Paragaea (36 page)

“Try the House of Mama Jahannam,” the other guard said, not without a slight trace of compassion. He pointed up the road, to a red lantern swinging above an open doorway. “They'll take
anybody
.”

“Well, we are most definitely anybody,” Hieronymus said, on his face a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. “I suppose we'll be on our way.”

“Watch yourselves,” warned the first guard, pointing to the company with his three-pronged trident.

“We will,” Balam growled ominously.

“Come along, friend,” Hieronymus said, taking the jaguar man by the elbow and dragging him down the avenue. “Let's get indoors, shall we?”

When they had gone a few dozen steps, Leena glanced back over her shoulder and saw that the two guards were still standing in place, watching them. “What does it mean,” she asked in a low voice, “to have a curfew when no one can say what the hour is with any certainty?”

“Curfews are never about the hours of a clock,” Benu said, his opalescent eyes glinting dully in the gloomy twilight, “but are only about control. It would seem that the Heleans are afraid of something, but that they are not precisely sure what that something is.”

As they drew near the red lantern, they could hear voices raised in laughter, and saw a warm glow spilling out from the open doorway.

“Ah,” Hieronymus said, his chest swelling with a deep breath. “Signs of life, at last.”

Mama Jahannam's proved to be a tavern such as could be found near wharfs or warehouses or loading docks in any city, Earthly or Paragaean. It had a low ceiling, hung with lanterns that produced a ruddy glow, and was crowded with pitted tables and wobbly chairs, nearly all of them occupied. The laughing, singing, boisterous crowd included every species and variety of sentient being imaginable: human, Kobolt, Sheeog, Rephaim, Struthio, Canid, Arcas, Sinaa, Tapiri, even a handful of Ichthyandaro in damp robes in a far corner, and a pair of Nagas playing bone flutes while sitting cross-legged on a table. Only a few of
the patrons seemed dour and sullen, metamen who invariably sat in small groups apart from everyone else.

The company found an open table, and ordered food and drink from a waiter who drifted by with a tray of beverages, all of which he seemed to be sampling before serving, which left his speech and his locomotion notably impaired. After a brief delay, though, their order arrived, more or less correct, and they fell to sating their appetites.

Once they had worked their way through the rough meal, and had a couple of drinks in them, Hieronymus and Balam began to scan the tavern patrons studiously.

“What are you doing?” Leena asked, noting their careful attention.

“In every establishment of this sort,” Hieronymus explained, “one is likely to find individuals who have a willingness to answer questions when suitably inspired.”

Leena drew a sharp breath. “You're not going to torture someone for information, are you?”

Balam looked at her with a shocked expression on his face, while Hieronymus just chuckled.

“What do you think we are, Leena?” Balam asked, horrified. “Savages?”

“No, of course not, little sister.” Hieronymus took a sip from his mug, and licked his lips appreciatively. “We'll just get them drunk, and then start asking questions.”

In short order, they found their mark. A human, his skin a pale white with a slight tinge of green that indicated, Benu explained, that he had been in Hele for some time, but was not a native-born citizen. He introduced himself as Alfe, and was apparently desperate for conversation, as he started answering the company's questions before his first drink had even been poured.

“What's this coronation business all about, anyway?” Balam asked.

Alfe looked at the jaguar man askance. “Blind me, did you just fall off the tram today, or what?”

“Yes,” Hieronymus said, nodding, “as a matter of fact, we did.”

Alfe shrugged, and reached for his mug of lager. “Fair enough. So it's the coronation you're wanting to hear about, is it? Well, you see, Underlord Akeronh has recently died, and his coregent, Underlady Persefonh, now holds the throne only as steward, waiting for a pair of worthies to pass the rites of coronation. Already, though, two pair of green-skinned children, boy and girl, have marched into the cave tunnels, the juice of the royal pomegranates still staining their chins. It remains to be seen if they come back out again, but if they don't, another pair'll go in after them, and another after them, and so on, until Hele's got itself a new set of monarchs, and things can get back to normal for a while.”

“What about these agitators we've heard about?” Leena asked, leaning forward.

“Oh, them,” Alfe said with a sneer. “There's a mess of foreigners being held for trial, metamen arrested for fomenting revolution among the others of their kind in the city. Their trial has been postponed until a new underlord and underlady take up the Carneol and mount the throne, but it's all over but the shouting, at this point. Those agitators are as dead as dead, and have no doubt.”

“Where do they come from, these agitators?” Benu asked. “Whence do they come?”

“They're from among the numbers of the Black Sun Genesis,” Alfe said, “or so I'm told. There's more of them arriving every day, agitating for their captive brethren to be released.” He took a long sip of his lager, and then pointed past Hieronymus at the open door. “There's some of them newly arrived ones now, who've no doubt been off pestering the upper-ring nabobs about their fellows' release.”

The company glanced over, and saw a small group of metamen: a
Canid, a Struthio, and an Arcas, with a young Sinaa female at their vanguard.

“It can't be!” Balam shouted, leaping to his feet. “Menchit!”

Balam rushed forward, his arms wide, but when he was within a meter of the young Sinaa, she held her hands up, claws out, warding him off.

“But Menchit,” Balam said, eyes wide and confused. “Don't you know me?”

Balam drew nearer, and the young female swiped her claws at his face, forcing him to pull back or lose an eye.

“Menchit, I'm your father!”

The young Sinaa regarded him coolly. “I know no father but Per.”

Balam took a step backwards, stunned, and the young Sinaa swept past him, the other Per-followers in her wake.

The following morning, in the same unending twilight, the company set out for the Ministry of Foreign Labor, as instructed.

Balam had scarcely spoken since his encounter with his long-lost daughter the night before, and when Leena suggested they make for the Ministry building, he objected, saying that he preferred to stay in the tavern, in the hopes of meeting again with his daughter.

“Come on, friend,” Hieronymus said, placing an arm around his shoulders. “It would do no good to be deported for lack of proper identification before we even came near the palace.”

“Very well,” Balam grumbled, arms crossed over his chest. “But I'm back here at my earliest opportunity.”

The company made their way through the thronged avenue of the ninth ring, back to the long ramp they'd seen the night before. The Ministry of Foreign Labor, a helpful patron of Mama Jahannam's had explained after Hieronymus had bought him a dram of lager, could be found in the first quarter of the eighth ring. The building, once they
located it, proved to be an unimposing structure of white stone that looked dilapidated and aged.

“One assumes that, despite its evident value to their culture, the Heleans place little stock in Foreign Labor,” Benu observed.

In the vestibule of the Ministry building, they found an ancient Helean sitting in a stall, his white hair like wisps of cloud against his dark green skin, his uniform stained and threadbare.

“Yes?” the official asked disinterestedly.

“We were given these,” Leena held out her ceramic badge, “and told to come here to find work.”

The official reached out a wrinkled hand, covered in dark viridian liver spots, and took the ceramic badge from Leena. “Well, you won't be able to get work with
these.
This is just a temporary access chit. In order for anyone in Hele to hire you on, you'd need a provisional employment chit.”

“And where might we get one of those?” Hieronymus asked.

“You'd need to go to the Ministry of Immigration Control,” the official said. He pointed back towards the open door, and handed Leena back her ceramic badge. “Sixth ring, second quarter, you can't miss it.”

“And with this employment chit, we don't run the risk of deportation?” Leena asked.

“No,” the official answered with a sigh, “any nonproductive immigrant is liable to be expelled from the city, whether they have a provisional employment chit or not. The temporary access chit gives you free passage throughout the unrestricted areas of the city, until such time as you are able to find employment. The provisional employment chit, however, merely indicates that you are
eligible
to be employed, but does not guarantee employment. That determination is made by the Ministry of Foreign Labor on a case-by-case basis.”

“So can you tell us whether you have work for us, then?” Hieronymus asked.

“Not with just a temporary access chit, I can't.” The official waved
them once more towards the door, and then turned his attention away, their audience evidently at an end.

“I don't have time for this nonsense,” Balam growled as they stepped back out into the eighth-ring avenue. He began to pace, extending and retracting his claws anxiously. “I've not seen my daughter since she was a bare cub, and now she's grown, and refuses to recognize me. I'll not waste any more time dallying with the unnecessarily complex bureaucracies of this stagnant culture, when we're on some damned idiotic quest, resident here only temporarily to steal the crown jewel!”

“Hsst!” Hieronymus grabbed his arm and dragged him to a halt. He leaned in close to the jaguar man's ear, and in a harsh whisper, said, “A little more circumspect in future, if you wouldn't mind. I've no desire to spend the rest of my days rotting in a Helean prison cell, thank you.”

Balam took a deep breath and relaxed fractionally, but his posture and manner still made his tension evident. “I'm sorry, all. Honestly. But as important as I know it is to you to return home”—he glanced imploringly at Leena—“you must understand how weighty this moment is for me.”

Leena stepped forward and laid a hand on Balam's arm. “Of course you must go to your daughter,” she said. “Leave the Carneol to me, Benu, and Hero.”

“Actually,” Benu said, raising his hand, “if this access chit will give me passage in and out of the city for a few days, as the official indicated, I may well forgo the employment process myself, and pass the time instead exploring the surrounding caves.”

“Why?” Hieronymus asked.

“I have been in Hele on occasion, over the long numberless centuries
of my existence, but I now find myself puzzled over what it was about these sunless caverns that the wizard-kings of Atla investigated, all those millennia ago. I would find that answer for myself.”

Hieronymus looked from Benu to Leena.

“Well, little sister, you've released Balam from his labors. Do you now absolve Benu of any responsibility, as well?”

Leena shrugged. “What can six hands do that four hands cannot, in these circumstances?”

“Fair enough,” Hieronymus said, and responded with a shrug of his own. “Balam, you go mend bridges with your estranged daughter, and Benu, you go solve the riddle of the sunless caverns. Leena and I, meanwhile, will work on penetrating the defenses of the first ring, infiltrating the royal residence, and making off with the most valuable gem in Hele.” He smiled broadly and winked at Leena. “What could be easier?”

It took the better part of a day for Hieronymus and Leena to make their way through the labyrinthine bureaucracy of the Ministry of Immigration Control, but after swearing out affidavits and signing countless forms, averring that they had no desire to topple the rightful government of Hele, they were presented with their provisional employment chits. It was nearly curfew by the time they returned to the Ministry of Foreign Labor on the eighth ring, and neither of them had eaten since early that morning.

“Well,” the bald-headed Ministry official said after examining their employment chits and looking over their papers. “I think we
may
have work for you, after all. There are vacancies in the municipal laundry facilities on the second ring. Non-Heleans have not
traditionally
been employed above the fourth ring, but circumstances in recent
decades have forced us to accept the notion of foreigners taking on the less-desirable posts in the upper rings. That being the case, one still cannot conscience having nonhumans in those positions, and so when suitable human candidates come forward, they tend to find employment fairly quickly.”

“The laundry?” Hieronymus wrinkled his nose distastefully.

“Yes,” the official drawled. “The municipal laundry handles the washing for all of the ministry branches, but its primary responsibility is to the palace spire.”

“Oh, really?” Leena said. “That sounds very…engaging.”

“Quite.” The official waved his hand absently. “And who knows? If you work out in the laundry, and please your overseers, I suppose there's always the possibility that you might someday be able to work within the walls of the palace spire itself. What do you think of that?”

Leena and Hieronymus exchanged glances and smiled.

“I think that sounds just splendid,” Leena said.