It was just before dawn in the Legus Mercantile City-Republic of Pallasoldi, a rare moment of calm and quiet before the riotous day. The stone streets of the central markets were sluiced clean, the copper bell that hung where their four corners met scoured and gleaming. The clattering of wheels faded away as the last of the night soil merchants dragged his full cart into the Cunicolan, the complex of tunnels that ran underneath the city to keep the shit sellers out of sight. In the markets and bazaars that spider-webbed out from the city . . .
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