Lingeria

by Daniel Kozuh

  ****

  Lingeria’s largest and most populated metropolis was The Red City. Whenever Norman wanted a band of miscellaneous adventurers to come together, they would find one another in The Red City.

  The got its name from of the clay that built it. Dug from the Gall Foothills to the north, the red clay was malleable until baked in the sun; then, it was as tough as cement. Approaching the Red City, as our friends did, with the sun beating down, the city appeared to be aflame – an angry, warning beacon to all who enter.

  The Red City was a highly corruptible lair of crime and hedonism. On one side of a single block, you could find a gambling hall, a brothel, an arms dealer, a hallucinogen alchemist, and The Church of Daily Repentance (which was essentially a mailbox you slipped money into, before visiting every other tenant on the street).

  The most honest form of business that took place within the city borders was paying city officials their bribe. Bribery was so commonplace that a government agency had to be created to handle it all. The Department of Prohibited Exchange Allowances was the busiest office at the city hall.

  It was also a city of walls. Streets were lined with maroon, spackled walls eight-feet high – with a metal gate every hundred feet or so, protected by guard and password. At certain times of the day, the city could seem wholly abandoned but, just past the twelve-inch thick wall of clay, business never ceased. It would be misleading to call it a “black market”, because there was no “white market” in The Red City.

  Behind the walls were whispers, bribes, gambling, boozing, sin, murder, and corruption. All of this took place within windowless, blocky, utilitarian buildings that look imported from the former Soviet bloc. The fact that blood splatter was nicely camouflaged against the red brick was just a fortunate coincidence.

  There were honest citizens of The Red City – Pasha being one of them – but they kept even more hidden than the criminals.

  “You can’t just talk to people you don’t know here,” Tahra said as they approached the gates. Tahra had the most experience of the group dealing with the brooding semantics of the town. She had grown up on these streets and actually survived. “They will more than likely gut you before giving you information.”

  “But I know of a pub that serves fantastic Shepherd’s Pies,” Rick added.

  “Let’s just go ask one of your bounty hunter buddies if they know her,” Norman said.

  “My … buddies … are either dead or joined up with Wrence,” Tahra explained. “He controls everything here now. I haven’t been to The Red City in years.”

  “Well then how do we find her?” Norman asked.

  “You created her,” Tahra chided as they entered the city. “Shouldn’t you know where she lives?”

  “In theory,” was the only response Norman could come up with. Even if he still had the Abacærium he doubted Pasha’s address would have been listed.

  Roe, annoyed with their bickering, walked up to the first gated home they passed and knocked on the iron bars.

  “Apples? Do you want apples?” came a voice from behind the mesh.

  “Uh, no,” replied Roe. “We are looking for someone named Pasha.”

  “Information costs,” came the voice.

  “We don’t have any money,” interjected Rick.

  “No money?! Go away!” was the last thing the voice said.

  “Rick, never go into sales,” Norman said, as they continued down the street.

  Every gate was a bust. The team had nothing to trade, all anyone wanted was their weapons (which they felt they should keep) and Tahra, who also was not for barter.

  Finally, after eight blocks, they spotted a rotund dwarf, who stood outside of his gate, smoking a pipe.

  “Excuse me!” shouted Roe. “Excuse me! We are looking for a woman named Pasha.”

  The dwarf eyed the matchless group and smiled. “I only trade for information,” he said, matter-of-factly.

  “But we don’t have –” Rick started.

  Norman cut him off. “What about information? Do you trade information for information?”

  The dwarf pulled smoke into his already-rounded cheeks. “Depends on the information.”

  “The Black Cloud is just on the edge of town,” Norman said. “A day away, if you’re lucky. You should flee, as soon as possible. We plan to do the same, as soon as we find our friend.”

  The dwarf’s eyes grew wide. “Thank you very much. That is most helpful, indeed! As for this ‘Pasha’, I do not know her. But there is a privileged gambling hall, just around the corner. I am sure someone will know your friend in there. Knock on the gate and give them the password. It’s ‘Fishwing’.”

  “Fishwing?” Roe clarified.

  “Yes. Head up to the second intersection, turn this way –” He wiggled his left hand in the air. “It will be the third gate on this one.” He wiggled his right hand in the air.

  “Thank you very much,” said Norman.

  Norman walked away.

  “Could I trouble you for a puff of your pipe? It has been so long,” Roe said, with a hopeful expression.

  “Roe! Let’s go!” Norman shouted.

  “Drat,” cursed the Whittle, and he chased after his friends.

  ****

  After they had turned on to the street the dwarf had told them about, Rick tapped Norman on the shoulder.

  “We did not see The Black Cloud,” he said. “It is not a day away.”

  “Just a little white lie. We needed the information,” Norman explained. “Third gate, here we are.”

  Norman knocked on the metallic screen.

  “Password,” asked a brutish voice.

  “Fishwing,” Norman said, confidently.

  Locks and latches clicked and snapped, then the gate opened with a creak and a literal ogre ogled them. He was a giant brute, with rocks for muscles, a brow so low it almost covered his eyes, and thick patches of hair all over his pistachio-skinned body. A rotting set of carnivorous teeth scowled at the strangers.

  “Hi,” Norman started, uneasily. “We just wanted … to go to the secret tavern. If you could just … move.”

  “There is an entrance fee,” the ogre insisted, his voice rumbling like an earthquake.

  “What? You got a band on tonight? Gotta charge a cover?” Norman joshed, trying to get on the beast’s good side (if there was one).

  Tahra pushed her way to the front and locked eyes with the ogre. “Do you know how much ogre teeth go for in The Red City?” she asked, simply.

  “I’d like to see you try,” the ogre snarled.

  “I already have.” Tahra reached into her bodice and pulled out her necklace, beaded with decayed yellow teeth, with inch-long roots. “Don’t worry, I didn’t kill them. I did it while they were alive and awake. I’m sure you know how painful it is to yank out an ogre’s tooth.”

  The ogre put his hand to his cheek in an autonomic response. He stepped out of the way and swung the gate wider for the strangers.

  Norman caught up with her. “Little white lie, right? Those aren’t actually ogre teeth.”

  “Every last one of them,” she said coldly.

  ****

  They heard the ogre relock the gate behind them.

  The courtyard of the tavern was nothing but dust. A banal building sat fifty yards back from the fence, a box with no windows. The only entrance seemed to be a square-foot metal flap at the bottom corner of the building.

  “That can’t be the door,” Norman thought.

  As they approached, a red brick staircase appeared level with the ground leading down to a basement entrance.

  They descended the stairs and reached for the heavy door. Before Norman could twist the knob, the door was flung open. A large man stormed out of the bar, dragging a much smaller person by the collar of his shirt. Everyone watched, as the little man was yanked up the stairs and thrown into the dust of the quad.

  All bars smell the same, even in other dimensions. Norman was hit with a wave of drunken
nostalgia when the odor from within hit him – aged oak floorboards, marinated in decades of spilled alcohol, set Norman’s mind into relapse mode. Instantly, he craved any liquid, as long as it was fermented.

  “What was that?” asked Rick.

  “None of our business is what that was,” Norman answered. “Come on.” Norman tried to go inside but his acquaintances wanted to watch the show.

  “You make a wager!” the large man yelled to the person he was eighty-sixing. “You pay up when you lose.” The bouncer tossed the gambler to the ground.

  The large man walked to the steel trap door at the base of the building, bent down, and removed a metal peg from a spoke. Instantly, the slat was kicked open and an iguana-like creature, the size of a Doberman, burst into the sunlight, anxious for freedom. The animal was obviously hungry – it licked its lips and wet its shark-like teeth.

  The gambler got to their feet. “Cynus, I’m sorry. That is why I came, to apologize. I coulda’ run, but I didn’t.” The voice, while raspy, was distinctly feminine. She had her hands out in front of her and waved them wildly.

  “Guys,” Norman urged. “This is really none of our business.” But nobody budged.

  The iguana recognized Cynus, his owner, and ignored him. It then saw the feeble, desperate woman, waving her arms about, and started to stalk. It scuttled forward and hissed loudly. The woman heard it and spun around, confused.

  “Is she … blind?” Roe asked.

  The iguana lurched forward and biting into the woman’s leg. She cried out and swiped madly at her unseen enemy.

  “You really don’t want to be here for the rest of this,” Norman insisted. He could feel Tahra seething next to him.

  With another hiss, the iguana attacked the wounded leg again. This toppled the poor woman to the ground, releasing a plume of dry dirt. She kicked away, hoping it wasn’t in the direction of her attacker. The massive lizard continued to stalk, its anaconda-like tail sweeping around in the dirt.

  The little blind woman backed up, crying, with a single hand held out desperately before her, as if it would be of any use.

  The lizard’s mouth opened, teeth already bloody.

  A sword came down on the lizard’s head; sliding though the skull, open mouth, tongue, and jaw. The beast dropped to the ground. It was such a silent kill that the blind woman didn’t realize she wasn’t in danger anymore.

  Rick placed his foot on the iguana’s neck and pulled his sword out.

  Cynus let out a scream of bereavement, running to his slain pet and falling at its side.

  “What have you done?” cried Cynus, standing up and confronting Rick. Tahra, Roe, and Norman all ran to Rick’s side.

  “It was not right, what you were doing,” Rick told the man.

  “What does a goblin know of right and wrong?” screamed the man.

  “Enough to know you don’t set a beast on a blind woman.”

  “Well, now the debt of Pasha the Blind transfers to you! Plus, the cost of my beloved Gingy.”

  “Pasha?!” Norman, Rick, Roe, and Tahra gasped in perfect synchronization.

  ****

  “Oh, thank you, thank you, brave hero!” Pasha crawled her way to Rick and wrapped herself around the goblin’s ankles, kissing at his feet in reverence.

  “That’s the one who is going to help us?” Tahra asked, snidely. “A blind librarian?”

  “She wasn’t blind when I wrote her,” Norman said.

  At that moment, Cynus charged at Rick, but Tahra was on top of the man in seconds. The two wrestled, until a thick dust cloud filled the yard. Finally, the ogre lifted Tahra off Cynus, while Norman held Cynus at bay.

  “Do you know who this is?” Norman asked Cynus, pointing to Tahra.

  Cynus shook his head, nursing his jaw.

  “This is Tahra. Greatest tracker and bounty hunter in Lingeria. She was hired by dangerous individuals to find Pasha because she is wanted for actions far more severe than gambling debts.”

  Pasha cried, “I am?!”

  “So,” Norman improvised, “if you turn the blind woman over to us, Tahra here will hunt and capture another giant-lizard-thing for you.”

  “What about the money she owes me?” Cynus was calming down.

  “How much does she owe?”

  “Thirty gold pieces!”

  Norman thought for a moment. “How much is that in ogre teeth?”

  ****

  Outside of the gate Tahra covered her neck with her hands, as if she were naked. “It took me most of my life to collect those.”

  “I did you a favor,” Norman explained. “Collecting teeth is creepy. It is what sociopaths do.”

  Now that the excitement had died down, Norman was able to get a good look at his Bibliothecary. Pasha was a teacup poodle of a woman, wearing little more than a sack with holes and slivers of leather for sandals. Her sun-damaged skin hung like drying hides from her bones. She had greasy, unkempt, maybe-blonde hair that was starting to dread, thinning eyebrows, an upturned pug nose, and eyes dimmed with a beige glaze staining the whites and pinpoint irises swimming in a pool of blue pupils.

  “Please, honorable bounty hunters,” she pleaded, “Don’t turn me into your benefactors!”

  “We’re not bounty hunters, we are rescuing you,” Norman whispered, yanking the woman by the arm. “Just shut up and keep walking.”

  Pasha stopped struggling. “Oh, clandestine champions! You have saved me!”

  “Would you keep it down?” Norman whispered. “Take us to your house, so we can talk.”

  “My house?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Norman replied, as he and his companions began powerwalking through the city.

  “Well, I am, sort of, between houses at the moment,” Pasha said, having trouble keeping pace with Norman.

  “Just wherever you live,” Norman urged.

  “Okay. I’m not quite sure where we are. What do you see around you?” asked Pasha.

  ****

  A few twists, wrong turns, and dead ends among the identical alleyways led the team to a gate that looked just like the hundred others they had passed. While it appeared locked, Pasha cautiously reached her hands out and gripped the bars. She yanked at the gate a few times and it opened, with a metallic grind. They saw, inside, a large sewer entrance. Pasha felt her way to a rusted-iron ladder and beckoned her new friends to follow her down.

  The catacombs of The Red City were a dumping ground of sewage, garbage, and snitches. As soon as Norman’s feet hit the moist floor, the smell of all three burned at his sinuses. Everyone tried to pretend that the smell didn’t bother them, casually placing their hands over their noses or fanning their shirts. Pasha seemed to take no notice of the stench at all. The only one who expressed her true feelings was Janey, who refused to enter the pit. Norman ended up tethering her to the gate outside.

  Pasha had created a small living quarter in a dry offshoot of the arching, ancient brick sewer – a small bed of rags, a few dishes, and, curiously, several piles of books.

  “How can I assist you?” Pasha asked, taking a seat on her bed.

  “Well,” Norman started, almost choking on the reek, “We came to seek your counsel. But I feel we may have been misinformed. We were led to believe that you were a great scholar and Bibliothecary.”

  Pasha let out a sad chuckle. Her darkened eyes seemed to actually focus on something – a memory, perhaps. “I was… once,” came her answer.

  “You weren’t always blind?” inquired Rick.

  “No,” said the woman.

  “Well, what happened?” pushed Roe.

  “Those damned Volumes,” Pasha sighed. She gave her guests a polite smile. “Would you like some tea?”

  ****

  The aromatic scent of chai spices filled Pasha’s room and made the conditions somewhat bearable. Pasha’s intuitive handling of the kettle, candle, and tea was impressive, and she appeared much less pathetic than she had upon their first encounter.

  “I was once,”
she began, propping herself up against the wall in bed, “Considered one of the wisest people in Lingeria – specifically in the area of Lingerian lore. I was a bit of an archeologist, too. I dabbled in all things historical. I opened a business here in The Red City that dealt with the procuring, appraisal, and sale of … shall we say, ‘inherited’ art and artifacts. So, when the Pinnarchs were looking for a translation of The Volumes, naturally, I was the one to which the book was brought. It was fascinating, at first. Three meticulously detailed accounts of Lingerian history, followed by a fourth filled with prophetic revelations – gifted to us from on high! Oh, what a glorious and generous being our God must be.”

  Luckily, Pasha was not able to see all the eyes rolling around the room.

  “And me,” Pasha continued. “I was His chosen parson! I closed my business and devoted my entire life to the study of The Volumes. I hand-copied them until my palms bled and knuckles ached. I traveled around the land, spreading their message and distributing the face of The Author! I was his devoted servant.”

  Norman blushed at the reverence Pasha showed his alter ego. “Well, Pasha,” Norman said, with a smile, “I don’t know how to tell you this, but I … am The Author.”

  “What?” Pasha aimed her head towards Norman’s voice.

  “Yep. It’s me. I’m The Author.”

  There was a brief pause.

  “I’ll kill you!” Pasha screamed and launched her frail body in Norman’s direction.

  She grabbed on to Norman’s shirt. She snarled, spat, and clawed at him with her dirty, overgrown fingernails.

  Rick was able to get a hold on the squirming minister, lifting her away from Norman. The woman’s arms were still swiping at the air.

  “I lost everything, because of you!” she screamed. “I devoted myself to your words and my life collapsed! I’m blind, because of you! You are a false god!” Pasha caught Norman in the face with a thick gob of spit – impressive aim for a person without sight.

  It took the better part of an hour, and several cups of tea, to calm Pasha down.