The Mirrored City

by Michael J. Bode

  Jessa smiled and let her hair carry in the breeze. She gazed at a young couple kissing passionately on a blanket by the sea. “People here are so carefree. The way Satryn always used to talk about this place, it was as if the strong oppressed the weak at every turn.”

  “Well, there are no poor people on this beach, so it is much better,” Pisclatet added helpfully. “The workhouses are a mile inland, and the slaves are not permitted to come here with their filth and poverty.”

  Sireen grimaced uncomfortably.

  Jessa sighed. “It seems I have yet another decree to make. The beauty of nature should belong to all. Shocking that I was not informed of this.”

  Sireen placed her arm around Jessa’s shoulder. “You have just had a child. I didn’t want to bother you with local politics.”

  “My opinions on slavery and exclusion should be well known to you, Aunt,” Jessa challenged.

  “You cannot!” Pisclatet protested. “This beach is a holy site, where Kondole and Kultea were given birth. It is sacred to both religions, and only the anointed can set foot here.”

  “It might be a touchy issue with your supporters,” Sireen admitted. “But there are other beaches just as lovely in Mazitar. In fact, you would be hard pressed to find a stretch of sand any less lovely than the one we walk across now.”

  “Fishbone Bay,” Pisclatet said. “It is rocky and always reeks of rotting octopus.”

  “Thank you for reminding us, Pisclatet,” Sireen clipped. “It is but one place out of dozens.”

  Jessa said, “You said you wanted to support me in changing the empire back to something our Wavelord ancestors could be proud of. That begins with opening this beach and destroying the workhouses.”

  Sireen smiled. “The empire does need change, but too much, too quickly… It may seem like a petty issue to you, and you’re right, but it is the petty issues that will breed resentment for your larger vision. If you want to introduce a democracy, then perhaps it is best to let the people decide for themselves which customs are fair and which are not?”

  Jessa frowned. Her aunt was probably right. As Empress, Jessa had total authority, but every use of it made her more like her grandmother than the ruler she wanted to be. The people of Thrycea had lived so long under the yoke of tyranny that they viewed freedom with deep-seated suspicion.

  They walked in silence as they approached Sireen’s pavilion, a magnificent tent of pink silks fluttering in the breeze. Blue whale banners hung proudly about the encampment, and a small contingent of female Patrean archers in red armor patrolled the area.

  Jessa saw her son, small and frail, in the arms of his father. Cameron had shaved his beard down to salt and pepper stubble, which took some getting used to. He was very good with Torin, and it was almost easy to forget that Cameron had broken Jessa’s heart.

  Her son stared with wide silver eyes as Cameron cooed at him playfully.

  Jessa couldn’t help but smile. She had come inches from aborting her son to spare him the fate of being born into her family. But he seemed happy, for a baby.

  Cameron looked up and grinned at Jessa. “There you are. By the way he fidgets, I think he’s hungry.”

  Jessa took her son and asked him sweetly, “Is that true? Are you hungry?”

  Her son looked at her and waved his arms at her face. Jessa cradled him and let him suckle at her breast, which he did in earnest. It was all she’d ever wanted—to have a family. It might have been better with a faithful husband and supportive mother, but she couldn’t say her child was unhappy. That was good enough.

  “There have been reports,” Cameron began. “Nasara’s armada is growing daily. There’s also rumors of an Agnathan dreadnaught sighted near the Bleak Atoll.”

  “Eelfolk are disgusting savages,” Pisclatet said, his gills puffing in disgust.

  “A dreadnaught could do considerable damage to a fleet,” Sireen said gravely. “They aren’t amphibious, but they can sink a vessel and navigate in total darkness beneath the waters.”

  “So the Abyss has lent its support to Nasara?” Jessa asked.

  Sireen replied, “We expected this. The coelacanth are devotees of Kultea. They would see the Kraken Mother drown Creation and let their maws consume humanity for food. A dreadnaught would be the least of our concerns. We simply need to send an ambassador to replace your uncle Maelcolm.”

  Jessa protested, “I will not consign one of my own people to the lightless depths of the Abyss to appease those monstrosities. You yourself said had my uncle Maelcolm lived, Satryn might not have turned into the creature she became.”

  “Then send someone you don’t like,” Pisclatet said. “Lord Boromond is a fat useless man with unforgivable taste in shoes. And Quinax is hideous even by the misshapen standards of human beauty. His flat, boring face would look best seven miles from the sun.”

  “Quinax is incredibly stupid,” Sireen said flatly, “and would go to any length to earn my favor. Perhaps I could invite him to my chambers—”

  “I will not whore out my aunt to some lesser noble!” Jessa protested. “I have every confidence Heath will secure the votes needed in the Grand Assembly. With the power of Kondole and the Protectorate navy, we will be unstoppable. We just need to give him more time.”

  Sireen stroked Jessa’s hair. “The Prophet of Kondole cannot fail… But have you given any thought to our other option.”

  “No,” Jessa said, cradling her son. “And I will speak of it no more.”

  Sireen bowed her head in deference. “As you wish, your Majesty.”

  Jessa handed her son to Sireen. “What if I went to the Abyss?”

  Sireen nearly dropped Torin in the sand. “That’s madness!”

  “I’m the Tempest, and every other person to sit on the Coral Throne has made the voyage.” Jessa clarified, “If I could secure their blessing, at least in the eyes of my opponents, Nasara would have to submit.”

  Pisclatet offered gingerly, “The coelacanth are dangerous in other ways, your Majesty. They are not all as… congenial as Pisclatet.”

  “You are a priestess of Kondole. They would never accept you.”

  Cameron stiffened in his chair. “You can’t be serious. You have a son to think about.”

  She glared at Cameron. It was hard not to snap at him, but what he said wasn’t unreasonable. “I am thinking of my son. But I was entrusted also with the livelihood of millions. I will not see Thrycea torn apart by civil war as Amhaven was.”

  “They could kill you, Jessa. They have Thunderstone,” Sireen cautioned, wrapping Torin protectively in her arms.

  “And so does Nasara,” Jessa said. “Satryn may have raised me poorly, but she did teach me how to fight. And I will have Pisclatet with me.”

  The fish-man shrieked. “What?”

  “Do you not desire to return to your home?” Jessa asked.

  “Beneath the glittering surface of the waves,” Pisclatet began poetically, “is a lightless hell of constant murder. The bodies of the dead do not even have time to decompose; as they sink, they are eaten and eaten until their remains look like flakes of snow fluttering through the darkness. Every fish and every creature of the sea lives in perpetual terror. I am standing here before you in my resplendent glory only because I was quicker to escape the birthing feast than my siblings. Hell is not some other place; it is right beneath the waves.”

  No one said anything for a while. Jessa wished Sword were present to lighten the tension. The waves lapped at the beach and seagulls circled overhead.

  “So was that a yes?” Jessa asked.

  He pressed his scaly webbed hands over hers and nodded gravely. “If this is what you want, Pisclatet will accompany you.”

  Cameron interjected, “Is no one else going to object to this? Jessa, this is foolish. You’re a mother, not some adventurer.”

  Jessa put her hands on her hips. “I am the Tempest. I am the most powerful theurge in all Creation, and my enemy is nearly my equal. I am also your empress and while
I value your counsel, I am not bound by it.”

  To her great surprise, no one argued the point any further. She was still unaccustomed to be taken seriously. And in fact, she now had to admit that a small part of her wanted a convincing reason not to go.

  NINE

  The Palace of Keys

  SOREN

  The Mirrored City is one of the most fucked up places in the Protectorate. Baash makes some of the best wine in Creation, but you can’t legally drink it there. You need to go across town in Dessim where you can buy everything from whores to drugs in the main marketplace.

  You can fuck a whore in Dessim, but when your piss burns the next day, you have to go to Baash to get a healer—and a lecture. They don’t take money like the Orthodoxy. You have to listen through the full lecture, and it’s the same one every time. The savvy punters in Dessim use protection when visiting the marketplace. But if you don’t fancy a sheep’s intestine wrapped round your naughty bits, I recommend saving your coin for some of the more rarified delights the city has to offer.

  The Palace of Keys is well worth the coin for a one-time experience, and I’ve never come away with any unwanted “souvenirs.” The truly adventurous can take a key. Every door in that place is a gateway to some forbidden fantasy. I’ve learned things about myself in those rooms, dark fantasies and hidden desires… Things I would never allow myself… Things I would never share.

  If you’re not open minded, stay out of the rooms. The atrium is full of clean, classy tail of the highest quality. Men and women pay for sex in Dessim. It’s not even considered impolite to ask, so long as the offer is not an insult. A good-looking gent can earn decent coin from wealthy women.

  —TRADER’S GUIDE TO WHORING IN GENATROVA, HAROLD COCKSACH

  THE MAIN CHAMBER of the Palace of Keys was an irregular three-story atrium bound on all sides by parallel wooden framework and panels that screened the balconies to the various rooms. Red light flickered from the lamps and candles. Two open holes in the roof gave a glimpse of the stars above.

  “It’s supposed to be the inside of a heart,” the other clerk, Samantha, said. She was pretty. Turisian brown skin with ice blue eyes. She wore a simple bodice and skirt.

  Soren wore a tight leather vest that left his arms and chest exposed and a leather gladiator skirt with matching sandals. He was clean shaven, and his hair was slicked back with wax. His reflection still gave him pause when he passed any mirrors.

  Samantha continued. “So the deal is, we entertain guests out here while they get ready. When they’re committed, you reach into one of these cubbyholes behind the desk and hand them a key. It’s important to make it seem deliberate.”

  Soren scratched his head. “Any key?”

  “Any key. Just grab whatever feels right,” Samantha said.

  “What’s in the rooms?”

  “No one knows,” Samantha said. “And you can’t tell or ask anyone. That’s part of the surprise. If a guest asks for a specific number, tell them no. Otherwise, feel free to chat with them about anything else or ignore them. I’m working on a book. Management really doesn’t care what we do. Unless you want to eat—you have to do that in the back room. We are not supposed to eat or drink unless a client offers.”

  Soren laughed. “Do we take money?”

  “No. Payment is handled at the door and in the rooms. We don’t even discuss money.”

  “What about security? Do we need to call anyone if they don’t pay?”

  Samantha shrugged. “We don’t really have those problems here, but a couple of Fodders by the front door keep out riffraff.”

  “This seems too easy.”

  “It is,” Samantha said gravely. “I had questions about what goes on here when I started. I’ve been here three years. It’s easy, and you just have to pass out keys and make occasional small talk. If you can be completely okay with the fact that you will never know what those keys open or why people step through those doors, you will do fine here. This is not a good career for inquisitive people.”

  Soren nodded.

  “Any other questions while it’s still your first day?”

  “No,” Soren said quickly. In fact, however, his mind was awash with questions about this place. Keltis had explained it as an elite brothel that catered to unusual tastes. Now Soren couldn’t help but wonder about the vacancy for this position and whether it had something to do with curiosity.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he peered at one of the locked doors. It was red and rounded with a gold lock. He forced those questions out of his mind. He was going to be fed and clothed and generously paid for the only work his skills and physical condition qualified him to perform.

  “What can I do?” Soren asked.

  Samantha said, “We need to set out some fruit bowls. Go in the back and arrange them attractively. Apples go in the bottom, then mix pears with the rest of the apples and leave a bunch of grapes on top. You think you can get five plates together and put them around the sitting area?”

  Soren nodded. “Sure.”

  He went back to the pantry and arranged the bowls. By the third bowl, he felt dizzy and his hands shook so badly he spilled a basket of apples on the floor. After a while, the tremors passed. He gathered the fruit off the floor, silently thanking the Host that Samantha hadn’t come in to check on him.

  The evening brought a lively assortment of customers. Men and women draped themselves over the sofas and engaged in spirited chatter as they helped themselves to the bottles of spirits. Soren stood behind the desk while Samantha reclined on an adjacent lounge and scribbled poetry into a notebook. It was his first night on the job, and he wanted to make a good impression on management, whoever they were.

  The room had the convivial atmosphere of a cocktail party with clients in expensive coats and dresses. Sprinkled among them were courtesans of the more conventional variety, each a stunning physical specimen. They wore small red masks. He easily recognized Keltis holding court in one corner of the atrium. The Palace did a brisk trade in hustlers who had their own keys to rented suites on the bottom levels.

  Soren felt a bit giddy, his head buzzing from the powder he had gotten from Keltis. It was nice to feel something other than sick—or hungry.

  “First day on the job?”

  Soren spun quickly to see a woman standing behind him. She had dark eyes lined with black and layers of shiny brown hair that should have looked messy but weren’t. Around the collar of her dress was a trim of fine black feathers. She extended her hand, covered in an intricate tattoo, to him. “I’m Rebekah.”

  “S-Soren,” he stammered and bowed. You should have taken her hand. You look like an idiot.

  She giggled and lowered her arm. “You’re cute, Soren.”

  His face was hot, and the tops of his ears burned.

  She cocked her head. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I just wanted to say hello. Look, it’s fine. I’m going to get a drink. If you’d like to have one with me, I’ll be over there.”

  He breathed a heavy sigh of relief as she stepped away.

  Samantha looked up from her notebook. “Relax. Rebekah’s just really friendly with the staff. She’s an interesting person. You should go talk to her.”

  He looked over and saw Rebekah standing by herself with a glass of bubbly. She was attractive, maybe older than she looked. Smiling, she seemed to be casually taking in the scenery, but her finger raced nervously around the rim of her glass.

  Soren gathered his courage and walked over to her. He laughed nervously. “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  They stared for a few awkward seconds.

  Rebekah offered, “Would you like that drink now?”

  “Yes,” Soren said. “Please.”

  She waved her hand, and a bottle pulled itself from the silver ice bucket and poured its contents into a glass that floated over to him. His eyes widened with amazement. He’d seen a fair bit of magic, but it had never been so close to him before. He took the glass, feeling the
weight of it fall gently into his fingers as the force holding it let go.

  “Wow.”

  She smiled and flipped her hair back. “I teach at the Magesterium, and one of the most rewarding things about my job is seeing a student’s face light up like yours. Do you have any interest?”

  “They tested me at the orphanage. I had no potential.” Soren shook his head and drank the wine. It tasted fizzy and kind of unpleasant, so he tried to drink it quickly.

  “Do you find me attractive, Soren?”

  He spit out some of the wine and looked at her, unsure how to answer. She was, in fact, beautiful, but he didn’t know what to say. “Um…”

  “Do you like women, Soren?” Rebekah asked gently.

  “I have never been with one,” he admitted. “So I can’t say for sure.”

  Her eyes sparkled. “A virgin? Really?”

  He looked away.

  “No, no, no. That explains everything. Oh, this must be really uncomfortable for you. I assumed that since you worked here that you were working. I apologize. It’s just that Lawrence, the attendant before you, and I had a regular arrangement. You must think I’m such a creep.” She shut her eyes and rubbed them.

  Soren shook his head. “No, it’s not that at all. I’d like to have sex with a woman. I’m just scared is all. I have these episodes—fainting, headaches, seizures. Sometimes I pass out when I’m stressed. That’s all it is.”

  She forced a smile and nodded. “It’s fine, really. You don’t have to try to make me feel better. I’m just a little unused to rejection.”

  He tentatively touched her arm to comfort her. Growing up in an orphanage with all boys, he’d never even felt a woman’s skin that he could remember. A tingling surge flowed from his fingers, like a wave of heat that spread through his body. His cock grew warm and tight against his leather. He pulled his hand away immediately.

  “I want to fuck you,” Soren said, surprised by his sudden conviction.

  She moistened her lips and took his hand. “Are you staying in Lawrence’s old room? I know the way.”

  His room was tiny and plain wood on all sides, but it contained a plush bed and a wooden trunk for his things. Small idols of the various gods Lawrence must have prayed to were set on a shelf above the bed.