I said I would post an extract, so here it is.
I wrote this at the very end of the NaNo and I was quite tired - I'd been writing 3k a day for a week by that point - so it might show. It's still very rough, I haven't gone over it yet. Don't be too hard on me!
The reason I picked this one is because the character I'm introducing popped into my head as I was writing. I knew the characters had to get into the town, find their way to the pub and that the owner there would be difficult. But I made up the rest as I went, and suddenly this woman became their guide, and I hadn't planned that at all.
It's quite a long extract, but it also gives you a insight into the world I have imagined.
Anyway, this is what it looks like when characters crash my story uninvited:
~*~
The sun is
piercing through the clouds when we reach the harbour. Row after row, sailing
ships are moored along quays, their masts clinging and swaying as the waves
rock the hulls. The smell of the sea is stronger here, mixed with paint
and resin and less noble scents. The buildings are even more impressive than
they had been near the entrance, so glossy I can see my reflection in the
walls. Steps lead to grand entrances with arches and statues carved from the
same dark stone.
‘How do
they get it so beautiful?’ I ask.
Rowan
shrugs, his wings flapping as he does so, and for a second I am so distracted I
forget I asked a question. But Izzie’s voice brings me back. ‘The rock around
here is obsidian, that’s why the mountains are so dark. They used to be
volcanoes. The rock elves polish the rock to make it gleam, but they also use spells on
it so that the seawater does not erode it. Very costly. But they have the Worth.
Morin is one of the main trading ports in Meuriaden, and only a handful of
families own the trading fellowships.’
And indeed
men and women are busy hoarding goods from the ships, scuttling about with
their loads. It is obviously a working place, and I can’t see many children
around unless they are helping carry goods. Transactions are not made in the
street, but rooms behind balcony windows hint at luxurious offices.
The ships,
on the other hand, vary in stature and condition. Some are tall, with many
masts, their hulls freshly painted and their lower decks loaded with richly
decorated cabins. Some of the larger ships are so narrow they look like
fuselier fish, perhaps designed for speed. Other ships are hardly more than sailing boats or are decrepit. The paint is peeling off hulls covered in shells and their rotting masts creak as their frayed flags flap about in the wind.
Izzie tries
her luck a few more times, but she is still unsuccessful.
‘Maybe you
should ask, Lacie. You’re younger, and you look quite innocent. You almost look
like an elf yourself. They might be more willing to help you.’
‘Nnno
nonononononono!’
I think the
expression of sheer panic on my face is enough to make Izzie think twice, but
she has no time to argue. A roar of laughter behind us makes us turn around.
A young woman
is sitting on the pier, her legs crossed and her arms folded behind her head,
as though she were reclining in a lounge. Her hair is light and floats in the
wind along with a scarf she wears around her neck. Her pale tunic and skirt
puff as the wind rushes into their folds and leaves again. She seems so
unsubstantial for a moment I wonder if she is one of the sprites they have told
me about.
‘May I ask
what’s so funny?’ Izzie asks, her chin raised.
‘You may,’
the young woman says, but she tilts her head back and closes her eyes.
‘What’s so
funny?’ Izzie repeats.
‘You come
into an elvish town asking for help while you’re pulling that poor beast
around? And then you wonder why they won’t help you?’
We all
stare at each other then at the unicorn. She looks happy enough to me, but I remember
what Theo said about elves thinking animals can’t be owned.
‘Well,
Lacie, maybe you can go back to the entrance to the town with Cleo and we’ll…’
‘No, no,
please no!’ I protest. ‘I don’t want to stay by myself!’
‘But
Lacie…’
‘Take the
bridle off,’ I say in a brilliant flash of inspiration.
‘What? But
Lacie, she might run away.’
‘She won’t!
Take it off!’
Izzie
hesitates. The elvish woman opens an eye and smirks.
‘Fine. But
stay close in case she… you know.’
Very
carefully, Izzie unbuckles the bridle and slides it off.
Cleo takes
a few steps forward, and Izzie holds her breath. But the univorn turns her head to me
and nudges my shoulder.
‘See, I
told you it would be okay,’ I say.
‘Well, that
was quite entertaining,’ the elf says, stretching her arms as though he’d just
woken up. ‘But quite unnecessary. I’ll help you. For a price.’
Rowan and
Izzie share a look, while Cleo begs me for more scratches.
‘How much
do you want?’ Rowan asks.
‘How much
are you willing the pay?’ the elf asks.
‘A
featherweight, but no more.’
The woman
tilts her head to consider them.
‘Two
featherweights,’ she declares.
‘That’s too
much,’ Izzie says. ‘We’ll meet you halfway.’
They
continue haggling until they agree on a featherweight and a half of Worth and
two unicorn hairs. Cleo is not happy about the last part of the deal and snorts and nibbles by shoulder in protest when I pull the two hairs off her mane, but she
doesn’t run away.
‘My name is
Emerald Spall,’ the elf says, offering us a slender hand to shake. ‘Now, what
can I do for you?’
‘We are
looking for a pub called the Dark Crow’s Start. It was here a really long…’
‘Oh that
dank place?’ Emerald interrupts. She makes a face like she’s just tasted
something nasty. ‘You’re sure you want to go there?’
‘Why?
What’s wrong with it?’ Rowan asks.
‘Well, it’s
not shiny like here, that’s for sure.’
‘We’re…
er…’ Izzie starts, throwing glances at Rowan. ‘We’re looking for a place around
here that sounds similar. Something with references to crows and eagles maybe.’
‘Don’t know
about eagles, but there are crows plenty around here. And gulls. The damn thing
stole some of my lunch!’
Rowan
winces, but Emerald continues. ‘I’ll take you to the Dark Crow, though, that’s
no problem.’
We follow
Emerald through the town, or up, since part of the town clings onto the
mountain side. Every now and then she greets someone and the looks we get are
less threatening now that Cleo is following us of her own free will, but the
elves’ welcome could hardly be described as warm.
Soon the
mansions of the seafront become sparse, replaced by more modest houses of black
slabs. The mountain is now visible behind the roofs. The
uncertain weather and the colour of the rock, covering every inch as far as the
eye can see, give the town a grim atmosphere. My thighs are beginning to
sting from the climb when we enter a part of town that would look completely
abandoned if it wasn’t for the ribbons of smoke coming out of the chimneys. The
houses are tall and narrow, as though the people who built them had tried to
squish them together to make space for more. The smell of seawater
is long gone, replaced by the stench of sewage. A river of brown liquid flows
down the sides of the street, and I don’t want to know what is in it.
Our pub is
at the top of the street, ensconced into the mountain side, which now towers around us on all three sides. A wooden door has been drilled into the rock and
a stone sign hangs off rusty hinges; letters and pictures were carved into it
once, but the wind, the rain and the brine have long eroded any meaning. I look
up at the vertical plane of rock rising above it, and notice a series of large
holes, regularly interspersed.
‘What are
those? I ask Emerald, pointing at the holes.
‘Windows,
of course! The whole of the old town is inside the mountain, but the rich folks
left a long time ago. Bit too dark and damp. Still, it makes for a cosy place
when the sea is stormy.’
A tunnel on
the left of the pub catches my attention. It is a hole of darkness and I have
no idea how far it extends, but something about it is attracting me towards it.
‘Wouldn’t
go in there, if I were you,’ Emerald says, catching my arm. ‘Bad people down
there.’
‘What is
it?’
‘It’s the
entrance to the old town. But the folk in the old town aren’t very nice, are
they? No money, and all those beautiful ships with exotic goods on their
doorsteps… Would try to rip all of you apart to get your valuables, and if you
don’t have any, they’d rip all of you apart trying to find them all the same.’
I give the
tunnel one last look and shudder.
Izzie is
still staring at the stone sign hanging above the pub door, as if to find any
clues.
‘Shall we
go in?’ Emerald says, and she barges past Rowan and Izzie to make her grand
entrance.
I come in
last, trying to make myself very small. The inside of the pub is so dark it
takes my eyes a few seconds to adjust. The only light comes from the tiny holes
in the rock above our heads and a feeble blue light in a lantern hanging in the
middle of the room. But perhaps that is for the better. The absence of light
makes it easier to ignore the sores and scabs covering the faces and arms of
the pub regulars, the layers of grime on the counter top and the rivulets of
undetermined liquid on the floor. The stench on the other hand, is
suffocating. A mixture of rancid sweat, unwashed feet, old beer, with an
undertone of urine and mouldy linen that has seen too much seawater and not
enough sunshine. Breathing with my mouth open is not much help, and the smell
is so strong I can almost taste it. It is all I can do not to run out of
the door. My feet stick to the floor each time I try to take a step.
The pub is
quite busy considering it is only early afternoon, but Emerald strolls in as if
she owned the place and elbows a few people until she has a space at the bar.
We manage to squash in beside her, and I try not to look at the faces around
us; the few I caught were not friendly, and I find it difficult not to stare at
the missing teeth and broken noses. Better not look at all. Emerald hollers at the
man behind the counter, who was wiping some glasses with a dirty towel, until
he turns his attention to us.
‘What’ you
doing here, you bloody useless leech? I told you I didn’t want no business from
you!’
Emerald
doesn’t seem put off by his greeting, nor by the fact that he spits when he
talks and is missing an ear. On the contrary, she beams and points at us.
‘I brought
you customers!’ she says.
‘And are
those customers of yours gonna pay what you owe me?’
‘Maybe,’
she says with a wink.
‘We just
want to ask you some questions,’ Izzie says, having managed to wedge herself
against the counter.
‘I don’t
answer no questions. This is a pub, lady. I serve customers. What’ you
getting?’
‘A round of
cider and some of your chestnnut stew,’ Emerald says before I have time to look
around and realise there isn’t a menu.
‘We’re not
of age!’ Izzie protests. ‘And sylphs can’t eat stew.’
‘Arf, don’t
fret, girl,’ Emerald laughs. ‘You’re not gonna wanna eat or drink any of it anyway.
If you’re turning up your nose at this place, wait ‘til you see kitchen! Ts’all
to keep old grumpy here talking, isn’it!.’
Emerald
leaves the counter as suddenly as she had come and finds a table in a corner. I lean
on the table as I sit down on the stone stools and put my hand leaves with a gooey
residue. I try to wipe it on a corner of my stool without anybody looking and
hug myself tight to avoid touching anything else. At least the smell in the
corner is not as bad as near the bar. The order we came in means that I end up
sitting between Izzie and Rowan, which rather pleases me, though they are both
so much taller than me that I suddenly realise how small I must look to them.
‘You have
nice clothes,’ Izzie says to Emerald.
‘Why, thank
you!’ Emerald replies.
‘Why do you
have debt, then? If you can afford nice clothes.’
‘Ah, but
would you rather look like them lot, grimy and stinky, or owe a grumpy man a
bit of worth? When we get off the ships, they give us only some of our worth.
Some men drink it all in the first night, you see. I choose to have a bath and
some clean clothes. The grumpy old sod’ll get his money when I get mine. Only
fair.’
The one-eared pub owner soon brings us glasses of frothy cider, limping as he walks and spilling half of it on the floor. He’s back moments later with four cups of broth with a couple of lonely chestnuts floating in it. We all look at it in disgust except Emerald, who grabs a spoon and slurps the stew, washing it down with large gulps of cider. In spite of her warnings to us, she seems to be rather enjoying it. All three of us watch her, half with awe and half with revulsion.
