They were all standing on the dock, surrounded by seagulls, chatter, salt air, intermittent horns and whistles, people toting crates and luggage, and fried food on sticks. Given that the sun was going down, there were also plenty of camera flashes, but most were aimed towards the boats and scenery — which Hyacinth’s displaced household was entirely ignoring.
They were all in their nice new outfits — save Erik, who insisted on his clearance-rack shorts — and surrounded by matching luggage with more inside. Even the General had accepted her new dresses, which were all identical, dark blue, with sturdy fabric and natural dyes. David, via Erik, had managed to absorb that much about her clothing preferences, if not the reasons why. Maggie’s new dresses were also identical, and Mordecai’s suit came with two pairs of pants, so they were going to spend the entire trip looking very much the same. Hyacinth had three sets of overalls in different colours, and Ann had her entire seven-day rainbow in all new dresses and fabrics. Woden’s Day was yellow.
There were people banging into them from all angles — most everyone on the boat wanted to get off of it and go somewhere else. But, honestly, Maggie was thrilled they’d even made it as far as the dock before they froze. She was used to the place, and her mom considered displays of shock and amazement somehow rude, but everyone else was having more human reactions.
“It’s so tall,” Ann managed, finally.
Maggie snickered. “The city? Eh.” She waggled a hand. “Cyre is this tall, it’s just thinner. San Rosille could be this tall, if we didn’t have rules against it. The Pin is this tall, ya know?”
“No it’s not,” Mordecai muttered, with an air of an automatic coffee dispenser that had just received a coin. “It was just for the exhibition. They’re going to tear it down.”
Erik managed a weak laugh, but it sounded like he was also on autopilot.
“It’s just for convenience,” Maggie went on, as if that mitigated it. There was an airship in the process of docking at the moment — those were mainly mail and human beings, the Strait was still more efficient for freight deliveries. The people needed a place to disembark, with luggage, and preferably shelter from rain and sun. Why not build a skyscraper? Or several!
The tallest ones were all bunched up in the middle, with sharp spires stabbing the sky. They got rapidly shorter, giving the skyline a jagged cone shape, with shiny glass and neon highlights — a hat for a modern witch who’d abandoned toads for transistors. All the facades were gleaming white, the domed roofs had pale blue tile, and most of the neons and accents were pink and blue. The shorter buildings had open pavilions on top, with dramatic arches encircling flat, open spaces. The taller buildings had holes going right through them, likewise with arches and flat spaces. The tallest had three or four such holes at regular intervals, often with walkways connecting them to neighbouring structures.
“Wait’ll we get to Parsa,” she assured them. “It’s way more people. Zad…” She snickered and shook her head. “Zadrakarta is mostly shipping and tourists.” She shooed a hand. “Dad and I just say Zad, but folks here don’t always like it. They’ll put up with it if you seem magical, or like you’re being sarcastic. Otherwise, it’s like those trendy jackasses who say they’re visiting,” she lowered her tone and peered down her nose, “‘Le San.’”
“Do,” Ann said, faintly and without looking over. “Do the people also fly in Parsa?”
Maggie patted her. “People fly all over.” She grinned and swept a dramatic hand towards the dark human shapes swarming around the soaring buildings like bees at a hive. “But here it’s legal and convenient! Like hashish! All over!” She leaned in and gave Ann a playful nudge in the ribs. “You wanna take a taxi?” She straightened and spoke while signing, “Milo! You paying attention? You wanna take a taxi? Yeah? The front desk is probably on the thirtieth floor, at least. They’ll take us right to it!”
Hyacinth snapped back to reality like a circuit breaker rejecting a penny. She hooked Maggie by the arm and pulled her aside. “A flying car? We get to ride in a flying car?”
“Car?” said Maggie. “Nooo…”
◆◆◆
“I… I was expecting,” Mordecai began.
“Don’t say it,” Maggie muttered. “Most of these people speak Anglais and you’re already on thin ice with me after that ‘jungle vampire’ thing.”
“It’s the name of the movie! I didn’t come up with it!”
“Stereotypes aside, Mags,” Erik broke in, “bicycles wouldn’t have been my first guess either.”
The parking and storage facility was three storeys tall. The pavilion on top had three arched exits on each side, and included trees, benches, and a taxi stand. The taxis in question were bright salmon pink, with three white wall tires and a wide seat in the back that would fit two average adults with room for a child. The enclosed space underneath would accept a suitcase or two, or some shopping bags, as needed. The driver had access to the single set of pedals, a gearshift, a rearview mirror, a small magic-electric motor for an extra boost, and a little silver bell.
Mordecai turned on Erik, scolding with a finger. “Bicycles are the most efficient mode of human-powered transportation for cities, hands down. They are brilliant for infrastructure and cut down on road maintenance, pollution, and accident fatalities.” He looked back over his shoulder at the overgrown bike rack and taxi stand. “I don’t know how in the hell that works when you launch them into the atmosphere, but they’ve got to be easier to sit on and steer than a broom.”
Ann pointed a finger, as subtly as she could manage. “That man has a carpet, Maggie, dear.”
The bearded, turbaned individual in question had been toting the rolled carpet over one shoulder. He’d just thrown it to the ground at one edge of the pavilion, and he was trying to negotiate two small children and a dog onto it. There was an audible disagreement about the seating arrangement.
“I never said they weren’t any,” Maggie replied. “They’re just like classic cars.” She nudged Mordecai. “And they’re way harder to steer, yeah.” She addressed Ann, “Does Milo want a carpet ride instead? They do that, for the tourists. They don’t care; if you’ll buy it, they’ll sell it. It’s just kinda kitschy and silly.”
Erik folded his arms across his chest. “If you know how it is, then you’ve had a carpet ride here, haven’t you?”
She planted her hands on her hips. “I was seven, I couldn’t do the bird thing yet, and even then it was embarrassing. It was like riding the tiny train at Guillory Park. They gave my dad an instant photo of me at the end.”
“And in it,” said the General, “you are wearing a particularly wide smile. I rarely see such a smile when property damage is not involved.” She inclined her head. Her smile was almost undetectable — mainly in the eyes, like La Gioconda. “I had no idea you were so good at concealing your humiliation at such a young age, Magnificent.”
Maggie wasn’t doing so hot concealing her humiliation at the advanced age of twenty-one.
“I want a carpet,” Erik said. He wandered off at random. Mordecai darted after him and drew him back. “Where do we get a carpet?” Erik asked him.
Ann was rapidly shaking her head. “Milo doesn’t want a carpet — he does want one, but only so he can figure out how a real one works. He doesn’t want to go zipping around with no seatbelts and a stranger driving.” She sighed. “No matter how fun it looks.”
The man on the carpet was pulling slowly away from the pavilion. The two children were peering over the back edge and waving at people on the street. The dog was standing at the front end and wagging happily, ears flapping in the breeze. Only the dog had any kind of visible restraint — a harness hooked to a tight black cord.
Ann cringed at the trusting, innocent smiles on the children. Without touching a carpet to discern the magic involved, she had no idea if there was any kind of safety spell to prevent them from falling, or if it was safe enough.
As she was opening her mouth to ask Maggie, a teenager with a messy bun and a skateboard flung himself off the third floor, leaping over the railing to do so. There was a brief bloom of red light beneath him. He bounced and shot up at least forty feet, past the family on the carpet, startling the dog.
The dog dove off the carpet. Ann’s was not the only exclamation of horror, but it was the nearest. There was also a low chuckle. A voice with a faint Elban accent said, “Tourists.”
It was over in an instant. The animal slowed and stopped falling after a drop of less than six feet. The air beneath it lit up red and stayed that way, creating a glowing platform. A low-pitched, and rather melodious alarm sounded, followed by calm, automated voices in three languages. Anglais was the second: “Lane violation.”
“Get a bike!” another, younger voice called out.
“Get a cat!” yet another added, to some applause.
The man on the carpet gave an audible groan, the children laughed, and the dog looked up and barked, still wagging. The man hauled the dog up by the cord on the harness — which had some effect on the enthusiasm of the wagging.
Maggie lowered her voice and spoke near Mordecai’s head: “Dog-lovers are a minority here. The cultures in charge think they’re unclean, and one of ‘em’s yours.”
“I like dogs,” said Mordecai, wounded.
Maggie gave a low laugh. “Yeah, but they don’t like you. Welcome to ‘privilege,’ don’t let it go to your head.”
She raised her voice to address the group with more-relevant information, “You’ll see the lanes up there when you’re level with ’em.” She gestured to the bikes and pedestrians exiting the barada in a more-or-less orderly fashion. They split themselves into three separate streams, then six, going in two directions, all without obvious prompting. “It’s all optical magic.” She snickered. “I think. I haven’t been back here in a while and that kid got some serious air when he glitched the boundary, so maybe they’ve made some improvements.”
Mordecai could no longer contain himself — he had also detected multiple safety issues, the greatest of which was no longer mere child endangerment. “This… This is a monument to Man’s hubris that is begging the gods to smite it! What happens to all this nonsense when there’s a magic storm?” he cried, pleading with both hands out. “Where does it go?”
Maggie shook her head with a smile. “That’s not really a thing here.”
“What?”
Erik was still wandering around and looking for some indication of where they might hire a carpet. “We are moving to Farsia.”
Mordecai turned and called over his shoulder, “No we’re not!” He refocused on Maggie. “You’re not being serious. You’re not being literal. ‘Not a thing’? It’s not possible!”
Maggie planted her hands on her hips and inclined her head. “Oh-ho. Look who was gonna fix the government and aaall the infrastructure with his big ideas. You never picked up a science magazine or a history book and noticed what they were up to over here? Typical revolutionary, all set to remake the world from scratch with no idea what ingredients you already have. We could do this to San Rosille… Hell, with the Pin, it’d be even easier.”
“They are going to tear it down!” he snapped. He drew back, blinking. “Also, what? What?”
She grinned and put up her hands. “Okay, okay. If I don’t find Erik a carpet, he’s going to notice that storefront over there is selling them and steal one. Mom, can you explain it?”
Hyacinth didn’t seem to care, but both Ann and Mordecai recoiled, which Maggie found hilarious. Oh, now the science lesson wasn’t going to be any fun! She turned away with a laugh, abandoning them to their ironic fate.
“Farsia has always been at the forefront of the integration of magic and technology,” the General said mildly.
Ann broke in, “Milo and I would rather read about it at…”
The General dropped her head and took a step forward, from which Ann retreated without protest — a fatal error.
“Farsia has always been at the forefront of the integration of magic and technology,” the General said firmly.
“Okay,” Ann allowed.
Much to Ann and Mordecai’s discomfort, and increasing amazement, the General began producing illustrations with optical magic in full public view — but nobody walking by had anything to say about it.
“…Contrary to popular belief, their innovative reputation predates the fall of the Kemet Empire,” said the General, obscured by an image of a simple historical map in bold colours, “but it received a notable boost afterwards.” A flood of black and red demographic dots evacuated the fragmented territory in North Ifrana and headed further northwards, into the Ankora Empire, which included the Zanzamin Islands at this time. “The mass emigration of the scientifically-educated priest class and the increase in slave exports during the period of warring kingdoms were a factor.”
“Should I be taking notes?” Mordecai said acidly. “Will this be on the test?”
“Life is a test,” said the General. She smiled at him. “So, yes. And failure may kill you, but adjust your priorities as you see fit.” She stepped back and circled the tall, conical city centre in red, adding a cartoonish blinking purple lightning bolt at the highest point. “What you see here before you is the charging terminal for a battery, writ large. Only the central spire is necessary — the skyscrapers are a modern convenience, due to the advent of airships…”
She added a few, docking at the spires above the baradas, along with a vocabulary lesson in neat script: Barada — an elevated pavilion with multiple arched exits, suitable for takeoffs and landings of small and large craft. May be located at the top of a shorter building or supplemented by others at regular intervals on a taller one.
“…as my daughter said. The auxiliary spires do have some effect, but the value is difficult to quantify, scientifically.” A purple blinking question mark appeared over each auxiliary spire, as the purple cartoon magic bolt continued to blink over the tallest. “One large spire surrounded by much shorter buildings,” she produced a silhouette of the San Rosille skyline, with its prominent new addition highlighted by another blinking bolt, “such as the Pin, might be equally efficient.”
Ann raised her hand, with a wince. Milo was screaming at her that he didn’t actually care and they could just look it up later. “Um. Milo doesn’t think we’ve come up with a battery that can hold a magic strike, General D’Iver. Even one. Let alone, um, lots.”
The General dispelled the magic and raised a brow. “He is technically correct, which is the worst and least-useful kind of ‘correct’ — appropriate only for board games and pencil-pushers.”
Ann blushed bright red and wobbled a step backwards.
“This battery is naturally-occurring. Farsia has been attempting to copy it longer than recorded history.” She produced an image of a clay pot with a glowing metal spike protruding from its lid. “Many smaller batteries have been found at archaeological digs in Ctesiphon…” The historical map returned. “…and Parsa and Zadrakarta as well, but Ctesiphon seems to have been a manufacturing hub. They may have been used for simple applications of raw magic,” a priestlike silhouette zapped a smaller figure in a loincloth with a bolt of purple, “and basic materialwork.” A turbaned king offered a bangle to a concubine. “The procedure for charging them has been lost to history.” She paused with a smirk. “But their nature and purpose is easily discerned from the solidified residue of salt.”
“Salt?” Ann cried. “Oh! Oh, oh…” She glanced at the docks behind them, and then at the ground. She began to pace a rapid circle around the lesson in progress, peering at the pavement. “Oh, how marvellous!”
The General seemed genuinely pleased, but she regarded Hyacinth and Mordecai’s baffled expressions with mild condescension. “Mister and Miss Rose require no further explanation. However, as it seems to have slipped your minds, certain crystalline structures are magic-resistant.” She produced an image of a magic strike breaking the quartz rod atop their own humble home, for reference. “Salt has such a structure, but it is a fairly weak resistor — unless you have a lot of it.”
“It’s the ocean!” Ann cried. “Seawater holds a charge! It has metal in it, and living things… It’s just like human blood — it holds a charge and it’s stable… They’ve flooded the place! We’re still on the ocean, it’s right here under our feet!” She stamped firmly on a bright golden manhole cover with her red heels. “Do they just pump it all back out to sea?” she asked the General breathlessly. “They don’t, do they? How do they get the magic out again to use it?”
“A system of pipes and tanks,” the General began, with a smile.
Ann cut her off with a shriek, “Made of conductive metal! Oh! Farsia has magic on tap!” She beamed. “The ambient must be insane! I’ve got to get changed! Um…” She glanced up at the flying bicycles, with their total lack of seatbelts or safety harnesses. “Just as soon as we get to the hotel, of course.”
“Your daughter wanted me to flood San Rosille?” said Mordecai, at a similar volume but much less relevantly.
“It would not be terribly difficult.” She mocked up a simplified city map for him, tracing the necessary features in various bold colours. “We have paved over a system of canals which still gets seawater in it. They cross over untold catacombs and the remnants of the old mines.” She raised a brow. “It would not be as efficient as Farsia’s purpose-built tanks, which allow for the addition of further minerals and hyper-salination, but you had access to improvised explosive devices, did you not?”
He closed his hanging jaw in a frown and waved a hand through the shimmering illusion, trying to shoo it away like smoke. It resisted. “I am not a comic book supervillain, Brigadier General D’Iver.” He said it like a stern schoolteacher invoking a full name, though he had no idea what her actual full name was.
She dismissed him with a shrug. “Is it any wonder your revolution didn’t get anywhere?” A silhouette bearing no small resemblance to Mordecai slipped on a banana peel and impaled itself on its own ragged flag. She dispelled the magic and it evaporated in a dark swirl.
Hyacinth leaned into the now-empty space with a bloodthirsty grin. “Oh, you should definitely tell her your ‘plan’ for free bicycles.”
Before Mordecai could select a target for destruction, Ann flung up a hand and burst out, “Oh, here’s Erik and Maggie!” They were at least twenty feet away, but close enough for a distraction. They had acquired a small, turbaned gentleman with a willing smile, and a rolled rug slung over his shoulder. “Hello, my dears! Doesn’t that look fun,” and in the same breath, hardly above a mutter, “although I’m not going to get anywhere near it, don’t panic.”
“It’s a four-seater!” Maggie called back. “Who wants on?”
“Uh, sorry,” said the man with the turban. “Four like that.” He gestured towards Hyacinth and Mordecai. “Not, um…” He glanced at the General, who was glaring at him, and veered away to address Maggie, who was also glaring. “Ah… Ha-ha. I thought you’d have kids.”
“Me and Maggie?” Erik said. “Aw!” He grabbed her hand and swung back and forth. Nobody in San Rosille ever thought they were together.
“Don’t give out points for basic human decency,” Maggie said. She turned her frown towards the man with the turban. “What’s the weight limit on your fat-phobic carpet, ‘Aziz’? — if that’s your real name.”
◆◆◆
The man in the turban — whose real name was not as tourist-friendly as “Aziz” — desperately engaged a small tape-player and hooked the attached button mic to his shirt collar. The reed-and-drum heavy jam which emerged from the tiny speakers was something you’d expect to hear if you put a plastic pyramid up to your ear.
He was unusually nervous about this trip. The boy in loud shorts seemed unusually enthused about it, and the girl with pink braids was being unusual in the opposite direction — she had the look of a dissatisfied heckler. Before he’d even finished arranging the carpet for boarding, the gentleman in the tan suit had laid a hand on his shoulder and said in a consoling voice that would’ve been appropriate for relating the death of a beloved pet, “Whatever happens, I promise you, we tip well.”
Nevertheless, he gave it his best shot, with vast gestures and the expected accent, “Welcome to Zadrakarta, Worthy Friends! City of Invention…”
He thought he heard a low groan from the girl with the braids, but he pretended he didn’t.
“City — ha-ha…” And here, he pulled up the edge of the carpet and guided it heavenwards, straight up, to the accompaniment of a serviceably mystical wind chime noise. He threw his whole arm towards the gleaming inland sea. At sunset, it had the look of burning glass. “…of Magic! Gateway to the Eighth Wonder of the Ancient World, the Silk Strait!”
Erik spoke quickly and quietly, “Ooh, Maggie, where’s the camera?” She just shook her head at him.
“Do not trouble yourselves, my friends!” replied the man in the turban, all smiles and clearly still on-script. “Souvenir photos will be provided at the end of our journey! The gods smile upon a hospitable Farsian host!”
Maggie pitched forward and mashed her whole face into her cupped palms.
“…and please do remain seated and be keeping your arms and centres of gravity above the carpet!”
Mordecai lifted a cautious finger to request further safety information, with one hand clamped firmly on Erik’s shoulder, holding him down.
Maggie addressed him first, with a frown, “If you fall off, you won’t die, but they’ll charge you so much for the lane violation that you’ll wish you had.”
Mordecai did not appear much reassured by this information.
She sighed. “Look, this is just as safe, if not more safe, than the bicycles…”
◆◆◆
“It’s brightest at ten feet away!” Ann declared.
She leaned forward and pointed at the gleaming purple outline of the lane. The one above it was blue. The one below it was bright magenta. They were colour-coordinated with the city itself, but distinct from the other neons in view — and not really neon. The space between the outlines was fully transparent, so as not to interfere with the view, save for glowing white labels every hundred metres or so. Their lane was marked with a bicycle shape and a speed limit of 15. The one above also had a bicycle shape, and a 25. The one beneath had a walking man shape, offering a limit of 10.
“…and as soon as you’re on top of it, it’s gone. You can see exactly where you’re supposed to be!”
“Ann, I can see it too,” Hyacinth said absently, in a softer voice. She could also see Erik, Mordecai and Maggie on the carpet back there. They were in the slow lane. She snickered and popped off her hat for a wave, but she doubted they could see any part of her at this distance.
“But isn’t it amazing how it works?”
The green girl pedalling the taxi turned around and looked back at that.
Ann covered her painted mouth with a self-conscious hand. “I’m sorry. We’re tourists. This is all very new to us. It’s… It’s marvellous.”
The girl grinned. “Do you want to go fast? Ladies like to go fast.”
Now Hyacinth grinned. “Hell yes.”
The girl spun her cap around backwards, clicked the gear shift, rang the bell, and veered onto a blue-lined exit ramp that angled steeply upwards. The 25 on the glowing white label was blinking, either urging her to go faster or telling her she was already too fast. The magic-electric motor whirred like a determined eggbeater, and the wind and noise increased.
“Oh!” Ann said. She sat back securely in the seat and stopped twisting around, but she didn’t seem entirely displeased.
Hyacinth pulled down her goggles and leaned into the gusting salt breeze. “If I catch you breaking the speed limit, young lady, I’m gonna tip you one-hundred-percent!”
“Hell yes!” said the green girl. She rang the bell again and pulled higher.
◆◆◆
The General sighed, observing Hyacinth and Miss Rose’s taxi in the process of inviting multiple traffic tickets. She adjusted her glasses, then removed them entirely, closing her eyes.
Her taxi was being piloted by a sedate individual who had only responded to her requested destination with a nod. They did not seem inclined to earn any traffic tickets.
It wasn’t like flying. It was, technically, flying… All right, she supposed it was undeniably flying. But it wasn’t like real flying. Not with a bench seat beneath her and a suitcase to either side and her feet on the floor.
Her human feet in a set of stockings and tightly-laced shoes on the floor.
It would be perfectly absurd to turn into an eagle while sitting in the back of a taxi — not to mention rude. It would have been even more absurd to excuse herself from her family, access the changing room in the barada, turn into an eagle, and walk to a taxi.
She had seen the outline of the bird lane, above the fast lane which the other taxi was abusing. It was for large birds, or any other animals with big wings — a person might just as easily turn into a flying fox or something similar, it was all a matter of material inertia. The point was that transfigured humans were lighter and faster than pedestrians, so it was best for them to have their own lane, even though most people didn’t turn into birds, or flying foxes, or any animal at all. Enough of them did, in Farsia.
Maggie, with her short wingspan, would’ve been welcome to use any lane at her own discretion, like one of those silly cosmopolitans with motor scooters. Maggie had elected to ride on a silly carpet with Erik and Mordecai instead.
That was… not unreasonable of Maggie, she supposed. No. Maggie was free to choose whatever manner of conveyance she preferred. For whatever stupid reason.
She was not going to ask her driver to go any faster. There was no point to it.
She stretched out a hand and felt the breeze. It was cold and damp — not good for updrafts, despite the paved and craggy urban surroundings. Parsa was warmer, as she recalled, and altogether a better place to fly.
Not that — she thought, with the fingers of her other hand digging into the seat cushion — she would go flying in Parsa either. Not real flying.
Nevertheless, she left her hand in the breeze.
◆◆◆
“…because it’s slow as hell,” Maggie said, much to Alias Aziz’s dismay. “Now, for gods’ sakes, just let the guy do the bit. If we take over fifteen minutes to get to the hotel — and we will be taking the scenic route — they’ll charge you for another fifteen whether you want it or not.”
Erik appeared wounded by the implication. “Why would I not want it?”
“Because we don’t like to steal from people, dear one,” Mordecai said gently.
Maggie just raised an incredulous brow in his direction.
Erik covered a snicker with his hand. “Go on, man. ‘Please do be keeping your arms and centres of gravity above the carpet,’ and then what?”
“Uh…” The man in the turban slipped briefly but completely into a rather posh Elban accent, “Mind if I take it from ‘Eighth Wonder of the Ancient World’?”
“Nah, s’all right. I’m a performer, too, I get it.”
“Oh.” Alias Aziz brightened a little. “Right-o. Um. The Eighth Wonder of the Ancient World, the Silk Strait!” He looked over his shoulder with a conspiratorial wink. “Shall we take a closer look? Ha-ha!” He guided the carpet nearer. It was, indeed, quite slow, like a rubber raft with a trolling motor, but it was much more majestic. “Observe, my friends, the ingenuity of my revered ancestors!”
The ingenuity of Alias Aziz’s revered ancestors was deep, dark blue, with gleaming pink and orange highlights. It went very well with the colour scheme of the city. The far shore was lined with green mountains. The near one was craggy and dark, with the tan planks of a huge, complicated harbour scattered over it like a game of dominoes. The cruise ships and sailboats were white, the freighters were grey, and the tugs were bright yellow.
“Going down!” said Alias Aziz.
The carpet was slow going forward, slower to turn, and impossible to reverse, but the ascents and descents were fast enough to be thrilling. Over the Strait, there was room enough to do so without incurring multiple lane violations. They dropped at a forty-five-degree angle, heading straight for the gleaming water.
The tape-player added a canned whooshing sound, but it really wasn’t necessary.
Mordecai gasped and Maggie gripped the edge of the carpet with a hand — which she released slowly and self-consciously, before tucking it under her hip.
Erik raised both arms with a cry, just like riding the rollercoaster at Papillon Island, “Woo-hoo!”
They shot over the crests of the waves, almost near enough to touch, with salt spray licking their faces. This close to the surface, ten kilometres per hour seemed quite swift. “The water is deep, and cold, as you can see,” said Alias Aziz. “But not as cold as it once was, and certainly not as dry!” They angled upwards, just as fast, and Erik was already demanding, “Do it agaiiiiiin!”
Alias Aziz paused the carpet, hovering. “Um. I can, but it will take you longer to get to your hotel, Worthy Friends.”
Maggie shooed a hand. “We’ll pay for it. Go on.”
So they turned the carpet slooowly around, and did it again, this time without the sound effect.
“Yeah!”
And once more, before taking another, even wider and slower turn, over the mountains and back towards the city.
“Over a thousand years ago,” as the script said, “these mountains were capped with snow, even in the summer, and devoid of life, my friends. Now they are green, and fertile, thanks to the efforts of my ancestors!” He swept a hand across the wide, glowing ribbon of water. “Long, long ago…”
This was a very long and wide turn. The camera attached to the front of the carpet was taking a panoramic shot — well worth the premium for a sunset trip.
“…due to a most unfortunate war, the southern trade routes, already a source of much conflict and unhappiness, became utterly impassable. But the Ankora Empire, the Farsia of old, was undaunted! Mahir the Philosopher, King of Kings, suggested to his High Priest Sasan the Tinkerer, a Kemet exile, that ‘we must let in the ocean, to make the great mountains passable.’ After fifteen years of study and labour, in 347, this was the result! This verdant para… paradise…?”
Maggie had just pushed up to her knees, causing an irreparable blurred bump at the end of the panoramic photo. The cheesy music snapped into silence, with a curl of purple smoke leaking out of the tape player “Alright, dammit, I’ve had it.”
“It’s… It’s just for the scenery,” Alias Aziz said, unamplified, in his Elban accent.
“No,” Maggie overrode him. “It’s not.” She flung a gesture at the green mountains. “Slavery.” She pointed down the Strait itself. “Slavery.” And to the harbour, and the city. “Slavery. Slavery. Your ancestors were stealing human beings from Ifrana — profiting off the period of warring kingdoms after the fall of the Kemet Empire — and shipping them over the Zanji Sea. Then Ikram of Tanga — also known as Queen Kefilwe, not a lot of people know that — and her lover Fadi — not a lot of people know that, either — pulled off an extremely bloody and successful revolt, not just a war, and you guys couldn’t do that anymore. Not only that, but she cut off your goddamn spices and silks and the coffee, which is why you and Elbany are partners in tea to this very day, and you went to school there, but I digress. No more slaves. So you did this.”
She flung another expansive gesture, over the whole business. She was not keeping her arms above the carpet.
“You tore up a whole fucking ecosystem and killed off eighteen species, that we know of, five of which, including the Menhit lion, have never been put back. That is to say nothing of the human lives, many of which were coloured prisoners, used like human cattle, by Sasan the War Criminal. You inflicted a mosquito-infested swamp on Priyakadesh and turned their river valley brackish for four-hundred years, which ended the Gaya Empire and set off generations of famines and revolts. And you pissed off ancient Prokovia so bad, by drowning half of it, that… That…” She sputtered and shook her head. “That they still haven’t recovered!” She sat back on her heels with a huff. “So just can it, ‘Aziz.’”
Erik, Mordecai, and Alias Aziz were sitting silently, with poleaxed expressions and their hands politely folded.
“I-I’m twenty-nine,” the man in the turban said weakly.
Maggie folded her arms across her chest. “So you have no reason to keep covering it up. No reason but cowardice and guilt.”
He offered a hesitant shrug. “Company policy.”
Erik spoke up with a frown. “The dude needs to eat. C’mon, Maggie.” He brushed her aside. “Five stars, man. I promise. Or whatever you need to get rated so they don’t fire you slowly.”
“It’s a short survey.” Alias Aziz cringed. “You don’t have to fill it out.” He shrugged again. “But we enter you in a raffle for a GameBook, and a lifetime supply of hummus.”
“We will fill it out and send it right in, and we won’t mention the slavery,” Erik said. “Marsellia’s past is real grim, too…”
Maggie and Mordecai exchanged a pained glance, which Erik did not see.
“…we know how it is. Can we head for the hotel now? We’re meeting our friends.”
◆◆◆
The front desk was halfway up the skyscraper, located in the barada, with a few other services, including a small café and a hookah bar. Ann and Hyacinth had decided they had time for a coffee — of which there was only one kind, and it was Aztec. In contrast, there were over two dozen teas on offer. Ann decided to try one of those. She’d never even heard of “rooibos” before!
The General was abstaining. She refused to even sit down. She was standing near the front desk with a scowl, minding the luggage, in a fine mood, while she waited for the idiotic carpet to catch up. She had just informed a bellhop, for the third time, that she required none of their assistance to magic the bags — “A reasonably adept child can manage a levitation spell… Do you have any idea who I am?” — when it mercifully did.
“Nah, that’s cool, man. I love hummus.” Erik tucked the survey postcard and the deck of photos in his hip pocket. The one on top was of Erik smiling and waving from the middle of the carpet, just outside the barada, while Maggie did nothing to conceal her own murderous frown, and Mordecai observed both of them awkwardly.
“Will you please,” snapped the General, “disentangle yourselves from that ridiculous conveyance so we can be on our way?”
Maggie’s own irritation melted in shock. She set her teeth on edge and shooed both Erik and Mordecai towards the front desk. “Best behaviour, you two,” she muttered. “Mom doesn’t like flying taxis, okay? But don’t mention it.”
The check-in process went remarkably smoothly, with pleasant smiles — at least on behalf of the staff — and only a cursory explanation of the keycards. The lack of family resemblance and the cash payment were accepted without comment, although the General did have to insist, one last time, that she would be magicking her own damn bags.
She stormed into the ornate glass elevator with them, without waiting for the rest of the family to sort itself out. Maggie and the others had to follow in an adjacent elevator, with the keycards, and a box of assorted teas and pastries that Ann had purchased for the family, in tow.
◆◆◆
Maggie employed a keycard with a smirk, and shortly thereafter, a beep and click.
“Oh!” Ann said, clasping her hands. “Oh, it’s…” She smiled at them. “Well, isn’t it just darling? Really!”
It was small, bright, neat, and modern, with a few arches, intricate patterns, and tile, and framed watercolours on the walls. There were two beds with striped coverlets, and four fluffy pillows each. There was a phone on the nightstand, a combination mini-fridge and onda in the corner, and, beside it, a disc-view radio with its projector aimed at a small set on the dresser, for the convenience of the family.
The whole place smelled like jasmine and sandalwood.
But for the air fresheners and modern appliances, it was almost the same as their rooms at the Elysium, and many hotels around the globe.
“Would you believe,” said Maggie, with perverse pride, “this cost the same as that ridiculous penthouse thing in Prokovia? Just this one. At a chain hotel. For two weeknights.”
“We are definitely not moving to Farsia!” said Mordecai.
“It has a lovely view!” Ann said. “Look at the ocean, and all the people flying by… Hello!” she waved.
“One-way glass, Ann,” Maggie replied in passing. She opened the adjoining room and re-entered through the connecting door. “Dang it. We’ve got two rollaways and they’re both in here. It’s a traffic jam.”
The General aimed her grievance at the phone, already dialing. “At these prices, I’m certain they’ll be happy to move one, or tilt the building a little bit to the left…”
Hyacinth popped out of the bathroom toting a sponge on a stick. She also had a complaint, “Just shampoo, lotion and soap. And this thing. And there’s a pillow in the tub, I guess that’s fancy…”
Mordecai peered past her and froze up — but it was an old fear, and not unexpected. The shower head was different, larger, the tub was pale blue, the tile was much more ornate, and there was a small pillow, but it was an ordinary hotel bathroom, with an ordinary tub. No deep whirlpool vat in the living area. No stand-alone shower stall.
The geometric curtain hung from metal rings that would make the usual sound when disturbed. Say, if one were carrying a sick human being, and needed to pull them aside.
He felt someone approach and stop beside him. He saw green out of the corner of his eye. That was Erik. I’m all right, dear one. He’d say that. In a minute, when he could, he’d just say that, and he would be. I’m all right. I can handle it. I’m all right…
Maggie brushed them aside and squeezed past. “You guys got the ice bucket in there? Aha…” She plucked it from the vanity.
Erik shrieked and ran out, the sound of him trailing off like the tail of a comet.
Mordecai pressed against the wall and brought up clawed, shaking hands with a cry.
“What?” Maggie said. “Damn it.” She tucked the bucket under her arm and strode past him at a rather casual speed.
“Hey…” Hyacinth touched his arm, and he damn near punched her. “Hey, hey. You with me?”
“Mm.” He nodded quickly, palely.
“Too close?”
“Mm.” More nodding. He blinked and rattled his head. “Too close…” He turned and walked mechanically away. “I…” He grabbed her shoulder to steady himself. “I was too close. I was too close, I got Erik too… Erik?” The door was open and Erik, Maggie and Ann were gone. “Erik!” He darted into the hall.
…Just in time to see a rather large, dark man in a rather intimidating blue uniform grasp Erik by the arm and arrest his progress. The evident cop gave a deferent half-bow, and his grip did not loosen in the slightest. He said something in a low voice, which Mordecai could not hear. Erik nodded and stumbled off with him.
“Wait!” Ann cried. “It’s fine! He’s… He’s not at all magical, he’s fine! We’ll deal with him!” She turned with a wide, panicked expression. “Cin!”
Hyacinth grabbed her purse. “I’ll get him.” She still had a couple of fake Absolute Zeros at the bottom, with resealed foil caps, she’d checked. The sports drink in there would taste like hell after over a year, but…
“It’s fine,” Maggie said. “Don’t freak out. It…”
“I don’t care how rich we’re pretending to be!” cried Mordecai. “A fucking cop is not fucking fine!” She tried to pull him back and he shoved her away. “Erik!”
Maggie sighed and jogged after all of them. “Stupid culture shock…”
They caught up with Erik, and she with them, outside of a closed door with… a literal and unfortunate Anglais translation above the Prokovian one: Madroom.
“What?” Ann said, faint with horror.
“It’s,” Maggie began, but that time she didn’t even make it to “fine.”
Ann elbowed Mordecai aside and burst through the door. “Don’t you hurt…”
Wheezing somewhat, with a bruised solar plexus, Mordecai rushed in after her, and discovered why she’d broken off so suddenly.
The attendant in the blue uniform was standing in front of a kitchen-like counter with cabinets above and beneath, a sink in the middle, and a line of storage baskets at the back. He had frozen while in the process of pouring boiling water out of an enamelled samovar, into a teacup with a string hanging out of it. “Um? Bienvenue? Welcome?”
Erik was sitting at a small table with a dazed and disbelieving expression. There were several such tables with soft chairs, like a little café, and a line of small booths against the opposite wall — not unlike a public toilet, but much better maintained. Some had curtains, and some had doors with small windows. Inside of one, a dark-haired woman was rocking a screaming, red-faced toddler, but no sound could be heard. In another, a distraught-looking yellow man with white hair was pacing back and forth.
A milk-white woman in a similar blue uniform — just like everyone else who worked for the damn hotel — touched Mordecai’s shoulder and scared the living daylights out of him.
She backed off with her hands up, bowing reflexively. “So sorry. Do you need space?”
She was wearing a floral headscarf. He focused on it with relief. “I-I’m sorry…”
She nodded. “I know what it is. I see it in you.” She began pulling off the blue blazer. “The resemblance is unfortunate. I apologize for the lack of windows, it’s only so we can control the lighting and the noise — your young friend prefers it, but the barada on the main level might be a little more comfortable for both of you. I can escort you, but if you prefer Hamza, I understand.” She had stowed the blazer on a hook behind the door. Her blouse was pale blue, with a narrow black tie. “Is this any better?”
He staggered back from her, shaking his head. “I… I…”
“I’m sorry.” She smiled and offered a hand to shake. “Sometimes I go a little fast. It’s just my way of understanding things. My name is Kubra, and my friend is Hamza. How can we help you?”
“Olagh,” muttered the male attendant, who had just overfilled the cup, spilling into the saucer. He smiled at Erik. “So sorry. I get a little frustrated, I don’t mean you. My fault.”
Erik gazed past him, pained. “Uncle? Is this really happening?”
“I…” Mordecai glanced rapidly around the room, his head ticking back and forth. He didn’t know what was happening at all. But when he refocused on Erik, it all fell away. It could’ve been the kitchen in their house of Violena, or the dining hall during the siege, or a weird little room in a too-expensive chain hotel. Someone he cared about needed to be put back together, so to hell with the rest of it.
He skidded to the table, plunked down in the soft chair opposite Erik and reached across to hold his hands. “No — Yes. It’s real. It’s real and we’re here with you and you’re safe. It’s okay if you don’t remember — that’s getting better, it just happens sometimes when you get too upset. I…” He could not entirely suppress a shudder, but he turned his head aside in case the pain showed in his expression. “I upset you. That was my fault this time. You felt something from me.”
Erik sat forward. “Are you okay?”
Mordecai began nodding before he could even get the words out. “Yes. No. Yes. I’m fine. I just… There’s a bathtub… in-in our room.”
Erik let go of his hands and scooted back from the table, digging both heels into the carpet for traction. He shook his head, holding both hands up for a pause. “Nuh… No. I don’t want it. No.”
“I know,” Mordecai said softly. “But it’s…”
(I’m not going back there, don’t hurt me!)
The woman in the floral headscarf gave a yelp and banged into the counter.
“Kubra?” Hamza set down the teacup and steadied her by the arm. “Is he like you?”
She nodded, then shook her head. “Much stronger.”
“That’s not you, dear one.” Mordecai leaned across the table and managed to take one of Erik’s hands. “That’s my memory.” He shut his eyes. “Careful. Please don’t hurt yourself. But it’s there. You can see it.”
Erik gave a low whimper. He covered his metal eye with a hand, shut the other one, and held a little tighter.
It was blurry. Indistinct. His uncle was holding him back from it like a hot stove. It was cold, and so hard to breathe, but the pale figure in the bed was so hot. He picked her up and she was so light. He could hear her breath crackling in her lungs like a straw sucking the bottom of an empty glass. He carried her into the bathroom, where the ice was knitting itself together over the water in the tub. He racked the curtain aside and lowered her into the freezing cold. She cried, because it hurt, but he had nothing else he could do for her. She’d be quieter soon. She’d be cooler soon.
They’d be dead soon. That thought was as soft, dark and comfortable as drowning in deep water. They’d be dead…
Mordecai gasped and drew back. “I’m sorry. That’s too much, I’m so sorry…”
Erik shook his head. “Mm-mm.” Bathtub. Hotel. Ice. Fever. Pain. Yeah, that was it. “I needed to see it,” he muttered. “I needed to see it’s her and not me. I got mixed up. I thought it was me.”
“It’s not,” said Mordecai. “That won’t ever happen to you. That won’t ever happen again. I just…” He laughed, a little. “I get mixed up too.”
“Excuse me.” The woman in the floral headscarf that Alba never would’ve bothered with — Kubra — touched a pale hand on the table top and gave a slight bow. “I must see to your accommodations.” She dashed out.
Hyacinth groaned. “Dammit, are they kicking us out already?”
“Wh-why would we do that?” Hamza said, with genuine puzzlement. He bowed towards her and offered a smile. “My friend forgets to explain herself sometimes, but I’m sure she doesn’t mean anything bad. You are welcome to stay here as long as you like.”
“In the madroom,” Ann said coldly.
“Um. Yes?”
Maggie slid in front of the uniformed man with both hands up. “Alright, alright, this is just stupid…” She glanced back over her shoulder. “I don’t mean you, sir, I mean them.” She pointed at her family. “…and there’s no point letting you sort it out for yourselves. Welcome to Farsia, this is the other reason magic storms aren’t really a thing here. I would’ve explained it before, but I didn’t expect to end up here this fast. This room is here for anyone who needs a safe space to lose it for a while, twenty-four/seven, rain or shine.”
“It’s a storm shelter?” said Hyacinth.
Maggie groaned. “No, that’s not a thing, because they have these. This is an everyone shelter.”
“For people staying at the ridiculously expensive hotel!” said Mordecai, relieved. “It’s included!”
“Gods, am I having a stroke?” Maggie said. “Ann, do you understand me?”
Ann numbly shook her head.
“This is for everyone,” Maggie said. “I doubt anyone not staying at the hotel would show up at this madroom specifically, but if they crashed through a window or whatever, it’d be fine. There’s one in every building, at least.”
“We have one on every floor,” Hamza said proudly. He dipped a bow towards Maggie. “Hotel stays can be very stressful. Pardon me.” He collected a packet of cookies from a basket on the counter, peeked into the room with the toddler, and offered them. There was a brief sound of damp sobbing, and a muffled “thank you” from the woman. Then he addressed the room with the yellow gentleman, “Can I get you anything, Mr. al-Wasi?”
“Sawda loved the seashore so much!” an anguished voice replied.
“I’m sure she would’ve wanted you to be happy here,” the attendant said gently.
“I can’t!”
“I’m sure she would have understood that too. It’s all right.” He softly closed the door and stepped away. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
Mordecai sized up the peaceful, plush surroundings with dawning horror. “It’s not included?” He had frozen in the soft chair, with wide eyes. “Is this expensive?”
Maggie clutched both hands to her head. “For gods’ sakes…”
“I don’t think so,” said the man in the smart blue uniform. He smiled and shrugged. “The government pays.”
Mordecai spoke slowly, piecing it together, “You have… government funded… mental health triage… on every floor?”
“Triage?” Hamza considered that. He lifted a finger with a pleased expression, “Ah! I think more like paramedics… Or the volunteer fire department? “ He laughed. “But no fires. Most people don’t need much, just a little time, and someone to talk to.”
“Oh, my gods.” Mordecai fell forward in the chair and caught himself, elbows in his lap and his head in his hands, stunned and staring into the middle distance. “We are moving to Farsia.”
Erik looked over at Maggie, with a frown. “Is all this still because slavery, Mags?”
Hamza looked a bit wounded, but not offended.
Maggie tipped back her head and covered her face with both hands. She didn’t know if she was stifling a groan or a scream. “Ugh. Yes. They wouldn’t have all this damn money without it. It happened a long time ago and they outsourced the worst shit to Priyakadesh before anyone here was born, but yes.”
Erik scolded his uncle, “No, we’re not.”
Mordecai wasn’t paying attention. He had just accepted a cup of tea from the man in the smart blue uniform, with a smile. “Can I tell you about my childhood?”
“Was it traumatic?” Hamza said.
Mordecai demurred, “Oh, I don’t think more than…”
“Yes,” Ann said, in passing. She was investigating the baskets on the counter, expecting more snacks she might serve. “Toys!” she cried. She pulled out a squishy ball. “It’s just like Calliope’s house! Oh! People can go off-exhibit and have a toy whenever they like! Erik, do you want a toy?” She squished it invitingly.
Erik hauled back to his feet, slumped like a fifty-pound sack of potatoes. “I’m gonna go back to our room, lie down, and think about colonialism, you guys…”
“I’ll join you,” Maggie said.
Ann applauded. “I’m going to get Milo!” She gasped and covered her mouth with a hand. “Am I being too loud?”
Hamza smiled at her. “Of course not, miss. Would you like to keep the stress ball? We have lots!”
◆◆◆
The General met them in the hall, with all the bags floating behind her and a sour expression. She began to explain, with audible quote marks of disdain, before they could even open their mouths to ask: “They are sorry for ‘the inconvenience.’ We have been upgraded to a larger room with a garden tub and separate shower, free of charge. If we inform the Neuestal in Parsa that we require rooms with a separate tub and shower for ‘mental health reasons,’” she scoffed at the concept, “before our arrival, they will do the same, as will any other hotel in Farsia, not just this chain. If we wish to dine in the Neuestal’s restaurant, or order room service this evening, they will give us ten-percent off — for ‘the inconvenience.’ And the woman who informed me of this on the phone says she hopes we have fun.”
Brigadier General Glorious D’Iver did not appear interested in hypothetical room service or fun, at the moment.
Erik turned to Maggie. “Hey, Mags, am I cool to act loony in public around here?”
“Someone might grab you and ask if you wanna take a break, like before, but yeah.” She shrugged. “Pretty much.”
“Thanks.” He approached Hyacinth with a snarl and addressed the thin air just over her shoulder, “Wipe that smug expression off your fancy-rat face, David!”
