Dawn in Auremelion/2

They emerged from the warehouse into the chaotic mess of the Docklands. The air was thick with coal dust, smoke, and the tang of copper. Rough-hewn otters and beavers pushed carts laden with barrels and sacks of goods over the rain-slick cobbles; a stoat sailor leaned against a wall smoking a pipe, while two rotund bears in flat caps made their way tipsily from a bar on the corner back to work. Dense dark grey clouds overhead threatened to open up another torrent of rain.

Bentley strode ahead of the other two, waving their umbrella in the air along with the tune they whistled cheerfully. Ilyar clung close to Solivane, eyes and ears scanning the strange, disturbing scene around him.

“There is so much noise, and so much going on,” Ilyar whined, wrapping his arms around himself for comfort. “I do not understand...”

Bentley turned on their heel to face Ilyar with a smile, though they continued to walk backwards. “This is quiet, if you’ll believe me. Just wait ‘til we get to the city proper!” They looked the hare’s shivering, scared form up and down, and their expression softened. “Don’t worry kid, you’ll get used to it. For now, stick close and don’t step in the puddles. They can be deeper than you think.”

They rounded a corner onto a great wide avenue lined with thick trees, their leaves golden brown and gently floating to the ground.

“Oh,” added Bentley, “and maybe don’t look up.”

Ilyar looked up, and immediately regretted it. The grand stone buildings along the avenue towered over him like masonry cliffs and disappeared into the smog above. Balconies and bridges jutted out at awkward angles, criss-crossing the dull sky. A tangle of cables and wires crossed the street, so dense as to almost form a sheet to catch the rain. Down the centre of the avenue ran a vast iron viaduct, its trussed arches rising three or four storeys over the ground yet still dwarfed by the structures around them. The street, straight as an arrow, carried on far into the hazy distance ahead. Ilyar paled, eyes wide, and would have collapsed on the crowded pavement were Solivane not there to catch him.

“It is… so much. Too much world.” Ilyar pulled his ears down over his face, shivering like a newborn lamb. Solivane looked down on the pitiful creature in their arms, giving the tiniest of smiles. “It is a lot of world, Ilyar. But you are safe with us.”

“Mostly,” Bentley added cheerfully, resting on their umbrella. “You’ve already done one impossible thing today, and it’s not even lunchtime. The likelihood of getting into any more cosmic trouble is vanishingly small. That’s probability, baby.”

Just as Ilyar righted himself, the ground began to shake - gently at first, building to a powerful rumble below their feet. A high-pitched whine cut the air, rising to a bellowing scream. Ilyar instinctively darted for a wall, brushing past a very surprised passing cat, and flattened himself against it.

“What… What’s happening? Earthquake?!”

Bentley looked at Solivane’s severe expression and couldn’t help but laugh. “No, Ilyar… Watch.”

They pointed their umbrella at the street corner ahead, and a moment later a massive shape tore around it - a tram, easily two storeys high, of peeling crimson paint on wood and riveted brass finishings. It ground round the bend with a hellish sound that cut right to Ilyar’s core. Its pole scraped on the overhead wire, scattering a shower of blue-white sparks on the street. It clattered past them like a mountain on rails, the harsh clang-clang-clang of its bell ringing in his ears.

“Do not worry, Ilyar,” Solivane said firmly, “It is on rails. It cannot harm you, unless you are in front of it.”

“Try not to be in front of it,” Bentley added, “It gets messy. Blood and paperwork. They might even make me explain myself.”

Ilyar, breathing heavily, steadied himself against the wall. “It… screamed.”

“It is late,” Solivane noted dryly, “Everything in this city screams eventually.”

Bentley tapped their umbrella on the ground twice, smiling at the two. “Come on now, we’re almost there. I can almost smell the sewage.”

They continued down the avenue with Bentley setting a brisk pace. Ilyar looked around at the crowds. He felt so small here, brushing past endless streams of every creature he could imagine. Foxes in silks and top hats hurried to the theatres, a fat pigeon shopkeeper in overalls argued with a hulking brass and steam automaton. Some looked more like shadows than people, drifting silently by.

Finally they came to the end of the great avenue. Ilyar gasped at the sight before him. The cobbled pavement and brick canyon gave way to a vast canal basin, stretching almost to the edge of the smog. Down in the murky oil-slicked water, a patchwork flotilla of boats and barges sprawled across the basin, so interlinked with gangplanks and rope bridges that it appeared to be one huge floating organism. The sun was setting now, and the orange glows of gas-lamps dotted the little vessels, gently swaying in the breeze. The air was thick with the smell of smoke, spices, and damp wood. Ilyar gripped the railing on the edge of the basin, transfixed by the sight. Bentley slid up beside him, grinning like a fool.

“Welcome to the Floatmarket, kid,” Bentley announced, wrapping an arm over Ilyar’s shoulders. He felt that strange sensation run through him again like an electric shock. Bentley raised their other arm and pointed at a barge somewhere on the far edge of the flotilla. Its squat little funnel was puffing smoke rings into the basin air. “That one there, that’s my barge. House? House barge. Come on, let’s go.”

They made their way down the worn stone steps to the dock and stepped onto the Floatmarket. Ilyar grabbed onto Bentley’s hand to steady himself against the rhythmic sway of the vessels. “I have only been on a boat once before. I did not like it,” he said quietly.

Solivane’s ears perked. “And what happened?”

“I fell overboard.”

Bentley burst into laughter so hard they almost fell overboard, too.

“Unfortunate,” Solivane intoned gently, stifling the smallest of smiles. “Here. Across this gangway.”

Before them lay a wide, flat-bottomed barge painted in a cheerful, clashing patchwork of colours. Flowerpots containing all sorts of exotic plants lined the deck, and the wheelhouse more resembled a garden shed than anything else. On the prow, glistening brass letters spelled out her name: The False Positive.

“It’s beautiful,” Ilyar said as he stepped off the gangway onto the deck. The barge rocked slightly on a wave, as if acknowledging his compliment.

“It’s home, kid,” chirped Bentley, unlocking the hatch and opening it wide. A fug of pleasant incense smoke wafted out, tickling Ilyar’s nose. “I’ve got a spare bunk. Well, actually it’s more of a pile of rugs on some boxes, but it’s better than leaving you on the street.”

Ilyar smiled. The tension in his body eased just a little. Maybe this could be safe, for a while. Maybe.