Fortney stepped off the gangplank in the city of Solinor in Arden. The ground was rough cobblestone. After having gotten used to being onboard a ship over the previous days, it felt strange to have something under her feet that didn't move.

  It was early evening, and the light was quickly draining from the sky. The storm was gone, but puddles and patches of water covered the ground. The air was thick and wet, gravid with fog and stench.

  If the city of Zar-andūz was the prince of bad smells, Solinor was the king and emperor. Fortney wrinkled her nose. She couldn't even identify half of the horrid odors that assailed her. Fish, of course, and the stink of brine, but overlaid with burning coal, human offal, and rot. Behind all that was something unbearably acrid and industrial.

  And the people here walked around as though this was normal.

  The dock itself was alive with activity, despite the hour. Dock workers carried goods in and out of warehouses, hauling sacks, stacking crates, and rolling barrels busily. A few docks down, machinery rattled to life, making her start. A dark mass hissed and chuffed and screamed. White smoke billowed, clogging the darkening air and filling it with the stench of burning sulfur. The machine--a platform on wheels, laden with goods-- lurched, then clattered over the cobblestones, carrying its load away, but leaving its reek.

  Fortney stood alone on the sea-slick stone, looking around her. The skin of her face was red and cracking, scoured raw with salt rash from her time in the storm. In her hand, she carried a rough jute sack with a few clothes and essentials.

  Captain Boloq had assured her that his porters would bring her things to the school the following day. She hoped he was right.

  Rami had stalked off as soon as the gangplank was out, muttering about setting up meetings with dignitaries, but now that she was ashore, he was nowhere to be seen.

  She'd have to find her way to the school on her own.

  Fortney slung her sack across her body and over her left shoulder, pinning it place with her stump. With her right, she felt around under her sash for the slip of paper she knew was there. She drew it out and unfolded it.

  The paper had an address, a room number, and some basic directions for her to get to the school. She had expected Rami to help her find her the way to the school, but now she'd have to figure it out on her own.

  One of the iron lampposts nearby made a rapid ticking sound. It buzzed, and with a little floomph, came alight, burning a clean, steady flame. Other gas lamps sprang to life as the darkness began to fall.

  Fortney moved under one of the cast iron lampposts to read her paper. She glared at the darkening, rain-slick streets, trying to visualize the directions, with limited success.

  She tucked the paper away and started walking.

  She'd find her way there eventually.

  Fortney stalked along the dark streets. She didn't know where she'd made a wrong turn, but she was wandering through an increasingly chaotic warren of tiny streets and alleys fronted by drab homes and filthy storefronts. And everywhere, everywhere, the choking stench of Solinor.

  She sneered. This was the technological glory of Arden? It was shabby, nasty, confusing, and backward. And dark. And the people were unfriendly.

  After wandering lost for two hours, she'd started to ask for directions, but people ignored her, or cursed her, or jabbered at her in Ardenian too quickly for her to follow, or just gestured in a general direction. She'd been trying her best to find her way through the city, but she kept stumbling into smaller and dirtier areas, getting more and more lost as she went.

  She passed many mechanical wonders as she wandered: a chuffing two-wheeled contrivance that flew by her, carrying someone in a coat and top hat, a series of windows that closed themselves against the night, with no human hand touching them, rattling and squeaking and blatting contrivancies of every kind filling the street with smoke and stench and din.

  The more twists and turns she followed, the more she felt that she was had been swallowed by some great clanking beast, and was wending her way through its gut.

  She passed a drinking-house. It was raucous, full of noise and the happy cries of men. There was a surge of shouting, and the door slammed open. A man stumbled out, pushed by several pairs of angry hands. He reeled and ran, trying to catch up to his balance, but tripped and splayed headlong, splatting into the muddy street directly in front of Fortney.

  "And don't come back, dandy!" yelled one of the men from the drinking-house.

  Fortney recoiled in disgust. Drunkenness was like nudity: if it could not be private, it should at least be done quietly, and hidden as quickly as possible. It should not be loud and brash and lying right there in the street where anybody could see.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  The man lifted his head and gave her a sloppy grin.

  "Bagg'n pard', m'lady." He rolled over on his back. "Might hafta thr'up."

  "Tch." With a sneer, Fortney picked her way around the disgusting drunk. She stormed away from him, then paused. She looked up at the dark. She turned back.

  "Do you know the way to the... 'Solinor Experimental Co-Educational Polytechnic'?" she asked.

  The drunk laughed.

  "M'lady, that'sh where I live!" he slurred. He pushed himself uncertainly to a sitting position and brushed ineffectually at the mud caked on his velveteen jacket. "Help me to m'feet and I will take you right there!"

  Fortney's face stiffened.

  "I wouldn't want to interrupt your... evening."

  The man struggled to get to his feet, but the drink pulled his legs from under him and he landed on his backside in the mud with a laugh.

  "I did hav'n appointment, but a lady n'distress trumps my plans. If you'd be sho kind..."

  Fortney stiffened. She did not want to touch or help this fellow. But she was well and truly lost, and here was guidance, of a sort. She stepped forward and reluctantly held her hand out to the filthy drunk.

  After a couple false starts, he regained his feet and stood there, weaving.

  "Lead the way!" he cried.

  "You are the one who knows way," she growled. "You were going to show me how to get to the school?"

  "Of course! B'cause I am a genius and a gentleman! This way!" He paused, then turned. "No, this way!"

  Fortney sneered. In Namar?n, public drunkenness was shameful. If a man wanted to sink himself in stupor, he was to do it in his own home. It was as bad as relieving yourself in public. Which she was not sure he wouldn't do as well.

  "My lady! I beg the use of your shoulder to manage my balance!"

  "You are foul with mud and drink. I'd rather be a perch for a vulture."

  "Ah, that's how I know you're a proper lady. You reject me, as all of good breeding should." He slipped and tumbled to the ground again. He laughed. "And yet, I fear me that I cannot travel unaided." He fixed her with a strangely clear gaze.

  "Very well," she said. She helped him to his feet again. With one hand on her shoulder, he kept up a running commentary of nonsense, interspersed with occasional direction. Slowly the city around them became cleaner and the streets broader.

  Finally, they came to a blank brick wall. It ran into the darkness in both directions.

  "And here we are, my lady!"

  Fortney shrugged of his hand, aiming a disapproving frown at his sloppy grin.

  "This is the school?"

  "Yes! To enter, we must climb the wall!"

  "Why must we? Are there no gates in Solinor?"

  "Ah, there is a gate, but it is shut at this hour. This is the easiest way in." He bowed low, barely keeping his balance. "Unless you would wait until morning."

  Fortney glared at the wall. It was ten feet tall. She leapt, grabbing the top with her hand, and smoothly pulled herself up with her one arm. She quickly got her feet under her and perched on top of the wall.

  The drunk below her whistled appreciatively.

  "Adroitly done, m'lady!"

  "And how will you climb the wall? You can barely stand."

  "Ah! Do not underestimate the determination of a man of Arden!" He leapt, flinging his arms over the top of the wall. He hung awkwardly from his armpits, his shiny shoes scrabbling against the brickwork.

  With an exasperated sigh, Fortney grabbed the back of his jacket and yanked him upward. With a squawk, he came up and over the wall, plunging down the other side. He landed with a crash in the gorse bushes below.

  "Ow," he said.

  Fortney leapt off the wall and landed lightly on her feet.

  "Here you are, my lady," he said from the depth of the bushes. "Welcome to the Polytechnic!"

  Fortney set her hand on her hip and looked around the darkness. There was not much to see in the nighttime. The small moon sat shyly high in the sky, peeking occasionally through shredded clouds. The glimpses it provided were not encouraging. There was well-maintained grass beneath her feet. Great, drab buildings loomed in the darkness.

  She pulled the slip of paper from her sash, trying to read it in the fitful moonlight.

  "Do you know where the... 'dorms' are?" she asked.

  The man stood next to her, having extracted himself from the bushes.

  "The girls' dormitory is right over there," he said gesturing at one of the dark buildings. His voice was steadier, clearer than she expected. "A word of caution," he said, "the housemistress prowls the halls at night. Avoid her, unless you fancy a caning."

  Fortney glared at the indicated building. She didn't know what a 'caning' was, and from the man's tone, she suspected she didn't want to.

  "I suppose I should thank you," she said. "I would ask your name, that I might--" She turned back to where he had been standing, but all she saw was his rear disappearing back over the wall.

  Fortney crept down the dark hallway, her small sack still tight against her, her ears alert for the sound of anyone approaching. The dormitory was quiet except for the creaking of floorboards under her feet.

  She could barely make out the door numbers in the darkness. The moonlight barely penetrated the windows, and gleamed faintly off the brass numbers on each door.

  Finally she came to a door marked "143". She took a deep breath and scratched at the door. There was no response from within. She scratched again, a bit louder. Perhaps her "room mate" was a deep sleeper.

  At the end of her patience, she simply opened the door and walked in.

  The room was dark, and had a musty, unlived-in smell. Moonlight came in through the tall windows on one wall. There was clutter and mess scattered throughout the room, masked by the darkness. There were two beds. One was covered with a jumble of things, but the other was clear.

  Fortney dropped her sack and stretched out on the clear bed. She was asleep almost before her eyes were closed.

  The sun blared at her eyelids the next morning. She awoke slowly, blinking at the unfamiliar surroundings, trying to orient herself.

  Ah, right. Arden. Land of filth, drunkenness, and confusion.

  She sat up, running her hand through her hair. She frowned at the cheerful sunlight, then took in the room.

  The darkness of the night had hidden much of the clutter she found herself surrounded with. Books filled the room, standing in unsteady stacks and piles. The other bed was covered with a mess of clothes, wooden boxes, and packing straw. There were two small desks, but both were covered with papers, books, and gadgetry. There was a washstand, but the pitcher and basin were both bone-dry.

  She wondered where her "room mate" was, and why she had not slept in her room. But she had more immediate concerns.

  Fortney pushed herself to her feet. Her stomach grumbled.

  She had reached the Polytechnic, in the city of Solinor, in the land of Arden. Now she needed breakfast.