by James Kahn
She fended off the initial rush of beggars and urchins with a jibe here, there a gesture; so that quickly they were left alone, much to Beauty’s relief. Beauty did not like cities.
Josh, on the other hand, was mesmerized by the lights, the activity, the interplay. He had a constant urge to get it all down in scripture before it disappeared: it seemed that unreal, and he was that caught up.
A furtive Human without a face sidled up and asked them if they were interested.
“Interested in what?” Josh asked naively. Girls. Boys. Nymphs. Clones. The faceless man became more descriptive. Josh was dumbfounded. He’d never known anything but absolute freedom, and here was someone actually selling creatures. Beauty’s response was more single-track; one of this scum’s properties might be Rose. He grabbed the pimp by the neck with a controlled righteous fury.
Jasmine stopped him, though, her ears alert. “What’s that?” she demanded of the purveyor. “What’s that about Clones?”
He didn’t reply, however; only skittered off into the night, leaving the remnant of a bad smell. Beauty was raging, Josh astonished, Jasmine curious. “Odd,” she mused. “There haven’t been any Clones in over a hundred years.” She was silent a moment, then went on to the others. “In any case, this was not the way to go about things. We’ve got to be very careful in a place like this. The wrong gesture at the wrong time … anyway, what we do is, we scout things out first. This is a city, and there are nuances and crosscurrents that have to be sensed before you can make your move. Before you even know what move to make. Now I know this city—I hung around here on and off for fifty years. But that was fifty years ago. Things can change. So we’ll go down to some of the bars on the docks, I’ll see if anyone I used to know is still around, and we’ll feel things out. Okay?”
She was obviously in her element, so without further delay, they resumed their walk to the waterfront. City of shadows. Back streets entered cul-de-sacs. Furtive transactions between receding silhouettes seemed to fill the alleys: some sexual, some violent; all unsettling, like half-remembered nightmares. There, panthers attacked a drunken sailor urinating against a door—tore out his throat and dragged him, gurgling, back into the jungle for their evening meal. Behind a darkened wall, two young boys took turns giving oral favors to a Chimera. In a recessed doorway, some shapeless creature groaned: in passion, or in death? The colored paper lanterns over the street jumped in the light sea wind, making the shadows dance.
They reached the dockyard without incident. In the harbor, two dozen ships gently rocked. Some were tethered to one of the long wooden piers that serviced the port. Others were anchored to the sandy floor, farther out in the bay. All were sail ships, though a few had auxiliary steam engines as well. One vessel was being unloaded, its cargo dumped roughly onto the wharf from the gangplank: Humans.
Beauty’s nostrils flared, and he almost galloped across the promenade to see if Rose was among the goods. Jasmine stopped him, though. “Remember what I said,” she cautioned. “It’s different in a city.”
He let himself be restrained. Slowly, the three comrades walked up the wharf, past a series of sleazy waterfront bars. They looked in each one, but each time continued walking. At the fifth tavern, Jasmine stopped. It had no windows. The white flaking sign on the old oak door said CASA BLANCA. She smiled and went in, followed closely by her mystified cohorts.
It was a big place. Twenty round, candlelit tables were scattered over the main floor. Side rooms and bead-curtained alcoves abounded off at the edges. The back wall was one long bar. Beside the bar, a set of stairs led to a sizable loft, but it wasn’t well lit, so not much could be seen.
Tending bar was a Cyclops. Large, mean, suspicious. He eyed their entrance, made a quick appraisal; then went on with his other business, though he never lost sight of them. They sat at a corner table.
The cafe wasn’t crowded yet. Two Harpies, woman-headed, vulture-bodied, stood at one end of the bar. Around a large table near the door, five creatures sat playing cards—a Gargoyle, a Devil, two Furies and a Human. None of them looked very happy. Over by the stairs sat a Troll, drinking alone.
The three hunters took it all in: Jasmine, easily; Josh, excitedly; Beauty, guardedly. A Sphinx walked through the front door. It had the head and breasts of a woman, the body of a dog, the tail of a serpent, the wings of a bird, the paws of a lion; and it was drunk. It looked around, then made straight for the corner table.
“Leave this to me,” whispered Jasmine. “Could be trouble.”
The Sphinx approached them. “My friends,” it said, grinning, “I have a riddle for you. If you answer it, I buy you all drink. If not, you buy me all drink. Yes?”
“We don’t—” began Jasmine.
Josh interrupted her. “That’s okay, I like riddles,” he said. Then, to the Sphinx: “Go ahead.”
The animal grinned again, spittle running down its chin. “Okay, amigo. Why did the chicken cross the road?”
Beauty tapped his fingers nervously on the table; Jasmine raised her eyes to Heaven; Josh looked consternated. “What’s a chicken?” he demanded.
The Sphinx smirked, but before it could speak, Jasmine said, “To drink on the other side. Now here, amigo—” she pulled a sou from her cape and stuck it in the creature’s paw—“take this and drink up on the other side of the dock.”
The Sphinx snarled, smiled, and staggered out the door. Jasmine sighed relief. “Lucky she was drunk as she was.”
Josh still looked baffled. “What is a chicken?”
Jasmine laughed. “An extinct animal. Wiped out by a famine and then a virus. Here’s the bar-tart, now, you two order first.”
A sassy Hermaphrodite walked up to their table.
She was naked, save for thick leather thigh-boots—an essential accessory for anyone who made love to things with claws—and she looked the hunters over with wanton zeal. Her arousal was obvious—hi fact, frankly tumescent—but such was the nature of these creatures.
She leaned gamely against the table, and said in a voice that suggested even her vocal cords were engorged, “Well, what’ll it be, sweets? See anything you like?”
Beauty would not look at the bar-tart, and Josh could not look away. Neither spoke. Jasmine smiled and ordered for them.
“Apple wine for my friends,” she told the Hermaphrodite; paused; then said, “And I’d like to see Sum-Thin.”
The man-woman took two steps and sat down hotly in Jasmine’s lap. “You’d like to see somethin’?” she said from the throat. “Sweet, you’re looking at everything I got right now.”
“That’s not the Sum-Thin I want,” suggested Jasmine, fondling the outrageous creature all the same.
“Well, then. Somethin’ like what, then?” She moved her hips, sliding into Jasmine’s casual caress.
“Sum-Thin Seaufein,” Jasmine whispered against the bar-tart’s ear.
“Who’s asking?”
“Tell her Jazz has floated up here from downriver just to watch her move.” With which she patted the man-woman’s bottom and pushed the gorgeous creature back to a standing position.
The Hermaphrodite pouted. “Well. This is a fine state to leave me in.” She turned to go, then stopped, and added with a sultry glower, “By the way. My name’s Cork.” At this, she turned for good, swaggered over to the Cyclops bartender, and began whispering rapidly, pointing back at the three friends around the corner table.
Josh was agape; Beauty aghast. Jasmine read the Centaur’s dismay and tried to quell it. “That was just a little ritual dance, we were just feeling each other out, you know? We both know some things, now. I know, now, for example, that Cork keeps a knife inside the top of her left boot. That’s something we should all be aware of. She, on the other hand, now knows I’m a Neuroman. There were subtler things going on as well of course, but you get the idea. Anyway, the barman is going into the back room, now, so I assume he’ll be telling Sum-Thin we’re here.”
Cork returned to deposit their drink
s on the table, but didn’t stay: it might be impolitic.
A few more customers rolled in. A couple of Vampires, a Gargoyle, a female Centaur. The card game started getting louder. Cork drifted around, made some conversation, and got handled with care by the Troll. Some more Humans came in, a couple of upright Lizards; Satyrs, Lupines, Demons, Chimeras; and suddenly the place was packed, the air dense with perfumed smoke and electricity. Jasmine hung her cape on the back of the chair.
The Cyclops was back behind the bar. Cork was getting low-down with a black-robed sorcerer in a dark corner, under the loft. Suddenly the door to the back room opened.
Out walked a tall, thin, exotically beautiful woman with Eurasian features and the grace of a cat. She was statuesque, nearly seven feet. Her hair was black, her cheeks flushed. Draping her frame was a red-and-black-flowered silk kimono that barely touched the floor as she approached the corner table.
“You wished to see me?” she addressed the group. “Privately,” Jasmine specified. The Oriental bowed slightly and extended her arm toward a paisley curtain hanging in a doorway to a small side room. The searchers rose and passed through the partition, followed by the mysterious figure.
The room was small. Pillows were scattered all around the dirty floor, in the middle of which stood an ornate hookah. Candlelight leapt.
When they were all inside, Jasmine and the woman broke huge, intemperate smiles, embraced, and exchanged a long, passionate kiss.
“Sum-Thin,” breathed Jasmine.
“Dear Jazz,” exclaimed the woman.
Beauty and Josh, of course, were speechless. The city was, indeed, a strange place.
Finally they all sat down on the cushions. Introductions were made.
“Joshua, Beauty—my ancient friend Sum-Thin. She’s owned this place a hundred years, and we go back together two hundred.” .
Only then did Josh detect the pale, pearly skin of a Neuroman under Sum-Thin’s rouged blush.
“Please excuse my cautious behavior out there,” she nodded past the hanging curtain, “but a gram of care is worth a black hole of regret.” Then, lowering her eyes apologetically: “I am always watched.”
“But seldom seen,” added Jasmine with an affectionate smile.
Sum-Thin laughed softly, from the heart. She turned to Josh, touched the back of his hand with her delicate fingertips. “This is a private joke she refers to; it was hopelessly tactless of her to make such an allusion, so I will let my vanity apologize for her, at the expense of boring you: when I chose this body—this life—after leaving my Human form two hundred years ago, Jazz wrote me this poem:
“Long and lean, Dragon Queen, kind of hungry and kind of mean, and so far out you are seldom seen, Dragon Queen.”
She opened her eyes wide, placed two long, black-nailed fingers tentatively to her lips, turned back to Jasmine. “There, that’s what you get for telling secrets in front of people.”
Jasmine stared tenderly at her friend. “Poem or no poem. You always wrapped yourself in a cloud.”
“The reason the lining of every cloud is silvered, is to allow for deep reflections.” She smiled enigmatically. “But enough about me. What brings such honored guests to my enclave?” She looked to each face.
“Hunting,” said Josh. He was feeling recharged after all the jungle torpidity. The hunt was taking longer than he wanted, and he sensed that Sum-Thin could get them back on track.
Beauty was still too confused to speak—at odds with himself, uncertain about Jasmine, overwhelmed by the city ways.
Jasmine interrupted, “Before we get to that, tell me—what month is it?”
Sum-Thin shrugged. “I no longer count. Autumn, by the weather.”
Jasmine shook her head. She told Sum-Thin about their loss of time in the strange jungle city, and of some of the surreal encounters that took place there—some, but not all, to Beauty’s silent, shamed relief: he had still not resolved the strong and constant love he felt for his lost Rose with the jangling emotions Jasmine aroused in him, particularly with the intense memory of their lovemaking in the city of lost time.
Sum-Thin listened to Jasmine’s story and nodded. “I have heard of the place. The old man is a Wizard. He uses psychotropic pharmacologies and hypnosis and what else I can only guess. He is a Deiton. You were fortunate to have escaped—few ever leave. Those who have come out say it was by virtue of a powerful emotional shock or transcendence that the spell was broken. Perhaps someday you will tell me your experience.” She looked directly at Beauty as she said this, and he had the distinct feeling she was looking through him, into him. He shifted his eyes down. Jasmine wisely kept silent. Sum-Thin concluded, “Another time. In any event, I have no doubt it was an awesome place. It has been compared to Heaven and Hell.”
“What’s a Deiton?” asked Josh. He was fascinated by this tall, gaunt woman who intimated so much, specified so little.
“The Deitons were one of the Fourfold,” Sum-Thin squinted, remembering. “Deitons, Cidons, Hedons, and Cognons. Neuromans, all. But Neuromans who entered the Fourfold path committed themselves to a single-mindedness you and I can barely appreciate.”
Josh beamed internally, that Sum-Thin had included him in her own poor understanding. He listened even more intently as she continued. “The Fourfold were Neuromans who underwent cerebral microsurgery—they had microelectrodes implanted in various loci in their brains, connected to self-stimulating devices, powered by their plutoniurn battery packs.
“There were four well-delineated cerebral locus clusters at the time the operation was popular: the pleasure center, the aggression center, the cognitive integration center, and what for want of a more complete understanding we called the PINEAL—an anagram that stood for Passion, Intuition, Nothingness, Energy, Altruism, Libration.” She smiled, eyes closed.
“I don’t understand,” Josh pressed, floundering in Sum-Thin’s terminology. “What do you mean by …”
She stopped him with upraised hand. “A thoughtful patience is the hunter’s friend.”
Josh dropped his mouth closed. With a feeling almost of déjà vu, he remembered speaking uncannily similar words to Beauty at the very beginning of their quest. He stared at Sum-Thin in wonder. Could she know his mind so well? Was she mocking him?
She continued narrating. “Neuromans who had the electrode implanted in their pleasure centers were known as Hedons. Most did not long last. They were wont to push their self-stimulating buttons continuously sustaining peak internal sensual experiences for days, often until they starved to death—at least until they fainted. Then they would awaken, eat a little, and begin the process again. Few, I think, remain.
“Those with electrodes in their aggression centers were called Cidons. They loved to kill—which of course, put them in so many violent circumstances, most of them are by now also dead. They were like the Howlers, they took a special glee in death. Some even lived in Howler-town, I believe. They had a certain purity, like all in the Fourfold; but I did not like them.
“Cognons were exclusively thinkers. They parted ways with emotion, sense, body. They became obsessed with their own cognitive processes. The more they discharged their electrodes, the more they turned their thoughts in on themselves, analyzed each thought, then each analysis. Some of the most highly developed logicians I ever met. They were not really able to communicate their knowledge to anyone but each other, alas. I’ve not seen one for many years.
“But the Deitons were the most interesting, to my mind. Their electrodes were placed in the PINEAL center—a clearly localized area of the brain structurally, but one whose functional characteristics could be described only by approximation. People whose pineals were stimulated exhibited first, passion—not the passion of sensuality, but passion in its deeper sense: the agony and power of receiving; the ardent intensity of all emotion—hate, love, grief, fear, joy, the compulsion of zeal. Next, they were highly intuitive—they had a sense for the way things were, for instantaneous comprehensions, for und
erstanding things without cognition. They had, further, a deep-rooted conviction—a perception, it was said—that nothing in the universe actually existed as matter, that all was energy, that you and I were merely shades of the same energy, melting into each other, that nothing had identity in and of itself, that there were no things, that what truly characterized the cosmos was its very nothingness. It was perhaps this insight which made them so altruistic; but whatever the reason, they were known for their selfless giving to others, their true egolessness. And finally, libration: the slow, hovering oscillation around a central point, as a beam about to poise in eternal balance on the fulcrum over which it has been rocking.
“So, these were the manifestations of the Deitons: Passion, Intuition, Nothingness, Energy, Altruism, Libration. They were, truly, Godlike creatures. The pineal center was more or less developed in ordinary Humans; but these Deitons electro-stimulated the nucleus at will. Truly, they knew something the rest of us did not.”
She stopped talking; stared into the past. Jasmine nodded agreement. “You’re right, of course. It hadn’t occurred to me, but the Wizard in the City of Time must have been a Deiton—along with whatever else he was.”
Josh and Beauty both were entranced with the picture Sum-Thin had painted—Joshua particularly with the unimaginable intellect of the Cognons; Beauty more with the attributes of the Deitons, especially the concept of libration.
Jasmine went on. “The Wizard’s passion wasn’t evident, but it was there, without a doubt. Heaven and Hell is just what the place was. Every moment was intense. And yet, somehow, moment to moment, the time just disappeared.”
Sum-Thin wagged her finger in thought. She pulled an opium pipe out of her kimono and fired it before speaking. “You know, time has not been quite the same anywhere since the Coming of Ice. Have you found that? It may be just because there are so few Humans left, and it was always the Humans who kept the time. They tried to keep it so structured and invariant. Of course, it is not. The animals always knew that, it’s as subtle and textural as any dimension. So perhaps merely the Human misperception is vanishing, along with the race.”