“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.”
As they descended the creaking ladder, the woman stared at them with arms crossed.
“This is Bridgette, my wife,” Crux said affectionately.
“Who’s the stranger?” she asked, and again Jell made introductions. Hearing them, Bridgette simply snorted and then retreated into the kitchen to make drinks. Crux motioned for them to take a seat. Even though they were out of bright sun, he kept on his hat and glasses, which reminded Henry of Mrs. Sutherland back on the Brac…if Mrs. Sutherland were a dirty old man.
“So, what does the old fool want this time?” Crux asked.
“I wish you wouldn’t call him that,” Jell started but was cut off.
“I’ll call him whatever I please. I’m not going to kiss the sandals of a council member.”
“Well, Riyal’s no longer on the council. The high priesthood and city guards have taken power.”
This bit of news didn’t seem to surprise Crux. “I heard as much,” he said simply.
“You know as well as I that they’ll ignore the gathering threat. They might use it as an excuse to control the city, but in the end, they won’t protect us.”
“What gathering threat is that?” Crux asked, baiting him.
Jell’s face flushed red. “The baka’s tunnel has been discovered. With no easy way to feed upon our young, they’ll want to finish us off. A major attack is imminent.” He looked imploringly at his reflection in their host’s dark glasses. “Your society must draw up arms and help us defend the city.”
At that moment, Bridgette arrived bearing a pitcher of some drink Henry didn’t recognize: tiny red peppers floating about a clear liquid. She set it down along with a basket of grilled peanuts and then pulled up a chair for herself. Crux poured himself a glass and took a deep slug.
“Who’s to say the baka will attack?” he said at last.
“Of course they will. We’ve cut off their access. We have to prepare for war.”
“Maybe this preparation will be what provokes them.” Crux poured a glass for Henry and slid it over to him.
“I don’t follow,” said Henry.
“Ginen is the only city the baka haven’t destroyed, the only one. Don’t hear me wrong, I’m glad that tunnel was discovered. The killings had to stop. But if the baka see us stocking weapons, if they see us fortifying our defenses – we’ll only be encouraging them. We’ll be the ones starting the war.”
Henry shook his head. He couldn’t see the logic in this. “So, you’ll just lie here sunbathing while they come to kill everyone?”
Crux cast him an angry look. “Just because I live in a cemetery, doesn’t mean I’m eager to lie under one.”
“He’s scared,” said Bridgette between sips, her wicked smile revealing a row of sharp teeth.
“No,” Crux retorted, “I don’t fear death. I’d just like to take my time getting there, that’s all.”
“What can I say to make you reconsider?” Jell asked.
“Show me a thousand baka on our doorstep.”
Jell shook his head. “By that time it’ll be too late.” He noticed Henry was about to sample his drink. “Careful. Kleren is…hot.”
Henry took a sip anyway. He wished he hadn’t. The drink felt like liquid fire on his tongue, spices too hot for any mortal to handle. He spewed it across the table. Crux laughed and poured the remainder of his drink into his hand. Then, to Henry’s amazement, he proceeded to wash his face with the spiced rum. Jell could see they weren’t going to win this argument, so he thanked the Baron and his wife for their time.
After they had left, Henry turned to him, confused. “Does that guy really hold much influence here? He’s insane.”
With a finger to his lips, Jell cast him a wary glance. It was clear he didn’t want to discuss anything until after they had left the cemetery. Only then did Henry notice the group of armed men resting in the shade of a nearby wall. Seeing that he and the Jellyman were indeed leaving, they slunk quietly back into the neighborhood.
* * *
As they walked away from the graveyard, Jell told Henry the story of Baron Crux. He was a survivor, one of many from the outer territories. When the baka attacked their cities, they’d narrowly escaped, fleeing across the desert plains. The Baron himself organized this exodus, leading his people through weeks of hardship in the wilderness. And now they were refugees in Ginen, forced to live in the only space available – the cemetery.
“They’re accustomed to death,” Jell said, not missing the irony. “I went to Crux first, because I knew it would make an impression. They aren’t represented on the council.”
“Why not?” Henry asked.
“The high priesthood argued against it.”
“Well, it didn’t sound like he was on our side either.”
Jell frowned. “No, it didn’t. And without his support, the Southern Cemetery won’t join the fight. That would be quite a loss.” He let the gravity of it sink in. “Crux answers to only one person - his wife. Let’s hope we convinced her.”
He glanced up at the sun to gauge the time. “Come on. We’ve much ground to cover.” Henry had to jog now to match his pace. “Next we’ll speak to the Marassas.”
“Who are they?”
“Twins, each with power over a different quarter of the city. Though they look the same, their attitudes couldn’t be more different. Jasmin lives to the west. She’s wise beyond her years. Her sister, Iris, lives in the east. She’s…” He trailed off, at a lost for words. “Twins don’t get along,” he said finally. “We must be careful.”
They entered a neighborhood marked by high fences and locked gates, all somewhat reminiscent of Boca Raton, Henry thought. Bougainvillea crept over elegant walls, hiding shards of glass cemented at the top. Obviously, the residents here were concerned about security and had the wealth to afford it.
They finally arrived at a door cut into the side of a pruned cactus hedge that extended for almost a city block. Jell rapped twice on the wood in quick succession and then paused before adding a third knock. A burly man in fine satin opened the door and glowered down at them.
“State your business.”
Jell leaned forward and whispered something into the guard’s ear. Then without warning, he grabbed the man’s hand in what Henry guessed was some kind of secret shake. The guard didn’t look surprised at all by this; he simply stepped aside.
The interior could not have been more different from the Baron’s house. It was like they’d stepped into another city. Mosaic floor tiles extended down an arched corridor, evenly lined with palmetto. Complex ironwork twisted to form the doors and windows. The décor reminded Henry of Miami’s beachfront mansions.
“Nice gated community.”
“This is the house of Jasmin Florentina,” Jell said as they walked along the corridor.
“This is all one house? It looks like a museum.” Henry paused to admire an Ibis sculpture resting in an alcove.
“She’s very wealthy, as are many in the west.”
“We just have good taste, that’s all,” whispered a nearby voice. Spinning around, they came face to face with a tall woman in her late thirties. An embroidered gown perfectly draped her elegant form, hugging her hips like an extension of the body.
“Jasmin, glad to find you home.” Jell recovered quickly from the sight of her. “We’ve been looking forward to speaking with you.”
“And I you. We were told you’d be coming.”
“Then you must know the reason for my visit.” Jell launched into the same detailed plea that he’d presented to Crux. After he’d finished, he waited patiently for Jasmin to digest his words. She bit her lip and then spoke very carefully.
“I understand what you’re saying, and I agree…but we cannot win a war.”
“Says who?” Jell asked.
Jasmin didn’t answer. Her silence betrayed her thoughts.
“Someone’s already spoken to you about this,” Henry said. She smiled at his perceptiveness. Then she turned and rested a hand on Jell’s shoulder.
“Sarn’s in the courtyard with my sister. He arrived shortly before you did.” Jell moved to pass her, but she’d anticipated this and blocked his path. “Wait, he’s brought the city guard with him. I don’t want trouble in my quarter, Jell.” Her eyes underlined the seriousness in her voice.
“We won’t cause any trouble. What did he tell you?”
“Only that you’d come and speak to us as you have. I told him I’d preferred to hear it from you, alone.”
“And…”
“And…” Jasmin paused again, obviously still thinking, “I trust you Jelosquevo. I always have.” She smiled softly. “You’ll have the support of the Western Quarter to defend our city.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Jell said.
“But my sister won’t be so easily swayed. Sarn can be very convincing.”
“So can I…,” said Jell, striving past her towards a wide arch at the end of the corridor. They emerged upon a courtyard ringed by high balconies that spilled creeper vines into the patio below. At its center, a small group of men and women took refuge from the sun under a collection of umbrellas. Among those gathered, Henry immediately recognized the uniform of the city’s guard and several members of the high priesthood. Sarn’s skeletal form was difficult to miss. He sat on a bench next to a young woman who looked strikingly similar to Jasmin, but had lighter hair and a sterner expression.
“Ah,” Sarn said, noticing their approach, “I see the Jellyman has finally decided to grace us with his presence. Seems he thought it more important to speak with the gravedigger first.”
“Don’t believe a word this man says, Iris. The baka will invade this city. We must prepare —”
“Why do you insist on spreading fear?” Sarn rose to his feet. “If the baka do invade, it will be because you’ve provoked them. Besides, we all know your true reason for taking arms.” He leaned in close. “You want to return Riyal to power.”
“This isn’t about politics.”
Sarn continued unabated, “Oh yes, it is. This has nothing to do with the baka. For everyone’s safety, I’m placing you under arrest.” He nodded to one of the guards. Henry’s heart sank; he really didn’t want to climb those tower stairs again.
“Let me speak my piece,” Jell said with such force that the guard stopped in his tracks. “No matter what anyone does, in a few days all the forces of the baka will descend on this city. We can accept this and put up a strong fight, or we can roll over and let them kill us. Iris, please.”
The young woman shook her head. “Jell, I think Sarn is right. The baka attacks are isolated. Those responsible for helping them have been killed. You’re just disturbing the peace.” Several guards moved in behind them, their hands on their sword hilts. The defeat in Jell’s eyes was painful to witness. He looked over at Jasmin for support.
“I’m sorry. I can’t make an enemy of the city guards,” she whispered and stared down at her shoes.
“I think some time in the high tower will cool your fire.” Sarn grinned with satisfaction. “Your head has swelled too much, little priest. Leave the governing of Ginen to the wise.”
Hearing the approach of footsteps, Sarn looked across the courtyard. What he saw made his face drop. Baron Crux and a large contingent of his men were strolling across the tiles towards them.
“Put your little dick away, Sarn, and stop pissing on these good people.”
“Baron Crux…”
“The Marassas won’t have you. You’re even uglier than I am. So stop wasting everyone’s time, you old fart.” Crux walked right up to Sarn and poked him in the chest with a thin finger. “No one wants to hear your long winded blabber.”
Sarn glanced nervously at Crux’s men. He was outnumbered now and knew he’d never win a fight. From the look of it, these men were itching for the chance.
“You’re wise to heed my advice,” Sarn said to Iris.
“What he means is that he wants to jump your bones.” Crux started making thrusting motions in the air. Even some of the city guards chuckled at his. Sarn’s face flushed red and his eyes shot daggers. But the Baron was only goaded on and began to grind himself against the high priest’s leg. Sarn shook off the old man and turned to leave the courtyard in a huff. “Don’t go, Sarn. Let us bask in your power,” Crux said giddily. “At least he’s treating us to views of his boney ass. How the women lust for those fine, wrinkled cheeks.”
“You’re vile,” Jasmin said. Crux laughed as if she’d just paid him a great compliment.
“Good timing,” Jell quickly interjected. “Thank you.”
“Thank Sarn. If he’s against you, you can count on the support of the Southern Cemetery.” Crux gave a toothy grin. Jasmin nodded in turn and soon all eyes came to rest on Iris.
“I still think you’re making a mistake,” she said. “I can’t tell my people to join you. I’m sorry.” With that, she turned and followed Sarn out of the courtyard.
“Iris, wait,” Jell tried to catch her, but she wouldn’t listen.
“She’ll come around,” Jasmin assured them.
“I hope so.” Jell watched her go with a worried look on his face. “We’ll need the Eastern Quarter to defend Ginen.” He turned back to Jasmin and Crux and began laying out his plans.
Henry wasn’t listening, however. Instead, he stared intently at Jasmin’s ears. A set of silver earrings hung from each lobe and twisted as she spoke. He made a mental note of their design, for he’d seen that veve in his picture book. This was likely the sign of her guardian angel, her “met tet”, or whatever. Again, his gut told him this was important, but he couldn’t understand why.
“Let’s gather tonight at my peristyle,” Jell said. “We can discuss the details then.” They bid farewell to their new allies, left the tranquil estate for the bustling streets outside, and returned home. For much of the way, Henry remained silent, his mind lost in thought.