City of Corpses Page 16

  The sensation grew more terrible. Yumiko felt as if she were choking.

  4. Twilight and Night

  Yumiko closed her eyes, held her clamoring thoughts into silence, and concentrated on her breathing. Slowly, calm returned.

  When Yumiko opened her eyes, the scene was altered. All the dreamlike dread was gone. She felt awake. The pounding in her head was gone.

  The proportions of the stone-floored chamber were still impossible, but the chamber was smaller, and the fire in the fireplace now kept pace with the normal rate of time. The ceiling now seemed to be merely painted with a cunning image of a ceiling balcony and shadowy vaults whose perspective was meant to fool the eye. The far walls, which were no longer far enough to reach across the street, were hung with mirrors, making the hall merely seem longer. The beasts in the tapestries had ducked their heads back to their former positions and were holding still.

  The red lady was now standing and facing her, and the white candle was no longer hovering in the air, for the lady held it in her hand.

  The lady stepped forward, holding the candle high. As she crossed the archway, the scene behind her changed again and shrank, becoming more solid. Now it was a room carpeted and decorated just as the sitting room. The ivory chair was still present, as were the platter of bones at its foot and the silver knife, but the fireplace was of normal size and shape. The ceiling was dark plaster. The trees to either side of the archway were no longer growing through the floor. Now they were saplings standing in tall brass urns.

  Yumiko remembered to drop her eyes.

  The red lady was tall. Seen close, her neck was white as paper, an unearthly white. The red lady’s lips were red as blood, but they were not painted with lipstick. It was their natural color. The top of Yumiko’s head did not reach her bare shoulder. The lady reached down with a pale white hand with blood-red nails, took Yumiko’s chin between her fingers, and lifted her face to inspect it.

  The lady’s eyes were gray as tarnished silver, gray as storm clouds before the storm, and deep. To look into them was to peer as if through two pellucid windows into a sea of shadows without bottom, memory beyond memory, older than Babylon, older than the Flood.

  Her voice was a sighing of woodwinds. Yumiko both heard the words in her ears and, at the same time, not with her ears. It was as if some part of her brain were asleep and Yumiko but dreamed that she heard this voice.

  “To draw back from the night-shadow so quickly and cleanly is unusual,” said the lady thoughtfully. “You are not fully a Daughter of Eve. Subtle ichor of nobler ancestry is mingled with the dross of mundane blood. You are a beauty and no Cobweb.”

  Yumiko kept her hands at her side. She did not allow her fingers to form into a fist but kept her expression mild and her thoughts silent.

  “Tell me your true name, the day and hour of your birth, and the names of your native and conniving stars.”

  It was a direct question. Yumiko said, “Please let all be well between us, Dame Malen Ruddgochren. Please call me Sayori. I do not know the names of the stars that looked on my birth.”

  Malen said, “Speaks she the truth?” But she had raised her strange eyes and was looking over Yumiko’s head at a point behind her.

  A voice that was neither male nor female spoke. The tones had a peculiarly dry timbre. From the sound, the words were not formed in a mouth with damp tongue and palate, and there were no lungs made of warm, moist tissue behind them. “At times. She reveals and conceals the truth by speaking and by not speaking.”

  Malen evidently understood this riddle, for she nodded thoughtfully. She spoke again. “The scent of high and distant stars clings to her, silver and gracious with forgotten grace. But also the scent of the grave and the foetor of the noisome worm.”

  The eerie voice answered. “She has been washed clean of all oaths and curses, fresh as an eight-day-old child at baptism.”

  Malen was still holding her chin, and so Yumiko could not turn and see who or what stood behind her and spoke these words.

  Malen’s gray eyes narrowed, and strange light was in them. “Speak you of uncouth things to me? Begone!” She turned her gaze to Yumiko again. Her fingers tightened on Yumiko’s chin, and her face drew near. “I see dark deeds in your eyes and murders without remorse. And yet you are unstained and fresh? The starlight is closer to you than any starlight that falls to Earth. You are a strange one, girl! Explain yourself!”

  “I cannot explain myself, Ma’am. I wish I could. Ma’am.”

  Malen let go of her chin and straightened up. Her long red hair now unwound itself of its own accord from the snood and parted and swayed as if there were a wind blowing in the chamber. But there was no wind. The candle flame fluttered in her hand.

  The lady said, “I see but one full moon in your eyes and no winters. Where is the winter in your eye? You are less than a month old. Mayhap you are some newborn changed by charms into a ripe young woman in an hour? Or if not this, some other trick as merry and cruel was played on you. Listen! Listen?”

  Yumiko looked attentive, but Malen said nothing more.

  “Ma’am..?”

  Malen now leaped back, lightly as a doe, and turned on her toes swifter than a ballerina. She flung the candle away to one side, heedless of where it fell. It left a thin trail of blue smoke behind it. “Listen! Can you hear the music? Can you hear it?”

  And now Malen, with eyes blank yet shining, began to whirl and caper, her toes not fully touching the carpet, her body swaying like the branches of the birch tree in the strong spring wind, her arms like floating scarves, her hands like bright green birds soaring and circling, her red hair following her like the bright tail of a torch in a gale.

  A sudden jolt of sorrow passed through Yumiko. Tears were in her eyes, and a sob caught in her throat. Yumiko somehow, in some strange fashion, knew that the emotion was not hers but was coming from somewhere in the room and passing through her. She ducked her head and, again, controlled her breathing. The sensation vanished as if it had never been.

  Malen now stood before her, looking down. “You are no witch. That is sure. Do you hear the voices lamenting? The song troubles you?”

  She said, “I hear no voices, ma’am, no song.”

  “Your ears are held. Your brain is clay. Why did the Magician send you to me? His mind is a maze, and I cannot see past the first twisted winding.”

  Yumiko was now puzzled and beginning, despite her best efforts, to grow frightened again. “Ma’am? The Magician said you needed a girl to wait on you when you went shopping. To the, ah, market fair. Here in this hemisphere.”

  Malen now turned her back to Yumiko, but then slowly tilted her head and looked over her shoulder. “That was long ago. Long and long. Fifteen minutes. Half an hour. What is that in elf-time?”

  Another direct question. “I don’t know, ma’am.”

  Malen sneered. “Of course you do not, foolish virgin, until I tell you! In dreams, a man can live three lives and more between the time he rolls from bed and ere he smites the floor. Empires of the instantaneous creatures who live in the flickers and wisps of dreamland could rise and fall and the ruins be covered by creaking and malignant trees in that time.” But now she smiled brightly, clapping her hands in joy like a schoolgirl. “So you are my maidservant? We shall have fun together!”

  Yumiko bowed. “The Magician places me at your disposal with his compliments. Ma’am.”

  “I remember my ambition from long ago. From this morning. The dawn was fair to see, and I bade it linger. I wish to see their shops and stores. Is their wealth more glorious than ours? I must see the Daylight Men!”

  And sudden passion overcame Malen, for her fair limbs grew stiff, and her head was thrown back.

  “I must see them in their false lives and corruption, worshipping false idols or none at all! The Galilean is dead. He must be! He was tortured! He must be afraid to return! Why is he not afraid? Arthur is dead. Merlin is dead. Do the dead arise again, like a man waking from sleep
?”

  Her hair began to sway and flutter so violently that trickles of smoke came from it.

  “I must see the men of the sunlight in their swine pens, rooting in sin, wickedness, and mutiny, and this will prove that none will come to save them, no high judge forgive. I can tolerate the fires if I know they will go before me.”

  Whirling suddenly, she grasped Yumiko by the shoulder and gazed down into her face. Her fingernails, bright red, bit into Yumiko’s shoulder.

  The music of Malen’s voice became strident. It was out of step with the words appearing inside Yumiko’s head. This formed a jarring double echo. “I have an enemy. He means to burn me with fire, trapped within immortal flesh unperishing, so that I will burn more and more, forever! He has prepared the Lake of Fire for my masters. I have seen it. Is it not right that I hate this enemy? Is it not right that I hate his servants? I am afraid of fire! Prometheus stole it. It should not serve them!” But with her mouth, she said only, “Why do they worship him and not me? Am I not worthy of worship? In older days they did, you know. The Sons of Adam bowed and served and sacrificed to me.”

  Yumiko was frightened and tried to keep her face blank and her eyes down. She was not sure if any of these questions had been meant for her, so she resolved to say nothing.

  Or so she thought. To her surprise, she heard her own voice come softly but sternly from her throat, saying, “Fairest daughter of fairest Ernmas and Delbaeth of the Storms, surely the dead can be risen. I was risen. Take heed. You cannot place yourself beyond the reach of your judge by dying nor make your soul too dark for him to see. Even if you make your bed in Hell, he is there.”

  Malen let go of Yumiko’s shoulder. Her hair fell back down around her shoulders and ceased to smolder. Her eyes seemed like the eyes of any woman who has known sorrow. Her mouth was hidden behind her fingers.

  “The music ceases. Mercy speaks from you, but there is no mercy in you.”

  Her fiery hair braided itself like dancing snakes and folded itself into the snood again. The unearthly beauty returned to her tones. “You are a puzzlement! The Magician has chosen well. Were you easily known, hence dull, I might forget you, and perhaps you would cease to be. At times, I think many I have forgotten have vanished away without trace, by hundreds, by hosts and nations. But I cannot be sure.” She pointed behind her. What had been an archway between two trees was now a mirror between two potted plants, and what had seemed a chamber was but a reflection of this one. The ivory chair, however, still existed, but it was on this side of the mirror, facing the French doors.

  The red light of early dawn was still pouring in through those doors. If this was a dream, Yumiko was still in it.

  Looking down at Yumiko, Malen raised one eyebrow. “Why did you come into my presence without being announced?”

  Yumiko bowed. “I was told not to knock. There was no footman at the door.”

  “I consumed him.” Malen spun in a circle, and a long red cloak which had not been there a moment before clasped her shoulders. Now she smiled. “But you and I shall walk arm in arm, chattering and laughing gaily, like childhood friends, and old gossips! You are pretty for an under-creature, and the smell of mortal bread and wine is not obnoxious on your breath. We shall be friends, and I shall preserve your life! Is this not a kindness of mine? Am I not kind?”

  “Most kind, ma’am.”

  “Show me the finest treasures of the city! Let us go!” And she took Yumiko by the arm, and she strolled grandly out the French doors and into a garden that had suddenly grown larger and darker than was possible, with many orchids and tropical blooms which had not been there a moment before.

  5. An Elf Hour

  The rooftop jungle was rich with strange perfumes beneath red clouds. Flowers with the faces of young maidens, or orchids like leprous crones, gazed at Yumiko with wide eyes. In the distance, albino elephants stalked the clearings in eerie silence.

  Yumiko concentrated on her breathing and recited verses from the Diamond Sutra silently in her mind. There is neither form nor emptiness. There is no passing away and no coming into existence. The jungle grew smaller, and the trees grew less with each breath. A sensation of drunkenness, which had crept upon her so subtly she did not notice it, gradually receded.

  Malen led her down a vine-cloaked fire escape to the streets of New York.

  It was difficult leaping from landing to landing in her kimono, but there was no other way to keep up with Malen, who went sailing down the stairs without touching them as if she were sliding on an invisible glass ramp.

  Down on the sidewalk, it was day, and the sights and sounds seemed normal. On the final landing, Yumiko looked up. The vines and jungle trees had vanished, but a single baby elephant, white as snow, was peering curiously over the roof of the building down at them.

  Yumiko released the safety-catch on the final length of metal ladder. It slid open. She rode it downward as it fell with a clang and a clash to the pavement of the alley. She landed, rolled, and came to her feet lightly. Then, she straightened, adjusting her kimono, smoothing the fabric, and stepping quickly after Malen. The Red Lady had left the alley and stepped into the middle of the avenue, and she was making imperious gestures at the honking cars and buses. Yumiko was unable to persuade her to return to the sidewalk.

  The Cheyenne darted into the traffic. He was dressed in a buff leather jacket with two rows of shining brass buttons on his breast, and a cap with a bill was on his head. It was a chauffeur’s uniform. He saluted. “Your limousine awaits, milady! This way!”

  Malen said, “That man there swore at me. When he wakes tomorrow, his teeth shall hatch with infinite pain into scorpions and asps, and sting his mouth and throat with lingering poison! So I decree!”

  The Cheyenne darted a dark glance at Yumiko and said, “Please don’t. It is bad luck to kill humans, ma’am. You really shouldn’t rile them up. They belong to the Winter King.”

  “Oh, very well,” she pouted. “I shall instead have him slumber twenty years.”

  A moment later they were in the back of the limousine and driving slowly to Bloomingdale’s. The Cheyenne spoke over his shoulder without turning his head. “Will you agree to leave the humans alone? They can be dangerous in groups. Your brother would not like it if you were to get hurt.”

  Malen raised an eyebrow. “Of what order am I? We harm. We are not harmed.”

  “Humans are easily startled,” the Cheyenne said, unimpressed. “They might stampede. Don’t you read the papers?” He passed a rustling gray sheaf through a slot in the glass separating the compartments.

  Yumiko looked at photographs of rioters in ski masks skirmishing with rioters in hoods while police in riot gear stood in the distance, looking on indifferently. The photo showed a dumpster fire and black-clad figures dancing around it. Under their feet was a blonde girl, being kicked and beaten. The caption read: Protestors Blame Mayor.

  The headline read MURDER SPREE CONTINUES. Minorities, women, hit hardest. Fifty-first victim found torn to bits in public pool.

  Yumiko’s eyes skipped down the paragraphs. “A largely peaceful protest is ongoing for the third straight day… over the last fifteen months… wild dogs killing women, children… victims consumed… remains… by some large animal… peaceful protestors demanding… cops pelted with rocks, fireworks, Molotov cocktails… smashed cars… arson fires burning since… firetrucks unable to enter… streets barricaded by protestors… police criticized for harsh tactics… the possibility of declaring martial law…”

  Malen said, “Shall we see them fight? It is the only thing I like about the Sons of Adam. They fight dirty.”

  The Cheyenne said, “Please stay away from any bad neighborhoods, ma’am.”

  Malen pouted. “It has been a long time since I saw the gladiators at the circus. When they closed the last one, I so hoped they would reopen! A curse on Saint Telemachus! It has been over a thousand years.”

  The Cheyenne remained with the limo when the red lady and Yumiko
went into shop.

  The next hour passed without incident. Malen seemed subdued by the sight of so many human beings, by their electric lights, escalators, telephones, and water fountains.

  More than once, as they shopped, Malen wondered aloud about the absence of woodland animal noises, birdcalls, and leaf-whispers. She did not seem to be able to adjust to the traffic noise or elevator music. She was impressed by how many floors there were and insisted on going to the top. Yumiko found a door leading to the roof. It was locked, but it flew open of its own accord when Malen commanded it to.

  The wind was blowing here. The surface was gravel. Malen sailed over to the low railing and stood peering down at Lexington Avenue. She suddenly said, “The Magician’s dog displeases me. Let us leave him behind. I see a bridge across the air to the stores across the boulevard from us. You have shown a liking for pulling yourself out of my dreams at odd moments. Do not pull now, or you will fall to the street.”

  And the two of them walked across a smooth semicircle of an airy substance that looked like rainbow when they began to walk from roof to roof and looked like planks of crystal when they finished. A Victoria’s Secret, a Gap, and a Banana Republic were below.

  Nothing untoward happened to any humans as Malen glided from clothing racks to jewelry counters, ignoring lines, and barking commands at clerks or other shoppers. She did not notice which side of the counter was meant for shoppers or why doors opening into the back were forbidden. She ignored queues and doormen alike. Something in her great height, flowing hair, and rich garments streaming like red banners in a wind that touched only her made people get out of the way on the sidewalk as they strolled from one shop to the next. Malen jaywalked across streets, ignoring traffic lights, but then again, so did everyone else, so this did not make her stand out.

  Only once, as they were walking, did an oddness occur. Malen climbed up from pot to lantern to an ornamental gargoyle in a keystone above the door of a highrise and caressed one of the Art-Deco faces carved there. The face grimaced and tried to bite Malen’s finger. Yumiko gently urged Malen to come down.