Midnight Metropolis: Chapter Twelve (4/5)
Let the Baby Sit Down
A serialised novel of sunless planets, hallucinogenic mushrooms, daemons, and... pizza rats. 🍕🐀
New chapters posted every Friday! Scroll to the bottom for content warnings.
Brax broke through the press of the crowd, three small paper cups balanced on a tray. He slid it onto the table with some relief and sat in the vacant seat beside Tattie.
“I thought you’d run off,” she said.
“I considered it. You would not believe how long the line is for these tiny, overpriced coffees.”
Traci-Lynn snatched a cup and lifted it in both hands. She drained it in a single gulp.
“Mervaroid save me, that bitch is hot,” she said. “Bitter, too.”
Brax looked to Tattie, speechless.
“This is Traci-Lynn,” Tattie explained. “We worked the Bunker together.” She began to introduce Brax, but Traci had already pivoted her attention back to Red Bowler Hat.
Tattie slid a coffee towards Brax and leaned in close. His skin smelled good—sweet spice with undertones of leather.
“I’m sorry about her,” she said under her breath. “She’s pissed off about the Bunker, acting loopy.”
“Is she going to be a problem?” Brax whispered back.
“I don’t think she’d remember if a group of husks climbed up on stage and started spanking each other. We’re good.”
Bowler Hat was shaking hands with a tall, skinny man. His hair was a hard shiny green, polymer-sprayed to long thrusting points. The overall effect was that of a giant, malformed cockerel. The man flashed the audience a nervous glance. He waited for Bowler Hat to depart, then leapt towards the front of the stage with a primal yell, his arms outstretched and his stringy legs bent. Tattie almost jumped out of her chair.
“Wake up, wake up,” the man began. “The dogs are barking, the cat’s thrown up.”
“Bloody lovely,” Tattie said. Traci-Lynn shushed her loudly, one pudgy finger pressed to her lips.
“Grab your baby, grab your baby, grab your baby. Baby’s crying. Shut it up. Shut it down. Grind it down. Slime the ground.”
“This is profound,” Tattie said, unable to restrain herself.
Brax’s mouth was open, his lips parted in disbelief. Tattie placed a finger beneath his chin and gently closed it.
“You’re supposed to be enjoying this,” she reminded him. “We’re just a normal group of work colleagues, out to drink coffee and hear some poetry.”
“Well, the coffee’s rank and the poetry’s shit.”
“Will you two shut up?” Traci-Lynn roared, drawing the attention of several ruffled poetry fans. “I’m trying to watch the performance.”
Tattie stared hard at the table, sure that if she glanced Brax’s way again, his look of discomfort edged with mild disgust would make her lose it. She was supposed to be a professional. Dissolving into hysterical laughter would just be embarrassing.
“Let the baby sit down let the baby sit down let the baby sit down.”
The man began to spin on the stage, his arms rising and falling like two emaciated wings. Tattie bit down hard on her bottom lip. He slapped his chest, activated some button or touchpad hidden beneath his shirt. An explosion of light shot from his body, creating a minuscule sun that obliterated him until all Tattie could see was a revolving ball of incandescent glare topped with two green polymer points. It hurt her eyes.
“We are the babies,” the man screamed. “We are your children. Let. The. Baby. Sit. Down.”
He slumped to one knee, head bowed as the lights blasting from his body diminished and finally stopped. The audience exploded into rapturous applause. Tattie wanted to stand on her chair and order them all to shut the fuck up.
Red Bowler Hat was back, his face a floating rictus grin beneath the stage lights. “Let’s hear it for Sonoquill. He’s a regular here at the Cat, and I think he’s aptly demonstrated why.”
“Sonoquill?” Brax mouthed at Tattie. She bit her bottom lip harder, tried to concentrate on Bowler Hat.
“Next we have a newcomer. A visitor all the way from Lobo. No flying shards here, though, just smooth prose and harmonious verse.”
Bowler Hat beckoned to a shaggy-headed woman clenching fists the size of two oiled hams. She claimed the stage and turned hard, bright eyes on the audience.
“I’m Fenny Leech,” she snarled, top lip curling. “This is a new piece. I call it Bonnet Whip.”
As Fenny Leech launched into Bonnet Whip with a series of cracking noises wrenched from the back of her throat, Traci-Lynn kicked herself around on her chair and upset what was left of the coffee. Brax watched the thick, steaming liquid make a slow trail across the table, his lips pressed tight together.
“You’re missing Bonnet Whip,” Tattie said.
Fenny Leech began to bellow like a bog bull, wide nostrils flaring, thick dry hair flying across her face.
“Sod Bonnet Whip,” Traci-Lynn said. “Have you seen who’s waiting to go on next?” Her eyes had taken on a besotted glow, moist and intense.
“No,” Ginx said, crumpling her paper cup. She threw it down on the table. It landed in the seeping coffee spill and began to turn brown.
“It’s only bloody Autumn Dawn,” Traci said. “She’s famous around here. She’s going to blow your tiny minds, just you wait. Her grasp of natural imagery, her innate sense of flow and rhythm, just the way she can reach right inside you and connect—”
“You said her name’s Autumn?” Tattie said.
“Do you know her? Are you guys Dawners? That’s why I feel so close to you.” Traci facepalmed as though she’d just discovered how to wake the Divine Head, and all they’d had to do this entire time was tickle his chin. “What’s your favourite Dawn rhyme? I’ve always loved Song of Five Flickering Birds, but I saw her perform Fire Slave at this poetry battle last year, and I—”
Tattie reached across the table and lightly touched Traci-Lynn’s brow. Traci’s mouth shut with a sharp clacking of teeth, her eyes darkly blank. She fell forward and slumped across the table, a thumb-sized smear of blood running from her forehead to join the sticky coffee stain. Brax and Ginx stared at Tattie.
“You cursed her,” Ginx said. “You cast a muting hex.”
“Nothing so dramatic as that,” Tattie said. “You shouldn’t believe everything your daemon friend tells you.” She wiped the weeping pad of her thumb on the edge of her coat and slipped her Rakkonian knife back into its hiding place. “If I’d hexed her, she’d never be able to talk again. That might have done the planet a favour, but she’s just going to sleep for a little while. It’s called a Scarlet Kiss.”
“And why did you put Traci-Lynn to sleep?” Brax asked.
He glanced about their table, eying the people sitting next to them. Thankfully, Fenny Leech had kept the audience enthralled with her epic poem about Bonnet Whip the mechanical cat. No one reacted to Traci-Lynn’s sudden bout of unconsciousness.
“I put her to sleep because I’m fairly certain Autumn Dawn is Autumn Riviera, and it’s time to get down to business,” Tattie said. “We can’t have Traci-Lynn getting in the way. She’s three sheets to the wind, she needed a time out.”
“What if you’re wrong?” Ginx said. “There’s more than one Autumn on the planet.”
“More than one Autumn who’s performing at the Swinging Cat tonight? That would be a huge coincidence.”
Ginx still didn’t look convinced.
“We might as well talk to her,” Brax said. “I can’t stand any more of this mechanical cat drivel anyway.”
They left Traci-Lynn lying face down amongst the empty coffee cups and elbowed their way through the crowd, aiming for the side of the stage. The woman Traci had pointed out was pale and delicate looking, with sculpted cheekbones Riven would have sold his prized apartment for.
As they approached, Tattie became acutely aware that she didn’t actually know what to say. Perhaps she should go straight in with another Scarlet Kiss, tell Bowler Hat Autumn had mysteriously collapsed, and cart her off to a less conspicuous area. Brax stepped in front of her before she could decide. He offered Autumn his hand, which she took without thinking. She scowled at him when she realised she didn’t know him from a hole in the ground.
“Can I help you?”
Want to download some awesome books for free? Check out the All-Genre All-Stars BookFunnel promotion.
If you enjoy my fiction and you’d like to support me, for just £3.50 a month (prices will vary depending on your country) you’ll receive these subscriber bonuses:
Blood and Teeth: A Dark Fiction Collection (exclusive ebook)
Arcanoforge: Midnight Metropolis - fully edited, available once the serialised novel is complete (ebook)
First dibs on advanced reader copies of any future published works—this includes volumes two and three of The Age of Aikana (scheduled for 2025 and 2026)
A warm, tingly feeling knowing that you’ve helped to support an indie writer!
Content Warnings
Description of blood, swearing