Hot-Box Dumpster: The Fading City

Hot-Box Dumpster: Chapter 2

The Fading City

"Unreal City,
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,
I had not thought death had undone so many."
         -T.S. Eliot, The Wasteland

         The hall was buzzing with rumours well before the City Mother appeared, and that continues unabated as she paces in slowly, with no fanfare. Few of the real powers have arrived -- so perhaps no-one notices that her dignified stroll disguises a painful limp. No hint of the suffering she is undergoing touches the City Mother's lined face -- the only signs are a slight drag to her left leg, and perhaps the anxiety evident on the face of her single attendant. However, there are few truly observant people assembled here today, and the gossip flies through the air unhindered as the City Mother gingerly lowers herself onto her oaken chair.

         It is not a throne, although it is ancient and imposingly block-like. There are several identical chairs scattered around the outskirts of the circular chamber. As the hob who is serving as the City Mother's aide presses a cup of tea on her, a woman rises from a seat on the other side of the hall and begins to cross the ring of beings. Perhaps they are not aware of it, but the City Mother notices the way they are staying well clear of the pool at the centre of the room, and a small, cynical, smile passes over her lips. She mutters to her attendant, "They fear the Well of Truth."

         A frizzy orange head bobs, and the tiny woman snorts. "Of course they do, Your Ladyship. Few of them would survive a wetting." They do not look at each other, but instead watch the shifting patterns of alliance and banter that drift through the remnant-Court like the first falling leaves of autumn.

         A faint sigh escapes the City Mother. "Fools and weaklings. Have we come to this, so fast?" She stares at the crowd, her expression growing distant.

         Hastily, Magda says, "Now, there's no need to be talking like that. Just most of the good ones have more important things to do, even by daylight -- they're too busy, is what I'm trying to say, to stand around sipping tea and discussing fashion like this lot."

         The City Mother turns her head from her steady survey of the crowd to bestow a warm smile on the matronly hob. "Magdalen," she says, "you should be the one talking to these fools, not me. You read them as well as anyone--"

         Magda blushes, the red of her face warring briefly with her vivid hair, and says, hastily, "Now, Mother, it's not as bad as all that. And none of us have the touch for diplomacy you do." She looks about for a diversion, something to help her mistress shake this foul mood. The City Mother gets like this during every Courth these days -- looks at the crowd, and sees only the ones who aren't there. "Look -- isn't that Valeria?" Eagerly, Magda points out the steady progress of an older woman; clad in a plain robe of dark brown, Valeria stands out amongst the crowd by virtue of her monk-like simplicity.

         The City Mother obligingly looks, and a true smile lights her face. "I wonder what brings her from her grove," she muses aloud. Valeria is not a very powerful mage, but she stood with the City Mother in her youth -- and years ago, she had retired to a quiet hamlet, vanishing from society.

         Magda shrugs gracelessly. "Ask her yourself -- I'm going to find something for you to eat." She hustles off before the City Mother can thank her. Hobs. The City Mother smiles slightly; the thing about hobs has always been that they hate being thanked -- it destroys their pleasure in the act and embarrasses them thoroughly. Once, they dwelt in mortal homes and would flee when thanked, but now there are so few safe places for their kind that most have begun to serve fae patrons.

         Valeria walks into the clear space near the City Mother, bowing her head in a respectful nod of greeting. One tanned and weathered hand grips a sturdy stick of shoulder height. Her face is lined from years of laughter. Before her retirement from the public world, Valeria could have mingled without comment in any group of business sorts -- but now she stubbornly refuses to dress for anyone's comfort but her own. "Valeria, child, how good to see you again," is all the City Mother says: nothing in that to alert the gossips who are drifting in Valeria's wake.

         Valeria laughs cheerfully and winks at the City Mother before the wags arrive. "I was in the city to pick up supplies, and I couldn't resist the chance to visit my teacher." Her voice is soft and warm as sunshine.

         "I'm glad you came by. Magda's finding some snacks -- will you join me?" The City Mother's voice is almost wistful, although she knows that the City Mother must stand alone.

         Valeria smiles at the dignified old woman, but says, "I can't be staying -- I want to be home before dark." The City Mother raises an eyebrow, but the younger woman plunges on regardless. "Besides, I don't have the patience for these puppies anymore. If I ever did."

         No clear expression of disappointment mars the City Mother's serene mask as she says, "If you really feel you must rush off...." Her voice, however resigned, is also laden with regret.

         The herb-witch nods firmly -- the carved wooden amulets about her neck clatter together. "There's a lot of Dark things about the fringes and roads, and I doubt I have the power to repel more than one anymore if they chose to attack my car. No, I'm back to my hives and my healing." Then, as if to soften the brusqueness of her words, she clasps the City Mother in a brief embrace (earning a reproving frown which she ignores). "If you or yours have need of me, you have only to call. I may have let the combatative magics slip, but I'm still a damn good healer."

         With those words, she turns and walks off, before the gossips have even arrived by the City Mother's seat. The City Mother sighs regretfully. Despite her protestations of simplicity, Valeria possesses a relentless dignity and an iron will. It was that dignity that had first attracted the City Mother's attention -- the City Mother, then in her fifties and beginning to search for an heir, had taken the then fifteen-year-old girl into her household and trained her in the herbal arts. Valeria was willing enough to learn healing -- her implacable stubbornness and firm sense of self had kept her from accepting the mantle of the City Mother.

         The City Mother represses a frown as she surveys the incoming courtiers. There remain only a few, mostly ineffectual, fae of any stripe willing to associate openly with her. She knows this, and she knows why so many of her former allies are unwilling to face her -- they have turned to feeding off pain and fear, become creatures of nightmare, exchanging joy for survival in an increasingly mundane world. She understands the motives, but she cannot countenance such crimes.

         A child, one of the few people who remain loyal to her, worms her way through the crowd -- pushing between two sidhe beauties in wide skirts. Their immediate indignation softens once they recognize the intruder. The Lady Anna is only half of sidhe blood, and is also the sole heir to her mother's lands -- although those lands are the disreputable downtown, Anna is just turned seven and doesn't much care. "Nanna!" she exclaims joyfully, pausing to drop a brief curtsey before swarming up the side of the chair and perching beside the City Mother. An endearing little ragamuffin, Anna is possessed of long -- though currently tangled and awry -- wheaten hair, sparkling blue-grey eyes, and a confiding smile which she bestows on her friends. The tips of her delicately-pointed ears still droop; the hem of her blue velvet dress is torn. There's a smudge of dirt on her nose.

         Before Anna can say anything further, her mortal father's weary voice calls to her: "Anna! Don't go climbing all over the City Mother like that! It's not polite." The sternness of his words is softened by his warmly chiding tone, and the loving smile he gives the child as he moves to lift her down. "My apologies, your ladyship," he says to the City Mother. "She's so worked up about missing a session with her tutor to come here that she seems to have forgotten all her manners." He frowns thoughtfully at the child held safe in his strong arms. "Perhaps she should have a nap -- lie down for a bit --" He is cut off by his daughter's desperate wriggling; he guides her to the ground gently.

         "No!" Anna exclaims urgently, missing the twinkle in her father's eyes. "I don't need another nap. I'll be good. I promise." She does her best to look innocent and demure; with the jut of her pointed chin, she only manages to look aggrieved and unjustly treated.

         The City Mother chuckles in response, adding, "Now, there's no harm done. I'm not quite as frail as I look." A polite smile and half-bow from Colin; only when he is with his daughter can the City Mother understand what Anna's mother saw in him. The rest of the time, his relentless mundanity interferes -- he has the look of a man continually surprised and confused by his surroundings.

         However, he is affable enough as he says, "Anna, love, find yourself something to sit on, if you must whisper to the very busy City Mother." As soon as the child nods and scrambles off, he turns to one of the guards accompanying them and says, "Alfrec -- go look after her, would you?"

         The aging warrior sighs faintly and struggles slowly in the girl's wake. He is hampered in his progress through the crowd by his large size, and as he travels, a continual stream of gruff apologies spring from his lips. As the smaller and frailer sidhe, hobs, and satyrs step into his way, a clear tension builds in his massive frame. One hand reaches for a weapon which is no longer strapped to his back -- but he dutifully follows young Anna through the group.

         Now Anna is out of earshot, her father turns to the Lady and says, "With all respect, ma'am -- I need to know, what are you doing to keep my daughter safe?" He gives her a belligerent look -- but the effect is somewhat marred by the flush that creeps into his ruddy cheeks.

         "You have with you six guards who were most reluctant to relinquish their weapons, even when entering this place of sanctuary," the City Mother points out, matching his bluntness with equal truth. One advantage of age -- finally, she can speak with greater directness, for surely she will be able to lay aside her burden soon. "You and your ward are as safe as any of us -- perhaps safer, for you are guarded against danger where many refuse to admit it exists."

         Colin nods, reluctantly. "But you're the City Mother -- I thought you could -- could...." He shrugs helplessly.

         "Could wave a wand and make the bad people vanish?" the City Mother asks kindly. He shrugs again -- she feels a momentary stab of compassion for him, a simple man trapped by love in a dangerous and unreal situation. "It doesn't work that way, I'm afraid; and even if I had the power to coerce them, I wouldn't. They have decided to act as they are -- and though we try to stop them from harming innocents, we can't interfere unless we manage to catch them at it. I can't send my scouts --who are overworked anyway - out to hunt down all those who might oppose us and arrest them."

         The frown on Colin's rugged face is matched by a smaller one upon the countenance of the City Mother. "But even if we set aside the moral concerns, Colin -- it still couldn't be done. Because the spells required would need to break through defences and act on the mind itself, they would need to be extraordinarily powerful."

         She takes a deep breath -- ready to admit the danger, to publicly shock these poor fools in the faint hope that they will be more alert -- but a ringing female voice interrupts and takes that task from her. "We don't have that power. We barely have the power to hold what we have."

         Dare strolls into the centre of the gathering, a solemn look on her delicate face. Once she had been Daria Laughingwater, a court beauty like the sidhe dolls who are now whispering to each other behind pastel fans -- now she is simply Dare, clad in battle-scarred leather armour, hair cropped short, a wicked six-inch knife at her hip despite the Sanctuary's peace. "We're spread so thin out there, we're having to count ourselves lucky if we turn back a single adversary."

         The City Mother nods, sparking grim murmurs from the crowd. "My people, we are under seige, and at a time when mortal disbelief makes us all especially vulnerable. We must be strong and vigilant, or our foes will surely triumph." Never has the City Mother looked physically frailer, more birdlike -- but the resolve on her face seems to be enough for her courtiers. They disperse, seriously discussing the threat, boasting of feats which they will never accomplish, and trying to predict how the difficulty will affect fashion. Even with the threat so plainly before them, many can't admit that it will ever directly harm them.

         Colin and Dare are left before the City Mother, along with the remainder of his guards. He looks a little pale, but at least he isn't trying to ignore the problem. Dare, however, ignores him; she faces the City Mother, chin up, and says, "Lady, they have us outnumbered. It is my opinion and that of your other scouts that all they lack is a leader to make them dangerous."

         "Didn't you tell me that there is a sorceror who intends that very thing?" The City Mother gives Dare a pointed look, adding, "Of course, that was almost a year ago, when you last made a proper report."

         Dare shrugs fatalistically. "As far as we can tell, he's dead. Or he's making his move and decided to muddy the waters by faking his own death." She pauses a moment and then bursts out: "We don't have the people to check, Lady. We need more warriors, we need them fast -- and you have your Champion tied up on some mysterious search which takes up all his time and attention."

         "I thought this would come back to him, somehow," the City Mother says calmly.

         Colin makes the mistake of grinning, and Dare whirls on him. "Don't you dare make such assumptions! We need every warrior we can get out there -- it's an ugly, brutal, shadow war, and we're losing people steadily. My friends; people I trained."

         "Enough," the City Mother says calmly. "Do you think I don't know this?" A quick shake of the head from Dare -- the City Mother continues: "These are my people too, my allies being lost, and each death diminishes me. I cannot spare my Champion -- his task is vital." There is a brief silence, barely a fraction of a second, before she goes on. "I know this must disappoint you, Dare --"

         "Not in the way this rumour-monger seems to think. That past's as dead as Daria Laughingwater. But we need help, Lady. What will you do for us?"

         The City Mother sighs. "Give your people orders to fall back -- again. I'll try to find us some more warriors -- but so many of our former allies are waiting to see how the situation plays out that I can't promise much."

         Reluctantly, Dare nods. "In that case, my Lady, I'll be off." She bows slightly, her supple frame bending gracefully, and then stalks off into the crowd. Heavy steel-toed boots clear a path for her -- the last sight the City Mother sees of her is a pair of proud shoulders vanishing into the motley crowd.

         The City Mother looks over the crowd again -- seeing once again the faces of those who are not here. She feels a swift moment of gratitude for the absence of her Champion. The last thing she needs is a messy emotional scene in the midst of all this trauma; this is the very reason the City Mother holds herself seperate from personal relationships -- why she forsakes even a name in favour of her duty. But those two can't seem to handle being in the same room, even after these many years -- though they would try to keep their minds on their work, they would also fail to do so.

         And, reminding her of her duty, Lady Anna is returning; though her lands are in disarray, she maintains control of valuable troops -- the City Mother accepts a titbit from Magda's tray when the hob returns. She should chat with Colin -- who at least might be beginning to understand the true nature of what they face -- and young Anna, and see if they are willing to make an actual show of support instead of cries for protection.

         The dance of court goes on around her, but the tone now is desperate, forced. Already, events are moving faster; instead of the first few drifting leaves of autumn, this is the heavy flurry of leaves which precedes the dark winter. And some of these sheep will certainly seek out shelter within the Dark -- not realizing that the harm they cause will eventually come back to harm them. The Left-Hand Path has always been quicker, even more effective -- it just requires things that no thinking, compassionate being could do. Many of these people (her loyal subjects) will find comforting lies more secure than her doubtful position -- the City Mother is sure of that. And she finds she can't blame them -- she already mourns their loss.

         This court of faded lights, of chill breezes where there once was festive warmth, is ill already. The fae have always dwelt in a world of twilight, of illusion and glamour -- even in an age of disbelief and scepticism, they stay with what they already know and understand. It is time, and more than time, the City Mother thinks fiercely, for them to face reality.

On To Chapter 3!

"Hot Box Dumpster: The Torn Web"