gemini (ch.2)

Chapter Two

Far away from the land of the twin boys and their manor, was Piasdell, or the City of Tiles. It was said that when one looked upon the famous roofs of Piasdell they would be consumed by avarice and would never wish to leave. The inhabitants were not renowned for their skill with letters and what began as a helpful signpost became a legal requirement – the roof of the building had to represent the trade, wealth and power of the occupant. Piasdell was the capital city of the province named Murator, which was also home to Azzur’grota, or the Blue Caves. For centuries, Azzur’grota had provided the nearby city with the raw materials for its gloriously bedecked roofs and many citizens had been killed or maimed in the process of extraction.

As with all things left to the will of man, the roofs displayed hierarchy. Hues of blue were the cheapest of the tiles, as this colour was the most abundantly found in Azzur’grota which gave the caves their name. Greens and purples came next in value followed by pinks, oranges, yellows and, finally most expensive of them all, reds. The lowliest of brothels bore the pixelated figure of a buxom mermaid in the sea, where the roof of the palace courtesans’ nest bore a well-blossomed pink and red rose. Piasdell’s stable-masters bore the figure of a splendid rampant black horse on a colour suitably befitting their status; the smitheries proudly displayed black anvils; the homes of those who did not work in their dwellings bore a family emblem, again, in an appropriate colour. The Mason family roof displayed a modest aquamarine crest on a cornflower-blue background; the Archers an orange bow and arrow set on daffodil-yellow; the Magebrides a purple staff flanked by vermillion red tiles.

Although seemingly outdated, families extended and new houses were often built in such a prosperous city. Only sons and heirs died childless, their dwellings bought up by another family. Some trades became outmoded as technologies improved. With all of these, roofs had to be transformed, updated to better suit the new occupants. It was a confusing law, but one that was definitely not as subjective as it might at first appear: the palace library contained a lengthy and dusty tome outlining the details and regulations of roof heraldry as a previous King of Piasdell, Asenar, had decreed. One rule was more important than all others: none were permitted to surpass the beauty of the roof of Piasdell Palace.
The wealth of the King of Piasdell was obvious. The palace roof was near blinding on a bright summer’s day and reflected the colours of the world like the largest, most exquisitely-cut diamond. It was said that the city’s first five wizards had been exceptionally powerful and had cast a potent spell on the palace protecting its roof eternally and causing its tiles to shine on even the dullest November morning.

Everyone had their own favourite roof. Publicly for all it was the awe-inspiring palace roof – it was unwise to say any different – but on the whole this was only true for awe-struck travellers new to the Tiled City. There was no doubt in Fay’s mind that her favourite was that of the Hunters’ Lodge. She gazed at the orange fox on his bloody-red background, his glinting eye, it was said, not made from black tile but from a large onyx found in the gut of a particularly wily vixen. It lay to the west of the city, on the opposite side to the bay of Azzur’groto and near the forest of Verdorn. The sun was setting as she looked upon it and the angle of the roof or the reflection of the sun or some-such made the fox look as if he were laughing. Normally she was not so absorbed in the heraldry of the roofs of her city, usually she took them quite for granted, but she had been studying their history that very day and it had piqued her interest, especially the story about the mauntery. The story had mentioned the Hunters’ Lodge roof indirectly and she had looked up from her scrolls to marvel at its beauty. Remembering the papers in front of her, she continued to read, skipping back a few lines in order to remind herself of the previous events. Her eyes widened as the story continued and she read hungrily, knowing that time was short.

The bell of Day’s End tolled and Fay hurriedly tidied the papers, knowing that her father would be home before long. He would not be happy to learn that she had been meddling with his scrolls but it would not be the first time. A stern man, he understood Fay’s desire for learning and often seemed to pity her for her fate. Women in Piasdell were not permitted to study.

She was too late. Unbeknownst to her, her father stood outside the door watching through the window as she quickly rolled the yellowing parchments and arranged them to resemble how they were found, as accurately as possible. He had done this for the past three weeks. He knew his daughter was eager to learn and he had always known that she stole his papers but she had grown more careless with time. Sighing fondly, he made the decision to not enter the house until she was sat in her sewing chair, feigning slumber. She was a clever girl, he knew that, she was his daughter after all, and he regretted that this knowledge would be troublesome for her as time went on. He had been sure to leave the prohibited parchments in his work bag to save her from her boundless curiosity. If she were to read those, the King would never forgive him and would be sure to kill Fay.