Ten days later, the cool crisp air of Siston filled Alinyaln’s lungs. Though he had been away for so long, there was something nostalgic about the air here. Mist hung on the surface of the water, burning away as Midin, the larger moon, continued along its path before the sun, revealing the light for the world.
The scattered islands of Siston were laid out before him, standing tall on the bow of the Mercy of Dradinoor one foot up on the railing of the ship. Drags the Dragonkin was commandeering the vessel, steering it into port. He had been instructed to anchor as far away from the true port city as possible as a precaution to ensure a fast escape if the trouble of Tusana repeated.
“Where are we, Captain?” Ninia asked, looking around at the clusters of islands, most of them too small to host any substantial life, though closer islands had maintained bridges that would act to connect everything together. Wealthy nobles in fact tended to have islands all to themselves, housing only them and their house retinue.
“Branai.” Alinyaln said, the word flowing off of his tongue easily. “Largest port town in all of Siston, home to hundreds, maybe a thousand if you count the other connected islands.”
Ninia stared at the town. “It’s cramped.” She said. “Tusana looked nothing like this.”
“Limited land to build.” Alinyaln said. “That’s why they built everything going upward.” He never really considered it strange when he lived here, but it was abnormal compared to—well—everywhere else he had ever visited.
“Is this where you’re from?” Ninia asked. “Braini?”
“Branai,” Alinyaln corrected. “But, no.” He pointed off in the distance. “If ye head that way a few hours you’ll reach Ignyal. That’s where I’m from, there’s bridges leading all the way there.”
“Higlim told me about the bridges.” Ninia said as she stepped out of the way of Kiara who bustled past with her clipboard, Yishks in tow with bags of grain, loading them onto a cart. “I don’t understand how everything can be connected with bridges of all things.”
Alinyaln smiled at her, putting a hand on the lass’s shoulder. “It’s not too strange. The islands are all close together, but the channels between them are deep so you can’t ford across with horses and carts. It’s the best solution, really.”
“I want to see one.”
“We’ll be here for a few days,” Alinyaln said. “There’ll be plenty of time for that.” He neglected to tell her that the bridges by all accounts weren’t remarkable in the slightest, just ropes and planks of wood.
Alinyaln guided Ninia to the dockmaster, who also doubled as a merchant in Branai, where Kiara was standing with her clipboard waiting for him. He liked to do the negotiating himself. Kiara could generally get better deals, but there was something about it that Alinyaln enjoyed.
“Ho, there!” He said to the merchant, a thin man with wispy white hair that he combed over to look fuller. “We have grain to sell.”
“Yes, your girl here was telling me all about it.” The man said, his old voice almost quavering. It brought a faint smile to Alinyaln’s face as the man sounded closer to a young boy’s impersonation of an old man. “Five sacks, was it?”
“Six.” Alinyaln corrected, nodding to the cart that very clearly had six bags on it. They had taken these from a merchant that had gotten turned around on the way to Loshbor from Arsin, ending up along a similar path of the Mercy, heading toward Siston. Naturally, they gave the Mercy of Dradinoor the grain as payment for giving them directions.
“Twenty Regins.” The merchant said, putting a pair of spectacles on his face that looked to have been dropped one too many times. “Any less an’ I’ll be losing money.”
“Twenty is awfully low.” Alinyaln said, nodding to the sacks. “That’s high quality Arsnatn grain there. How about twenty-five?"
The merchant, without asking, took out a small knife from the sheath at his waist and sliced a small hole in the sack near the top so grain wouldn’t flow out. “Ye see this grain here?” The merchant asked, his spindly fingers working their way into the sack to pull out a small handful. Part of Alinyaln was revolted as he was sure the merchant had never done something as simple as cleaning his hands based on the black hidden underneath his fingernails. And the smell, though the merchant was fortunately downwind. “This grain’s only a few days away from spoilin’ ye see.”
Alinyaln’s eyebrows raised as he grabbed a small handful for himself to inspect. “That’s interesting, how can you tell?” To Alinyaln there was nothing noteworthy about the grains, the small slightly fuzzy seeds were a pale yellow as was common for oats out of Arsin.
“There’s this crust that builds up when they’re ready to spoil,” The merchant said, pointing at the very edge of one of the oats with his blackened fingernail.
“The… Crust.” Alinyaln repeated, looking down at the handful of grain. He plastered a wan expression on his face before putting the entire handful in his mouth and chewing it. It tasted the way grain is supposed to; bland, yet also floral as he breathed through his nostrils. “If you want to cheat me,” He said, mouth still full of the oats as they were incredibly difficult to swallow dry, “At least make it something you know about so you can tell a convincing lie.”
The merchant’s pale face turned a vibrant red. “Now look ‘ere, sailor,” He pointed a finger at Alinyaln, indignantly. Alinyaln couldn’t help but notice Ninia put her hand on her arm sheath for her knife. “I’ve been sellin’ grain for longer than ye’ve been alive.”
Coughing down the rest of the oats, Alinyaln looked at the man and wiped his eyes. “I don’t doubt that, Dockmaster. But if today is anything to go off of, you’ve been doing a cursedly poor job of it.”
Taking a step forward the merchant went to put himself in Alinyaln’s face, but the soft shhk of Ninia’s knife emerging from the sheath kept the man from going any closer, a blessing due to the reek of ale coming from the man. “I don’t want anything to do with ye,” He said after a long pause. “Go bother somebody else.”
“Fine,” Alinyaln said, crossing his arms. “I’ll just go directly to the baker or the brewer, I’m sure they’ll be more than happy to buy directly instead of being inconvenienced by your pathetic skills as a middleman.”
“You—You scoundrel!” The man almost roared, throwing his arms up in anger.
“If you’d like to reconsider,” Alinyaln said, meeting the man’s fire with cool collectedness, “I’ll happy take you up on your thirty Gin offer, assuming it’s still on the table?”
The man glared daggers at Alinyaln, but then his eyes drifted back to Ninia with her knife glinting in the sunlight. “Bah, cursed foreigner.” The man grumbled walking toward the shack he used as an office. The fact that the merchant had called Alinyaln a foreigner was surprising as he had always imagined his Sisim accent to be quite thick when speaking Common. That, and the Mercy of Dradinoor’s flag was the pale green that signified a ship from this region.
Maybe if I had spoken in Sisim that exchange would have gone better. Alinyaln thought to himself, considering that the two other people he had with him who weren’t Yishks were from the other side of the world, Rythmar and Mikklid, and they looked it, what with Ninia’s pale yellow eyes and Kiara’s deep blue hair.
The merchant came back with a slip of paper in his hand, thrusting it at the Captain. “Here’s yer cursed money.”
“Money?” Alinyaln said, now speaking in Sisim which earned a strange look from Ninia. He inspected the paper he had been given and was surprised to see that it was in fact three separate pieces of paper, thin strips with intricate symbols painted on them and markings indicating the number ten. It added up to thirty like he had talked the merchant into, but this wasn’t money. “What are you trying to get away with now, merchant?”
“It’s money, good as pewter and gold.” He said, his face slowly turning back to the pale complexion he started with. The man was also speaking in Sisim now, which further increased the confusion on Ninia’s face. I need to teach that girl some other languages. “Retin’s been short on metals since the collapse, now the Wrinthim Banks want to use these instead.”
“When was this instituted?” Alinyaln asked, inspecting the papers again and noting they almost felt like fabric. The paper was also colored as well, outside of the designs on the faces, reds and blues and greens all mixed together.
The merchant rubbed his chin. “’Bout a month?” He said, shrugging. “Supposedly Retin has almost exclusively moved onto these little slips, but they still use pieces for smaller transactions. And since Siston has always been on good terms with Retin…” The merchant waved his hand. “Now we’re trying to use these.”
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“A month. Tarnation, that long?” Eight weeks had passed and he was only finding out about this change now? He had always considered it easy to keep up on information across Wrinthim but this changed his outlook. He handed the merchant a full Gin from his pocket, “This is yours if you point me toward an official notice regarding the change.”
Taking the coin deftly, the Merchant barked an order into the shack, then a small boy ran out, leaving the area entirely. “He’ll be back with one for you.” The merchant said, then began to direct Alinyaln’s Yishks to offload the grain.
Kiara saluted smartly and then waited off to the side for the Yishks to finish, then walked back up to the Mercy of Dradinoor. Alinyaln found is gaze resting on her, then he shook his head. He couldn’t do anything regarding her, not so soon after what he had done. The voyage here had been tense between them, despite Syrin’s words of approval.
The boy ran back a few minutes later with a large sheet of paper with a large tear at the top where it had been nailed to some sort of noticeboard. Alinyaln accepted it and handed the boy a Piece as thanks. Alinyaln had felt like a fool with the little slips of paper in his pocket where once heavy Regins should have sat, but reading the noticed improved his mood somewhat:
Royal Notice of the Official Office of the Bank of Wrinthim:
As of the First (1st) Day of the Second (2nd) Month, the mint of Retin-Hurini has reduced production of Regin pieces of both Pewter and Gold (including those pieces of novelty value, I.E Copper and Tungsten) by 75% due to the shortage of essential metals used in the production.
Instead of altering our means of production in order to use inferior metals from other regions of Wrinthim, or to use alloys of metals that are more commonly available which would impact the ability of merchants and banks to verify the authenticity of such coinage, the Royal Family of Retin has declared the institution of the Wrinthim Regin Bill system.
These bills are valid for their noted value of Regin coins in the denominations of One (1), Five (5), Ten (10), Twenty-Five (25), and One Hundred (100) Regins. If it grows necessary to create greater denominations of currency, an appropriate notice will be given four (4) weeks beforehand.
All Merchants, including Barkeeps, Tailors, Grocers, Brewers, Bankers, and any other applicable service which works in the exchange of goods and services must begin to accept these bills by their clientele and will work on using only these bills in their day to day business, where applicable.
Any segment of a Regin coin, (colloquially known as “Pieces,”) will remain in circulation for the foreseeable future as a way to accommodate smaller uses of currency and to ensure a value to any Regin coins that are still in the possession of all of our subordinates.
Over the course of this year, we hope to expand the use of the Regin Bill System to the entirety of Wrinthim, if the distribution and transition of each region goes well. We kindly request the cooperation of everyone in this endeavor, as the metal shortage has been difficult for everyone in Retin, metal once being our primary export.
Any questions or concerns regarding this change can be brought to any official Royal Bank of Wrinthim, where our employees will be more than happy to assist you in this change.
The Royal Family asks that if you wish to exchange any whole Regin coins for bills of similar value, please ensure that they are in fact whole Regin coins and not any segmented coins.
Thank you for your cooperation in these trying times.
Sincerely,
The Official Office of the Bank of Wrinthim
Granadine Forinsra, Treasurer of the King and Queen of Retin
Written with approval from King Goylin Havanestra and Queen Baymia Havanestra
Retin-Ytina
Dated; 4D,5W,1M
And below the typically verbose letter it had been signed by the Royal Retin family, or at least the scribes who were paid enough to sign the documents in the names of the Royal family. Alinyaln was clever enough to see that the true reason for the change must be purely financial, making a statement of how rare certain metals were becoming meant that the sale value of said metals is only going to increase. With a sigh, Alinyaln folded the notice and slipped it in an inner pocket of his jacket. There was nothing that could be done about the change.
Soon, getting Regins from merchants might be harder than it was before. Who was to say that large sums of money wouldn’t be transferred via notarized slips of paper directly into separate accounts like Alinyaln had heard rumors about years prior. That meant that folk like Alinyaln—and worse—would become more dependent on acquiring goods from the merchants they plundered, increasing the risk of attacks.
He could see it now, more guards on ships, more casualties, more ships sunk as they became less and less likely to give up their charge and were sunken in a desperate gamble to salvage what they could… He had seen that up close far too many times.
“Lyn, are you ready to take me shopping?” Syrin’s voice came from behind.
Alinyaln turned to face her. She was wearing a lovely gown with maroon streaks that somehow glittered in the sunlight, the effect making her eyes glitter as well. The effect must have been good as Ninia couldn’t draw her eyes away from the woman. “Ah, I wouldn’t quite call it shopping.”
“Then what would you call it?” Syrin asked.
“Extortion.” Alinyaln replied. He was glad for Syrin having stayed aboard the Mercy, despite her initially wanting to return to her shop in Tusana. She cited being uncomfortable returning immediately after being chased out of town by an angry mob, but Alinyaln knew that she wanted to spend more time with him. Bless her.
Alinyaln turned to Ninia. “Once you have your eyes back, lass, Higlim asked if you could escort him to do his own shopping while we're in town.”
Ninia shook herself free from staring at Syrin, then saluted smartly, “Aye, Captain!” She said, then ran off back to the Mercy.
“So, I’m lucky enough to get you to myself today?” Syrin asked, wrapping her arm around his as they began to walk.
“For the next hour, I am all yours my love.” Alinyaln agreed, putting his hand on hers.
“As long as I get new clothes out of it, I’ll take an hour.” Syrin said with a sigh.
“Speaking of,” Alinyaln said, looking down at her. “Where did you get that outfit? You didn’t have it with you when you boarded.”
Syrin smiled and winked at him, “My secrets are mine alone, Lyn.”
Alinyaln shook his head. “I’m sure that was my spare jacket at one time.”
“It’s not spare if you don’t wear it.”
“Syrin, you are a handful.” Alinyaln said to her.
“Last I checked,” She shook her body in a suggestive manner, “I’m more than a handful.”
They continued to walk, though Alinyaln wasn’t sure where they were going, Syrin in the lead. He wasn’t entirely sure that she knew where they were going.
The crowds today were fairly large as people mulled around attending their business. Though Alinyaln had proclaimed Branai as being home to hundreds of people, there were a fair few more than that. The population here was likely more than five thousand, just due to this being one of the most habitable towns in Siston, having the best weather and more land to build than other islands.
Siston was unique in that it didn’t have an associated continent, just being an incredibly large cluster of islands with no major land masses. Though, now it couldn’t really be called unique as Retin no longer had a continent, the largest land mass that was once home of the Royal family had sunken beneath the waves, never to be seen again.
They came to a tall—well, taller—building with a reel of thread and a needle on the sign, no words written on the sign but the design made it clear that this was a tailors shop. “Shall we?” Syrin asked, nodding her head at the door. “Perhaps we can find you something more… Civilized.”
Alinyaln looked down at himself, brown trousers which were rugged enough for sea life matched with his flowing white undershirt, strapped down with his gunbelt. Above it all was his large maroon jacket which he felt really tied the look together, a remnant of his past. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
“You look like you just threw on the first thing you could find.” Syrin said, patting his cheek. “And as someone decided to dig through your wardrobe, I happen to know that you don’t have much to choose from.”
Alinyaln grimaced at her words. He liked his clothes, they were comfortable even when the weather was hot. “Let’s focus on getting you a few changes of clothes, Syrin, then we can worry about my perfectly acceptable wardrobe.” He said, then pulled open the door for her, gesturing for her to enter.
