Alice wipes her eyes briskly and pulls away from me, her face carefully set. “I do apologise. I’m not on my usual form at the moment. I’m fine, really.”
“Of course,” I agree. “It seems to me that there are several possible courses of action, but I reckon the best idea is probably to try to find out about the ritual you disturbed.”
“No-one around here knows anything. I’ve tried to find out what might have been going on, who might do this sort of thing. It’s useless.”
“Well, OK,” I say. “Are there other places we could try? You mentioned being able to find reception. Is there anyone there, or is it always deserted? What about the office behind it? You said there were rec rooms too — is there a library by any chance? Or some kind of internet access?”
Alice looks at me oddly for a moment, then shakes her head briskly, gathering her thoughts. “There might be a library, I suppose. There’s no office off the reception hall though, and it’s never deserted. I’ve never heard of Mr. Andi not being on duty.”
“Well, he wasn’t there when I went through.”
“Actually, that’s a good idea. Who knows, he might know about libraries, and we should get you checked in.”
“Checked in.”
Alice smiles for a moment. “Just follow me.”
* * *
Long, fluted columns of bone-white marble. Broad pathways of thick scarlet carpet. Dazzling gilt-framed mirrors reflecting the myriad lights of diamante chandeliers. Large, comfortable leather armchairs and sofas clustered around elegant coffee tables… The reception hall looks like it was stolen from César Ritz’s wildest fantasies. It would have been overwhelming — if the people hadn’t utterly overshadowed it.
As we enter, a Victorian gentleman strolls past, leading a massive wolf on a silver chain. The man is wearing a monocle that looks like it was chisled from shadow, and his top hat is exactly the same colour as the blood that sprays from a slit throat. He turns to us as he walks by, and nods pleasantly. Beyond him is a woman painted — I hope it’s paint — a vibrant blue all over, wearing clouds of churning mist that generally preserve her modesty. Off to one side, I can see what looks like a group of Native American Indians, sitting at a table. They appear to be vigorously discussing some sort of holographic graph that’s hanging between them.
There are plenty of non-descript people, of course. Lots of variations on a top or shirt and black trousers or jeans. Some of them look archaic close up; others look frighteningly futuristic. It’s too much, and after Alice has had to drag me along by the hand a couple of times, a chunk of me shuts down. I stop gawking, and just follow. My eyes get quite a few double-takes, and I don’t know whether to be insulted or flattered.
It takes several minutes to get through the hall to the reception desk, as much because of its sheer immensity as because of the crowds. I’ve seen smaller football stadiums. The desk itself is quiet however, and I wonder how for a moment.
Mr. Andi is very old, his obsidian face lined with seams and cracks. When he smiles, everything seems to light up. “How can Mr. Andi help you folks today?” His voice is warm, but he sounds slightly unsure.
Alice nudges me, so I step up to the counter and say “I need to check in.”
He looks up at my eyes. “Oh, Mr. Andi doesn’t think so.”
Alice is as taken aback by that pronouncement as I am. I’m still trying to think of a reply when he fishes around on the desk for a moment, and then passes me a key. “Here’s your key, nice and near to Miss Rogers here. Your things have been taken up.”
I blink. “My things?”
“Oh, you’re welcome. There is something else you want.”
Alice gets it together, and nods. “Yes. Is there a library in the Hotel, Mr. Andi?”
I quickly add, “Or a net link?”
The old man shoots me a quick, amused look. “Yes, Miss Rogers. Mr. Andi believes that there are branches of the AR to be found around the hotel. All manner of information to be uncovered there. Lost dreams, forgotten secrets, hidden deeds, even a good story or two.”
“Thank you,” says Alice. She steps back, and I take the hint and follow her. “I need a coffee,” she says, and I let her escort me to an table, impossibly empty amongst the colourful crowds.
A coffee sounds good, but I also want to talk about...
- ... this hall, and the people in it. (45%)
- ... the old man's description of the library. (27%)
- ... Mr. Andi. (18%)
- ... checking my stuff. (10%)
Voting Closes at: August 26, 2009 @ 12:00 pm
Loading ...Photo: The Haunting Textures of the Hotel Sax by Stuck In Customs.