At its center rises a fountain, from which springs the likeness of a maiden in bronze, her form turned green by the brine and the heat of this clime. She stands with a countenance half-serene, half-coquettish, and in the play of light upon her metal features, one might fancy she watches all with secret amusement. Water spills about her feet into the basin where children play and idlers lounge, and I could not rid myself of the thought that this bronze maiden, mute and immovable, knows more of the true goings-on of Port Dominion than any living soul.
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(Dominion Square, St. Albion circa 1700...) |
Around her are gathered the stalls and shops, bright awnings flapping in the sea-breeze, tables piled with sugar loaves, molasses, bolts of calico, leather goods, casks of wine, and even the occasional treasure of books or trinkets from the Old World. Goldsmiths, milliners, apothecaries, and sellers of spice call out their wares, voices blending into a constant lively hum. Butchers and bakers lift their goods aloft, bidding customers to see their quality, while shopkeepers beckon passersby with practiced charm. The air is thick with the scents of roasting meats, tarred rope, and the perfume of tropical flowers carried in from the surrounding hills.
Yet amidst the bustle, one spies another rhythm—the lean of men whispering over coin, the dart of eyes too cautious, the passing of folded paper from hand to hand. Here business is conducted in the light of day, but not all of it is of the cleanest kind. Still, the more dangerous sorts rarely show their hand so openly, for the presence of authority is never far. From nearly any corner one may lift his eyes to see the walls of Fort Hemmerly, its cannon mouths brooding over town and harbor alike. Red-coated soldiers march across the square in pairs, keeping sharper rogues at bay. Thus the grosser villainies are driven down to Red Row, where sailors, drabs, and cutpurses find their own rough company.
For the greater number of respectable townsfolk, Dominion Square is a place of business first and foremost—an honest day’s bargaining, a contract written, a letter dispatched, or coin exchanged. Yet it is also a place of temptation, for a man may come to purchase a pound of tea and find himself tempted by silk, by whispered promises of profitable ventures, or by the fleeting glance of a lady who lingers longer than courtesy requires. Here trade, intrigue, and desire mingle in equal measure, and the unwary may soon discover themselves entangled.
Still, I cannot deny that the square has its own vigor. Fortune may be made here, or lost; schemes may blossom as swiftly as flowers in the sun, even as soldiers’ boots echo upon the cobblestones to remind all that order, if not virtue, yet reigns. Dominion Square is the pulse of this settlement, where the Crown’s law, human ambition, and private appetite all meet beneath the smile of that enigmatic bronze maiden. For in this Square, schemes abound. It would be the work of but a moment for an honest man to find himself entangled in affairs not his own, caught in the nets of cunning fellows who trade as easily in lies as in goods. The line between a bargain and a betrayal is thinner here than the edge of a blade. I see it in the quick glances exchanged between men, the purses slipped hand to hand, the sudden stilling of conversation when a stranger passes too near.
And if there is danger in commerce, there is peril also in the temptations that beset the flesh, the mind, the heart, and the very soul. The looks of certain women who haunt the edges of the Square do not fail to mark every gentleman, their voices soft as silk, their laughter promising delights which I dare not set to paper. The eyes of certain ladies of quality, too, though veiled by their fans, are no less eloquent in their invitation. And beyond lust of the body lies the more subtle lures: the ambition for station, the hunger for wealth, the itch for influence, the vanity of being seen in company one has no right to keep. Each whisper, each glance, each small indulgence may prove the first step upon a path that ends in disgrace—or in a gibbet swaying upon Bleaks Bluff.
For myself, I shall tread carefully, for though much of Dominion Square may be enjoyed, and the air here is not without its liveliness, I sense still that it is no place for the careless soul.
This is an enjoyable read. I finally had a little time to sit down to it and decided to read one post. Six posts later, I'm finally off to bed.
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