The world, so much like the ordinary one I’m used to, is suffused with ghosts. As far as the eye can see, and farther, seeming as endless as the perennial twilight of the ghost world. They seem almost like living people, solid and lively, but I step into the crowd too quickly, instead of drifting through aimlessly like they do, and regret my mistake.

They notice me, the one who walks with so much purpose, and ghosts without groups of their own approach me, latching on like I might save them from drowning in their own minds. I can’t help them with that. They’re already beyond any assistance where drowning is concerned. They stand inside the few feet of space I want to keep clear, not giving me the wide berth that I receive in the life world. But the ghosts don’t seem to notice the intrusion, and they try to figure out what sort of person I am for a few seconds before wandering off again. They appear to be looking for something. I know what it is, of course; they think they’re in the life world and are just hopelessly lost, looking for a landmark to tell them where they are.

I’m just passing through the crowds. I know this is the only way, but I wish I’d taken a different route. Still, I listen as well as I can while they chatter. It’s rude to cut off a ghost. They wouldn’t know; they think they’re alive, and their talk is full of mundane subjects such as a cat that they saw or a piece of uninteresting gossip. But if I ever returned to the ghost world after cutting off a ghost, it would show, and they would know.

I tolerate the drone of conversation before pretending to spot a long-lost grandparent and hurrying around the corner; the ghosts tell me they’ll talk to me later. They love talking to new people, greedy for new experiences. I have no doubt that some of them will find me the next time I arrive, and I’ll have to listen. But I try not to think about that right now.

Around the corner, I see the people I came for. Necromancers. They walk with purpose, talking as they watch their ghosts, the souls that are dead but conscious. The only surefire way to find them is by locating the source of their power, and that means entering the ghost world. Right now their grips on the souls are slack, but part of them is always watching their charges, just in case.

I square my shoulders and stride up to them, needing no planning. I’ve done this before. Unlike the ghosts, the necromancers don’t sense anything different about me. I’m alive, like them, so I must be one of their order. The few drowners who aren’t necromancers steer clear of them. Passing between worlds is dangerous enough without meeting people with armies of ghosts behind them. They draw me into their conversation, and I spout off some half-formed theories about the residue of life in corpses. Necromancers are intellectuals by nature. A lesser mind couldn’t grasp the concepts of their craft, and it certainly wouldn’t be able to handle drowning to reach the ghost world.

Almost before I’m done speaking, a man standing on the fringes of the group edges closer and agrees that my idea would explain a lot of things. A few of the people around him agree, while some do not. One of the older necromancers, who seems to have some influence over the rest of the group, mediates the debate which has sprung up. A slight, wispy-looking woman is raising her doubts about my ideas with a fervor at odds with her frail appearance, but the youngest, a dark-skinned boy at least ten years younger than I, defends me staunchly. I can see he lacks seniority from the way the mediator gently humors him, but he has some of the others convinced. The boy necromancer is a powerful speaker. He must be a novice; the senior necromancers tend to use their ghosts to establish themselves in the power hierarchy, since more ghosts effectively mean more fighters, while any silver tongues among them tarnish. They are generals and wizards, not salespeople.

I wish I could stay and see what they decide, but I’m just passing through, and I need to slip away while they’re distracted. As their debate continues, I’m mostly forgotten, and I murmur that my charges are acting up before leaving. The few that hear me hastily encourage me to check on my ghosts, and if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, to check on theirs too. That’s the root of the necromancers’ power, the threat of an attack. The ghosts can be summoned into the life world, but it drains them to be there for too long. Every second that they’re there is one step closer to being dragged back into the ghost world, but the ghosts love it. It’s the one way for them to see the life world again. The necromancers are afraid of losing the ghosts they control, so they tighten their grip until the ghosts are afraid of losing them.

Of course, I could have told the woman who hired me that, but she wouldn’t believe me unless I took a trip into the ghost world to make sure.

There are many people in the life world who distrust the necromancers. For some, it is because they find the concept of taking the dead on visits to the life world in exchange for servitude repellent. For others, it is because of the reputation that the necromancers have, which is one of power-hungry aggression and a lack of concern for people caught in the crossfire.

This woman is one of the former, and like many people do each year, she has made it her personal mission to eradicate necromancy. She’s the first that I know of to employ a drowner to give her information on the ghost world, though.

I personally don’t mind the necromancers. There will always be people who are attracted to a dark, dangerous profession. And by bringing their ghosts to the life world every so often, they do them a service.

I have what I’ve come for now, and I can pass back through the unconscious and return to the life world. I’ll give my report to the woman if I get there safely. I’ve passed through many times before, but never from a region so close to the center–making it back will be more dangerous than usual, but the living aren’t meant to stay here. Their minds aren’t made to reach down, past the conscious mind, and find the unconscious world that all people share. Only a few can, and it’s risky. If I don’t leave soon, my mind will shut down, overworked from the strain of pulling my consciousness into the ghost world. At least she’s paying me well for such a pointless trip.

I thread my way through the ghosts. There’s an easier way to fend them off now; they’ve seen me talking to the necromancers, and word gets around fast. They think I’m one of the order now, and they get out of my way. The ghosts are bound to the necromancers who put their souls and their conscious minds back together, since they wouldn’t be able to function otherwise, but they stay away from any others. I’m at the edge of the region in moments, the spot where I will start the journey back, but now I have to float through the consciousness to return.

I inhale deeply, until I feel like my lungs will burst. It won’t help–nothing created for the ghost world can leave. I’ll drown on my way through the unconscious, of course, but if I’ve made it past the halfway point, my consciousness will surface and return to my comatose body before it breaks down. Many ghosts here are people who visited their deceased relatives or friends and didn’t make it out.

Stepping over the boundary, I close my eyes. I don’t want to see what the unconscious looks like. People who see it, truly see it, and understand, go mad, if they’re lucky. If they’re not, they detach from their bodies and become ghosts, never quite remembering how they got there.

All of a sudden, I’m plunged into icy water and know I’ve entered the unconscious. It presses in on all sides, but it’s strongest under my feet, pulling me upwards. I hold my breath, because there’s no way to inhale now, I’m fully submerged; I’d rather suffocate than drown, because I have some measure of control over how long I hold my breath. The water is cold and dark now, but as I return to the life world, it’ll grow unbearably bright and hot.

The water feels lighter as I float closer to the surface. The pressure threatening to crush me releases. There’s no way to control where I go; my consciousness will know the way back.

As I continue to get closer, the darkness against my closed eyelids is banished by bright light: first red, then orange, then yellow, brighter, brighter, brighter. The water feels as if it is about to boil.

I feel light-headed. I’m running out of air. My heart accelerates to an exhilarating speed, and crashes against my ribs. That crash destroys it, it goes up in flames, and I know my part in this is over. If I was lucky, I made it past the halfway point. If I wasn’t, the woman who hired me will have to find another drowner.

I do my best to relax, knowing the state of my mind is out of my hands now, but there’s no oxygen in my blood. My limbs go where the water takes them, and I can’t squeeze my eyes shut tighter against the light, which is now blindingly white. I must be getting close, because my skin feels scalded.

A few minutes later, I no longer feel the water around me. I’m dripping, rising through air, supported by steam. Now I know I’ve succeeded in my mission. If I hadn’t managed to hold out past the halfway point, I would never have reached the steam. I would have sunk back down through the water until I’d found myself in a world of others, who similarly would have no idea where they came from.

I still can’t breathe. I won’t be able to until I return to my body, and that won’t happen until I can feel the air and the couch that I was lying on when I entered the ghost world. But now the urge to breathe is weaker, because I know I’ll survive.

The couch isn’t a very comfortable one, and I can tell I’ve been on it for hours. There’s a crick in my neck that I especially notice when I sit up and open my eyes.

I’m rewarded with the sight of the office I set out from, and the employer sitting at her desk, waiting patiently. Her back is to me as she flips through some papers, but she knows I’ve returned. The couch creaks.

When I tell her what the necromancers’ weakness is, that they’re helpless away from the ghost world and the spirits that give them power, she says “Good,” even though I told her the same thing before I set out. She believes me this time. The employer turns around, smiles, and hands me a money clip. I count the bills–all that I asked her for. Hiring a drowner is an expensive undertaking, but she agreed to my prices without batting an eyelash. “You’ve done excellent work for me. As a matter of fact, I recently lost my last drowner, which is why I needed to hire you specially for this job. But you’ve completed your task better than most of my employees do… would you be interested in a full-time position?”

Another money clip appears on her spotless desk, thicker than the one in my hand. I know that amount of money would usually cost me four or five jobs. “You won’t be required often,” she adds. “This would be your monthly–”

“No,” I tell her. There’s a limit to how much I will do for money, though the offer is tempting. I’ll sell her the key to sending the necromancers’ order up in flames, but I won’t help her use it. That’s her business. I’m an eavesdropper, not a mercenary. “I’m just passing through this area, thank you.”

She nods like she expected this response. “In that case, my secretary will show you out.”

The face that appears at the doorway is familiar. The employer interprets my close-lipped smile of amusement as one of polite courtesy and nods cordially to me as I leave, escorted by a secretary. A secretary who travels the unconscious and transforms in the ghost world. Of course his order has placed him as a spy and inhibitor. Necromancers are not famous for their love of overt warfare, or people trying to destroy them.

I can tell the boy recognizes me too. He lifts his eyebrows for a split second before turning to face ahead as he leads me through the labyrinth of underground buildings. The office was brightly lit, but the hallways are not. There is barely enough light to see where to put my feet.

The door is open when we reach it, and as I start up the stairs, he says, “You’re welcome to discuss your theories with the order any time. Mara has decided to agree with us, after some persuading.” Pearly white teeth flash in a smile, visible through the shadows. “You know where to go.”

I nod and ascend the stairs, not making any promises of returning. The battle will occur long after I’ve left. The necromancers think I want to join them, and the employer thinks I’m on her side, but I have no interest in moral warfare. War is war, after all, and nobody will get through unscathed. As long as I don’t pick a side, I don’t have to be involved. And why should I? It’s none of my concern. I’m a drowner. I’m only passing through.