The caged lift was reasonably peaceful, that is, for a metal box being lowered by a copper cable down the side of a colossal elephant. Diya gazed out the window, watching as the sun set over the ruined cities and valleys so far below, they hardly resembled a deadly and forbidden wasteland from up above the clouds. From so high up, the constant movement of the mountain-sized elephant they lived atop was hardly noticeable; though over time the way the landscape below shifted was a reminder that their home was in a constant state of motion.
Watching the warm spears of light leak through the clouds, she found herself missing Shikra.
Rocs were forbidden in the Ribcage. The Apiarist’s Guild and the Refinery Workers Union saw to that a decade or so back. Apparently, the beautiful birds proved problematic for the beekeepers in two ways: first, the flapping of wings proved disruptive to pollination rituals, and second, they occasionally carried a species of mites that could be destructive to the beehives.
The Refinery Workers Union’s reasoning was far less scientific in nature. Peacock Prisha had led the Union long before she ever held a seat on The Council of the Ebon Tusk. As it turns out, rocs had once been a direct competitor to airships for transportation. The refineries in the Ribcage supplied all of the fuel for the airships and were a primary source of power for all Ghanesha.
Naturally, Prisha did her best to steer township policy against the birds whenever she could.
Diya thought on it, and pondered if that was the main reason, she had always disliked the councilwoman.
Maybe not the main reason, but certainly on my long list of reasons. She thought, with a chuckle.
“What are you laughing at over there?” Rohan asked with a dumb smirk.
The gruff words snapped Diya out of her thoughts, and she looked up at him. “Eh, just thinking how I miss Shikra already…”
“Yeah, I miss Kiran too. But I bet they’re enjoying the break. After all, we had been riding them fairly hard the past month or so.”
“It was tough, but necessary.” Diya said. “We don’t have half as many riders as we need to keep Ghanesha safe.”
“Less and less recruits each year it seems.”
Diya’s eyes narrowed. “People like Prisha are doing everything they can to make roc riders a thing of the past.”
“It’s a damn shame.” Rohan grumbled. “Soaring above the clouds with our feathered friends is our people’s legacy. My father was a rider, as was his, and even his before him.”
“As long as I draw breath, the tradition will live.”
“Agreed.”
Rohan attempted to rub the sleepiness from his tired eyes and Diya glanced back out at the horizon. Fresh air filling her lungs—something unfortunately absent in Blacklung Bend—she considered why she didn’t visit the Ribcage more often.
The lift descended another few hundred yards then came to a crashing halt, that was when she remembered exactly why she preferred not to visit.
As anyone who has ever smelled something horrific can attest, a truly rotten stench seems to crawl beyond the nostrils and burrow somewhere deep in the lungs. Diya coughed, eyes watering and covered her nose with her hands. The scent was somewhere between a festering wound and rotten eggs, and it was an appallingly offensive odor.
Rohan wore a disgusted expression that vaguely resembled his face when he had seen Zoralia’s unclothed form. He hurriedly wrapped an orange and teal patterned shawl around Diya’s face and a wave of relief washed over her. The stench was not entirely gone, but it was at least bearable. She sniffed a few times in rapid succession and breathed in the sweet scent of lime.
Looking over at her with his own face now masked by an umber brown and black shawl, Rohan’s eyes grinned. “I put lime wedges in the folds of the shawls.”
“I take back all the bad things I’ve ever said about you.”
His bushy brow cocked, “what bad thing could anyone possibly have to say about me?”
They shared a laugh as Diya scanned their surroundings.
All around them was a labyrinth of scaffolding and ramshackle structures built into the rough hide of the elephant. The last spears of golden light poked through the cracks of the buildings while cables and support beams jutted out in every direction with no apparent rhyme or reason. It was insane to think that the entire Ribcage sector of Township Ghanesha was built into the side of the ancient elephant.
Yet it was.
As a result, the Ribcage was made up of a series of streets stacked atop each other; this architectural style, if it could be called as much, was necessitated by the need for the structures to be anchored into the gigantic creature’s hide. It was a place built around the various industries, with the sole purpose of separating the laborers who worked there from their hard-earned wages.
Directly across from the lift leaned a long building with a rusty corrugated iron face, upon it a patinaed copper door like a gaping maw, and round barred windows like tired eyes. A large sign hung above the door that read, “The Silver Lining.”
Diya pointed to it, and Rohan dipped his head in agreement. Both were more than eager to get off the street and away from the stench haunting the air.
The exterior of the building was plastered with posters for Prisha’s refineries that said things like, “Where Industry & Nature Thrive Together”, “We Honor the One That Fuels Us”, and “Nature & Industry: Perfect Chemistry”.
The overwhelming rotten egg smell had Diya questioning whether or not the chemistry was in fact perfect.
Upon opening the heavy door and stepping down a short flight of uneven stairs the syrupy tang of spiced molasses from a dozen overworked hookahs washed over them. Normally Diya wasn’t a big fan of the too sweet scent of burnt waterpipe tobacco, but given the situation outside, almost any fragrance would’ve been a welcome escape.
Lit coals glowed in ornate braziers and glass bowls. Lanterns swayed from rusted chains above, casting blood-orange hued light through serpentine layers of smoke.
It was loud. Not just music—though the upbeat thumping of drums and snaking whine of flutes filled the place—but conversation, laughter, shouts over a lucky hand of dice, and the sharp bark of a dealer calling out bets. Everything echoed in the cramped, sunken space, as if the walls themselves were drunk and desperate to speak of the mischievous things they had seen.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
They moved to the bar, pulled down their face coverings, and ordered two shots of cheap gin.
Just because we’re here for work, doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy ourselves a bit. She thought, justifying her small indulgence to herself. After all, the past months have been taxing.
Rohan brushed his long black hair back and offered her a subtle smirk that made his thoughts clear on consenting to a bit of indulgence despite technically being on the clock. They clanked their shot glasses and threw back the bitter liquor.
Diya leaned in close and spoke into Rohan’s ear. The closeness was necessitated by the noise, and there was nothing about Rohan that she found even vaguely attractive, but something about the aura of the place gave her an unfamiliar, yet welcome confidence. Perhaps it was the gin, but she felt good. “Let’s split up and see who can find the juiciest info from the locals.” Her devilish grin made it all too clear how over-competitive she had a tendency to get. “Loser buys winners next drink?”
Rohan’s sly smirk blossomed into a wide grin that confirmed his approval of the game. Just like that the two split up, moving through the club, scanning the crowd for interesting characters. The game was on.
The first woman Diya approached wore an oil-stained refinery overcoat and her eyelids looked heavy as barrels of blackblood—the fuel refined from the blood of the great elephant. It was difficult for Diya to discern if the woman was just awfully tired, or if she was under the influence of some potent combination of substances.
That mystery was solved all too suddenly when Diya introduced herself, and in response the woman projectile vomited, nearly spewing all over Diya’s boots.
Alright. Not a terrific start.
Next, she sauntered over to a lanky man in a refinery coat who sipped a comically oversized mug of ale. He was leering at the belly dancers with a level of interest that pushed well past desperate and straight into creepy. Diya’s eyes traced the soft curves of the dancers, with far less desperation and creepiness without a doubt, but she felt her cheeks flush. Suddenly nervous, she shifted her focus back to her mark.
The man wore fingerless gloves, a detail that would likely have been uninteresting, if not for the fact that he was missing both his pointer and middle finger on his right hand.
“You lose those working at one of Prisha’s refineries?” Diya asked.
The man paid her no mind, just took a swig of his brew and scoffed at her. “Screw off, I’m busy.”
Probably not the best icebreaker in hindsight. Diya thought.
He didn’t so much as glance at her, just fidgeted nervously with his hands. If there was one thing that always made Diya suspicious, it was people who messed with their hands too much. Though it was irrational, in her mind fidgeting meant guilt.
“Well, that’s no way to talk to an Air Force Captain, now, is it?” She asked trying a different route.
That reply earned her a sour side eye. “Your birds not here to do your dirty work, girl. I said I’m busy.”
“You don’t truly think I need my roc to deal with an old lug like you?”
Diya growled, eyes burning holes in him like hot coals. “Now, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way. I just need to know the word on the streets down here and I’ll be on my way.”
He looked her up and down and decided to take the path of least resistance. “You’ve got two questions, then I’m going to take a wee.”
Diya’s face twisted into a look of disgust. Not the info I was looking for, but here we go.
“Word is members of the syndicate have been operating secretly out of the Ribcage. What do you know?”
The man looked around nervously, then leaned in whispering in her ear. His breath smelled like a mix of advanced tooth decay and sour milk. “I steer far away from anything related to the Crimson Mast. But I have heard rumors that they’re working with someone on The Council.”
Diya tried to play it cool, but her eyes bulged at the mention of The Council. “Peacock Prisha?”
“You think I’m connected enough to know that sort of info? I just work in the refinery and mind my own business. Doing otherwise is a sure way to end up tossed off the side of the Ribcage.”
“Where can I find these syndicate agents?” Diya asked.
“I already told you. Two questions. Now I got to take a piss before I mess myself.” At that he drained his mug and slammed it down on a table, then retreated towards the washroom.
Diya had no idea how much weight could be put into this man’s words, but it was a start.
She was leaning against a railing covered in names, swear words, and other nonsense when a striking woman wearing a white lace mask appeared out of the crowd and glided over to her. She wore an oversized cloak that drooped over her slim frame.
“Captain Diya?” She asked.
Diya’s head cocked ever so slightly. “Do we know each other?”
“My name is Tamsin, you don’t know me, but I know of you.”
Diya noticed that the woman had intricate black tattoos subtly peeking out of her sleeves. They seemed familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. “And how do you know of me?”
“You rescued one of my coven.” Tamsin whispered. “Zoralia Tyr.”
“You’re a member of the Hollow Heart Coven? Are there more of you here in Ghanesha?” Diya asked.
“No. Listen, you have no idea what she’s capable of. She cannot be trusted, you need to be very careful when dealing with her.”
“Zoralia?” Diya sighed. “Are we thinking of the same frail old lady? She has been nothing but kind and helpful. I think you must be mistaken.”
Lace mask shimmering in the dim haze, Tamsin leaned in close before humming softly, as if she were considering something. “Heterochromia?”
“Beg your pardon?”
“Your eyes,” she said. “One brown, and one green. It’s quite rare.”
Diya blinked, suddenly self-conscious. Memories came flooding back to her. Kids were instinctively cruel, all throughout school they had bullied her relentlessly about her eyes. Called her a demon. She had learned to be as comfortable in her own skin as one could be, but the comment caught her off-guard.
“I’ve never met another with the same condition here in Ghanesha.” Diya stated.
“Mesmerizing. I’ve never encountered it in person. It’s…remarkable.”
Her eyebrow arched, Diya had never known anyone to speak of what she considered a blemish in such a positive way. “Thanks?” She muttered.
Tamsin glanced around nervously, suddenly concerned about their surroundings. “It’s not safe to talk about this here. Meet me at the cafe across from the Blackridge Refinery tomorrow at sunrise?”
Diya shook her head looking around to see what Tamsin might be so nervous about. “Nonsense, just tell me what you know.”
But when Diya looked back, Tamsin had vanished without a trace. Making a few loops around the place proved pointless, the alleged witch of the Hollow Heart Coven was gone.
When Rohan bumped into her, Diya was eager to share what she had learned. Gathering information from strangers was apparently not her friend’s strong suit. Rohan had failed to gather any relevant information, unless one valued knowing where to find the best potato curry in the Ribcage.
After he had made up for his investigative inferiority by grabbing the next round of drinks, she caught him up to speed.
“So what do you think, sounds like all the evidence is pointing towards Prisha?” Diya finished.
Rohan wiped the sweat from his brow and hummed. “We just don’t know enough yet. What if it was Arjun?”
“Why would Arjun let us loose to investigate when he had us right in the palm of his hand back at the bath house?” Diya asked, thinking out loud. “Prisha had a letter from the syndicate.”
He shook his head softly, long locks of wavy black hair falling in his face. “I don’t know. The letter could have meant anything.”
“Why can’t you see what’s right in front of your face?” Diya growled, louder and sharper than she had intended.
“No, you can’t see what’s in front of your face, Diya.” Rohan said. “That mysterious woman might be credible or maybe she isn’t, but how do we know we can trust Zoralia?”
Diya’s eyes widened and her jaw clenched. “We saved her life! Since then, she’s done nothing but do her best to help us. I don’t understand why you must always see the worst in people”
“Is that what you really think of me?”
“Well…that didn’t come out like I meant—”
“You may think I’m overly cynical. But that’s the way I’ve managed to live so long in this brutal place.” Rohan said, pointing at the seedy night club. “My old man was best friends with yours. I feel some sick obligation to him to keep you safe. And sometimes you are just too damn trusting.”
Diya drained her shot glass and sighed. “I think that masked woman was full of it. Gorgeous, sure, but batshit crazy. That said, if it’ll put a nail in your suspicions we can meet with her in the morning.”
The mood lightened and a grin returned to his face. “Thank you. I just want to be thorough in our investigation; and that means considering all leads.”
“Fine, but how about we leave that problem for tomorrow. For right now, let’s get another round and blow off some steam. I’m going to try to work up the nerve to hit on the belly dancers.”
