City of Darkness

by D P Wright

  With a wave of her hand and a low hum, the holographics disappeared in a flash and she turned towards him, “How can I help you, citizen?” Her eyes quickly glance over his attire.

  “I need to speak to Bishop Sansom.”

  The woman’s blue eyes again moved, glancing quickly around the room, “There is no one of that name here.” She turned away from him to speak to a couple who had just come in from the rain and were deactivating their expensive red and blue rain shields and unwrapping scented cloth masks from their faces, their delicate Hightown nostrils not appreciating the colourful odours this part of the city had to offer. The pair both pressed their hands together and bowed in greeting. The receptionist replied in a similar fashion and immediately the familiar sparkle of light drew Kessler’s attention to a ring worn by the otherwise plainly-dressed citizen. After a moment’s talk they walked through an opening that appeared from the slick white gloss wall and the receptionist returned back to her work. He had to suppress the urge to grab the lady from behind her desk and teach her some manners.

  The detective’s attention went from the receptionist’s jewelled finger to the large gold lettering mounted behind her desk, above which the Eden Inc symbol of the book and cross could be seen, a symbol he had seen before on Bethany’s ring. His hand went to his pocket as he remembered that he had picked it from the wreckage of the tomb. Taking it between his thumb and forefinger, he played with the ring as his thoughts strayed to its sparkling diamonds and how much cred he could get, easily enough to cover his debt to Little Chi and set him and Macy up in better air further up town. He knew of a couple of fences in this part of the city who could access that amount of cred quickly, no questions asked, especially for something so rare as diamonds.

  A very tall, slender Hightowner nudged passed him, followed by her entourage of four servants who, with bowed, hooded heads, carried various assortments of baggage. She turned and looked haughtily down at the detective from behind her scented cloth mask which she held to her nose with a wiry, gloved hand. Taking the ring from his pocket, Kessler took off his gloves, and placed it on his finger. It was a large ring for a girl and fitted perfectly on Kessler’s middle digit. He clenched his fist in determination. He hated Hightowners. They looked down at everyone from their lofty perches up above, believing them better than everyone else. ‘I may be a down and out Midtowner,’ he thought to himself, ‘but I’m no Dreg.’

  Approaching the receptionist with a new-found determination and mimicking the greeting he had seen moments before, he pressed his hands together, “Salutations citizen,” he spoke clearly, trying to clean each syllable of his slurred Midtown brogue, “apologies for my abruptness before, I have had a very difficult past couple of days but I bring urgent news from St John’s for the Bishop.” He opened Father Jacob’s unfinished letter and let her glance over its contents, making sure to flash the ring. He carefully measured his breathing, trying to remain calm and polite. He was tired, his arm hurt and with the image of the Le Morte brothers fresh in his mind he was all too aware that time was not on his side.

  She stared at the ring and cleared her throat, “This way.” The shiny white of the wall disappeared to reveal a darkened entrance leading into the cool, dry air of a huge vault. The receptionist moved fast and, with his injuries blazing with every move, he struggled to keep up. Squinting his way through the low light of the room, he could see on either side of him row upon row of towering shelves that reached up to a distant ceiling. Each shelf was filled with boxes brimming with all manner of old items from books, statues and ornaments to dust-covered pictures. It reminded Kessler of St John’s. Reaching the other side of the large room, the woman placed her hand up against a scanner and, after a few seconds, the locking mechanism of a huge, heavy carbonised iron door turned revealing a tunnel lit by a series of dimly glowing panels.

  After a few moments walking steadily downwards, the plastisteel tunnel levelled off into a large, rocky open space. He had never seen natural rock this far up city. Huge banners were draped across the walls on either side of the cave and both had the symbol first seen on Bethany’s ring, the book and cross. Throughout the room were desks covered in paper and along the walls large shelves towered up towards the cavern ceiling. Men and women, all dressed in the white robes of the receptionist, were all feverishly at work, some reading, writing, some in heated debate and others hanging from long ladders searching through the many hundreds of books that lined the shelves. At the centre, suspended from the ceiling far above their heads, hung a large wooden cross with the same image of Christ Kessler had seen at St John’s. On the cave’s irregular, jagged walls hung a series of torches, their large flames throwing a mass of shadows across the rough, uneven rocky surface. The smoke from the fires filled the open space with a musky, acrid smell which mingled with the same perfumed scent Kessler had smelt back at the church. He held his injured arm through his thick plastichem coat as he remembered the fire.

  “What is this place?” He mumbled but the receptionist ignored him and kept walking through the cave as Kessler drew glances from the robed workers who took time to stop whatever they were doing to stare at him.

  They eventually reached the far end where, cut into the rock, stairs rose up into darkness. “Wait here.” She pointed to a well-worn stone bench that lay to the side and quickly walked up the steps.

  Kessler welcomed the time to rest, the woman had led him down from the lobby above at a quick pace making his injuries come alive under their bandages. He could feel his tight, toasted skin crack and weep with every move. The smoke-filled air made his already laboured breathing even more difficult and he doubled over as a raking cough took hold of him.

  “Can I be of any assistance, friend?” An old man croaked from behind a desk close to where the detective was sitting. He had risen with difficulty, and approached swaying precariously on an old, crooked wooden staff. His face was a mass of wrinkles and his skin so pale it was nearly translucent.

  Kessler spoke between fits of coughing, “No thanks old man, I just need a second.”

  “Yes, I am old,” he nodded to himself, “but God has granted me many years filled with wonderful experience.” He crossed himself and mouthed a prayer. Kessler nodded at the man as he stood, hunched over his wavering stick, staring at him with his faded watery hazel eyes. After a moment’s silence he spoke again, “In another life I was a doctor. A long time ago but, I assure you, I remember.” He began chuckling to himself.

  Taking a deep breath, Kessler smiled back and watched him totter over to his desk and rummage around in one of his drawers. He was mumbling to himself as he brought out a number of items, each time shaking his head dramatically in frustration at not finding what he was looking for. The detective put his head in his hands and began to despair at the thought that he was wasting his time here. He cursed himself for not going straight back to Downtown. He really did not have the time to be delivering half-written letters and talking to crazy old men.

  “A-ha!” He waved his stick in the air and nearly fell over. One of his much younger colleagues, who was working nearby, ran to his aid and helped him back onto his feet before being batted away with the staff. “Get off me, I’m not an invalid.” He found his balance and approached Kessler, “Here. This should do the trick,” he said, with a big grin etched across his creased face. “Rub that on your chest twice a day and it will keep the doctor away.” Kessler took the jar of ointment off the old man who was now laughing uncontrollably, his free hand now mimicking rubbing the salve onto his own chest. His hands were almost bone with blue veins trying to burst through thin layers of pasty-white skin. Kessler noted his gold ring which looked gigantic on the tiny frail hands of the elderly man, his bony fingers struggling to lift its weight.

  “Erm – thank you.” Kessler just wanted to be left alone. His antics had drawn the attention of a number of people who now all stared at him.

  “It is my pleasure. God has blessed me with skills for a reason although,
unfortunately, I do not have the opportunity to practise them enough, for my sins.” He again made the sign of the cross and mumbled to himself. “One question if I may? It has been so long since I have been outside and was hoping you could provide me with information on the state of the hospitals here in Midtown? Has the Council begun to distribute vaccines for…”

  “Father Benjamin,” the shrill voice of the receptionist emerged from the darkness of the stairs, “I am sure you have work to be doing, I know we have.” He looked up towards her and dithered, seemingly lost between thoughts. “The Devil makes work for idle hands,” she continued.

  Father Benjamin looked dejected as his gaze went from the detective and back to the stern-looking woman, “Ah, yes. Of course,” he brought a hand to his lips, as if about to say something, then shook his head. “My apologies.” He slowly slumped back to his seat, head bowed, and opened the large book that he had been studying previously. Kessler felt sorry for him and guilty for not paying him more attention. He looked up at the receptionist who stood, arms crossed, shaking her head at her ancient colleague. Kessler did not like this citizen one bit.

  “Bishop Sansom will see you now.”

  The Bishop’s office was cut into the rock itself at the top of the stairs. Under the flickering light of the torches Kessler could see the straight patterned lines of the gouge marks left by the machines used to hollow out the room. The study itself was spacious, one side consisting of a very large transparent plastiglass wall which commanded an uninterrupted view over the entire room below. Monitors and hardware cluttered the opposite wall, buzzing and whirling with data. A com system flashed in the corner. Sat behind a huge white plastic desk, the Bishop stared at a holopad, his huge frame threatening to burst out of his dark grey suit. One large, bulbous hand played with a small statue that lay on his desk, the now familiar image of Christ appeared between heavily-jewelled fingers. Again a ring similar to Bethany’s could be seen. His other hand cycled through various holographic images. The bishop’s large, bald head seemed loosely wrapped in layers of excess fat which wobbled ever so slightly as he repeatedly nodded to himself. Large gold, looped earrings dangled from his small pinhole ears.

  The receptionist stood in the room beside the detective with her head bowed awaiting a response from Bishop Sansom. Long seconds passed. Kessler watched the obscenely obese man who sat squashed into his chair, enveloping it in his large rolls of fat. He was chewing noisily on an assortment of sugar-coated candy as a fan on his desk squealed and droned as it attempted to try and cool his vast sweating frame. Finally, he spoke in a lazy manner, “Sister Katelyn tells me that you have come from St John’s.” His voice was pinched and he laboured over each word, over pronouncing each syllable.

  “That’s right, I barely escaped with my life. I have questions that need answered.”

  “How dare you talk to his Grace in such a manner, we do not ask questions of the Bishop!” Sister Katelyn had a look of thunder and her face reddened with rage.

  Bishop Sansom sighed, “That’s ok Sister, this good citizen…”

  “The name is Kessler,” he interrupted.

  “Mr Kessler,” the Bishop looked up from his perch at the detective, “does not know our ways, I think. I can spare five minutes. Leave us please.” Kessler could not help notice the numerous sweat patches that seemed to seep through the Bishop’s shirt and trousers, up from every crevasse of his vast bulk.

  Sister Katelyn glared at him with a look of complete disgust. “Very well your Grace. I will be waiting downstairs if you need me.” She left the room, closing the door very firmly behind her.

  “Ignore the good Sister,” the Bishop continued to stuff his face with candy while he talked, some missing his mouth and falling to the floor, “she is wary of strangers. Our faith is not, eh, let us just say, appreciated by the Council. These are dangerous times Mr Kessler, one cannot be too careful.” His languid manner made him hard to follow.

  “What exactly is this place?”

  The Bishop smiled revealing yellowed teeth, “As I suspected. The ring you wear is not yours.” He licked his fingers, “Before I answer your questions, please, let me ask two of mine.”

  “Ok.”

  “Are you happy with,” he waved a fat hand in Kessler’s direction, “with your life? This city?”

  “Sure I am. Life’s just great.” Kessler humoured him.

  “This city consumes us in darkness.”

  Kessler nodded, “The Council does not provide us with much light, even during daylight hours.” The detective looked through the clear plastiglass at the cave below, “You would need to move your little operation further up city if you wanted more light.”

  The Bishop was shaking his head slowly from side to side with his eyes closed. Both hands were clasped, touching his chin “Ah but the light is here, you just need to open your eyes to see another world beyond this one, beyond the darkness, an escape from all the pain and suffering of the city. A place full of love and open to all those who want it. You just have to know how to ask.” He spoke in a flat tone.

  “Yea, sorry chief, I’m all for wanting to escape this cess-pit existence but I’m a non-believer.”

  The Bishop continued, ignoring Kessler’s reply. “God guides us in many ways towards the light. The signs are all around us.” He feebly waved a hand from right to left to emphasise his point and swivelled, with some difficulty, in his chair to face him.

  “Like I said, each to their own but not for me.”

  “Of course.” He laughed and wiped his brow of sweat.“Which brings me to my second question. That ring that you are wearing is very interesting, where did you get it from?”

  “It belongs to Bethany Turner, Father Jacob’s niece.”

  “You see Mr Kessler, those who possess a ring like the one currently in your possession are true believers in Christ and will always be granted access to our centres throughout Dis to worship in peace, away from the dangers of those who would very much want to shut us down. It is a very valuable, extremely old item, property of the church and we would very much like it back.” His hawkish stare remained fixed on the ring still on Kessler’s finger. The detective put his hand in his pocket, hiding it from view.

  “No chance. This belongs to Miss Turner who, unlike me, is a true believer.”

  “So be it.” He dismissed Kessler’s statement with another wave of his hand and returned to his candy and holopad.

  “So all this serves as a place for people to worship your god in peace?”

  “Exactly. A haven where good Christians can talk to God, improve their knowledge of the old ways, all without the danger of Council interference. Of course, officially we are a registered corporation with the Council. Eden Incorporated makes its way in this world selling and buying antiquities and items exotica from ancient times. We are very famous you know, citizens come from all across Dis to purchase our wares.”

  “Yea, I seen them up in the lobby.”

  “The old world, the time before Dis, has left us traces of the past, markers if you will that give us the chance to glance into the workings of that forgotten time. These are signs from God, Mr Kessler. They give us a chance to learn from an age when Christians walked the earth freely and God’s work could be seen living and breathing from the earth and the seas to the sky above. Here we collect these items and try and gather as much knowledge as possible.” Bishop Sansom leaned forward, stopped chewing on his candy and pointed a finger at the detective, “Many people would like to know about this operation, Mr Kessler, many people would go to great lengths to shut us down. I would appreciate your discretion.”

  “Listen, I’m no lover of the Council either so they won’t be hearing anything from me about your little get-togethers.”

  “Thank you.” He very slightly bowed his head in appreciation. “Now I am anxious to hear of what happened at St John’s. It had stood for over a thousand years, its contents were priceless, precious beyond belief.”

  “Yes
I saw it.”

  “You were in the church? Fantastic news! I believed that the DPD were not allowing anyone into the building. I thought it gone for good.”

  “Books, stone carvings, ancient wood. Many an expensive item.”

  The Bishop’s eyes widened at what Kessler was describing, “Yes it is our way. Man has left his mark as a black stain on this plastisteel and carbonised iron world. We seek comfort in what nature, God, has given us. So you must understand the importance such items are to our faith.” He shook his head from side to side, “Many times I had pleaded with Father Jacob to send the church’s relics to Eden to preserve, study and protect them. I am eager to learn Mr Kessler, what has become of all the ancient lore?”

  “Gone. The DPD burned the church, and its contents, to the ground. Myself and Miss Turner were lucky to avoid the same fate.”

  The Bishop looked aghast, his huge bulbous head taking on a grey hue. He clutched at his medallion which rested on his belly and tried to find his breath.“That is dreadful news, so much lost. So much. A tragedy. I had heard rumours of mounting trouble coming from the depths, our churches in the lower parts are under increasing pressure to move uptown to safety. The Devil tests us always.” After a long pause, the Bishop, sitting motionless with his head bowed as he contemplated Kessler’s news, suddenly turned away from him and back to his holopad. He snapped, “Now, how can I help you Mr Kessler, I am a busy man.”