The Floating City

by Craig Cormick

  Romeo felt a constricting around his heart as they came closer to the city. He remembered the last time he and Giulietta had been together there. And he felt tears unexpectedly stinging his eyes, and raised a hand to wipe them away, searching for his anger again. Anger kept a man strong, he thought.

  “Nearly there,” the boatman whispered after some moments.

  “What of the city guard?” Romeo asked.

  The boatman chuckled a little. “No. We’re past the worst danger now. Those fools walk around with lanterns aloft. They might as well be singing and playing drums.”

  The boatman rowed them right up to the island of the city where Romeo had asked to be taken, and found a set of stone stairs leading into the water. “May good fortune be with you, friar, whatever your quest,” the boatman said. Then Romeo was standing once more in the city of his birth, from where he had been banished upon pain of death, and the boatman was drawing away into the darkness.

  Romeo lowered his head and set off determinedly. He was on the Isle of Mourning.

  LXXX

  ELSEWHERE IN THE FLOATING CITY

  The Djinn-slayer stood in the centre of the low darkened room and watched the way the flame in the centre danced. It did not seem to have anything to feed on. He turned his head away; it was a minor trick and not worthy of his attention. He was dressed in black leather with silver rings woven through it, and his beard was plaited into two tails, with more silver set in it. His eyes were ringed with black kohl and his long hair tied back by a dark leather headband. He looked around the room once more and then turned as a door opened. Two sets of Seers walked in and took their seats. That confused him for a moment.

  The Summer Seers, garbed in gold and blue, met his gaze intently, while the other pair, the Spring Seers, kept their gaze averted. He peered closely at them and saw the shape of their hands and the outline of their bodies. It really was them! Not dead! This was not a minor trick, and he would need to concentrate all his defences.

  “I am glad to see you are all well,” the Djinn-slayer said, and bowed low with a flourish. “There were rumours of – well – trouble.”

  “There are always rumours of trouble,” said the male Summer Seer.

  “Of course,” said the Djinn-slayer. “These are troubled times and what else should they bring but rumours of trouble?”

  The female Summer Seer gave a short nod, of sorts, clearly not in the mood for small talk. “We have summoned you here to demand an explanation,” she said.

  “I am a servant of the city, and as such am a servant to you too,” he said and bowed low again.

  None of the four Seers responded. He spun around to look at the Spring Seers who sat on the other side of him. The female looked up at him quickly and then dropped her eyes again. The Djinn-slayer was feeling uneasy about this. He turned back again to the Summer Seers, letting his gaze dwell on the empty seats about them as he did so. “What would you like me to explain?” he asked.

  “You were charged with ridding the city of Djinn, and yet there was an attack by a Djinn. The largest we have ever seen in the city.” The female Summer Seer’s eyes were full of anger. Good, he thought, emotion will make them weaker.

  “I did slay a Djinn, and sent others away from the city,” he said. “The Othmen have clearly sent new Djinn to our waters.”

  “Our waters?” the male Summer Seer asked.

  The Djinn-slayer bowed low again. “I do not wish to cause offence, of course.” He turned to the Spring Seers, but still they did not meet his gaze. That troubled him. There was more going on here than was apparent, he knew.

  He turned back to the Summer Seers. “Let me state that again with more diplomacy. The Othmen have clearly sent new Djinn to the waters of the city. I was perhaps errant in not being able to detect them earlier.”

  “Do you have the ability to know when a Djinn is present?” the male Summer Seer demanded, leaning forward in his seat a little.

  “Most assuredly,” said the Djinn-slayer. “I can tell how close a Djinn is and also how dangerous it is.”

  He watched the way the two Seers squeezed each other’s hand quickly, the glow around them increasing a little.

  “We charge you with negligence in your work then,” the female Summer Seer said. “If you had been able to warn us of this latest Djinn, then–”

  “Yes?”

  She did not finish the sentence. The male Seer’s eyes darted quickly to the two Seers behind him and then looked away. The Djinn-slayer turned around slowly and regarded the two Seers behind him. They refused to look up at him.

  “Rumour has it you were slain by this Djinn,” he said, stepping across to them slowly.

  “Never mind what rumours say,” said the female Summer Seer. “We want you to answer to this accusation.” But he did not turn back to her. He kept his eyes on the Spring Seers. Until the male lifted his head quickly and then the Djinn-slayer saw the fear in his eyes. Saw who he really was.

  He spun back to the Summer Seers and said, “Yes. But I must warn you, I feel a Djinn is very near now and you are in great peril.” He watched the way they looked at each other and then back at him.

  “Where? In the canal outside?” asked the male Summer Seer.

  “Ah,” said the Djinn-slayer, “That is the thing about Djinn. Many of them are water creatures, but there are some that are land creatures too. As there are some that can change their shape.”

  “What do you mean?” asked the female Summer Seer, but the Djinn-slayer did not need to explain. His body had already started to grow. His chest was swelling, bursting the leather and silver rings from him, and horns were starting to emerge from his head.

  All four Seers watched in horror as the Djinn-slayer transformed in front of them. His legs grew into a large snake-like tail, made of swirling cloud and smoke and he held his arms out wide, thick and muscled, as long knife-like talons grew on the ends of them. He growled a low deep rumble that filled the chamber and echoed about him.

  The Summer Seers started an incantation and without even turning his eyes from them, the Djinn-slayer swung one of his long arms behind him and disembowelled the two children in those old bodies who had been sitting there, dutifully fulfilling their roles.

  The Djinn-slayer then moved towards the two Summer Seers and said, “The era of Seers is ended.”

  “Not yet,” said a voice from his side and a silver arrow struck the Djinn in the face. He growled and spun to see a hooded man step out of the darkness.

  “You!” said the Djinn-slayer.

  “You!” said the female Summer Seer.

  “Yes, me,” said the Shadow Master and leapt onto one of the empty chairs and then flipped in the air over the clawing arm that grasped for him and landed in front of the Djinn, driving a short blade into its torso and carving at his face with another, cutting into one eye. The Djinn screamed and tried to grab him, but he was already moving and was around behind it, driving his blade into its back. The Djinn screamed again, a terrible sound like a beast in great torment and it spun to try and catch him. But again he had already moved and was now behind the chairs where the slain couple were and he raised his hand and fired another arrow from a crossbow on his wrist. The bolt struck the Djinn in the other eye and he bellowed and threw his hands to his head to protect it.

  But his tail, one instant a swirl of smoke, was suddenly solid and it snaked around behind the Shadow Master and caught him, flinging him to the ground. He rolled to avoid it coming down on him, as the Djinn searched for him.

  “Quickly, while it’s injured,” said the female Summer Seer trying to conjure up an enchantment to bind it, but the Djinn spun towards her voice and reached out one long arm. The talons struck deep into her stomach. She gave a sigh and fell forward. Her husband, still holding her hand, ducked low as the other arm sought for him.

  But now the Shadow Master was on his feet again and he called to the Djinn. “You missed.” The blinded creature spun back towards him, a growl of rage filli
ng the chamber. The Shadow Master cut at the arm that reached for him and leapt over the thrashing tail. But the other arm snagged his cloak and threw him off balance.

  The Djinn heard the Shadow Master strike the floor and sprang towards him.

  “Now,” called the Shadow Master and the Djinn faltered in its attack, its blinded face spinning back and forward, trying to hear if there was another assailant.

  “Prepare to die, monster,” said Vincenzo the scribe, stepping into the flickering firelight. He held a sword a little awkwardly in his hands, cutting the air in circles in front of him.

  “Can that be the voice of fear I hear?” said the Djinn, tilting its head a little, blood running from its ruined eyes.

  “Yes,” said Vincenzo. “It is the voice of a man who is afraid and who is not familiar with wielding weapons, but it also the man who has already slain you.”

  “And how could that be?” asked the Djinn in its deep voice, moving quickly across to where Vincenzo stood, its arms spread out to cut him to pieces.

  “For I have already written your death,” Vincenzo said.

  The few sentences were all the distraction that the Shadow Master had needed. He was suddenly standing behind the Djinn with a deadly curved sword raised in both hands. He brought it down with a slight grunt, and the Djinn’s head fell from its body.

  Vincenzo watched in horror as the headless torso and tail lashed around before finally ceasing. There was deep dark blood running across the floor from the beast’s body that stank horribly.

  “Oh,” said Vincenzo. “I wrote that he turned back into a man.”

  “Maybe the next one,” said the Shadow Master, who was already beside the Seers, looking at the deep wounds in the female’s stomach. Her partner held her hand tightly and had his other hand pressed to her abdomen, keeping her alive. Keeping himself alive too.

  “That wasn’t meant to happen,” the Shadow Master said.

  “Is she going to die?” Vincenzo asked.

  “Not quite yet,” said the Shadow Master. “We cannot allow it if we are to stop the city from sinking beneath the waters.”

  LXXXI

  THE STORY OF GIULIETTA

  Romeo drew his dagger and bracing his arm drove it quickly into the place he was aiming. It went in smoothly. Then he twisted it, first to one side and then to the other. Nothing happened. He drew it out again and looked at the chain. He would need to find a weaker link. He searched up and down the chain by moonlight and found what looked like a link that was not so well sealed. He drove his dagger into the link and braced himself to twist.

  He had found the Montecchi tomb easily enough, and had stood at the gates to the crypt and looked in. There were candles burning which he knew meant somebody had been in there recently. But perhaps it was just to tidy the place up, he told himself. Surely the family paid somebody to come and light candles each evening.

  He had shaken the bars and found they were solid and then spied the chain holding the gates shut. A part of him had wanted to call out to Giulietta and ask her if she was in there. But it was absurd, of course, for if she was in there she would not be able to answer him, and if she was able to answer him she would not be in there. He was not thinking straight. He looked down and saw his hands were trembling. All his fears had come to this moment and they were filling his whole body with their torments.

  He was afraid to open the tomb, yet he was more afraid not to. He had to know if the stories of his beloved’s death were just malicious falsehoods spread by her family to lure him back to the city to avenge Tebaldo w death. As he suspected. But they presumed he would go to the Montecchi palazzo to find the truth. Who, after all, would try and break into a tomb?

  “Romeo Cappalletti, that’s who,” he said as he twisted the chain fiercely. But it showed no more sign of breaking than the previous link had. He twisted harder, and mumbled Giulietta’s name, recalling the last time they had touched, on her balcony, and how it had filled him with lightness and strength and a sense of wonderment. And the link suddenly parted. The knife cut through the metal as if it was old rope and the chain fell away and the gates opened. He did not notice though, so eager was he to step into the crypt and disprove his worst fears.

  He took a step into the tomb and immediately felt the temperature drop about him, bringing goosebumps to his skin. He put away his dagger and rubbed his hands together. A chill fog formed in front of his mouth, filling the whole tomb it seemed, like a winter’s fog off the canals.

  He paid it no heed though for he could feel his heart suddenly beating like a war drum as he walked towards the light of the candles ahead, each a yellow glow in the mist-filled tomb. A few more steps and he could make out the figure of a young woman, dressed in white, laid out in an open coffin, as was the custom of the Floating City with the newly deceased.

  “Oh no,” he said, and felt the chill of the tomb enter his blood. His legs began shaking as he took another step forward. “It cannot be,” he said. “It cannot be true. If she was dead I would surely know it in my heart and I know that we are going to be together. I can feel it.” His words echoed about him, as if he was not alone, and that gave him some small comfort. “I can feel it,” he repeated.

  Two more steps and he could see her face and his legs stopped shaking. One more step and he was certain. It was Giulietta’s sister Disdemona. He felt a wave of relief flow through him. “Somebody has got the story confused,” he said to the dead woman in front of him. “Somebody has mistaken you for your fair sister.” He stepped up close to the coffin and said, “I am sorry to find you dead like this, but it is a sorrow tempered by happiness.” He looked at her face and saw it was battered as if she had died violently, even though makeup had been applied to hide the fact. “I will say a prayer over you,” he said, “and then depart, sorry that I never knew you better.”

  He lowered his head and mumbled a few words of prayer, thinking how the poets would write an epic poem about this episode one day, telling the story of how his bravery was rewarded by discovering it was not his beloved who had died. Then he turned to leave. And he saw the other woman in the side alcove. Also surrounded by candles. He closed his eyes a moment and then reopened them. Surely he was hallucinating. How could there be another woman in the tomb? Or was this some reflection of the light playing tricks on his eyes. He looked back to Disdemona’s body and then to the other. No, it was another.

  “Oh surely not,” he pleaded. “It is too cruel.” And he tried to walk across to the alcove to look into the coffin. But his feet would not obey him. They had not strength, as if they knew already what his mind was not willing to know. “It is not her, it is not her, it is not her,” he began chanting, as if saying it aloud might make it so. But in two more hesitant steps he could no longer deceive himself. It was his beloved Giulietta. His betrothed. His everything.

  His head spun and he had to grasp the sides of the coffin to hold himself up. “No!” he called aloud, the sound echoing around his head like blows being struck upon him. He leaned forward to touch her, but found he could not. As if some force was keeping him away. “Giulietta, my sweet,” he said. She looked so alive. So unblemished. So unlike the empty look of death on her sister’s face. And then he started weeping, large wet tears that fell to the ground about his feet, pooling together and winding all around the coffin until they encircled it.

  He did not even see them as he struggled to reach out and embrace her, but then decided he knew why he could not. “It is because I am still in this earthly realm,” he said. And then he drew his dagger. “So I shall join you there. We shall not be separated by a thing as meagre as death.” He stepped closer and looked down at her lovely face and started weeping again. Then he thrust the blade deep into his heart, as if the force of the blow might somehow cut out the pain he felt there, and he fell onto the coffin, his tears and blood running across his beloved, moving over her body and seeking out her eyes and mouth. His last conscious act was to press his lips to hers and think how wondro
us the poems would be that the poets would write of this moment.

  LXXXII

  THE STORY OF DISDEMONA

  “Do you know who I am?” the elderly woman asked Captain Casio as he woke to find her sitting by his bed.

  He nodded his head. “You are Signora Montecchi,” he said. “Disdemona’s mother.”

  “Yes. Disdemona’s mother,” she said. The captain’s once neat small black beard looked grizzled and unkempt and his eyes were blood-filled and glazed. “They say you are dying,” she said.

  He pointed down to his missing leg under the bedsheets. “The knife I was struck with was poisoned. They cut off my leg, and cauterized my arm, but the infection had already spread too far.”

  “I am sorry to hear it,” she said. “You were a good friend to my daughter.”

  “I was charged with looking after her,” he said.

  “And you have been most ill used as a result,” Signora Montecchi said.

  He nodded his head.

  “The real poison was the ensign,” she said. “He was the one who stabbed you.”

  “He came to me afterwards and told me it was Otello who had ordered it done. Told me many evil things about him that I could scarce believe.”

  She lifted her shoulders and then dropped them again. “He was the one who told the Moor that you and Disdemona were familiar with each other.”

  The captain struggled to sit up and placed his hand over his heart. “I swear it is not true.”

  “I know it is not true,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder and pressing him back to the bed. “The ensign has confessed to everything. He poisoned the Moor’s mind, he attacked you, and he even tried to assassinate the Duca.”

  The captain fumed. “If I could rise from this bed I would seek him out and slay him.”