
I arrived in the city of Goimr upon the most wretched ship imaginable. The CSSLucre , it was called, a
name which was as inappropriate as possible. The CSSPigsty would have served better; the
Shipwreck-in-the-Making , ideal.
Yet, upon my first glimpse of Goimr, I was almost sorry to disembark. The sight which greeted my eyes
was even more disheartening than the ship. I had expected, without really giving it much thought, to find
Goimr's harbor a smaller version of my native Ozar's great port, the Horn of Surfeit. At the very least, I
should have thought Goimr—which is, after all, the chief port of southeastern Grotum—to be a match for
any of the smaller harbors of the Philistine at which my ship had stopped on the voyage from Ozar.
Not so. I was encountering my first taste of that reality which has given rise, throughout Grotum, to the
expression "grubby as Goimr." Upon the oily, sluggish waters of the harbor bobbed a variety of vessels,
which seemed to compete with each other in their disrepair and desuetude, not to mention their antiquity
and obsolescence. Numerous dilapidated warehouses dotted the quays, most of them boarded up, if not
burnt and gutted. Everything was covered with a deep layer of grime. Roofs sagged, doors were
unhinged, steps were cracked and broken. The very stones of the quays seemed corroded by some foul
reagent.
The sole exception to the general miasma of decay was the building in front of which my ship was
docked. The building was gigantic, stretching a full two hundred yards along the center of Goimr's
waterfront. Above it, facing the waterfront, rested a huge sign announcing to the world:
GREAT GROTUM NORTHERN, EASTERN,
SOUTHERN, WESTERN,
CENTRAL AND ENVIRONS EXPRESS
AND TRAVEL COMPANY
(a subsidiary of the consortium)
"At least there's a trace of Ozarine energy in this miserable place," I muttered to myself, descending the
gangway. And indeed, the Consortium building—though it shared the general aura of squalor—was
bustling with activity. Numerous barges, skiffs, scows and hoys plied the waters adjacent, bringing
cargoes to and from the several ships moored nearby. A constant bustle of men and wagons carrying
goods, supplies or passengers swarmed about the quayside in front of the building.
The moment I stepped ashore, I was delivered into this seething frenzy of commercial and maritime
activity. Wending my slow way past oxen teams drawing huge loads, dodging gangs of stevedores, I left
the docks and entered the relative calm of the building. After some inquiries, I eventually made my way
out of the labyrinthine edifice and into the passenger area on the far side, from which transportation into
the city proper was available. There I rented a large locker, into which I placed my traveling sack and my
easel. It wouldn't do, of course, to visit the King of Goimr with luggage under my arm.
As I was heading out the main archway to the plaza beyond, I stepped aside to let a man hurry by.
Strange-looking fellow! Strange, not so much in his features—for he was normal enough in that regard,
aside from the excessively severe look on his bearded face. But his clothing! A long, shabby, flowing
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html