Hangover

Dancing With Death: Part Four of Ten

Dec 27, 2024

Dancing With Death is the sixth in the Tales of The Lesser Evil and this is the fourth chapter.

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This is a fantasy series—not quite grimdark, but dark nevertheless—with complicated and believable characters doing their best to survive in a world simply indifferent to their existence.

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Hangover

‘Here we are,’ Shint had his arm around Niffen, swaying slightly, both already a little drunk and both expecting to get considerably more so.

The performance had been their best so far and Ana had been delighted with the response from the packed crowd, giving each an extra silver bonus and wishing them a good night. The next day was Midsummer and, by law, no music was to be played in any inn, public, or private space across Taura Furnace. It was supposed to be a day of introspection, of reflection, thoughts directed to the dead and departed.

Albin had explained that in the city Midsummer was also unofficially known as Hangover. The night before the longest day always full of celebration, alcohol, drugs, dancing, carousing, and general merrymaking.

They had left The End and taken the same route uphill Flin knew from her previous visits to the temple. She had become used to stairs, to living on a slope again, and her legs felt good and strong, the muscle thickened and the spring returned to her steps. Physically, she could not remember being in this good a shape, the excellent food and the comfortable bed and rest certainly helped, as did the constant exercise.

They had climbed up the stairs, at times holding on to the scaled serpent in the centre, or supporting each other, laughing and singing, exchanging good wishes with others they passed, and cheering when they passed a newly-wed couple, ankles still bound together, as they attempted to climb the stairs with three legs instead of four.

The joy felt good, a collective sigh of release from the city, a chance to breathe and try and forget the recent killings. People, Flin knew, all too quickly forgot or ignored danger.

At the temple square they turned right and continued along the final road of the city, parallel to the upper slopes of Taura Furnace, the mountain clearly visible above, midnight light reflected on wet flanks. This far north, at this season, there was little true, utter darkness, no matter what time it was. For Flin, this had sparked a memory of home, of summers where the sky also stayed bright, the sun merely dipping below the horizon, before rising a short time later in the very early morning. She had begun to develop an uneasy feeling that to head south along the Ribbon was a vast step in the wrong direction, but Albin had convinced her he knew sailors who swore the same occurred all the way down at the other end of the Ribbon, tales they had heard from others, passed from person to person, in a chain as long as the archipelago itself.

Shint gestured to his left, uphill, to a wide level space, similar to that outside the temple, but circular.

‘The Caverns.’

He led the way, exchanging words with alert door staff and guards with thick cudgels at their belts. Their eyes were everywhere, looking up and down the street, checking everyone who approached, but they laughed in response to Shint, slapping his broad back, beckoning the others in the group forward, through the doors. Shint was clearly well known, which did not surprise Flin. Of all the performers at The End, he was not only the one she felt closest to, but he was also the best. His skill with instruments of all kinds was nothing short of incredible, surpassing even that of Flin herself, and she knew just how good she was. Before meeting him, she had never known anyone else to be as adapt with all kinds of instrument—her own skill had quickly stripped that of Rharsle, who had taken it well, knowing he had chosen his apprentice wisely. It was an odd thrill to meet someone better than her.

The entrance to The Caverns was a tall, wide archway, made from gleaming imported pale stone, veined with something darker, perhaps a green or blue. It was hard to tell in the poor light. Beyond, the doors stood open, and lanterns lit the way into the mountain. The only other non-local stone Flin had seen was at the temple, and this was a clear marker of wealth and importance.

Each door they passed was brightly painted with stripes, both vertical and horizontal, complementing and contrasting with its neighbours, individual and memorable. The patchwork was a curious effect and Flin wondered at the cost of the colours—simple paints were cheap, but limited, and some of these colours she had never seen outside of the natural world, had not even known they could be replicated.

There was a small queue of people ahead, waiting to pay the doorman and doorwoman standing behind tables to the sides of the tunnel. They too looked tense. When it was their turn to enter, Shint paid for them all, letting them know he would welcome drinks and mushrooms in return. They were then each handed two small balls of wax, which at first puzzled Flin, before she saw the others moulding and softening them, then pushing them into their ears.

‘It can be very, very loud,’ Niffen said, demonstrating how to place the wax for a good seal. He raised his fist and Flin rocked hers back in return. She could hear very little.

Waiting in the queue had made Flin cold, the sweat from their earlier performance and climbing the stairs cooling her skin in the night air. As soon as the door opened, however, she felt glad she was not wearing too many layers.

The scent of torches, of alcohol, of smoke of different kinds, and the heat of packed, sweating bodies all assailed her nostrils. Somewhere below them she could already hear a pounding beat, deep and persuasive in her chest, a percussive rumble like an approaching avalanche or earthquake. Her heart began to match the rhythm, her fingers started to tap together.

‘Down here,’ Shint said loudly, leading them to one of the striped doors and pointing around the hall, addressing Flin, who was the only one of the performers not to have visited The Caverns. ‘That one leads to toilets, that one leads to a cooler area, where you can rest for a time between dances, that one to a hall with slower music. This is the main dance arena. Each place has bars and places to buy food or drugs, should you wish.’

Flin nodded in return and followed the group through the door. Everywhere was lit with large, expensive lanterns, and she could see small holes here and there across the ceilings and walls, a ventilation system clearing the fumes and somehow bringing in fresh air.

The music grew louder as soon as they passed through the doors, even behind the wax earplugs and, when a door at the end opposite swung open, the rumble became a roar.

A man and a woman exited, both laughing loudly, both covered in sweat. They saw the group and walked over.

‘Shint! Good to see you!’ they shouted, ‘The drummers are on sparkling form tonight, you are going to love it.’ Each clasped forearms with Flin’s friend, nodding and smiling to the others, before disappearing into another corridor.

‘How big is this place?’ Flin called, over the pounding, beckoning beat.

‘Huge. The Caverns themselves are only a part of this labyrinth, many tunnels and chambers are unused—there’s simply too many of them,’ Niffen responded, talking loudly and ensuring Flin could read his lips.

‘The rule is, if a door is locked, it’s locked for a reason. Anything else you can explore to your heart’s content. Just don’t get lost. If you do, follow doors with a horizontal red stripe, they all lead to the exit,’ Shint added. ‘Now, let’s go get a drink and then we dance!’ The big man laughed and they all followed, the beat entering through ears, through feet, and down into their chests.

Flin smiled. This would be a night to remember.