The Journal of Bashir Khatara

[Fabulous Secret Powers]

The cover of this journal is made out of duir leather, dyed a shade of emerald green. An elaborate oak is engraved on the front, its seemingly endless branches forming a labyrinthine tangle of embossed and debossed contours.  The text within is in Calishite Alzhedo, written in a style that is marked more by efficiency than aesthetic merit.

There are multiple long gaps between the dates contained within. Most of the entries seem rather repetitive, bearing the same subjects and the same fixations. Lengthy, detailed budgets, most of the costs going towards pipeweed. Lists of infatuations with men, most of them half-elves. Lists of finished books , most of them shoddy adventure novels. Some entries, however, do break this pattern.

[Fabulous Secret Powers]

Illul 2nd

Ephia's Well.

Got a job. Scribe. Nothing to do with dyes. Still a glorified clerk. Still tried to eavesdrop and report. Don't know how to do that proper when there's nobody telling me to. Nearly got beaten up. Nothing new.

Wage's shit. Extra work pays far better. Get paid for saying something. Get paid for saying nothing. Get paid for saying something in a specific manner. Love it.

Madame. Sir. Madame. Sir. Don't want to say it, but they expect it. Probably. Even if they don't, still feels wrong not to say it. Still hate it.

Court. Dead boss. Stele. Too many surprises in a row. Cried. After each fucking incident. Now they prepare for war. Probably end up crying on a battlefield. Or dying. More likely dying.

Made a friend. I think. Name's Adu. Don't know why anyone would trust me. Feels great anyhow. Respect him. Like him. He shared his past. Don't know how to share mine. Do I want to? He knew anyway.

Wish the memories would stop.

They never do.

[Fabulous Secret Powers]

Illul 6th

Confused. First the dwarf that I thought was 'brooking' wasn't doing it, then he is. Burned alive at his trial. Feel some blame. Don't feel much else.

Then they called on me as a witness for another trial. Amlak refusing to do her duty. Thought I was going to faint. Barely able to connect my thoughts. Then they tell me that I was the only witness worth a shit.

Praise is strange. More used to getting ink thrown at me.

New Legate is at least easy to work with. Reminds me of the old geezers in Fikra. Getting another Legate tomorrow. Three candidates. A man who bares his thighs for everyone to gawk at, someone who throws money everywhere for attention, some sort of cartographer who associates with gnomophobes... Neat.

I'm hoping for the cartographer. Especially since the big spender called me for a talk, asked who I voted for, then handed me a tiny sack of dinari after I said 'Sephidra'. I've seen such send-offs before. People receiving them usually end up disappearing. Just hope that they won't maim my face if he ends up winning.

[Fabulous Secret Powers]

Illul 7th

Kragg nearly broke my nose. Slammed the Legate's door right in fucking front of me. Thankfully just a minor bruise. He also smells like camel shit, so I'll have to ask the custodians to pay extra attention to that office.

Spendthrift Qari won the election. First meetings happened behind closed doors. Sure was a lot of Banda. Probably came to collect on debts owed. Again, Kragg was there, so that office has to be scrubbed as well.  Thankfully the stuttering Apothar was right after, so he got his share of the funk. Hate that prick.

I'm going to try and focus on Marcellus. Qari's purse is probably slammed shut, considering his debt and my vote. Also don't really want to be around the Banda too much. And not just because of Kragg's awful, awful stench, either.

[Fabulous Secret Powers]

Illul 9th

Magistrate Blacke wanted to have a chat about my past. Not sure what her angle is, but considering her matron, I deemed it prudent to just tell the truth. Not the whole of it, of course. Vague truths will serve their purpose for now. Maybe I am acting according to Her tenets in doing so. Maybe her Lady grants her wonderful sleuthing powers, and she saw right through me. Who knows? All this talk of the Wheel gives me a headache, though. I just want to work. Or sleep. Belief does seem to give them some semblance of peace, however.

Someone handed me some dinari out of the blue. For doing a 'good job'. I've either been sleeping or working on camel statistics. The most fascinating duty of them all. Either she really likes camels, mistook me for someone else or wants me to do something later. I did need some new perfume, so thanks, I guess?

More nightmares this week. Herbal tea doesn't seem to help much. Hate it. The nightmares, not the tea. I think Martin has some bad dreams of his own, as well. Tosses and turns on occasion. Doesn't really surprise me. I hope that I don't mumble in my sleep. I wouldn't know. Don't really want to share my dreams with the other scribes. Don't really want to share anything about me.

[Fabulous Secret Powers]

This entry is markedly different from the ones preceding it. The writing has shifted from clerical efficiency to a crude display of emotion. Deep splotches of ink gather at the end of some words, as if the ones following them had required a great amount of consideration. The page is covered in fingerprints, painted with some sort of brown slurry. The stench of coffee and pipeweed is overbearing.

Illul 10th A dream A memory

Her office.

Duskwood furniture. Shades of black and gray, some hints of purple. She hates lighter hues. They give her a headache, supposedly. Bookcases line the walls, showcasing topics that she has no actual interest in. Paintings, statues, vases, all from cultures that she has never visited or even acquainted herself with. A display. A veneer. A facade.

They sit at her desk. Her and the man from Turmish. He has a scraggly black beard, covered in occasional patches of gray. Far more notable, however, are his tattoos. Animals by the dozen, all of them predators. Cheetahs, hyenas, fossae.

Despite his ink, he is the prey here. The usual negotiations are going on. She makes promises, most of which she knows that she cannot fulfill. It does not matter. Payment in advance. Small print. Friends at court. Everything has been planned for.

Where does she find these fools? This one seems particularly naive. No matter how outrageous the claim is, he buys it. Nobody could possibly be this stupid. Maybe he is running a con of his own. Maybe he isn't the prey after all.

Suddenly, the man is staring at me. He praises my work. Surely such a dedicated assistant must bring honor to her house? She nods, a bit surprised at the interjection. An elaborate tale follows, one where opportune circumstances allowed her to hire my services, despite many competing offers.

The tale excites him. Another question follows, this time meant for me. Surely I must be overjoyed to have such a loving pasha?

I look up from my notes. Expectant gazes await my answer. In her eyes, however, the intention is far more demanding. She wants a specific answer.

"I am, sir. Madame treats me like a member of the family."

[Fabulous Secret Powers]

Illul 11th

Aaisha got a promotion. Deputy Chief Scribe. Good for her, she deserves it. Wish I could memorize as much of the law as she has, as it would make my abrupt appearances at court go much smoother. Don't want any promotions myself, I'd hate the responsibility. I'm just fine counting camels and selling licenses. Well, I'm not, but it pays the bills and keeps the attention off me. Could use new sources of dinari, though. I've only five different outfits, and I need at least twice as much.

Adu's intuitions are starting to get creepy. Or maybe my lack of proper sleep is getting too obvious. Either way I've seen him with that Stern woman so often that I don't want to talk too much about my dreams to him. Those Astronomers probably have like, a wand that eats dreams, and then makes them a reality, or something. Or maybe they'll just blackmail me. I'm a terrible friend.

The Inquisitor doesn't know where to buy bread. I guess he bums his from the Temple? Is their bread really, really wet? If he baked it himself, would he burn it out of habit? Does he hate recipe books?

Looking over what I just wrote, it really is obvious that I need more sleep. Who gives a shit about the Inquisitor and his bread?

[Fabulous Secret Powers]

Illul 12th

It's so hot that I've been cooped up inside the office for what seems like an eternity. Thought I saw the Sultan's statue moving, but it was Martin folding some uniforms. At least the statue coming to life would have been interesting. Martin's folding just makes the room smell of even more sweat. Isn't he washing them?

I was thinking of listing all the eligible bachelors in the Well.

I was, but then I realized that all the men I can think of here are either ugly, have no sense of hygiene, or they're adventurers. There is a strong correlation between these three traits, it seems.

The ones lacking those flaws tend to be poets. Who wants a poet for a husband? You're sharing what seems like a moment of poignant quietude, but then they start yammering about the splendor of the kingfisher. If you're going to force me to listen to your dreadful poetry, at least make them about me. Without comparing me to a bird. Being likened to something that pukes refuse into its offspring's maw is not a compliment.

Even if they were more sensible, they'd still be destitute. Guess I should abandon all aspirations about marrying rich.

[Fabulous Secret Powers]

Illul 13th

Now they want us to buy baublium from these people. I don't even know what the stuff is, really. It's used to maintain the Shade somehow, but I don't know the details. Don't really care enough to go to the Mount and ask, as the Astronomers are creepy enough down here. I hope the compensation for the work is good, because these idiots are going to be haggling for, I don't know, 100 dinari a piece. I'm just going to walk away if they do that.

I think I made the Inquisitor angry. I simply wished to know if anyone in the Krak had some baublium. He got real creepy, got down on his knee, and whispered something about everyone being able to tell. Tell what? I hope he meant the baublium drive. I really do. If it was about my name or something else like that then I'm going to be hyperventilating again and I don't want that to happen because I'm having a hard enough time and if I can't focus on my work then I don't have anything else and I just don't know what to do if that happens because it's all I have and then everyone will know and I will have to move to Qadira or something and I don't want to do that because I can't stand the ocean or pirates and everyone will talk behind my back and then

Smoke break helped. I'm sure he meant the baublium. Either way he's been odder than usual lately. Which is quite the achievement.

Someone tried to pull the old beggar trick on me. The thing with it is that if you have a partner for your scheme, then you don't have them immediately walk in with your tragic backstory after you ask for alms. Have some restraint. Swindler was dedicated to his role though, must've gone swimming in the gutters to acquire that rotten carcass smell. And the flies.

Thankfully I don't have to stoop so low. Instead, I'll be recording the thousand complaints that these dullards will indubitably be spewing out at the Assembly and Council. At least I won't be wading through literal excrement.

[Fabulous Secret Powers]

Illul 14th

All mentions of the gnomish brooker's name are to be expunged from the records. I was not sure if I should just cover them with ink, or have the original paper replaced and shredded. Ink will do for now. I am sure lady Gellema will be overjoyed by such efforts, as much as Izdu will curse me for pursuing them. Can't please the entirety of the Wheel no matter what I do.

Also, there is a giant rat, or wererat, or ratman, whatever, living in the pipes of the fountain on the ground floor. I am supposed to throw falafels at it to calm its demeanor. As if my previous duties were not inane enough already. Food is to be shared with friends, not with animals that smear their piss all over the place every time they move. Disgusting.

The gutters also have an infestation of disembodied hands, supposedly. I hope one of those doesn't crawl up the pipes and choke me to death in my sleep. Would a torc protect me from such an attempt? Perhaps a spikier design would do so quite adequately. Quite gaudy, though. Staying alive or staying fashionable? What a deadly conundrum.

There was a moteist rally, which I obviously did not attend, even to gawk, as I find the whole affair repugnant. Also the fervent prejudice at display would surely have had some mistaking me for a gnome. My complete disinterest towards adventuring already has some of the newer refugees confused. If one has no interest in skulking around in a goblin's lavatory, then one is surely of the Ashfolk, according to them. What foolishness.

Looking all of this over, it seems that this day was most selcouth. What a beautiful word. Too pretty and highbrow for these events, though. I should just describe today as "fucking weird", instead. Much more fitting.

[Fabulous Secret Powers]

Second memory

The balcony.

The setting sun casts long shadows against the sandstone. Her gaunt figure reclines against the chaise longue, surrounded by multiple pillows. She has not eaten all day. Below her graying hair, her right hand attempts to offer some shade for her eyes.

In her left hand, a bottle of whiskey. Luiren Rivengut, to be exact. "The only good thing you hin bastards ever came up with," according to her. She has most likely been intoxicated for several hours. The usual outcome following a failed business affair.

I ask if she requires anything else for the remainder of the evening. She coughs, some of the whiskey splattering onto her evening gown. The cough is followed by her usual barbs and taunts, mocking my pronunciation of "madame". She, once again, reminds me of how much she regrets that she did not purchase the half-elf that she was originally considering. "Much prettier than you," she yells.

I do not give her the pleasure of responding to her insults, merely bidding her good evening. She is disappointed. She nearly tosses the bottle at me, only stopping at the very last moment, perhaps only because its contents are dearer to her than seeing me in pain. As I leave, her hoarse voice echoes after me, threatening to sell me to be part of a jhasinnadah.

I shiver.

[Fabulous Secret Powers]

Illul 17th

Sitting at the Palm Heights fountain. Cozy. Pity my salary will never be enough to get an apartment here.

War council was an utter embarassment. People repeating the same shit over and over again, pantsless Etch suggesting that we make friends with orcs... Magistrate Blacke at least had ideas in the right direction, as we should be fooling those orcs into focusing their fight against the other forces. I do have to add that the woman has immaculate fashion sense. I would ask for her tailor, but again, I probably can't afford their services.

The worst thing? Some vagrants picked the lock to the chamber, and unbalanced the door mechanism. It's still broken. Thankfully they did not make it very far inside. The custodians are overworked enough already. I am sure that the idiots would have suggested us to make use of their terrible body odor and personal collection of flies in the forthcoming battles. Perhaps such a combination would actually strike fear into the hearts of the sibilants.

Stern made a startling revelation. The baublium I've been carrying could explode. "Theoretically". Theoretically I could get shanked while shopping at the Souk. Always a chance. She gave me a container to hold the stuff in. Surprisingly nice of her. The mechanism for it is so complicated that I'm probably going to mess up and end up creating a makeshift explosive. Hopefully there'll be someone unpleasant to throw it at when that inevitably happens.

Playing censor has been surprisingly entertaining. Which means that I'll never be assigned to this duty again. Shame. People still say the gnome's name too often, though. Can't throw ink at people's memories, unfortunately. Still can talk them out of it if it's private enough. Probably won't entirely stop all incidents from occurring, but at least it'll keep the Well safer.

They use that safety for the strangest of purposes, though. At the Krak, they were measuring manhoods. I certainly hope that they were speaking of conceptual manhood. But because this is Ephia's well, it is sure to be the worst possible option, and the next assembly will have someone demanding that such measurements are added to the public record for everyone to gawk at. Fantastic.

[Fabulous Secret Powers]

Illul 18th

Today, nearly nothing happened, so I'm kind of just throwing scraps at this page to sate my appetite for writing.

A lady wanted to know if her pack tortoise needed a license. Why not use a camel instead? She seems to be some sort of exorcist, and that animal's carrying her tools. So... Holy water? Aspergilla? Scripture? I can only wager guesses. Anyway, don't need a license for that. Don't think I would even make money off such a license, as people would probably just chase me off if I tried to tell them that their parakeet is unlicensed.

The infamous Mote talked to me. She wanted to say hello. I'm not used to that, people wanting to talk to me outside of business. I wish I was. She's surprisingly nice when she's not yelling about conspiracies. She did buy a license as well. Then Marcellus committed her name to the Stele, alongside other Torchbearers. Thought that big ball of slab was going to explode. It didn't. I also learned that Snorri pays tens of thousands of dinari on potions alone. Pity I've no talent for brewing. Could buy the entire town if you monopolized that racket.

Nearly a month here and the dreams aren't getting any better. Worse, in fact. Well, blurting them out in this book seems to stop particular ones from repeating. I don't really understand how that works. Don't care to ask anyone either. All I have left of the pasha is some heavy baggage and this damn book. Don't even remember if she gave it to me, or if I stole it. Probably the latter. Has the symbol of house Khatara on it, so it's definitely from her, though. Why can't nobles have more imagination when it comes to heraldry? Thousands of trees, lions, falcons... Can barely tell them apart. Fitting, really.

[Fabulous Secret Powers]

Illul 19th

Why does the Baublium Drive have to grow more convoluted with each passing day? Now the Banda are paying for the stuff as well. Far more than us, too. I expect that by tomorrow, they'll be joined by the Torchbearers, the League of White and the Office of Minor Nuisances, with each of them paying differing prices. Nothing can ever be simple in this town. Thankfully I do not have to do the paperwork for any of them.

Each time Mevura visits the Legate, I'm either kicked out of the office, or not let inside in the first place. On some level, I do understand why, but it is still extremely irritating. In the end, they do not seem to be very good at hiding their secrets anyhow. There's been several times where I've gone for a smoke, or fetched some coffee, and I find myself smack-dab in the middle of some discussion about djinni, true names and what have you. Also, some dickweed of a student of theirs was experimenting with some form of cloning spell... At the Krak. To be honest, I'd prefer if these so-called secrets were not thrown at me at every turn. It is getting tiresome.

Lady Shabani seems to be quite impressed with my work. While I am very fond of the woman, I have no idea why she – or anyone else – would be impressed with me. At times it feels like I'm working efficiently simply because doing such gives me more time to sleep, eat and read. I don't really have much else. What a depressing statement. At any rate, she thinks that I deserve a promotion, and should take initiative in pursuing it. While the dinari would undoubtedly be nice, I would just embarass myself, like always. "You want a promotion? Get the fuck out of here!" Actually, hearing that from Marcellus would be amusing, at the very least... Nah.

[Fabulous Secret Powers]

Third memory

Oak galls.

The ornamental bowl is full of them. Dozens of ugly brownish lumps, stacked upon each other in a haphazard fashion.

She had asked me to move the bowl. A guest had almost eaten one, mistaking them for unripe pomegranates. How? Why? Who eats unripe pomegranates? A menial task, thrown at me, due to the stupidity of others. It is nothing new.

I hold on to the bowl with a tense grip, searching for a spot where it can be easily seen, yet where it is also obvious that the galls are meant to be decorative. I do not wish to drop the bowl. I really do not.

Yet the carpet has buckled, and I trip on the ripple.

The bowl slips from my grip, and the galls fly off into different directions, rolling across the carpet. I study the room anxiously. The bowl is fine. The galls are fine. The carpet is fine. I sigh out of relief.

Footsteps. The sound of slippers against hardwood.

I get on my knees, pick up the bowl and start gathering the galls. I intend to gather them all before she can arrive. I do not manage. I can already see the hem of her black dress when barely half of the lumps are back in the bowl.

She stands next to me, easily towering over my small figure. She crouches, and places her hand on the back of my neck. I glance towards her aged face. She is smiling. Her smile is almost affirming, her touch almost caring. Almost.

Yet her grip soon tightens, and her smile intensifies to a morbid grin, displaying her yellowed teeth.

She slams my face against the bowl.

She says nothing.

She keeps pushing.

She does not stop.