City of Corpses

by John C. Wright

  But it was also a ploy to keep her employed. Wilcolac no doubt still held her in suspicion. At least two of her roommates seemed far too eager to be her friends, and the head of the bouncer squad, Licho Cobweb, always contrived to eat his meals when she took hers and seemed to watch her from behind his dark glasses.

  Krisky and Plaksy Nocnitsa, who were tall, languid blondes with eyes of piercing blue, were the two bent on being her friend willy-nilly and followed her wherever she went, pretending to chat with her. They were twins from Lithuania, beautiful as sin with voices like Slavic music, but their chatter consisted of nothing but complaints about coworkers, hypochondriac fretting over imaginary ailments, ghost stories, and plans to marry rich dotards. Both girls were morbidly afraid of owls. Yumiko could not tell if they were fully human or not.

  Her other roommates were more pleasant to be around.

  Xana was from Asturias in Spain and was filled with laughter and mischief; generous Anjana was from Cantabria, and her laughter was kind; Nightingale was polished, polite, honey-blonde, and from Northumbria, from which (or so she said with a twinkle in her eye) all the best-looking Englishwomen hailed; shy and sweet-faced Nariphon was from Himavanta in Pakistan, and she said she was fleeing an arranged marriage.

  Hala was a Serb and spoke of the sufferings of her country in a voice of quiet ferocity. She spoke of a hero named Mark the King’s Son, buried under Mount Athos, who had thrust his saber through a stone ere he slumbered and would emerge once wind and rain wore the rock and worked the great sword free because the sound of its fall would shake the hills with fear from Hungary to Albania.

  Iele was Romanian with smoldering eyes and a love of gossip. She insisted the club was haunted by ghosts. She also said the mirrors were polarized one-way glass, with Peeping Toms on the other side, who paid a fee to stare.

  Joan Lantern was the torch singer and was older than the other girls. She was Cornish, acted as their den mother or team captain, and fended off any male staff members who seemed too friendly. Everyone called her Joan the Wad, but the meaning of that nickname was never explained to Yumiko.

  On the sill of a high window in the shared room Joan the Wad propped a pumpkin shell carved into an eerie mask in which she burned a candle by night and day. Joan claimed that the pumpkin’s name was Jack and that he was her husband. Joan said Jack would tell her if any of her girls broke the rules, and therefore all the girls in giggling whispers discussed how to steal and where to hide the pumpkin or how to bake it into a pie.

  Yumiko thought it odd that none of them was American, and the suspicion grew on her that some were Daylight folk, and crazy, and others Twilight folk, and sane.

  Yumiko was also assigned to walk the dogs in Central Park. She had to borrow an outfit from Xana, who would only lend her something much too skimpy for the weather: a tank top and a pair of Daisy Dukes. But perhaps that was an advertising ploy as well.

  There were a dozen or so large Huskies, Malamutes, and Alsatians that Wilcolac kept on the property to act as guard dogs. They had to be taken out for a walk twice a day. Even here, Yumiko was not alone. Three other girls were needed to help manage the dogs, and the old Polish handyman who kept the complex lightshow and fog-makers in order, Svarog, followed after with the pooper-scooper.

  When it was time to return the dogs, the girls walked them back through the alley behind the club to the truck bay where Yumiko had saved Elfine. The kennels were a large concrete room just beyond the loading dock, down a ramp, in the basement.

  The first time Yumiko was returning the brace of barking dogs to the kennel master, Jarnik, she smiled at him, introduced herself, and asked, “These are very handsome dogs. Mr. Cobweb must really like them. How long has he kept them? And so many?”

  He was an older man, dark-eyed and hook-nosed with a touch of gray at his temples. Jarnik said, “The Magician? Not he. He be fearful of such hounds as these. He hates them. These belong to the Captain.”

  “What treats do they like to eat? Are they well behaved?”

  Jarnik was pleased to talk to a pretty girl and answered at length, until she was pulled away by an impatient Krisky, who was afraid of picking up some disease from the dogs.

  Why would Wilcolac keep hounds he hated? “Misdirection and deception,” she muttered under her breath. Of course Wilcolac kept a pack of large, wolfish-looking hounds. Any Son of Adam who spied a lupine figure lurking near or entering the club could be convinced that he had seen a Husky in Manhattan, not a wolf.

  Hand in hand with Krisky, as they sought a shortcut out of the kennels, Yumiko saw a large and square overhead door, truck-sized, tucked away behind some crates next to the kennel, leading to some deeper basement she had never glimpsed. It was marked OUT OF SERVICE. But Yumiko noticed that the handle chained to a staple in the floor was worn, the chain was scratched, and the hinges in the overhead had been recently oiled.

  An out-of-service door still in use? More misdirection.

  2. Lady in Waitressing

  Her nine roommates plus her were the core group of the chorus line and worked ten shifts a week. The other twenty chorus girls worked five shifts on and took five off so that a score of showgirls was onstage at any one time, backing up the three main acts.

  Yumiko found that not only was she able to dance, but she loved it.

  The first night, as the hour for the show approached, she was almost physically ill with shyness, but the mere act of putting on the costume calmed her nerves. Even though it showed more of her than any street clothes, she felt like it was a disguise. Donning a disguise, like downing a drink, gave a person permission to live, if only for an hour, without fear or hesitation.

  The whistles and commotion of the crowd were contagious, the stage lights drowned out the sight of any lascivious eyes, and Yumiko found she loved parading herself before the men. Perhaps she felt a sense of triumph when she drew the eyes of guys away from their scowling dates. There was something fearful and fascinating about it as well: it was like toying with fire.

  All the dancers were athletic, but Yumiko found that she tired less easily than they, or perhaps they merely complained more after shows and shifts.

  Waiting tables at first was wretched work, but eventually she got the hang of it. It boiled down to three things: the first was timing, making sure she went by each table in her area at about the time it took to down a drink or to finish a dessert; the second was organization, keeping the orders straight and menu changes up to date; and the third was friendliness.

  This third thing she learned was from Anjana, one of her roommates, who took her aside after two unhappy nights of low tips. Anjana told her that this was the same job as a model, who is paid for her looks, or as an actress, who bats her eyelashes at a camera. “The marks know it is an act. Just play along.”

  “An act?”

  “There is a hard city outside the door. In here, they want to feel the touch of softer life. In here, you play the role of a pretty girl who wants to bring them hard drinks and hot chicken wings in peanut sauce. They are paying you to make them feel like they don’t have to pay you. You’d volunteer to bring them hard drinks and hot chicken wings in peanut sauce because they are so wonderful. Just chit-chat with them! Tell them about your past!”

  Since she did not have a past of her own, Yumiko told any customer who wanted to chat with her (and most of the ones without dates did) instead about the past of Yoshiko Kawashima.

  Many a man, young, drunk, sober, or old, was fascinated by her birth in the imperial clan of the Qing Dynasty and her adoption, after the Xinhai Revolution, by a Japanese espionage agent and mercenary adventurer; many a man likewise was saddened by the suicide of her mother, the imperial concubine, and by her unhappy first marriage to the son of a Mongolian Army general; and was thrilled by her role in bringing Pu Yi to the throne as Emperor in Manchuria as a Japanese puppet after the Shanghai Incident; was impressed by her brief career as a radio star; and many a man complimented her on her courage in resisti
ng the communists after the war.

  Only one asked her how a girl of seventeen had served in World War Two.

  It seemed okay. The stories told by the other girls were wilder.

  And the customers did indeed seem to know it was all an act. All they wanted was a beautiful girl dressed in high heels, top hat, bathing suit, and a bow tie waiting on them hand and foot, and for her to be friendly, helpful, and fun.

  But she understood. It was another magic trick. The masculine appeal was misdirection: the real purpose was to separate the customers painlessly from their cash.

  Her tips per night increased dramatically. She was not sure how much money the bills were actually worth because there was small chance of spending it.

  After that, life was not so very hard. She enjoyed the work, loved dancing, and got daily exercise, the pay was good, and Yumiko got along well enough with the other girls.

  The only hard part was that she was trapped.

  She had no privacy, her costume was bugged, and at least two girls and one bouncer were watching her every move.

  Maybe the mirrors were one-way glasses watching her as well. Maybe the pumpkin of Joan the Wad actually was watching her. Maybe a ghost with empty eyes and a pallid winter tree on his surcoat walked the corridors at night, fully able to see her, now that her silver ring was hidden in the locker room.

  But what was happening to Elfine, all this time, assuming she was still alive? What was in the basement below the kennels?

  3. Friendly Warning

  On the Monday of her second week, she decided she had to find some privacy. It could not be that hard: no one could be watched every hour, every minute, without error.

  That day, she skipped lunch on the excuse of going out to shop to spend some of her tip money. Krisky and Plaksy invited themselves along. Yumiko did not even try to leave them behind: she was testing to see how long the leash might be. She bought herself a change of street clothes, a slinky nightgown, a toothbrush, a dental mirror, and some other basic necessities. She bought a bag of doggie treats in a pet store. She attempted nothing overtly suspicious.

  On Tuesday, she ducked into the third-floor locker room, and, finding it empty, jumped to the ceiling, balanced atop the divider of the last stall, and lifted the panel in the drop ceiling where her supersuit was hidden. She took a bugging device and a tracking device. Like her suit, the tiny disks had adjustable colors. She turned them white. The magnetic adhesive allowed her to clamp them to the clips pinching her earlobes, so she could wear them as earrings. It was not much, but it was practically the only place she could carry anything between costume changes.

  On Wednesday there was a break in the routine: one of the main acts was using the stage for extra rehearsal, so chorus line rehearsal was canceled. She had four hours of free time. Again, Yumiko went out, and, again, her two roommates insisted on tagging along.

  She went to an upscale clothing shop and bought a red sash that was a very close match in size and hue and fabric to the obi into which the Foxmaiden half-cape transformed. Misdirection and deception.

  Krisky and Plaksy were at the front of the shop, trying on gloves. Yumiko casually drifted to the back of the store, where she was out of eyesight. It should be a simple matter to change into another outfit, slip out, elude the two girls, and make it back to the club unseen. Then…

  When Yumiko pulled aside the curtain to step into the changing booth, Licho Cobweb was inside, smoking a cigarette.

  “This is the lady’s changing room!” said Yumiko.

  He grunted. “I am just here to see you do not change too much.”

  She said nothing in reply, but smiled politely.

  That seemed to annoy Licho. He said sharply, “Right now, the Magician trusts you, likes your attitude, and likes how you get along with the customers. He trusts you ’cause he’s keeping an eye on you. Now a bright girl like you can find a way to sneak off without anyone seeing, I am sure. But you don’t want to do that.”

  Yumiko bowed her head. “I am sorry to cause any disturbance.”

  He scowled. “You see, that’s what I don’t like about you. Any other girl would ask why I say you don’t want to sneak off and keep the conversation going. But you! You just apologize, and it kills the tempo, and then there is an awkward silence.”

  She said, “I am sorry. In silence, the vanity and pain of the world makes itself known; it is a truth not found in words.”

  He drew back as if she gave off a bad smell, “What the heck does that mean?”

  “It means you are admitting you have been ordered to watch me. This is in addition to your other duties, and the burden cannot be pleasant, so I am saying I am sorry.”

  “Phaugh! You are as cool as milk from a Finnish witch, aren’t you, missy? You don’t seem surprised.”

  “We are Moth and Cobweb. There is mistrust between us. Your master no doubt has foes: all successful men do. I would be a fool to be surprised.”

  “Phaugh! The Magician is not my master. I am the Captain’s. You are also a fool if you find any blind spot I’ve overlooked. Don’t look for one. Funerals are expensive, and so is dog food, and there is a way to save money on both if you take my meaning, little missy.”

  Yumiko nodded slowly.

  Licho said, “You want to stay on the Magician’s good side because no one else will miss you when you are gone. So stay where we can see you, see what you do, who you see. Don’t go anywhere.”

  And with that, he tossed his cigarette butt to the floor of the store, ground it to ash with his toe, gave her a pinch on the cheek, and stalked out.

  Alone in the booth, Yumiko felt as if she were in an elevator with a broken cable. The pent-up emotion, fatigue, and frustration were too much. She was sitting in the changing booth, shoulders shaking, crying, and trying to do so silently, when the store clerk came by and told her smoking was not allowed in the store.

  With Krisky and Plaksy in tow, Yumiko cut short her shopping expedition and returned to the Cobbler’s Club with an hour to spare before her next shift.

  She spent that hour in the studio, sitting without motion before the dance mirrors, controlling her breathing, and using her patience as a weapon to scrape away the weakness in her will she now perceived had grown in her like a tarnish on a silver blade.

  Yumiko told herself to wait. She must wait for the ever-present eyes watching her to blink.

  Chapter Three: Envoys to Anarchy

  1. Private Room

  The next night, after the ten o’clock show but before the midnight show, Yumiko was handed a tray of drinks by Clobhair Cobweb the bartender and told to wait on some V.I.P.s in the private room on the second floor. There was also a small bowl of water on the tray.

  She stared blankly. “Vips?”

  A twitch of his lips shifted the clay pipe he forever smoked from one side of his unshaven mouth to the other. “Very Important Persons, me girly. See ye make no mock of them nor bring bad luck to the honor of this stout old pub.” He pronounced it “auld.” Clobhair was even shorter than Yumiko and stood on a raised platform behind the bar. “Recall ye that the help enters without a knock and stays until dismissed. Take a menu in case they want something from the kitchen.”

  Yumiko balanced the tray in one hand and went quickly and silently up the red carpeted stairs to the second floor. She entered without knocking, as instructed.

  Here was an opulent room adorned in gold and ebony wood, hung with red curtains. A chandelier of cut glass was above, a smoldering fireplace with a mantelpiece of carved marble was to one side, and candles stood before the three large mirrors dominating three walls. There were no electric lights burning here.

  Wilcolac in his black top hat, white bow tie, black tailcoat, and white spats sat in a tall and narrow chair of black wood carved with images of rising snakes and falling stars. Behind him on the wall were framed pictures of the major trumps of the Tarot. Key I, The Magician, was topmost. An uncut cigar was waiting in an open humidor on a small bra
ss tripod at his right hand.

  His left hand was at his knee, toying with a walking stick of black wood set with a silver knob. On a low table before him was a silver dish of caviar imported from Iran, set in a bed of ice and ringed by small bowls of chopped egg yolks and egg whites, lemon wedges, red onions, chives, crème fraîche, and small bits of buttered toast.

  Facing him were two young men and a black dog. They were seated in plush leather armchairs with low backs, their knees almost touching the coffee table where the caviar rested. Their backs were to her as she entered and crossed the room, but she could see their reflections in the mirrors beyond.

  It came as a shock when she recognized first one and then the other. Her drinks swayed on her tray, but she steadied herself in time and smiled the bright smile she had been taught.

  The two young men were both in archaic costumes, seeming as out of place in the modern day as she would have seemed dressed in her Foxmaiden supersuit. She wished she were wearing it now.

  The first one she knew by his face.

  He was a thin, sober-faced youth in round and rimless eyeglasses that gave him a look of owlish sobriety. His dark, shoulder-length hair was tied with a ribbon at the nape of his neck. He wore a short black cloak covering his shoulders and, beneath that, a long coat of black and, beneath that, a long white tunic with a leather belt. A black hood hung down his back. On a fine gold chain about his neck was a necklace of beads set with a gold crucifix.

  Yumiko wondered at the necklace. She was reminded of Buddhist prayer beads. Other necklaces (he wore several) held medallions small as coins, oval or round, set with tiny images of men, women, doves, and angels in stiff poses.

  Strangely, in the mirror that reflected him, the candlelight was caught in the gold crucifix, and it blazed like a star and seemed to send a large, black shadow across the floor and up the wall behind him. But when she crossed in front of him, his shadow’s size and shape were normal, and the ornament was no brighter than it should have been.