The Exorcist Doctor

Chapter 118 - The Ladybug's Smile // The Crowd that Never Blinks

Ten minutes later, the three of them arrived at the mouth of the Hanging Market.

Light lived here in indecent quantities. Hundreds and thousands of lanterns hung from chains cables like stolen stars. Shopfronts glared with alchemic panes and polished brass fit for hundreds of visitors at any given moment, and above it all, Vharnveil’s underbelly spread like a second sky, ribbed with mismatched metal plates and studded with lightly burning thrusters large enough to insult gravity.

Maeve breathed out a small, helpless sound as the crowd swirled around them. “It’s… brighter than day.”

“Brightness is the first lie of trade,” Juno said pleasantly. “You paint the coffin white so the man thinks he’s buying a cradle.”

Gael’s grin skewed. “I swear it wasn’t this busy the last time I was here.”

“What can I say? Business has been booming.”

They stepped into the main artery of the market, and density took them by the lapels. Buildings shouldered one another with the intimacy of drunkards—three, four, five storeys where there should’ve been two, all stacked like mismatched books. Bridges ran between them at odd heights, planks and iron trusses, and from those bridges hung more stalls; and from those stalls, even more ladders; and from those ladders, even more draped ropes beaded with prayer-knots and price tags.

The four main architectural styles were pretty prominent, because they didn’t match each other a single bit.

There were buildings drowned in roses, ivy, and carnivorous lilies, flower sellers sleeping in overgrown alleys. There were warehouses clad in sheets of dull industrial iron, steam sighing from vents and chimneys. There were storefronts with golden cornices, golden saints hammered in statues above doors, and men in clean aprons scrubbed the golden windows like altar boys polishing pedestals. Then there were the ‘spectral’ buildings, as Gael liked to call them: buildings rendered in pallid stone and smoked glass, their windows clouded as if the rooms inside were filled with nothing but old breaths.

Of course, each of the four styles could make up a completely distinct district in the ward, but why do that when they could all just mash together into the same market?

“It’s more crowded than the Black Bloom Bazaar,” Maeve said, holding onto his hand tighter. “It’s like four cities stacked in one.”

But Maeve’s wonder fixed not on the buildings on the ground, but the ones in the sky—or rather, what dangled from it. Apart from the lanterns dangling from Vharnveil underbellies, there were also giant shops dangling from multiple thick chains. From each hanging shop, chains and rope ladders spilled to the ground, and men and women climbed up and down them like ants obeying an invisible sugar.

As the three of them passed beneath a hanging shop painted with crescent moons, a boy descended hand over hand, a bolt of velvet clenched between his teeth. Nearby, two girls hauled up baskets of glass jars with pulleys, while even more men unloaded wares being lowered down on chains.

Sensing Maeve’s curiosity, Juno took the liberty of answering before she could ask.

“The truth is, for all its arrogance, Vharnveill still feeds off this city's marrow. They need ores and processed metals from the east, educated bodies from the west, fresh seafood from the north, and… well, very little from the south.” Juno’s smile cut thin. “Which is why we Rot Merchants thrive in the south. Blightmarch is the only cardinal ward Vharnveil has no explicit interest in, which gives up more room to sell what isn’t supposed to exist.”

“What do they sell up there?” Maeve asked, staring up at another shop like a child watching birds migrate. “Why hang themselves above the street instead of renting a stall?”

“They’re Vharnish shops,” Juno said, finally tilting her head upward. “There are hierarchies even in the City of Splendors, and those on the lower end of the totem pole have no stake in the manors. So, low-ranking Vharnish rent out those hanging shops. Every morning, they wake up in Vharnveil, crawl through the maintenance tunnels like a second species of rats, and reach the bottom of the city. Then they climb down the chains with their wares to open shop for the Bharnish.”

As Juno said that, Maeve watched a woman in a good coat descend from the bottom of Vharnveil to the ceiling of one of the hanging shops with a crate tied to her back. “They climb down… every day?”

“Every day,” Juno said. “They may be poor by Vharnveil standards, but they are still Vharnish. They buy what is considered low-quality refuse up there for cheap prices—surplus textiles, over-baked bread that’d shame a noble’s table, and tinctures the manors decide are last season—and sell it all down here for a small fortune. Cheap above, expensive below. What’s low-quality up there is still high-quality down here, after all.”

Gael tilted his head at a rope ladder swaying overhead. “All fun and games until some desperate Bharnish decides to test gravity.”

“Occasionally,” Juno admitted, “someone takes a shopkeeper hostage, knife at the throat, and tries to climb up into Vharnveil. But look there, and there.”

On rooftops to either side, dark silhouettes knelt among the lanterns. Rifles gleamed in their hands. On the roof of every hanging shop above the Hanging market, at least one Enforcer stood in ant masks, scanning the market below like gargoyles.

“Each hanging shop has its own assigned Mortifera Enforcer. Any Bharnish that tries to climb up into Vharnveil through the shops gets shot,” she said. “In the end, the only legitimate way into Vharnveil is through… that.”

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Right on cue, the three of them pushed deep enough into the market to see the vast square in the very center of the ward.

There it was, the Grand Cleansing Elevator.

In the dead center of the square yawned a giant black hole, ringed in iron, as wide as a chapel. Chains the size of belltowers plunged into it, vibrating faintly, and others climbed out, vanishing into a perfect circle cut in Vharnveil’s underbelly above. Around the square, dozens of Mortifera Enforcers stood in precise formation, rifles gleaming in the unnatural light as they kept the crowd from wandering any closer to the hole.

“The Grand Cleansing Elevator only moves twice a day: it goes up at noon, and it comes down at midnight,” Juno said, stopping right at the edge of the square so Maeve could continue gawking at the size of the hole where the elevator should eventually fill. “Officially, this is how the Vharnish descend and the Bharnish ascend… not that Bharnish can typically get on it anyways.”

Maeve frowned. “How does a Bharnish ever get on?”

“If a Vharnish household decides to adopt one or hire one. Or, sometimes, a high-ranking household decides to invite a particularly distinguished Bharnish for business talks. Otherwise, the only way is under armed escort—either from the Mortifera Enforcers, the Church of Severin, or the Symbiote Exorcists. Ordinary Bharnish won’t get a chance to set foot on that elevator.”

Maeve kept staring up at the hole cut into Vharnveil’s belly, as if sheer will could bring the elevator down early.

Gael watched her look skyward, then slid his gaze to Juno, scowling.

“... All right, Ladybug. Why are you following us?”

Juno’s smile didn’t move her eyes. “I wasn’t following you,” she said plainly. “Most of what the Rot Merchants sell in the south are sourced straight from Vharnveil. That means they all pass through Umbracross, and that means I have connections here that must be regularly maintained. I come up once a week to shop for anything new worth reselling, so truly, Raven, I should be asking what you are doing up here.”

Gael opened his mouth for something barbed—then stopped.

He simply looked at her, eyes narrowed.

“It’s you,” he said bluntly. “You’re the reason Captain Orsa waved us through without making me bribe him a single coin.”

She shrugged, turning without ceremony and walking back into the arteries of the market where the crowd flowed thickest. Gael followed and dragged Maeve with him, but only because he wasn’t satisfied without getting the full story.

“I’ve heard about what you two—and the clinic, by extension—are trying to do now that you’ve mostly conquered the south,” Juno said, glancing at Gael just long enough to show her information was never approximate. “So I sent word to Orsa and gave him a bit of… financial incentive to let the two of you pass.”

Maeve looked between them. “But why?” she asked. “Why help us?”

“Because I like you. Is that not a good enough reason.”

Gael’s mouth twitched. “Just cut the shit and tell us what you want.”

Juno’s smile collapsed into business. She didn’t lower her voice; she didn’t need to. Noise in the Hanging Market was a curtain she owned.

“Alongside general medicine and other supplies, the Heartcord Clinic will be attempting to expand and distribute the so-called ‘symbiote elixir’ to the other wards as well. Correct?”

Gael nodded. “And?”

“I’m certain,” she continued, “that the Heartcord Clinic doesn’t want the elixir’s existence leaking to Vharnveil just yet—and I can tell you confidently that, at this moment, the leadership of the three major factions in Vharnveil hasn’t caught wind of it. After all, if the Church knew, they would’ve sent people down to your doorstep already. Therefore, it’s in the clinic’s best interests to continue administering the elixir to Myrmur Hosts without Vharnveil noticing… but that’s only possible in Blightmarch, where its presence is thinnest.”

“Go on.”

“Moving bulk goods across the bridges requires submitting extensive lists and documents to the Umbracross Mortifera Enforcers, who check said goods for violations according to Vharnveil law. Paperwork sniffs better than hounds, so it’ll be impossible for the clinic to move something as curious as the symbiote elixir—amidst other medicines and medical supplies, I’m sure—without Vharnveil noticing.”

“And you can do something about that?”

“The Rot Merchants have a fair presence in Umbracross,” she said curtly. “With our good relations with the Mortifera Enforcers, we can easily obfuscate the true nature of any goods being sent between the cardinal wards. Instead of ‘ten boxes of medicinal equipment being sent to the eastern ward by the Heartcord Clinic’,’ Vharnveil will read ‘three boxes of fresh fish being sent to the eastern ward by a small fishery in the north’, and we can do this for every single box of goods you move across the cardinal wards.”

Maeve’s brows knit. “You’ll… hide the fact that the clinic is even trying to expand outside of Blightmarch?”

“We can hide anything you want to hide,” Juno said, unblinking. “Of course, actual production and distribution of goods remains the work of your Saint’s Hands. You and your gang must figure out that part yourself—my men are busy enough with our current businesses—but should you wish to move product across the wards in the future, I dohope you will consider our smuggling expertise for a small, small bit of your profits.”

Gael stared at her for a long moment. A part of him wanted to ask why she wanted to be a part of his business, but he felt he knew the answer already.

The symbiote elixir’s just that much of a game changer, huh?

So, instead, he let out a heavy sigh. “Fine. I was going to ask Fergal to figure out how to smuggle the elixir into the other wards without Vharnveil noticing anyways, so if you’re offering to help bypass the inspection, that’s less work for the Saint’s Hands.”

Juno grinned. “Fantastic. In the future, do tell Fergal to come talk to me so we can hash out the details. For now, though, I am going to shop in peace.”

As they reached a crossroads in the crowded market, Juno turned to leave.

“Wait,” Maeve called after her. “Will you be fine without any bodyguards?”

Juno looked back once, and half the crowd around them suddenly froze, eyes turning towards Maeve as if the market itself had taken offense.

Gael chuckled.

Then Juno’s grin widened before she faced forward again, and as she walked away, the crowd resumed their usual proceedings as if nothing had happened.

Left alone, Maeve muttered, “Just how much power does she actually have?”

“Enough of it to be annoying,” Gael grumbled. “Now come on—let’s go find a place to eat supper first.”