Ropemaker's Hill

The death penalty is common in many parts of the world, more often out of weary necessity than twisted ethical philosophy. In one particular city, however, they have turned the practice of hanging criminals into an obsession. If you are unfortunate enough to be condemned to death in Itapolis, you will be expected to buy the rope they use to hang you.

Of course, you can’t just head to the docks and buy a coil of rope. The rope must be bought from the dedicated rope-makers of Ropemaker’s hill, just to the west of the city walls. At the time of writing, there are only three craftsmen who still reside there.

Usmu is a handsome, motherly woman in her late forties, who lives in a simple hut near the foot of the hill. She wears her hair tied up in a kerchief, her eyes are a bland grey, and her hands are covered in soft, silvery scars from a lifetime of making the soft, fine rope that her family have specialised in for generations. The rope she makes is said to be as gentle as the arms of a lover draped around your neck, caressing your life away so smoothly that you won’t feel a thing.

Of course, she knows that. She knows full well that her ropes are the most sought-after of all the rope-makers, and charges accordingly. If you approach her to buy her wares, she will invite you in and listen sympathetically to your tale. Those who are victims of injustice or circumstance will find her kind and understanding, and her prices perhaps a little lower than usual. Those who lie, whine, prevaricate, refuse to take responsibility or otherwise behave dishonourably will find that her eyes turn to granite, and her prices become brutal.

It’s strange that she should charge so much when she lives in a plain hut on the hill. The money finds its way into the hands of the poor, the needy, and the families of those who were executed for political reasons. She’ll never admit to this, however.

Shosal is a huge, fiery, sweaty man who lives halfway up the hill. His ropes are not as fine or as gentle as Usmu’s, but they are strong and good quality. He is fiercely loyal to the rulers of the city and has no patience with anyone sent to him. For him, his wares are means for delivering righteous punishment upon those who would sneer at the laws of the city. If he senses any weakness or meekness in his victims, he will deliver a thundering browbeating upon them and castigate them for their supposed sins.

He is attempting to court Usmu, with no success whatsoever, and no understanding of why he is so unsuccessful. Self-reflection is not Shosal’s strong suit.

Elim is the last of the three, and he makes the cheapest rope of all from the rough, fibrous bushes that grow around his hut near the crest of the hill. He is a tired man with tired eyes, a wiry black beard and big, calloused hands. If you come to him, you must be desperate indeed, and he will only charge you a pittance for his ropes. The experience will not be pleasant, but if you have nothing and do not wish to burden your family further, he is always available. Unlike the other two, he seems to want to converse with petitioners as little as possible, and is apparently uninterested in their stories. Tradition demands he must listen, however, and he does so without rudeness.

He was raised by his father in this hut, and learnt the trade from him. His father appeared to him to be made of stone, never showing any emotion at the pathetic tales he had to hear. Every evening, he carefully goes around the hut, tidies up his tools, closes all the shutters and bars his door, with only a solitary candle for company. Then, and only then, does he allow himself to sit at his table and weep.

He doesn’t know it, but his father did the exact same thing when his son was asleep.

Elim is hopelessly in love with Usmu, and she might well have him if he ever spoke of his feelings to her. He is a handsome fellow under all his weariness, after all, and he understands the strange life they both lead. He will never speak of it, however. He has vowed to die alone and, more importantly, childless. He won’t inflict this life on another. Let the city find another poor fool to take over when he dies. It won’t be his doing at least.