The demon roared and fought against the restraints. Muscles across its back flexed, swelling the wings a pitiful half inch beneath the rope. The Weil-Built City's elite stayed clear of it for five minutes, and then seeing that it could not escape, they inched closer and closer. Soon the taunts began. They threw crumpled cocktail napkins at it. They crept up until they were just out of its reach and yelled threats to it. The Master walked up to me where I still stood next to the bar.
"You're a smart man, Cley," he said to me, turning to keep an eye on the spectacle.
"How's that, Master?" I asked.
"You are interested in investing in some of the relics of the territory, I believe?" he asked.
"Well, I'm not sure," I said, taking a drink to disguise my confusion.
"The Minister of the Treasury has informed me that you requested an entire list of items brought back from the territory," he said.
"Oh, that," I said. I smiled, then laughed, then scratched my head. "I thought a demon horn might be a wise investment, seeing as how if it were ground up and sold by the snort, one could charge quite a bit, making fourteen hundred out of seven," I said. "Of course, I got the idea from you this morning."
"I knew that is what you had in mind," he said. "I'll send you one as a gift."
I was going to thank him, but there was some commotion going on in the crowd. The guests suddenly fled backward, tripping over the legs of chairs and sprawling across tables. It seemed the demon had been able to catch one of its tormentors with a horn to the forehead. I looked up just in time to see the poor victim slide to the floor with a blood-drenched look of total surprise beneath a gaping wound. The demon immediately descended, snapping down with its powerful jaws on the now screaming face.
The Master stepped forward as the soldier with the flamethrower tightened his finger on the trigger. "Hold on a second," he called as the man writhed beneath the fangs of the demon. "Who is that on the floor there?" he asked.
A few of the people turned and said, "It's Burke from the Ministry of the Arts."
The Master laughed. "Forget it," he said to the soldier, and the man lowered his weapon. Then Below snapped his fingers and the music began to play. Waiters entered from the kitchen, carrying bottles of absence and trays of chived cremat. "Delicacies from the territory," he called out over the rush to grab them.
Later, I had to sit on a dais at the north side of the dome while ponderous speeches were made about my brilliance, my dedication to the realm, the perplexing elegance of my physiognomy. I smiled and nodded inanely, and the crowd applauded, laughed, and cheered in all the right places. When I was asked to speak, I merely gave the standard salute to Below and said, "Long live the City, the realm, and the Master." I looked down at the crowd, and after their response died away they looked at me, none of us knowing what should come next.
The Master was then beside me, shaking my hand for all the dignitaries to see. I was escorted back to my seat on the dais by one of the attendants as Below addressed the guests.
"Watch this," he said, and grimaced. White flowers popped into existence at the ends of the tendrils that made up his hood. The guests were beside themselves. I preferred to watch the attendants drag the remains of Burke away from the demon with an eight-foot steel hook.
"Get your resumes in for the minister of the arts position," said Below. A wave of laughter welled up from the crowd, but once things had quieted down, the Master struck a more sober pose. "It is only fitting that we honor Physiognomist Cley tonight," he said, "for he embodies the ingenuity and insight of the territory. You all love the idea of those strange, wide-open places, and I have done my best to bring some of that to you tonight. But beyond this, I see the territory as a symbol of my new campaign to revitalize the City. In doing so, I propose two measures. First, I have ordered Cley here to round up physiognomical undesirables for execution. In ten days, in Memorial Park, you will witness the survival of the fittest, or should I say the perishing of the unfit, a phenomenon borrowed directly from the wilderness."
The guests clapped madly for this announcement, as if in the energy of their applause, the Master might notice they were worthy of survival.
"As a result of this campaign, you may lose a relative, a spouse, a child, but never let it be said that Drachton Below takes without giving back. A new exhibit from the territory will open in ten days. The location of this spectacle will be kept a secret until it is announced after the executions in the park. This display will be called "Anomalies of the Territory," and in it, you will see some of the strangest sights any City dweller has ever beheld. It will be fun for the whole family. The demon there is merely a pathetic creature. Wait till you see what I have brought back," he said.
He moved the fingers of his left hand as he had that morning and produced a small coin out of thin air. "All of you were given one of these," he said. "Save these special coins, for they will admit you and a loved one to the exhibition for free at the grand opening."
I followed suit as the members of the audience began searching their pockets for the coins. When I pulled mine out and held it up in my palm, I saw that it had an image of a coiled snake on one side. I flipped it over and there was a flower.
The mess that was Burke had been whisked away by the time dinner was served. I sat at a table with the Master and the Minister of Security, Winsome Graves. The moment we were seated, Graves began toadying, blathering on about the grandeur of Below's Territory Campaign.
"Shut up," Below said to him.
"Yes, of course," said the minister with a forced smile.
In keeping with the theme of the evening, roasted fire bat and old-fashioned cremat dumplings were the main course. I could barely keep from retching when my plate was set down before me. The Master looked over and saw that I wasn't digging in like the other guests, some of whom were already inquiring about seconds.
"Cley, don't you like the meal?" he asked.
Graves looked across at me and smiled, his mouth full of dumpling, waiting to see what would happen.
"It's the excitement, sir. I am overwhelmed by this outpouring of acceptance," I said.
"Well, I don't blame you," said the Master. "I don't see how they can eat that shit."
He, of course, did not have a serving of the foul repast set before him, but as he finished speaking, a silver tray with a domed top was brought. "Here is real sustenance," he said as he lifted the top to reveal the white fruit of paradise.
"Begging your pardon," said Graves, "but is it wise to eat that? Who knows what effects it might have."
"I've had it tested over the past few months," said the Master. "There is a laboratory rat, now in the Academy of Science, who was fed a morsel of it. The little beggar has been brought back from death's door by it. Though he was dying of rat old age, he is now virile, resilient, and runs mazes, I dare say, with more intelligence than you would, Graves."
"May you taste paradise," I said to Below as he lifted the fruit to his mouth and began eating, its pale juices flowing down his chin. The aroma of it wafted around me, bringing me back to my visions and dreams and obliterating the stench of the cremat. The Master's vegetal suit reminded me of Moissac, the foi\&te, M*d fragments of the Fragments of Beaton's journey came back to me. When I looked up from my thoughts, I saw the core of the fruit, a gnawed hour glass, revealing black pits at its center.