There is No sun in Eldeaux (Novel Excerpt)

"You cannot find it

Lost in the starlight--

Gone off Jupiter Hill

No, You must know,

There is No Sun in Eldeaux”

- Elizabeth Eloi

Chapter 1

The ticking of the clock drove James near insane. It was an old thing, a relic of his father’s father. It was kept well but the strain of time was obvious on it. The glass cover was clouded, the wood cracked, and the hands crooked. James should’ve learned to drown it out by now, and for the most part he did, it only ever disturbed James when it pierced his thoughts. And disturbing James in his time of contemplation was never a perfect thing.

The man had a lot on his mind as he leaned back and sighed. From the table a cigarette called to him and so he answered with a toke. A puff of smoke joined the hazy, dimly lit room as he clutched his cigarette tightly before resigning to put it out.

James’ mind stuttered into blankness as he tried to sort his thoughts. He was left with nothing concrete, just abstract notions of stress and fear. Such things were common for James. He managed them, but when he sat alone, they tightened around him until he could no longer stand to breathe.

Yet James had to force one. A long breath. The ticking of the clock pierced his mind and he could no longer afford his thoughts. There were seven minutes before he had to go to work.

He was a musician, a trumpeter and member of the Nova Quintet. Something he also inherited from his father and, to some degree, his father’s father as well. James looked around his home with a slight frown. His trumpet was tucked away neatly on a shelf, the only thing neat about the house it occupied. The rest was cluttered and ashy, as to match the splintering wood stoop just past the door.

But before James got there, he grabbed his trumpet and looked in the mirror. His skin was darker and smooth, just masking signs of bad health. He was tall, built up, but without much fat on him. He didn’t have much of an appetite, smoking helped with that. And though the drinking would inevitably catch up to him, for now, he was thin. 

He wore a simple black suit. It was something that looked nice on him, just nice enough. It was made for a man wider than James, but at the same time half an inch shorter. But it was brought together by a navy tie with dark lettering on it. Mon Paradis.

He stepped through that splintering, wooden porch and walked himself down two flights of stairs, wincing at the sound of neighbors arguing. The shouts stopped once he closed the door of his auto and started the engine -- the grinding start causing him to wince again.

He got himself going, passing by trash covered sidewalks ruptured by tree roots and onto the Eldeaux Expressway. And, for a sole moment, as he ascended to the heights of the highway, he saw the sun past the coast, glimmering against the highrises and Legacy Spear. It is the view that sometimes made James doubt the city’s death.

But as the barriers cleared, so did the opulence of the city. And all James could think was that the Legacy Spear would look a lot better with Elijah Greenwood impaled on it.

He took the fork leading him away from the Spear, towards Argent Avenue. Argent was his exit and also an incredibly crooked and narrow street from when the city was growing too fast for itself. But it was lively. For now, lively with the sounds of entirely too many autos, their horns, and pedestrian frustrations.

Thankfully he didn’t have to go too far to his venue, the Mercury Club. It had been around for years, found on an oddly shaped property, nestled in between bodegas and apartments. But its location brought popularity.

It was a place James found himself comfortable at -- safe. And the smell of scotch and smoke wafting from inside brought him that warm familiarity.

He pushed past the heavy doors and was greeted by a man named Samuel.

“James.” Samuel nodded with a slight uptick in his voice. It was a tone that could only be described as melancholic enthusiasm. “How have you been, Friend?”

“Good enough to be here. Lucky enough to play for a living. But it’s nice to see you. How have you been?”

“Well enough to be here too. Well enough to be alive. There are many blessings.” Samuel offered a warm smile. A genuine one. “Let me tell you -- Marcel wants to see you. And later, let Willie know I want to say hi”.

“Ah of course you would.” James found comfort in Samuel’s request. “And. Of course Marcel would too. I’ll find him.”

James tapped Samuel on the shoulder and brushed by him, making his way towards the bar. Marcel, James figured, would be at a reserved table. But Marcel, James also figured, could wait a moment. He grabbed himself a cigar. Olu tobacco. It was a weakness of James. And when he indulged he found all of his muscles relaxed.

He clutched it and brought that comfort with him through the nostalgic lounge of the Mercury Club. An interior of velvet and art deco fixtures offered elegance but made no effort to keep such pretenses after you became familiar with it. It was yet another Washer-run speakeasy, with little allowance for upkeep, nevertheless renovations. The Gramophone still wheezed whenever it played and the golden owl on the wall was still broken. James reasoned that would never change.

He worked his way to the private tables and saw Marcel, a pockmarked man, fitted with an uneven reddish beard. An ugly bastard, today his complexion was somehow cloudier and yellower than normal. And in his typical boisterous fashion, he yelled “James!” at first sight of him, the Olu flair in his voice elongated the ‘a’ sound.

“I’m glad to see you, friend”, Marcel continued, “Very. Because for once I actually have good news for you.”

James locked eyes and sat down, tapping his right hand twice against the table. “Fuck me, I might need some.”

“Alright -- so here’s what it is. Jenny Darwin. She’s hosting a little event -- gala if you will. She needs performers. And she wants you.”

James was silent for a second, attempting to speak before reconsidering. “Where the fuck do I begin Marcel? First, ‘good news’? Nothing wrapped up with the IRP is good news.”

“Nothin’ wrapped up in any of their schmoozing is ‘good’, sure, you got me there. But a big stage is.”

“See now you’re calling it a big stage. A second ago it was a ‘little event’ then you call it a gala? Look Marcel, I need you to give it to me straight. What’s the terms and why does Jenny fuckin’ Darwin want a washer?”

“Don’t trust your manager, huh?” Any sort of frustration or sincerity on Marcel’s part was overshadowed by a sense of amusement.

“Manager, my ass. Agent? Maybe. Friend who likes to fuck me over? Sure.”

“Alright, fine.”

“Jenny fuckin’ Darwin. Really?”

“Yeah, Miss Darwin herself. She heard about you. She thinks you’d put on a good show. I think you would too. And I’d say like a hundred or so guests. A little event for what it could be, if that makes sense.”

“How has Miss Darwin heard of us? That’s what I want to know. Yeah, I know what she preaches, but she doesn’t mean a lick of it. I mean does she even know there’s anything East of the Expressway?”

“She knows about the Wash. So, she must, I guess. That’s how she’d --”

“Nah, Marcel. She knows the word ‘Wash’. She doesn’t know about it.”

“Alright, James, and you won’t know anything more than your pop’s if you don’t take this offer. Bootlegging and divorce? I know you know those words. Know about how it feels too.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No. It’s not. I don’t want to do this to you James, but you gotta at least let me pitch it to you--you’re shaking, James. Look. I don’t like upsetting you. Go get settled for the show. We can talk later.”

James took a breath and stood up. In a half joking manner he went, “I’m going to get you, Marcel.”

“Says the scrawny motherfucker. Get goin’, pal”, Marcel said in turn, the amusement on his face still present. He watched as James collected himself with another breath and went backstage.

It was a dimly lit place that was very much lived-in. The couches were cut and bruised, the lockers’ locks didn’t quite work, and the vanity had makeup stains covering the wood. From inside, James could hear the resonance of someone fiddling with a bass. The plucking and slapping wasn’t in the typical Eldeaux-fashion -- not even that of Olu. It was much more inline with the musicians who came to Eldeaux from Gair, via Pasé.

He opened the door and saw Willie. A young man, thin, and who’s shoulder length hair touched the top of his red suit. He was 23, the suit being an homage to the club they were in, the one Willie knew all his life.

Willie’s hair drew a current around his eyes as he looked down to his double bass. The notes he played found themselves in his chest cavity and served as his breath. His head nodded as his mind did the same, finding himself inside the music.

He was playing a rendition of So It Goes. A version close enough to the original but with enough technical flourish to separate it. James skirted around him, moving towards a coffee table. Upon it was a thin, hard-covered book. Sweetly, Elizabeth. He opened it and sat on the sofa, finding himself sinking in it.

Willie picked up on the shuffling and stopped plucking his bass. He drew his hair away from his face and smiled at James. “I think I had something there! I think I oughtta try that out during an actual performance soon!”

James laughed through his nose, “When don’t you?”

“Tuesdays? Probably? But no, I’m serious. I really need to give it a go. Sooner than later, too. Because, I don’t know if he told you, but Marcel has some plans.”

“Yeah he told me about some plans”, James replied, nodding too calmly for the look on his face.

“Ah, thank god I don’t have to be the one to tell you. It’s good money, though.”

“Yeah… doesn’t hurt anything but pride, either”

“You’re in?”

“I mean, if it can take another beating, it might as well.”

“Oh, James, you shouldn’t have any pride by this point. But, I think the centenaries we’ll be getting should help with that”

“I gotta have something though, don’t I? But -- how much are you thinking? Couple hundred?”

“More than a couple,” Willie smiled. “Especially for you. Cause I was thinking -- my folks gave me a little bit more dough to work with. And I think you deserve a bigger share -- no pity just fair”

“My share should be enough. And not to say I don’t appreciate it Willie, but Miss Jupiter Hill has pockets and I don’t like taking from your folks.”

Willie shrugged, “They like being taken from” but quickly dropped the conversation as the backstage door turned open.

Through it came a man with wide eyes, set apart like a prey animal. They were dark and grave, furrowed with an intensity that did much more than simply recommended silence and attention. It demanded it. The body upon the eyes existed were similarly wide and shaky. The man walked using a cane, and made his way over to the large mirror on the wall.

“Frank?” Willie called, ignoring the eyes’ demands -- though they didn’t notice. They were too focused on assessing the tie around Frank’s neck, adjusting it back into position.

Frank was adrift, until he slowly nodded his head at his reflection and stumbled to words.

“Fellas…” The big man worked his way towards an actual thought, “You read the paper?”

“Nah, I haven’t had a chance to yet.” Willie responded. “I’ve heard a little bit though, we’re up to like 16 now right? 17 maybe?”

“22.” Frank said. “22 homicides. I was lucky enough to see the record for myself.”

“Oh”, James finally spoke, standing up.

“No, Frankie. You don’t say”, Willie sympathized.

“I went out on a little date with the Missus, y’know? Up to that new joint -- the Trigger Hop.”

“Cherise was with you? Frank, that's terrible.” James made his way over to Frank, pulling a high-top chair out for him.

“Tell me about it.” Frank’s wide eyes softened as he took a seat. It was hard to tell just how much pain he was in until he got comfort. “Let’s not pretend like it’s new for me… but I promised Cherise she’d never have to hear gun shots again.”

“Well you can’t control that, Frank. You just can’t. She ought to know that much.” Willie’s youth showed in his voice. It was a hopeful plea more than anything else.

“She does.”

“And -- if you don’t mind me asking, your knee alright?” James clasped Frank’s shoulder.

“It hurts. Marcel said he’ll bring a stool out tonight. I ran to Cherise last night. But what I really can’t believe is that we’re up to 22.”

“Count ‘em. Can you believe it?” Through the still open door, Roy walked in. He was tall and broad shouldered. His black hair was slicked back and combed through, and he scratched one calloused hand with the other. “Yeah, I saw the paper too. Crazy, isn’t it? What a headline and it’s only Thursday.”

“I didn’t need to read the paper. I got it all live.” Frank nodded.

“Ah shit.” Roy caught himself.

“Yeah.”

“You know I didn’t--”

“Oh Roy, I know. If we took offense to what you said you would’ve been out of here years ago,” he said, rubbing his knee.

“Okay, okay. Good. Gee, Frank.”

“No, you do have an excellent point. And if I’m gonna hear another gunshot it might as well  be a historic one. Just barely over half way through the week and we’re already at 22.”

“Yeah,” Roy shook his head, though it wasn’t in disappointment. “They’re putting in curfews north of Memorial Street. I heard from some of the boys down at the plant this morning that it also means their hours are getting cut. They don’t want the managers violating it.”

“Makes sense for the Greenwoods,” James said.

“Yeah they love their bullshit. I guess the other shooting last night was in an Auto Bending. One of the new prototype autos. The 978s -- I can’t hold you, they’re real pretty.”

“Ain’t that the one that comes with the Nuvera Two-Way preinstalled?” Willie asked. Any response was killed by the noise of the door opening. Through it, came a lanky man in a tailored suit. His stride was smooth as he glided into the room. His shoes were new, -- shined, even. And his smile suggested a sort of confidence only felt by someone who was blessed with luck.

“No way,” James said with startled laughter that mixed with a hearty chuckle from Frank.

“The Dirt Man himself!” Roy’s voice boomed with laughter and excitement. “Muddy Howie! In a new suit! Fitted?”

“Good things happen to Men in the Mud,” Howard smiled. “It’s nice though, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. It is. But…” Willie scratched his head, “Holy hell. Where did you get that from?”

“Church,” Howie kept his response simple, punctuated by a nod of his head.

“Booooo!” Roy shouted. “And not for any disrespect to the Madame, but ‘cause you’re making the rest of us look like bums!”

“Yeah! For God’s sake, these trousers are from when I was 22 and my suit jacket has a cigarette burn on it!” James agreed, shaking his head in amusement.

“We are bums. Some of us just know to keep it on the inside.”

“After I get Marcel, I’m getting you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I forgot we can’t be presentable. Get me and the person who got us a big gig.”

“The time will come, buddy. You’ll be the dirt man once more.”

“But for now, I’m free,” Howard said, before gesturing his head towards the stage.

“It’s only a couple minutes till we’re on,” Willie agreed with Howard.