Chapter 2. The Tryst

Sigil is a place where beliefs meet and come into focus, where like-minded people meet others of their own ilk. These groups come to control the beliefs of the multiverse, and a group that's powerful and prominent in Sigil is known throughout the multiverse, as well as gaining a large amount of influence (and jink) within the City itself. Currently, the city has fifteen factions that make up the majority of its population. A "faction" is a group of like-minded people united under a single ideology or series of beliefs. They are led by "factols", who serve as a leader for the faction and represent them in all things; they focus the beliefs and set new directions for the group, for good or ill.

While many of the factions of Sigil profess to be looking for belief, that is not true of some of their members. Power is what they see instead. Power through belief, power over followers, power over the City of Doors. This lust for power leads people to do anything: to give their lives to the faction in the hopes of squeezing out power over their fellow man. This isn't always as cruel as it sounds, and power is only the overt motive of few. For most, it is in the back of their minds, driving them forward under the guise of "bettering Sigil". Luckily for Sigil, these power mongers are in the distinct minority. Unluckily, it is usually these who rise quickly to higher and higher ranks in the faction, as they are the most dedicated and speak in the loudest voice. Sometimes, these power hungry berks somehow manage to worm their way into factor or even, powers forbid, factol standing. This is when the trouble starts, because the most powerful leaders of a faction tend to attract followers, and to condemn a power hungry troublemaker will alienate their followers and cause the faction to begin to split... something that no faction wants to see. Recently, the most influential ones of these seem to be the water genasi Prisine of the Signers and Factol Rowan "Duke" Darkwood of the Fated; it's no secret that these two want power, and lots of it...

Selected Records of Lady's Cage Mush

Rahk had regretted drinking off his razorwine. However, he had known that he could not have managed to last the night without it. The Café was lit dimly, in a half-hearted effort to stay the almost complete darkness of the approaching peak hour. Raelis was late in coming. A glass of razorwine stood before Rahk on the table, black and glossy, just like the leaves of the voracious vine – the only plant that could survive in the harsh climes of Sigil - that the spirit was made of. The first swallow burned his throat, and the second nearly brought up his last meal. Jittery alertness filled the githzerai's slight body and goose bumps crawled up his spine. This agitation would slowly diminish, Rahk knew, leaving his mind bleak and his hands trembling. But it would be later. For now, in his state of heightened awareness, he smelled Raelis' perfume the very moment that the owner of the Beakon stepped inside the Café. As she looked around, trying to decipher who had sent her the anonymous invitation, Rahk surveyed the tiefling woman from the unadorned hair to the twitching tip of the black leathery tail.

In Rahk's experience, most Sigilians hid their allegiance to one Faction or another - with variable degrees of success. Raelis Shai was one person who could be nobody but a Sensate. First, there was the beauty. Rakh had heard that many years ago, Realis Shai wore a veil over her features to pass for a human. Not anymore. Hers was the beauty that transcended racial boundaries: Raelis was a unique piece of art, rather than the best copy to come out of the mold. Her face was a pale oval, with a narrow lipless slit for a mouth; her nose was a slight ridge rising from her mouth toward the eyes. And the eyes were what she had tried to hide before, Rahk suspected, and what made her Raelis Shai. They were five, the largest centering above her nose, and a pair of the smaller ones both to its right and its left. Dark-yellow in color, each divided by a narrow black pupil, they semi-circled her forehead, like a living a cornet. Not a wrinkle broke the smooth strip of skin that was her forehead, and her hairline followed the same smooth curve as her eyes.

Second, Miss Realis Shai owned a theater called Beakon... or, rather, it was the Beakon that owned Miss Raelis Shai. She was an actress, a play-writer, a director, and an impresario: in short, anything that the troupe lacked at any given time. And yet, neither her beauty, nor even her profession, betrayed to Rahk that Raelis was a Sensate. For those were mere manifestations of the eagerness, the thirst to feel and experience the whole of the Multiverse. Without them, Realis Shai would have been but a bothersome mutant in a tasteless dress. Rahk counted on her being a Sensate, for it could make her more willing to partake in The Lady of Pain's mad game. There were rumors about the vicious, if polite, struggle between the Sensates and the Fated in the Hall of the Speakers. Rahk hoped that for once the rumors were true: his return to his home world and maybe his life itself depended on the swirls and underwater stones of the political currents of Sigil. He had previously thought, that the only sure way to secure both was to ignore the Factions and their silent war. Sadly, he had been mistaken.

Instead of breathing in deep before the dive, Rahk smiled. Raelis' gown was horrid; the green fabric clung to the tiefling's neck, arms, breasts and her waist, but where an evening frock cut in that fashion would have had flowing skirts, there was a pair of shorts barely covering the woman's thighs. And from the way her tail comfortably curled around one leg, Rahk suspected that the tailor's fancy had left all of Raelis Shai's back bare. So, Miss Raelis Shai decided to treat his invitation as the beginning of a romantic adventure.

The tiefling found Rahk with her eyes and her light steps halted; a forked tongue quickly flashed between her lips. After this tiny delay, she crossed the room never taking her eyes off him. "Surprised and delighted," Raelis said, lowering herself onto a chair across the table from him. Then she took his glass lazily. Rahk knew that he should say something, but he just sat there and looked at the woman, partly hypnotized by the yellow gaze and partly at a loss of words. Raelis drank his wine so casually and so deliberately, that she had made it appear as the only way for the things to be going. Raelis held her silence, but her tail brushed past his knees. Wake up, it is you who should be a seducer here.

Ignoring the persistent tail, which now advanced past his knees, Rahk said: "Raelis, I have come across an exceptional idea for the next play..." Raelis' face bore the slightest hint of a disappointment for a fraction of a moment, but Rahk knew he had no reason to fear that his rejection would prejudge Realis against his proposal. Such an adverse reaction implied a hidden insecurity. Realis Shai did not boast that she could have almost any man she wanted. She could and she often did. And she was confident enough to be content with 'almost'.

The tail prodded the githzerai, making it clear that at least part of Raelis' heart was still set on the romantic prelude: "Yes?"

Rahk shifted in his chair and leaned forward; Raelis imitated his move. Their heads were almost touching and Raelis' orbs shone brightly above the empty glass.

"Our plays, Raelis - they are all myth, some complex brew having nothing to do with what is happening out there in the streets of Sigil. I… I heard this story – a true story of a man who lives among us and who attracts crowds. Imagine a man of a great strength and power, a noble man…"

Raelis chuckled and traced the rim of the wineglass with her delicate finger. "Then it is not a play about you and your life, as I feared. Usually, that is what I get when people divulge to me their wonderful ideas. But do continue. So far we have a great hero without reproach…"

"Yes," Rahk coughed subconsciously, and gathered himself. "Yes, a hero without reproach. He had to sacrifice himself to save those he loved. But it was not quick death that he got, but years of torment. The pain and disappointment leached honor out of him, leaving just a skeleton of strength and will. He started his life anew, caring now only for one person's desires – his own. And emptied now as he was, his only craving was power. He became first a messenger and then a secretary of a Factol. Then, through lies and intrigues, he wrestled from his benefactor both her position and her fortune and enveloped half the city in the tenets of terror…"

"Another tragedy…" Raelis said, getting up abruptly, "I am not interested. Walk me home."

"Not a tragedy, Raelis," Rahk said, remaining seated, "A comedy. A comedy of terror, if you wish. Once his black nets are exposed and demystified, people will laugh, like children laughing over the 'dragon' in the dark room, that a lamp reveals to be a jacket hanging on the chair. And, to add to the merriment, we can make an ending where the powerful and merciful ruler casts him down. People always laugh the loudest when they see someone greater than them humiliated and revealed to be a common crook."

"And I thought that you had proudly rejected kriegstanz, Rahk," Raelis hissed furiously. "Why, you have hurled it at everyone that you do not belong to a Faction, and you were so eager and so verbose in your denials, that some suspect you to be an Anarchist. Then others think you are of Bleak Cabal. Or an Indep. But what you have just offered to me… I think you were telling the truth – you have never belonged to any Faction. Not even the lowest of the low, a Namer!"

She took in a breath in the trained way of an actress preparing for an important monologue.

"Five hundred years ago, or maybe even more than that, there were fifty, not fifteen Factions of Sigil. And then, one day, The Lady announced that in a fortnight only fifteen would remain. Those who did not belong would die… and many did die. Well, it does not make a sliver of a difference if there are fifteen or fifty Factions: the berks like you, who have no idea of what is going on and what they are getting themselves into, inevitably get themselves killed."

"Now, Rahk, we are going somewhere safe and you are going to sing me your chant. Then you will sit tight and listen very attentively to what I tell you to do. Then you shall do exactly that. Up!" Rahk jumped to his feet, a sick feeling spreading inside him. "Your kin or mine?" Raelis asked, pleased with his eagerness. Rahk blushed despite his best efforts to appear cool. "I rent a room in the Lower Ward," he said softly. Raelis' eyeline shot up: "Don't I pay you well enough?" Rahk bowed: "Miss Shai, my wages are more than adequate. I am simply not as wise as I should be."

"And that is the truth," he thought bitterly, "Living in a rotten hole and buying portal keys fromtso…" Raelis snorted, as if agreeing with his self-assessment. "Why me?" he thought dully for the thousandth time and, later, following Raelis' indeed bare back out of the Finite Difference Cafe, for the very first time he thought: "Why her?"

By the entrance stood the inevitable light boys, bathed in the soft light spreading from their own bodies. In the full darkness they looked so fragile to Rahk, that in his bleak mood, he almost wept with pity. He never noticed it when Raelis' arm slipped through his and settled confidently on his arm. When he did notice, his first impulse was to pull away; even the shadows, dancing and cress-crossing on the pavement, showed him as sickly if tall by the side of a woman of plenty and mystery. Apparently, Rahk was not the only one who considered him a poor match for Raelis Shai. When he spilled every coin he had left in his pockets into the light boy's cupped palms, the brat grinned up at him and said ungratefully: "So that's how a berk like you and a bubber like her…" The amused grimace on the brat's well lit, yet unwashed face spoke volumes.

Miss Shai leaned over to the brat and clutched his shoulder mercilessly: "There are some pleasures that yield exactly what you expect. Bedding a man is not one of them. Before you stands the greatest actor on Sigil." When Raelis released the boy, he staggered back a step, squinting at Rahk. The githzerai drew away into shadows, uncomfortable as ever of a recognizing stare. Raelis's tail gave him a gentle push and he walked into the Beakon. The boy's whisper Rahk? trailed after him like an unpleasant smell.

Miss Shai's small apartment occupied half of the second floor, the rest of it given to the theater's needs. No matter how pressing their conversation was, Raelis wanted to go past the stage. "I have never come home without stopping by it," she explained almost apologetically, and Rahk followed her obediently.

At that time of night, the theatre should have been empty, but to Rahk's surprise, someone sat in the middle of the stage, singing, and two listeners lounged lazily in the first row. Evidently, the song did not enchant them, as they turned readily to eye Rahk and Raelis, hearing the sound of their steps.

Rahk recognized the tiny singer because her face was fully covered by golden locks as she crouched over the lute. It was the Ticket girl, most often called Tick, because the chant was that she blithely sought out actors' company when they least wanted it. The chant was that she encroached upon couples' amorous interludes, companionable silence of friends and even the misery of lonely drunks. He suspected that her reputation for 'bad timing' was explained by one simple thing: nobody really wanted to befriend or take any interest in her; there was simply no good time to talk to Tick…

Her real name was Glafira, and Rahk had heard her sing before – her voice was small and drawling, mocking her own masterful lute melody. No doubt her listeners wanted to rehearse a dancing number and their attention now was a payment for Glafira's music. Whatever the chant was, Rahk thought that actors exploited Glafira's admiration and willing servitude mercilessly. She courted the troupe's approval so badly and overtly that there was no way that her extra services would ever stop being taken as her due. Rahk suspected that the reason why she let the hair fall over her face was that she hoped that obscuring her round, plump, pink-cheeked face would make her voice appear more womanly. The hair was of a pretty color, and almost unheard of among the gnomes, but thick and coarse as well. She chose one of the popular ballads, of the sort that had little meaning and weird wording, which led a willing listener to make what he would of it.

I've been missing my soul,

Since the day before last

Wait a moment good Sir,

Have you seen it per chance?

Rahk felt his heart go small, as if squeezed by a cruel hand. It was a love song, of course. Rahk did not doubt that all but he in that room had heard it from the 'real' bards. But he glided through his life in Sigil as speedily and unobtrusively as he could, and, among other things, he had never stopped to listen to the bards and their sweet tunes. So, he was not familiar with how it should sound. Glafira's childish, cranky voice made an impossible transformation – she seemed to be singing it from experience. As if she indeed knew how it feels to miss a soul. Or was missing it just now. An idea of a soulless being is forever terrifying and Rahk thought it galling that someone would make a song out of it. The scariest part was that he believed that the gnome saw him through her veil of golden hair and sang to him.

It should look slightly odd

It should bear the marks

Of the painful sort

Have you seen it per chance?

"I should never again touch razorwine," Rahk thought, taking Raelis' elbow and urging her onward. It would not do for him to start crying out of pity for the light boys, the Tick, Raelis and most of all for himself. The actors smiled at Raelis and Rahk. His heart left raw by razorwine, it jarred Rahk, that there were no trace of speculation or excitement in their eyes when they saw them together in the middle of the night going to Raelis' apartments. Clearly, he had become a man who could be caught in a woman's bed, say that he was rehearsing a scene, and nobody would doubt his word.

By the time Rahk stepped into Raelis cozy sitting room, ire rose in him to prove them all wrong. Before he fully realized what he was doing, Rahk was kissing Raelis pleadingly. And then, to his surprise, hungrily. Raelis laughed throatily retreating a tiny step after each of his kisses, until they found themselves in her bedchamber. He dug into the lustrous tangle of her hair, releasing a catch on the gown's collar and it fell off her effortlessly. Raelis' palms stroked his back as he tried to pull his tunic over his head. "And I thought you wanted to discuss a satire against Duke Darkwood with me," Raelis whispered amusingly. He continued struggling, trapped in the drab fabric. Raelis' hands left his waist and magically unraveled him from the folds and sleeves.

"Is it your first time?" She asked tenderly and Rahk said it was, without losing a beat. He spread her on the bed, and kneeled by her, when he saw a thick manuscript tied with a string on the vanity table. He froze, gaping at it until Raelis lifted herself on one elbow to discern the reason for the delay.

"Yes, this is my next play, finished and ready for rehearsals. I thought to take a fortnight off before the season this year," Raelis explained. He said nothing, his eyes fixed on the manuscript. Raelis sighed, rolled away from him, and grabbed the leather folder. "Will you stop thinking of it?" Raelis growled at him, and when he cast his eyes down, away from the pages, she herself looked at the bundle in her hands longingly and then hurled it into the fireplace. Rahk yelped out and jumped after it. Despite his quickness, he was too late. Raelis had aimed well, and the fire burned hot that night in her apartment.

"You do have a copy…" he whispered to her, blowing on his burned fingers. She came from behind him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders: "Of course I don't, silly boy. Come with me, and let us talk about plays and politics in the morning. Night is for other needs."

Night was not long enough, Rahk thought, nuzzling sleepily the black stripe that ran from Raelis' tail up her spine to her neck and disappeared under her hair. He belatedly wondered why he had not sought the comfort of a woman's body against the inhospitable climes of Sigil before. It was so soft, so welcoming, so delicious… He berated himself for his foolishness. He should have – then perhaps he would have spent the night knowing that Raelis would write the play, the Beakon would play it, the Duke would be mocked to the satisfaction of The Lady of Pain and he, Rahk, would be on his way to Limbo… Instead, he had spent this night entwining himself with the last woman he should have touched.

"Will you… will you write my play?" he asked quietly. "No," Raelis replied, turning over to lie on her back, " I admit that a part of me greatly desires to mock Rowan Darkwood and his devices mercilessly, but I want to keep my hide whole." Rahk licked his lips and rejoined softly: "There are ways to make it safe." Raelis shook her head firmly: "No. As well to say that one can make strolling through the Demonweb Pits safe." After a pause she added: "Enough of this foolishness. It is almost time for auditions. You are going to sit through it with me, and after it, I will hear out your chant. You are in a need of a woman to take care of you." Suddenly distant, Raelis donned a simple dress of black and white and just as simply opened a small drawer of her vanity table. From it she produced a bundle of paper in a leather folder tied with a string.

"You lied about the copy," Rahk gasped. "It was not your first time either," Raelis replied in stride, picked up his tunic from the floor and handed it over to him. "Put it on." He obeyed and then said quietly, defeated: "Then let us go and see the auditions."