Chapter V

Down by the river (which a more poetical writer might call "the River of Suicides," but which residents refer to as "Shit Creek"), a man with a cane strut down the docks like he owned them. Which he probably did. This man owned a lot of property in the City of the Dead; adult bookstores where the really saucy books come with dire warnings; new age crystal shops that sell crystals so sharp they can (and do) cut; Tarot card readers where the decks are stacked with Death. In fact, this man probably owned more than half of the buildings in the City of the Dead.

If you were to ask this man his name, he would tell you that it is Macheath, but that is not his name. That is only the name he chose in this time and in this place -- in other times and other places, he goes by other names, each name fitting him like a glove.

This man, Macheath, strut down the docks and sang a song:

"When I was one-and-twenty
I heard a wise man say,
'Give crowns and pounds and guineas
But not your heart away."

Once his song was over, he slipped into a small building on the edge of the dock. This is one of the places where he met his operatives, of which he had many.

"Hello, my love," he whistled. "Hello, dear Jenny Diver."

The woman in the building had silver hair and wore a plain black kimono. "Good morning, Mr. Macheath."

"Call me Mack," he said.

"Yes, Mr. Macheath," Jenny with the silver hair said. "Do you wish to know the current situation?"

"You're quick on the uptick," he said, twirling his cane around him. "Sure, give me the rundown."

The woman he called Jenny Diver opened a folder and read, "The Preacher Man is still playing a game with the Lost Children, the City let someone get lost inside her, and there is a new inhabitant in the Icebound Temple."

"There always is," he smiled, his teeth as white as pearls.

"Oh," the woman said, "and Thomas the Rhymer called."

"That old sod? What did he say?"

The woman looked at the list again and cleared her throat. "The Ninth Hour approaches, the Nowhere Men are here. Watch them scurry like roaches, what have you to fear?"

The man called Macheath stopped swinging his cane. "The Nowhere Men, you say?" The woman nodded her head. "Hmm, that is intriguing. Old Thomas the Rhymer comes through." He raised the top of his cane to his chin and appeared to think deeply. "We'll have to make preparations. Let's hold a council meeting tonight, Jenny."

"Everyone, sir?"

"Everyone." Macheath spun around and walked to the door. "And perhaps after the meeting, we'll go to a bar and have a few laughs. After all, it'll be Saturday Night in the City of the Dead."

And as the man called Macheath strut down the docks again, he sang:

"When I was one-and-twenty
I heard him say again,

'The heart out of the bosom
Was never given in vain;

'Tis paid with sighs a plenty 

And sold for endless rue.'

And I am two-and-twenty,

And oh, 'tis true, 'tis true."