Beluga Fay (Dragon Bone Hill)

by Wellhauser, David S.

  “That’s not helpful. If Salazar even suspects what you are up to, he will disappear you—or hand you over to the White Penitents.” This paused Budiman and she looked across the withered, frayed room with its old, cheap furniture.

  “No, he does not. Even my father does not. I do not believe he even has a suspicion of what Chrislann and I are planning.”

  “I need to know what happens to people that have crossed Salazar’s government. I’ve an idea, but if you could fill in some of the blanks, that would be helpful.”

  “The first thing that normally happens is a warning not to pursue whatever it is they wish to change. If that fails, usually it does not, then they lose their position and their children may be expelled from school—if it is a government school, which most are these days. If, for some reason, they’d not gotten the message, they are framed for some crime or other; something that will get them out of the way for a while. Sometimes they even choose to frame them for murder, if it is at all convenient. Supposing none of the above works, they will have them assassinated. The last rarely happens any longer.”

  “Salazar’s Cabinet is efficient?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They are competent and thorough?”

  “Not so much; the Governor tends to surround himself with sycophants. I suppose the reason is to protect themselves from a coup, or simple rivals.”

  “Good.”

  “Why?”

  “Salazar is dangerous, no denying that, but fear and incompetence in subordinates will be a useful buffer. By the time they figure out what is going on and Salazar has stopped blaming them, we may be out of town.” Glenna smiled.

  “There is one other thing I need to know about.”

  “What’s that?” She was leaning into him again. Again, he was not certain how to read this but was not prepared to trust her—not completely.

  “Lumang Mapoot.”

  Glenna bolted upright and pushed away.

  “Where did you hear of that?” There was a distance in the voice, which also spoke to terror. Not anxiety, not even fear, but terror.

  As she sat up, Titus had lost physical contact with the woman, but he could see the physical tremor that ran through her. The shock ended with a shudder, which was almost a petit mal.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” with the passing of the seizure, “but—where did you hear of that?”

  “Not many speak of it. My first knowledge that something was wrong was when I was told to avoid what some in Beluga referred to as the Dead District. When I pressed them, I learned it was almost in the center of the city and running along the north/south axis. Inside the Dead District there was supposed to be an old hate which they referred to as Lumang Mapoot.”

  “Someone actually spoke to you of that place?”

  “It took a lot of persuasion—in the beginning all I got were elliptical warnings about a ruined district no one went to and that it was generally dangerous. When I was dissatisfied with this, I pushed, admittedly rather hard, and I finally got the name Lumang Mapoot, but more than this they would not go.” The woman leaned back, somewhat relieved, into the sofa but was still not touching him.

  “Lumang Mapoot is the name in Tagolam—but it’s a new name. It emerged after the epidemic began. Before, that place was called Dragon Bone Hill or Longgushan in Tagolam. It’s always had a strange reputation and has long been associated with power and oddity. A very long time ago it was sacred, and that lingers in peoples’ minds.”

  “That’s fine—but what is the place?”

  “We cannot sustain prisons, even jails, any longer—resources are too tight and the economy too fragile. There is little by way of essential services left in the city. What there is of these, Governor Salazar is hard pressed to keep running. The decision was taken not long after the epidemic began to banish people who would have normally been imprisoned to Dragon Bone Hill. The district has been blacklisted.”

  “What’s that?”

  “No one is permitted to trade with them; no one is permitted to enter the Hill—not that anyone would; no one is permitted to leave the Hill—if caught, they are executed on the spot.”

  “A death sentence.”

  “Normally that would be the case, and I am not saying there aren’t those that haven’t died up there, but more have managed to find a way to live on the Hill.”

  “How?”

  “Have you been by the Dead District?”

  “At a distance.”

  She nodded and stood walking over to the front window. The woman looked out as if expecting to find another of the Whites listening in. “Surrounding the Hill used to be several successful neighborhoods, but once the raids began, from the Hill, these were slowly abandoned. At first the Hill raided for food and goods, but as food disappeared and the districts emptied out, they began to raid for people.” The last trailed off into silence and Glenna turned from him.

  “Why?” Though there was less question in this than a desire to have his suspicions confirmed.

  “Food.”

  “Over the year, since the epidemic had become hot, the surrounding districts have come to be called the Dead District; then it became a euphemism for the Hill, but when we had to speak of the Hill itself, we started to refer to it in Tagolam as Lumang Mapoot—old hate.”

  “I’ve not run into any of these people since I’ve been here—not even a rumor of them.”

  “People? I’d hardly call them that.”

  “Well, I’ve not run into any from the Hill. Why is that?”

  “Firstly, we do not speak of them—not ever. Secondly, they only come off the Hill at night. And if they can’t make it back there before dawn, they will hide out until nightfall and may return safely.”

  “Do they always take their captives back with them?”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve not seen any signs of cannibalism—no bones; no offal, nothing.”

  “They are said to eat all parts of people, and the bones they use for tools, masks, and decoration. That is what is said; I am not certain whether or not it is true.”

  “I see—you do not know much of these people. However, if they are so dangerous, why leave them on the Hill?”

  “The Hill is generally not a big problem—they do not come off all that much. The times they do, it is because they’ve not been receiving a regular influx of new criminals.”

  “Salazar is feeding them?”

  From the window, Glenna shrugged. “It appears so, but no one wants to know. To be fair, it has been a useful tool to keep the general population under control.”

  “But the price—cannibalism.”

  “I know.” Coming back to him, Glenna sat and hugged the man. He could feel the shudder running through her again. “One more reason a lot of people would be willing to take their chances on the other side of the Wall.”

  “If you were caught, or even found out...”

  “We’d all be sent to the Hill, no matter who our families were—we might even have some of our family members sent with us. Not the bureaucrats or ministers, though. These they would still need.” The question had been unasked, but the woman seemed to understand some explanation would be needed.

  “Best not get caught.” Titus thought this funny, but she only hugged him tighter.

  “I want to see the place.”

  Glenna did not simply pull away from Titus but jumped up and staggered away. Disbelief and terror were struggling over her face that suddenly appeared hollowed out. “You can’t...” She could get no further.

  “At least the Dead District, but I’d prefer to see the Hill—if only from a distance.”

  “We can’t...”

  “I didn’t say we. If you are too frightened, it’s okay—go home and we’ll meet back at our place at the usual time.”

  “You’re going alone! No...No, I better go with you.”

  “It’s okay. If you are afraid, I...”

  “Of course I’m a
fraid, but if you are going, I have to.”

  “But...”

  “You can be foolish about how far is too far, and dealing with the Hill, you won’t know when to walk away—or when to run.” She had not been the first to make the observation. Lander had made it on several occasions; even Synon had mentioned it. Still, the Hill was important, and whatever he found there would be enlightening.

  How he intended to find value in a blacklisted district filled with cannibals and fodder Pym was not certain—other than to stick this in his back pocket for future reference or use. “It’s early yet—not quite mid-afternoon.”

  “I don’t want to be there for dusk—we leave before the sun begins to set.”

  The trip took less than forty-five minutes and that was by taking the less frequented side streets to avoid patrols and any Cartel movement. It was true the Beluga could now threaten them, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be caught alone out here.

  The Dead District was half-abandoned and half burned out—there’d been a couple of fires after abandonment, but no one was certain of the origin. They made it down the highroad with no problem, and Glenna had Pym pulled over several blocks before the Hill began. It was a good-sized hill with what looked like a mansion on top of it, but Titus could not see it clearly. The day became overcast, and the sun shone indistinctly behind the clouds so that the top of the hill was almost covered in a haze of clouds. The Hill was networked with small apartment buildings near the top, but below this was a network of shanties built from scrap and parts of other buildings and anything else that could be found.

  Smoke poured from many chimneys throughout the shanties but none from the apartments or the mansion on the flat crest of the Hill. There was no miasma about the place and nothing that particularly made it stand out—excepting there was a lonely, empty expanse of green commons between the highroad, where they now stood leaning on the grill of the car, and the beginning of the shantied hillside. “This is it?”

  “Yes.” The woman’s voice small, as she glanced from side to side as if waiting to be sprung upon.

  “Doesn’t seem much.”

  “It is the worst place the city now has to offer, and it has some truly shitty places.”

  “Can we get any closer?” As he said this, there was movement west of their position at the foot of the hill. “What’s that?” Pointing in the direction of the activity.

  “We have to get out of here.”

  “What is it?” the woman tugging on his arm.

  “Hunting party—we’ve been seen.”

  “Don’t,” circling round to the driver’s door, “they have cars?”

  “They’ve not been known to. Come on,” Glenna was becoming frantic, “we have to get out of here.”

  Pym turned the engine over and backed up while watching the small group with spears. As he was turning around, he heard a scream. Involuntarily he gunned the gas and they sped back down the Highroad.

  Days had passed since he’d seen Glenna.

  Each day he had waited for her at their place, but she had not shown up. Since they’d no phones at the warehouse, or anywhere else Pym knew of, he couldn’t get in touch with her. The reasons for her absence were simple, as far as he could tell. Either their escape from Dragon Bone Hill had been more than she could take—in the end they had three hunting parties after them—or she was having issues back in Makati. If someone had reported Chrislann’s condition, or if he needed more medical treatment than could have been passed off, this might have made its way to the Governor’s office.

  There was no way to be certain of that, so every day he waited for a couple of hours at the apartment. Eventually Glenna would show—where else did she have to go; who else was capable or willing to help her? Sooner or later, the woman would return, and then they could begin to sort out the Wall. The longer he spent in this city, the weirder it got: the Sweating Sickness; the Cartel; a dictatorial governor; militia and private security—heavily armed; the White Penitents who seemed to enjoy scourging themselves and killing the sinful; Dragon Bone Hill—cannibals. It just kept getting better. What next, flying monkeys?

  With that thought, Pym craned his neck out the window and up at the louring clouds. Perhaps it was only a matter of time.

  “Titus!”

  Slipping from the edge of the table, Pym staggered up and turned to the door.

  “Sorry,” Synon laughed, “but I’ve been looking all over for you. Simon’s got news for you.”

  “Simon?”

  “Aglibut—you have to keep up with the new people.”

  “I do? Why is that?”

  “Being leader and all...”

  “I delegate—you are keeping up for me.”

  “Right, well, he’s got news for you.”

  “What news?”

  “Will only say it’s for you.”

  Simon was another of the younger members of the Beluga—there were those who were pre-pubescent, but that was because their parents had been taken by the Sweats or had been banished to the Hill and they escaped the death sentence for whatever reason. Mostly, though, the young were in their middle teens, as was Aglibut—but he’d seen enough in the time between when his life went to shit and when he’d joined the Beluga Fay, according to Synon, that his word could be counted on.

  “Do these new ones keep getting younger and younger?”

  “I think they do—mostly they were left behind by their parents after the Sweats. The older survivors tend to find a way to make a living or stutter along on their own for a while before succumbing to despair or hunger.” They either slipped into the bay, took a run at the Wall, or joined the White Penitents. The Whites, now that he knew of them, could be blamed for a great deal of suffering in the city, but they kept their members fed and, more importantly, gave survivors a sense of mission. That mission was generally covered in blood or licked by flame, yet there was a purpose. Purpose was a powerful drug, which explained why the ranks of the Whites continued to expand.

  Most of the younger ones, however, could never bring themselves to join the Whites—the rumors were too terrifying, while those surrounding the Beluga, both Synon and Bannly made certain of this, were positive and reinforcing. This was the reason keeping track of their numbers was almost impossible and why they had expanded membership to two other warehouses and a factory—all larger than their present accommodations. Many felt this offered a serious alternative to the Cartel, and this might be true, but others were willing to match them against the Governor or even the Wall. These last two would eat them up individually, but Lander and even Bannly were not so sure. This was another reason Titus wanted out. Sooner or later, someone would think they could storm the Wall or take the government on.

  Pym was not going to have anything to do with that. Synon, for the moment, remained realistic about what they could and should do, but he’d been noticing her dreams for the Beluga expanding into those of a new social utopia. Synon wanted equity for all, but especially the abused. Having been one, until recently, the woman was particularly sensitive to the needs of these. That there was no hope for equity, and never had been, Titus did not have the heart to tell her. He doubted whether or not she would have been able to listen even if he had. But she didn’t worry him so much, and her followers within the increasingly fracturing Beluga—there were at least a half dozen subcultures within the greater group—were too young, inexperienced, and idealistic to be much danger in the long term.

  Lander was a different matter. He’d been gathering around him the old and angry new members. They had a penchant for violence and spent a lot of their time raiding the Cartel, security columns, and remnants of the wealthier districts. They’d even taken a run at Makati—though they failed to do more than kill a couple of guards, this didn’t turn others from them. In fact, their numbers had been expanding since the failed raid.

  Lander was canny, smart, immoral, and vicious. Although there was a lot of sense in letting him live in the beginning, this sense was
rapidly turning to self-destructive nonsense. This to a degree the greater Beluga was under threat from his faction, or soon would be. All Lander would require is the opportunity to bring Titus’s leadership into question. There had already been disquieting rumblings because of his frequent absences. On occasion, he’d even noticed he was being followed, and there were suggestions his rooms had been searched. When he questioned those responsible for guarding his floor—he’d been given a whole one to himself—it was denied that anyone who was not supposed to be on the floor was.

  In the end, this could mean but one of two things. Either the guards had shifted their allegiances to Lander’s faction, or at least one of them was working for Lander. Whatever the case, it did not look good for him. Now, however, he, Bannly, and Synon could no longer move against Lander openly. Even those that hadn’t been drawn into his sphere of influence respected what he had accomplished and were willing, excepting those that still remembered—and there were fewer and fewer of those, to take his previous behaviors as influenced by those that had been killed or purged from the Beluga. Pym was left with few options in dealing with Lander. Whichever of these he chose would be determined by how much longer it took he and Glenna to get out of the city.

  Titus was already prepared to abandon the Beluga, but he still needed their resources and the security the numbers offered—even if this security was beginning to fade. This brought him to the equally problematic area of what to do with Lander. Glenna needed to offer him up to the security forces, but their ability to raid the west end and the Beluga had been greatly diminished for the time being. As a result, he had more than some wiggle room Since Glenna was not pushing this any longer, he supposed the woman understood this. Still, he had to do something about Lander—and soon. As they wound down the stairwell—the Beluga could never scrounge enough fuel to maintain the elevators—Pym felt as exposed as the other Beluga.

  Because of this, few used the stairwells when they did not have to. When they did, they had to carry either candles—most popular—or a flashlight. Pym had a headband light, which might have been used for spelunking at one time, but now kept him from falling down a flight or two of stairs and breaking a leg, his back, or his neck.