Beneath an Opal Moon (11 page)

“I do not mean his heart, Kossori, but rather what was done to the rest of the body. Will you at least take a look at the corpse?”

“Yes, of course. But I doubt I'll confirm your suspicions.” He shook his head. “Can't I interest you in something else? Let your friend the Regent pursue this matter of the man from Kintai.”

“No.” Moichi's tone was firm. “I want to see it through now and, in any event, I promised Aerent.” There were pinpoints of light now in front of them where the alley apparently ended and he put a hand on his companion's arm, stopping him. “That reminds me. Aerent would not discuss the Sha-rida with me. What exactly is it? I had assumed it to be merely another of the slave markets which proliferate throughout the city.”

“If that were so, there would be no need to keep its constantly moving location a secret or to hold it only when the moon is down, during that time some call the shallows of night.”

“It is illicit.”

“Illicit, yes.” Kossori laughed. “As illicit as anything can get in Sha'angh'sei.”

“Aerent said that he meant to eradicate the Sha-rida.”

“Ah, good luck to him, say I.” Kossori breathed deeply of the night. “Others have tried before him. Even the Greens. It is impossible. Best to forget its existence rather than attempt to destroy it.”

“But why is it so difficult? You knew its location this night. Surely there must be others.”

“Absolutely. And that is what, in the end, assures the Sha-rida's existence.”

“That sounds like a contradictory—”

“Look, my friend, it is not a matter of
how many
people know of the Sha-rida but rather
who
those people are.” He pointed ahead and they began walking again. “Come. I will show you what I mean.”

Thus they had come upon Ebb Tide Square, a curious name considering how far inland they were. Once, perhaps, it had been the site of fancy apartment dwellings. But these had been abandoned over the years as the structures decayed and rotted, until now they were totally unsalvageable as proper houses. Like the ruined stumps of an old man's once strong teeth, shards of brick- and woodwork still stood among the mortared and dust-covered detritus.

And in the center, the rippling tents of the Sha-rida.

If the makeshift structures appeared grubby and filled with patchwork, it was a perfectly practical solution to the clandestine existence of the place, for, as Moichi saw clearly now that they were upon the flapping tents, they were made so that they could be struck in a moment's notice. It would certainly be to the Sha-rida's advantage to be able to pack up and disappear as quickly as possible.

Too, the shabbiness was in sharp contrast to the denizens of the Sha-rida. These were almost to a person swathed in dark anonymous robes or cloaks. But once within the warmth of the tents, they were obliged to let them fall open somewhat and Moichi was startled to see that all of them, men and women alike, were of the wealthiest segment of the city's population.

“They are the only ones who can afford to patronize the Sha-rida,” Kossori said in response to Moichi's query regarding this fact. “Now you begin to see why the Sha-rida is virtually invulnerable to any law. It is these selfsame patrons who see to that.”

Moichi glanced discreetly around this largest of the tents, the center one. There were enough gold, platinum and jewels here, he surmised, to keep the entire kubaru population of Sha'angh'sei—including the vast numbers who lived on the tasstan in the harbor—in food, clothing and shelter for many seasons.

“But what is it,” he asked, “that they can get here that they cannot obtain at any of the legitimate slave markets?”

“The Sha-rida is a flesh bazaar like no other in the world.” The brazen torchlight illuminated Kossori's dark gleaming skin, highlighting his brooding eyes. “Here only the most beautiful men and women, young and in perfect health, are sold. And there is but one reason they are bought.”

“Sex?”

“Death.”

For a time, Moichi said nothing, his eyes wandering about the tent, which was rapidly filling up now so that they were obliged to move closer together, people now close enough to brush shoulders.

“Why do you come here then?” Moichi said. He felt overcome by shame and he was angry, too, for it was Kossori who had brought him here without telling him what was going to happen.

“I come here every so often to absorb by proximity some of the intense perversity which is its reason for existence.”

“But you brought me here without—”

“My dear friend, I do not remember you taking the time to ask me about the Sha-rida until we were already upon it. And this after the rather explicit warning given you by the Regent.”

Moichi was silent. He is right, he thought gloomily. I cannot blame Kossori for my own lack of responsibility. But was it really that, so simple an answer? He thought not, now. Life, he had found, rarely provides easy answers to anything. That was for plays and such. The real world was far too complex to distill down. Eliminate complexities and you invariably lose meaning. It was, after all, that he had
wanted
to come to the Sha-rida, despite what Aerent had hinted, he concluded.

“Watch, now, Moichi,” he heard Kossori murmur at his side. “Now it begins.”

Upon a stage at what had been arbitrarily designated the front of the tent, a stage that Moichi had not noticed before now, stood a giant of a man. He was shirtless and the titanic muscles of his arms and chest bulged, glistening in the flickering torchlight as if they had recently been rubbed with oil. This man had no neck. His head, as large and round as a great pumpkin, seemed attached directly to his massive shoulders.

“This night the Sha-rida comes to Sha'angh'sei,” he announced in a voice like a thawing river. “It is close to morning and before the dawn we will be gone. It is little time. Yet, there is time for celebration. I am Mao-Mao-shan, master of the Sha-rida, hunter of a flesh beyond the meat of food, beyond the penetration of sex. I, Mao-Mao-shan, am the purveyor of a flesh designed for the ultimate sensations.” He reached out an arm as thick as a tree trunk, sweeping it back theatrically. “Thus do I direct your attention to the exquisite fruits of my nocturnal labors. For my work is your gain and your only enemy now is the rising of the sun. Please, then behold the coming of the supplicants of the dominion of death!”

It was an effective speech; Moichi felt a slight shiver run through him, though he knew this was but hocus-pocus—extremely artful, he had to admit, but hocus-pocus nonetheless.

A section of the tent's wall to the left of Mao-Mao-shan ballooned outward and a man stepped on stage. He was tall, with a finely muscled body of chocolate brown. His startlingly pale blue eyes stared straight ahead, oblivious to the intense stares of the throng. He wore not a stitch of clothing. Naturally not, Moichi thought. What need had these people to see their potential possessions with clothes on? The thought might have been amusing had not the situation been so hideous.

“Eighty seasons old,” said Mao-Mao-shan. “The bidding begins at four hundred taels.”

Moichi turned to Kossori, whispered, “Four hundred taels of
silver
?” And when the other nodded, thought, My God, that is a city's ransom.

Movement in the crowd.

Mao-Mao-shan nodded. “Four hundred taels, yes sir. And?” He looked around. Out of the corner of his eyes, Moichi saw a thin sandy-haired man in a dark cloak nod. “And four hundred fifty to you, sir. Very good! We are on our way. But surely, this magnificent soul is worth far more. Why, for four hundred fifty I could—Ah, yes, madam, thank you. The bid is now five hundred—”

Moichi turned around, saw a fiery-eyed woman of indeterminant middle age. She glared at him and he quickly turned back to the spectacle on stage.

So the bidding went, until it reached a ceiling of seven hundred and fifty taels and the fiery-eyed woman came rustling forward to claim her soul, as Mao-Mao-shan had called the chocolate-skinned man. As soon as she had taken possession of the man, the tent wall at Mao-Mao-shan's side ballooned once more and a slender young woman stepped onto center stage. She was blond and blue-eyed.

As the bidding began, Moichi turned his head toward his friend, whispered fiercely, “How can you condone this? It is monstrous!”

“I don't condone it, my friend. I accept it as a part of life. There's a world of difference there.”

The bidding was sluggish and Mao-Mao-shan began to exhort the crowd, regaling them with tales of the woman's fiery nature, fanciful yet effective—and the bidding took off in a flurry. He was quite a showman.

“You yourself,” Kossori continued, “do not believe in slavery, yes? Yet you tolerate it here in Sha'angh'sei. Why?”

“Because—well, I suppose because it's part of the way things are here. I—”

“You see!”

“But the analogy—Kossori, what they do here—”

“Take a look on stage, my friend. No, I mean a good long look. Have you seen anyone there who seems to object?”

Now that Kossori mentioned it, it seemed quite a curious thing. None of the souls appeared in the least upset at what was transpiring. Perhaps they did not know. But a quick query of Kossori dispelled that notion.

“No, my friend, all are quite aware of what is to happen to them. It is not the
finding
of the souls which occupies Mao-Mao-shan's time so much as the
weeding out
of the undesirables.”

The slender woman was sold for five hundred taels.

“You mean people queue up to—to die?” Moichi was incredulous.

“That is precisely what I mean.”

“But why? I cannot possibly—”

“Perhaps,” he said quietly, “it's that they desire release.”

“Now a very special acquisition,” Mao-Mao-shan was saying from his lofty position. There was a soft stirring within the throng as the wall parted and a man appeared. He was not naked but rather was garbed similarly to Mao-Mao-shan. He was bare-chested, though not nearly so big as the master of the Sha-rida. He wore dark pantaloons and high dusty boots. Around his waist was wrapped a wide sash into which was negligently pushed a curving dirk. This man paused at the edge of the stage and reached backward, as if through the tent someone were jerking viciously. A woman stumbled after him, out onto the stage.

Immediately, Mao-Mao-shan was into his spiel but Moichi paid him no heed. His eyes were riveted on the female. She was naked as the others had been.

She was tall and a narrow waist accentuated her wide shoulders and flaring hips. Her legs were very long.

“Don't you see?” Kossori said. “The Sha-rida is part of the embodiment of the liberation of the spirit of mankind—”

She had high cheekbones, a thin-bridged nose with delicate flaring nostrils like some animal at bay. Her defiant eyes were pure cobalt, the deepest blue Moichi had ever seen. Her hair was long, flowing loose over her shoulders, wild and tousled now as if she had been in a struggle. It was the color of flame.

“—Here the darkest part of the human soul is loosed and assuaged, turned outward instead of inward to fester. We all have it inside of ourselves, in differing degrees—”

Her legs were the most beautiful Moichi had ever seen. Firmly thighed and lightly muscled, seeming to run on forever. He lifted his eyes.

“—Here lust and death commingle.”

And his eyes locked with hers for just a moment. A kind of shock traveled through his body until he was certain that his very flesh vibrated. Then the contact was broken. The bidding began, running briskly from almost every quarter of the crowd with but the minimum of intervention from Mao-Mao-shan. He knew a prize when he had one.

What had happened? Moichi asked himself dazedly. Some message had been conveyed across the physical space separating them, across the wider gulf of their different cultures.

The bidding stood at eight hundred and fifty taels, hovering there for some moments. “Come, come,” Mao-Mao-shan proclaimed. “Eight hundred fifty taels of silver is a paltry price to pay for this soul. I can tell you honestly that a soul of this magnitude has not crossed my path in many a season. Now what—Yes sir, my compliments. The bid is now one thousand taels!”

There was a concerted gasp as the throng reacted to the enormous price and heads craned to catch a glimpse of the bidder. But Moichi was staring straight ahead at the woman on the stage. There was something peculiar—her wrists! She had moved slightly as if she too were interested in the person from the crowd who had offered that much silver for her and he could see now that her wrists were tied behind her back. Not only that but, as she shifted further, he observed that she had been working on the hempen bonds, attempting to free herself. He nudged Kossori.

“Eh?”

“I thought you said that all who came here were willing.”

Kossori nodded. “That's so.”

“Observe yonder,” Moichi said, indicating the woman on stage.

“By the gods! I don't understand—”

The bidding resumed. A rather elderly woman with a desiccated face upped the price to twelve hundred and a voice boomed out within the tent, shouting angrily, “Fifteen hundred!”

Now Moichi turned to look, for it was the same individual who had caused such a stir with his one-thousand-tael bid. He saw, within the crush of bodies, a tall man in a black cloak which covered him from head to boot top. Moichi could not make out any features for the light was poor in that direction and the man had kept his hood pulled up. Yet he was readily distinguishable from those about him for he stood at least a quarter of a meter taller than any of them.

“Eighteen hundred,” called the desiccated woman.

The tall man shouldered his way forward, brushing protesting people from his path. He lifted his head to call out, “Two thousand taels, by the god of iron!” And Moichi thought he saw a cold glitter emanating from within the hood as if the light had caught the lens of an eye.