave like they do in the Western and Eastern empires?"

Porthos makes an open gesture with his hands. "Ah, but slavery is illegal in the Sasnayam empire, of which Bukhara is a loyal satrapy... though some might argue their concept of using servants is itself a form of slavery."

I scratch my head. "The rulers actually let regular people use magic?"

"If they have the talent," Porthos replies, "and only if they are licensed by one of the temples. Cultures are strange, are they not? In the decadent Empire of the West, to be discovered having mage talent means instant enslavement, while here in the east, it means gainful employment. Here, magic flourishes while there it hides in the shadows. I believe-"

"Friend Porthos," the innkeeper says, interrupting, "a thousand apologies, but with my debt to you cleared-"

"You wish to speak of business. Show my friends to their room, and we can discuss the delivery of wine casks... paid for in advance, of course."

Parnax's face twists into a grimace. "Of course. If you will both follow me?" The innkeeper goes back through the strings of beads and bells and we follow, the next room much like the first, but with the back wall opening into a kitchen, and a hall going straight back. He leads us down the hall with closed doors to either side, which ends in a wooden door with an iron bolt drawn across it. Parnax stops and opens the last door on the left with a brass key. "I fear I do not have a bed large enough to accommodate you."

"I'm fine with a pallet on the floor," she says as she takes the key from his hand.

The room's simple, the bed a wooden frame with a thin cushion and nothing else. Asena sets her pack against the wall and I put mine down beside it as Parnax retreats to the hallway. "The bathhouse is right behind the inn," he says as he draws back the bolt on the door. "When you enter, the wicker basket to your left is for laundry, and the moment you throw your clothes in, the manikin will know to come pick them up. So throw all your laundry in at once or you will confuse it." He hesitates. "Friend Porthos told me your name translates to 'Wolf-mother?"

"Close enough," she growls.

He visibly swallows. "I do not wish to offend, but men of all sorts drink in the common room you entered-"

"You want me to remain behind the bead curtain so I don't scare off your customers. Fine, but I want a meal with roasted meat, a tankard or two of thin-beer to wash away the dust, then red wine from the empire, east or west, I don't care which."

"Whatever you desire that can be provided, shall be. Come to the private room when you are ready, and the girl will serve you."

Parnax bows and scurries away back down the hallway. Asena snorts and helps me unbuckle my leather armor with its cracked and pitted Artifact plates, which we lay on the bed to dry. "It'll be good to be clean again." She grunts, and I add, "Are you sure you don't want to join me?"

"I don't trust this place," she growls, "and taking my armor off leaves me vulnerable." So does getting drunk and passing out in the common room, but I'll keep that thought to myself as she adds, "Besides, I took a bath in Khitia."

It's my turn to snort. "You fell out of the boat into the river. That hardly counts." I dodge the half-hearted cuff she swings at me and begin pulling all the clothes out of my pack, including my last clean tunic and trousers, before looking up again. There's a haggard expression on Asena's face I doubt anyone else would notice, and a slump to her shoulders as she unties her long steep sword from her pack and lays it under the bed. "Thanks to Porthos, we've got silver to spare."

She looks up with her dark eyed gaze. "So?"

"This inn's going to be crawling with mercenaries. So when this Karl fellow finds you something magical to kill, we could hire-"

"I'm not hiring sell-swords to help me hunt troll, or whatever the local beast is. What are you, my nursemaid?"

"Someone's got to be." Asena raises her black clawed hand and I skip back a step. "Alright, I won't nag. But at least think about it." Grabbing my bundle of clothing, I step into the hall and open the unbolted door. Straight ahead there's a small square building made of white stone with a red brick shed attached, and I stride towards it, wrinkling my nose at the smell coming off the garbage midden against the right hand brick wall.

Stepping through the open doorway, the air hits me with a welcome humid wave. It's one big room with a large pool and recessed privy to one side, and a stall with a bronze pipe sticking out near the ceiling, to the other. The stall has a simple bronze lever and a chunk of soap on a ledge.

Now this is civilized. There's no changing room, only shelves built into the walls, so I use the privy before getting undressed, placing my clean clothes on a shelf and my dirty ones into the basket. I've never seen anything like this. The wicker basket has a half-foot wide wooden rim, covered in a flowing script burned into the wood, which begins glowing blue the moment I toss in my clothes. The basket isn't doing anything else, though, so I walk over to the stall and get myself cleaned up before sliding into the pool.

Now that's more like it. Asena can snort all she wants, but nothing beats hot water after a long journey. Ducking my head, I find the pipe feeding hot water into the pool and let it surge against the muscles in my back. I swear I could go to sleep in here if I didn't... wait, what's that odd clacking sound? I stand up in waist deep water as a figure steps into the doorway.

It's a faceless wooden doll the size of a large child, with glowing blue eye slits and more of this strange flowing writing burned onto every smooth surface of its light brown wood, including its articulated hands. Several bands of writing are glowing, but now one line of script fades as two more glow, as does the writing on its hands, and the manikin bends down to pick up the basket. Different lines of script glow or fade as it turns around and marches with my laundry out the doorway.

A beautiful dark haired woman takes its place.