Ngkoradelba and Gharghara are readying themselves for war. By his Master’s orders, Spice Hunter Iruki must organise a wedding - and a military alliance - with the city of Gebel, so as to prevent their tin mines from falling into Gharghaj hands. Easier said than done, of course.

This is a continuation of Spice Hunter -- if you're intrigued by the story, please read that first :) or don't idk

Cardamom Chess

Palms lined the riverbank, a band of brilliant green that marked the border between bruised sky and silty water. The mist of mosquitoes that usually hung over the river’s languid swill seemed not to be present at all - as if deterred by the competition from the clouds above - and aside from the croaking of frogs and the slapping of oars in the water, there was little noise to speak of.

Iruki was enjoying the calm, especially after last night’s debacle; from Dusk till Dawn, Iruki could hardly fathom the time it took to load just one ship. Oh, thank the stars he’d never had to deal with female royalty before, with their thousands of trinkets, dresses and gifts -- all essential cargo for a time-sensitive diplomatic mission. And their instruments too! They were taking a breather, but it wouldn’t be long before Obana’s Khene squealed again. No, no, when Iruki was given a moment of calm, you could be sure he was going to enjoy every morsel of it.

“How far now, Spice Hunter?”

“Obana, Gebel is as foreign to me as it is to you -- if your Father says it’s a day away, then it’s a day away. Clear?”

“Did you know our cousin is the King’s foremost advisor? He’s a very handsome man.”

“Oh, is he now?”

“What do you know of the King? Is he handsome too?”

Iruki dragged his hand down his face, “He’s hideous, from what I’ve heard. Old, thin, wide-set eyes, light-skinned -- truly monstrous.”

Obana’s face soon approximated that description. She returned to her sisters, and together they wept.

At least it was an improvement on the Khene.

The first evidence of Gebel was the smell. Unlike its downriver counterpart, Gebel had not yet discovered the necessity of a functioning sewer system, and instead emptied their waste into the water like untamed animals. The brides held their noses - paralysed by apprehension - whilst the captain ordered the oarsmen into port.

The city itself was somewhat prettier than its aroma suggested, set aglow by homely hearths and street braziers, and was surrounded by limestone walls, giving it much the same look as an impenetrable pustule. As they got closer, however, piers and wharves appeared from the gloom. A woman was delivering a sermon there,

”...He who sees and grasps the truth is a godly man.

He who is clouded by ignorance and refuses to see it is an ungodly man.

He who reveals the truth is a godly man.

He who hides it is the most ungodly of men.

So spoke the goddess, spreading her wings of golden brass.”

The Twenty Truths -- Iruki knew them well. As they moored, the congregation retreated back behind the city’s walls, leaving the Ngkoradelba to unload alone. Fortunately, Iruki informed the deckhands of their ship’s purpose, and thus secured their begrudging assistance. Soon thereafter, the vessel was empty and the crew were ready to meet the King.

Most Hlavang traditions did not survive in the South, aside from cuisine, which positively thrived -- even with the latitudinal transition. Ginger curries were infused with tea and sichuan peppercorns, cold chicken congees dotted the tabletops, dolphins were stuffed with glazed hickories, and draped in peony sauce -- there was no dearth of divine cuisine here, nor of people willing to consume it. Iruki sat amongst them, listening to the melody of flavours that danced across his tongue.

“He’s not as hideous as you said, and he’s positively fat! Why would you lie to me?”

“I was just teasing, Mistress.” Seeing as that answer wouldn’t keep her occupied for long, he decided to engage her in conversation on her own terms, “Where’s this handsome cousin of yours?”

Subtly, she nodded across the table. Sat beside Gebel’s king was an exceedingly beautiful man, with strong features and a sturdy frame. He looked far more regal than the blob sat beside him,

“It’s a shame you’re not marrying him then, isn’t it?”

“It is rather.”

“Your Father wishes for you to marry the King, and so marry him you shall -- your Father is an intelligent man, he wouldn’t do this to spite you. What gifts did you bring?”

“Oh, trinkets, bits and bobs -- Father gave me a love potion, look!”

“What’s in it?”

“You’re the Spice Hunter, you tell me.” With that, she uncapped it and allowed Iruki a sniff. Cardamom, Fennel, Cumin, as well as one that Iruki couldn’t quite put his finger on, something astringent and bitter.

“Cardamom -- a potent aphrodisiac. Very popular in the West.”

Obana recapped it, a proud smirk on her face, “I shall be giving it to the King tonight -- he shall fuck me like a horse, and then choose me to be his premier bride.”

Iruki couldn’t help but laugh.

At the end of the meal, the King of Gebel hoisted himself to his feet, requiring only a little more help than was healthy to reach a standing position.

“I wish to thank you all for coming and partaking in this wonderful feast - and what a wonderful feast it was - what a way to mark the coming together of our two Cities!” Cheers erupted from the table, “And to the feast I will have tonight, with my beautiful new brides -” He swept a chubby hand over the crowd, “- I look forward to that immensely. Now, onto the dowry; it is a little sparse, but nothing that can’t be remedied with a little negotiation...”

Iruki’s mind flashed with anger -- they’d filled a whole ship, what more could he possibly need? His appetite was insatiable.

“...And as for the proposal for protecting the City, I’ve deferred the responsibility to my trusted advisor, Eb-Ngkora Aliba.” He gestured to Obana’s cousin, “He shall be discussing it with the Spice Hunter in the days to come, who I’ve been informed was once a talented tactician himself.”

The exaggeration made Iruki feel uneasy; too many people had died as a result of his failures. He would inform Aliba of his unwillingness to assist tomorrow.

“As for the rest of you, I wish you a good night! Beds have been prepared throughout the Palace, as well as in local brothels. My servants will direct you to your quarters. My brides, join me for a bath.”

With that the guests disseminated, whilst the King prepared to do the same. Iruki - being of ignoble blood - was led to the servants’ quarters and allowed to rest there, on a bed of rice hay with only a solitary oil lamp for decoration. He washed his face, his pits, and his turban before lying down. Aside from the croaking of frogs and the clicking of crickets all was quiet, and within minutes he was asleep.

Iruki’s return to wakefulness was by less peaceful means -- one of the servants was shaking him, tears rolling down his face.

“The King is dead!”

“What? How? When? Speak, tell me!”

The servant rubbed his eyes, but his quaking voice proved to be more trouble than the impatient Iruki could handle -- he left in search of more sound elucidation. The Guests were crowded around the Feasting Hall, some chattering, some crying, most looking on in shocked silence. Eb-Ngkora Aliba pulled Iruki aside,

“Spice Hunter, have you heard the news?”

“The King is dead, yes, but how?”

“It seems he died during his time with one of the brides -- now, he was of poor health, but I think there could be foul-play at work here; one of them had an empty vial in her robe, and although she swears it was nothing but a foreign love potion, I’m just not sure I can believe her.”

“She isn’t a practiced liar, I assure you. I smelt the potion and can attest that it was predominantly cardamom, an exotic - but certainly not lethal - spice.”

Aliba rubbed his chin, “You are impressively knowledgeable -- I’m in dire need of your expertise for the investigation. Please, follow me.”

With that, Iruki was led out of the banqueting hall and away from the Guests’ interrogative eyes. The hallway was unlit, unkempt, not befitting of a Palace at all. Iruki’s suspicions weren’t fast enough -- by the time the garotte was around his neck, it was too late. The world disappeared around him.

Silly little servant, nothing but a pawn in a game of Masters, praying that playing puppet will let you leave this life with your own intact.

I hope you’ve learnt your lesson.