The Being shrieks.

Before them lays piles of children’s bodies, strewn around the cavernous room, twisted in sickening positions. Still stuck in their horrified expressions. One child, tiny and starved, is gripping his neck as if he was trying to choke himself. Beside him is two little girls curled together in the fetal position. Dozens of them hang limply from rusty meat hooks attached to the walls. The rest are intertwined around each other like a rat king. But that is not what first frightened the Being for, in the room’s back, towering over them, a demonic figure stands.

Tall as the ceiling and swollen with waves of fat that rolls around its stomach like a blubber-heavy walrus. It stumbles from its crouched over position. It spots the two of them standing outside the door and bolts, bent forward like an injured dog. It has no eyes, no nose, no ears. Just a toothless mouth opened wide in a silent scream.

The Being jumps behind the little lady as the monster tears its way across the room.

It lunged, grotesque face first, down at them. So ready to swallow them both whole and crush their bones. Ready to tear the paper Being to pieces and spill their blood. Ready—

Lenore lurches forward. Thrusting her knife hard and sure into its open mouth just as ready to stab through its slimy skinned head, the tip of the knife almost—

She stops. Another shriek, loud and shrill makes Lenore’s ears ring.

“The best way to frighten someone is to be fearless yourself. Never break character.” She states. Her speech is quicker, lazy with her vowels in a way very unlike her usual self. She’s putting on an accent. “Also, a believable costume wouldn’t hurt. I can see the stitching.”

The monster falls onto its rear. Its skin goes baggy as four children scramble their way out of the costume. The rest of them rise from the ground and jump off the plastic hooks. You could practically smell the disappointment.

Lenore laughs at them. The sound of her giggles is so perfectly arrogant that the Being almost couldn’t tell that it was fake.

“Come out from behind me. Cap touching the ground and standing tall.” Lenore hisses to the Being, who is still trembling with nerves behind her. It quickly obeys.

Who are they?

“Shh... I will explain everything later.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” One of the kids from the costume stands up, puffing out his chest like a baby gorilla. Young as he is, he still stands taller than Lenore in a skinny, unhealthy sort of way. If she were to guess, she’d say he is probably around sixteen or seventeen years old. “How’d you find us and what do you want? We’re twenty to one so don’t try nothing.”

The kids glare as they packed up the monster costume. They’re twitchy, just waiting for a fight to break out. The boy whistles sharply, telling them to hold back. For now.

“You need to brush up on your stealth. My thug saw you from a mile away.” Lenore says, arms crossed over her chest. “As for what I want from you, I’m looking for you to pay back a few of those favors you owe my people.”

These are the homeless, parentless kids who stalk the streets like wild little animals. Quin city calls them ‘The Raccoons’. A slang term for kids who rifle through your trash, pilfering whatever they can get their bony little claws on. They wear their dusty pauper's clothes with childish pride. Although to this city, they are no longer children. In the last few years, they’ve banded together into a gaze. They are cheap labour at best and filthy pests at worst. Wild and feral as some of them are, people still pay them to do things such as transport goods, clean, or spy. It’s much cheaper than hiring an adult to do the same job.

This little hole in the wall is their nursery. Their den.

“Ha! ‘Your people’?” The boy smirks. He’s missing his right front tooth. “The Raccoons don't just owe people favours, sweetheart. If you want something from the raccoons, make an appointment like the rest of our clients.”

The children behind him whistle excitedly. They’ve climbed up the ledge of a caved-in wall, using the heavy welded wires as makeshift stairs. They look down at Lenore and the Being like they kings peering down on the lowly peasants. Even animals, and even children, like to feel powerful.

“Oh, but I’m not the rest of your clients.” She reaches into her trouser pocket and pulls out a lapel pin. Gold coloured with a rouge O.A. on the front. “I think my lady is a little more important.”

The raccoons’ squint at the pin and immediately recoil. Even their leader is humbled. He gapes like a goldfish. The raccoons behind him trill and warble anxiously like a flock of baby birds. The Being gawks at them as they twitter, whistle, and chirp. Why are they whistling like that?

“The name’s Clara Janson. My friend here is… Wigmund.”

Hearing Lenore introduces them, the Being bob a curt nod under its hood. Inwardly, it cringes a little at its new name. Anything would have been better than Wigmund, in the Being’s humble opinion.

Hi! It’s nice to meet you all!

Pocketing the pin, the little lady leans forward and whispers into the boy’s ear, “He’s a simple man with not much brain. Don’t expect him to do much talking.”

She leans back, twirling her curls innocently, “Grand place you have here, definitely one of your better hideouts. No rats, ain’t that dandy!”

The boy clears his throat, “I’m--”

“Albano, right?” She cuts him off, “Dante Albano, de facto leader of the east end Raccoons. My lady has mentioned you. It is a pleasure.”

“Um, yeah, you too.” Dante chokes, “What can we do for you?”

Lenore smiles. She takes the Being’s cape in her hand, leading them into the hideout. A few of the kids go to move the dumpster in front of the opening and close the plank door. As the light is blocked out of the room, they hear a faint scurrying in the pitch black. Then a faint hum.

On the rounded metal ceiling, bundles of orange-coloured light bulbs and cheap plastic lanterns are tied together by the dozens with hard wire ropes. They flick on, banishing the shadows into the corners of the room and filling its vacant place with a glowing orange light.

“Do you have the time?” She asks, motioning for the Being to stand beside her. The raccoons surround them from all sides. If Lenore is worried, she doesn’t show it.

Dante whistles and a girl with tangled red hair wrestled under a flat cap stumbles to his side. She takes out a busted pocket watch. She shakes it a few times to make sure it was working before showing it to Dante. Then she scurries away.

“It’s 10:45 am, Miss Janson.”

“Ah, it seems we are running late, Wigmund. Oh, and Clara is fine. We’re all friends here!” Lenore says, “I hate to be a bother, but we need a ride uptown to Oscar avenue. You’ll let us use yours, right?”

The look of shock quickly covered up cautious ignorance on Dante’s face is amusing.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Cars cost a pretty penny nowadays. We travel on foot.” Dante crossed his arms defiantly.

Lenore raises an eyebrow at that. She snaps her fingers and points at a patch on the caved-in wall. “Wigmund, if you please.”

She feels the Being’s confusion but regardless it moves to where she was pointing.

She whispers in her head, “Push against the middle part of the wall.”

The Being bumbles its way through the horde of raccoons. Lenore can hear it quietly apologizing and excusing itself, yet to everyone else they are silent as a mouse but for the faint ruffle of its cape. When the Being pushes against the wall, it splits apart like a door, the brick in that area revealing itself to only be painted cardboard.

Woah... The Being staggers back, How did you--?

“The rounded ceiling of this room and the excess wiring leading to this point in the wall is not unlike what one may find at the opening of an underground train, no?” Lenore smirks, striding through the parted sea of raccoons. “Also the slight dip in the floor leading to this area is a lovely indicator not only to the frailty of the building but also how often this exact path is travelled. From the front door to a seemingly random point in this random wall.”

They jump the little lady, either circling her and the Being or block the hidden entryway. Even as they hold Lenore’s arms behind her back, swarmed like angry hornets, her expression doesn’t change. A raised eyebrow and a cheeky smirk. It’s infuriating.

“I’m only asking for a little ride. No need to get so touchy.” She teases, “Your secret’s safe with us, I’ll even pay you for the effort; go buy you and your friends some sweets.”

Dante seethes. If he could, Lenore is sure he would have ordered they be thrown into whatever dingy place these kids used for a dungeon. Subjected to whatever forms of torture these feral little creatures could come up with. Children can be cruel. But Lenore has a Theatre pin, so there was no touching her. And he knows it.

Dante whistles sharply, and the raccoons back off. He is met with groans and protests. He whistles softly and the red-headed girl with the clock, accompanied by a boy, shuffles forward. The boy is blonde with the toecaps of his shoes curled up, his dirty socks out for the entire world to see.

Dante says, “Brandy and Rowan will take you.”

Lenore smiles and teasingly says, “Thanks, sweetheart.”

The glower Dante aims at her is so very satisfying.

They are promptly released and the two raccoons approached them. The girl doesn’t look them in the eye. The boy glares, hard and angry. His dark ginger eyes are filled with a haughty fire that only the self-centeredness of a child could produce.

True to her word, Lenore flips Dante a silver coin. As she turns her back she looks over her shoulder at him before she leaves.

“Oh, and one more thing?”

She could just hear the grind of his teeth. “Yes?”

She turns away from him, her smirk dropping. In its place is a cold, calculating look that doesn’t flatter Clara’s little face.

“Last night, my lady had one of your raccoons deliver some important items to our establishment. I am afraid I did not catch his name...” She pauses. When she gets no reply, she continues, “They’re not in trouble. They did well, in fact. We were thinking of employing his services again.”

“.... I don’t know him personally.” Dante says, “They don’t stick around for too long. We sometimes see them around Felina’s.”

“No name?”

“Hayes. Something Hayes.”

Hayes.

“Perfect, thank you so very much.”

~*~

The station smells like a sewer left too long under a hot summer sun. With how waterlogged the place is, it’s no wonder why it’s so rancid. Every step they take gives off a wet slapping sound. The stairs are so steep and damp it’s practically a waterfall of sewage.

The two raccoons hardly speak but for some short instructions about the subway system and some quick question on their intended destination. The boy whistles to his companion when he thinks they aren’t listening. From what Lenore understands, he’s mostly just insulting them, mixed with complaints about having to let them on his train. Still, Lenore is impressed as she watches them ready the train. They operate the machine like experienced engineers, surprisingly knowledgeable considering their age.

The train itself is not particularly impressive. Its wooden exterior was once a beautiful oak yet now it is tingling with the green, even having little mushrooms growing between the cracks, The cushions attached to the doors and seats are torn and hard and the glass of the windows are blurry with grim. It must have been a handsome hunk of metal in its heyday.

Soon they board. Lenore and the Being are seated in one of the carriages as the train rumbles all the way to Oscar avenue.

The little lady is slumped backwards. The back of her head rests heavily against the hard green cushion of her seat, face tilted up to the broken fan. Her mask is aching. She wants so badly to rip the blasted thing off, if only she could be sure they were truly alone. The Being is also slumped, albeit forward rather than back. She’s sure it feels just as uncomfortable about its cape.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Can I ask my second question now?

The little lady’s eyes, which had just begun to sink close, flutter as she fights off sleep. The carriage is lit by a dozen little candles glued to the little table between the seats. It smells like wax and honey.

“Pardon?” She asks in her head. They’re alone for now but the two raccoons could come back here at any moment.

My second magic question. Remember, you promised to answer three of my questions with as much detail as I want?

“I am quite sure you’ve asked me plenty of questions since then.” Lenore rubs the sleep out of her mask’s brown bubbly eyes, “Certainly more than three.”

Yeah, but I didn’t say those were my magic questions, so they don't count. It’s not my fault you answered me!

Lenore supposes answering a few more questions couldn’t hurt. She has a feeling they’d be spending quite a bit of time together. Having a trusting relationship with the Being would hopefully make this easier.

“All right, but only two more questions. No cheating.” She shakes her pointer finger at the Being in mock sternness.

You got it! Its smile could make the sun jealous.

What would it ask about now? The Raccoons? That skirmish they barely escaped on Bermet? Would it surprise her again and ask about something out of the blue, like her favourite food or her birthday?

And thus the question comes, like a rock thrown through a stain glass window.

Are you a criminal?

*******************

Her skin was a unique blend of dark and light tones swirling together. Patches of paleness standing out against the prevailing caramel. Dry and chapped, her skin was peeling like an old sunburn.

Her hair was brittle and dirty, falling out in hard chunks. She looked diseased.

She was stalking me.

It was odd. Intriguing. Annoying. Everything about her was annoying.

She wouldn't leave, following close like a shadow. Turn left and she went left. Turn right and she went right. Hide and she would seek. Run and she ran faster.

After a while, I gave up. I turned around, reaching up to pull back my hood. Maybe this would finally get her to give up. Fear has that effect.

Yet when the hood fell back and my hazel meets the girl’s eggshell blue, I found not fear but wonder. An almost excitable awe.

She spoke, voice croaked and heavy, “You’re Lenore Laymon...”

I smirk in a way that looks more like a sneer,

“The villain, the criminal, the traitor. So run on home, okay, feisty? Before you get in trouble…”

********************

The candlelight creates a hooded shadow over the little lady’s eyes. The tension is enough to suffocate. Another one of Lenore’s memories, ripped right out of her mind. Shared with the Being with neither prudence nor permission. How very aggravating.

A moment passes and Lenore chuckles. It cuts right through the tension but it does not lighten it.

“And where did this idea come from, if I may ask?”

The Being shimmies its body until the hood of its cape falls off. Noticing this, Lenore sighs. She closes and locks the carriage door. The raccoons are childish but relatively reserved, particularly the ones they’re travelling with. It’s doubtful that Lenore and the Being will be disturbed. Still, she’s a paranoid person at heart and so she keeps her mask on no matter how much it irritated her skin.

Well, It curls into itself, not meeting Lenore’s eyes. The Being hypothesizes, You wear a mask all the time. I mean, I understand why I’m wearing a disguise but if you were a good person—I mean; you are a good person, at least I think so but, I mean, if you were not a criminal wouldn’t you just go outside like normal? I guess some people were wearing hoods and stuff but I could still see their faces. At least, I think that was their real faces, maybe they were wearing masks and I could tell the difference… I don't know. And when I asked about what you do as a job you said you weren't ‘welcome’ in the city. And that’s probably why you wanted to avoid everyone by going through those moldy houses. And when we took the crowded road you were all nervous, especially when that weird noise started. And you were acting all weird when you were talking to Dante. He called his friends “the Raccoons” so are they a gang or something? Are you working with a gang or are you part of a gang? Is your Theatre just a coverup for your gang so the cops don’t catch you, or something? Are you a mafia boss? You’re nice to me, and I really like you, so I don’t want to think you’re a bad person. You’re not a bad person, are you--?

Lenore holds out her hand for it to stop. It does, looking nervous and even a little guilty. She has to admit, she’s impressed by how thorough the Being had been. How observant it was.

“That was an interesting line of reasoning, kid. Very impressive.” She praises. The candlelight flickers after a hard jolt from the train tracks.

The praise doesn’t make the Being feel any better. If anything, it makes it feel worse. If it was wrong, it had just accused its only friend of being a terrible no-good crook. If it was right, then that means the only friend the Being has is a terrible no-good crook. It’s a no-win situation. But, even so, the Being has to know. It’s a cruel curiosity.

So, are you..? It asks, timidly.

“A criminal?” Lenore chuckles again, resting the side of her head in her palm, “I wish it were that simple. I’ve committed my fair share of crimes so I suppose I fit the definition.” She grimaces, as if her next words are painful on her tongue, “I am what most would call a traitor.”

The Being isn’t sure if that makes them feel better or worse, What's the difference?

“Criminal, noun, ‘a person guilty or convicted of a crime’. Traitor, noun, ‘a person who betrays another, a cause, or any trust.’ Also ‘a person who commits treason by betraying his or her country.’ I, in this case, may fall into both of the latter categories.”

Lenore twitches even as her face remains passive, almost bored-looking. Her body takes on a very defensive posture.

Are you okay? The Being worries.

“I am fine. Thank you.” Her reply is curt and snappish. Lenore glances at the Being, noting the turmoil and puzzlement in its glowing blue and red eyes. Freed from the confines of its cape, the natural glow it exudes easily overtakes the candlelight.

“Do you remember the way the sky looked on our way here?” She asks.

Yeah, it was sunny with some clouds.

“You noticed nothing else? Nothing at all?” She presses further.

I don't think so…

“The crimson tint. Over the sun and the clouds. It completely covers the sky, and you didn't notice it?”

Well, I noticed it but it wasn't anything new. The Being shrugs as much as it can without shoulders, The sky is red in the day and black with a bit of red at night. I remember that at least.

“Yes, it has been like that for a while but it’s actually a rather new development. Quin city is the only place in the world with a crimson sky.”

… Really? Why?

“Because that red tint isn’t the sky, it’s our cage. It is attached to the border wall and it cannot be passed. No one can get in or out.” Lenore pauses, a multitude of emotions flickering over her masked face, “And it’s my fault...”

Lenore hardens her heart, fighting to keep her mind settled. Keeping any fleeting memories in check. The little lady goes on, head down as if in shame.

“I betrayed the people by helping trap them here and I betrayed those who trapped them by running away. As you can guess, that does not leave a person with a lot of friends.”

Oh.

An awkward silence. Lenore broods, staring out the tiny carriage window. There’s not much to see other than metal beams and wiring. The Being tries to catch her eye a few times to no avail.

Well, you didn’t do it on purpose, right? The Being says. You wouldn’t feel so bad about it if you did.

“People can feel bad about things they were proud of before, kid.” She countered, “But no, what happened was never my intention.”

Then you are a good person! The Being grins. They were are just that ridiculously naïve; it was almost cute. I’m sorry I doubted you.

“I’m not...” She stutters, more than a little speechless. After staring for a second she coughs into her fist and straightens, “All right then. Do you want to ask your last question or can it wait?”

The Being thinks it over, I’ll save my last question for later.

Lenore nods and changes the subject. “All right, we should soon arrive at the next station on Ceinwen crescent, a block away from Oscar. We shouldn’t run into too many people but should we get split up again, head towards the hotel at the end of Oscar. It’s a rundown building with pillars. It's very large. You can’t miss it.”

It smiles at her and nods back. Okay! I promise I won’t run off again.

“Good.”

And just as she says that the train comes to a stop. Lenore stands and helps the Being put its cape back on. Absently, she gives the Being a gentle pat on the head. It smiles at her.

~*~

The second abandoned station on Ceinwen crescent is neither better nor worse than the other station. It’s a sewer with a train in it. The two raccoons are waiting for them outside, standing awkwardly near the train’s car. The girl, probably the one named Brandy, fiddles with her pocket watch. The boy, likely called Rowan, tilts back and forth on his heels. He’s fidgeting like a puppy in desperate need for a piss. When Lenore and the being exit their carriage, Rowan whistles lowly to Brandy.

They seemed to be waiting for Lenore and the Being to leave so they can make their way back to their nursery. They’re surprised when the girl, this ‘Clara Janson’ who had somehow coerced their leader into bringing them here, walks right up to them. Her brute ‘Wigmund’ stands a little behind her, silent and foreboding under its hood. It towers over them all.

“Right, what do you want?” Rowan scowls in a thick non-rhotic accent.

Lenore pays him no mind. She’s focused on the girl, or more specifically, her pocket watch. The little lady thrusts out her hand, motioning for the girl to hand over the timepiece. Brandy cowers, but she hands it over to the chagrin of her companion.

“Don’t give it to her!” He hisses.

Lenore inspects the clock. She picks up a thin piece of stone, using it as a makeshift screwdriver. She pops the back of the watch open. She tinkers with the inside of the timepiece until, to Brandy’s surprise, the pocket watch begins to tick. Lenore snaps the watch closed and places it back in the girls shaking hands.

“The balance staff was bent. I’ve straightened it best I could so it shouldn’t stop on you anymore. Still,” She reaches into her back pocket and pulls out six brass coins and a paper bill. Taking the girl's hand, she plops the money into her palm, ignoring the twin looks of bewilderment.

“It may be best for you to replace it. Also, this should be enough to pay for any inconveniences as I’m sure it will be a long trip back.” She gave Rowan two bills and a silver coin. He eyes her suspiciously, stepping in front of Brandy in a way that blocks Lenore from getting any closer to her.

With that done Lenore walks away, the Being trailing happily behind her. Over her shoulder, she says, “Thank you for the ride. I owe you one.”

She pointedly ignored the warm feeling of the Being’s happiness in the back of her head. She does not turn around to see the little girl smile.

~*~

Oscar avenue is barely wide enough to fit a car. With its potholes and uneven tiles, it’d be impossible to drive down it too. Tha’s fine, there weren't many working cars anymore. The buildings are towers. At least seven stories tall. Rickety wooden skywalks stick out of the collapsed holes in the decaying stone, connecting the adjacent buildings together. Most of the buildings are used as apartments or home-based factories.

The golden light of mid-morning filters halfheartedly between the towers and where it can’t reach, there is a bereft grey in its place.

While they are walking down the avenue, the Being says, What was with all that whistling, anyway?

“Is that your last question?”

Oh, right! Um, I don’t want to waste my last one but…

“It’s fine. Save your last question for later, I’ll tell you this for free.” She hums, “Those children, people call them raccoons, have developed a language made primarily out of whistling. It started as a whistled translation of the dominant language but slowly evolved its own vocabulary and grammar over time. Honestly, it’s astounding.”

The Being looks amazed, Really! That’s so cool! You know, if that’s the case, it really would make more sense to name them after birds or something.

Lenore shrugs, “True enough. I wouldn’t call myself fluent in ‘whistle speak’ but as far as I can tell they started using whistles while on the streets so that they can talk to each other without outsiders understanding what they were saying. Rather smart if I do say so myself.”

A freckled man is lying against the stairway of a dingy apartment building. His drab cut suit is brown with mud and the fallen contents of discarded chamber pots. His top hat, which clashes terribly with his suit, is slumped over his forehead. A black pipe hangs from his slack lips.

He might’ve been sleeping but Lenore sees the sliver of his open eyes beneath the hat, glassy and unblinking, and she knows better.

Looking around, she sees many other people laying on the sidewalk. Some are sleeping, drunkenly clinging to their bottles like safety blankets. Others rock and sway, the cuffs of their blazers barely hiding their dotted scars. An unlucky few stare forward unseeing and unlikely to wake, flies buzzing loud over their heads. Against the curb, broken glass from used needles and bottles leak their clear contents into the sewer pipes.

The smell is bordering on toxic.

Walking in the middle of the street, they pass other people, hiding in the alleys like rats with only the glow of their eyes visible in the darkness. The little lady holds the Being close, far away from the sidewalk. The Being looks around, but it doesn’t see what the little lady saw. To the Being, everyone here seems to be so tired. They must be exhausted from work or something. The street is a weird place to sleep. They should go home and curl up in their beds. It’d be much comfier.

The Being rambles obliviously, Maybe you can teach me ‘whistle speak’? If I can whistle. Can I whistle? It sputters, trying to whistle. It can’t whistle.

At last, they come to the end of the road to the tallest of all the buildings on Oscar avenue. The fifteen-story concrete and black wood hotel. Climbing the stairs, Lenore whispers to the Being, “This is the place. Welcome to The Cocteau Castle.”