Chapter 4

Covanera was a stately city that straddled both sides of a big river. Two great bridges with large stone columns crossed the river; one at the north side of city where the great residences stood, and one in the middle of the city where the government and large commercial buildings were established. There was a third bridge on the south side of the city, wider and cruder in its construction for everyone else.

Flashing his Gura sigil, Zuri gained entry onto the middle bridge, whose raised sides provided a cleaner walkway for those strolling in finer clothes. The great commercial companies were using the bridge to transfer their goods in both directions. Zuri saw both farm goods and manufactured items on the passing wagons and carts. Every so often, a small carriage of a ranking government official would pass.

Zuri could survey the entire city when he stood on the viewing parapet built at the center of the bridge. The platform was raised above the sidewalk by several steps and hung out over the river itself. According to the constable stationed on the platform, the parapet was built to house a cannon to deter river pirates.

“No more pirates?” Zuri asked as he looked at the river.

“Cheaper and easier to maintain cannons from the shorelines,” the constable said, pointing to the redoubts on both sides of the river. “Quite effective too. We’ve haven’t had an issue in years. Smugglers are still a problem, but they aren’t looking to make noise and cause trouble.”

“I’m a Gura,” showing his sigil, “and wondered what temple that is?” Zuri asked, pointing towards the north.

“Greenvale Temple,” the constable said. “The Governor, the Nobles and the betters go there. I’ve had a rotation guarding the temple square, but I’ve never been inside. To the south is the largest temple, which they call Southport; kind of obvious, I guess. The third temple is west heading as the crow flies and it’s the smallest building of the three. The temple used to have another name, but people call it ‘The West Temple’ these days. Are you joining the staff here in Covanera?”

“I started in Lewa Ilu and I’m passing through,” Zuri said. “I’m taking advantage of my assignment to view the sights before I take up my duties further west.”

“I hear Lewa Ilu is grand, but nothing compares to Covanera with the Governor’s palace, the castles and gardens in the north, the great market outside the river port, and the three bridges over the Carmon River. The Duran Governor rules with a strong hand, meaning we don’t have the troubles of the other provinces. People know their place and stay where they know they belong; well, most of the time. Like I said, the Governor rules with a strong hand and we constables have what we need to keep the peace.”

“Good to know,” Zuri said, as he translated the constable’s observations into what he surmised were the facts for everyone else in the city. “A strong hand” was never a good thing when one is poor or struggling. A constabulary with everything they needed was also a great concern, probably meaning they could bash in heads without a worry.

“How far a walk is it to the West Temple?” Zuri asked.

“About an hour, I would reckon,” the constable said. “Go straight, and when the sidewalk ends, keep going straight.”

Zuri thanked the constable, wishing him well. With one last view of the vista, Zuri marched off the bridge into the west side of the city. The nice buildings and roads quickly gave way to the rougher, poorer neighborhoods. Zuri flipped up his hood, hiding most of his face as he had learned as a child. He set a deliberate pace as he passed through different districts like he was a man about his business, and spied toughs and gangs keeping eyes on their territories as he passed. He was certain there were brothels and gambling halls, but they were tucked away from the main thoroughfare where he walked. He felt like he was at home on this boulevard, and he did not like that feeling at all. At least the ground was dry.

After an hour’s walk, he spotted the temple’s spire up ahead. When he tried the front door, Zuri was surprised that the door was locked. He tried it again just to be sure.

“Go knock on the side door,” an old lady said as she walked up to Zuri. “They’ve had a bit of a problem with people trying to rob the place. There ain’t no respect for God around here anymore.”

Zuri knocked on the side door, which was stout and uninviting. No one answered. He pounded as loud as he could on the door again. He was about to kick the door when he heard the rasp of a board being withdrawn.

“Yeah?” the young Gura said as he opened the door. “What do you want?” He was dressed in Gura robes, and his hair was long and lanky.

Zuri lifted his collar and showed his Gura sigil. The man nodded and invited Zuri in with a silent cupping gesture. After Zuri stepped in, the man closed the door, sliding the board back in place.

“Sorry,” he said, leading Zuri to the back of the building. “The neighborhood has gone to the dogs. One day they come begging and the next day they return to steal. Even if I gave them something, they were still planning to come steal.” He ladled Zuri some water. “Emil; four years.”

“Zuri; just graduated.”

“Where’s your assignment?” Emil asked.

“Qirin.”

“Qirin is awful, but at least you won’t be assigned here.”

“What do you mean?” Zuri said, putting down his cup.

“The temple treasuries are falling,” Emil said. “The boss man is at Greenvale now, begging for relief from our required contribution. We take collections on second day, fourth day and seventh day services, but we barely cover our own costs. Individual blessings are way down from a couple of years ago. The Gura-sho demands forty-five percent. If we had to feed another Gura...”

“How did things get so bad?” Zuri asked.

“The Governor will say that farm yields are down and exports to the rest of the Kingdom have slowed, but he’s talking out his ass. The new Secretary of Finance is from an old noble Noble family, I mean, the ancient, first line families from the days when Duran was its own country. The Secretary abolished income taxes based on what a man makes and imposed a new set called consumption taxes. You pay a tax on what you buy. The new taxes hit these western neighborhoods like a shitstorm. The Nobles are happy because they use the Provincial treasury to pay the constabulary to beat the brains out of anyone who complains. The black market is thriving.”

“Sounds bad,” Zuri said. “What about you? Can you stay here?”

“My family has fled to our summer estate northeast of Covanera and are reopening some fallowed fields,” Emil said. “I sent my wife with them. I’m expecting food riots this winter and I’m the optimist in the family.”

Zuri nodded as if he understood and sympathized. “Is the temple going to do anything to help the neighborhoods?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you can feed the hungry and cloth the naked,” Zuri said. “Our scriptures give us permission to do things like that when necessary.”

“Even if the boss man wanted to open the doors to the rabble out there, the Gura-sho would pitch a fit,” Emil said. “Coin given to the temple pays for the temple. Period. You’ll learn. The temples have always been around, and this is the way they survive.”

“God is great,” Zuri said, not knowing how to respond. Emil nodded.