Beefs and Breads: A Cozy Dwarf Tale - Book 3: Chapter 11: The Walls

Our guard escort through Yellowall was a cheerful young dwarf by the name of Thwack. We had him riding on the Goat cart with us, and we’d moved to the front of the wagon train. Copperpot had protested, but realistically we were the stars of the show here. Muhahahaha!

Thwack had a red ducktail beard, but no East Crackian accent to go along with it, just the standard Crack brogue. He also had quite a high pitched voice – for a dwarf – and every time someone called his name I had to hold down an infantile giggle.

Seriously, who named their child with onomatopoeia? It was like naming a child Pow, Sock, Bam, or just Thud. I could hear it now, some noble mother calling her unfortunately named child for dinner. “Oh Thudwick! The roast goat is ready!!!”

Actually, Bam was a pretty sick name. Maybe if I had a little moustached child in the future I could…

No, Pete! That’s the dwarf in you speaking! Bam is a terrible name for a child!

Bambam. That was much better, and Hanna Barbera approved to boot!

While Bando had been able to tell us a lot about the city from the perspective of someone who’d been there several times (and spent his whole life steeped in their history and culture) it was nothing compared to the knowledge of a true native. Thwack was more than happy to gush about his hometown to the “Champions of Minnova”, especially when it came with the opportunity to brag about its superiority.

Our journey to our eventual destination at City Hall began at the gate to Yellowall, which was the name for the collection of districts held within, you guessed it – The Yellow Wall. Given the size of the city, it was going to take a good half a day to make it there, which made me very happy about our early arrival.

The other zones, each held within their own walls were: Greywall, Redwall, Blackwall, and Whitewall.

If Redwall didn’t hold a small collection of mice people, I was going to be incredibly disappointed and ask for a refund on this fantasy world.

Yellowall was not a nice first look at the city, especially since we’d come in through a non-standard entrance. Apparently the main street was wide and well-cobbled and led straight to the next wall, while our side VIP entrance forced us to take a more roundabout route; hence the [Guard] escort.

What we saw made me think of old pictures of London, with cramped multi-storey tenement houses and dwarves and gnomes and goats packed everywhere. Everyone and everything had a patina of filth and exhaustion, and I could feel dozens of hostile eyes peeking out from shutters at us. It was wildly alien from what I’d gotten used to in Minnova with its general feel of busy bombast.

The construction here felt slapdash, with mixes of different types of stone in a haphazard fashion. Some of the apartments looked like they’d been built in parts, half one year and half the next. It was odd and made something in my dwarven heart uncomfortable, like I was looking at something full of holes. Trypophobia, that’s what it was called.

Thwack continued to wax poetically while we trudged along a well-cobbled road barely large enough for our wagons. People and goats were forced out of our way, and it was clear that only Thwack’s presence kept them from cussing us out. Berry’s enormous stage-wagon was especially not made for this, and I winced as a set of stone steps gouged the side, leaving a streak of pink paint behind. Her manager, Amethyst, was going to freak. At least there wasn’t goatshit everywhere, just the occasional whiff of cat pee. There was also a low bass thrumming sound overtop everything, though from what I couldn’t tell.

Thwack pointed past a pair of three-storey apartments, and I could just barely make out a looming behemoth of a building in the distance. “If ya look over to tha right, through those two apartments, you can see some large buildings in the distance. That’s the warehouses and receivin’ district. The main street through Yellowall passes through it, and we’re headed that way. Just need ta take another short detour through here.”

“Why are the buildings here so tall?” I asked, pointing at the apartments. “I’m used to everything in Minnova bein’ single-storey.”

“Ah that’s because of tha dungeon.” Thwack said.

Everyone blinked. Including Bando.

“I think you’ll need to explain that.” Annie murmured.

“Oh, that’s right. Minnova has its dungeon outside tha city, right? Well, here in Kinshasa it used ta be similar. The Grey Wall was tha outermost wall about eight thousand years ago. At that time, Deepcore was just a short ways outside, and monster waves would be met at tha wall. Over time, as more and more temporary houses jumped up outside tha wall, mostly fer refugees or immigrants from out East or South, the city spread out to include Deepcore. Yellowwall wasn’t made so much to keep monsters out as to keep the monsters IN. Makes it easier ta protect the outlayin’ farms and livestock.”

I turned to look at another set of apartments, taking in the hodge-podge nature of it. I’d found the dilapidated architecture quite odd given the dwarven predilection to excellence, but if that wasn’t the original design, but rather the result of multiple repairs…

“They’re made to collapse…” Balin whispered. “That’s…”

Thwack nodded. “Aye. Most o’ tha dangerous monsters in Deepcore can burrow, so the houses are better to be above ground. We don’t want a bunch of diremoles hidin’ in people’s cellars. Also makes them easier to repair when they get knocked over by a wave.”

The angry eyes and quiet desperation of those we passed by took on a new ugly weight. These people were bait for the capital. Their lives meant to buy time until the city and the adventurers could deal with threats coming from the dungeon.

“Isn’t it dangerous?” Aqua whispered, likely thinking the same thing as me.

Thwack nodded. “But most o’ these folk are either adventurers or hardy folk workin’ tha Butcher’s Block or tha mines just south. They know tha’ drill, and they all come runnin’ to help when there’s a monster wave. They all want to get into Greywall ya see, and the only way is distinguished service, like you lot, or bein’ a citizen fer two generations in Yellowall. Stampedes can get bad, but there ‘asn’t been one in centuries.”

Richter had his notebook out, and his pencil was scratching furiously. “Da Butcher’s Block?” He asked.

“Aye, the tanners and slaughterhouses are there. They’re at tha southern gate ta Yellowwall, on tha banks o’ Darkwater. Local farmers bring their produce and livestock through there so’s they don’t get stuck in de general mess.”

That name I knew. Darkwater was the river that ran through Kinshasa before heading south-east until it disappeared back under-underground. It ran down from the mountains faaaaar above us, and was what had dug the original route the dwarves took to get into Crack. From what I knew about Earth medieval life, tanners and slaughterhouses were the dirtiest and stinkiest jobs, and were usually on the river just outside of town. They dumped their guck in the water to wash it away, and I had to wonder how that jibed with dwarven laws about littering.

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Up ahead we could see a crossroad, and we emerged onto a busy thoroughfare. Unlike our previous passage, this was a wide and straight highway meant for our carts, and I breathed a sigh of relief. While it was busy, it was nothing to the chaos from before we’d entered Kinshasa, or the cramped uncomfortableness of the sidestreets.

The main thoroughfare was wide, but long, and it took about a solid two hours of slow wagon travel before we came to the next area.

“We’re comin’ up on Scout’s Crossing.” Thwack gestured broadly ahead. He had to shout to be heard, as what had started as a dull thrum had turned into a roar. “It runs across Tha Bends o’ Deepwater Gorge. You’ll be seein’ one of tha sights o’ Kinshasa!”

There was a simultaneous gulping noise from eight throats. Up ahead an enormous bridge lay over a mist-covered crevasse. The bridge was more like a fortress complete with parapets and an enormous portcullis. It was open for travel right now, but it could be well-defended at a moment’s notice. The sound of rushing water was immense, and I felt it like a solid weight on my lungs.

“Scout’s Crossing.” Thwack thwacked his chest proudly.

The bridge was easily wide enough to accommodate three or four wagons, and stretched over a black-watered river that was far, far below us. The crevasse walls on the opposite banks were dotted with windows, and I could see movement in them. Obviously the rules about ‘no underground dwellings’ didn’t apply on that side of the river. The river did bend here, rushing up against the wall from the east before pounding against the cliff walls and heading south.

“This here’s Tha Bends!” Thwack said merrily. He was clearly pleased that we’d been dumbstruck by the sight. “Tha vibrations keeps most monsters from Deepcore from diggin’ beneath it, so those cliffside houses and tha factories on the other side are tha most valuable real-estate in Yellowall!”

We crossed in fascination, lost in our thoughts, so it was a surprise when another wall almost immediately loomed in front of us again. It was an imposing grey-stone edifice that reminded me of the walls of Rothenburg ob der Tauber.

Caroline and I had visited the ancient German city of Rothenburg once, mostly to check out their wine cellars. They had a fun little restaurant called Hell in a cellar from the 900s, so when a Rothenburger told you to go to Hell, they meant for dinner and a drink.

Usually. It was hard to tell with Germans.

“Here’s Greywall.” Thwack commented. “Once you’re in tha city, passage between Yellowall, Greywall, and Redwall are unrestricted. Most of tha craftsdwarves and older clans live in Greywall. Tha hitball fields and wrestlin’ arenas, along with the Adventurin’ guild and a few others are located here. Tha giant and elven districts are further south of us, right along the inner wall.”

Kirk gave something between a grimace and a smile. “I saw them when I came down the deep road. The human market is here too, though they sell human goods rather than humans. Thankfully.”

I perked up at that. I knew from Kirk that they sold rice at the human market, and I wanted to see what other goodies I could find there! I looked about to see if I could spot any other giants like Kirk, or even catch my first glance of an elf, but it was just a sea of beards and moustaches.

“You came down tha deep road from the surface!?” Thwack’s eyes grew wide with surprise. “I’m impressed!”

“It was hard, but I’m harder.” Kirk struck a pose and flexed.

Aqua choked.

There didn’t seem to be a checkpoint here, and carts were passing through both ways freely. There certainly were a lot of [Guards], looking here and there with the concentration of someone using an Ability, but not much past that.

The difference between Yellowwall and Greywall was immediately noticeable. The industrious air I’d come to associate with Minnova was back, along with the cheerful chatter and occasional drunken brawl. We were even treated to the sight of a dwarf being tossed out the window of a pub called “The Gatehouse”. He was immediately trampled by the traffic and ran back inside with his beard between his legs to the sound of raucous laughter.

The housing here was dwarf standard again – single storey affairs made of clean, grey stone with open air beer gardens and markets. I felt a sudden pang of homesickness for Minnova and stamped it down. I’d had enough homesickness in the past two years to last a lifetime. TWO lifetimes.

“Oy! LOOK!” Johnsson suddenly shouted, pointing to the side of the street. A lonely bottle sat there, the label of a goat barely visible.

“Aye. There’s been a lotta folk drinkin’ yer bottles!” Thwack grinned. “City Hall’ll probably want ta have words with ya”

I winced. Fudge.

Along with our bottles, I also spotted a familiar leaflet calling all readers to the Octamillenial march. Thadd Harmssons’ bold swirly signature stood out even at a distance. Thwack picked the leaflet up as we passed by and crumpled it up before depositing it in his pocket without a word.

After another hour or so of uneventful travel through Greywall, another wall loomed ahead of us. This one was a deep dark red, like blood, and looked positively foreboding.

“When we pass through here, it’s just a short jaunt until we hit city hall. We’ll need to pass around tha Grand Market given tha size of yer wagons, or would ya prefer to drop ‘em off first?”

“I think we’d like to keep them with us.” Annie said with a tone that brooked no argument.

Thwack shrugged. “Suit yerself.”

I took a closer look at the stone as we passed through the gates; it had the porous look of volcanic stone.

“Is there a volcano around here?” I asked, pointing at the wall.

Thwack peered over to look at what I was indicating. “Nope. When Kinshasa became tha capital, they made a point of gettin’ the cities in the North to ship in the volcanic rock ta make this wall. It was a symbol of them clearin’ everythin’ out to the Eastern Wilds. Before then it was too dangerous to ship things cross’ Crack.”

“Huh, neat.”

A moment later we were through the gates of Redwall, and for the first time since arriving in Kinshasa, I really, truly understood why it was considered the greatest city in Crack.

It was like the Grand Market of Minnova, but it just kept going. Elementals swept by overhead. Golems trudged to and fro, while roadside marketeers hawked their goods. Beyond just unigoats I saw exotic animals – birds with rainbow feathers, dogs with wings, a godsdamn unicorn! Magical enchantments stood out everywhere, and wizards casually sketched sigils in the air to lift them above the crowds or put on displays of flashing lights for coin.

Thwack chuckled as a collection of rainbow bubbles floated past us before bursting to release the scent of strawberries. “Kinshasa Univeristy is located in Redwall, along with the Grand Temple, the Central Bank, and most of our local trade guilds. North of us is the Arena, along with Golden Mug Casino, though you’ll need to pass through Rockdrop Docks and cross the river at Ironbore Bridge to get there.”

Our travel slowed as various party members fell to the wayside, tempted by treats or sights. Richter soon had his arms full of various books, Annie had a full mug of ale, and Aqua and Kirk were practically covered in sweets. Balin was using some fancy new wax he’d bought to shine his shield, and Johsson had somehow picked up a pair of dwarfesses that were running their hands through his pink and purple beard with rapt expressions.

As for Malt, he was sitting partially hidden in the cart. He’d been oddly quiet this entire time, and his eyes were scanning the crowd, like he was looking for something. I made a mental note to ask him about it later, as the gigantic complex that was city hall came into view.

“We’re here!” Thwack said. “Glad I could help! Just head on in, and they’ll get ya settled. Welcome ta Kinshasa! I hope you have a memorable stay!”

Well now, wasn’t that a nice ol’ ancient Chinese curse?

At least it wasn’t my fault this time!