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388 pages, Hardcover
First published July 5, 2015
"What about the people?" Eyvind asked. "Are they all as rich as people say?"
"Yes, by and large," Raffen replied. "Of course, if you went up to someone in the street and asked him, are you rich or poor, he'd groan and pull a face and say how desperately poor he is, what with the war and the taxes and foreigners coming in and taking all the jobs. But at least three-quarters of the families have a house all to themselves; three rooms, a table and three or four chairs, a couple of beds, pewter cups and plates. They eat bread twice a day, porridge and soup and vegetables in the evening--not much meat, but a lot of fish, which is so cheap the rich won't touch it. Everybody's got two coats and two pairs of shoes, most of the women and some of the men wear jewelry, even if it's only bronze. The majority of the men can read and write, a lot of the women too. I should say that most of the people in the City live better than you chieftains do, even the ones who say they're so poor. And if anyone's starving hungry, they can stand outside one of the temples on the day when they go to prayers, and the priests hand out bread and dried beans, though it's surprising how few people turn up to take any. They're too proud, apparently. If you take the priests' food, it means you're nobody and your neighbours look down on you. If you walk down the street and look in through the windows of the houses, you'll see brass lamps and wicker baskets for keeping the charcoal in, and nearly every house has got a little painting hanging on the wall in a brass frame. The houses all have strong doors with locks on, because the whole City is full of thieves. Oh, and they make their roofs with baked clay tiles, not turf or thatch."
"You're joking," someone said.
"It's the law," Raffen replied. "They're terrified of fire, which is understandable, since all the houses are packed in so close together. Every ten years or so there's the most horrific fire and half the City burns down, and then they rebuild it."
"What do they all do for a living?" someone asked. "Where do they grow their crops and keep their livestock?"
"They don't," Raffen said with a smile. "I guess you could say they're all craftsmen, except that they don't have workshops of their own. Nearly everyone works for someone else, in great big sheds and buildings bigger than this hall. They get paid in copper money, and they buy food in the markets--the women go there nearly every day. Nobody keeps cows or sheep, there's a few chickens and in some streets they get together and raise a couple of pigs; nobody grows anything, except for the very rich, who have tiny little orchards behind their houses. There's no room, you see. It's a huge place and there are some enormous buildings, but mostly everything's very, very small."
"They hold a market every day?" Sitry said.
"There's at least a dozen big paved yards," Raffen told her, "one in each main district. Hundreds of stalls in each one. Not just food, either. Clothes, tools, furniture, crockery, anything you like. No weapons, but pretty much everything else."
"That's ridiculous," Einar said. "What do they need all those things for?"
Raffen laughed. "If you'd been there, you wouldn't need to ask. Owning things is how they keep score. We do it by our reputations, what people think of us; honour and shame, if you want to put it like that. In the City, you are what you own. I guess that's why they need so many laws, and why they aren't allowed to have weapons."
Einar said, "They what?"
"Strictly forbidden," Raffen said, "though it doesn't quite work. The rich have fine swords hanging on the wall and the very poor all carry knives, and practically every day there's a murder somewhere."
"Hang on," Cari said. "I thought they had the best army in the world. How did they beat the Sashan if they're unarmed?"
"There are full-time soldiers," Raffen said, "and in an emergency they round up people from the countryside and arm them. But the soldiers who won the war for them were mercenaries, foreigners. Horse people, from far away in the east." He smiled. "The City people don't fight."
"That's insane," Gunlaug said. "You mean to say that if an enemy came right up to the walls, all the men in the City would stay at home and not do anything?"
Raffen nodded. "It's happened scores of times in the past," he said, "and yes, they stay indoors and leave defending the walls to the paid men and the foreigners. Don't look so surprised," he added, as Gunlaug made a despairing gesture, "that's how their minds work. They believe in specialists, you see. Every man can do just the one thing; you're a forge-hand or a foundryman or a woodworker in a factory, or you're a porter or a clerk for a merchant, or you work on a market stall, or you're a bricklayer or a stonemason or a weaver. That's all you do. More than that, you only do one very small part of a job. You roll out thin iron bars in a great big mill in a half=acre shed, and someone else cuts the bars into short lengths, and someone else bends them into chain-links, and someone else joins the links together and welds them shut. Like I said, everything in the City is very big and very, very small. So, when it comes to fighting, they have specialist fighters. The stonemasons don't fight and the soldiers don't cut stone into blocks. I think," he went on, "that's why our people find it so hard to understand it there. You see, in the City, it's absolutely essential to know who you are, and what your place is. We don't, of course. We're farmers mostly, but any one of us can do a bit of carpentry or a bit of smithing, or build a wall or put up a house, or make a pair of shoes. Of course, the things they make are truly wonderful, much better than anything we can do; or else they can make you ten thousand of something, all of them practically identical, and dirt cheap, of course, compared to what it'd cost you here. But most of our people feel so cramped, if you know what I mean. It's like you've got the full use of all your limbs, but you're only allowed to move one finger. Also, the City people don't like us. They think we're savages, and they're afraid of us because we're happy living in sheds and getting paid far less than they are for doing the same job. And we don't fit together like they do."
"What does that mean?" Gulbrand said.
Raffen thought for a moment. "Suppose you took a pottery bowl and you smashed it," he said. "Then you pick up the bits and fit them together. You get some wire and a drill--well, you all know how to mend a broken pot, don't you?"
"Yes, Cari said. "I won't pretend I'm very good at it. Don't have the patience."
"Well," Raffen said, "people in the City are like the bits of pot. Put together, they make up something that's useful and holds water. On their own without all the others to fit in with, they're useless; junk, only fit for the trash. Of course, put that many people together and you get a very big pot, a cauldron. We're not like that. Pull us apart and you've got a handful of individuals, like grains in an ear of corn. Plant each seed, it'll grow on its own and in a few months you've got twelve new stalks. The City people wouldn't survive on their own, they wouldn't know how. One link on its own can't be a chain. I don't suppose one man in a thousand in the City knows how to mend a pot. The thousandth man does nothing but mend pots, all day every day. He's very good at it, very quick, he's got a box of special tools just for pot-mending; he'll do a much better job than you or me. But stand him in front of a plough or give him two dozen sheep to look after, he'd just stare at you, what am I supposed to do with this? That's where the paradox comes from. They're very big and very, very small, very strong and very, very weak, very grand and so unimportant they hardly exist. The rich and powerful are huge, like gods, and the ordinary people are tiny, they don't matter a damn to anyone. That's why they thought it was all right to divert a river and flood thousands of people out of their homes, just for one day's fun and games. When you're so big and your neighbours are so small, it's pretty easy to lose sight of them."