Coldmaker(9)
I had three more years of Street duty left, and I wanted them to last as long as possible. My corner was one of the most vibrant in Paphos, and I served under one of the finest Jadanmasters.
Moussa ran ahead of me until he took a sharp turn in the direction of the Bathing Quarter. I kept onwards towards the heart of Paphos, the Market Quarter, snaking my way across my favourite rooftops and deserted alleyways. After five years on Street duty, the pads of my feet were hardened and leathery, immune to the heat of stone. As tough as my heels had become, however, my toes were still susceptible to bites, so I made sure to keep an eye out for forked tongues rising in the gaps. It was rare to run into a Sobek lizard, as they usually didn’t stray far from the boiling water channels pulled off the River Singe, but it was important to stay vigilant. The lizard’s poison couldn’t kill, but errands were quite difficult with a splitting headache and hives.
I speeded up as I spotted two other Street Jadans from another barracks in a nearby alleyway, crouching over a pile of billowing smoke. One of them was holding a sizable shard of glass against the sunlight, focusing the ray on some smouldering boilweed. Both mouths were sucking in large breaths, wafting the fumes towards their faces with sooty fingers, stifling coughs. They’d have to smoke quickly if they were going to make it to their corners in time, but they didn’t seem too concerned.
Some Jadans claim the boilweed makes errands pass like a pleasant dream, and taskmasters’ whips feel like soft kisses. I’d tried the smoke once, but it just made me feel sick, and the residual cough had earned me more than one slap on my throat.
Sweat gathered on the lobes of my ears and I cursed myself for wasting water; every drop counted in this hotbed of a world. I was the only one of my friends who still had the problem. Spout was about as accurate a nickname as any.
Keeping the safe route into the Market Quarter took me longer than I would have liked, but fortunately the day was still early, and the warning bells hadn’t yet rung. Most of the Nobles I would serve today were still asleep, cool under their thin sheets, the richest being fanned by their personal Domestics.
I jumped from a low roof onto the edge of a shop and bounded onto Arch Road. I scrambled over to my corner and pressed myself against the wall. Placing my hand at my sides, I fell into my best slave stance: shoulders rounded, chin down, a slight bend at the hip.
The wall of my corner was slightly pronounced at the top, offering me a few fingers of luxurious shade. Keeping my chin tucked, I watched the other Street Jadans out of the corner of my eye, slipping out of the surrounding alleyways just as the morning bells rang out. I was happy to see the Jadans I knew still on their respective corners, none of them having fallen at the hands of a taskmaster yet.
The final ring was our cue to begin the ‘Khat’s Anthem’. I cleared my throat and launched into the song along with everyone else.
The Crier’s might upon his name
Worthy of the Cold
Dynasty forever
Service for your soul
Blessed be our master
Who keeps us from the sands
His holiness the Khat
Who saved life upon the lands
Holy Eyes have long forsaken
Those of Jadankind
But the Khat is made of mercy
For those blind to the Cry
He keeps us from the darkness
He gives us hope and grace
Long live the Khat and all his sons
Who saved the Jadan race
Jadanmaster Geb skipped onto Arch Road just as the song finished, a big smile on his face. As always, his robes looked new; these ones a jolly shade of green, bright enough to be seen all the way from Belisk. He wore a head wrap of matching green, meticulously tied to hold back his long hair enough to show off his dangling emerald earrings.
There was a reason Geb often had enough Cold to buy such extravagant outfits. From what I understood, Jadanmasters received bonus Cold for keeping their slaves obedient and swift. Since we all appreciated his kindness, there was something of an unspoken pact among the Arch Road Jadans to work hard to make him look good. Even though Jadanmaster Geb was from a High Noble family, and didn’t technically need to work, every Jadan on Arch Road welcomed his presence. Taskmasters didn’t appreciate his softness, or the fact that his skin was darker than most High Nobles, but Geb was confident enough not to care.
He checked us off one by one in his ledger, and stopped in front of me, bending over and slapping me lightly on the cheek. ‘Salutations, Spout.’
‘Sir,’ I said, happy to bask in his shade.
‘I appreciate your promptness, as per usual,’ he said, and I could tell that he meant it. ‘I challenge that if all Jadans were as dutiful as you, the commerce of Paphos would run smoother than silk through fingers. May this birthday be filled with swift and important errands.’
Even the fact that Geb called us ‘Jadans’ rather than ‘slaves’, or ‘Coldleeches’, or ‘The Diseased Unworthy’, spoke a lot about his character.
‘Thank you, sir. That means a lot, sir.’
He nodded, walking off with a skip in his step to check off his other Jadans. I had to work hard to keep the smile off my face.
After the first hour of morning passed, the street began to fill up with hordes of Noble shoppers. Out of my peripherals I caught them passing back and forth, chirping about the deals of the day. Merchants yelled from their doorways, waving silky dresses and big hats. Women held white umbrellas and wore sun-gowns made of thin fabric that flowed down their legs like water, whilst men wore crisp suits, so white that I almost had to shield my eyes. Sometimes when a Noblewoman got too close I’d catch the intoxicating scent of perfume, and I kept my nose ready for every whiff.