The Wraeththu Chronicles (97 page)

believe me, there were a host of other, equally irresistable inequalities that had just been busting a gut waiting to take its place. The strong enslave the weak. That about sums it up. Rewind history. Replay. Ad infinitum. Oh, I'm sure that there's a warm hearth yearning to give me comfort in Jaddayoth!

Anyway, as I was explaining before, I starved for quite a time after reaching Fallsend, and then the hostel-keeper began to get suspicious. Mainly, this was because I never ate in the (dare I call it this?) dining room with the other residents. It was a cash for meals arrangement in there you
 
see, and as I quickly got through the money I'd made from selling my horse,
 
the dining room was deprived of my enlightening presence. On the sixth day, just when I was convincing myself that I liked eating out of trash cans and had nearly finished my last bottle of liquor, money was demanded for my room. The hostel keeper and I argued in a civilized manner for about half an hour, until he lost patience and had me thrown out, keeping my meager bundle of luggage as security until I could pay him what I owed. It was all quite undignified. Sprawled in a black, stinking puddle, sniffed at by a stray, mangy hound, I shouted that I used to be the consort of a prince, which was rather an exaggeration on my part, but I had no fear of being found out in that place. It failed to impress my friend the hostel keeper, however. He told me to piss off back west and claim alimony if that was the case. I acknowledged defeat and abandoned the argument. Too many people had gathered to watch, and even numbed by alcohol I hate feeling embarassed.

Remembering the conversation I'd had about finding work some days before, I quickly examined my feelings on seeking employment in Glitter. Strangely, I found I had none whatsoever. Hunger and misery do odd things to your principles. Dusting myself off or sludging myself off which is more to the point, I walked up town and knocked on the prettiest door I could find. It had a string of colored lights all around it. Tacky, I know, but I appreciated that the occupants were trying to make an effort at decoration in the face of such overwhelming squalor. I had no idea if I'd chosen the best house. A musenda was a musenda to me. Men once called such things whorehouses. After some minutes of repeated knocking on my part, the door was opened by a har who looked like something out of my past. That is to say he looked clean, attractive and wore jewelery and cosmetics. It had been so long since I'd seen anyone wearing either, that I spared a brief, wistful thought for the days when I'd been adorned with them myself. I said, "Someone in town sent me up here. They said there's work ..."

"There are no spare places here in Piristil," the har said frostily, trying to close the door.

I pushed it open again. "Look, I know I'm a mess at the moment, but I've had a hard time recently. I've no money, no place to stay. If I don't get work, I'll die of cold, of hunger and the stink of the town. Could you live with that on your conscience?"

"Have you had experience in this line of work?" he snapped.

"No, I've never been a kanene, I've never even set foot in a musenda before, but I swear to you, if you let me stay, you won't regret it. It's a line of work I'm eminently suited to if you'll let me prove it."

The har looked at me with about the same amount of enthusiasm (and belief) as he'd look on a turd telling him it was a diamond. We suffered in silence for an eternity, staring at each other. I sensed a growing refusal. He said, "You're filthy," which I presumed meant my appearance.

I shrugged. "Yeah, I know, but I've told you, I've had a run of bad luck. Clean me up and the Aghama will have to shield the angels' eyes from my wondrous beauty."

He wasn't convinced, although he allowed the corner of his mouth to twitch a little. It was then that I realized I'd have to do that thing I'd just about forgotten how to. It had always worked like magic. I felt my face crack and, for a moment, I was scared it was my skin. But it wasn't. Just dirt. It was my last hope: I smiled. The har blinked at me, a little dazed. Poor creature, poor sucker. He opened the door wider. "You'd better come in," he said.

And that, my friends, is how Calanthe, lover of kings and princes, slayer of friends, charlatan of wit, beauty and refinement, a legend in his own time in fact, became a whore. How much lower could I fall?

The house in Fallsend

". . . prowling hungry down the night lanes. "

—Robert Graves, A Jealous Man

1 am living two lives. lam not mad. Perhaps that is my punishment. Yesterday is two places, each memory convincing, each incident clear as ice-water. I am fourteen years old. Seel is with me, younger, eager, dog-like in his trusting simplicity. The air smells bad around here. It is a dead part of the city. They say that the Wraeththu live here. We have come to see. Seel's trousers are ripped, his knees grazed. He is nervous. I am merely numb. It is the only way for us. The others, the world, our families, what is left of the establishment on this wasteland earth are on to us. We are so young. We are afraid yet brave, our courage is a kind of contaminated innocence; we are human and we are lovers. In the wake of various hysterias, our love is outlawed. We risk death every day. (The first thrown stone; others would follow.) No-one must know about us. It is a danger even to look at one another, in case the warmth of our eyes betrays us. So little warmth in this world; we must stand next to it when we can. Flesh pressed too long to ice brings death; death of the soul. Many soulless people walk this land. Every other house stands empty in our street now. Doors and windows silent, sagging, vomiting desolation. Our trysting places. We first made love amongst the rubble, the sound of wailing outside, far away, in the sunlight. A sharp report of gunfire. Summertime. Dogs barking on the hot asphalt but no children playing. Seel shuddered and closed his eyes. We both knew. There is no place for us in the grave of Mankind. Always smoke on the horizon and the stink of recent carnage. Frightened eyes, sealed mouths. Mankind are a frightened people. Demons without, demons within. They can see the door closing on them, shutting off the light forever. It is the end.

There is a hole in the ground. A house once stood here. This was the cellar. Seel and I look at each other. We are so young; we know that. Our hearts ache with nostalgia for other summertimes, simple pleasures, a mother's voice calling from the shade. We look back at the city. I see us as children, happy in that forgotten sunlight, and I know that Seel sees it too. He smiles and puts his hand on my arm. We both look into the hole in the ground. There is a musky smell as would issue from the lair of a beast. Wraeththu live beneath the city. What are they? We have heard they can take our humanity away from us. Take us in. It is our only hope. We can no longer live above the ground. I take the first step and still look back. Seel is a silhouette against the white, summer sky. He reaches for my hand. "We are together," he says and his lovely eyes are full of fear.

"Yes," I say, and he follows me ...

The name of Piristil irresistably conjures to mind a fairy-tale palace, a haunt of witches and brooding, satanic lords, but despite its pathetic gaudiness, there was little glamor to be found within the house. I learned it was occupied by eight kanene, including Astarth who had let me in. There was also a staff of four, including a cook, a stablehand and the owner of the establishment, a thin, mean-looking har named Jafit. Astarth was the favorite of Jafit and virtually ran the place.

He shut the door behind me and I stood, drooping and dripping, in the hall looking around myself. There was a grand staircase leading to a gallery that ran round the three sides of Piristil opposite the door. The light was gloomy, trailing plants looped desperately over a table, somewhere a clock was ticking. I could have been back

in Megalithica, a hundred years before. "Well," my host began, "I am Astarth. I suppose I'd better get you cleaned up. Jafit can see you later. I hope you've told me the truth."

I didn't answer. He took me upstairs, and several inquisitive pairs of eyes peered round open doors.

"Charge him double, Astarth!" someone called cheerfully.

"Haven't you any belongings?" Astarth asked, above the laughter that accompanied that last remark.

I shook my head. "I prefer to travel light."

He shrugged. "OK, in here. This is my room. Don't dirty it." I was gratefully surprised by the warmth.

There was a huge fire burning in the grate across the room. I could smell soot. Another har was sitting on the floor by the fire painting his toenails.

"Ezhno, get out!" Astarth spat unpleasantly.

"No, my fire's gone out. The chimney's fucked. Get it fixed, Astarth. That's your job, isn't it?" Ezhno looked at me. "Hello filthy one," he said and resumed painting his nails. "Who's your friend, Astarth?"

"My name's Calanthe," I said lightly and walked over to the fire, holding out shaking, white and gray hands to the heat.

"Well, hello Calanthe, in that case," Ezhno said, shying fastidiously away from the filthy rags dangling from my outstretched arms. When I squatted down, I could smell his cleanliness; clean hair and tooth polish. He had narrow, crafty eyes, a startling blue.

"The bathroom's through here," Astarth said, and I realized that was an order.

The rooms in Piristil are comfortable, but worn. They look better in lamplight, but all have carpets on the floor. Unfortunately, all the water is heated by the fires and it appeared that everyone had just taken a bath that day.

"I hope you don't mind the water being cool," Astarth said, in a voice that showed he didn't care whether I did or not.

"No, I don't mind."

He watched me rip off my rags, standing with folded arms and expressionless face across the room. When I stood there, naked and shivering, hesaid, "I think these old garments should be burnt, don't you?" I agreed After I had lowered myself gingerly into the tepid water, Astarth emptied a bag of fragrant crystals over me and asked, "Well, who was it that told you to come here then?"

"No-one really," I confessed. "The lights outside impressed me, that's all."

Astarth smiled grimly and rolled up his sleeves. I was happy to let him scrub at my hair.

"Don't let Jafit know you're inexperienced," he said. I laughed. "There's no way I'd ever describe myself as that!" Astarth did not share my amusement.

"Everyone thinks that before they're a kanene." That sounded ominous. I studied him through a tangle of soapy hair Astarth has the face of an impudent female and the body of a young god. Some angry part of him makes him hack his bright red hair off very short.
 
He affects a noncommittal attitude to everything, which I quickly realized was

a complete sham. Many things hurt him, but he'd never show it Because of his relatively elevated position in the house, the other kanene make his life a misery at times. I hate to think what miserable set of circumstances brought him to Piristil and kept him there. It's not some thing you can ask. Kanene don't talk about their history if they can help it. No-one would be doing this if there was an alternative. Wraeththu culture is nothing like Mankind's. Our attitude to sex is utterly different Obviously, it would have to be, but there should be no need for kanene in a Wraeththu world. This may give some kind of intimation of the sort of hara who do business in a musenda. If ordinary aruna is available to everyone for free, what kind of har wants to pay for it? What does he expect for his money? Sitting in that luke-warm bath, it was about the third thing that came into my mind, after comforting ones of food and sleep.

Astarth shrugged off my question about it. "No-one gets hurt," he answered enigmatically.

"Now why doesn't that comfort me?"

"You wanted the job," Astarth pointed out reasonably. I'd become so paranoid over the last couple of years, that I was dreading someone asking me questions about myself. It was a needless fear. Nobody in Piristil asks personal questions—or answers them. I suppose everyone had something to hide. Astarth brought me a plate of food from the kitchen (cold potatoes and lumps of fatty meat), and he and Ezhno watched me eat it. It tasted like nectar to my deprived tongue. There seemed little to say. When you meet a person for the first time, it is customary to strike up conversation by asking them about themselves. This could not occur on either side in Piristil. Any questions about the house or the work were answered by, "Jafit will tell you the rules."

"You eat like an animal," Ezhno said at last, as the sound of my frenzied chewing echoed round the room.

"That's because I feel like an animal," I answered, with my mouth full.

Astarth sorted out some clothes for me from his own wardrobe. We were roughly the same size. Clean, fed and clothed, I was already much more optimistic about my future. Ezhno was eager to paint my face, enthusing over my cheekbones and eyelids. He combed out my hair, and I felt like I lost a good deal of it in the process, if the pain was anything to go by. I regarded his handiwork in Astarth's mirror.

"I look like a whore," I said.

"That's the idea," Astarth answered drily.

Jafit arrived home in the early evening. He had been drinking the afternoon away with friends down in Fallsend. Astarth wasted no time in taking me to see him, mainly because he said that Jafit would probably soon fall into a deep and unwakable sleep. Jafit's office is on the ground floor to the left of the front door. It is where he generally entertains his best (richest) clients before Astarth shows them upstairs. Astarth knocked on the door and opened it just as Jafit was saying, "Come!" I could tell by first glance that Jafit is not a har easily fooled. Astarth had given me some advice on how to bullshit my way through this interview, but one glance into those shrewd, yellow eyes had me doubting myself.