Memoranda

his vicious growl as he met the pack, and I forced him out of my mind.

The noises that came from behind me sounded like a hundred death cries at once. I ran on a few more yards until I simply collapsed from exhaustion. The pressure in my heart and lungs made me feel as if I were going to explode like Quismal. I welcomed this prospect in light of the alternative. Looking up, I saw the shadowy outline of the crumbling, circular wall and the jagged silhouette of the Top of the City. It was a mere fifty yards off, but I didn't have enough strength to get to my knees. In the midst of my distress, I did not miss the irony that those things my neighbors had given me to help in my journey, which I had judged so paltry at first, had actually almost carried me to my destination.

As I heard the pack approaching, I began to lose consciousness. Groping in my coat pocket, I searched for the green veil and gathered it into my fist. Something then pounced on my back. I waited for those fangs to rip through my flesh and crack my spine. Instead, I was lifted bodily off the ground and ascended into the empty sky. 'This is death,' I thought. The terror of it made me close my eyes, and I fell into myself like an ember into an ocean.

Imagine my surprise when I woke sometime later, lying on a cot with a blanket pulled up around me. My body was still tense with fear, and every strained muscle and pulled ligament ached unmercifully without me even moving. Pushing back the covers, I propped myself up on my right elbow and discovered then that someone had bandaged the claw wounds on my forearm.

The room I was in was very dimly lit, only one candle burning on a table a few feet from where I lay. Everything beyond the circle of its glow appeared murky, but I could at least see that the ceiling was very high above, vaulting up fifteen feet or so. Some distance beyond the table, I barely made out a wall with a closed door. I turned over and peered into the shadows and saw row upon row of bookshelves. The aisles between them led off for a long way and disappeared into the darkness like tunnels.

There was something familiar to me in the location. I knew I had been here before. It was most definitely a site within the City. I had made it to my destination at least, but neither my existence nor the success of my mission were any less tenuous. Just then, I discovered that I was still holding the green veil balled up in my fist. I unclenched my fingers and looked at it for a moment's comfort, thinking it might help me to make a decision as to what to do next. My choices were either to flee or stay and hope that it had been Below who had found me. I thought that if I only had a chance to speak with him, I might be able to convince him to help me reverse the effects of the sleep. It turned out that a choice was unnecessary since I heard someone approaching from the other side of the door. I quickly shoved the veil into my coat pocket and lay back down on the pillow, pulling the covers up over my shoulders.

I was in place and feigning sleep only a moment before I heard them enter. Whoever it was closed the door, and then I knew they were lighting the spire lamps mounted on the walls from the aroma of the gas. The sounds of the flames igniting were like birds whooshing by. A set of boots tapped against the coral floor as they approached me. The steps halted right next to my cot, and I tried to, very slowly, without fluttering my lashes, open my eyes a mere razor slit in order to see the face of my savior. A shadow came across my eyes, and I could tell that the person was leaning over me. I snuck a brief glance, but then his hand touched my hair to smooth it back, and I gave up trying to see. All I had caught in the split second I looked was the reflected glint of a pair of round spectacles. None of the face's features had been clear to me. Luckily, the person moved over to the table. I heard a chair being dragged back and the sound of him taking a seat.

I was almost certain that this was not Below. In the time I had known him he had never worn spectacles, and unless he had gone senile in recent years, the last thing he ever would have done is run his hand over my hair in such a caring manner. I decided to bide my time and do some slit-lid spying before abandoning the mask of sleep.

I turned onto my side, grumbling like one caught in the throes of an unpleasant dream, so as to get a better look at the table and its occupant. In waiting a short while before attempting to open my eyes, it came to me where I must be. The long rows of bookshelves, the high ceiling, made it evident that I was in the basement of the Ministry of Information, where I had once done research in order to try to discover the blueprints for the false paradise.

When I thought enough time had passed, I opened my eyes a quarter of the way and saw the silhouette of what appeared to be a man, a large cumbersome cape draped over his back, leaning forward, reading a book. At half aperture, the man became clearer and was not a man at all. My eyes shot open wide and a cold sweat broke out across my back, for sitting there, wearing a pair of round-rimmed spectacles like any scholar in the world, was the demon. That cumbersome cape I thought I had seen became his pointed wings, and that sound of boots on the coral floor had really been the sound of hooves. His barbed tail danced rhythmically behind him as he turned the page and began silently moving his lips.

I wanted to scream but tried not to, and the result was like a dog barking. He turned his horned head to look at me, his yellow eyes magnified behind thick lenses. Ripping the

covers off, I rolled out of bed and ran, limping down the nearest aisle between the rows of books. I screamed as I ran. In between my yells, I could hear his wings beating above as he pursued me.

Eventually, the shelves ended, and I was facing a wall. I backed up against it and watched as he descended, his wings kicking up clouds of dust from the old books. My trip to the Beyond had shown me what these demons could do to human flesh. As he approached, I cautioned him not to come any closer or I would take action. He did not heed my warning. I have no idea why I did it, but I reached into my coat, pulled out the green veil, and threw it at him. Though it had been wadded into a ball, it immediately opened up in midair inches from my hand and fluttered to the ground like a feather. The demon grimaced and a strange sound welled up from his chest.

I stood there, shaking, waiting for him to pounce, and then, after a long time had passed, I realized that he was laughing. He bent over, picked up the veil and handed it toward me. When I reached out and took it from him, he said, 'Physiognomist Cley?'

I was astonished at his use of human language and could do no more than nod.

'I am Misrix,' he said. Then he bowed slightly and brought his hairy, clawed hand up to shake.

Perhaps it was the ridiculous nature of a demon wearing spectacles that told me finally that I had nothing to fear. I reached out and clasped hands with him. As we shook, his wings opened and closed slightly. Then he turned and started back down the aisle. Motioning to me with his tail as though it were an arm, he called over his shoulder, 'Come, IT1 make us some tea.'

5

'Sugar?' asked the demon.

I came suddenly to attention and nodded without realizing what he was asking. From the time I had taken a seat at the library table, and he had gone through the door to fetch the tea, I was unaware of both my surroundings and the passage of time. In my mind I kept replaying the scene of me throwing the balled up veil at him. The memory of his laughter had left me reeling.

'One lump or two?' he asked, lifting the lid off a silver sugar bowl that was part of the service he had brought in on a lacquered tray.

'Yes,' I answered.

He bowed his horned head and reached daintily into the bowl with two of his claws, like pincers, to pull out one cube at a time. Putting two in my cup, he lifted a spoon and stirred five times, his wings rising slightly with each orbit.

'We haven't had lemon for a long time,' he said, averting his glance.

I said nothing but continued to stare in disbelief at his cordiality. 'A shy beast of prey?' I said to myself. It might even have been easier had I come to my senses and found Greta Sykes chewing my leg. All I could think of was having seen my friend, Bataldo, the Mayor of Anamasobia, attacked by demons in the Beyond.

While preparing his own, he looked up every so often, showing enough fang to make me uncomfortable. He brought the cup to his lips when he was done and tested the mixture. The steam rose from the tea and fogged his spectacles, so he took them off and cleared them against the reddish brown fur of his stomach. His eyes intrigued me with their vertical serpent slits instead of irises, but at the same time they stirred some primal fear in me, and I could not look for long.

'You saved me tonight' I said.

He nodded. 'I was out for some air, and I saw you running.'

'The werewolves,' I said.

'I'm sorry,' he told me. 'I have no control over them. I'm as frightened of them as you are. If I landed outside the walls and stayed on the ground, they would as soon rip me apart as you.'

'Thank you,' I said.

'You are welcome, Cley.'

'How do you know me?' I asked, lifting my tea.

'My father,' he said.

'Who is your father?' I asked.

'Master Below is my father. He showed me you,' said Misrix.

'Drachton Below?' I asked.

'He birthed me into the world of men. He gave me language and understanding,' he said.

'Is he here, in the ruins of the city?' I asked.

'He is here,' said Misrix.

'I've got to speak to him,' I said.

'I will take you to him soon.'

'How were you birthed into the world of men?' I asked.

'It was like a great wind blowing out a candle in my head. With the brightness of the Beyond extinguished from me, I could concentrate. I began to think as humans do.'

'Tell me about it.'

'Very well, Cley,' he said, and with this reached back into the folds of his leathery wings and brought forth a pack of cigarettes and a small box of matches.

'You smoke?' I asked.

'From what I have read, it is most appropriate that a demon should smoke' he said with a bashful grin. 'But you won't tell my father, will you?'