Chapter Text
The Ghost Zone – the Infinite Realms – didn’t do things by half measures. Except when it was more dramatic that way. Or someone got lazy. Or when it came to Danny, Dani, and Vlad, and what, exactly, it meant to be a half ghost. Or when someone was playing around with radiation. Or—
The point was, the Ghost Zone was big. It was grand. It walked right up to the boarders of imagination and then leaned over. It did majestic like nothing else. Of course, it also did squalid, dismal, creepy, and terrifying like nothing else, too, but at this time and in this place, majestic was definitely the term that came to mind.
The great ocean of the Infinite Realms – called by too many names for any single one of them to stick and subdivided into more names still – stretched in all directions. Including, in some cases, straight up and down. The memories of waves bearing it up in some places, and the variations of perceived or imagined gravity bending it others. It had island, either rooted to the intermittent floors or floating free on the surface. Some of those islands, both floating and fixed, were the size of continents, tentatively pinned in place by cities flooded so often that the deaths and trauma left an impression that held.
Danny knew from his research in the Library of Tongues, from the stories he’d begged out of Frostbite, Clockwork, and Pandora, that from a slightly different perspective, that top could be a bottom, perhaps even supporting islands on the other side of the ocean. And on that bottom were the cities that hand not just flooded, but sunk.
Water had always been a necessity for life, for travel, for harvest, for trade. Even now, most of Earth’s human population lived on rivers or coastlines. There were many such sunken cities, some more famous, or fictional, than others.
There was many-faced, sprawling Atlantis. The metropolis whose tallest spires rose above the waves and whose deepest depths dug through the seabed to become spires again, towering over an island of its own. It warred with itself forever and always over the nature of enlightenment and utopia, stealing philosophers and artists from other lands for that purpose.
There was Lyonesse, ruled by Prince Triste, who mourned the sinking of his city, the loss of his love, and the oaths he could not keep. Two hundred bells hung from the steeples its hundred and forty churches, and when they rang their sound carried through the water for miles around. There was a legend that those cursed into the form of geese or swans could be cured, if only they heard those bells.
There was Ys, the low city, full of mother-of-pearl and crystal. Once famous once for its celebrations and sweet wines, it was now known more for its university – and for the Lady Dahut Ahez, who did not rule, but instead… presided. She, and the other inhabitants – native or naturalized – were mari-morgens. Merfolk, more or less.
There was Kitezh, the city that cast itself down into the depths rather than be conquered. It was said that only those who meant the city no harm could find the paths that led to Kitezh. It was said that in Kitezh fire could burn underwater, and that all their torches and candles burned as bright as the day it was sunk.
And that was only four of the greatest cities beneath the waves. There were others. Helike, Wyddno, Buyan, Teithi Hen, Dvaraka, Jomsburg, Vineta, Kumari Kandam… And, around the edges, at the shores, on the islands, were those cities that had not drowned yet, but would someday: the Anticipations. There were ruins, too, places so lost, so dead, that even ghosts abandoned them.
This place, with cities and landscapes both thriving and empty, was the Drowned Quarter.
Danny had wanted to visit for a while, now. It sounded interesting. It sounded different. It sounded as if he could explore it for a thousand years and never be done.
Although, he’d probably get bored before then. Or distracted. Exploration wasn’t his only interest. Especially, sea exploration wasn’t his only interest. And even if it was, everyone took breaks. And it was kind of far away from his home, which he was sort of attached to, and there were a lot of other really interesting things between here and there, and—
And none of this was relevant, was it? He was here, now, and he had a pretty good grasp of what sorts of touristy things were expected of him, because he was doing touristy things, not research, not today.
Like he said, everyone took breaks. Everyone needed them.
He maybe felt a little bad that his parents didn’t know exactly where he was, but it wasn’t going to hurt them, and he knew how to get help in an emergency.
Plus, next time, when he was here with all their cameras and equipment, he’d be able to give them more background on what was happening and where everything was. He’d be able to tell them a tale, so to speak, and he snickered at his own, silent, pun.
As for where, exactly, he was… For the moment, Danny hovered far above the sea and gazed upon a sparkling jewel of an island. In front of him was the Anticipation of Venice, the Anticipation of Masks. It was already filled with the drowned and those who, having died in the real Venice, could not bear to leave it entirely, but just as equally could not haunt the real one.
In some ways it was like the real Venice, or at least the pictures Danny had seen, with its canals and golden gilding, but in others it was different. It was obvious, even at this distance, that the city here was magnified, greater than the one it was modeled on, grown large in the imagination, in stories, in successive generations of ghostly inhabitants that each wanted their Venice, the one that only lived in their head, until they made it real.
Danny had heard of many things about the Anticipation of Venice, and there were many things he wanted to try there. He wanted to go to Carnivale, and to see the Court of Lions, and to ride on the gondolas in the canals.
But the thing Danny wanted to try today wasn’t any of those things. It was something that, in his opinion, was a little more unique. A little less… human.
Even so, he turned away from the city. Like Three Twilights, there were rules for how you entered the Anticipation of Masks. It was a defensive measure, he had learned, like the gates of a human city. It limited the avenues by which an army might march on the cities. Although, it was much more common in older cities. Cities that might have cause to remember Pariah Dark, and the wars that went on even after he was imprisoned. Wars in the Infinite Realms were fewer and further between, these days. Although they, like the Realms, were infinite.
Three Twilights had to be traversed in order, in the same way that the day might progress to the shores of night. The Anticipation of Venice, much like its living counterpart, could only be approached by sea.
Danny could try to swim. It wasn’t as if he had to breathe, or as if going through water would tire him all that much more than flying through the air. But he was trying to do tourist things.
Venice wasn’t the only city that was sinking. The Anticipation of New Orleans pulsed with electric light on the shoreline, the tomb-cities that ringed it brighter than its heart, making it look like nothing so much as a crescent moon when seen from above. There were boats, there, at the mouth of the river, that would take him to the Anticipation of Venice. There was a ferry, even, that ran regularly. More or less.
Closer, now, Danny could hear the music, smell the spices on the wind. Peppers, garlic, and salt, a touch of oregano and thyme. The music was brass, for the most part, but there was bone, too, and voices, in languages that Danny hadn’t learned yet but was already interested in.
And, as he landed in the city, he could feel portals, too. The Ghost Zone and Earth were close here, touching intermittently. He wondered if it was close enough to account for all the magic New Orleans was famous for.
The atmosphere of the city as a whole was that of a party. One that could be loud, raucous, or quiet, elegant. One that could be dangerous, in the darker corners, but always full of interesting people and exciting things, nonetheless.
Maybe, if he wasn’t operating on quite so much of a time limit, he would have investigated. As it was, he really wanted to get to the Anticipation of Venice. Part of the beauty of the Ghost Zone was that no matter how long he took the Anticipation of New Orleans really would still be there when he came back. Or, at least, somewhere nearby, underwater.
Still. Danny could admit that he rubbernecked, a bit. There was so much to see. A lot of it was pretty, but not all of it. For every Mardi Gras float still piloted by its crew or advanced to a state of independent unlife, or open restaurant wafting delicious smells into the air, there was an echo of a battle, or a whisper of something dark and hungry. Danny had even had to dodge a group of exile vampires who caught scent of his not-yet-cold blood.
It was easy to get turned around, too, but there was no prohibition against flying here, so Danny was able to jump up, above roof level, to get his bearings, before sinking back down to enjoy the sights and sounds.
He reached the docks and joined the small crowd of ghosts queuing up to board the ferry. Nouvèl Orleans – Venesia – Amestelledamme proclaimed one of the sideboards. Damosel Melusin was written on another. He negotiated, briefly, with the white-veiled lady who was handing out gold-foil tickets, and handed over a pair of ice crystals, each of them glowing faintly from within.
A band was playing on the deck, most of the instruments were brass, but a handful of strings, drums, and woodwinds as well. The outfits and demeanors of the players made Danny think that the band had been formed largely by chance, but they played well together.
Danny found a space to perch, tail gathered up underneath him, and watched as all sorts of different people boarded the ferry. There were some who glittered, either with their skin, their clothes, the very air around them, or all three. There were some who lurked, drawing darkness and obfuscation around them like cloaks. There were people who almost seemed ordinary, like workers getting on a bus. There were those who hadn’t changed themselves at all from the moments of their death, their intestines still trailing after them, wounds dripping spectral blood. There were a few so covered in masks, veils, and cloaks that not a single inch of skin could be seen, and most of their body shape – if their costume wasn’t their body; Danny knew that could happen – was obscured as well.
The sky above flickered between ectoplasmic green and the hues of a furious, glorious sunset.
“Hello!” called a ghost, pitching their voice to carry over the general buzz. “You there! The boy with white hair!”
There were a number of ghosts with white hair in the vicinity, and a number of ghosts that might be identified as ‘boys,’ but a quick look about showed that Danny was the only who fit both categories. He pointed at himself, confused, and tried to locate the speaker.
“Yes! You! Stay where you are, I’ll come to you. Away with you all! Out of the way!”
A ghost with a white and angular full-face mask and an encompassing cloak shouldered other passengers out of the way. They were dragging a handcart piled high with masks, ribbons, and scarves behind them as they flew eagerly up to Danny. They loomed over Danny.
(Then again, most ghosts did. Danny was… not tall.)
“Er,” said Danny. “Can I help you?”
“The question is, can I help you?”
Danny blinked at them, confused. “Can you?”
“Of course! I am only the most meritorious mask merchant on the Melusin! My masks are multitudinous! And you, it seems, do not have one!”
“Oh,” said Danny, slipping a rolled-up domino from his pocket. “I have one, I heard that you can’t go into the Anticipation of Masks without one, so…”
“Augh! You wound me!” The ghost clasped their gloved hands to their chest. “Comparing my delightful disguises to that dismal one? Say it isn’t so!”
Danny didn’t know that the domino mask was dismal, but he could admit that it wasn’t as nice as any of the ones he saw on the mask merchant’s cart. “Well, no, but—”
“But nothing! You cannot go to the Anticipation of Masks with such a- a rag.” The ghost waved their hands. “No! No! Listen, child, Venice of the living world so loved masks that there were laws passed to keep its denizens from wearing them! Now, in this hereafter, those laws are reversed in their entirety. You would disrespect such a history?”
“Well, no, but—” Danny looked down at the rather wrinkled mask in his hands. “Do you take ghost ice?”
The ghost turned momentarily and dug a beaded mask and matching scarf from his cart. “Can you do beads like this?” they asked, intently. “Assuming, that is, that you are a creator of ice?”
Danny took a moment to examine the beads. “I might have to make them a little bit larger than this, and I don’t know if I can do all these shapes.”
“Ha! And I would not have found one who could make any at all for a decade or more. It shall be sold. Let me see, which mask will you suit most?”
“It’ll have to stand up to being underwater,” cautioned Danny. “I’m going to be—”
“Sampling the delights of the city! Say no more! I have seen it all, and then again. I have seen the adornments of the lovely artisans of the Sea Silk Salon, and mine have adorned them! Indeed! Indeed!”
The ghost held up first one, then another mask, comparing them to each other and to… Well, to Danny himself, he supposed. They discarded both masks, and pulled out more.
“Too much glitter…! Too sharp! This one… No, not with that kind of chin. Hm. Hmm. Let us see, let us see. No, no, the lace, it is wrong, all wrong! The lace lacks! Indeed, indeed. But some softening is needed, around the edges. Some extension into space… Ah ha! This!”
The ghost held up another mask, triumphantly. It was a deep, dark gray, almost black, fading slightly towards its edges. The corners of the mask, just an inch or two behind the eyes, next to the ears, were festooned with loops of long, trailing ribbons in shades of black, white, and gray. The ghost brandished it at Danny, and he saw that both the ribbons and the body of the mask itself were further decorated with needle-point-thin traceries of silver in spiraling patterns.
“Here,” said the ghost. “You, you can make ice, yes? Make it on this one. Just the little bit, with feathers.”
Danny took the mask gingerly. “You’re sure?”
“Yes, yes. It has been too long, that this one has gone all unfinished.”
Danny licked his lips and, focusing, let delicate fern-like traceries spread from his fingertips, clinging to the lines of silver. When it seemed complete, Danny sighed and moved his hands so that he could hold it from the bottom.
“Like this?” he asked.
“Perfect! You must wear this one. It is decided.”
“Okay,” said Danny, hesitantly. He looked at all the ribbons. “Which ones of these are for tying it on?”
“None of them! We are ghosts, yes? The rules of humans, they do not apply! You feel them mask, you wear the mask—it wears you! You see?”
Danny squinted at the mask merchant. “This isn’t going to stick to my face and refuse to come off, is it?” he asked.
“Ha! No. Ask any of these, my satisfied customers.” The ghost gestured broadly, and a number of other ghosts, apparently eavesdropping for lack of other things to occupy them, nodded.
“Okay,” said Danny. “I’d like to pay you, first, though.” Danny knew that sometimes problems arose on that front. From ghosts feeling as if they’d been cheated in payment, and retaliating with powers like curses. “How many beads are you looking for?”
By the time Danny had satisfied the mask merchant and they had wandered off to try their luck with the rest of the passengers, the ferry was well underway. After a few minutes of watching bluer than blue water lap up against the sides of the boat and twist in improbably curlicues, Danny sighed and pressed the mask to his face. It did fit perfectly.
“So,” said a nearby scarecrow-thin and gangling ghost in a butterfly blue mask. “Where are you from? Not the Anticipation of Tuesdays.”
“I- Is that something that the Anticipation of New Orleans is called?” He hadn’t heard that.
“Sometimes! Something about names, I’ve heard. A little bit of space between who you were and who you’re becoming. So?”
“The Wastes, I guess,” said Danny, naming the area closest to the portal. “America, before that.”
“Me too! The part about America, at least. I’m from Portland, now and then.”
“Which Portland?” He hadn’t realized Portland had an Anticipation.
“Good question! It’s hard to tell, really. I think it might be all of them. They call me Flitterby.” The ghost extended his hand.
Danny shook it. “Phantom.”
“Nice to meet you. So… Venice?”
“Yeah,” said Danny. “You?”
“And from there, on to the Anticipation of Amsterdam. Never got to travel when I was alive, you see. Now, I stay moving, as much as possible. After Amsterdam, I’m headed to the Anticipation of Kolkata, then the Anticipation of Vice – that’s the Anticipation of Miami, it’s supposed to have really good parties. That’s kind of a theme, for the Anticipations, actually, isn’t it? For the Sunken Cities, too. Like, I hear Ys went down because of a big party.”
“Don’t let Lady Dahut Ahez hear you say that,” cautioned another passenger.
“What? Why?”
Danny listened as the ghosts around him conversed. It seemed, funnily enough, that every time one of them shared a fact, someone else contradicted it. It was entertaining, but not informative.
As the boat sailed, the sky tended more and more towards bloody sunset, flickers of green growing further apart. The sea, meanwhile, became more and more blue.
And, glittering on the line of the horizon, as white and shining as a pearl, was the Anticipation of Venice.
The ferry docked without incident and disgorged its passengers. Many of them took off flying immediately.
Danny had looked at pictures of the true Venice before coming here, and this version was much taller than the other. It was built up onto itself, with older, but newer-looking, versions of buildings closer to the waterline. Gondolas plied both the air and waterways, the same as the ghosts. The canals themselves were a clear crystal blue – as he understood it, that wasn’t at all true to life, either – and ghosts swam there, too, styled after mermaids, water nymphs, fish, and sea-serpents.
It was beautiful.
And confusing.
Danny’s destination was the Sea Silk Salon. He didn’t know where it was exactly, the directions he’d gotten hadn’t been detailed. But it couldn’t be too far, and because of what it was, it needed to be on the water.
But… there didn’t seem to be any signs on anything.
He sighed. Time to ask for directions.