Letters From Hades by Jeffrey Thomas Page A

woman, with a B that meant Buddhist branded on her forehead. I showed her what I had to trade: a white long-sleeved peasant blouse, a pair of black shorts and a pair of coarse woolen socks. She accepted them without any qualms, but instead of a nice little bag she pushed three individual coins across the black marble counter. Somewhat dejectedly, I picked them up. Each coin, heavy and gray as if molded from lead, had one of those fire-headed sphinxes stamped on one side, and an eye on the other that reminded me of Frank Lyre, on this journal’s cover, until I realized it was meant to represent the Creator.
    "What do you think I can get with these, in the way of food and shelter?" I asked the woman.
    "Depends on where you go. Maybe three nights in a hotel. Or three good meals."
    "I guess I’ll try a combination of those things, then. Thanks."
    So I departed from the bank in search of a place to stay. I suppose I was too discouraged by how rough it was going to be eking out a living in Oblivion to address the job situation just yet. As I wandered the city further, though, I did see more than just torture plants. There were carpenters’ places of business, and the steaming shops of blacksmiths. Small brick factories that clanged and hammered mysteriously. I tried to be optimistic; I couldn’t expect to find my fortune in a single day on the streets. If I could make it here, though, I could make it anywhere.
    After traveling for several blocks I came into the presence of a monumental tower that seemed to support the molten sky like a column. Where most of the large skyscrapers had windows, housing either citizens or perhaps the Demonic class of Oblivion, this one had not a single pane, and its flanks were entirely formed of intricately woven black machinery heavily scabbed in corrosion like dried blood. Further, this machine building thrummed, gonged, chattered, whined, rang, chittered, hissed, rumbled, causing its immediate environs to vibrate. Steam billowed out of vents along its great height, curling like specters escaping from a gargantuan funereal obelisk.
    In the foothills of this metal mountain was a shabby and skinny brick hotel that seemed squished between its taller flanking brothers. I ventured inside, found a man behind the front desk. As I had been advised at the bank, I was informed that one night would cost me one coin. That was what he said: "One coin a night." Obviously, the coins—without words or numbers on them—had never been given a name.
    "Ah…one night, for now. Can I buy food here?"
    "We can bring you a bowl of broth, a hunk of bread and a cup of water for one coin."
    "All right, then. I’ll want that, too. Thank you."
    The proprietor summoned a dirty-haired teenage girl from a back room, and she showed me up to my room on the third floor. Its one window’s view was obscured by the bulk of the machine building, which also caused the panes of glass to audibly tremble. Still, the sight of a bed made up for that, however meager the mattress.
    Under the circumstances, I couldn’t tip the girl; not that I had bags. But she lingered in the doorway. After a hesitance, she said, "For another coin, I can come visit you tonight."
    I was appalled, especially considering the girl’s age. But I pitied her. I didn’t know if the proprietor expected this of her, or whether she did such things just to feed herself. Not wanting to offend her, I smiled gently and told her, "No thank you. I’m…very tired…I need to rest now."
    She smiled, appearing embarrassed, and exited without another word…leaving me here to record these events and impressions of my first day as one of the citizens of the city of Oblivion.

    Day 50.

    T oday is my day off from work, so I thought I’d return to my neglected journal. I think Lyre was glad to see me after having been hidden away in his bag for over a week.
    My second day as a citizen I spent scouring the neighborhood of the hotel for work, knowing that I only had one coin