Lords of Rainbow (16 page)

Only the Regents’ judgment could overrule that of the Guilds, and only after a great hassle. But the Regents often held their eyes closed to Guild activity, especially in regard to the major Guilds. The Regency, many whispered with hidden glee, would not really withstand a state of full-blown hostility with such monolithic giants as the Light Guild, or the Artisan Guild. The Guilds ruled the City, and taking over certain sections of it, held on to their land with miserly claw-handed zeal.

Beyond
Dirvan
, beyond the outer shore of the Arata, there were the eight “wedges,” or Quarters, subdivided in the following manner.

The Northern Quarter, with the Northern Gate to the City, had been, since Rainbow’s Fall, in the hands of the Light Guild. The most powerful of the Guilds, little truth might be said of it, but much gossip and speculations.

No one really knew what the Light Guild did, except that, for exorbitant prices, it provided all willing with those mysterious orbs of monochrome
color
light. The Guild had somehow the ability to create the sorcerous
color
, and to contain it with human means. It was a fashionable measure of status to claim a knowledge of the Guild’s elusive mysteries.

The Light Quarter, also called the Inner City for reasons of its impenetrability—even more so than the Regents’ Palace—was thus the most closely guarded and least frequented place in the whole of Tronaelend-Lis.

Speaking of the wheel, let us go clockwise. The Northeast Quarter was the Sacred Quarter. It contained the grand Temples in all their metallic finery and dusky gray glimmer of jewels, with multitudes of domes, towers, turrets, and arches. Like a glamorous gray toy, it attracted the various pilgrims and believers, and thus was able to maintain itself. It was also the seat of the Priest Guild, and such lesser ones as the Templeworker Guild. Somehow, the Priesthood had managed to let its power slip before the might of the Inner City Light Guild and the Regency, and was but a third-place authority. Whatever gods there were they must have been exceedingly tolerant, to accept such neglect—although the priests would never admit it. This was another Quarter whose reputation rested on an excess of illusions.

Following the turning hand of the clock, the Sacred Quarter bordered somewhat ironically on the Eastern Quarter, belonging to the Military. But then, it was said, “It’s a sacred cause to make war, and a militant cause to worship.” Thus, no discrepancy here, in such a choice of neighborhood.

In the Military Quarter were the Army Barracks. Ironically, there was no Army.

Here, soldiers trained professionally, under the greater guidance of the Military Guild, and the lesser Warrior and Sword Guilds, plus a number of specialized others. The City had no standing Army, for there hadn’t been a war in ages. Thus, true military strength was contained in the hands of the abovementioned individual professionals. They were warriors, swordsmen, and other weapons masters, all Guild members, loyal only to their craft.

This lack of an Army—a frightening thought really, in case of an invasion. But then, there wasn’t to be any invasion. There hadn’t been for more than a hundred years. And no one cared. The military’s main worth lay in the local arguments it could be hired to settle.

At around five o’clock, the Military Quarter shared a border with the Academic Quarter. This was the Southeastern section of the City, and all its Gates were easily accessible, due to a sad modern lack of interest in scholarly things. Here stood the somber and noble Lyceum, with its Archives and Record Books, its esoteric scholars and sciences, all in the hands of the Scholar Guild. Willing students of whatever background had access to studies from the Masters of Learning. The price they had to pay, however, was not in currency, but a price of service. Not many chose to fulfill such a contract, and compared with the total population, students were few in number, and many had come from pauper background simply to live off the Lyceum.

From the earliest time, the Lyceum had been paid for by funds from the Royal Treasury, and in return it actually housed a part of it deep underground, in secret places known only to a Royal elite—so went the common gossip. Yet contrary to it (or maybe in fact because of it, in order to cloud the fact), the Academic Quarter was never particularly guarded. Some might surmise either that indeed part of the Treasury was cleverly hidden somewhere underneath the Lyceum, and the lack of guard was to throw off suspicions. Or else there really was nothing underneath the noble Lyceum grounds but more ground, and the Regents (and Kings before them) were playing a clever game.

Not taking any chances to let a good thing slip by, thieves and entrepreneurs throughout its history had dug under the Institution, to the comic frustration of Academicians who found, with annoying frequency, various holes and tunnels on the Lyceum grounds, which acquired a not-so-academic name for itself, the “Molehill.” The fact that no one had found anything even remotely resembling a treasure hoard (or at least, no one had made it known) did not stop them from coming.

Other old buildings of repute stood in the Academic Quarter, including the Museum and Library, both in classic marble, filled with the shuffling quiet of scribes who had their own Guild right here, daydreaming philosophers, and occasional owl-eyed dignitaries who were led around in that hazy limbo between the morning and afternoon repasts, and shown the distinguished “sights” of the City. These two buildings had been later additions, built by the caprice of some particularly scholar-minded patron King. An even more recent addition was the Healers’ House, sponsored by the Physician Guild—a newer independent Guild which arose in antithesis to the Priesthood’s claim to absolute and miraculous healing. The Physicians were those who chose to use the simple home and folk remedies, which were more often quite effective, unlike the Priests’ vague ministrations.

Thus, the Academic Quarter was quite a vibrant blending of various disciplines, all claiming the status of “science.” Unfortunately, most of the seething populace of Tronaelend-Lis had never even heard of the word, so it all mattered very little.

Going directly south, the Academic Quarter touched upon that horrible chaotic monstrosity called the Free Quarter. Officially it was claimed by no Guild, while unofficially it cringed under the iron rule of the infamous Bilhaar, or Assassin Guild, the Thief Guild, the Entrepreneur Guild, and countless “unofficial” others. The Free Quarter was the most accessible of the City regions—depending on whether one’s tastes ran towards inevitable personal involvement with the nether side of the law. It also housed the despicable Southern Fringes, the section of the City Fringes which held the Guildless, the pauper poor, the outlaws, and the malcontents, and was therefore a shame, an open sore upon the City’s otherwise presentable face. Not to mention the constant traffic from without the City, which chose to go through its toll-free Southern Gate, the busiest in the City, and had the Southern Fringes as their first glimpse of this glorious place.

But do not underestimate the Free Quarter. It was indeed free in all senses of the word, heeding no one’s authority, and therefore a place of endless opportunity. One could attempt anything here, if one agreed to the repercussions.

Slowly swinging back north along the face of the clock lay the Southwest Quarter, given over by royal decree to foreign relations. These days, foreign relations were mostly trade relations, which meant that the Merchant Guild had particular privileges here, not counting the great city-spanning Market area under its jurisdiction. The Foreign Quarter was also resplendent with handsome lavish villas, where foreign merchants and dignitaries were housed for their temporary stays (while those of the highest rank were placed in the
Dirvan
, in the Palace of the Regents). Here was the Servant Guild, having refined human service into a high art. The Foreign Quarter also fed the demand for glib interpreters who were needed for all purposes throughout Tronaelend-Lis.

Moving higher yet, directly west from the core of the
Dirvan
, was the radiant pulsing
Red
Quarter, overflowing with the sensuality, the corporeal raw seething of life in pursuit of the ultimate pleasure. This was the exquisite home of the
Erotene
Guild, the elegantly beautiful men and women who knew the secrets of physical love, and gave it for a price to anyone.

Here, underneath the blazing
crimson
orbs were the most expensive courtesans, living in their own miniature replicas of the Royal Palace, amid soft music and the scents of musk and wild fruit, and the exotic gardens of their villas, weaving their beautiful illusions of the senses. In the many Pleasure Galleries, one could find anything to satisfy one’s sense of the erotic—
anything
, until gluttony set in, and nothing was enough. Then came the addiction stage, and one would return, begging for the
erotene
touch, which somehow was claimed to be unlike any other. . . . But then, isn’t it always thus, with the outward beckoning face of addiction? And the
erotene
were masters of inspiring it.

In this microcosm of pleasure, where all thought was laid aside in preference of physical sensation, were also other delights, other addictions besides the carnal. Rare substances that produced euphoria, a sensation of floating on metallic-hued clouds, a transcendental power over shadow, dispelling all weaknesses and re-molding sorrow onto something else, were found in the Domes of Sensation. Exotic foods and beverages were served in the gourmet Teahouses sprinkled like gems all throughout the
Red
Quarter, like bits of mother-of-pearl within one great baroque coral reef. And everything, everything within the walls was illuminated by orb-lights, ranging from the deeply vibrant nearly black
crimson
, to the palest diluted monochrome
pink
.

There were clear glowing
reds
and pale pulsing
scarlets
, shimmering faint silver-
rose
with flecks of
colorless
gray in it, razor-intense deep
burgundy
, living
cherry
. The orbs—greater in size than a man, or tiny like jewels—hung like blood drops over the district. And the surrounding
colorless
black shadows, refusing to be fully dispelled, danced continuously, pulsing to the rhythm of the human hearts in their pleasure. Day and night, the
Red
Quarter glowed, opening its arms to the City.

Who knows why
red
is chosen to represent human lusts? Another mystery whose truth had been lost at the time of the Fall.

At ten o’clock, lying next to the
Red
Quarter, the Northwest Quarter belonged to the Artisans of Tronaelend-Lis. The Artisan Guild was a powerful major Guild, with as many trade secrets as the Light Guild, on which it bordered, and equally inaccessible. Here were hundreds of various workshops, where all imaginable crafts were practiced. The Artisan Quarter rang under hammer blows, clicked under chisels, hissed with fire-torches, whispered with the shifting of folds of silk and rough linen and gossamer-fine gauze, trembled under the tuning of instruments and pounding of dancers’ feet, thrilled to the sound of singing, heeded in awe the quiet voices of the poets reciting to themselves in solitude, and waited in sublime ecstasy for the last lifting stroke of an artist’s fine paintbrush creating a masterpiece of pallor upon black, or black on pallor.

In this vibrant place—more alive, in a sense, than its neighboring
Red
Quarter—dwelled the creative power in all its earthly forms. And minor Guilds, for every nuance of an art, were housed within its guarded walls.

There were, in fact, more little secrets here, secrets of a craftsman’s skill, than in the Northern neighbor, the Light Quarter, which contained but one secret. The Light Guild, however, made it possible for the Artisans to produce those mysterious things called “dyes,” substances that, when illuminated by very strong desaturated monochromes, appeared to actually “hold” and display the energy of one particular
color
. Thus, objects such as clothing of the aristocrats, or certain parts of inner decor, when treated by the “dye,” and then lit, appeared to retain a hue of its own, no matter what
color
light was shining upon the object. Such were the miracles the two Guilds in collaboration were capable of achieving.

But the Artisan Guild relied less upon the hints dropped from the Inner City than upon its own abilities. For here, working under the pale illumination of monochromes, were more willful, eccentric persons of genius than in all of Tronaelend-Lis.

Such were the eight Quarters of the City, like eight capricious men and women of character and distinction, living together, yet remaining apart. But there were two more divisions in Tronaelend-Lis.

Imagine the great eight-spoked wheel, with the hub-center being the
Dirvan
, and around it, like a small narrow hoop, spinning the swift Arata. Now, beyond the Arata, draw yet another much wider circumference. These were the great City Markets, sponsored by the Guilds, where they sold their wares and services, and over it watched the Merchant Guild. Long ago, the original eight boundary walls had stretched all the way from the outside wall of the City to the circular Canal. Yet upon common agreement—probably the only unanimous decision in ages—the Quarters tore down the walls closest to the Canal and made a common area for the sake of trade. New walls were erected to clearly define this new outer circumference, and to close in, once again, the Quarters and their secrets, only starting farther out. The Markets, containing more than half of all the City’s stores, chaotic and wonderful, prospered, to further the trade success of the City.