Chapter 1, Part 2

    Nothing. For so long, she had been grasping at straws. What would her father say? Her brothers? This chase was foolish, unimaginably foolish, and yet chase she did. And this time she had come so close… Appollonia snapped back into reality as a woman filled up her cup of coffee. She looked down at the cup and sighed. One of the most unfortunate things about cities was that no one ever asked before filling up a customer's coffee. They didn't stop and wonder if the customer had, just minutes before, spent countless minutes creating a precise, perfectly balanced mix of sugar, cream, and coffee. Instead, they dumped a whole mess of plain, black coffee right into the equilibrium. Once again Appollonia lowered her long, pale face directly above the now steaming cup and, sugar in one hand, cream in the other, began the process all over.

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    A long, drawn out sip sent tea swirling down the throat of the gaudily-dressed transient. Within seconds, eyelids snapped open and tea was sprayed out onto the ground. Hideous. The last time a cup of tea tasted so bad, it was fate's passionately unpalatable way of informing the traveler that a grave mistake had been made. Experience had taught the highly spiritual itinerant that fate was not patient, nor was it indirect in its messages. It was time to go. The fastening of a small sack signaled the end of the blonde wayfarer's packing, though considering the few, small possessions of the psychic, the endeavor had not been that laborious. Not long after, two slippered feet were marching down the cobblestone street toward the nearest place that would take a person somewhere new and exciting.

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    "Umm, 'scuse me, miss… Would you, by any chance, know the best way to get to Niumea?" Appollonia asked the waitress when she came around again.

    "Yeah, the best way is by caravan. But you have to have your own caravan, and they're not cheap," The woman said while refilling coffee at another table. When she neared, Appollonia snatched her cup up to protect it from further violation. What a tiresome woman. Of course the best way to get to Niumea would be by caravan. What would the alternative be? Walking? Appollonia sighed again. She smiled, a look not suited to her and somewhat frightening to those forced to bear witness.

     "Hmmm, I'm sorry… I didn't ask you the right question. D'you know which caravan is the best to get to Niumea? I'm looking for a fast one, the price doesn't matter very much." At this the woman's face lit up.

    "Yeah! I dunno his name, but his caravan is famous it moves so fast. He used to only take cars with five legs or more! Just give me a second, let me… Hey! Thalia! Help me out, who is it that runs the fast caravan?" The waitress stepped away for a moment, still refilling the cups of nearby, unsuspecting customers.

    "I don't remember, but I know who you're talking about. Really nice guy, he stops by here sometimes after he finishes a route. Tall, blondish hair… Pretty skinny, all he ever orders is coffee with whiskey… Do you think you could go by that?" The young woman asked. Once more, Appollonia sighed. She left the coffee sitting on the table.
    The crowd gathered around the caravan cars would have made it difficult to see, but thanks to her height she had a fairly unobstructed view of the subjects of the gathering. Her eyes settled upon a tall, blonde man, most probably skinny beneath his clothes. It had to be him. She inched forward, retrieving a small, silk purse from somewhere in the depths of her coat and holding it in her hand. "Umm… good day…" The woman said, barely shorter than the man. "You see, I'm looking for a caravan. A fast one, in particular, to get me to Niumea. I've been told you're the man I need. Err-not you, per say, but your caravan… You run it, of course, so I suppose I'll need both, and… uh…" These words, she would soon come to discover, were meant for the tall, thin, blonde man at the other end of the caravan display, located behind his car haggling with a customer, and not Nestor Kokinos. But, of course, she would not discover this until it was too late.

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    Slowly, a crowd came into view. The rather unfriendly street vender had indeed pointed Sindri in the right direction. But there were so many cars! Which to choose? Eyes shut tight, a skinny hand reached into the bag and felt around until- It reappeared with a small bone clutched between the thumb and forefinger. The psychic smiled at the bone and dropped it back into the sack, the nearest caravan coming into focus. Before it stood a tall, lanky man and an uncharacteristically tall woman with a pink face staring at the ground. Perhaps best to come back later. The caravan didn't appear to be going anywhere any time soon. There might even be time for another reading before the caravan left… Though Sindri couldn't very well go back to the square, considering the previous events of the week. Gingerly, fingers traced along the swollen, bruised cheekbone mostly concealed by wavy, white-blonde hair. So, off to a new part of town! The best place would probably be deep in the city, the lower class area, where people all seemed so eager for fame and fortune. Few ever found it, and if they did, it only made their sorrows and ailments worse. How shocked Sindri was to discover that everyone else in the world was obsessed with wealth and power! It was disheartening, but the more troubles encountered on the journey to enlightenment, the sweeter the first sip from the cup of harmony and peace.
    Cobblestone quickly turned to dirt or wooden planks, and clean, well-dressed tourists quickly turned to people in patched, shabby clothing with the occasional smear of dirt along a cheek . Children wearing rucksacks and no shoes darted about screaming and laughing, mangy dogs chasing closely behind. The street widened, and situated along the sides were vendors, mendicants, and entertainers of all walks of life. Directly next to a bakery emitting explicitly delicious smells was an open space big enough for Sindri to set up at. The clairvoyant wandered around for a moment, dusting off a glimmering, vibrant, multicolored mystic robe and clipping golden hoops onto small earlobes. A large, rectangular plank of wood set on top of a crate made an acceptable makeshift table, and Sindri eased down against the wall on one side of the table. The crisp, colorful cards were spread out along the surface and the bones pushed into a little pile next to them. For added effect, the wandering fortune-teller sucked in a deep breath and began humming a song learned from a gypsy from a land far away from Anaitis.

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Chapter 1, Part 1

            Nestor Kokinos strode proudly along the length of his caravan, visually inspecting the cables and bolts that kept the contraption together.  His own car, the navigation car, up at the very front was polished, its treads clean of debris and its four spindly legs neatly folded in at the sides.  It was simple, but he didn’t need the amenities that some of his potential passengers preferred.  As long as he was able to get from one place to another, he didn’t much care about how smooth his ride was.

            He opened the hatch into his car and clambered down into its cramped interior.  His long legs and frame were cramped in the small quarters and he could barely rummage around without knocking four or five things off their shelves.  Maps, compasses, star charts, road reports…all were essential tools for a navigator, and had he the skill to deftly deduce where he was, they probably would have been useful for him too. 

            There! Nestor snatched the piece of parchment in one hand and a collapsible easel in the other and squeezed his way out of his car.  With a flourish, he placed the finishing touch on his display: a map of Anatis with the caravan’s route plainly marked.  Along the top the words “Travel in comfort, private cars, coach cars available.  Standard three leg and tread cars for rent, additional legs provided in upgrade” were written in fancy script.  Nestor couldn’t read much himself, but he’d paid a scribe good money to create the sign in hopes that it would draw in higher paying customers.  After his last meager caravan company, he needed to garner some more money, else he’d be forced into even more debt then he already was. 

            It took a lot, to maintain a business like his.  Especially now that the country was starting to truly become interconnected, with roads becoming more mainstream and travel between cities less of a novelty.  Steam power was revolutionizing the country, no, it was revolutionizing the world, and people were starting to travel more often out of both curiosity and necessity.  Unfortunately, this also meant that there was a market for caravans, and competition wasn’t the friend of a man who was lousy at his own trade.

            Nestor stood at attention beside his sign, his appearance a striking one.  He was a vision of earth tones, all tans and browns with the exception of his icy eyes…they swept the crowds that browsed the various caravans, lingering on the children that flitted between parents, running, laughing...they better not try taking anything from him, the little brats. 

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            The boy’s stomach was all he could think about; he hadn’t had anything to eat for…how long was it now?  A day?  Two?  All he knew was that the sharp pains in his abdomen were getting worse.  He shook his tangled, dark curls out of his face for what felt like the hundredth time as he scanned the crowd that was gathering around the various caravans that were vying for attention.  These people could afford to travel, which meant that they had plenty of money.  Perhaps them folks that had plenty of money wouldn’t notice if a few Thalas went missing.  Just two or three, just enough to eat for that day.  Ever since he’d woken up inside prison, he’d felt hungry, and it showed.  His ratty clothes hung loosely on his thin frame, swallowing up his dark form just as effectively as the darkness of the alley in which he slept. 

            Across the way from his alley was a new caravan leader – he knew he was new because he spent so much time lurking around the caravans…and thus had been chased away by most of the caravan heads at one point or another.  But this new man, he might not chase him away just yet.  And that meant opportunity.  Yet there was something about this new man that the boy wasn’t too comfortable with, perhaps it was the way that the man stared unblinkingly into the crowd, like a bird that is taking in everything about its surroundings.  Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained.  The boy casually started to make his way toward this new caravan leader, expertly slipping his hand into a purse or two along the way to little reward. 

            “You! Vermin!” It was the new man…the boy wasn’t halfway across the street and already he’d been spotted, “Come near my pockets, and Rhelad help me, I’ll snap every one of your thieving fingers.”  The boy didn’t even take the time to consider that the man might be bluffing, he’d had enough abuse at the hands of others just in the short time that he could remember.  He scampered away in terror, disappearing into the shadows once more.

            Further and further into the alleys the boy scampered, rubbing the scars that encircled his wrists in a nervous rhythm.  He hoped that the man wouldn’t follow him, or have him followed.  As far as the boy was concerned, kind adults didn’t exist.  Adults were the ones that beat him in prison.  Adults were the ones that branded him.  Not to mention, on the streets, it was best for a boy like him to stay away from the adults around him.  They sat slumped against walls, loyal only to the bottles that kept them from reality, sometimes ranting, raving, shouting, hitting…he shuddered.  His stomach complained loudly.  Rats again tonight. 

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