It all started with a letter slipped under the door of the shitty apartment in Eventide that I was calling home. That should have been my first clue that something was off. Who the fuck sends letters anymore, besides landlords and other parasites? I rolled out of bed and crawled across the shag carpet to see if I had another surprise bill. The Man, it seems, is most fond of those.
Turns out, it wasn’t. Not by a longshot. Past due notices don’t come with gold leaf and a real wax seal. The envelope smelled like hookah smoke hastily masked with perfume worth more than a year’s salary at the Planasthai. Stamped into the seal was a symbol of a braided noose. This was about the time the alarm bells in my head decided to start ringing. Blame the hangover. I clawed open the seal, and pulled out the delicate piece of paper within.
Esteemed Duke,
You and a spouse, partner, or significant other of your choice are cordially invited to the five hundred seventy-third annual Gala in the court of the Hanged King, in our illustrious city of Alagadda. You have been recognized for your nobility and renown within the many realms, and thus, you are welcome to partake of our hospitality, our wine, and our whores.
We are of the utmost confidence that you will find your way there in a timely manner.
Respectfully,
Horatio D’Ambrosi
Forty-Second Secretary to the Ambassador of Alagadda
Fuck.
Everyone and their dog knows that you don’t refuse an invite to Alagadda. I’ve heard enough horror stories from Ickis. It looked like my reputation had finally caught up to me. Not that I had anything better to do anyway.
I grabbed my phone off the chipped dresser and punched in my eccentric avian friend’s emergency phone number. The ring cycle continued for a small eon before he finally picked up.
“Duke?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“What happened?” He sounded genuinely worried. I didn’t have the presence of mind to feel touched.
“I got a letter.”
“Another eviction notice? I’m afraid I can’t spot you this time-”
“It’s from Alagadda. An invitation.”
On the other end of the line, Ickis choked on something. Impressive feat for a guy who can’t even swallow.
“Oh dear.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“That’s a bit much, even for you.”
”Yeah. I know.”
“Well, I have several articles on surviving Alagadda on the Gazette website.”
I snorted. If he heard me, he didn’t acknowledge it.
“Just tell me when I need to be there and how.”
“Oh, they don’t include a time on those invites, do they? Figures. Regardless, you should get there as soon as you can. They are a capricious sort.”
“I assume they don’t do direct flights from the Library.”
“Right, yes. Not after the Sacking. The closest stable Way is…” Some rustling in the background. “Three Portlands. It might take some looking, though.”
“Have you met me?”
“Fair enough. I’d imagine there’ll be plenty to write about.”
“Don’t tell me to look on the bright side.”
Ickis sighed the particular flavor of exasperation I’d become all too familiar with in my career. “Safe travels, Duke.”
With a vague grumble of acknowledgement, I hung up the phone and groaned loud enough to elicit a yell from my downstairs neighbor. Prick. I wondered if the Alagaddans knew I was sitting on the floor in my once white, now yellow-gray undergarments.
They probably did.
A handful of hours later, I was stalking the dark, perpetually soaked underbelly of the Three Portlands. A change of clothes, a continental breakfast, and an upper went a long way. I needed a little kick to slog through the alleyways lined with poorly sealed trash bags leaking rancid runoff down the storm drains. I got the sense this place didn’t see public funding often. It must have been where things go when the residents of the Portlands are done with them. The smell was god-awful, but I needed my nose to sniff out my Way. If I was dumb enough to open a Way to Alagadda in a densely populated city, I would probably hide it among the graffiti and used needles where the streetlights don’t shine. That’s why I was here, stepping over puddles of frothy scum and plastic grocery bags.
A quick sweep of my flashlight revealed garbage, garbage, and more garbage. I was about to switch it off again when one of my eyes caught the gleam of something shiny and yellow from behind an overflowing dumpster. Naturally, I had to investigate.
Pushing the dumpster out of the way was easier said than done. It took some effort and a reminder that I was grossly out of shape, but I finally got it shunted over into a dark corner. Behind it was a strange slot carved into the wall, ringed with gold and silver paint. It took me a few moments to realize what it wanted. I pulled the envelope out of my bag and slid it into the hole like it was a vending machine.
Almost immediately, the grimy bricks began to rearrange themselves into an arch-like opening. They moved in sync like trained dancers, creating the illusion of waves undulating on the solid wall. More and more red, yellow, and white paint revealed itself from behind the gray stone, rippling and contorting into an obscenely ornamental, overdesigned flourish. When the movement finally ceased, my eyes were drawn to the message in huge, friendly neon yellow block letters above the completed gateway.
LASCIATE OGNI SPERANZA, VOI CH’ENTRATE
I was probably supposed to know what that meant. I didn’t. Instead, I looked down to find my Way. Through it, the city of Alagadda was dim and blurry. I saw the Hanged King’s castle silhouetted in black against the vomit-yellow sky. There was a part of me that wanted to walk away, and a part of me that needed to know what went on in there.
My journalistic integrity won out, and I stepped in.
I stepped out of a doorway onto white flagstones polished to a mirror sheen. I saw in my reflection a chameleon in a gaudy two-piece porcelain mask, jointed with wire to allow opening of the mouth. He wore an eye-bleedingly yellow overcoat and similar pants made to fit by an oppressive cumberbund that kept back his beer gut like a great white dam. The shoes on his feet were stiff and uncomfortable red leather. He brought his red-cuffed hands up to his neck to grasp at the truly horrific multicolored necktie coiled around his throat like a noose. That chameleon was me, and I was on Alagadda’s main street.
Everything around me was painted in shades of black, white, yellow, and red, from the black stars in the nauseating pus-colored sky to the mini-mansions around me determined to break every rule of architecture and a few laws of physics. I looked to my right — I think — to see the castle down the road with open gates and a growing mob of people. The road itself carried a vacuous procession of high society as lavishly dressed as me, one that I would have to join to get where I needed to go. From the sidelines where I stood, paper-white Alagaddans with too many limbs and not enough clothes tossed confetti, candies, undergarments, and other gifts at the golden chariots and thrones borne by sweaty laborers. Before I knew it, a cold appendage found itself on my back as I was pushed into the fray.
To avoid getting trampled, I started ducking and weaving through the procession the way I surf through heavy traffic on the highway after pumping myself full of ether. I must have pushed past kings and emperors on my way to the castle. Sucks to be them, I guess. Someone tossed a small hard ball covered in gold foil directly into my mouth and I reflexively swallowed it without even getting a chance to taste it. As I cut, jostled, and shoved my way to the front, I started to notice the smell. It bore some resemblance to the smell of the letter, a sickly-sweet mix of hookah smoke and fancy perfume. Below it, there was a hint of the metallic reek of lust sweat and blood. Below that, I caught just the faintest whiff of rotting meat. It toyed with my scent glands, producing a hypnotic tingling. Things already felt a little fuzzier.
Getting high off the air itself aside, the journey to the castle melted into a blur not unlike overdosing in the middle of a mosh pit. Soaked in sweat, I made it through the gates and onto the castle pathway. The crowd had thinned, and I could make out freakish creatures with grotesquely inflated lungs playing golden horns from the towers. I trudged down to the main entrance, where a small, emaciated fiend hurriedly entered names in a thick guestbook in front of the grand doors.
“Your name, sire?”
“Duke Gathers.”
The thing, which had many spindly white arms connected to a similarly pale body, looked at the hefty book with the two sunken holes that lined its skull in cruel mockery of eyes. It looked like it hadn’t been at peace a day in its life. “You are named. You may enter.”
“Hang on.” I leaned an elbow on the lectern with the book. “Who’s invited to this thing?”
“Everyone who’s anyone, sire.”
I drummed my fingers on the black wood. “Why invite me?”
“You may ask Signore D’Ambrosi, sire. I am but a humble clerk.”
I was about to interrogate the poor thing further, but a clawed finger poked me in the back. Right, I was holding up the line. I shared a rude gesture with the bejeweled, goat-headed woman behind me before slipping into the castle.
Signs with flowery letters and a plasticky shine directed me through the maze of red velvet hallways lined with floor-to-ceiling tapestries depicting battles, orgies, and things in between. The garish designs shimmered and moved under my gaze as if they were gonna step off the wall and lunge at me. I noticed a figure in black in some of the pictures, its face torn out everywhere it appeared. I regarded it with suspicion and wondered what that was about. Ickis would probably know.
I climbed up – and down – flights of marble stairs that left me walking on the ceiling and strolled through doorways that couldn’t possibly have taken me where I ended up. The halls stretched and curled behind and in front of me, and at every turn I felt as if someone was about to pull the rug out from under my feet and send me spinning into the abyss. Just being here felt like a bad trip. But, like a bad trip, I’d ride it out. Might even get something publishable out of this. Can’t say that for slug-shrooms, can you, Duke?
After who knows how long, the maze of saturated colors and self-aggrandizing fabric gaped into a grand ballroom. Judging by the size of this place, there were more of them. A massive white stone table stretched nearly the entire width of the room, but the chairs around it were empty. Nobles and plutocrats alike drifted around the room, bumping into each other and making meaningless conversation. I, meanwhile, was here on business.
I made a beeline for the refreshments table.
The table in question was draped with a checkered cloth in the ever-present four-color palette and piled high with the most obscenely expensive food I’ve ever seen. I saw skywhale steak, poached dragon eggs, Adytite blood wine, and golden flies squirming on a decorative spider web. I lapped one up with a flick of my tongue, and it proceeded to melt in my mouth into a salty, chocolatey goo. Not entirely unpleasant, but I’m no food critic.
“Enjoying the filigree flies, eh?”
The silky, disconcerting voice came from my left side. I swiveled an eye over to see a man-sized banana spider in an impressive waistcoat watching me through a half-mask that accommodated his eight eyes.
“Tastes like fancy chocolate. Where do they get these?”
“They breed in the droppings of an ungulate that no longer exists. Creates quite the demand.” The spider chittered, which was probably a chuckle if R’lek was anything to go by. “I am the Earl of Obolect. Might I make your acquaintance?”
“Duke Gathers. W-”
“Well, Duke of Gathers, pleasure to meet you.”
My eye twitched. I looked around for a drink, and settled on a bulbous bottle filled with Siglo brand tequila. I let the Earl chatter on for the time it took to pour a brimming glass and down it.
“-and the Golden Horde hunted the steppe unicorn to extinction.”
“Where’s Obolect?”
“Oh, it’s a hop and a jaunt from here. Say, I haven’t seen you in these halls before. Is this your first time in Alagadda?”
“Yeah. Why?”
The Earl chittered haughtily. “Well then, I wish you good luck.”
“Janusz, would you bring me another glass of wine?” An irritatingly singsong feminine voice came from a short distance away. The Earl turned his head to meet the gaze of a similar-looking spider in a ballgown that couldn’t have been comfortable.
“Apologies, my mistress calls. You know how they are.” He shot me a knowing glance. I didn’t return it. He skittered off to attend to her, leaving me alone with the booze. I poured myself another full glass of Siglo and stepped out into the courtyard.
Can black stars twinkle? In the yellow gradient of the sky, they sure looked like they could. The courtyard was perched on a high balcony overlooking the city, reducing the mansions and slums alike to tiny lights. A fool in every sense of the word paced along the razor-thin railing, laughing and flailing and not falling off even as his bare white soles grew dark with blood. Casting my gaze further downward, a singular tree stood out among the glossy black grass and white flagstones. On it grew baseball-sized golden apples.
“Pretty on the nose,” I grumbled to myself as an all too familiar fog began to descend over my consciousness, which was probably the tequila kicking in. Nevertheless, I stepped across the grass to get a closer look. The apples were pristine, with an almost metallic sheen. I reached out to feel their texture.
I blinked and the apple rested in my hand, cleanly separated from its progenitor. I swore under my breath as I attempted to shove it in the pocket of my overcoat, but I was too late.
“Picking apples, milord?” The voice put a gloved hand on my shoulder. I looked up to see a smirking drama mask surrounded by a mess of black hair above a wiry, yellow-vested body.
“They aren’t free?”
Their grip tightened. “He who assumes makes an ass of himself, friend.” They shoved me hard.
I went sprawling across the flagstones, sliding some distance before coming to rest at the feet of a bloated yellow mass. Upon picking my head up off the pavement, the shape resolved itself into the corpulent body of a man. His clothes were lavish beyond even what I had seen on the way here and his mask depicted a hateful sneer. I knew who this was. I was laid out on the ground at the feet of the Yellow Lord, covered in spilled tequila.
“Get up.”
I pulled myself back up to a standing position, but the Lord was over a head taller than me. “Hey, put up a sign if your damn apples aren’t complimentary.”
The Lord, who made it look like I was in shape with his bulk, looked almost taken aback. “I beg your pardon, wretch?”
“You heard what I said. You leave food out at a party, it’s gonna get eaten.” Even I was mildly surprised at what I was saying.
Instead of striking me down on the spot, the Lord began to laugh. It was raspy and guttural, utterly befitting someone of his reputation.
“I like you, wretch. You have some spine to you. Most would grovel.”
“So what, not gonna throw me in the dungeon?”
“Not yet. But you have questions. I can smell it over your reek. I can answer them.”
“What’s the catch?”
“You have until I tire of you. Start talking.”
“Alright.” I wrung some tequila out of my coat. “What’s this whole Gala thing about?”
“It’s an invitation to the high society of the realms to share in our decadence. Don’t bother me with such simple-minded questions.”
“And who decides which of the upper crust get a piece of the pie?”
“Your expression makes little sense. But it would be Horatio D’Ambrosi who manages the guest list.”
I held back a sigh. “So where can I find D’Ambrosi?”
“He should be leeching off the dear Ambassador’s presence somewhere. Putrid tick of a man.”
“Not a fan?”
“No time to get attached. The exalted Ambassador blows through secretaries like lowborn folk go through cheap wine. And this one is especially saccharine. Shame I surrendered my ability to vomit.”
“Sheesh. What happened to the last secretary?”
The Lord gestured up with a brief motion of his head. I followed his suggestion to see a tiny, ragged man crucified on one of the higher parapets. I assumed he was dead, but that was quickly dispelled as he writhed weakly before falling still again.
“Oh.”
“One does not do well to disappoint the Ambassador of Alagadda. It would be prudent to watch yourself more closely around them.”
“Duly noted.”
A half-formed syllable exited the Lord’s mouth before the dainty chime of a spoon on a glass emanating from inside the castle interrupted him. He grumbled as we both turned our gazes inward.
The Ambassador’s pitch black, spindly figure stood in the middle of the grand hall, towering over the rest of the partygoers. Nobody dared make a sound as they spoke in a sultry, almost oily androgynous voice that tickled the ears and smooth-talked the mind into letting its guard down. Not me, though. They’re not getting me that easy.
“Ladies, gentlemen, other distinguished guests. Our attendants have been hard at work preparing tonight’s feast for you and only you, and it would be terribly rude to keep them waiting, hm? Please, take your seats.”
The guests in the courtyard began to shuffle in, and I followed them to endure the great ordeal of finding our seats in this mess. I lost sight of the Yellow Lord, only for him to reappear in an appropriately piss-yellow throne at the head of the table with the other bigwigs. I sat myself down in a soft, velvet-coated chair near the other end.
On one side of me was an empty chair. Checking the back of it revealed a placard simply stating “O5-4”. No idea who that is, but they must have not cared enough to show up. On the other side of me was the Earl’s ugly mug.
“Oh, how serendipitous! Fortuna smiles upon a budding acquaintanceship, it seems.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Identical masked waiters distributed covered plates and silverware with robotic efficiency, and soon enough the entire table was served. I reached out a hand to take a peek at what lay under the metal dome, but the Earl swatted it away.
“Mind your curiosity, dear Duke. There will be a time for everything.”
That time came sooner than expected as the Ambassador cleared their throat to speak again.
“As you returning attendees may know, the Gala serves a different main course every year. Surely, you’d think, we’d run out of unique dishes after 572 years!”
There was a pause that stretched on for far too long and the barest hint of an indignant grumble from the Ambassador.
“Ahem. That may be true for the lower realms, but Alagadda doesn’t play by their rules. After all, the infinite worlds are our oyster, and dear guests, we are the pearls. That’s why, once again, we’ve brought you the finest food that can be bought or plundered.”
The Earl rubbed his hands together in childish excitement.
“Uncover your plates, if you would.”
I wrapped my hand around the ornate silver handle in front of me and lifted.
What greeted me was a wriggling horned beetle approximately the size of the dinner plate it was served on. Its exoskeleton was black and glossy, but it was served with the soft red underbelly face-up, legs twitching fruitlessly.
The Earl buzzed joyously. “Oh, what a treat! I’ve been meaning to try the Ericapean Stag, as a matter of fact.”
I racked my drug-addled brain for where I had heard of these before. “Hang on, aren’t these things sentient?”
“Oh, yes. Tremendously so. How do you think they built the Republic of Ericapea?” The Earl picked up a small, dainty knife and slit the underbelly open, revealing an array of unfamiliar organs. “The brain is quite large, and traditionally eaten last. It’s quite good jellied and spread over Enochian bread.”
I looked the Stag in its green, pupil-less eyes. The mouth-parts had been welded together to the point of unusability. Probably with a kitchen blowtorch. Suddenly, I wasn’t hungry anymore. I looked back at the Earl, who was currently picking out a pulsating bit of flesh with one of the many forks at his disposal, and grimaced.
At this point, I became dimly aware of the rising volume in the hall. There was a budding argument taking place in any direction I looked. Nalkans had been seated next to Mekhanites, feuding aristocrats were lumped together at the same section of table, and monarchs of warring realms leaned over to hurl obscenities at each other.
“Oh, this can’t end well.”
The Earl’s head had migrated next to mine in a jarring invasion of my personal space. I almost jumped at the sudden closeness.
“I gather this is unusual?”
“Oh, yes. Planning the seating arrangement is a delicate art. Must be the new Secretary.”
“Hm.” I found myself bouncing my leg under the table, stretching the seams of my ill-fitting pants. Fuck, this place had me on edge.
“Don’t do that. You’ll dislodge your cumberbund,” the spider chimed.
“Hey, I didn’t ask you.”
“Ought we not hold each other to the rules of propriety? Besides, you haven’t touched your meal.”
“Not h-”
“To refuse something as meticulously prepared as this would be exceedingly rude, no?” said the Earl, slurping up a length of intestine like spaghetti.
I reached for one of the knives at my disposal, only for him to place his hand on top of mine and guide it to a different one. I jerked my hand away.
“Don’t touch me.”
“How else would I correct your mistake?”
My eye twitched, but I managed to hold my tongue and cut open the underbelly of the still-living beetle with the indicated knife. Somehow, I cut a straight line despite my shaking hands; I hoped it would be enough to put it out of its misery. Stay calm, Duke. Just gotta ride this out. Ignore the rising cacophony of indignant voices, ignore the Earl, just finish your meal and go. Don’t get your head on a pike outside the castle wall.
“That’s the wrong fork. Who raised you?”
I looked at the Earl. I looked at the powder keg of a crowd, ready to explode at any moment. I looked back at the spider staring at me expectantly.
“No matter. Just pass me the champagne.”
Fuck it.
I grabbed the full bottle of vintage champagne by the neck and broke it over the Earl’s face.
Apparently, that was what everyone needed. Now that first blood had been drawn, every fat cat with a grudge had an excuse to get a hit in. In less than a second, I watched the unruly room erupt into a full-on brawl. Meanwhile, I overturned my chair and made a break for it. There’s always a moment of clarity in the comedown from a high, and glassing that smug fucker was a kick bigger than most.
I vaguely registered the previously motionless knights lining the walls springing into action, but I had a head start. This wasn’t my first time dodging and weaving through a crowd to escape the consequences of my own actions. It wouldn’t be the last, either. Maybe one day Duke Gathers is gonna face the music. Probably not, though.
I swiveled an eye around to see the guards gaining on me. Of course they could run at superhuman speeds in full plate armor. Of course. I ducked behind an overturned table and looked for a weapon.
I felt around with my hand until I wrapped my claws around an elegant flintlock, left on the ground without an owner in sight. Damn shame. It looked better suited for dueling than glorified bar fights, but beggars can’t be choosers. Judging by the weight, it was still loaded. Finally, things were going my way. I poked my head up out of cover, scanning the area. I didn’t need to hurt anybody. Probably couldn’t if I tried. I just needed a distraction.
Maybe the Earl was on to something, because fortune extended an olive branch. At the other end of the room, a golden chandelier swung precariously over a stack of barrels undoubtedly containing alcohol. I lined up the sights with the ever-so-thin chain and fired.
Bingo. The chandelier seemed to drop in slow motion, and everybody in the room turned to look at it like it was a pileup crash on the highway. By then, I was already making a beeline for the nearest window.
With the roar of the explosion behind me and the guards occupied with my handiwork, I ran without looking back. The tie and cumberbund choked me and there was broken glass in my feet, but none of that mattered. There wasn’t an injury short of getting shot in the head that could’ve stopped me from jumping straight through the priceless stained glass window onto the Alagaddan promenade.
I don’t know how I found my way back, tearing down the main street like a bat out of hell. Maybe some part of me remembered the way back in the adrenaline-flooded blur. Maybe the city just wanted me gone. Couldn’t blame it for that. Either way, I didn’t stop until I was among the grimy bricks and leaking trash bags of the Portlands once again.
The first thing I did was collapse to one knee, gasping and wheezing in a futile attempt to catch my breath. The second thing I did was look behind me to find the Way gone. Just a featureless wall, like it had never been there in the first place. I breathed a sigh of relief which morphed into a coughing fit that sent the other knee down, leaving me nearly prone in the filth of the alleyway.
I must have been there panting on my hands and knees for several minutes. I couldn’t even process what had happened while my neurons were tangled to rival the Gordian Knot. If anything, it was the glass still in my soles that brought me back to reality. In a decent contender for the least sterile possible environment, I picked the shards out of my feet and used a drainage pipe to haul myself up to a standing position.
Standing there in the rain, I felt a bulk in my coat pocket that hadn’t been there before. I reached in and pulled out the golden apple. Despite everything, it was still pristine. I could see my reflection in it. In my still-hazy consciousness, I thought it would be a good idea to take a bite.
Immediately, I spit it out. It was rotten inside. Figures.