1
Silenaum listened.
It was one of the few things she could do without bothering Jorgis, and she could have spent a lifetime doing it. To her, sounds were the fabric of life. Many people find the sounds of falling rain or the hum of summer wind pleasant. Anyone could understand the appeal of listening to something beautiful. But for Silenaum, everything was music, and music was life. She didn’t see, she listened, she didn’t touch, she felt. Sound was her being, right down to her bones. It was her magic, too.
Those familiar, gentle sounds of rain or wind were pleasant to Silenaum. But in a place like Rayes Fords, they were few and far between. Rain didn’t fall gently in the crowded, bustling City of Lights. It pounded the narrow streets and concrete rooftops of the city with a tempestic fury. The wind didn’t hum softly through tree branches. It whistled through alleyways and around street corners, the tall, crowded buildings pitching the sound into a scream.
Rayes Fords was a place filled with noise, right down to its paving-stones. In the daytime, the thunder of automobile engines and the ceaseless chatter of conversation made the air alive. The grating of the street-scrapers and their picks, the pompous, coughing racket of the motorcars bustling down the Buildway Road, the hum of the river far, far in the distance... all of the sounds filled the air, a cacophony of noise and chaos and life.
To Silenaum, that cacophony was a symphony. She could hear harmonies in those noisy streets, she could find the tempo in the clatter of a hundred footsteps shuffling by below her window. She could sense the melody in the slow creaking of her wooden rocking chair as she drank in the afternoon air. Music was in the world, and it was her world, from the thunderous rattle of automobile wheels to the whispering sound of the crackling fire in her grate.
Silenaum lived in a Hotel in the Westersouth quarter of the city, a few blocks away from the Rayes River. The Casstelen House, it was called, and it was probably one of, if not the finest hotel in Rayes Fords. It was in the nicest part of town, where only those who could actually afford to buy what shopkeepers put up in their windows populated the sidewalks and roads. There was less traffic in this part of town, but still, the pleasant noises of daytime shoppers or visit-payers made the air hum with life.
Silenaum fiddled with the fringe of her dressing-gown. She worried her lips as her eyes wandered from the open window to her room, two stories up. She had a large, beautifully furnished bedroom. There was rich, sumptuous furniture and long, silk hangings that fell in layers around the open window. The carpets were thick enough that she could have slept on the floor just as comfortably as her bed. Silenaum doubted even the people bustling by on the streets below had a room half so nice as hers. As Jorgis liked to often remind her, she lived like a queen in Casstelen House. She ate lobster on the weekends. She had the finest silks and satins to wear, and two maidservants whenever she wanted them. But for the first time, in a long time, Silenaum was starting, finally, to see the bars on her guilded cage.
Silenaum scowled, turning away from her window, her room, and her view of the city. She shuffled over to her vanity, trying to put her discontent out of her mind. It wasn’t a new realization for her, that she was a prisoner. She had lived in Jorgis’ hotel for nearly seven years, each one comfortable and not unpleasant. She hadn’t been coerced into this life, she had agreed to it. At the time it had seemed like a twofold gift, safety and luxury for a little bit of freedom. Over the past few days, however, something unexpected had changed in her, a realization that had slowly revealed itself to her in a sort of longing that came whenever she peered out the open window, and listened to life below.
Silenaum shook her head, making the curlers Lisa had put in her hair tug against her skull. It was too late for regret now, and today, of all days, was not the time to be worrying about choices made. She settled herself down in front of her vanity mirror, perching on the edge of her chair. Silenaum began pulling her curlers out one by one, letting her deep black hair fall in gentle curls around her shoulders. Tonight was Twelfthnight, and like all Twelfthnights, she was going to sing.
A knock interrupted her musings. She turned in time to see Melchior entering her room, his round yellow eyes regarding her with his usual detached curiosity. Silenaum found herself regarding him with the same expression. She had always had guards, at Jorgis’ behest. It was only as of a year ago that he had hired Melchior, and Silenaum still hadn’t gotten used to him. He was short, barely four feet in height. He had a narrow, catlike body and large, leafy ears that twitched poked awkwardly from beneath a round bowler hat. His sharp, angular features looked strange and foreign to her, and instead of hair and skin, the short man was covered in iron-grey fur.
Silenaum blinked, fixing a smile on her face in an attempt to recover herself. Whatever his appearance, he was kind to her, some days he gave her more freedom than Jorgis would have liked. Occasionally he’d gossip with her or bring her the paper. He was a pleasant respite to the growing drudgery of her life, but there was no way to avoid the uncomfortable truth that stood in the middle of their friendship. Silenaum was a prisoner, and Melchior, her jailor.
He smiled at her, a halfway grim thing, and crossed the room to her. In his hand was a newspaper, which he handed to her. “Just came in today.” He said in his rough, gravelly voice. “Thought you’d like a little reading before you sing.”
Silenaum nodded gratefully to him, spreading the article out on her lap. The headline showed it was something about the police’s clumsy attempts to catch various mob members, outlining how bad they were at it. Silenaum forgot herself for a moment and sighed, making the various bottles on her vanity rattle ominously. She checked them and reminded herself to be careful with her voice. She cocked her head at Melchior, a request he would understand for news about the Hotel.
Melchior shrugged. “Not much. The house is all talking that there’s a special guest coming for your performance tonight, but...” He shrugged. “That’s a given every night.” He glanced out the door, which still stood open to the narrow hall beyond. His expression was rarely relaxed, but it seemed to tighten even more as someone called his name from beyond the corridor. He cursed. “See you later, kid.”
Silenaum stopped Melchior, pinching his ear between her fingers. There was obviously something he wasn’t telling her. She frowned at him as he turned, scowling guiltily. “Look, kid.” He held up his hands. “You’ll find out one way or another tonight.”
Silenaum’s scowl deepened. She held up a finger as she suddenly turned to scan the newspaper at her lap. It took her a moment, though Melchior waited until she could find the word on the page. She pointed to the word guest with another questioning look.
Melchior sighed, running a hand through the fur around his face. “Yes, if you have to know, yes.” He glanced away. “I can’t tell you his name but Jorgis wouldn’t mind if you knew that he’s one of Gyrus Antimony’s right hand men.” Melchior gave her a level glare. “But you didn’t hear that from me. Anyway.” He pointed to the paper. “Happy reading.”
Silenaum let him go this time, much to Melchior’s relief. He left, latching the door behind him and leaving Silenaum alone again. He wasn’t a cruel creature. Not like most of the smokeys that worked at the Hotel. But his conscience, quite like many of his mobster friends, was dictated by money.
Silenaum turned back to the paper, letting her eyes wander over the list of mobber names, most of which were just aliases. Her mind, though, went forward to the performance later, and to Melchior’s tight-lippedness about their special guest. Who could it be, that Jorgis would want to keep his name from her? Gyrus Antimony was a powerful boss, one that Jorgis had been grappling with for ages. The fact that he’d sent someone could mean the end of a rivalry for Jorgis’ gang, a big moment to be sure. She just didn’t see what that had to do with her. Curious now, Silenaum turned back to her mirror and her curls. Whatever the reason, tonight was promising to be interesting.
As the hours wore on, dusk began to settle on the bustling city. Darkness stretched it’s deep, still wings over the people of Rayes Fords, filling the alleyways and gutters and coaxing the city into shadow. But a city like Rayes Fords didn’t sleep. It fought back the night with the brilliant luminance of streetlamps and car lights. When night time came, and the rest of the world went to sleep, Rayes Fords traded it’s teachers and shop-workers, factory men and daytime striders for their gamblers, their party-goers and wine-drinkers. This was when Rayes Fords really awoke, when the city was filled with a life that made nature jealous. Then the taverns and the salons and the theatres and the smoke-rooms opened up, and parlors and clubs filled with the most fanciful and magical folk you’d ever laid eyes on. From the rich kingpins in their ivory cars and silks to the scuddies who somehow managed to scrounge up a good suit, from the glittering ladies that adorned the arm of the rich and powerful to the young tramps with not much else to their name but a devil-may-care attitude, everyone had a place in the nightlife of Rayes Fords. To know this crowd, this odd assortment of variety and disparity of class, was to know the real Rayes Fords.
Tonight was especially alive, filled with the vibrancy of expensive lights and bejeweled rings. Silenaum listened from her bedroom as the sounds passed outside. Sometimes in the hall, sometimes on the floor below, sometimes in the yellow-lit street under the silvery moon she heard the passing of laughter from a distance, or the brassy sound of jazz.
The only warning Silenaum got was a pair of familiar footsteps in the hallway before the door to her chambers swung open. Standing in the dimly lit hall beyond with his meaty fist on the doorknob was Jorgis, his free hand clamped around a stack of papers. He looked her up and down with his needle-sharp gaze, his breath wheezing out like his lungs were broken bagpipes. “Silenaum.” He smiled a cold, fleshy smile. “Good to see you’re getting ready. Lisa showed you your new dress?”
Silenaum glanced sourly at her armoire. The dress was black, a color she typically didn’t like to wear, and sleeveless. It was fitted velvet, long and low-cut. The thing was much more revealing than anything Silenaum would have chosen for herself. But Jorgis was her boss, and on twelfthnights he owned her like he owned Casstelen House. She sang for him, wore silky black gowns with low-cut backs, and he kept her safe, and fed, and hidden. Silenaum frowned, that uncomfortable feeling in her chest stirring once again. But, as always, instead of saying anything, she merely nodded.
“Good, good.” Jorgis continued. He came the rest of the way into the room, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. He glanced at the paper lying face up on her vanity, folded to where she’d been reading about the trouble in the stock market. “I see Melchior’s been bringing you the times. I’ll have to talk to him about that.” He handed her his stack of papers, and a quick inspection showed it to be sheet music for a new song. “So, I thought you should know, there’s a rep coming from Gyrus Antimony’s family.” His face was fairly glistening with excitement. Gyrus Antimony was a influential man, not to mention filthy rich. The fact that a man such as that was taking interest in Casstelen house, or rather in Silenaum, was good news for Jorgis’ pocketbook. Jorgis continued, “This is his favorite song, so this is what you’ll be singing tonight.”
Silenaum frowned down at the title. Smokestack Paradise. She’d heard the song before, and learning it in the hour she had before the performance would be easy. But still she frowned at Jorgis. Slowly, carefully, she spoke, though despite her caution she once again made bottles rattle and curtains billow slightly on the breezeless afternoon. “I thought I was singing my song tonight.”
Jorgis’ pleasant expression melted away, his eyes snapped nervously to the curtains. “I don’t need your sass today, missy. After everything I’ve done for you the least you could do is spare me your weird magic.” He scowled, looking back to her. “I mean what I said about your... eh... music, but I can’t have you singin’ something home-made on an important night like this.” He frowned at her, waiting for a response. When none came, his scowl deepened. “We had an arrangement, Silenaum.” He tapped the paper impatiently. “I keep you off the streets, and you work my secret parlor. That was the deal. You’ll sing this song. You’ll make Antimony’s man happy. And you’ll smile the whole time you’re up there croonin’.” He gave her a beady look. “Unless you want me to stop holding up my end of our little bargain, eh?”
Silenaum swallowed, looking away from Jorgis and back down at the papers. That old, old feeling of fear prickled at the back of her neck. It was a good reminder, something she had told herself many times in the seven years she’d spent in the Hotel. Rayes Fords wasn’t safe for a person like her, neither was the world. All it took was a reminder of where she’d come from, and of the hunger and the pain of living on the streets of an unforgiving city. She’d chosen this life, after all, there was no point in complaining now, when she’d lived this way, contentedly enough for so long.
Silenaum frowned at her paper, unable to quell the uneasiness that had risen inside her. Something about now, about today, made this conversation, a conversation she’d had a hundred times with Jorgis, feel different. Maybe it was because she’d turned twenty three only a few days ago. Maybe it was the papers, the news of rising unrest in Rayes Fords. Maybe it was just that enough time had passed, and the restlessness of being a prisoner, even of her own volition, was starting to bother her. Either way, Silenaum found that for the first time, in a long time, she was dissatisfied with her answer as she met Jorgis’ eyes once again. “Alright.” She said carefully. “Smokestacks it is.”
