The Chronicles of Jonathon Postlethwaite: The Seed of Corruption by David S Denny Page A

              The latter  might  be  difficult,  he  was  not  entirely sure  of  what  weaponry  they  possessed.   Difficult, but not impossible, after all his High Hats already did business in the Towers, it would not be difficult to ensure the goods he was  now  supplying  to   the   Tallmen made   fighting   undesirable or physically impossible.
                                They might have their great, lean fingers on the key to Dubh’s very existence now, but they would soon give it up to him, one way or another. But first he had to have the power to get to them, and obtaining that would be his immediate task, once the door was fully open.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Eight
     
    Jonathon's abhorrence of the city grew with the more he saw of it. Since his battle with the malignant soul of the city on the roof tops, he had endeavoured to find some island of  goodness  in  the  foul,  disgusting  sea of inhumanity which seethed around him.
    He  travelled  the  undulating  roof  landscapes  of
    brick, tile and mortar of the Lower City watching and listening in the vain hope that somewhere, someone might have  escaped  or  resisted  corruption's  grasp. But  it  seemed  to  be  everywhere.
    The people of Dubh were devoid of any virtue or
    emotion that he deemed to be pure, their free time seemingly devoted to the pursuing the insatiable desire to fulfil  appetites  of  sexual  depravity  bordering  on  animal desperation.
                                He descended to street level to observe their exploits, but was forced to return to his roof top sanctuary when the daily routine of the depraved threatened to spiritually suffocate him. He ventured across the great, stagnant black river into the Upper City, to the ordered society of the Caste of the Skilled seeking out some moral or ethical sanity, only to be severely disappointed.
                                The Meks were just the same if not worse. Their antics were confined to the private parlours of their more civilised dwellings, but there they exercised their corruption to a more extreme and vile extent. The  worse  thing  about  the   Meks,  Jonathon realised, was that they preyed on the Lower City for their pleasure. The Tans shipped in prostitutes and slaves of all sexes   that the Meks might extract their pleasure from those not of their caste or class. Jonathon  had secretively  watched,  through  half  closed  curtains and barred windows, the abominable acts which took place during  their hours of leisure time. Perversion and sadism beyond his wildest nightmares caused Jonathon to flee the Upper City.
                  If there was any difference between the two cities it was that nothing, no practise at all, was taboo to the Meks when abusing the unfortunates supplied from the Lower City, Jonathon had soon seen enough of the Caste of the Skilled. Their leisure time skills, it seemed, easily surpassing and more darkly imaginative than their engineering prowess.
                                Those who sought to ply their trades from the Lower City unknowingly bought themselves one-way tickets to a hell they could have never imagined. Yet Jonathon had not seen all he wished to see in this part of the city, the Towers of the Tallmen were his final destination and a last hope. Perhaps they, the Tallmen, had avoided the spiritual infection that had spawned  itself  in  human the culture of Dubh. Afterall, they were not entirely human. But the fact remained that they had allowed all this to happen and  for  this  reason  Jonathon  had already condemned them as bad as the human overlords, the Tans and the Meks of the Upper and Lower, who dominated the two halves of city respectively.
                                If