Lucifer Ch. 04: The Floating City

It's hard to resist the urge to comfort him, so I harden my features and focus on the grilling meat, plucking off another morsel and blowing on it to let it cool. Silence falls for a few moments, and I muse, "If you could right this wrong... what would you do, Dubh?"

"I would take my brothers and go home to Eire. The fair folk were never meant to be involved in all this. This is madness!"

I nod, blowing on the meat in my talons thoughtfully. "Dubh, what if I gave you a second chance, hmm? One more chance to do things better, to start over, in my personal accounting?"

"I... don't understand."

"You can walk through shadows, can't you?" Dubh nods nervously. "How far can you go?"

"Anywhere connected to my feet by earth, so long as I know what I'm looking for."

My eyes close. "So you can't work your magic over water."

He shakes his head. "Lots of shadows in the deep. Don't want to drown."

I take a moment and think. It's why the fairies, once freed of their iron cages, could only travel through the shadows on the ship. Otherwise they would have been long gone, and who could blame them? "If we were to sail this ship to port, you could shadow walk from there to anywhere?" Dubh nods, his ears perking, and I narrow my eyes. "Even to Venice?"

He shrugs. "Sure. It's not an island, is it?"

"No, it's a city on the coast, on the northernmost point of the Adriatic Sea."

"And... and if I get you to Venice, you'll forget about me?"

"Trust me, nothing would please me more than to forget about you, Dubh." He looks a little hurt as I nibble on my morsel of meat, but he nods. "Very well," I mutter, getting up and shaking the dust from my cloak. My scaled up right arm steams a little in the cool night air, and Dubh stares at it as I crouch down next to him. "I accept this deal." I curl my talon into the rope by his right hand and pull, cutting the hemp easily. "We will shake on it." The fairy looks nervous, then reaches up and cautiously takes my right hand and cries out in pain as I shake firmly. My scales are extremely hot, and when I let him go his palm is with the pattern of my hide. "Don't forget, Dubh."

He hisses, shaking out his hand. "I won't. I swear it." The rest of the rope loosens up and he pulls it away from himself, shivering and staring at the cooking meat and at me where I crouch near to him. "The rest of this meal is all yours, but be careful," I caution, and he pauses halfway in his rush towards the grill. "There are only so many crewmen left hanging in storage below decks. We have to make sure they feed us for our entire voyage to land."

Dubh winces, his ears drooping, but his empty stomach drives him forward to eat anyway. I leave him to it, suckling on my talons as I wander towards the wheel in back and look up at the stars, trying to divine how Marut ever made sense of them.

///

With Dubh's promise secured, I allow his brothers to wake. The three reunite, eat, and keep their distance from me while I try to keep the ship directed now eastward, thinking that eventually we'll happen upon a coastline faster than heading north or south. It takes two days for that to prove true, and when it does I feel immense relief. I haven't dared to sleep while stuck on the same ship as these fairies; while Dubh had promised his help to me, I have no idea how much or little they honor their word. At this point I'm exhausted and just on the verge of hallucinating, so as we ease the ship towards a shallow cove I'm gripping the rail, urging the vessel to move faster.

At last the ship hits sand, and the entire structure groans from the slow impact. I'm first over the rail, hefting a leather, waterproof sack on one shoulder as I climb down the hull using my talons. I land in ankle-deep cold water and it helps wake me up, and the three fairies climb down after me, warily checking out the terrain as I walk up the narrow beach. "Burn it," I call back over my shoulder, and within a few minutes there's smoke rising up from the deck, the metal lanterns held magically aloft now allowed to fall onto pitch-soaked linens and wood. All signs of our involvement with the ship are up in flames, as might be any records of our capture.

We head inland and find a cave, and per our arrangement, Dubh's brothers head into the dark and go home. He watches with relief as they disappear, then he turns to me and gestures to the shadows. "What should I look for?" he asks, rolling up his sleeves.

I take a moment to change my clothes, discarding the ragged black cloak and opening up the leather bag. Inside are clothes I've tailored to fit me, the originals I'd gotten blackout drunk in by now long gone, and I pull on the black hose I've made for myself out of linen, as well as a pair of leather boots that strap up to my knees. A tunic in off-white beneath a leather vest tied at the sides covers my top, and a leather belt holds a full coin pouch and several daggers sheathed obviously and discreetly. Overtop everything else is a new hooded cloak in dark gray. All of this is hand tailored from clothing pilfered from the pirates' bodies - I had to do something useful to keep myself awake day and night, after all. As I'm dressing I pull out a folded piece of paper from the leather bag and hand it to Dubh. "The icon of Venice is a winged lion. Look for anything like that."

He studies the image and nods, then waits for me to finish. Once I'm all set, he takes my hand and leads me into the darkness. I was warned to dress warmly, but the understatement is astounding; it feels like ice is forming on my skin immediately and I hold my breath on reflex. I feel his hand in mine and I hold on tightly, unsure if I'm moving or standing still, until at last I'm stumbling out of a barn to the dismay of a milk cow and some chickens. The journey has left me disoriented, and I wander out of the barn, not seeing anything but a slight rise in the land on this overcast night.

"Dubh, where are..." I begin to ask, and then the clouds part, moonlight streaming down on a brilliant gold and red standard depicting a winged lion beyond the rise. When I turn to look for the fairy I find that he's already gone and so I sigh, pull up my hood, and climb the embankment. The standard is attached to the grand mast of a ship, and the sight beyond is a gigantic metropolis glittering with lights which, to my consternation, is actually an island. Even at this late hour ships of all kinds are out on the water of the lagoon, bells ringing, colored lanterns casting a rainbow of light, and all accompanied by the faint sound of revelers singing drinking songs on the shores beyond. There is so much over there. So much I want, but it's always come at a price. I swallow, feeling that same dread that I felt the night before arriving in Babylon.

This time, however, I'm free and in control of my fate. I'm here for my key, and the moment I get it I'm returning to the desert. Swallowing down my fear, I caress my hands over my sheathed daggers and make my way to the shoreline, hoping to find a bridge. Yet as I walk for the next hour I don't see any sign of one, just a narrow strip of land far beyond creating lea against the waters of the sea beyond. It confuses me so much that I walk down a pier and catch the attention of a man loading gear into a small row boat to bluntly ask, "Sir, where is the bridge to Venice?"

He looks at me with some confusion, and then he smiles. "Good Sir, I think someone's played a trick on you. There is no such thing." His Latin is odd, just like the Latin used in Palermo. He can understand me, but I can tell that it's making me stand out.

"Ah. I see, well... I need to get to the city. Where do I hire a boat?"

He shrugs. "You can ride with me. It's no great trouble."

For a moment I blink, confused. I thought this was going to be far more difficult. "Really?"

"Of course. I cross the canals a few times each day. It's courtesy to help someone across the ways, especially if they are new to the region." He hauls another crate in, then steps onto the pier and straightens out his clothing, bowing politely. "I am Venetian. We believe in social graces."

I smile with relief and offer to help him with his cargo. He accepts and we spend the next half hour loading his boat, and then he helps me step into it before he boards it himself, untying the ropes from the pier. Very gently he pushes away from the dock, and I swallow and grip the sides, feeling unsteady.

"Not used to water travel, good Sir?"

I swallow and close my eyes. "I just don't care for it."

He laughs jovially and keeps rowing. "Then you have come to the wrong city, my friend. There are no carts or carriages, only boats." When I groan aloud he laughs even harder, but he offers his condolences. "What brings you to Venice, if you are willing to face such unease to get here?"

"I'm a merchant and I heard that many of the riches from the last crusade in Byzantium are being held here."

He looks confused for a moment. "Did you mean Constantinople?"

With a slight flush, I mutter, "Yes, of course. Constantinople."

He nods and looks over at the metropolis approaching us. "Ah yes, we are most fortunate. Our city glitters with gold, as God wills it. Rumors of precious things coming in were the talk of the town a few months back, and while a few things have been sent to Rome, they were only trifles. Venice would never part from her best treasures."

Was my key already sent on? The sickening thought leaves me quiet for the rest of the trip, and when we get to a small dock towards what looks like the back end of the city, he helps me out of the boat but adamantly refuses my help in unloading. "If you have the coin, I would recommend an inn just down the alley there. If you don't, there is a small chapel where you can rest for a few hours before morning services. The priest is very kind." When I look at him in confusion, he smiles gently and whispers, "You fell asleep during the ride over. I didn't have the heart to wake you."

My cheeks flush pink but I thank him for his kindness and head down the alley, summoning the last of my energy to rent a room at the inn he recommended. Once I'm left alone, I lock my door, lock the shutters, and collapse onto the bed, asleep within minutes.

Chapter 7

When I wake up the sky is dark all over again and I feel disoriented. There are no signs of break ins and none of my possessions have been disturbed from where I left them, so I start to relax and trust that I was left alone while I slept. The smell of the lagoon is less noticeable, or perhaps I'm just going nose-blind to it, but either way when I open my window and peer out at the street two stories below, I feel refreshed and ravenously hungry. The last time I'd eaten was the previous evening, so I wash and get dressed, use the commode down the hall, and then go downstairs to check out of the inn and seek out some food. And, more to the point, any signs of my key or who might have it.

The evening is alive with people walking along the canals, arm in arm, deep in conversation and amusement. They're dressed in the most splendid clothing, silks and lace in every color one could imagine, and I admit to taking great pleasure for a little while in just people watching. Musicians entertain at the corners and food vendors offer delicious treats on those streets that don't have cafes and restaurants open at this hour. With my hood pulled up I don't get any looks at all, and I imagine even if people saw my face they wouldn't stare. The light from the lamps is yellowish, making even my skin look like everyone else's olive-complexion. It helps me to relax, and at last I step into a small osteria and take a seat at the back.

A young man brings over some cutlery and a napkin and then pours me a cup of red wine, assuring me that my plate will be over in just a few moments. After taking a sip I feel my cheeks warm up and I smile, prepared to wait as long as it takes so long as they offer refills. I'm just into my second cup when my dinner arrives, and I try hard to be polite as I ravenously devour my steaming plate of fried lagoon shrimp over polenta. I hadn't realized how exhausted and malnourished I'd been up until now, and I feel disinclined to leave my seat ever again. For an extra coin I get my cup filled with warmed wine made from blackberries, and I'm left undisturbed to watch the crowds as they walk past the open front of the eatery on this fair evening.

At one point a slender young man, barely out of childhood, slips through the crowds and, spotting me, trots over to my table. I still have my hood up, and from its shadow I watch him huff and puff for a moment as he sets a package wrapped in burlap and tied in string down before me. "Sir... Straight from the dock. As you ordered." I'm too confused and a little too comfortably buzzed to say anything, so I merely nod my head and with that the boy runs back out into the crowd.

Once he's gone I take up the package and my cup and move over to the counter, slipping onto a stool to make use of the lantern hanging above me. When the waiter comes by to check on me I thank him but wave him away, carefully untying the string and unwrapping what turns out to be a wooden box. Burned into the top with a hot iron is a brief message in Greek:

Property of Pothos.

My eyes widen and I look back out at the crowd. That young messenger must have thought I was him, given how the cloak hood hides my hair but not the color of my hands and eyes. And if the boy was so ready to hand it off to me in this city, then Pothos himself is expected, at least by the delivery runner, to be here now. I look back at the box and slide my fingers over the letters, considering opening it. Could my key be in here? After a moment of lightly trying to open it, I discover that the lid has been sealed to the container with wax. The last time I ran into Pothos was a few centuries ago and he was happy to see me then. Now?

With a determined stride I exit the osteria with the box under my arm, and soon I find a quiet alleyway half lit by lamp light. With one of my daggers I part the lid from the wax and lift it away, looking through the straw in the box only to find brass trinkets. Even when I shake each one I hear nothing inside; my key is definitely not in here. I'm grumbling as push the lid back on and lift the box towards the lantern nearby. The heat from the oil flame helps soften the wax enough for it to adhere again, and after a few minutes it's like the container was never opened. Now what remains is to actually find where Pothos is, and as there's no address or any other markings on the box, I lean back against the brick wall and think. The messenger was in this part of the city, so perhaps my old friend is staying nearby.

I'm startled when the lantern above suddenly shatters and the flame dies out. Shards of tinkling glass pepper the cobblestones by my boots, and I step back further into the shadows as a second arrow strikes the spot where I'd just been standing and careens off the stone. When I dilate my pupils I see the heat signatures of everything, and I notice a hot shape up on a roof across the canal. It's crouching, then looks like it's pulling back on something, a bowstring, then let's go. I gasp and jerk to the right, the arrow just shearing through my cloak as I press against the other brick wall in this alley, out of the shooter's line of sight. Looking into the darkness of the alley further down, I notice another figure approaching, far hotter than any human being is.

"Stop" I call out in Latin, the waves of force rippling through the air. The figure keeps coming, and I try it again in Greek, Arabic, and then finally Angelic. At last the figure stops like a statue and I feel the hairs on the back of my neck rise up. "Drop your weapons," I say next, and I hear several daggers land on the cobblestones by the figure's feet, and the clatter of a bow and its quiver. I quickly walk over and take the last two for myself, and then I grab the figure by the arm and command them to stand in a ray of moonlight. As expected, when the figure walks into the light I see the face of an angel.

"Tell me your name," I say softly.

"Indira," she mumbles. Her face is so familiar but I can't place it just yet.

"Indira," I offer, looking back down the alley, "tell your companion to stop firing arrows."

She looks up at the roof across the canal, all the while seeming nervous and fidgeting with her hands, and suddenly I realize that she reminds me of Aestus both in manner and appearance. Her eyes close briefly, and then she opens them to look at me. "I have told him."

"Yes, good. And now..." The whine of another arrow strikes the cobblestones near my boot heel, the arrow shattering and a splinter from the shaft whizzing by my cheek. My skin there stings, and when I pull my fingertips away they come away wet with drops of blood. Clearly the message was not well received. I stand behind Indira and grumble, "Where does Pothos live?"

"He lives in a palacio several streets down the canal to the right. There is the symbol of a rose over his door."

"Thank you, Indira. Now, go home to your master directly."

She shivers and pulls her cloak about her, slipping out from the alley and onto the street, heading left. I furrow my brows in confusion, then realize that she doesn't work for Pothos at all or else she would have turned right. And by that reasoning, the bowman doesn't work for Pothos either. Her daggers are still on the ground, so I cautiously pick up a few and sheathe them in my belt, then hurry down the back end of the alley and head towards Pothos' supposed residence. The entire time I try to keep to the shadows, looking up at the rooftops but seeing no one. When I reach my destination I discover it by accident, resting in the shadow of an archway leading down to a canal dock. The door on the other side of the sidewalk is dark and studded, and above the entryway is the symbol of an iron rose.

Desperate to get inside, I rush to the door and knock on it, pressing my back against the stone inset. There's movement inside, voices, and then I hear the locks being turned. The door opens slightly, and a stranger's voice asks in this strange Latin, "State your business."

"I have a delivery for the master of the house."

The person behind the door grunts. "Give it to me, then."

I frown, then pull out a small dagger and briefly scratch a note into the wooden top before handing the box over. The door closes and locks again, and I wait, nervously looking over at the rooftops every now and again. A few moments after handing the box over I hear an exclamation on an upper floor. Not ten seconds later the door is hastily unlocked and pulled open, and in the light of the candle he's holding I see Pothos' boyish visage, his distinctly albino features unchanged from when I first met him in Byzantium centuries ago. The candle holder is dropped on the floor with a startling clatter and he pulls me inside, closing the door behind me and locking it, then looking down at his dropped candle in annoyance before looking back up at me with a bright smile and eyes as red as mine.

"Lucifer! Oh my friend!" he exclaims, gripping my arms and then pulling me into a hug. So, I guess we're still on good terms. That's a relief. I hug him back tiredly and he then stoops to pick up his candle and its holder, sets them aright, and leads me into a sitting room on the first floor. He doesn't say anything as he gets up and fetches a metal box and a ceramic bowl filled with water, and he sets these things by my chair and looks into my eyes. "Look at what you've done to your perfect face. Every single time. Every time, my friend. You have no appreciation for anything."