Page 112 of Katabasis
Come on, she nearly said, but realized he was serious. There was no laughter in his face.
“I am warning you, Alice Law.” Gradus’s eyes were stone.He can’t be from this century, Alice thought suddenly,no one from this century has such time-deadened eyes. He has been here for lifetimes.“You may take confessions if freely offered. That is permitted. But if you wish to survive, remember this one rule about Dis. Never ask.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Asmall, fidgety Shade guarded the pale doors of Dis. He watched them approach with his chest puffed out; one hand on his hip, one hand clutching a black spear with a carved stone tip. He slammed this spear thrice on the marble as they ascended. “Who dares enter the Great City of the Damned?”
“Bugger off, Parmenides,” said Gradus. “It’s me.”
Parmenides squinted at Alice. “Then who’s this?”
“She’s new,” said Gradus.
“Ooh hoohoo!” Parmenides’s chuckle scaled up and down several octaves. He leered at Alice. “What are you in for, dear?”
“Don’t answer.” Gradus pushed his way past Parmenides. The doors rumbled open at his touch.
“Murder?” asked Parmenides. “Poisoning? Did you touch a child?”
Gradus waved a hand. “Come along, Alice.”
Alice scurried behind him.
“Trade you a story for a story,” Parmenides called behind them. Alice was afraid he would follow them through, but he only stood on the threshold, brandishing his spear as the doors screeched against the marble floor. “You know where to find me.”
The doors thudded shut.
Inside was darkness, cool and silent. Gradus drifted down a hall to the right. Alice followed. She heard a crescendoing hubbub of voices, just before Gradus opened a door and they spilled out into a courtyard, open space enclosed by four walls that reminded Alice of abbey cloisters. Nothing green grew, but the sculptural arrangement of rocks, and the floral mosaic patterns across the tile, suggested a meticulous attempt at upkeep. The effect was surprisingly pleasant. A tall, twisted white tree stood at its center, and Alice could not tell if it was dead or carved from stone. Under its branches, clumped in groups of three or four, milled several dozen murmuring Shades.
“Think your professor’s in here?” Gradus asked.
Alice couldn’t be sure. The problem was there were too many Shades who looked like Professor Grimes in this courtyard. She had not expected to end up in a courtyard so full of middle-aged men. Half of them wore glasses, and all were draped in some version of the dark Oxbridge robe.
“Go on!”
“That’s right, go on!”
Quite a lot of the Shades were clustered in a huddle in the far corner of the courtyard. They were egging on one Shade at the wall, who stood with one hand grasping a thick stack of bound pages, the other resting on what looked like the handle of a library book-drop drawer embedded in the wall. He kept pulling it open, shuddering as if in panic, and letting it slide closed. Each time he did, the Shades booed in chorus.
“Let it drop,” they cried. “Let it drop!”
“Suppose it’s not ready,” said the Shade at the wall.
“Not this again.”
“It’s been decades.”
“If not now, when?”
“All right,” said the Shade. “All right.”
He squeezed his eyes shut—and looked rather silly as he did so, like a child pinching his nose before jumping into a pool—and slid his dissertation into the drawer. He let go and flinched back. The drawer slammed shut with a resounding metaltwang. Everyone glared expectantly at the drawer, but nothing happened. Eventually there was a lukewarm smatter of applause. The Shades continued watching the drawer for a few moments and then dispersed again into their cliques, murmuring in disappointment.
“What happened?” Alice asked.
“Someone’s just submitted a dissertation,” said Gradus.
“Where’s that drawer lead?”
