Cracks in the Shell

Chapter 18

“Over there’s where they buried Sasha last night,” the Jellyman pointed sadly. He gestured across a vast expanse of whitewashed mausoleums that stretched to the outer wall of Ginen. 

“Is everyone buried above ground?” Henry asked.

“Oh no. Those are for the living.” 

Henry scratched his beard. “I thought you said this was the graveyard?”

“It is.”

“You mean people live on top of the graveyard?”

Jell nodded. “Refugees from the fallen cities. This is the only place for them.” He smiled at Henry’s reaction and then led the way up a street paved with flat panels, the names of the deceased freshly carved upon them. 

The cemetery soon gave rise to small hill. At its peak, Henry saw a modest house with a cross rising from its roof. Arriving at the door, Jell knocked twice and then waited. 

“Up here,” came a horse cry from above. “Come in.”

Jell swung open the door to reveal a barren room void of comfortable furniture. All it contained was a single table, scattering of chairs, and a shelf stocked with black candles and purple lilies. An intricate mural caught Henry’s eye on the far wall: a morose assemblage of coffins and tombstones.

“The baron lives like a monk,” Jell said, “but he sure doesn’t act like one.” A ray of light fell from an opening in the ceiling, apparently the entrance to the roof. Jell started climbing the ladder that was propped up against it. 

They crested the ceiling and stepped out onto the roof deck. Henry shielded his eyes against the glare. In one corner, he saw a thin, elderly man sitting crossed legged on a canvas deck chair, aligned to the sun. He wore a navy jacket and Lincoln-esque top hat, one size too small. Dark sunglasses covered his lean, sunken face – and for a moment Henry wondered if he might be dead. 

“Baron Crux, we need to talk.” 

“Is that you, Jellyman?” the sleeping man asked. His voice sounded pinched and nasal, as if he spoke through the nose. 

“Yes. Riyal bade me speak with you.”

“Can’t the old fool do it himself? Or are his bones too weak to climb up here? Hah.” The Baron leaned forward to get a better look at his new guests. “Who’s that with you?”

“This is Father Henry McKraggen, one of the strangers you’ve likely heard about.”

At this introduction, Crux rose to his feet, a smile crossing his thin lips. 

“Aha. So you’re the one who tried to save that little girl’s soul? Please have a drink with me. And welcome to my Southern Cemetery.” He gestured to the neighborhood below.

The ladder rattled behind them and soon a woman climbed into view. Her face gave Henry a shock, for she was strikingly beautiful but in a creepy way: middle-aged with strong cheekbones and raven black hair that contrasted strongly with her pale complexion. The skin was so drained of color, it looked as if she’d recently drowned. This couple definitely fits their cemetery surroundings, he thought. 

“Geesh, woman,” said Crux. “You look like you crawled from the crypt.”

“I did,” she snapped, “and it was your turn to clean it.” Her head ducked back into the house.

“Please pardon my wife’s temper. She’s always bitter due to her sagging breasts.”

“I heard that,” came a voice from below, “and they’re not the only things sagging around here.”