Black Mould - Twenty-Two - Wading Through the Sea of Graves

Black Mould - Twenty-Two - Wading Through the Sea of Graves

Black Mould - Twenty-Two - Wading Through the Sea of Graves

Stew led Debra and I across the city, or at least across our corner of it. He seemed to know where he was going, and so I didnt worry overly much about getting lost. We actually headed back towards my home for a little ways, then veered off in the same direction as the grocers Mom preferred.

Thats when the path changed. Stew climbed up a ramp with some difficulty, Debra lending him her shoulder, then we stuck to the second level for a bit. The catwalks up here overlooked a slightly wider street than those around my house. It just meant that more light reached the ground floor where detritus and dirt clogged up the gutter in the middle of the roadway.

People were out and about, just normal folk minding their own, though a few were blocking the path as they gossiped and idled around. The city was lively this afternoon. I saw flocks of pigeons swooping down to attack some trash someone tossed out of a window, and a scream of Watch out below! echoes across the tin streets a moment before someone flung a basin full of water down onto the streets.

Someone below started swearing, and I heard cackles and laughter from those who witnessed the scene.

This place was no richer than the neighbourhood where my farm was, it was only a bit more alive. There were just as many beggars, but they were singing songs and tapping away on homemade drums for attention and coin.

Stew led us past all of that, then across a rickety bridge and through the inside of a large warehouse turned indoor market.

I stared down at the stalls below. People were selling little things. Trinkets, knit clothes and even a bit of produce. Can I get a stall here? I asked my two friends? Were they friends? The age gap was a bit much, at least with this body.Updated from novelb(i)n.c(o)m

I decided that they were close enough to friends that it didnt matter.

Sure, Stew said.

If you can afford it, Debra said atop him. The better markets require that you pay a fee upfront. Keeps just anyone from trying to sell just anything, and it works to keep the Bullies close.

Stew chuckled. You cant see it, but under those tall hats of theirs are little piggy banks for all their bribe money.

I giggled at the mental image of a cop removing his hat to reveal a box with Bribe Here written across it.

We left out the other side of the market, then veered off to the left. I was more or less aware of which direction home was in. That, and the shadows across the buildings was letting me keep aware of where North was.

We dropped down a level, then crossed a spot filled with big warehouses. We had to pause as a horse-drawn cart was pulled into one of them, the back of it filled with crates onto which a few kids only a few years my senior hung on to straps.

I glanced in the warehouse as we passed. Lots of folk worked to unload stuff, but not one clue as to what that stuff was.

Finally, we left the slums.

For the first time in my life, I was somewhere that didnt have ten homes packed into the space of one. The buildings here werent significantly better. Big tenements, with alleys between them and even a few little play spaces for kids or some benches on the sides of the roads.

The people here werent dressed much better, but there was a difference. The main road was busy with carts pulled along by horses and donkeys. I stopped to stare as a loud, puttering machine rolled by. It had a man in a leather coat and mask at the front, behind a large steering wheel and an assembly of pedals that he was jamming his foot onto in an incomprehensible order.

Stew pointed to the nearest grey wall. See those boxes, with the plaques? Open one up, and youll find a surprise.

A corpse is hardly a nice surprise, Debra said. Dont open the boxes, she warned me.

I nodded. So it was a mass grave, of sorts. If an organised one.

So, kid, what did you need for your plants again? Stew asked.

I took in the cemetery. It was certainly not a terrible spot. Low to the ground, shaded in. There was a bit of dampness to the air, and I noticed some mould on the lower end of the nearest grave walls. Somewhere with less traffic than the entrance, I said. But this place is nice, yeah.

Told ya that Stew knew what he was on about. Far from the Gremlins too. They wont come here. Different, bigger gangs.

Its a long ways from our end of the city, Debra said.

The walk had taken maybe twenty minutes? And that was at Stews pace. Really, this wasnt too far at all. If the wall wasnt in the way, then the trip would be even shorter. It was in the opposite direction from the farm though, at least if I started from home.

Lets find a quiet place, I said.

Id see what there was to be seen, then figure things out from there.

As we started walking down the alleys and roads of the cemetery, I noticed that a lot of the graves had markings on them. Small plaques decorated most of the boxes, but sometimes an entire grave block would have designs carved into its corners. Some had pillars, others simple images. A few were even painted, though the paint was often flaking off.

Why are they all so different? I asked.

Different gods, Stew said. Depending on who you worship, youll be stuffed in a different box, ya know? Cept for those plain ones. Thats for the godless or those who died without a name.

Oh, I said.

We continued in, quietly avoiding the few people we met who seemed keen on doing the same for us. It was a humbling, quiet place.

Is there a grave spot for Feronie? I asked.

Stew shrugged. There should be, he said.

Lets go there, then, I said.

***