The Mask of New Cazzer

The train slowed as they approached New Cazzer Station. Enfie whispered into Mayfly’s ear.

“Sweetie, I need you to do something for me when we get out.”

Feeling conspiratorial, Mayfly leaned close and nodded.

“They’re going to bring all of us in to ask about what happened. I want you to sneak away before they do,” she said, and added quickly, “I know it probably sounds a little scary, but it’s important. I’ll explain everything later, I just…I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Happen to me?”

It was more than a little disheartening. With Foste behind them, Mayfly had hoped the dangers were through. Now it sounded like Flytrap had just been the pan before the fire.

Enfie’s look was reassuring though. They’d trusted each other during the attack, Mayfly saw no reason not to trust her now.

“What about you?” she asked meekly. “Are you gonna be okay?”

“Oh I’ll be peachy. You don’t travel around as much as I do without knowing how to dodge a few questions,” she said, and there was a smidgen of pride in it. “I should be out in an hour, two tops, then I’ll come get you.”

“So where should I wait?”

“You saw the pillar on the way in, yes?” she asked, and Mayfly nodded. “You’ll walk that way, straight line, easy-peasy. There’s a diner just a few blocks down, cute lil’ blue building called ‘Finchie’s.’ You just sit down and say you’re waiting for a buddy. Oh, and show them this—”

Enfie reached beneath her collar, pulling up a chain Mayfly hadn’t noticed to reveal a tiny, steel pendant, just like Falbrite’s fox and the conman’s snake. This one was a bird, with one little wing tucked in, and the other curled out so that it made a circle of itself. She took it off with practiced speed, then clipped it around Mayfly’s neck and tucked it under her shirt.

“They’re lovely, might even give you a free muffin.”

“I like muffins.”

“Well, if they don’t get you one, I’ll pick some up on our way to Bezzy’s.”

Mayfly still didn’t know much about ‘Bezzy.’ Enfie said he was a friend who could give them a safe place to stay for a few nights. Everything else, according to her, was ‘better if you just saw it.’ But that was fine. At this point, all she really wanted was a little quiet, and some time to ask questions—which she had plenty of.

They’d have to wait. Track screeched beneath them, the train came to a halt.

New Cazzer Station was much bigger than the depot; the platform alone was long enough for five or six of their tiny train, and unlike Flytrap, the whole place was indoors. They had pulled up to the innermost rail, but a handful more ran beside them, and other trains came screaming by.

Through the window, Mayfly could see a crowd in absolute hysterics. Lights flashed from little boxes in their hands, they held sticks with puffy tips, and all the tall people had lensed metal contraptions resting on their shoulders. A line of guards, not quite as armored as the escort, barred them off a ways. It took her a moment to realize all of that energy was directed at their train.

None of the passengers moved until the soldiers gave permission. “Those of you in need of medical attention will be seen to. The rest of you will be brought in for statements, after which you will be released,” one said. His voice crackled through a filter in his helmet. “Do not break form. Do not speak to the press. Follow single file.”

They all rose at once, and were led through the doors.

“Wait for an opening,” Enfie whispered. She pulled Mayfly’s hood over her head, and gave her hand a quick squeeze; when she let go and moved ahead on her own, Mayfly dragged her feet all the way to the back.

Outside the air was thick with smog and rail-dust and buzzing lights, but it was thickest with voices. The clamor of the crowd was almost louder than the passing trains; she couldn’t make out a word any of them said. They roared in a violent surge the instant the passengers stepped onto the platform. The guards stood firm, made threats Mayfly couldn’t hear, but were heard nonetheless.

Most of the soldiers stayed onboard, but a pair remained, one leading the passengers up front, another behind. As quickly as their train had come, its doors shut and it sped off again. The flashing and clicking and shouting of the crowd followed as they passed silently by.

No opening. Even if she didn’t have one soldier right behind her, there was no way she could slip out with all the attention. Thankfully, when they made it outside, the guards kept the crowd right where they were. One hurdle down.

It was night out. Curiously, Mayfly didn’t remember seeing the sun set; in her mind, it was more that it had just winked out behind the eclipse. Now only the moon remained, and with its shattered body as the only light above, the kaleidoscopic sky was pure black. No stars, no clouds, just the broken silver crescent.

And the neon.

Enfie had taught her that word on the train. The lights that buzzed and seemed to hold all the violence of fire and the fluidity of water. Color strong enough to stain the air itself. Neon.

It was everywhere, on every building, hanging from signs, on giant boards that towered over the roads. Their tubes were spun into beautiful designs, or woven into other images for emphasis, or artfully crafted into words like ‘Discount Tuning’ and ‘24/7 Pharmacy,’ neither of which meant anything to her, but were still very pretty to look at.

The rest of the city was less appealing.

Nearer to the pillar everything was tall and shining. The roads ran wider, and some were raised on columns of concrete to soar over the buildings below. Towers sat flush against the plateau, climbing all the way to the crown of spires and platforms at the top, which, even from so far away, were utterly beautiful to behold. In the dark they were needles soaked with moonlight, twinkling in the stars’ absence.

As for the vast circumference and everything beneath the shadow of the city’s wall, the glamour was mostly lost. Where neon didn’t reach, there was nothing but rank void and gray. The roads were narrow, and the cars—little boxes on wheels, another word she’d learned from Enfie—drove right up against the walkways, so close she could see feel the rumbling as they went.

The buildings were packed together. Most were squat, paint peeling off rusty metal, with their clusters broken here and there by long tenements with broken windows. Inside, lights flickered, there was shouting. People ahead of her pinched their noses and breathed through their mouths disgustedly.

If Flytrap had been a sprawled-out corpse, the fringe of New Cazzer was a graveyard.

They passed a great black yawn between two empty buildings. Enfie looked back at Mayfly, and even under the dismal light of the lampposts there was visible intent in her eyes. Now? She could bolt, sure, but the soldier might just reach out and snatch her, or worse, he’d use that dreadful rifle in his hands.

But it wasn’t a signal to run.

Instead, Enfie slapped the back of her hand to her forehead and swooned out of line, right into the road. Blessedly no cars were coming.

“Ah! My head!” she cried, twisting dramatically down to her knees. “Oh, the pain! Gods it hurts!”

The other passengers scrambled away like she’d burst into flames. The soldier ahead marched over, but the instant he reached out she fell flat onto the ground, writhing and groaning and clutching at her head.

“The magi! The magi did something to me!” she shrieked.

He tried to hold her still. She wasn’t forceful, but she was slippery. “Ma’am!” he snapped, and it was odd hearing exasperation through the filter. “Ma’am there’s nothing—ma’am you’re fine! Ma’am!”

“No! No! They cursed me! They cursed me I can feel it!”

“There’s no—gods, hey! A little help here!”

Grumbling, slinging his rifle over his shoulder, the other solider stomped over. Mayfly was almost sorry she wouldn’t get to see more, but with everyone’s eyes on Enfie, she knew to take her chance. With the speed and subtlety to make a Valley stray blush, she slipped into the alley. The only sounds to follow her were the frustrated demands of the guards trying to pull Enfie to her feet, and even those petered out.

It would have been smarter to run, but she couldn’t help it. She waited, crouched behind a metal bin, watching until the group’s shadows eventually carried on. So far, so good. She kept going, wading through shadows and suspiciously damp ground until she emerged on the other side of the alley.

This street didn’t look much different from the last one. Same cramped road, same rusting buildings painted with neon lights. In the distance the pillar was obscured by a series of highways and bridges. She saw a train pass above on suspended rails, much smaller and more rickety-looking than the ones she’d ridden. The glistening spires rose above it all.

She walked towards it just like Enfie said to. Easy-peasy.

A clock, like the one in Flytrap, said it was ‘12:30.’  Mayfly balked. Back home keeping her eyes open past midnight was a feat of extraordinary strength, yet here she was not mourning a single missed wink. No one else seemed to, either.

Late as it was, people were on every corner, every sidewalk. She passed buildings with busy patios where swarms of them drank and ate and danced to music so loud it made her whole self shake. Now and then she saw guards, either walking in pairs or sitting in cars that looked like they had armor bolted onto them. She knew they had no reason to recognize her, but she avoided them nonetheless.

Despite not knowing what a ‘block’ was, she did eventually find Finchie’s. Small, with wide windows, a blue awning, and a little underlit sign out front with a bird on it. Enfie was right, it was cute. It was also practically empty, which would have made sense given how late it was, if it weren’t for how many people were still out and about. That was probably for the best, all things considered. She could just sit down in one of the comfy-looking booths, hope for a muffin, and wait until the soldiers let Enfie go.

Easy-peasy.

Then she saw the building across from it.

It wasn’t much bigger than Finchie’s, squat and narrow like most everything else, but long. And it was made of stone. Brick, not metal, mortar, not bolts. Its outside was dark from weather and age, but where there were chips and cracks there wasn’t a hint of rust. Along its sides were stained glass windows, their panels of orange and black arranged into scenes she couldn’t decipher. A steeple rose from the front of the roof. At the building's face, one of its wooden double-doors was shut, but the other was open. Mayfly kept walking until she could see inside.

Rows of pews, a black-velvet carpet down the center-aisle, simple chandeliers that bore candles rather than bulbs. On the walls, she saw banners with the same curled-up fox on Falbrite’s pendant. At the back, an altar and podium, and propped up behind them was what looked like a great sculpture of a flower.

Like Finchie’s it was empty, but that didn’t last. A small skulk of people, no more than a dozen, trickled up slowly from down the road, across the street; whenever she blinked another seemed to pop in from nowhere. The congregated at the doors, chatting, smiling, a few of them even hugged.

Slow, beautiful organ music began to play from within. It was happy, melodious; it reminded her of the songs they played in the Valley. She stood there half hoping to hear a mandolin.

The people moved inside. Mayfly looked back at Finchie’s.

Enfie had said it would be an hour, maybe two, and the diner was right there. No one was following her, no one had even noticed she was gone. What was the harm? It wasn’t like the muffin was going anywhere.

Thoroughly persuaded, Mayfly scurried across the street. Just for a moment, she told herself. Just a little curious. Then she’d run right back and wait where she was supposed to. Enfie would pick her up, they’d go to wherever Bezzy’s place was, and they’d get a good night’s sleep to tackle whatever tomorrow brought.

Easy-peasy.