Complication

** * **

  The boat made dock early in the evening. A light sprinkle fell from the sky. Michael and Debora walked out into it and were surprised by how it felt. It was like hard little pebbles dropping on them. Michael held out a hand and caught a few icy pellets in his palm. He shrugged. “Dry rain, that’s the Great City for you.”

  It wasn’t just the weather that was different in the Great City. Everything was different, right down to the consistency of the ground and air, which both seemed harder than they should be. The sidewalks were as wide as the roads and just as crowded, chock full of people, criss-crossing each other without pattern or flow. The street was full of electric bicycles and motorized buggies. They buzzed by, giving Michael the feeling of being in a giant bee hive.

  They walked three blocks to their hotel. On the opposite side of the street, a fight broke out and pedestrians veered to avoid it. On their own side, a man stood next to a crate of snakes. He held one up, tangled around his arm, as he rambled off prices.

  Stepping into the lobby of their hotel, they felt the dampness of the melting rain on their clothes, though it was only slightly warmer and dryer inside. Debora shivered and shook off the pellets that still clung to her. The lighting was dim - the ceilings, tall and plastered with a rough bumpy texture. The walls were dark and stained a sticky-looking green. The place was nearly vacant - no art work was hung and no furniture available to sit on; only the echo of their feet.

  “Do you have a reservation?” a young man asked from a location hidden behind a counter.

  “Yes,” Michael said, walking over to give him his credit card. “Bandolier.”

  “Rooms 417 and 419,” the man said.

  “Are those non-smoking?” Debora asked.

  “All we have is smoking.”

  Michael spoke over his shoulder to see if that was acceptable for Debora, but really it would have to do. He could almost hear her rolling her eyes. Michael took the keys from the young man.

  They collected their bags and waited at the elevator. After a while, the young man spoke up.

  “It’s broken.” He pointed toward the stairs.

  They clanked up the dark, narrow stairway, their bags bumping and scraping along the walls. They found their doors on the fourth floor and stopped to rest.

  “Come in,” Michael said out of breath. “We should do some quick planning for the morning.”

  The room was as gloomy as the staircase. Debora pulled a curtain open but it did little to help. The dull clouds hung low, almost scraping the roof tops.

  “How's the view?”

  “Depressing.” Debora turned to see Michael hanging a couple suits in the closet. Then he put a few undershirts in a drawer, along with some socks and ties. His shoes were already off and set neatly with their heels against the wall. He ripped his tie off and threw it on the bed, then emptied the contents of his pockets.

  “What’s this?” Debora said, spotting a business card.

  “That is a man I met on the boat.”

  Debora picked the card up and read: “Keeper of Ancient Artifacts. Could he be a resource?”

  “Perhaps, but something seemed off about him. He may be helpful as a last resort, but my notion is that we would be better off not running into him again.”

  Five