Chapter 12 – Kevin of the Canals the 28th day of April, 299 years after Aegon's Conquest
Kevin Rudd walked down the embassy steps, careful not to trip on the slick stones.
Braavos was often gloomy, but even fog and rain did not deter the festival goers. Masked revellers headed down the street in dribs and drabs, probably to catch the latest movie at the Blue Lanternnearby. The city was famous for its playhouses. They had also proved surprisingly adaptive, once they had been introduced to cinema. Half the houses had already at least partially converted themselves into cinemas. They had sold or gifted them projectors, mostly of the old sort, and started distributing movies from back home. They had been careful in their selection. Mostly historical dramas, documentaries, as well as sitcoms and lighter comedies. Something like Star Wars would only confuse them, with it being so hard already to know what was fact and what was fiction. The latest sensation was a space story however. The Blue Lantern had been hosting packed screenings of Apollo 13.
The revellers passed them peacefully. He noted a hawk, a dragon and two faces of what may have been former Sealords. The masks kept his security detail on edge, but in six months there had been no fatal incidents. The sword wielding bravos ignored them. All knew that the flying men were under the First Sealord's personal protection, and it was death to any man who laid a hand on them.
So far, he felt things here were going rather well. The place had not fallen into civil war, and as the Australian ambassador to the city, he had struck up a rather productive friendship with its leaders. The First Sealord himself was ailing. Ferrego Antaryon was past seventy. Their doctors had examined him and diagnosed a combination of factors. Symptoms of early Alzheimer's as well as worsening arthritis. They had treated it as best they could, mostly to alleviate pain, but even modern medicine could only do so much when a man's brain and joints turned against him.
Many younger men were circling the old however. The First Sealord's nephew, Jaerillos Antaryon, seemed the real ruler of the city already. On his uncle's death there would be an election held at the Palace of Truth to choose a replacement. 'Election' was a generous term for it of course. The electorate consisted of somewhere under two thousand keyholders and wealthy magisters, almost all male, in a city of just under a million, though one could suppose suffrage for 0.2% of the population was better than none. At least there was no slavery here, the Braavosi seemed sincere on that point, which was enough for the modern world to consider the city 'civilized' enough to do business with.
It was only a short walk down to the Sealord's palace. There were under a score of cars in the whole city as yet. It was expensive to fly them in, and the cobblestone streets were so frequently interrupted by bridges, canals and staircases they were of scarce use. Aircraft came and went with greater frequency. They had sold eight planes to the Braavosi so far. The terrain around the lagoon did not lend itself to airstrips, so almost all were seaplanes.
Other signs of modernity were creeping in. Almost a hundred staff now worked at the Mercy Hospital, set up between the Sealord's Palace and the Purple Harbor, just down from the new embassies. Already, a quarter of all babies in the city were being born there, their 99% survival rate bringing round all but the greatest skeptics.
Back home, an avalanche of medical papers were filling science journals as new diseases were encountered and treated on Planetos. Whatever mysterious forces had created this twin world, diseases could at least be assigned much the same categories as back home. Viruses, bacteria and larger parasites abounded, but they were now running an unprecedented gauntlet of modern medicine. There were trials underway to determine which antiviral drugs were most effective against 'redspots' for instance, while an actual vaccine would be years away. 'Consumption' turned out to be caused by a bacterium that may have been a distant cousin of tuberculosis, and patients responded very well to a simple course of penicillin. The same went for the various forms of 'childbed fever' which fell under the modern definition of 'postpartum infections'.
Among the most feared by the locals, Greyscale had proved remarkably simple to treat. After trialing several different kinds of antibiotics, a mixture had quickly been devised that stopped the disease in its tracks, as had occurred last century with leprosy. Already seven children had been treated, released and, despite some objections, returned to their grateful families. This had caused a sensation. Previously, the best any found afflicted with the disease could hope for was exile to the colonies of the stone men, where they would endure a long decline into immobility and madness before the disease consumed them. The greatest such colonies were found along the Rhoyne River, but these were a thousand leagues from Braavos. Instead, the city sent its own victims to a remote island at the western end of Lorath Bay.
Medical teams, wearing full protective gear, had already visited. There was little that could be done for those in the advanced stages of the disease. Antibiotics could not restore the calcified flesh, but for the newer arrivals the intervention had been miraculous. More than fifty had already been brought back to the city, often after surgery to cut away the remaining infected parts. The locals still treated these repatriates warily, and some shunned them entirely, but even unpopularity and the loss of a few fingers or toes was a small price to pay for an entirely new lease on life.
For their part, the visitors from Earth had been careful not to transmit their own illnesses in turn. They had been cautious of disease from day one, and a long list of regulations and procedures had quickly been devised. Anyone heading through the Ring had to provide a blood sample and test negative to a long list of serious illnesses – HIV, syphilis, tuberculosis, malaria…The topic had been much debated. He had sat in on lengthy meetings with biologists, infectious disease experts, historians, economists, sociologists and other government officials. He had seen the broad range of estimates for exactly how many native Americans had died, mostly from disease and the resulting civilizational collapse, following European contact. Perhaps fifty million had perished in the century after Columbus' landing. Waves of smallpox, typhus, measles, influenza, bubonic plague, cholera and a dozen other illnesses had eliminated close to 90% of the existing population. Much the same had gone for the Aboriginals after the arrival of the first fleet in 1788. Given this record, some had argued they ought to seal the Ring off entirely and not set foot in Planetos at all, in order to prevent their own viral holocaust.
This has been a minority view however. Other arguments had been put forward. Europe itself had been wracked with serious illnesses in the 1400s, at a time before anyone really knew what a germ was. In the modern world, most anything more serious than the common cold was treatable, or at least containable. Any bug that spread from one world to another they could examine under a microscope and diagnose accordingly. Anything that would requite a great deal of time and effort to cure, especially unknown viruses, they could impose a quarantine until a vaccine was ready. Surely.
He had spent weeks talking with the Braavosi about vaccines and antibiotics and the various medicines they had brought. To his relief, they had quickly grasped much of what he was talking about. Centuries earlier, some local healers in Volantis had noticed that children who recovered from Greyscale were immune from its swifter and even deadlier cousin, the Grey Plague. One had experimented by taking tiny slivers of infected flesh, dried in the sun, and rubbing them under the fingernails of infant children. Many ended up with blackened and charred fingertips, but in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred the disease progressed no further. In times of plague, many had adopted this practice. The Grey Plague had not come to Braavos in almost a century however, and greyscale itself was so dangerous and liable to spread that such a drastic method had fallen out of favor. 'Redspot feasts' had become common events however, where afflicted children would be mixed with their peers before the age of ten, so as to grant immunity through adulthood.
Their own doctors had absorbed all this, rather approvingly. It wasn't quite vaccination that the Free Cities practiced, but an earlier version – variolation. Exposing someone, usually a child, to a small sample of an illness in the hope their infection would be mild. From China to the Ottoman Empire, such had been practiced for centuries with illnesses like smallpox. It had still carried risks however, as the odds of dying merely went from 30% to about 2%. It wasn't until Dr. Edward Jenner had one-upped them all by inventing true, modern vaccination, treating smallpox with tiny doses of relatively harmless cowpox, that the disease had begun to be eliminated entirely.
Still, there had been a few close calls. Three of the embassy staff had contracted redspots so far, and quickly been taken down and isolated in a separate ward of the hospital. All three's fever had broken after a few days and eventually recovered. From the figures the Braavosi kept, even among adults less than one in a thousand died from the illness, but it was still a concern. They could not be sure the risks to outsiders wouldn't be considerably higher. He himself had suffered four different colds in the last five months, like most of the staff, but despite close monitoring and more blood samples, they had all passed with little more than swallowing a few Panadol.
Kevin Rudd thought on all this as he was welcomed through the palace gates. Qarro Volentin, the current First Sword of the City, ordered his men to stand aside as the visitors were ushered in. Servants smiled at them pleasantly, some of the few around not wearing masks. The unmasking would be tonight at midnight, celebrating the 796th anniversary of the city's founding. Delegations from all the embassies were congregating for the final feast. He saw the Chinese and Russians had already arrived, while the Americans and half a dozen other countries would be there shortly. The foreigners were partaking in the festivities, in their own fashion. He sported a simple koala mask. His staff featured everything from Richard Nixon to Dobby the Houself. It was like a sort of alternate universe version of Halloween.
A small chorus of singers had already assembled in one corner of the Purple Hall, singly sweetly of Uthero's unmasking. Up on the walls, rich tapestries told the history of Braavos, all the way back to the flight of the slave fleet from their Valyrian masters. Tables were groaning under the weight of enough food to feast a thousand. He saw some notable delegates from Earth. The US Vice President, Mike Pence, present as he had been for Stannis' coronation. A few members of the Chinese politburo. The French President and the Japanese Prime Minister. Some notable journalists and commentators. Bill Gates and his wife. Security personal stood around the walls, doing their best to stay out of the way, but watching their charges closely.
There were greetings. There were toasts. Gifts were exchanged. Guests sat for the feast, an endless buffet of oysters, clams, lobsters, fish, squid and a dozen other sea creatures few could name. No electronic music or other media played tonight. All of the entertainment was live. Singers came and went. Their voices were beautiful, even if scarce an audience member understood the archaic High Valyrian. A troupe of tumblers and acrobats entertained them for three courses. Then a pair of pot-bellied fools, dressed as red and black dragons, fought an elaborate mock battle before falling simultaneously in a mutual kill.
Of most interest, six master pyromancers came out to conjure up beasts of living flame, who tore at each other with fiery claws. The audience clapped, but there was a tension in the air. Much whispering followed. As molasses and chocolate were served, Rudd watched the pyromancers bow collectively and file out. Despite a great deal of polite questioning, the Braavosi would not reveal exactly how the pyromancers did it. It was another ongoing debate. Was it merely great skill or actual magic they were witnessing? Even after months, they were not quite sure. We have our magic and they have theirs he thought, intrigued.
It was near midnight, when he was talking with his Japanese counterpart, that the First Sealord's nephew sidled up to him. He wore a face that reminded him of a Guy Fawkes mask, half in white and half in black, but there was no mistaking the rich purple silks straining over his girth.
"Good evening Magister" Rudd said, in High Valyrian, turning to face him. He had been taking lessons for three months now.
"A very good evening ambassador" Jaerillos agreed. "You pronounce well. You are learning quickly."
"Your have good teachers here."
"Did you enjoy Alia?" he asked, referring to the old woman who had serenaded them for half an hour during desert.
"A very beautiful sound" Rudd replied.
"And what of the pyromancers?"
"They are very good, like magic."
The magister laughed. He laid a gentle hand on Rudd's back, directing the ambassador towards the rear of the room. They exchanged pleasantries as they headed into the courtyard at the rear. Men and women were gathered in small clusters, getting drunk and swapping gossip, as was the norm. Some were talking in lower voices than others. Rudd immediately expected this to be the latter sort of conversation.
Jaerillos looked up, where gaps in the clouds revealed a few stars. He paused as if to admire them a moment. "I hear the Dothraki are moving closer to Pentos" he said finally.
Kevin Rudd nodded. "Khal Motho has just crossed the Rhoyne at Ny Sar" he said slowly.
"Then he has less than a month to ride" Jaerillos looked around the room a moment, as if admiring the furnishings. "But now there is a second Khalasar?"
"Khal Moro, we believe" Rudd replied. Running out of vocabulary, we found himself slipping back into the common tongue at times. "He is further south, and about a week or two behind."
"The Americans shared their sky portraits with me" the magister went on. "But I have news for you as well. It seems the Triarchy has been reformed after all."
Kevin Rudd cocked an eyebrow. He had read of the history by now. After Valyria's doom, Volantis, the greatest and oldest of the free cities, had declared themselves the heirs to its empire and decided to unite the rest of the cities by force. They had conquered Lys and Myr, and later attempted to take Tyrosh as well. An alliance large enough to defeat them had eventually formed however and they had been thrown back. For protection, Lys, Myr and Tyrosh had united in their own kingdom, which had lasted a little over thirty years before fracturing once more. The three cities had constantly warred, raided and otherwise backstabbed each other in the disputed lands since. In the last year however, the Ring had changed all that. The notion that the 'flying men' would not trade with slavers, while showering their gifts and wisdom on Braavos and Pentos, appeared to have scared them back into cooperation.
"I had heard rumors."
"No rumors." Jaerillos shook his head. "The High Council has been reformed. Thirty-three magisters, eleven from each city. They gathered at Sel Toros less than a moon's turn ago" he said, referring to a port town at the mouth of the Vhysene river, halfway between Lys and the Orange Shore.
Rudd thought on this a moment. "Then they may be plotting war?"
"There is no doubt. There will be a war, my sources tell me" Jaerillos turned, looking at him earnestly. ""The real concern is the Archon. Monteo Mollorys. The Tyroshi have always been the most aggressive slavers. They will be our sternest opponents. With Lys and Myr, the Triarchy could rally a hundred thousand men. Volantis stirs too. If they join, another hundred thousand. Norvos and Qohor? Another hundred, plus the Dothraki hordes."
"And Braavos?" Rudd asked.
"Perhaps fifty thousand" Jaerillos shrugged. "Depending what free companies we are able to hire. Pentos could raise half as much again. Even together, we would be outnumbered five to one."
"I understand your concern."
"I am glad you understand, but actions must be taken. Decisions must be made." Jaerillos gestured at the guests throughout the courtyard. "They will march on us before long, and we will not be able to hold them alone. Already they have sent their threats. They will demand your expulsion, and the destruction of all you have given us. All this will end. If you will not help us. I will have no choice to agree."
Kevin Rudd noted the language. I will. Jaerillos was not First Sealord yet, but already he seemed to assume so. Perhaps he is right.
"My people will not trade with slavers" Rudd replied "and I am instructed to say that we will certainly stand alongside our new friends, who stand against the practice."
"That is good" Jaerillos said, with a smile that did not quite meet his eyes. "But how will you stand beside us? You have armies. You have flying machines. Will they defend us? If not, will you provide us with weapons? And if not weapons, will you at least give us the knowledge to make our own?"
Rudd paused. "Decisions will have to be made" he agreed.
"Then they must be made quickly" Jaerillos replied. "In days now, not months."
"I understand the urgency. I will pass this on to my government, tonight."
Jaerillos hesistaed a moment, as if afraid to ask the next question. "Is it true, ambassador, Australia has no atomic bombs?"
The question threw him. "Atomic bombs? No, we do not."
"Why not?" Jaerillos pressed. "There are the most powerful weapons in your whole world, are they not?"
"The Americans have them. They are our ally. So we do not need them."
Jaerillos nodded. "Ah, I understand. If we had a good ally, perhaps we would not need them ourselves?"
"Atomic bombs…pardon me magister, but asking after them…it may be seen as foolish" Rudd said, resisting the urge to smile. "They are no mere weapons of war. They are too powerful. They are not for conquering a city. They will destroy a city, completely."
"Like dragons."
"An atomic bomb would be like a thousand dragons" Rudd shook his head. "We will help you magister, but atomic bombs? That is asking too much. You would only harm yourselves in seeking them. They are held by only a handful of the most powerful nations in my world, those who keep the peace. It is not a wise notion."
Jaerillos nodded slowly. "Very well, then what of the Americans?" he asked. "They too say they will stand with us, but their promises are vague. Soldiers? Weapons? Or knowledge? They will not say."
Rudd hesitated. "They will want the enemy to draw first blood, so they do not seem as the aggressors."
"I understand this too. But how much blood? How much must we be seen bleeding, before you rally to our cause?"
"Pentos is closer" Rudd replied. "The blood must be drawn there, but outside the city I think, not right at the gates."
Jaerillos nodded again. He seemed to think on something a moment. "I wonder if you waver? If so, let me give another reason for you to befriend Braavos."
That perked his interest. "I think we are already fine friends, magister, but what reason would that be?"
Jaerillos gave an almost casual glance around the courtyard. They were a good fifteen feet away from any eavesdroppers. "I know you have been asking other questions."
"What questions?" Rudd replied, for a moment wondering where this was heading.
"About Renly Baratheon."
Rudd kept his face neutral. "Perhaps. What about Renly Baratheon could you tell me?"
"I think you know, ambassador" Jaerillos said, and Rudd saw he too was trying to look at ease, as if they were discussing a turn of the weather. "You have been asking about his sudden and mysterious demise."
"What could you tell us?"
"I believe we may know something of how he died" he said, with a vague wave of his hand.
"Something?" Rudd replied. "Of how he died, or who did the deed?"
"How he died" the magister replied. "Who would be another matter entirely."
Rudd considered this. He looked up at the stars too a moment, as if only mildly interested in the conversation. "I would be interested in what you have to say."
"Yes, I think you would" Jaerillos said, a touch triumphant. "There are mysteries in this world, ambassador. Old mysteries, I think you are only just waking up to. Braavos is older, not the oldest city around, but old enough. We have some experience in these things. The Moonsingers foretold where to go, to find refuge in this lagoon. Some even foresaw the Doom, where the Dragonlords perished."
"Did they foresee the Ring?" Rudd asked, curious.
Jaerillos shrugged. "Not as far as I'm aware, but some things take all by surprise." He returned to the earlier subject. "We have knowledge of these things, and I think with enough trust between us, we would be happy to share it."
"I think we would be most happy with that" Rudd replied. "For valuable information we would trade much."
"Yes, but first we need trust" the magister smiled at him, and it seemed genuine this time. "First, we must see what happens when the savages reach Pentos, when first blood is drawn." With that, he gave a small bow, and turned to stroll back into the hall, no doubt seeking someone else to bargain or conspire with.
Rudd stood there a moment, considering the matter. In was only minutes later that he heard the distant roar of the Titan, echoing across the lagoon. In the distance there was cheering. Throughout the gathering, guests and hosts alike were pulling off their masks, raising toasts to the First Sealord, Braavos, the Sunsetring and the great flying men who had come through it. Shortly afterward he heard another cacophony of noise, then pretty colors shone in the sky. The Braavosi stopped to admire the fireworks, reds and blues and greens, yellows and purples and bright white streaks. It was like New Year's over the Sydney Harbor Bridge. It went on for maybe twenty minutes, the first fireworks display in the history of Planetos, so far as they were aware.
Kevin Rudd barely noticed. He was thinking about shadows.