Eleanor would have a thing or two to say about that.
Chapter Forty-Three
The courtyard of Uppertech’s District 5 was filled with as many magicals as down below, though these citizens were obviously wealthier. Their oddly styled hair and flowing, shimmering garments made the garb of the O’gúleesh on the lower level look like rags in comparison. A tall, lithe fae draped in silk and bathed in a daisy-yellow aura drifted past them, her feet barely touching the ground, if at all. An ogre woman with silver-painted lips and kohl around her eyes moved with a haughty, condescending grace most of her species didn’t have. Two tall goblins, one of them with a monocle that clicked, turned, and flashed blue light wherever he looked, strolled slowly across the metal floor, muttering to each other. The other had thick chains of gold and silver draped around his neck and down both the front and back of his shirt. They jingled with each step, and Persh’al leaned toward Cheyenne when she stared after the goblins.
“Looks like your personal style made an appearance in high-society fashion on this side.” He nodded at the silver chains wrapped around her wrists, and she shot him an unamused look. “Or not.”
They walked past a steel fountain in the center of the square, which emitted a thin stream of violet mist that hovered over the basin in an illuminated cloud. The scent of cherry blossoms, damp earth, and an underlying taint of raw meat was overwhelming. Cheyenne wrinkled her nose and had to turn away. “What’s with the community perfume?”
“I said loud and smelly, didn’t I? It’s supposed to cleanse the palatefrom the lower levels. They’ve bumped it up a notch since last time I was here.”
“It’s not an improvement.”
“I’m with you there.” Persh’al pointed at a glistening marquee above a narrow doorway. The building was the same bright metal as everything else, with tall, thin windows reaching floor to ceiling on either side of the door. Each window reflected a different holographic scene in motion: fancy parties, laughing magicals, and the thin plastic cards of O’gúleesh currency exchanging hands. “That’s our first stop, kid. I think better on a full stomach, and short of the bathhouse, a bar is the best place to listen in on what everyone’s too buzzed to keep to themselves.”
“There’s a bathhouse?”
Persh’al glanced at the purple cloud of mist over the fountain and grimaced. “Not remotely on the sightseeing list.”
Cheyenne looked at the thin metal sign with a thick etching of O’gúleesh symbols. Her activator flashed the translation right beneath it: Wildhaven.
They headed toward the entrance, and a burst of tinkling laughter rose from the front of another store. A group of magicals had gathered in a circle, watching a video hovering in the air between them.
“Can you imagine?” A troll with oiled crimson hair gestured toward the image. Gem-encrusted rings glinted on every one of his fingers. “Having to drag an entire shipment like that. On foot.”
“There’s misfortune, and then there’s sheer laziness.” The orc woman’s high nasal voice grated on Cheyenne’s nerves. “Honestly, I don’t see why they are still let into the city.”
A tall figure dressed in a flowing gray shirt and trousers emerged from the storefront. Cheyenne froze mere feet from the front door of Wildhaven when she saw the purple-gray skin and bone-white hair of her heritage. Another drow.
“The same might be said for any of you,” he muttered as he passed the tittering circle of magicals. The smiles disappeared from their faces and they stared after him, looking nervous. The drow forgot them immediately and crossed the plaza on his own business. His golden eyes flickered toward Cheyenne and looked her briefly up and down before he disappeared between two brightly polished steel buildings.
“Cheyenne.” Persh’al paused with his hand on the iron handle of the bar’s front door. “We’re trying to blend in, remember?”
“Yeah.” She looked one more time at the alley where the drow had disappeared, then followed the troll through the open door. “If this is supposed to be drow city, how come that’s the only one I’ve seen?”
The door closed softly behind them, inaudible beneath the lilting music coming from all directions inside the bar.
Persh’al cleared his throat and brushed off the front of his shirt before gazing around the brightly lit room. “They’ve migrated to the inner sanctum, for lack of a better term. In and up.” He shot her a quick glance and shrugged. “Compared to where the Crown’s been putting up all the drow she wants to keep at her side, Uppertech might as well be another farming village.”
“I don’t see how that’s possible.” Cheyenne blinked, scanning the glass and metal surfaces glinting around them. Everywhere she looked, information scrawled across her vision. Like we stepped into a machine that happens to serve booze.
“Yeah, well, maybe one day you’ll see it. Who knows, right?” Stepping out of the small vestibule inside the door, Persh’al nodded for her to follow.
Wildhaven was filled with a low buzz of polite conversation and delicate laughter. Glasses and silverware clinked, voices mingled at a poised volume, and the music drifted softly over all of it. Cheyenne couldn’t pinpoint where it was coming from and gave up trying. Sounds like Rachmaninoff underwater.
A shiny silver orb the size of a softball bobbed toward them from the other side of the broad dining room. It stopped in front of the newest guests and blinked with pink light. “Welcome to Wildhaven. Please sit wherever you like. May I take your luggage?”
Cheyenne fought back a laugh. That floating metal hostess sounds like Betty White.
“No, thanks.” Persh’al nodded curtly, shooting the hovering orb a thin smile. “The luggage stays with us.”
When the orb didn’t budge, the troll nudged Cheyenne in the ribs and cocked his head, still staring at the blinking pink light.
So it’s all politeness and etiquette coming from a robot. This is weird.
She
