Kings of a Dead World by Jamie Mollart

Author:Jamie Mollart
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781913207465
Publisher: Sandstone Press Ltd
Published: 2023-03-03T00:00:00+00:00

BEN

AUGUST

CITY STATUS: AWAKE

We are standing on a balcony overlooking an enormous cavern. It reminds me of a vast open cast mine. It drops away from us at a vertiginous rate. Multiple paths lead down, some spiralling around the edge, some following the side of the cavern in horribly steep steps. Bridges of all kinds crisscross the open space, some little more than ropes and planks, others featuring lattice metal work and arches and pillars from a bygone era. Smoke hangs in the air, rising from multiple sources; food stalls, open fires, furnaces. It sits like a toupee above the Souk, a cloud flattened out at the top as it touches the slatted roof which spans perilously over the crown of everything, punctured all over with holes, and constructed from as many materials as the bridges. The whole thing gives the impression of being built piecemeal over a long stretch of time. There is no regularity or design. It appears organic and wild. It looks like it could collapse in on itself at any minute.

The sound is incredible. It’s hard to make out individual noises from the collective roar. I strain to decipher it. Shouting, singing, music, horns, drums, the clanging of metal against metal, shouted conversation.

Outside all was quiet and calm and inside is Dante’s inferno.

I realise I’m standing with my mouth wide open and I’ve been bustled along the balcony and away from Hassan.

He forces his way through the people and back to my side. He loops his hand through my arm and pulls me close to him.

‘Come,’ he says. ‘Try not to stare like that. You look like the newcomer you are and stand out a mile, it makes you a target.’

I’m about to ask him what for, but decide I don’t want to know, and instead allow myself to be led along the balcony onto a wide thoroughfare that winds around the wall of the Souk, descending gently all the while. As I walk, a lady bumps into me, spinning me around. I stare into her toothless mouth and she says, ‘There’s no room for you in Xanadu.’ I stagger back from her, my feet slipping and I look down to see that the floor is tiled with thousands of shards of pottery, the patterns mingling together.

All along the side, dug into the wall of the cavern, are stalls selling everything you could ever want or need: bicycles; shoes; belts; tin pots and pans; outdated electrical items; rusty tins of food; children’s toys; sandals; jewellery; teapots; and much more that I can’t even take in. Hawkers shout at us, trying to attract our attention, offering us the best product at the lowest price.

Over crackling speakers, a lady speaks in what I think is French, a language which hasn’t been used for decades. I can’t work out what she is saying but no-one seems to be taking any notice of her anyway.

We carry on like this for half an hour, the gentle incline starting to hurt my calves.

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