Oh, it is so exciting! It is a day away, the Feast of Saint Baellith! And how grand, how extravagant, how exuberant and full of jubilation it will be!
And what's more, our Lady of Shadows has set us in charge as the Grand Marshal, as she has every year since we have been in her employ.
We are in charge of the food and drinks, the organization and the gold! We told her, we told our dear Lady Shadowglade, "Fear not, for Vassiago can handle this. Do not worry your pretty head, my sweet, lovely Lady. Trust us. Sit back, and allow us to do the planning!" We crooned and sang in her ear. And she allowed us. We have never let her down.
And this year is grander than other years. More work, yes, more work. It was an unexpected twist in our plans, the fire, but we wanted to show the people that all was not lost. We have built barricades around the burnt out buildings. We have covered them and draped them in fineries. We have allowed artists to paint the debris.
But still, people climbed into the charred wastes. A roof caved in on a child. How unfortunate! How sad! This was brought to our attention and we dipped our head and offered the death to our Saint Baellith.
But we shall not dwell! So much to do, so little time.
Vassiago readies himself. We coat ourselves in rubies and sapphires, feathers from exotic birds and a headdress to hide our face. We never show our face, public or in private! Never! We wear purple stripes and puffy sleeves in diamond patterns. Our shoes curl at the toe – oh how fun! Then we go out into the streets.
The air is perfumed in falling confetti and there is a band playing loud music. The Ferris wheel spins and a parade is coming into town. What is this, what is this? Oh! It is a well-wisher, an outsider from a strange land. A king! A nobleman! Come to pay his respects and dues! We shall welcome him. Yes, we shall welcome him into our Quarter's gates. He shall pay homage and present his gifts to Lady Shadowglade.
He is from a land far beyond the deserts and seas. He has traveled for months to join the celebrations of the god. He rides a strange, hairy beast with orange and black patterns on its fur. The nobleman is draped in diamonds and silks, and his servant, a demon, has shining black skin and six arms. The demon has more gold upon him than even Vassiago! We are introduced to him as the Grand Marshal of the festival, and tell him that his presence is most welcome.
His gift to our dear Lady is something exotic. But we doubt our Lady would appreciate it. It is ambrosia, an herb, one to smoke. It allows one to see the faces of the gods, and hear their voices. It is a drug. People are said to have gone mad taking this substance. They hear things that do not speak, and see things that are not real. Was this a trick? Was he looking to do harm to our Lady? We are not a fool. We do not find this amusing.
Take it away! Take it away! Let no harm come to our Lady! We love her. We adore her. She has saved the Flesh Quarter and brought it into glory! No harm will ever come to her.
We take the nobleman's gift, and give it to a passerby with a smile.
Let them hallucinate! Let them hear Baellith and laugh and sing until they vomit!
Ha-ha! And so many of our patrons and people are already smoking and injecting themselves with herbs and potions and poisons and drinks! We see them, their faces glazed and their tongues protruding. They drool on themselves as they spin into a stupor. So much fun this day. The Old Dog's men must be hard at work, selling and trading their wicked products. We do not mind, we do not mind at all. More gold exchanging hands means more life and commerce for our Lady.
We must all celebrate.
The nobleman asks to see our Lady. In person. We deny him his request, most graciously. Our Lady must not be disturbed. She has been so busy with visitors, guests, and journalists lately. She is tired, so very tired. So busy. She is getting ready and must not be disturbed. Vassiago can handle any questions that he may have!
The nobleman seemed dubious of Vassiago. Doubtful. Skeptical. Uneasy. We can sense this. He asked where the best food was, where the women and entertainment were. He asks Vassiago where he can find herbs to smoke and dancers to entertain him. And we tell him! We answer all of his questions because we are helpful, and everything is done in the name of the gods. And, more importantly, our Lady wants his coins.
But it is all to help the city, of course! Not to line our pockets in gold, oh no!
He asked Vassiago who the male was that would be lying with Lady Lillandyr Shadowglade. Was he anyone important? Or was he a filthy, trash commoner? He notes that he has been hearing the name "Osterious" around, and has seen the moth sigil on products and merchandise.
We frown. We frown because we do not wish to answer his questions, even though that is part of our job as the Grand Marshal. We do not wish to discuss the moth. We instead distract him and change the subject. We point out the grand gifts that were making their way into the lady's palace. A beautiful beast nearly thirty feet high, with its body patterned in feathers of green, gold, and blue. It had a long, swinging protruding trunk and carved ivory horns. It was a pachyderm from far away, across the narrow rivers and salted seaways. It was waiting in a massive red and gold cage for her to accept, but was being gawked at and observed for passersby so that they may see how wonderful and powerful she was. Lady Lillandyr was so grand that her gifts were too splendid to hide. She wanted to share them with her people.
Vassiago also pointed out the hot air balloon that was hovering above the carnival. We suggested that the nobleman may want a ride! A ride, we say! We offered him a free voucher.
It was a beautiful hot air balloon. The scrolled lettering held Saint Baellith's name and symbol. It, too, was decorated in gemstones and gold, so that it glittered like jewelry in the sun.
It was then when we looked at the balloon that we noticed there were rainclouds settling in the distance. We did not like that, not at all. Rain meant citizens would be running inside, scurrying like cockroaches to hide. Yet there was little we could do to stop it. The clouds were coming, rolling like fat dough waiting to be cooked. Iron gray and inky black, they were slowly devouring the beautiful blue and purple of the setting sun.
Vassiago returns to his private tent, all crimson and violet colors. It is patterned how we like it, in stripes and diamonds and paying homage to no god in particular. We sit behind our desk; it is guarded by two of the Lady's men, so that no rat can come inside and bother us as we tend to the festival's affairs. We see to every detail! From the very important visitors and their accommodations, to the Lady's costuming, to the noted events, to the parade floats, to the placement of merchants and their stalls. Gold breathes in and out of the festival, much like the pull of the tide against the moon.
When the night came, so did the devils. And we do not mean the decorated, festival devils that represented the character in the story of Saint Baellith, oh no! We like those masks and costumes, horrible and terrifying, yet whimsical and fun! Gruesome faces in scowls and snarls! Many citizens dress as the characters from the stories! Some dress as Baellith's virginal sister, or like the harvest god – in red, yellow, fiery oranges, and tree branch crowns.
We mean the real devils. Pickpockets and thieves. Scam artists and con men. Gamblers, drug dealers, and prostitutes that are not guilded under the Lady's name. Some of them, we know, work for the Old Dog. We do not mind them, not really. But we must put aside our needs and wants for the needs and wants of Lady Shadowglade. At least, for the time being. As long as it amuses us. And oh! How we do enjoy the power of being the Grand Marshal of the Feast Day! We do enjoy it so much, so we play by her rules for now.
The devils and the rats came out to play when night finally settled herself inside our fair city. We heard the rain drizzle, and it is not enough to scare away the vermin. Thus a pickpocket interrupted our thoughts and paperwork. We were annoyed. It was too small a detail and we did not wish to bother with the scum, but we must. We had to. He was a small, dirty boy with grubby hands and a torn tunic.
The guard manhandled him and shoved him into our office-tent. We could see that the boy was scared, intimidated by someone as important as Vassiago.
We asked for the guards to leave that we may question the boy ourselves.
The four men, two personal guards and two that brought in the child, turned and left as we requested. They waited outside, armed to the teeth and grim.
Oh, how sweet, how cute and innocent he was! We grimaced. We showed our teeth. The boy shuffled his feet and we said, "Sit down, sit down! Sit!" We gestured to the chair in front of us.
And the boy sat down in front of us, behaving. His hands in his lap and his head bowed respectfully. He delighted us, this street urchin. We could see him shaking a little. He was afraid of Vassiago. Afraid we may throw him in jail or cut off his head!
"What were you doing, boy?" we asked as we, too, folded our hands in front of us on the desk.
"Stealing," he answered flatly.
"Stealing what?"
He shrugged his tiny, filthy shoulders. He could not have been older than ten years of age. Scrubby, scummy little boy. "Coin pouches. Gemstones off the decorations. Whatever my boss says."
"And who is your boss?" we asked, leering. We tried to smile to put the boy at ease.
But we could tell he said too much. He looked at us with surprise and horror. He did not want to answer our questions! But it was too late! Too late! He hesitated. He was going to try to lie to us!
"Who is your boss, boy?" Vassiago shouted a little louder. We snarled. He straightened, rigid in his chair. Oh, he was so scared! Oh ho ho ho! We are amused and delighted by the little boy, so timid and small!
"I..." the boy trailed off.
We swear, he was about to piss himself! But not on Vassiago's chair. We could not have little boy piss in our chair. Our tent would smell, even cleaned. We decided to make a deal with the child.
"You will be safe," we said as we smiled and stood, our hands clasped behind us. We paced around him, like a shark around a small fish about to be our dinner. "If you tell us," we hissed, clasping the back of the chair behind the lad. "You can be our spy, little boy! Spy and tell us everything you see and hear, and be rewarded!"
"It's this girl..." he said as he shuffled his feet, dropping his head dejectedly to stare at the pattered rug of our tent. "Arie and her friends. Uhm. I bring the money and stuff I find to the docks in the Industrial quarter. I know they have this big boat. I bring them the gold and money I find, and then they give me these little packets to distribute and sell to people."
"May we see the packets?" we asked, interested. Fascinating!
The boy handed us over brightly colored wrappers, like pieces of candy. We put them on our desk.
"She keeps saying she is in charge of things. Yells at her friends. Tells them that she is in charge. She was yelling at them and at us in the Industrial Quarter, where we meet in this warehouse."
"Really? And how many of you are there?" we ask, leaning on the desk with our arms folded.
The boy shrugged listlessly again. "Fifty, maybe one hundred. I don't know. There are a lot of kids my age. But Arie kept saying that this was hers now, and we are to follow her orders, and no one else's. Since the Old Dog was gone, or something. I'm not sure. It was her business. She would give us a small cut..." The boy looked up and we smiled. Such a clever boy! He was fishing for a better deal.
We smiled broadly; we liked this boy. "Of course we will pay you, child! For your honesty! For your cooperation! Far far better than this horrible Arie woman! Just keep singing, little bird, and we promise you food and riches!"
And we will give him all we promise! He just needs to continue feeding us. He needs to be our eyes and ears!
The boy smiled. He was able to meet our eyes for the first time.
"She doesn't care. My friend, Hailman? He got hurt. Some man caught him stealing a purse and he grabbed him and hit him. I ran back to tell Arie, and she didn't even care! She said it was his fault! So I don't care what happens to her. Last year when we did this? The man in charge sent someone after another friend of mine who got caught. It was safer, that's why we did it again this year. And I got a larger cut; I brought it to my dad and mom. She wants almost everything we bring back. It isn't fair."
We reach into our desk and offer the boy a handful of sweets. He took them, and seemed to appreciate the gift. His dark eyes sparkled in awe. We smiled again, and he smiled back. "Go on, boy, go on! You are free to go! Shoo! But at the end of the day, we want you to report back to us. If not to us, then to our men!" We called out to our personal guards. They turned and entered the tent. We have spies, eyes and ears and little singing birds all over the city. Vassiago knows secrets. We know everything that happens in this city.
We promise the boy payment, food, protection for him and his family. He is eager and happy to help us. He loves the candy we give him. He trusts us now. And we now have one more spy. He was scared that Arie would hurt him for singing. We assure him he needn't fret!
We smile. We have lots to smile about.
And oh! the poor Old Dog. He must be put down, yes? He is letting his business be run by some hot-shot girl who does not know what she is doing. A pity. We pick up the small parcel wrapped in colorful foil and open it. A crushed herb to be smoked or snorted. We taste it, and it is foul. Poison. It is not good quality, we know. So much has changed since last year. Cutting corners, are we, Old Dog? Yes. Cheap. His people are sloppy.
In your absence, your empire falls. It was built on sand, not stone.
The boy leaves. At the end of the day, we will have more gossip at our fingertips. If he does not find us to report – for we are busy – then our men will tell us his findings. And we will relish in it.
We will not bother the Old Dog and his army of vermin, even if they are now being governed by this Arie woman. They are hustlers and rats, yes, but they are not a bother. Not yet. Though we do find them curious. We leave our temporary office and watch as the midnight fireworks pop into the sky. So beautiful, like sparkling dandelions in the breeze. We have done a good job as Grand Marshal this year. We live up to our name, for the festival is grand indeed! Ha ha!
We walk around the festival. The entire Flesh Quarter looks magnificent to us, and we see our hand in everything. Everyone is having so much fun!
The fire dancers twirl and twist. We smell incense in the air. Bells on the dancers' costumes jingle, even as they walk casually down the streets and they rest and feed and water themselves. Exhausted, as they have been entertaining all night! We hear the sound of wooden flutes and throbbing drums.
Down the marbled street is the temple of Baellith, the crown jewel of the city. It is a huge, draped gold and ebony. Three towers sprang forth to meet the sky. The braziers were lit, like eyes of the god looking down at the city atop the sprawling stairs. Puddles from the rain reflected the temple's fires, like glistening golden tiger's eyes in the streets. We could hear chanting from the temple, droning music. The steps were lined in flowers, baskets of food, toys, and money. Offerings to the god and gifts to the priests. Tomorrow, we think to ourselves, our Lady will be coupled with...
With Meriweather Osterious. The name makes us shudder. We have seen his images in the paper and have heard his name whispered over and over. We are sick of seeing his sigil everywhere, too.
And how has it come to be that he is chosen? Out of all men, and we know he isn't a man, how was he the one to find favor with Baellith?
We do not believe. We think it was a scam, a hoax! We know that he is a clever creature. He must have tampered with the oracle, we think. We have found this suspicious since we first heard the news that he was chosen... but then we were not given a moment of pause, since we had so much planning to do! Hearing his name everywhere has tainted the experience for us, and made us sick. We try so hard to ignore.
And we have so little time to investigate. We would question the oracle ourselves, we decided. And we must do so, quickly. For tomorrow, the oracle will be sacrificed to Baellith and a new oracle will take her place for next year. Her throat will be cut and blood drained to drink by the priests. Without a throat, she could not speak to us!
To what end, Master, we think? Why have you done this? Why does our creator wish to lay with the Lady of Shadows? What would he gain? Surely he had a goal, a plan! And we are dying to know what it is, for our own amusement. Our creator would not go to such troubles or lengths for mere mortal pleasure, if any pleasure could be found in the coupling at all. There must have been some higher cause.
We decide to climb the white steps and enter the house of Baellith to discover the truth. We will interrogate the oracle. Even though it was past midnight, the temple doors were open. Wide open.
It was cold inside, and we could tell... something was missing. It was silent. Where were the priests and priestesses? Where were the revelers, the well-wishers and travelers? Something was amiss! It was too empty!
The temple of Baellith was a grand place. The ceilings and walls were covered in stucco frescoes and stained glass. There were chandeliers of gold, silver, and diamond that hung low, like censers. They caught the light and spread rainbows instead of spilling smoke. There was a cleansing pool in the center of the room. Cherubs and angels trumpeted water into the bathing fountain.
Before Marquis Shadowglade came to save the Flesh Quarter, this was a temple to decay, slander, and rot.
Even when it is not Feast Day, this was a busy place of commerce and prayers. Where was everyone? Curious!
"Master Vassiago!"
Someone called our name! It echoed in the wide, marble temple. We turn and look.
"Come quickly! We have them locked up!" cried the bald, pale, and powdered temple priest. He was breathless and sweating. He looked frightened! He wore a simple, rough, white linen rope and red sash across his middle.
"I'm so glad, so relieved, we sent out three people to come find you. You weren't in your office..." The priest stumbled and stammered. His leather sandals slapped against the polished, mosaic floor. "We were worried we would have to keep them overnight in our temple!" he gasped and swallowed. "We have been keeping them locked up here. We didn't know what else to do, but we had to get them away from the public. We have sent everyone else out of the temple, waiting for you to arrive. Thank Baellith only one person was hurt. But we sent him away to seek medical attention. He wasn't badly injured, but he could have been! Just where are they coming from? I thought Lady Shadowglade had this handled. First the fire at the Gilded Lily, and now this? I wonder if we are cursed..."
The priest turned and beckoned us to walk faster. We frown. What was he babbling about?
The young man turned and paused. We could see his powder on his shaved head was glistening with sweat. He looked surprised. "Th-the Unquenched!" he stammered. "Four of them! We have them locked in Father Chessin's office for the time being! They were roaming in a small pack, in broad daylight in the city's streets! They were tearing up a market stall and attacked one man! People were terrified, upset, Master Vassiago..."
We walked down a long hallway lined in framed artwork and stopped at a red, heavy oak door. The brass plaque on the door held the name, "Father Mallin Chessin." We hear scratching and shuffling inside.
"With the help of some kind animal handlers and a few guards, we were able to subdue them. We don't want them in the temple, Master Vassiago! It is blasphemous, defiling the good name of Baellith! We ask that you dispose of them in the name of our god, not Nehmain! Make an example of them, quickly! We can't have them here!"
We frown. We do not like to be ordered what to do.
"How were they able to just wander the street? Everyone was under the impression that Marquis Shadowglade had the Unquenched uprising handled, Master Vassiago. Why did this happen? And on the sacred holiday, of all days!"
We could tell that the priest was agitated, frightened. He was asking rapid fire questions we did not know the answer to. We were just as puzzled by this as he was. But it did not bode well. This was just another event in a series of whisperings, mutterings, and rumors of our Lady losing control of the undead. Many of the city's citizens were beginning to stir in discontent with her handling, or mishandling, of the Unquenched.
"Wasn't her brother – oh, what was his name – ah, Captain Ashtorath handling this? Isn't he an Unquenched? Where is he? He should be seeing to this!" the priest said, angry and outraged, as if personally offended.
Yes, we think. Yes, he was placed in charge of them. But he was losing control, wasn't he? We know he bought the whore, Llara Lily. It was strange, unheard of. He was falling victim to madness and was roaming free in the city and frightening the citizens. Slowly, they were creeping outwards as he lost his iron grip on his people. And Shadowglade was soon to be blamed.
But the priest had no right to speak of his leaders this way. He was too bold, too outspoken, and too presumptuous. Why, if he were not a priest of Baellith, we would cut out his tongue.
Sigh. We have so much to do yet. We wanted to investigate Merris and his possible manipulation of the oracle. We ask the priest where the oracle and the others were. He looked at us oddly and said that he sent them away to a safehouse for the night, while the Unquenched were here. We can't go find her now. We won't have time. It is past midnight and we can't go traipsing around the city. We have much to do yet. Later, later, we decided, we would investigate and get to the bottom of our creator's schemes, even if we have to do so without the oracle.
We have a feast to put on tomorrow, before the grand finale of the holiday. We had a dress rehearsal for Lady Shadowglade's and the child sacrifice's costumes. We did not want to be fooling with silly Unquenched locked in priests' offices.
"Give us a knife," we barked impatiently at the priest. He looked at us quizzically. "Don't make us repeat," we snapped waspishly. "A knife."
The priest scurried off; we heard his sandals clap-clap-clapping across the shiny floor as he went to fetch a knife. He returned with a ceremonial, curved, ornately decorated dagger. Odd, but it was likely all they had here.
Vassiago slid the knife out with a hiss. We tossed the jeweled scabbard at the priest. He caught it, fumbling. Then we had the priest unlock the office with a large key. He backed away into a corner like a scared animal.
Not us. Oh no. We were excited to tangle and dance with our brothers and sisters. But they are not like us. We are better than the Unquenched. Unlike them, we breathe and we feel. We do not dine on the flesh scraps of the living, like carrion birds. We are a gift from Nehmain, created by Merris the Moth, and we are more powerful. We will not succumb to madness, for we are madness.
And we slaughtered the Unquenched in the priest's office. One. Two. Three. Four. Two of them tried to reason with Vassiago. They tried to explain their actions and plead with us. They were hungry and lost. Leaderless. They were hearing voices. They had not seen their General, Ashtorath, in days. They begged for their unlives and tried to get us to sacrifice them in the name of Nehmain, so that they may rest in final peace.
But we denied them that right. We sacrificed them to Baellith, because it was his feast day... and because it amused us to do so.
They tried to fight. They had us outnumbered. But Vassiago is stronger, cleverer, and quicker. We do not rot and we think more clearly.
They thumped to the floor, over the priest's desk, and across his chair. One fell and bled black blood on his bookcase. We sank the dagger in deep, through their hearts and through their skulls. They tried their best to live, or not live. They were no match for Vassiago. We blessed them in the name of Baellith, may he, or she, accept them as they are.
And their spirits will not rest, not really.
We did not bother to wipe the dagger down as we thrust it at the priest. The problem was temporarily solved. He seemed surprised and tried to question Vassiago, but we would not hear of it. Find someone else to clean your mess, priest. We are not part of the maintenance crew.
And there will be more unrest, more Unquenched. We know that this is merely the beginning.
But this was not our concern, our worry! Though it will soon be for the Lady Shadowglade!
So we leave the temple empty-handed of our goal. We did not find out about Merris Osterious, our creator, and what he was up to.
We instead return to our Lady's home and we practice her costume and makeup, to make sure all would go smoothly. She looks radiant in her costume, it fits her so well! And she did not seem nervous or upset at all! But she has done this so many times. It is routine. We are proud of her composure and skill. She is an elegant lady.
We did not tell her about the Unquenched. It is our secret to keep for now!
We tended to the child sacrifice. We made sure she was comfortable and happy on her last day of life.
And then we saw to the caterers and made the final preparations for the grand finale of the Feast Day of Saint Baellith. We answered some journalist's questions that were still clamoring around our Lady's doorstep.
But then we sent them all away for the night.
Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow!
Tomorrow was the final day for feasting and celebrations. We look out the balcony and we see fireworks glitter and ships dock at the port across the mirrored, serene sea.
Before we turned to rest for the evening, we were met by one of our guards from our office.
He told us that the boy had returned with information.
He told us that Arie has declared herself queen of the Dog's world.