Stone Cold

Chapter 7: Moonstone

Chapter 7: Moonstone

A whisper away from the prosperous shopping area of Tung Choi Street, there was a series of alleys and courts that led to the slums of the Hongkong underworld. It was densely populated by a class of people with no homes, no regular means of supporting themselves, no recognition of marriage or family life or anything close to morality. The streets were sour with dung and littered with rats, their dark shapes slipping in and out of buildings with ease.

Night was falling fast, the last feeble rays of the sun disappearing behind the ramshackle structures.

Ember and Puck shouldered their way past prostitutes, thieves, and beggars, until the winding street led them to the marketplace they sought.

It was a a bustling place, featuring stolen carcass meat and other purloined goods. Costermongers hawked shrunken fruits and vegetables from barrows or primitive stalls.

A brief memory assailed Puck-wandering through a Seelie market every bit as squalid, except the smells were different: the scents of peppery grain and spices, the fecund odor of honey, the sweet whiff of poppy and opium, all underlaid with the peculiar pungency that belonged to the Faerie Courts. He didn't miss the war, but he did miss the countryside, the wide earth roads lined with swaths of elder trees, the tangled forests and peaceful skyline, the sense of languid ease that permeated every aspect of life.

The Seelie thought that the Humans were an unclean race, animal eaters, alcohol drinkers, filled with lust and materialistic desires. Casting a sardonic glance at the scene around him, Puck couldn't surpress a quick grin. The Seelie were right.

The drunken man plucked at Ember's sleeve, imploring her for a spare coin. She shrugged him away impatiently knowing that if she showed any sign of mercy, all the beggars in the vicinity would throw themselves at her. Not to mention pickpockets, who were forming in groups and staring at Puck, who refused to change from his adorned clothes of red and gold, like jackals.

By necessity the market was opened under the cover of night, though any police would have been insane to venture there. The area was lit with gas flares and smoking grease lamps, making the air thick and pungent.

Puck narrowed his eyes against the irritating haze and paused by an oddly dressed man seated on a rickety stool. The dark-skinned man, Romani in appearance, was dressed in a long blue velveteen coat with carved wooden buttons. A strange design had been inked on the side of his head an blue jay in flight.

Their gazes met, and Puck indicated the mark on the man's head.

He reached in his coat pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper...

Remembered it from one of the pages of her grandfather's journals. "Are you able to copy this?" he asked brusquely.

The Romanian took the design and examined it closely."Da... it is a simple design. It will not take long."

Picking up his stool, he carried it with him as he walked away, gesturing for them to follow. They walked from the market to a streetside cellar, lit by dirty lightbulbs that filled it with a lurid orange glow. Two mating couples were busy on rickety wooden cots.

A few whores of varying ages lingered outside the cellar, beckoning to potential customers.

"Out," the Romanian said briskly. "I have a customer." The whores cackled and cawed, moving away from the doorway. The Romanian cast Ember a vaguely apologetic glance while the couples inside finished their transactions.

"It's my room," he said. "I let them use it in return for a share of the profits."

"An artist and a pimp," Ember commented. "You're a man of many talents."