Sol led me away from the beach to the streets of the nearby city and I followed him in silence; partly because I had nothing better to do and that man seemed nice and worthy of trust.

Leaving the beach, we strode through large, dirty slums. Wood buildings, shacks and row houses were clustered together into formless masses, most of them half-built, barely standing, or on the verge of outright collapse. The smell would have caused more refined people to choke to death, and I saw manholes overfilled with filth. The ground below was black and dirtied with trash and mud. I noticed at one point a stray cat chasing after a trio of black rats.

However, the most intriguingly thing were the inhabitants, for few of them were humans.

Most were small creatures barely taller than a child, yet with pointy hair, sharp teeth, enormous eyes and green skin; others were much stranger, such as walking, vaguely humanoid fish-things; I noticed a woman with bandaged eyes and snakes for hair begging at a street corner. Most of them wore ragged clothes as if they'd scrounged them from among rubbish. Lazarus had been very busy.

Sol suddenly stopped before an isolated, noisy house. Cubic in shape, the wooden building had a few windows and only one, open wooden door. The only remarkable part about it was the name, written poorly in yellow paint on the facade: the Devil's Den.

"The name is blasphemous, and I deplore it," the knight admonished before walking in and making an inviting gesture to follow him, "But the place itself is not so terrible."

The place was obviously a bar, a large one at that. Inhuman drinkers gathered around ten wooden tables, playing cards, dice, or just savoring some beer together. The bartender, like the clients, was no man; he looked like a dog sized, red humanoid with a sizable black maw and an enormous nose. His face and piercing black eyes gave him a masculine, thuggish look, which contrasted with his habits, a mini-tuxedo matching his pint-size perfectly. Standing on the counter rather than behind it, he gave me a nasty glare as Sol and I approached.

"Three times, Sol," he grumbled, "I've told you not to bring beggars to my established enough times, haven't I?" his voice was shrill and grating. "Hmm…" he sniffed the air with his big nose.

"Peace, Booz," the knight replied, removing his helmet and putting it on the counter. Beneath it, he looked like a middle-aged man with short grayish hair and a stern face. "He just landed."

"A new one?" Booz chuckled before roaring to the crowd, "Hey guys! We've got a new guy in town! Come on, a round of applause!"

I heard a chorus behind me, jeers, drunken shouts and encouragements coming in equal measure. "He's one of us! Claimed like all others!" "Poor guy, not gonna last long I'll tell you." "Great, new food for the Divs." "Poor boy, Lazarus claims them so young nowadays…"

"I believe that's enough," Sol's voice roused, silencing the crowd. As the clients quickly returned to whatever they were doing, the knight focused on the bartender. "Two hot cockatrice milks please, for the boy and I."

"Pff, how you torchmen can walk into bars without drinking alcohol I'll never understand," Booz replied, moving behind the bar in search for drinks.

Sol glanced at me. Then his glance turned into a stare and I could see the hesitation in his eyes. "You are taking all of this remarkably well," he said. "Some outright go mad when they first arrive. Sometimes, Lazarus breaks them before he imprisons them here. At least in your case you are merrilly subdued."

I looked back at him. Perhaps I should have acted more distraught? "This has to be a nightmare." I pinched my arm.

Sol stared a little longer, then sighed. "I wish you were right," the knight replied, "Stop hurting yourself. It won't help."

Booz returned with two glasses full of milk and put them in front of us. "That's two keys for that," the bartender rasped. Sol reached in under his chain mail and brought out two small, identical bronze keys which the bartender greedily grabbed.

Sol seized his glass while I left mine untouched. "You must feel lost and fragile," the knight said, "There is no shame in that. I was confused the day I arrived, too. But unlike you, no one came to pick me up. My first days were the worst in my life. Ever since that time, I swore if I could help any newcomer adjust I would."

"Adjust to what?" I asked, raising my voice to add a subtle edge of hysteria. "I don't know anything! It all just went to hell in that train-" I stopped for dramatic effect. "And I… I can't remember…" I muttered, holding my head.

"Lazarus stole your name," Sol replied grimly, "A true name is the core of one's essence, and by removing it, that fiend ensnares our very soul, taking a bit of ourselves with it. Memories that could help us remember who we are, cherished times of the past, family heirlooms… Lazarus takes them away, yet leaves us aware they exist, as if to taunt us."

Well, he wasn't going to be taunting anyone for a while. "He did it to you, didn't he?" I asked. "I mean, what he did to me…"

"He did it to everyone in this city," Sol corrected as he took a sip of his milk, "You are merely the latest in an endless list of victims. When someone catches his fancy, he abducts and drops them in this place for entertainment." Sol put his glass down and removed the gauntlet on his right hand, revealing his skin to me. I noticed a clear, L shaped scar on his palm.

"This is his brand… the same as the one you have somewhere on your body." the knight continued while putting back his gauntlet, "It marks us as his property. Everyone has one, somewhere."

So that was what the thrakatul was planning to do before I maimed him. I shifted my vessel's flesh so that a matching brand formed on its left shoulder.

"Lazarus does not discriminate; he abducts all species and races equally," Sol replied with a forced smile. "Goblins, fairies, djinns… even angels and dragons. God has had many children besides mankind."

"Where are we exactly?"

"We call it Dis, or the Cage," Sol replied, "A world Lazarus created through foul magic. I could go on for hours about its specificities, so I will be short and to the point: Dis is a dangerous place, and it is very, very big. It is a maze that goes on forever and ever."

"He said there was an exit," I pointed out.

"Possibly. He might be lying. If there is an exit, none have found it yet. Many try, and many more fail. God be willing, one will succeed, eventually. I hope." He shrugged his shoulders. "As for this city, we call it Crossroads. When Lazarus catches someone, he throws them here without fail-"

"Sorry, but do you know where the toilets are?" I had gathered enough information for now, and was getting bored of this conversation.

Sol pointed to a cubicle in the corner, and the inside was as dirty was I had expected. The smell alone was overpowering and the drains had overflowed. Disconnecting this vessel's olfactory organs, I waited for an appropriate amount of time before coming out.

When I returned, Sol was gone. So was his helmet and drink, leaving only my untouched glass of milk behind.

"Where's Sol?"

The bartender shrugged his shoulders. "He left. Apparently the Pilgrims are assembling a party to investigate those cracks that have opened up in the ground."

Oh, those wounds I inflicted would reflect themselves here. "When will he return?"

"How the hell should I know? I ain't his secretary." Afterward, he bolted off behind the counter.

I chugged down my drink. It was quite bitter, which was a nice change.

"Cockatrice milk tastes horrible," a melodious voice commented, "Everything else Booz has in store is even worse though, so that's the best you can hope for."

My eyes darted towards the sound's source. A woman with long, brown hair and green eyes approached me. She looked young, about twenty or so, and somewhat lovely. More charming than beautiful, she was dressed dashingly. Her red, long-sleeved shirt, black pants, and brown leather boots made her appear roguish. She wielded a deck of cards in her hands, shuffling them almost compulsively.

"The name's Ace," she presented herself with a charming smile, "Nice to meet you."

I gave her a nod. The look in her eyes told me that she wanted something from me.

"I'm..."

"You'll find a nickname in time," she said, giving me a light tap on the shoulder, "I'll just call you 'the new one' until you find something better. But don't wait too long, or others will start giving you bad ones. Can you believe everyone called me Red Girl for an entire year before Ace stuck? 'The new one' will get old real fast, trust me."

I smiled. Get to the point already.

"Miss Ace-"

"Just call me Ace, Miss makes me sound old."

"Old age is the least of your worries. " someone interjected.

I turned around and faced myself. Rather, a perfect double of my vessel, down the colours of the eyes and the clothes standing right next to me. Some kind of shapeshifter no doubt.

"Who're you?"

"I'm the new one," my copy said, with my voice, "Stop fucking with me, you impostor! You didn't even get my cheek right!"

I stared blankly at the double, who frowned. He hadn't expected such a reaction. "Skins, stop pranking the new one," Ace reprimanded the impostor.

"Hey, it's a tradition," the double protested, before squirming when he noticed I was still staring at him, "Dude, you've got a good poker face, I'll grant you that. Generally people shout at me when I impersonate them, but you just stand there and send me that hollow gaze… you should crack up a little, mister iceberg, or you're never going to get popular with-"

"Skins," Ace cut in.

"Alright, alright…" The double changed, his skin, eyes, nose and clothes meshing together, rearranging themselves. A second later, the copy had wholly transformed into a pale humanoid lacking in any features. The creature had no nails, no hair, no sexual organs, no mouth, no nose, no ears, and no eyes.

"Killjoy," it added with a voice which managed to sound both masculine and feminine at the same time.

"This is Skins, a shapeshifter," Ace said, "Don't mind him. He's good at stealing people's faces and voices, but he's a terrible actor."

"Give me a break Ace, I couldn't study him in detail," Skins replied.

"Anyway, I might sound a little forward, especially since we don't know each other, but… are you interested in a job?" she asked suddenly, continuing within a heartbeat, "Skins and I are part of a small band, that is unfortunately short a fourth. You'll get paid for services rendered, of course."

Ah. That was why she approached me in the first place. "Why a 'new one' like me?" I asked, glanced at the rest of the clients, "Why not them?"

"We need an additional number; you're a new immigrant in dire need of help," Ace summed it up bluntly, "All the people here? They already have a band of their own. You don't. That's the difference."

I thought about it. Again, nothing else better to do besides aimlessly wandering around.

"Look," Skins spoke up, "You're new. Being alone in this city? It's terrible, terrible, terrible." he shivered. "When you've got a Silver Key and no way to defend yourself, it's worse. You'll get robbed before you even leave the slums. And that's if you're lucky. If you aren't, you might get killed, or end up as the Candlemaker's fuel."

"A Silver Key?" Booz was paid with keys, but they were bronze.

"Everyone gets one when they arrive. I would suggest not to expose it though. That's your ticket home." Skins commented.

"And if you don't like us, you can leave whenever you want," Ace replied, "I promise we'll do our best to answer your questions and help you adjust in any way we can."

Ace looked at her deck, drawing a card and observing it. I recognized the symbol on it, that of a jester. As a Tarot card, I didn't know its meaning. "You have a choice," she declared, "You can stay here and wait for the kindness of strangers… or you can take your situation into your own hands. The choice is all yours."

I shrugged.

"What kind of job are we talking about here?"