Chapter 4 (Griff)

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It was all business after those warm pleasantries. Griff caught a glimpse of the city they were approaching, just as he was shooed below deck. Just the faint silhouette of a mass of ships and domes and hills and seagulls peppering a low, sprawling, jagged skyline. That was all the view he could get for now, lest anyone spotted him, he was warned. Rough times, tight security, and Griff, being an illegal, paperless alien from another world, would not pass muster. So they were going to move him in quickly, through a sub-acqueous route, and there was no time for questions, except if they were asked to Lord Adrian, who seemed to like hearing himself talk.

As it turned out, Griff’s theories about his father’s imprisonment were shockingly accurate.

“They’re not a doomsday cult per se,” said Lord Adrian as Jordan spun the padlock on a large sea-green locker. They were in the bowels of the ship now. No more fancy trappings. Just darkness and metal and a single blue lightbulb caged to the wall. “The Adenites worship a whole pantheon of gods, like all of us once did.”

“Now they worship only Helene Eclissare,” said Jordan.

“Yes, yes,” said Lord Adrian, “well it certainly seems so. They were something of an amiable group before. Works of charity and tolerance and all that. Then she showed up and it hasn’t been the same. No, no, not a doomsday cult, I wouldn’t say that. I’m no expert, but I don’t think they’re interested in the end of the world so much as the rebirth of an old one.”

“I’d say that’s tantamount to apocalypse,” said Jordan. The padlock unclicked and she removed it, placing it carefully on the ground.

“Yes, yes. I suppose it is,” said Lord Adrian. Griffin still hadn’t figured out what he was the lord of or how he felt about lords in general, but so far Adrian seemed to be pretty dope. Mostly because he answered questions directly. Griff had to set a low bar with these people.

“So this Eclissare lady, what does she want with my dad in the first place?”

“It’s not your father she’s interested in. It’s his firm and their expertise. The expertise of, say, Ms. Pharoah here, which I have personally availed myself of on many occasions.”

“She’s extorting us,” said Jordan. The locker groaned and whistled as she pulled it open. “She says we stole something from her order years ago.”

“Not years ago,” clarified Adrian, “but centuries. The Rokang Kirm Guild is ancient and storied.”

“Huh,” said Griff. “But did you? Steal their thing.”

“No,” said Jordan. “She’s extorting us.” Adrian cleared his throat.

"It's not entirely clear. It does appear as though someone in the guild's history, someone affiliated with the Rokang Kirm smugglers, did take a sacred object from the holy city of Adenon about three hundred years ago. Whether or not they did so with the knowledge or sanction of your father's organization is unclear."

"And irrelevant," said Jordan. "Eclissare wants something and she doesn't want to get it herself so she's taken Jack as a hostage."

She stepped back to let some light into the locker, which went much deeper than Griff expected. It was practically a tunnel, and lining the walls were these limp, eldritch human figures hanging by their bulbous heads, which, after a moment of horror, Griff realized were the scuba gear. Yeesh. The tech tree in this world really needed an upgrade because these things were basically space suits. Those heads with knobs coming off them were fat, Jules Verne style brass-and-glass helmets, which Griff thought he could probably fit his whole torso inside. And maybe it was just the light, but the glass seemed so tinted or fogged over that you couldn’t see through it.

“Am I—am I even going to fit in one of this things?”  Jordan snapped her head over to face him.

"Surely that won't be a problem for you."

"Wearing things that are too big for me?"

"Fitting into things."

"Yes?" There was an almost imperceptible change in Jordan's voice and expression. Or perhaps everything was the same except for the fact that she was actually looking straight at Griff for the first time and he felt like he'd just been darted by a poison frog.  Whatever it was, something was dawning on her.

"Your powers. You have no idea how to use them."

"No?" said Griff. She studied him for a second longer.

"Then what’s the point of you?"

“I—I’m.” Hmm. Actually, what was the point of him?

“Parker,” said Jordan, “find him a suit.”

“Yep,” said Parker, accompanied be the swish of his switchblade, he was flicking it open and closed with his thumb and—had he been there the whole time?

“Yes I’m sure there’s a child-sized one back there somewhere,” said Lord Adrian. “Or perhaps in another locker. Jordan?” He looked for her but she’d already gone back up the stairs and Parker was already rummaging through the locker, the suits swinging eerily in the blue light as he pushed them aside. The nobleman turned his attention back to Griff. “You’ll forgive Ms. Pharoah. From what I’ve gathered, she was at one point very close to him, your father.”

“They were married,” added Griff.

“Were they? Ah. Well she must be very worried. And you. You’ll do just fine.” He smiled and Griff was momentarily comforted, but it did cross his mind that this guy was maybe not the best person to make accurate predictions about Griff’s life. If being a charming rich guy was anything here like it was back home, Lord Adrian Jeruzha was probably at least a little out of touch. He did give off that vibe, like he was used to everything going just swimmingly.

“Mr. Adrian,” said Griff.

“Please, treasure, Lord Adrian will do.”

“Lord Adrian,” said Griff, “what am I supposed to do when we get into the city? How am I going to help my dad, exactly?” Lord Adrian stroked his beard.

“I believe you have some ability inherited from your father that will be in some way critical to the mission.”

“Huh,” said Griff. “What did you say your job here was again?”

“I provide an initial, largely fiduciary bedding to certain Rokang Kirm ventures that I have interest in. At modest risk and with happy results.” Okay that was definitely rich people speak for ‘I throw money at it and I get money back.’ In other words, he left the dirty work to the dirty folks.

“Griffin.” It was Parker. He was holding up a nautical suit by the scruff of its neck. It looked truly bizarre, with its giant, foggy helmet and thick, almost Elizabethan collar. “This was the smallest one I could find. Same size I wear. There’s two, so we’re cool.”

“Ideal,” said Lord Adrian, “then Ms. Pharaoh and I will stay aboard while you guide Griffin through the pillars?” Parker shrugged.

It was not cool, though. Not in the least. The suit simply didn't fit him. It was kind of like walking around in shoes that were too big. At first you think it's going to be fine and that at least they're not too small, but then your toes keep knocking into the sides and your heels begin to chafe and most importantly, you can't walk right. Every step feels stupid and it's the only thing you can think about. Wearing this suit was like that but with Griff's entire body. It wasn't so much like wearing a suit that was slightly too big than it was like being inside a submarine that was way too small.

Standing at the back of the boat, watching the ocean below, chopping at its hull, Griff felt like some kind of sadly deformed marshmallow. A flab of the brown, canvass-y fabric hung off of him around his waste where the suit was bunching up to let off some length for him. The clumsy gloves attached at the end of the sleeves hung awkwardly just out of reach.

"Ready?" said Lord Adrian's muffled voice. His face looked green and kind of stretched out through the glass.

"I guess?" said Griff. And then he coughed. This thing smelled like a baby had gone through and licked the entire inside.  Like an old, slobbered up happy meal toy.

"Radios?" said Jordan, from behind him. A sharp, staticy click filled the helmet and stabbed him in the ear, followed by Parker's voice.

"Radio." Griff saw the suit next to him flash a quick thumbs up. "Hey Griffin, there's a trigger in your left glove. Index finger. Pull and hold to talk." And what, wires from there going up into the helmet? God this thing was an actual death trap. But he wanted to try it out so he pulled the sleeve up until his hand fit in the glove and found a cold little metal tab.

“Radio,” said Griff. He let go of the trigger.

“Huh?” Parker replied. Click.

“You said Radio, so I did, too.”

“Okay.”

“Copy that.”  No response. Griff cleared his throat. “You play video games?”

“Yeah.”

“You know how water levels are always the worst?” Click.

“I don’t know. I just play shooters.” Of course.

“You two have fun, then!” Said Lord Adrian. Griff tried to turn around to see if Jordan was still there, but he couldn’t really move in this suit. That didn’t bode well. Wait a minute.

“Where are the oxygen tanks?” Griff yelled through the helmet.

“What?” Said Lord Adrian.

“The oxygen tanks! How are we going to breathe without oxygen tanks?”

“I can’t hear you!” Said Lord Adrian. Griff heard a muted splash and saw the foamy crest of recently broken water below him.

“You! Jump!” Turns out, Jordan was still there. “Jump now or I’ll push you!”

“Okay! Okay!” Here he was, falling off things into water for the second time in a day. And to think, before today, he’d never fallen off things into water. He’d just have to accept that this was his life now.

“Now!” Shouted Jordan. He jumped. Or he just sort of tipped off the edge. This fall wasn’t very long. He hit the water almost immediately and then sank like a rock.

And the weird thing was he kept sinking, just kept sinking. Down and down and down until blue-green and air bubbles turned to black and nothing. And he wasn’t even scared, was the thing. It was more like falling asleep than anything else. The pressure around him eased, the weight of his body, the suit, lifted.

Griff gasped, and choked on thin air. There was a black edge around his vision. Someone in a big weird aquanaut suit was shaking him awake.

"Dude, dude, wake up. You gotta wake up," came Parker's voice through the radio. And boy did he sound concerned. Like there was a definite tinge of concern for his well-being in there, which Griff enjoyed after the fact. But in the fact, he was gasping for breath and possibly dying.

"no...uuuueehch...air..."  His whole body felt cool, like he was covered in ice packs over his clothing. And also inflating? Was water coming into the suit?

"You have to let it work, buddy. You have to breathe normally and deeply." Griff shook his head. There was definitely water coming into the suit, into the helmet. Droplets were streaking up the glass like rain on a windshield, but backwards and on the inside, more and more every second. "Hey don't worry about it," said Parker, "we talked about this, remember? Let the suit breathe for you." Griff didn't remember. Oh wait, they'd been explaining something to him while he was trying to put on the suit, but he obviously hadn't been paying attention. "Hey. Hey. Don't freak out. Close your eyes." Griff closed his eyes. "Take a deep breath through your nose. Yep. Just like that. But keep going. It's gonna feel weird until it doesn't. Come on. Deep breaths." It was working, actually. The suit started to contract and expand with him, or a second behind him. The water inside the helmet reversed course. Inhale. The suit shrunk towards him ever so slightly and squeezed out the water it had soaked up and--it must be filtering it, thought Griff. Exhale. He heard bubbles escaping out the back of the suit, somewhere around the base of his neck. The air was breathable now, if a little moist. Very rainforest. It still smelled like shit, though.

"Okay. Ha. Okay. I think I got it."

"Good. I was worried there for a second, man."

"I love you," said Griff.

"What was that? You gotta remember to pull the trigger if you want to use the radio." Click. Griff pulled the trigger.

"Oh. I just said thank you. Uh. Thanks partner. Parker."

"No problem. Let's head out. My mom's probably furious we're still here."

"Yeah, no problem."

That was the longest interaction Parker extended to him for the whole underwater sneak. Unsurprisingly, it took forever to move in the suits, despite some useful features like (sort of) flipper shoes and the occasional burst of stored up air from the neck-release valve. There was another trigger for that in the right glove, which was very confusing and had Griff randomly shooting forward a couple inches sometimes when he was trying to say something over the radio. Which was pretty often because the silence was grueling and there was nothing to see.

Griff had hoped for some sort of underwater ruin or at least a confusing series of tunnels, but the "pillars" turned out to just be the supporting stilts and beams beneath the piers and platforms of the city port. When they got close enough, they just walked along the bottom of the harbor, glancing up at the undersides of boats and ships, a world away, so to speak.

 Finally they reached a big fat column of light, its underwater edges blurred with wide, shifting margins.

"I guess we're going up this way?" said Griff, before realizing he hadn't pressed the radio button. His earpiece buzzed as Parker spoke.

"This way up."

"Okay."

"What?" Fuck. Griff pressed and held the radio button.

"I said okay."

"Oh." They stood there in the caves below a city in another world, so close to each other they were nearly holding hands. Griff pretended they were. It was funny because earlier that day this dude had pushed him off a tower but that weirdly made Griff want to hold his hand more. His big, steampunk aquanaut suit hand.

The other thing Griff could practically hold hands with was the massive stalactite to his left. Or was it stalagmite? He tried to remember the mnemonic device Gary had taught him... stalac*tites* hold *tight* to the ceiling, and stalag*mites* *might* fall on you. Wait, so both were the ones that hang from the ceiling? Whatever, both rock formations were here. And they were mammoth. Some of them actually touched, coming down and coming up --which was probably why this place was called The Pillars, but they looked more like teeth. Big, lumpy, cancerous teeth. Griff thought he would share.

"They look like--"

"So you wanna go up or not?" said Parker. Click. Click.

"Yes." Click.

"Alright follow me." Parker took one giant leap for Griff kind into the light. His right food landed in slow motion on the sandy cave floor. Griff followed with some difficulty until they were both in the center of the column; only then did Griff take the opportunity to look up. "Try not to look directly into the sun," said Parker. Griff looked back down.

"So how does this work?" He said. "It's kind of a long way up, huh? Are there people up there?"

"I'll give you a boost, and you just swim up to the top," said Parker. "And no, there shouldn't be anyone there. Just climb out and un-suit if you can. I'll be right behind you." Griff nodded.

"Boost away," he said.

"Coming in for your legs," said Parker. Griff nodded again, more nervously this time. Parker crouched down on one knee. "Step up." Griff complied, fighting the water and the suit to bring his leg up and set his foot on top of Parker's probably beefy quads. "If you get stuck, take some air in and hold your breath for a second so it stores in the flotation pouches. Then keep breathing as normal. Ready? On the count of three." Griff gave a shaky thumbs up. "One."

"Two," Griff counted to himself.

"Three," they both said together. Griff pushed up off Parker's leg and felt the suit strain against the water pressure as he did. He lifted off, Parker's hands giving him an additional toss off his other foot. And up he went, comically slow, though if he closed his eyes, the sound of the water against the suit made it seem like he was coming off cape canaveral at the speed of sound. Griff tried to do a scooping, breast stroke motion as he went up but somehow his arms got tangled together and one of his hands slipped out of the glove. His shoulder chafed and as he tried to readjust he ended up spinning awkwardly to the right.

"You okay, buddy?" came Parker's voice, echoing in his helmet.

"Yeah, just gotta. Just. Hold on." When Griff steadied he looked down. Parker was still at the bottom, giving him a wide berth probably. Griff squinted as he looked up. The exit above was still a ways away. What had Parker said? Breathe in and hold. He took a breath and the suit breathed with him. The glass fogged over just slightly. Griff stopped himself from exhaling and sure enough, he felt two empty sacs below his shoulder blades begin to inflate. This was pretty cool actually. Very intuitive. He fit his hand back in place and tried it again. This time two sacs around his shoulders filled up like floaties. And Griff began to rise. He kept his arms at his sides now and kicked gently with his feet. His world got brighter until the light was blinding. He breached the surface.

Fresh air rushed into the suit and Griff found himself gasping. He felt rich and giddy all of a sudden. He even giggled a little. Boy was it nice to be breathing for himself again and not on behalf of this iron-lunged alien he was tucked into. He front-stroked to the first glint of solid ground he saw and pulled himself out of the water. Now, where was he?

He was inside, actually, at least halfway inside. It was a big room. The blaring sunlight (and ring light?) was coming down through a large hole in a partially collapsed dome. And from the looks of it the dome had been collapsed for quite some time. The surrounding walls blackened with mold. The rose colored wallpaper that might have once looked quite nice was peeling off in large sections. Around Griff's feet was a smattering of debris and the starter kit for a tiny little ecosystem. What was once tile flooring was smashed up around the hole he'd just come out of, and patches of grass and tendrils of vine sprouted up wherever they found openings. Griff half expected a bunch of ninjas to drop in right then and throw him in a bag or something equally absurd. I mean, with the day I've had, he thought. But no, it was actually peaceful. And kind of beautiful.

There was a quiet splash and Parker surfaced behind him. They helped each other out of the suits, which Parker told him to just leave in the corner of the room. Besides that, neither of them said a word. Griff just listened to the sound of the seagulls overhead. When they were done and dusted off, Parker started towards a set of dark mottled wooden doors.

"Wait," said Griff. Parker stopped and his head swung around to look at him. Not impatiently. Just. "What was this place?"

"I dunno," said Parker, "some kind of church I think." Griff looked back at the hole they'd come out of which now just looked like a particularly large repository of rainwater.

"And my Dad's--and your Mom's company--drilled a hole here to sneak things through?" Parker shrugged. Griff nodded. The older boy turned back towards the doors. But something about that moment; the light, the confusion he felt, the fact they were both teenagers, the way Parker had met the bare minimum qualifications of being very attractive and not exactly mean to him, it all added up to Griff suddenly needing Parker to talk to him. "Wait," he said again. Parker turned back around in the same swift motion. "Please," said Griff. And then he realized he was embarrassed. But Griff was tired of pretending he wasn't the puddle of a person he was. So he just said everything that was on his mind. "Hey can you sit down next to me and tell me what's going on? Like beat for beat. Like as detailed as possible. And I've had kind of a rough day so can you maybe put your arm around me and say it's gonna be okay? You know, like a bro. Or not. I don't know why I said that. That's not me. Like a friend. If we're gonna go on an adventure together can we at least be friends?" And amazingly, Parker smiled.

"Yeah." He said. He walked back towards Griff. He held out his hand. "Sure. Friends."

"Awesome." They shook on it. "You're not gonna touch fists instead?" asked Griff, "Isn't that how they shake hands here?"

"I'm not from here," said Parker.

"Neither am I," said Griff.

"Hm," said Parker, affirmatively.

"So I guess we already have something in common." Parker ignored him.

"Look, my mom's gonna kill me if we're any later than we already are so we gotta go now. But I'll explain what I know on the way. Work for you?"

"I guess anything will," said Griff.

 The big, sepia heat and the aggressive soundscape of the city smacked Griff across the face as soon as Parker swung a door out into an alleyway. The door hit a greasy metal cart at a 40 degree angle and someone screamed what could only be “hey watch it!” In an unfamiliar tongue. Griff instinctively apologized, but his voice didn’t carry. It got lost in the clatter of three hundred children stampeding past them, smashing everything and everyone around them against the sandy brick walls on either side, cheering and rattling little noise-making cylinders above their heads.

“Yeezus,” said Griff. Although no one seemed more than mildly annoyed. They just waited dutifully, like spaghetti the moment it splats against the inside of the microwave because you forgot to cover it, just hangs there for a moment before sliding down. And sure enough when the kids passed, they just got back to their days, shaking their heads a bit. Parker started walking.

“Okay, you can start by explaining that,” said Griff. Parker shrugged.

“I dunno. It’s like...little kids.”

“But does that happen a lot here?” Griff wiped some sweat off his brow and gaped at the film of soot that came off with it.

“Sometimes.”

“Where is this again?”

“Dar Nal Emal. Except no one here calls it that. It’s politically incorrect if you’re from here.”

“So what do they call it?”

“Dar-Ness.” Parker smirked at something that didn’t have anything to do with the conversation.

They’d reached the end of the alley and were heading straight into a solid mass of people. A single, unbroken organism made up of thousands of people, squirming by each other like herring.

“Medir Square,” said Parker, as if that meant anything. And then: “It’s less crowded at night.” The mass parted as he finished his sentence and three men on bicycles shot through into the alley, chirping their bells. Parker took the opening. “Alright stay close,” he said, and grabbed Griff by the wrist. They slipped into the mosh pit shoulders first and then, as the gap closed, it swallowed them whole.

It was surprising how easily they fit in, despite wearing dress from a different dimension. Parker had managed to change into some faded jeans and a short sleeved button up, but the only clothes they’d had for Griff on the yacht was a medium-sized T-Shirt from an insurance company giveaway (1.5 sizes too large for him) and then they’d just dried out his black dress pants and shoes from the funeral. He looked exceedingly dumb. What saved him was that no one cared or even seemed to see what anyone else was wearing. Smushed up in a crowd like that, you were really tasting fashion more than you were seeing it. And besides, the range of people here was so large that Griff and Parker seemed as weird as anyone else.

There was every skin color here, an ever shifting palate of heads and hands and the occasional bare chest or back. Griff felt at least six distinct hair textures bop him in the face on their way past him and became intimately connected with all sorts of fabrics, most of which were actually way nicer than what Griff was used to. Like way more people were into silk here, cut in ways Griff had never seen before. One little girl pushed past him in a tattered silk hoodie.

Most of the clothing seemed a little old-timey—like in westerns or Great Gatsby parties. Some of it was straight up ye old traditional, like turbans and super high-waisted pants. Yet there was usually something kind of mixed up about it, like Lord Adrian’s breastplate-uniform. Metal, leather, bursts of color in places you didn’t expect. Ribbons wrapped around people’s arms like bandages. Little shells of armor around ears. Oh, and the knives.

Everyone had a fucking knife strapped to them. Even the little kids had little wooden ones. Richer looking people had them in ornamented scabbards, but mostly they were just in leather sleeves, buckled to their chest or arm, or sticking out of a knapsack. Griff opened his mouth to ask about them, but decided he had a more important question first.

“Parker. Where are we going?” He could just hear himself over the din of shouts and murmurs around them.

“Canals,” answered Parker. “To a safe house.”

“And then what? After we’re safe. What are we hiding from again? Who was that girl who turned everything into books?” Parker paused a moment to orient himself, squinting up at the big freestanding columns that towered above the square. Some of them had little statues on top that Griff couldn’t quite make out.

“Where do you want me to start?” Said Parker. He chose a direction and jostled them through another knot of humans. “That was a lot of questions.”

“Okay start with now. Why are we going to a safe house?”

“Because we always assume someone’s trying to kill us.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re the bad guys.”

“Is that how you personally identify?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then why would you say that?”

“Because it’s a fact.”

“Great.” They’d reached the base of one of the columns, which was much bigger than it had seemed just a couple yards away. It sat on a slightly raised platform where a group of kids sat throwing crumbs at birds and each other. “So that lady back in the tower. The—the mage,” Griff ventured, “was she trying to kill us?”

“Nah,” said Parker, “she’s mostly harmless.” He let go of Griff’s wrist, and only then did Griff notice how tightly he’d been gripping. Parker seemed to notice, too, for a split second. He turned away and jumped onto the platform. “She’s kind of a cop. A border cop.”

“When you say border—”

“Yeah, they’re called Interrealm. Or that’s what Mom calls them. Usually a bunch of older folks. Tara’s an exception.”

“Seems like you know her.”

“We sorta grew up together.” He looked out again, searching for another landmark to head towards. “That’s not really her name, you know. Tara. It’s short for something. Her codename.” He scoffed and shook his head. “What a dork.” Griff moved things along because he was getting a vibe.

“But why? Why do the space cops care about some deal between a cult and some smugglers?”

“No idea. I think that’s why my Mom’s so on edge. They’ve been on our case ever since Jack disappeared.”

“Do you think they know something? About where my dad is? About the cult and the thing they want?” This seemed to be the first time any such thought had occurred to Parker. His face went even more blank than usual.

“Maybe.”

Griff was beginning to suspect that maybe no one knew what was going on, which was in line with something Gary told him once.

“A metaphor,” he’d said. “I worked in a call center to pay my way through graduate school.”

“Like a telemarketer?”

“No—“

“Like a telecarrier?”

“It was customer service for a company that sold customer service to other customer service companies.”

“Yikes.”

“I know. But you know what’s crazy? Every time I got a question above my pay grade, I’d forward the call to ‘headquarters.’ And then one day I was getting frustrated because people kept asking the same unanswerable question—“

“What was the question?”

“You know, buddy, I couldn’t tell you. And I think that makes the story better. So I just called headquarters to ask them directly: hey, uh, it’s me from the call center.”

“Was it a giant room filled with endless rows of telephones?”

“Actually, Griff, it was exactly like that. So I asked the question and the guy on the other end said, get this, ‘oh sorry, I don’t know the answer to that, I’m also just sitting in a call center.” Griff gasped.

“Call centers all the way up.”

“Yes.” Gary didn’t need to explain what the metaphor meant, but he did—to round out the speech. “We’re all sitting in a call center, buddy. You, me, your mom. We think someone’s got the answers so we phone a friend, but turns out they’re just in another call center waiting to transfer your call to a yet another call center.”

“Call center,” muttered Griff.

“Huh?” Said Parker.

“Oh sorry, did I say that out loud?” They’d cleared the blob of people in the square now and apparently his whispers could be heard again. “What I meant to ask was... how bad are we, exactly? And by we I mean my dad and my mom and your mom—and you—like what exactly—“

“Do we kill people?” Said Parker. Griff felt his blood turn cold. Oh jeez he hadn't even thought of that as a possibility. It was beginning to sink in that he might be in over his head. He had to keep it together.

“Sure, yeah, you can start there.”

They were on a wide side street. Still crowded, but not packed. Griff coughed. There was a smoky haze here that stung his eyes and throat.

“We try not to,” said Parker, “It’s more trouble than it’s worth. If you do the job right, no one will know you were there. If you kill a guy...” He twirled his finger, like you can put the rest together.

“Sure. Yeah. Yeah that makes sense. Real question: has my dad ever killed a guy?”

“I never asked. Probably. Your mom, definitely.”

“What?"

“Come on. If your mom was in the army  and she came back and you asked the same question would you be surprised by the answer? Our parents... they’re like war buddies.”

“In what war?!”

“Do you want like...the names of them?"

"Multiple wars?!"

"That’s where the business is. Countries go to war, borders close, people still want things. Or need things. They pay us."

"That—that doesn't sound so bad. It's like a delivery service." Parker snorted.

"Here's one for you." A question. "You know what you're delivering? You haven't asked."

"I was going to get to that."

"You didn't ask before you agreed to it. What if it's drugs? Slaves? A bomb."

"Is it the drugs? Oh no, am I a drug mule?"

"Doesn't matter. Then there's the client. You don't know anything about her either, do you? Or what she's going to do with the payload. You don't know if she's going to use it to kill a billion people."

"I mean, do you?"

"No. That's the point. Didn't ask. Don't care. And neither do you. Welcome to the team. We're the bad guys."

The crowd came to a stop at an intersection, where a single light hanging from a thick wire glowed green. Everything was upside down here. Green didn’t even mean go. A bell trilled in the distance. That probably means ‘time to go gently to bed,’ thought Griff. Parker put his hand on Griff’s shoulder. Unselfconsciously. Was it meant in comfort? Maybe. But not for what he’d just said.

Griff didn’t expect what happened next even though he’d seen it in movies and watnot. It truly did not occur to him that this was a real thing he could do until the trolley came whipping by and Parker said, almost inaudibly, “now.”

And then Griff was dangling off the side of the car—somehow horizontally?—watching Parker climb up over the side rails and into an open window.

“Come on dude,” said Parker after he’d succeeded, “you don’t want to be hanging out there when the walls get narrow.”

“I would join you,” shouted Griff over the wind and the ricketing of the trolley tracks, “but I physically cannot! I think it’s my terrible upper body strength!” Parker might’ve rolled his eyes or muttered something. Whatever it was the pity was too subtle for Griff to identify, but just subtle enough for him to sense. Maybe I should just let go and float away, he thought. His inner sock puppet presented him with a scenario in which he floated right into a wood chipper or worse,

YOU LIVE BUT BABY QUADRUPLETS BREAK YOUR FALL

Maybe I’ll fly away, thought Griff. He closed his eyes. The wind was beating him in the face and his right shoulder was seizing up. But if he ignored that, it kind of felt like that dream where he turned into a bird. He tried to remember it, combine it with the longing he’d felt when he’d turned into Karthik. I love... bird, Griff though, man I wish... I were a bird.

“What are you doing? You want to die?” Shouted a man’s voice. A burly man if Griff had to guess, and his guess was confirmed when he felt a beefy hand seize his wrist.

“Look he wants to sleep! Let him sleep!” This was an older woman. Griff opened his eyes. There was a whole bushel of heads peering out the window, down at him. “Stupid boy, sleep on the side of the trolley. Let him die then.” But she reached down anyway and gripped his leg. A middle aged man joined them, taking Griff’s arm while the burly man shuffled over and reached around Griff’s torso. “Onnika, come help this stupid boy,” said the woman holding his leg. A little girl’s face popped up beside them. She reached out and grabbed a fistful of Griff’s hair.

“Ow!”

“Hup!” Said the burly man, and they all hoisted him up. The little girl had a great time trying to pull his hair out. They dragged him over the railing and through the window into the car and, by some cosmic irony, just as they did the train entered a narrow alley, with walls pushing in no more than three inches on each side. Griff landed in a pile on the floor. He looked up, his vision dizzy.  Parker was leaning with his arms crossed against a wall.

“Hey you!” Said the burly man. Parker deigned to make eye contact. “Why you don’t help your friend, huh?”

“Seemed like you guys had it.” The older woman tsked at him. And Griff thought it would end at that, but then she marched right up to him and grabbed his earlobe. Parker yelped as she jerked him down to her level.

“Who taught you to treat your brother that way, hebeli? You make him play your game but you don’t show him how. You want to kill him, heih?” She swatted him across the face. “Just do it then.” She smacked him again.

“Fuck!” Said Parker. He wasn’t fighting back, though. He was just rubbing his cheek where he’d been hit. The woman let go of him.

“And you!” She said, adjusting the colorful scarf around her head, “so stupid!” She raised her hand and Griff, still on the floor, closed his eyes and flinched. But she didn’t hit him. She just tapped him twice firmly on the temple. A symbolic beating.

Griff slowly opened his eyes. His heart was still beating in his ears but what was one more near death experience in a day?  The little crowd was dispersing now. The older woman was storming back to the other end of the car, hand in hand with the little girl. The men that had rescued Griff were shaking their heads. When they made eye contact they nodded at each other and reached for their daggers, some of them just touching the hilts, some drawing their blades just a little in these casual, habitual motions—flicking them up with their thumbs. It’s a greeting, thought Griff. Holy mack this is how they greet each other. When they’d acknowledged each other sufficiently, they all split off and found their seats or spots and it was like nothing had ever happened.

Except that Parker was staring at the floor, looking more embarrassed that Griff could have imagined him being. Griff got up and walked up to him. He grabbed a rope hanging from the ceiling for stability.

“You, uh, want to get off at the next stop?” Said Griff. Parker looked up. His cheeks were a little rosy.

“What? No. We’re cutting through the bazaar.” Parker looked back down. He was fiddling with that switchblade of his.

“Did you know those people?”

“No. I don’t. Whatever. This whole town is crazy.”

“Say it louder,” said Griff, “I think they’re into being disrespected.”  Parker straightened up.

“I knew you were going to be fine, okay? How stupid would I be to let you die.”

“I believe you.”

“Really. I wouldn’t do that to Jack. I couldn’t. I promised him I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.” Griff felt a pang of jealousy.

“Oh. You knew—you know my dad.”

“Yeah. He was my stepdad for a while.”

“I know,” said Griff, maybe too quickly. He ran through several things he could say as follow up before deciding on a question. “What’s he like?” Griff said, cautiously. Parker’s eyes stayed glued on the switchblade. It was all steel with a faint copper tint, unblemished, unadorned.

“He’s a good guy,” answered Parker. “He doesn’t deserve this shit.”

They stood in silence for the rest of the ride. Griff took the time to try to repress his anxieties and adjust to the new world he found himself in. As usual he only succeeded in making things worse.

What was it Jordan had said? What's the point of you? Obviously the mission had something to do with his shapeshifting powers. Powers he couldn't control and didn't understand. So yes. Guilty. He was useless. He was about to be pushed out of the baby bird nest and plummet straight into the pavement where he'd cook in the hot sun. God it was hot here. Who made it so hot here? Griff looked over at Parker, still spinning his switchblade, appraising the trolley's green coat and gold trim. He wasn't useless. He could probably do anything. Griff imagined him doing father-son things with Jack, like playing catch and... crashing weddings? Was that a father-son thing? Going on adventures together. Smuggling adventures.

The trolley was slowing down now. The city rushing by went from a flicker to a scroll and Griff began to make out its shape. It seemed to go on forever in every direction; domes and spires and the occasional tower—none of it very tall, but all packed tight like the people in that square they'd come through. Most of the streets seemed to be indistinguishable from alleyways with the exception of a few wide, winding avenues, paved with smooth, sandy cobblestone. The trolley seemed to follow these main thoroughfares all the way up until it arbitrarily decided not to. Now, for instance, they were about to fit themselves between two crumbling housing complexes. Griff got a good look before they got too close. At the upper levels, the two buildings were connected by an array of plank bridges and ladders. Half naked residents lounged precariously on these makeshift walkways, or sat in their windows, or on the rooftops. There were thousands, it seemed, way more than could comfortably fit in those buildings. The children waved as the trolley approached and then barely scraped through.

There was some bell ringing and some shouting. Griff tried to make out what was happening at the front but he couldn't quite see. The trolley slowed, nearly to a stop.

"What's happening?" Griff asked, "should we be worried?" Parker shook his head.

"It's just some kids playing on the tracks."

"Always, always the children are playing," said the burly man, "no need to be afraid." A man with a mustache chimed in,

"Your first time in Dar-Ness?" Griff resisted the urge to cover his face. He hated talking to random strangers, especially after they'd embarrassingly rescued him from his weak arms.

"Who me?"

"Yes I am talking to you!"

"Then yes, it's my first time."

"Oh fun!" said a young woman Griff had not previously noticed. "Welcome to our city!"

"Where do you come from?" It was the mustached man.

"Who me?" Griff repeated, mindlessly. Parker stepped in.

"He's from Alabin Territory. Weird customs. Go easy on him, it's his first time out of the wilderness."

"A mountain boy!" said the woman. "How romantic! Is this what they wear in the mountains?" She eyed Griff's baggy, perspirated T-shirt.

Thankfully Griff was spared any more small talk as the trolley burst into what could only be the Bazaar. The moment they cleared the apartments, they were drowned in noise and color. Pots clanging, vendors hawking, the smell of grease and fish and perfumes. The trolley was swarmed on both sides by merchants, waving their wares in front of them. Some kind of tassel caught Griff in the eye as a little boy climbed up the side of the car with an armful of dresses. He barked around in a couple different languages before Griff understood him.

“You have a girlfriend?” Parker tugged on Griff’s collar.

“Ignore him, we’re getting off—don’t—“ It was too late. The boy had offered Griff the hilt of his wooden blade and, not knowing what else to do, Griff had taken it. “Great now you’ve engaged him.”

“Sister? Hot mama? Look at these dresses. Lucky girl, right?  Best quality. And for you? Half off.”

“How about 75 percent?” Said Griff.

“Huh?” Said the boy.

“I don’t have any money,” said Griff. It was true. Plus Parker was dragging him away. “Here. You probably need this back.” He tossed the dagger and the boy caught it with his free hand. But he wasn’t giving up.

“Look I can do a dance!” And he did. There was a lot of cool footwork involved and some rhythmic hip movements. Griff gave him a thumbs up as they got off the trolley. It was still moving, but barely. The driver at the front was ringing the bell madly as the trolley cars disappeared under its new human cladding. Through the swarm, Griff spotted the little girl who had pulled his hair. Her grandma had bought her some sort of golden fried snack and she munched on it as she waved goodbye to him.

As it turns out, they weren’t even in the main part of the Bazaar yet. The real thing was inside this massive, gorgeous building, made with this wonderful array of pastel stone blocks: mostly the same dusty yellow that a lot of the city seemed to be made of, but with accents of pink, green, and purple. And there were these incredible clocks mounted above every great big arch leading in and out of the structure, each one slightly different than the others. It seemed like they had names, too, engraved beneath them, though Griff couldn’t read the script they were written in.

Griff didn’t see much else. There were more venders here, of course, rows of fish and fruit stalls, clothing, jewelry, everything you’d expect from a market like this. Griff might have even liked to take a look at some of them, maybe try some of those gigantic meatballs served waffle cones, but most of his energy was spent trying to keep close to Parker and keep his head above the sea of people bumping him back and forth across the insufficiently wide pathways. How this was a shortcut, Griff couldn’t possibly imagine, but Parker seemed like he knew where he was going, so on they went, till they finally reached an arch so big it was basically just the absence of a wall. They stepped back into the blazing sun.

There was an irregularly shaped open area here, with an ornate fountain in the center. It had a roof over it, which is something Griff hadn’t seen before, a copper roof that had turned Statue of Liberty green with time. And under that roof the fountain was partially caged in by a thin, patterned gold lattice. People were entering this little gazebo thing in groups of two to four—families, couples, friends sometimes—and what were they doing?

“Wait here a second,” said Parker, “I forgot something.” He disappeared. Griff nodded absently. And then, slowly, he walked towards the center of the square, until he could see through the latticework.

A mother, a father, and a young daughter—couldn’t have been older than 2 or 3– approached the fountain. The father kneeled down beside her and took both her hands into his, spoke to her. Then gently, tenderly, the father held the girl’s hands out under the running water of the fountain, rubbing them, scraping under her tiny little fingernails.  The mother knelt down, too, and took out a little metal bowl from her bag. She filled it and then dipped her fingers in. Then she flicked some in the little girl’s face and they all laughed. They were speaking another language, but Griff filled in their dialogue on his own. Come on, the mother seemed to say, it’s not so bad. Have a little fun with it. She smiled and demonstrated on the father, splashing his face and wiping it down, then doing the same for each of his ears. Try me now, said the mother, go on. She handed the bowl to her daughter, who hesitated before reaching in and then just tentatively placing a wet hand on her mother’s cheek. They smiled at each other. Griff touched his face.

“Trust not the eyes nor ears to know,” boomed a familiar voice beside him, “nor hands to harm, release, nor hold.”

“Lordy, Adrien Sir. You scared me.” Griff had jumped a little.

“Just Lord Adrien,” said Lord Adrien. He was looking a little more low key now, as far as Griff could tell, with a simple cotton shawl concealing his breastplate.

“Sorry, you were saying?”

“Just a little aphorism the Darumels like to say to accompany their ablutions.” There was a couple words there Griff had trouble processing.

“Darumels?”

“The good people of Dar Nes Emal.”

“Ah. Ablutions?” Adrien motioned at the scene in front of them.

“It’s...” Griff trailed off.

“Mysterious,” declared Adrien.

“No, that’s not...quite the word I was looking for.”

“It’s a very old ritual,” said Adrien, “and its meaning is rather ambiguous. Lost to time, perhaps. Or if you believe a certain story, it was never meant to mean anything at all.”

“You’ve hooked me,” said Griff, “what’s the story?”

“Good of you to ask, Griffin. So it goes that back in the second age, the Prince-Mages of Maslan had earmarked certain funds for the ‘moral development’ of Dar-Ness. Now they say the Darumels have had many rulers, but never any rules. So they played a little trick, used the money to replace all their plumbing and put fountains on every street corner. Said their religion required ritual cleansings. A religion that, of course, had not existed until someone thought to ask what had become of the moral development fund.”

“I think I like this place,” said Griff.

“It’s just a story. Who knows how true it is.”

“It’s a great story and I buy it. How did you find me by the way? I think Parker’s gone shopping.”

“Ms. Pharaoh was concerned you were running behind so I offered to come look for you. This is the route we suggested you take.”

“Well I’m here.”

“You certainly are.”

“And how.”

“Quite,” said Adrien. “Now, Jordan’s boy. Do you think he’ll be long?”

And as if summoned, Parker appeared beside them, visibly flushed and out of breath.

“Here.” Parker handed Griff a little wooden kiddy knife. “Lord Adrien.” He bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment. “And we have to get out of here. Now.”