The Novels of the Nameless City
The Night Market
The Unknown Kadath Estates Trilogy
Volume One : Paranoid Magical Thinking
Volume Two: The Mysteries of Holly Diem
Volume Three: The Floating Bridge (Coming 2016!)
Other Books by the Same Author
The Central Series
The Academy
The Anathema
The Far Shores
Copyright © 2015 by Zachary Rawlins
Cover photograph copyright © 2015 grandfailure
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Published by ROUS Industries.
Oakland, California
[email protected]
978-0-9837501-5-4
Cover design by Chloe Rawlins
First Edition
for my brother, Jordan,
who is awesome.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Prologue
1. Better Off with the Girls in my Head
2. The Oppression of Architecture
3. Separation Anxiety
4. Some Girls Wander By Mistake
5. The Principalities of the Air
6. Lessons from the Deep
7. Letters of Last Resort
8. The Fate of the Three Sisters
9. The Bespoke Girl
10. Concordance of the Fifth Assembly
11. Celestewhite
12. Not Knowing When the Dawn Will Come, I Open Every Window
13. New Forms of Thirty-Six Ghosts
Epilogue
Prologue
I fell victim to expedient seating arrangements. Holly Diem and April Ersten laid claim to the pair of seats up close by right of enthusiasm, leaving a block near the back for the rest of us.
Yael Kaufman looked as uncomfortable sitting beside me as I did next to her, but she put a buffer between the building manager, Kim Ai, and me, so she was aces in my book. I tried to sit up straight and fought the temptation to undo the top button on my shirt.
“It is difficult to articulate the pride I feel, regarding your accomplishment today,” Professor Dawes offered, his voice quavering irregularly. He beamed at the graduating students, and they beamed right back.
“You worked hard to get here – and deserve recognition for your labors – but, if I know this fine group of young women and men, then this is only the beginning of your journey, and only the first of your successes. The Randolph Carter Academy prides itself on producing the highest caliber of gentlemen – and ladies as well, for the last thirty years, due to court order – and this class does that tradition proud. When I look at you, graduates, I see people who will change the world, in as far as the Nameless City allows for such things. You may decide to continue your studies as one of our esteemed graduate students, or to move on to the Nameless City’s Black Libraries, Hidden Monasteries, and various occult centers – where I am certain that your work will honor the good reputation of our Academy.”
Professor Dawes paused to wipe his eyes, and the two dozen graduates burst out in cheers for no particular reason. Holly Diem dabbed her eyes with a silk handkerchief and clapped wildly, while to her right, April Ersten cheered with fervor of a drunken football supporter. The sun decided to make an appearance after weeks of intermittent rain, and it was nearly warm on the broad green of the campus center. Behind the stage, the whitewashed brick of the clock tower loomed, the clock face claiming a time several hours in either the past or the future. Aged maple trees that bordered the green were grudgingly producing new leaves, the soil around them a soggy mess from the late spring rains. The heat of the summer would not arrive for another month, and in the meantime, we struggled through the bouts of frigid rain that had been battering the Nameless City since the melting of the winter snow. I adjusted the suit jacket that Holly insisted I wear, and tugged at the unfamiliar collar on my shirt.
“It is my pleasure to introduce the Salutatorian of this year’s graduating class, Elijah Pickman, who will offer a benediction in the traditional languages of the Randolph Carter Academy. Elijah has been a cornerstone of his class since his transfer two years ago, as an Architecture major with minors in Prehuman Linguistics and History, as well as the top-performing humanities scholar at Carter for all save one semester of his undergraduate study.”
Dawes said this with a boastful grin, but Elijah Pickman frowned slightly at the mention of his less than perfect record. The student who had bested his GPA during the most recent semester sat up front, waving and blowing kisses in Sumire’s direction. April’s academic prowess was rough on Elijah – even more so as he was her beloved tutor.
The affairs of young adults are always complicated.
Elijah Pickman nodded politely at the end of Dawes remarks, and then took the podium himself. He was a self-possessed kid with silver-rimmed glasses, an excellent tailor, and the handsome features of a minor nobleman afflicted with consumption. Probably half the girls in the audience nursed a crush on Elijah, and he was a regular and popular visitor at the Estates, even without the excuse of a tutoring session.
His voice was chilly and composed. The half-Windsor knot in his cerulean tie was finishing school perfect; his pants pressed to razor-sharpness. The crowd began to applaud before he even opened his mouth, earning an impatient smile.
He delivered the benediction in six different languages – three classical, another pair archaic, with the final portion delivered entirely in one of the impossible Elder tongues. Members of the student council held up cue cards for the audience, so we would know when to laugh and applaud. During the extended and throat-shredding conclusion of the benediction, we covered our ears to avoid going mad.
It was well done. The small crowd showered him with applause. Elijah accepted them with aplomb.
“Very good, Elijah!” Professor Dawes returned to the podium, his mortarboard looking decades older than the man himself did. “You are a credit to the institution. While the foundation of our school may have been the establishment of the Nameless City’s premier institution for the study of the humanities, the Carter Academy’s academic mission has broadened greatly over the years. This year’s valedictorian exemplifies this trend. In her four years of undergraduate study, she has completed a double major of Linguistics and Mathematics, served as the captain of the volleyball team, helped lead the basketball team to a perfect season, and sang alto in the school choir.”
I shook my head. The choir was news to me. I wondered how she found the time. In response to a cue that only she heard, April leapt onto her chair and yelled Sumire’s name. Professor Dawes appeared benevolently amused, pushing through his introductory remarks while Holly coaxed April down and shushed her. I was so concerned with the potential pitfalls there that I missed the first part of Sumire’s remarks.
“…not enough that we be brave, though bravery is required. Nor will strength, wisdom, or compassion prove sufficient – though we will need all in abundance to accomplish the task before us. I challenge each of you to become more than you are today,” Sumire proclaimed. Judging from the knowing looks on the faces of Sumire’s classmates, I got the feeling this wasn’t the first challenge Sumire threw out
there. “To become the heroes that the Nameless City needs. To take the stand that no one else will, for the good of all. To draw a line in the sand, between our homes and the desolation of the Outer Dark, and say “No Further.” To be a light in darkness. To stand against unfairness, injustice, and unrelenting cosmic horror – not necessarily in that order. I have heard it said that the Nameless City is beyond hope…”
By me, among others.
“…so I challenge each of you to become that hope.”
Ugh.
“The night is long because we allow it to persist,” Sumire said, flashing a toothy grin at her classmates. “The Nameless City is without heroes, as long as we stand idle.”
I glanced around me. The audience mood had shifted from indulgent good humor to inspiration and admiration. They were eating it up. I wasn’t sure what a bunch of linguists and architects were going to do to save us, but I appreciated that someone wanted to try.
“The moon may be close.”
It was, actually, which was frustratingly impossible.
“The sea may recede, exposing the city in the sea.”
Happening faster, according to Jacob. Something to do with solar radiation, or emissions, or something equally cheerful and inevitable.
“The alignment of the planets may allow the Elder Gods to awake, and cross the cold distance between the stars.”
Holly and the Cats of Ulthar thought that would happen sooner rather than later.
“The King-in-Chains may awake. The Principalities of the Air may emerge from concealment. The Yellow Sign may fail. The Servants of the Deep may spawn this year, or the Dholes worm their way up from the Underworld, blindly seeking the surface. The Outer Dark may yet triumph, and all other lights may be snuffed out.” Sumire had the crowd in the palm of her hand; they held their collective breath so as not to miss the next word. “None of this is inevitable, however, if we dedicate ourselves to the creation of a different, better future. Remember – every night gives way to morning, every sickness passes, any battle is winnable – as long as you believe it to be so. I assure each of you – nothing is beyond you.”
There may have been more, but the crowd was restless and wound up. They exploded, and Sumire’s final lines were lost in the clamor. She smiled and waved, Mussorgsky's Night on Bald Mountain came over the PA, and mortarboards went flying.
The seats around us emptied out with the sort of urgency that suggested the small crowd had traffic to beat. That left Yael and I to weigh the desirability of small talk.
Don’t get me wrong. Yael Kaufman is the very definition of a nice girl. Which is most of the problem.
Yael moved into the Estates at the start of the school year this year. She’d had previously been living at the dorms at Carter, thanks to an arrangement Holly Diem made for her. She was April’s classmate in Dawes’s linguistics courses, close to Holly, and friendly with Sumire.
She must have felt as uncomfortable as I did, joining the crowd by the stage – though I assume her reasons differed from mine.
“Got lucky with the weather,” I observed, “for the ceremony.”
“Yes,” Yael said eagerly, giving me a brief smile. “I was worried that it would rain.”
I was encouraged, and anyway, I had nothing else to do.
“You and April are juniors next year, right? That’s crazy. Seems like she just enrolled.”
“It’s the same for me.” Yael reached down to adjust the ankle strap on her polished black shoes. She was dressed up – blue dress, makeup, nylons, and polished shoes with conservative heels – which was unfamiliar, though she seemed comfortable. Aside from the Carter uniform, Yael really only seemed to wear one outfit. “The Nameless City still feels unfamiliar.”
“I don’t think that improves with time.”
Yael smiled tolerantly.
“According to April, I’ve been here longer than you have.”
“Oh.” News to me. “Still true.”
“You may be right.” On the stage, Sumire and April held hands and spun around in circles, while Holly looked on and laughed. “They seem happy enough, though.”
There were only about a hundred people at the graduation, but Yael was right. They did seem happy. What an oddity.
“Looks that way.” I snuck a glance at April. Kim had coaxed her into washing her hair last night, so it was clean for once, and held in check by a combination of clips and ties. “They are probably keeping up appearances.”
“Cynical.”
“Realistic, when you consider where we live. This graduation is an exception. Most of these people have never even been to the Empty District, and won’t return unless it’s necessary. They’ll still refuse to open their doors after dark, and scribble chalk on their porches when the moon is full…”
“Close,” Yael reminded. “When the moon is close. And the Yellow Sign isn’t a scribble.” Yael frowned, tapping her forefinger against her lip. “Blasphemy, maybe, but not a scribble. April is your…roommate, yes?” A loaded glance that I avoided. “You should understand the symbolic value, at least.”
“I get it, I just don’t buy it. I’m not the superstitious type.”
“That’s a dangerous quality,” Yael observed, sounding mildly concerned. She collected her purse and nodded, heading for the aisle. “You should be careful, Mr. Tauschen.”
Good advice.
1. Better Off with the Girls in my Head
Arranged in a row, like chess piece royalty. One endures, like a diamond with unprecedented and fascinating occlusions. One between the dark and light. One potential, or maybe actual. One is a cypher, a fetish, a living doll with a smile that asks uncomfortable questions.
I made a barefoot transverse of the room, weaving my way between blankets and pillows and the occasional extended arm. The television whispered cartoon violence and crass merchandising into the sleeping ears of the young ladies littering my living room.
The kitchen was in appalling disarray. It looked very much as if the effort to bake sugar cookies the night before had required the use of every known utensil and ingredient, the majority of which remained in a precarious stack filling the sink. I sighed and gave up on making breakfast. I had three mostly teen-aged girls to feed, however, so I crept back through the living room to the front door, grabbing my wallet and running shoes. I slid out the door, shut it carefully, and then stepped into my shoes. The landlady’s black cat, Lovecraft, basked in a nearby pool of sunlight and watched me with one open eye and undisguised amusement.
April holds frequent, one-sided conversations with Lovecraft, but distrusts Dunwich, Yael’s pet cat, and avoids speaking in his presence. One of her many eccentricities. I paused to scratch Lovecraft’s cheeks on the way out.
My jeans were damp from rain the night before, and the jacket I threw over my sweatshirt had a cigarette burn on the arm I didn’t remember acquiring. The sun fought weakly through the cold mist and clouds, which rolled in before dawn every morning and then slowly retreated to the ocean in the early afternoon. Birds were probably singing somewhere, but not here, because there are no songbirds in the Nameless City. I pushed through the heavy silver gate at the entrance to the Kadath Estates and headed out into the chilled desolation of Leng Street. It felt nothing like spring, and despite the layers, I shivered, and swallowed with difficulty past a sore throat that had lingered for a week and more.
In front of the building, Holly Diem was halfway up a stepladder with a watering can and a pair of brass scissors, enthusiastically tending to a withered pomegranate by haphazardly lopping off branches. I glanced up at her, and then quickly away when I realized that the turtle-print skirt she wore offered a scandalous view from my angle.
“Preston! Good morning!” Holly called out cheerfully, very nearly dumping water on my head. “How are you?”
“I’m okay. Thanks for your help last night, by the way.”
“Think nothing of it!” Holly poured out the remainder of the water in the can on the mostly dead
ornamental tree. “I’m just glad to see you survived the night. That’s a lot of girls for one guy to handle.”
I muttered something unintelligible. Holly laughed and accepted a helping hand down from the stepladder.
“How did the cookies come out?”
Holly asked with a smirk and I wondered when she left the sleepover last night, and if she had anything to do with the terrible thing that happened to the kitchen sink.
“I’ll let you know.”
“That bad?” Holly laughed and set aside the watering can. “You must be looking at quite a chore, cleaning up after. It was nice of you to throw Sumire a party, Preston.”
“April would have never forgiven me, otherwise,” I said with a shrug, glancing at the time on my phone. “Besides, Sumire only graduates once, right?”
“I suppose.”
“Not to be rude, Holly, but I need to get moving...”
“Oh?” Holly looked skeptical. “Where’s the fire, Preston?”
“No fire,” I said, shaking my head. “Three kids about to wake up with nothing in the house to eat.”
Holly nodded and took my arm.
“That’s a kind of fire. Going to the store?”
I nodded eagerly. There are worse ways to travel than in the company of Holly Diem, even if she is a witch. Also, sometimes, my boss.
“Good! I have some shopping to do as well. Mind if I come with?”
The question was surely rhetorical, as we were half a block down the street already. Holly bravely refused to acknowledge the weather, dressing instead for some platonic ideal of Spring, wearing a halter top and a sarong-like skirt with silkscreened turtles, carefully tanned and moisturized skin exposed to the cold and wet. I appreciated her defiance of the elements from the corner of my eye, but the amused half-smile Holly wore disabused me of the notion that I was getting away with anything.
The Mysteries of Holly Diem (Unknown Kadath Estates Book 2) Page 1