THEY made their way back to the lift, and the servants looked irritated but said nothing. When they were within the capsule, it suddenly lifted on its own. And it quickly brought them up toward the seventh floor, much to Tūmbṃār’s surprise. He then recalled the lifts he saw in Rṭyāshphaḥ’s palace and wondered if they worked in the same manner. When they moved outside the lift, it descended of its own accord.

The servants then showed them to their room. They slowly opened the door and the four of them were brought into a circular space that shined with the same golden hue with an oculus above. There were two large beds with sculpted stone frames, a fire pit, arched pillars that moved into the oculus from the edges of the room. And on the far side was another opening, with two sets of doors swung open, giving way to a porch with an ornamented balustrade. Tūmbṃār rushed to the other end and Feyūnhaḥ, seeing no need to stop him, let him be.

He gazed at the surroundings, more enamored by this sight than from the base. Now, being able to see much farther, he could see well past the edge of the city toward the desert that stretched endlessly. Yet it did not feel so empty, for the lights in the sky stretched in all directions, looking upon and watching over their brothers and sisters that were stuck to the lands.

The servants bowed to them and took their leave, speaking not a word. The door shut behind them and Aiṛth was laid on a bed, clenching her stomach, quivering, and racked with pain. Feyūnhaḥ was unsure of what to do. She knew what ailed Aiṛth, for she too suffered from the same pangs every so often, but much more seldom than the Mānuzhhaḥ. It was not as if she could disrobe her there, for while it was okay to be bare in the baths, the same did not apply outside it. But even were it okay, she knew Aiṛth would not allow her to do so, bound as she was by the law of the Servants. She sighed and sat on the other side of the bed, rubbing Aiṛth’s back.

Sanyhaḥmān went outside to where Tūmbṃār was and sat cross-legged on a low-level rocking seat. While the air was cool and chilled, it felt pleasant for the Vachūṇaṃār, soothing his skin through his thick fur.

After some time of lazing about, he stood up stretching and said, “Tūmbṃār, might you walk with me through the city?”

Tūmbṃār immediately nodded his head. He was not the least bit tired, as the sights invigorated him. With nothing at the present to give them worries, he felt he could at least be given free rein to explore.

The two with their cloaks about them exited the room, that darkened of its own accord, and they waited beside the lifts. After much time of standing by it and even shouting down the passage, the lifts did not come. Knowing themselves to be stupid in the matter concerning lifts, they made down the long spiraling staircase and made to the bottom floor. The innkeeper still gazed at awe upon her newfound treasure. Yet she took notice of Sanyhaḥmān and Tūmbṃār exiting, and gave them a wave and some well-wishes.

They took the opposite path they had taken heading to the southern part of the city, and as they walked about, Tūmbṃār could see many finely dressed individuals. Though whether aristocracy existed here as well was something he was unsure of. The ones who looked wealthy did not seem at all on bad-terms with those less so; perhaps the people at the inn were an exception.

“Most of the people you see here aren’t aristocrats, but just wealthy merchants,” said Sanyhaḥmān catching Tūmbṃār’s attention.

“So does that mean there’re no aristocrats here?”

Sanyhaḥmān shook his head. “No, they’re still very much here. Usually, the way you can tell them apart is if they bear a sigil or emblem upon their sash.”

“I didn’t see anything like that in Viprūtaram,” replied Tūmbṃār. And indeed he had not, but perhaps there was a reason to it of which Sanyhaḥmān would enlighten him about.

They halted their conversation when reaching a public bath with a large pool of heated water from the oasis. One in which Iḷēhaḥ herself would have liked to have spent quite some time, but she most likely would not get the chance. After taking off their clothes, they took some powder and waxed themselves with it before rinsing and having the attendants dry them. They then sat in the pool for an hour. When they were thoroughly refreshed, they took a temporary set of clothes from the attendants and made to a Triahkṣhel that had a clear view of the waterway and sat on some cushions by a table.

Sanyhaḥmān, said, “In most cases, the rich are the aristocrats, for they either hold land or govern certain districts and so will look much more well-off and display themselves as such with their attire. There’s something you should know about them, having met a few already and seeing what it is they’re like.”

Sanyhaḥmān pointed at three individuals sitting not too far and told Tūmbṃār to keep a close eye on them. They each wore a white fhorlia and colored shirt: one green, another blue, and the last red. And all three bore sashes that had varied sigils and emblems within the middle, most looking like varied animals but some taking the form of a God. Tūmbṃār looked at each of them and looked at the way they sat, their bearing, the way they interacted, and noticed something unusual.

“They act as if they’re hiding something,” said Tūmbṃār. “But it’s strange. Why do they feel the need to do so? People already know who they are, I’d think.”

A waitress came by to their table and Sanyhaḥmān asked her to bring some Svyamhaḥ and mango juice. He handed her two gold coins, to which her eyes lit up in wonder, as if she had been given the world’s riches. She looked at him once more and he nodded his head and she went away ecstatically. While he was, for the most part, greedy, it usually came against those who did not need the money, but it was not as if he would give it freely to any poor person he knew or saw. That and he had no other coins upon his person—asking for change would not only have been rude but also troublesome.

“Oh, they have much to hide,” said Sanyhaḥmān. “The aristocrats keep much of their power in check by forming alliances with one another, and bribing certain individuals for select positions and offerings. While it may not be a perfect example, you must’ve noticed the way the aristocrats in the King’s hold curried his favor. Think on that, but applied to a hierarchy of such people who in so many ways seek various avenues to move to the top. Though over the years, they’ve grown more clandestine in their associations and actions.”

“I see. But why’re you telling me this now?” asked Tūmbṃār.

Sanyhaḥmān chugged some of the Svyamhaḥ down. “Because I think they’ll became as much a problem soon as they once were in the past.”

“Oh, do you mean of what happened to Zūryaṃār?”

“Not just that. There was a time in many histories of the continents—long after the separation of the brothers—where the aristocrats did all they could to take over each of the lands, over many long years and generations. Perhaps at a certain point, they even wanted to usurp power from the other continents. Yet good it was that such a thing didn’t come to pass.” He then stood up. “Come Tūmbṃār! Let’s talk to our aristocrat friends over there!”

Before Tūmbṃār could speak, Sanyhaḥmān grabbed his hand, and they went to their table. Sitting in between them, they got some looks of surprise from the three aristocrats, which soon turned into scowls.

The aristocrat dressed in blue slammed his hands on the table and said, “Of what business do folk like you have with us?”

“None in particular,” said Sanyhaḥmān as he chugged more of the contents of the Svyamhaḥ. “I was hoping we could talk for a bit.”

“Talk?” the aristocrat scoffed. And with a hiss he said, “I shall have none of it!”

The three were about to call the guards, when Sanyhaḥmān slammed the bag of gold coins in the center of the table. “What say we gamble with these contents?”

It seemed Tūmbṃār was dragged into something he was not fond of, but now did it become clear what the monkey-man’s main occupation of gold was really concerned with.

The three aristocrats looked at each other and peered inside and they were struck with wonder at its contents, thousands of pieces of Trdsyḷūr coins and Gazhigam coins of which the latter was surely of more interest. The three laughed and held their arms up in prayer, and did a slight bow to both Sanyhaḥmān and Tūmbṃār.

“Forgive us,” said the aristocrat in blue, “for we had thought you of lesser rank of the orders of Varizhhō or Yōzhdaṛ, given your attire. We know it to be true that people of the lesser parts of such ranks would not have been able to procure what it is we see in there. Glad we should be that you approached us!”

And though he was not wholly wrong, he was not right either. Tūmbṃār himself was of the Yōzhdaṛ for his parents engaged much in cattle-rearing and farming (not unlike the others in Parāftaram). But there was also the consideration that he was now above such ranks and classes due to his being the disciple of a Zūryashhaḥ. He would not speak of it, for he knew such things should not be uttered lightly, especially to persons whom he did not know. And likewise Sanyhaḥmān only gave a smile and the three aristocrats took it as a sign of approval.

“My name is Hirmān: for I am to be as Graceful as the Snow,” he said and holding his hands to his friends, he continued, “The one in red, Zochañtam: for He is one who Burns with Vigor, and the one in green is, Fālihaḥ: for He is likened to a Leaf of That One. Might we inquire who you are?”

“I am a Vachūṇaṃār as you most likely could tell, hailing from Pedyṃhaḥ,” he said with his hands together in prayer. “I am called Sanyhaḥmān: for as the namesake of our great progenitor, I am one who has the mark of a disfigured jaw, though in this case not from trying to eat the Sun but from biting an unusually hard peach as a babe,” at which he showed the scar hidden underneath his fur near his jawline, and the three of them laughed.

“And who might you be, young child?” asked Hirmān with a gentle smile.

“I’m Tūmbṃār: for I am,” he thought for a moment, “‘They who shall Overcome’ and who hails from the eastern side of this continent.”

“Quite an odd pair you two are,” said Zochañtam, who smiled but remained cautious. “I should like to know why it is a monkey and a child travel together.”

“Zochañtam! Speak not in such a rude manner,” Hirmān lashed at him. “Forgive him, but we three have been friends for long, and rarely do we speak with people such as yourselves.”

“I take no offense,” said Sanyhaḥmān but with a smile he glared at Zochañtam, “but it would be wise to not call me a monkey. We don’t like to be compared to our lesser kin, no matter how much we may look like them.”

And Zochañtam apologized. The five remained silent and an air of awkwardness held between them, not knowing what more to say. But it was not long before the silence was broken.

“Fate seems to have brought us together,” said Fālihaḥ, “why not talk some more over whatever game you have in mind Sanyhaḥmān.”

“Indeed, let’s play!” said the monkey eagerly.