guarded by the Iron Collegium. Even if an enterprising thief had the tools to chisel off a chunk, defacing any part of the Ribs or Spine is a crime punishable by crucifixion.
Gravebone weapons and armor are highly prized as a result. But possession of any item made of the wondrous substance is a sign of prestige and wealth, and the Itreyan nobility were infamous hoarders of the stuff. Before the rebellion that killed her husband, Queen Isabella, wife of Francisco XV, was an ardent collector of gravebone curios—it was said she was amassing the baubles in the hopes of opening a museum for “the little people,” as she so fondly termed Godsgrave’s citizens.
Her collection of gravebone trinkets included letter openers, shoehorns, teething rings, a multitude of hairbrushes, combs, and pins, a seventy-four-piece dinner set, and a dozen “marital aids” commissioned by at least seven different Itreyan queens.
And who said money can’t buy happiness.
* It did not. All plans for an illustrated second edition of The Definitive Guide were scrapped after Fiorlini’s wife absconded with the profits from the first edition, along with their Liisian houseboy, Lorenzo, and their dog, Teacakes.
* The harbormaster of Godsgrave is one of the most powerful titles in the entire city. Many years back, the role was appointed by the city’s administratii, but the profits generated by controlling what comes in and out of the ’Grave by sea didn’t escape the notice of the local braavi—the thieves, extortionists, and thugs that constitute Godsgrave’s organized criminal element.
Murder was rife, and harbormasters were dropping faster than a groom’s pantaloons on his wedding eve. It was Julius Scaeva who suggested the gangs themselves be allowed to appoint the role—a stroke of political genius that earned him favor with the city’s merchants (who just wanted their bloody shipments to arrive on time), the braavi (who were getting rather tired of having to neck a new harbormaster every few weeks), and the administratii (who were, by that stage, having trouble finding anyone fucking stupid enough to take the job).
After discussion among the gangs, the new harbormaster was appointed, the murders stopped, and everyone settled back to the business of making barrowloads of money—including Julius Scaeva, who had, in a further stroke of genius, decided the harbormaster’s office should pay a one percent tithe of all profits to the consul’s chair.
You have to admire the bastard’s testicles, don’t you?
* The Sorority of Flame is an offshoot of Aa’s ministry, venerating Tsana, the Lady of Flame. Consisting entirely of women, those of the order take vows of chastity, humility, poverty, and sobriety, and generally spend their lives in chaste contemplation inside walled temples.
It should be noted however, that in addition to being a patron of women, Lady Tsana is also patron to warriors, and that along with arts such as illumination, herbalism, and midwifery, sisters of the sorority are schooled in the arts of bow, shield, and sword.
It’s not only for reasons of chastity that the sisterhood is not to be fucked with, gentlefriends.
* Two copper beggars at an average dockside whorehouse, with an ale thrown in if the publican is feeling generous.
Self-care, gentlefriends. Self-care.
* Chartum liberii are the focus of any slave’s existence in the Republic of Itreya. Also known as “redsheets” for the scarlet parchment they are scribed upon, they signify that the bearer has, through dint of self-purchase, a merciful master, or governmental edict, earned their freedom.
Almost impossible to forge thanks to the arkemical processes of the Iron Collegium, redsheets are an incredibly valuable commodity. A flourishing black market has arisen around their acquisition and resale, and clever purveyors of redsheets can expect to become very rich very quickly. Less clever purveyors can expect to be sold into slavery for life, along with their relatives, friends, colleagues, familia, pets, and people who owe them money. The entire Republic runs on the oil of slavery, after all.
If you fuck with the system, gentlefriends, be prepared for the system to fuck you back.
† Five, it turns out. Six if you count the one riding his back.
* Built by King Francisco III to entertain his many mistresses (and hide his dalliances from his bride, Annalise), the garden mazes of Whitekeep are one of the city’s treasures. The mazes extend for twisting miles, and in the years since the monarchy’s fall, have become a common place for lovers to meet and bang like shithouse doors in the wind.
One infamous Minister of Aa’s church, Marcus Suitonius, attempted a foray into the Senate on a platform