Inside what Ori privately thought of as the Paternoster Annex, that angel was considering the costumes available in the dressing room and wondering which to choose.

'What exciting adventure shall I go on next?' Ori thought. 'I quite fancy this full-bottomed coat in cloth of gold. Maybe with the thigh-high boots.'

A booming laugh interrupted the sartorial musings. 'You'd look pretty funny where you're going next if you showed up in that get-up.'

'Okay,' replied Ori, 'I'll bite. What should I wear this time?'

An outfit floated off the rack and draped itself over a chair. To Ori's complete dismay, the outfit looked extremely familiar.

'Oh, no!' sighed Ori. 'Don't tell me we're still in Sumeria! I was looking forward to more interesting times.'

'Interesting is a relative notion,' commented Prajapati. 'Besides, these people just happened to land in Sumeria. After all, the place has a really long history. Actually, before they walked into the vortex, they came from every possible place and time: high-tech, low-tech, temperate zone, tropics, desert…you name it.'

'So how did they end up in Sumeria together?' Ori wanted to know.

'They…have certain things in common,' was the reply. 'You'll see.'

'I guess I will,' sighed Ori and put on the costume again.

'You're headed for the Tigris this time,' was all Prajapati would say.

Once again, the sun shone brightly down on baked mud brick. Once again, people thronged the marketplaces. Once again, Ori listened to chatter and gossip.

'Have you heard this one? A dog walked into a tavern and…'

'Mommy, what is that bird in the cage called?'

At least six old men nearby turned and with one voice yelled, 'Mushen¹!'

Then they all laughed, except for the boy who had asked. He burst out crying. His mama gave the old men dirty looks and took the child off to find a refreshment booth.

A man walked up to a vegetable stand. 'Have you got any, er, lettuce?' He nudged the vegetable seller in the ribs. The vegetable seller rolled his eyes and handed the customer a head of lettuce.

Another passerby – of the ones who'd yelled 'Mushen!' – asked, 'Planning a big night with the missus, are you?' Others sniggered. The vegetable seller muttered something about not carrying lettuce any more if they wouldn't learn to behave.

Prajapati said drily, It isn't really an aphrodisiac, you know. Ori didn't know what to make of it all.

'That's what I like best about Akkad, you know?' said a voice next to Ori's ear. 'It's that wonderful, old-fashioned sense of humour.' Ori turned to see empty space – then adjusted the gaze downward to spot the speaker, a short, rotund, bald man.

'Close your mouth, young man, you'll catch flies,' said the man, jabbing his elbow into Ori's ribs. For such a round person, he had sharp elbows.

'My mouth wasn't open,' Ori started to say, but stopped, looking more closely at the man. It occurred to the messenger that the man didn't really care what Ori had or hadn't done. He was too busy enjoying his own 'joke'.

He was also too busy enjoying himself at the expense of a perfect stranger. Ori gave the man a disapproving look and decided against asking his name. As Ori continued through the marketplace, the man called out, 'No sense of humour, is your problem! Go back where you came from, foreigner!'

Ori spent a while shopping around the various corners of the marketplace. At every stand they told the same terrible jokes – and laughed with glee at the telling of them. In the centre of the marketplace, Ori saw a puppet show going on and stopped to watch it – an act Ori quickly regretted.

'Come here, Iudit! Let me beat you with my stick!' Much chasing about until just about every character fell into the Euphrates and was eaten by a crocodile, who took the last bow. Frankly, by this point, Ori was cheering for the crocodile, too. For a curtain call, the cast of puppeteers came out and sang the most earsplittingly horrible song Ori had ever heard: it was sort of like a series of terrible limericks set to a bombastic operatic aria – and, of course, accompanied by several cast members on kazoos. Ori asked a bystander what the song was.

'Why, the Akkadian anthem, of course! Hey, where do you come from?' Ori moved away quickly.

The Akkadians were also rude and abusive to customers and overcharged whenever they thought they could get away with it. Finally, having failed to find a bench anywhere, Ori sat down on the edge of a rather unattractive fountain.

'Hmpf. Tell me again, Prajapati: you say many people chose to come here based on their predilections?'

Yes, mostly. There are a few, erm, stragglers. We're here to pick them up.

With a shake of the head, Ori decided it was time for lunch and took out the morning's purchases: a reed poke of figs and raisins, some pita loaves, a grape leaf wrapped around some olives, and a jar of very weak beer.

'For some reason, I've bought too much,' commented Ori. 'I'd send you some if I could figure out how.' Prajapati chuckled.

'Hey, mister, could you spare some of that food? We're awfully hungry.'

Ori turned to see two children, both boys, in ragged tunics. Wordlessly, Ori handed out bread and fruit. With nods of thanks, the kids sat down beside Ori and began eating. Ori worried that they were a bit too young for beer, but they gladly drank water from the fountain.

'My name's Ori,' Ori offered and got in return that the boys were Agad and Habik, that they were brothers, and that they and their family had been part of a caravan that had been attacked in the desert. They'd wandered into Akkad and found themselves thoroughly unwelcome. Akkad didn't like strangers one little bit.

'Our dad and mom get odd jobs,' explained Agad, 'But half the time they don't even pay them. They just give us leftovers to eat. They say something about 'Akkad for Akkadians' and tell us to leave town if we don't like it here.'

'We don't like it here,' chimed in Habik. 'But we don't know where else to go. We don't like their terrible jokes, either,' he added. Ori agreed that the jokes were really insufferable.

After they'd all eaten, Ori wanted to go and find the parents right away, but the boys explained that they didn't know where they were. They were due to meet them by the fountain at sundown. Until then, they were on their own. Ori decided to take them under a figurative wing (no real ones in evidence while undercover), and they all set off to see what there was to do while the rest of the citizenry was taking their noon nap.

Aside from the occasional stray dog, nothing and nobody was moving as the trio wandered the narrow, unkempt streets. Ori noticed that the whole place looked neglected. They might be hostile to outsiders, Ori thought, but they don't seem to have much civic pride, either.

That's because they're too selfish to pay for improvements, replied Prajapati. Each one is convinced that if they did anything for the city, somebody else would get the benefit. They couldn't stand that.

So rather than see anyone else be happy, they'd rather be miserable themselves?

You're catching on. Ori shrugged and walked on behind the boys, who were leading the way.

'I guess everyone's asleep,' Ori started to say. But Agad shook his head. 'Not everyone. There are some nice people who are awake. Let us show you.' Agad and Habik found the place: a basement door, half-hidden in the ground, that was opened in response to a whispered code phrase.

Inside, the basement was pleasantly cool after the heat outside. That was the first thing Ori noticed. The second was that someone was playing the lyre – and very well, indeed. The boys had been welcomed by some older children who took them off into a corner to play, so Ori sat down gratefully on a floor cushion and listened to the music, which was being played by a young woman of obvious talent.

The music fed Ori's spirit, particularly after spending the morning being assaulted by all the mean-minded 'wit' of the Akkadians. The lyre seemed to be opening windows in the mind: there were questions here that the universe might possibly, someday, have answers for.

When the little concert was finished, Ori joined the others in applauding the performance. 'That was very beautiful,' he told the musician, whose name turned out to be Zena.

'You're new,' said Zena. 'Hey, guys! Somebody new in town!' Unlike the rest of the Akkadians, Zena and her friends weren't at all hostile to strangers – in fact, they seemed delighted to meet someone new. Anyone, in fact. Agad's explanation that they'd picked up Ori in the marketplace, and that Ori had shared lunch, put the visitor in the group's good books.

'Is this a music club?' asked Ori.

The group laughed. 'Music, poetry, theatre, art, whatever!' said Zena. 'We're starved for anything creative. Have you seen what passes for entertainment around here?'

'I have, indeed,' said Ori, 'and I don't blame you in the least.' Ori met the others – a couple of dozen, all told, in a range of ages from young to very old. All had a similar story to tell: they were weary of the stultifying atmosphere of Akkad. Their relatives barely tolerated them. And they would all leave, if only they could figure out how, and where to go next.

'I may be able to help with that,' said Ori. Since they had to wait until sundown for Agad and Habik's parents, and since everyone was hungry, Ori and Zena headed out for more shopping while the boys went back to the meeting place to wait.

'How long have things been like this?' Ori asked the lyre player as they filled baskets with fruits, vegetables, and fresh bread and butter.

Zena shrugged. 'As long as I can remember. The old ones say that once upon a time, it used to be better. Well, not better, exactly; more like, they had a purpose. Then somehow, something changed. They'd wanted to build a big empire, you see, conquering everybody in sight. But somehow, those other people aren't there now. And there isn't any leadership anymore. Nobody to tell them what to do. The soldiers milled around, and finally disbanded because nobody was paying them. The government sort of folded. Nobody did anything. People are just sort of low-level frustrated. They don't really want to do anything. So they just buy and sell and bully each other.'

They want to do the same things they were doing before, said Prajapati. Only now they can't. And if they can't do that, they don't want to do anything else. That's their problem.

Ori told Zena what Prajapati had said – without trying to explain Prajapati. 'Do you think that could be it?'

Zena nodded. 'Pretty much. It's like they keep telling the same jokes and singing the same songs. They can't do what they want to do, so they won't do anything else.'

They both sighed.

The vendors were closing up their booths for the night as Ori and Zena headed back to the club. On the way, they met up with Agad and Habik and their parents. Introductions were made and the new friends chatted happily as they walked together.

Ori noticed that the group was garnering suspicious glances. More than one whispered conversation was being held that Ori didn't like the sound of. The angel coaxed the others to hurry: apparently there was a curfew and it was fast approaching. They needed to be indoors by first starlight. They were – barely.

Dinner was a pleasant affair: Agad and Habik's parents had managed to get a dozen large duck eggs in payment for a days' work, and their mom and Zena together managed to turn out a beautiful, well-seasoned giant omelet with onions, leeks, peppers, and spices. Pita, bean paste and aubergine salad made a meal the assembled company declared 'fit for a king, at least we're sure a king would have enjoyed it if there were still any kings about.'

After they'd eaten, Zena played the lyre some more. Ori told them all the story about the Tower of Babel, with a few personal remarks about Nimrod. The story was much appreciated.

'It seems to me,' said Agad's father thoughtfully, 'That there have been more people trying to build cities here in Shinar than have a clue about how to build one.'

The others agreed. 'I think this city-building business needs more thought than it's been given,' commented Zena.

'I don't know how I'd go about it exactly,' mused one of the older members. 'But I'm fairly sure there needs to be more…er, variety of people. You know: something besides the idea that there are only so many acceptable roles for people to play in the world.'

There was a chorus of agreement. 'Or acceptable ideas, either!'

'Or ways of looking at things!' chimed in Habik. 'You know, I think the Akkadians always tell the same jokes over and over because they're afraid somebody's going to jump on them for any new jokes or stories.'

'Maybe the reason they pick on other people,' suggested another, 'is that they're afraid somebody's going to pick on them. Pointing fingers takes the pressure off, maybe.' The rest agreed.

'Would you like to go somewhere else with a little more variety?' asked Ori quietly. The others stared.

'Is that possible? How do you know where to go? Have you got any camels?' The questions came one after another. Ori gave vague answers, but generally promised that yes, it was possible to leave and yes, Ori could conduct them safely to another city, and sure, they could go at dawn if everyone was ready.

At which point there was loud banging at the door. They looked at each other in alarm. It sounded like quite a crowd out there – possibly drunk and definitely belligerent.

'Open up in there! We know you're up to no good!'

Ori walked to the door and replied calmly. 'Who's there, please? You shouldn't be out after curfew.'

'We're Akkadian Homeland Security!' was the bellowed reply. 'Let us in RIGHT NOW!'

'Don't let them in!' whispered Zena frantically. 'They do terrible things to people! I've heard about it.' The others also urged Ori not to open the door. Ori, however, had had enough and had another idea.

Throwing open the door, Ori faced the mob – and there was a mob out there, some carrying torches and most of them armed with sticks, spears, or various construction or agricultural implements. They looked ugly in the way that people do who have worked themselves up to do something they secretly know they shouldn't, like attending a cockfight. Or bullying helpless neighbours.

The mob's leaders were about to rush inside when Ori simply abandoned the 'Sumerian citizen' disguise and unfurled an impressive set of wings. This caused gasps on both sides of the doorway: gasps of delight behind Ori, and gasps of dismay in front.

Ori was sorry not to have brought a trumpet along. A blast on something in the brass-instrument line would have been a nice flourish at this point. Besides, the ringleaders of this mob were only temporarily nonplussed by the sight of an angel, it seemed.

'Rush him!' commanded the leader, and they prepared to do just that. Ori beat them off by stirring up a breeze.

Prajapati, I need help, called Ori. And help arrived.

There was a flash of bright light outside the door. Those inside couldn't see it directly. Ori closed nictating membranes against the glare.

The Akkadian mob didn't have nictating membranes.

'Ow! I can't see!'

'Get out of my way, ninny!'

'Watch where you're pointing that thing!'

An entire mob of miscreants, temporarily blinded, stumbled around, knocking things (and each other) down. Flailing about with spears and swords and shields and mattocks and other sharp, pointy things that people shouldn't be pointing at other people – particularly if none of them could see what they were doing.

Oh, and they dropped the torches. Most of them went out in the dusty street. A few flickered dimly – not that any of the crowd could see, anyway.

Ori decided that this was their opportunity. 'Grab your things and follow me!' commanded the angel. The group, astounded, did just that.

Ori might have been exposed as a supernatural being – but this supernatural being was friendly, damn it, and they needed a friend right now. So off they all went, out the back door that came out on the side street and away.

'Is everybody here?' called Ori as they reached the fountain. Ori made them stop and count everyone – then herded them out the nearest side gate and onto the main road out of town.

'Where are we going to go?' asked Zena. 'There's nothing for miles and miles in every direction except desert and bandits. I mean, if we had boats, we could try the Tigris, but it has crocodiles and really big fish.'

'Don't worry,' said Ori. 'Let's just get clear of the city. It looks like there's a storm brewing.'

And indeed there was: some distinctly odd-looking clouds were forming in the sky over Akkad. That was odd in itself. It wasn't the rainy season. Even odder was the fact that these clouds didn't seem to be exactly clouds: more like balls of light.

Balls that were getting closer by the minute…

'DUCK!' yelled Ori, and everyone but Ori lay flat on the ground as a ball of fire whizzed over their heads in the direction of the city gates. Ori simply rose above the fireball, which whizzed through the gate. There was an explosion as it hit a building. Then another fireball went up.

The fireballs were falling thick and fast over the city now. People inside were running back and forth, and crowds were pouring out of the gates. None of them paid Ori and friends the slightest bit of attention. 'Come with me!' shouted Ori, and they followed as Ori led the way to a small hill that seemed to be outside the range of falling meteors. Ori gave a shrill whistle, and the Paternoster appeared. Ori urged everyone inside.

Herding the small refugee group through the portal, Ori cast a last look back at the city, which was well on its way to being completely reduced to a smouldering ruin. Ori sighed and turned away.

'Careful up there! Sixth door on your right!' Ori could already hear the gasps of astonishment.

The next morning, the sun dawned on Akkad like any other day. Merchants opened stalls. Surreptitious requests were made for lettuce. The same jokes had the same punchlines.

'Have you heard this one? A dog walked into a tavern and…'

Nobody missed a few foreigners and malcontents. And nobody looked up at the sky. That would come later.

Ak·kad: Ancient Mesopotamian city. Location: unknown.

Dmitri Gheorgheni

24.04.23 Front Page

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