She Who Waits (Low Town 3) (39 page)

‘I’ve never left an enemy alive. Leaves a foul taste in my mouth, this negotiation business.’

‘Another month of this and you won’t have an organization. We’re bleeding, I don’t need to tell you that.’

‘They’ve got their share of corpses.’

‘Plenty of them – so what? We don’t make corpses for a living, we make money. People don’t fuck whores, or smoke wyrm or toot breath if they’re worried they’re going to get sliced up walking down the street. Our cash flow’s cut to a trickle. And how long you thing the hoax is gonna let this go on? They’ve got to at least pretend to do their job, and that’s not easy when every night brings a fresh massacre.’

‘Fuck the guard – they’ve been eating off my table since before I popped my cherry. They can keep their eyes on their feet for a couple more weeks.’

‘Ain’t just the guard.’

Something very like fear passed behind Eddie’s eyes. ‘Black House?’

‘They won’t let this go on indefinitely. I’m hearing chatter from people back at the shop. Things don’t quiet down soon, they’re going to have to go ahead and bring the silence themselves.’

The entirety of Low Town could walk into the bay with rocks in their pockets for all the Old Man cared, but Eddie didn’t know that. Nor did he know that I didn’t have any more sources in Black House than I did on the other side of the fucking planet.

I put my hand on his shoulder. ‘Today isn’t tomorrow – we’re hurting right now, and this is our only out. We rest up and re-arm, keep the peace until we got enough men to break it. In six months, when Hayyim’s sitting fat and happy, we’ll take another look at the situation. For right now, we dip our heads or we lose them.’

Credit where it’s due, Eddie was a cagey son of a bitch – he wouldn’t have kept his grip so long otherwise. He could smell something was off, had a dim notion that there was another hand in the mix. But he was old, and he was scared, and between the two, he made the quite fatal mistake of thinking me his friend.

He nodded slowly. ‘You’re right.’ Decision made, he puffed his chest out and exited the alley at a good clip. At the mouth of it stood Duncan, practically the only soldier still alive, one half of the contingent of bodyguards Eddie was to take into the meeting. Duncan would do a poor job of it, but I hardly blamed him – I was the other half of Eddie’s protection, and I would do a damn sight worse.

‘You coming?’ Eddie asked, when he saw that I hadn’t followed him.

‘I’ll join you in there,’ I said. ‘I’m gonna do one last sweep.’

He nodded like he’d thought of the idea, then snapped his fingers at Duncan and headed into the meeting. I waited till they were both inside, then started off at a brisk pace.

Attached to the back of the warehouse was a small guard shack, long out of use. Inside I’d stuffed about a pound and a half of black powder, one-third of the supply I’d smuggled out of the war. It was worth its weight in ochre, and if I’d had to I could probably have figured out a cheaper way to bring the joint reign of Mad Edward and Hayyim the Half-Islander to an end.

But this way was a statement, the start of the legend that would echo out my name. The exact circumstances would remain secret, a hallowed and well-discussed bit of neighborhood lore. But the message would be clear, clear enough to make sure that future generations of Edwards – rough and wild, looking to grab their own and more – would take a gander at Low Town, shake their heads and keep walking.

I struck a match and held it to the fuse, then dipped on out. A block later an explosion left my ears ringing, but I didn’t bother to turn around and look.

‘I
t’s good to see all of you here today,’ I began. ‘It shows character, real character.’

The next morning found me in a small restaurant in the west side of Low Town, the opposite end from the docks, as far away from our disputants’ territories as you could get and still be in mine. It was owned by a man I owned. Normally it makes enough for him to pay the monthlies on a debt he’ll never escape. When it doesn’t, he does me little favors. I’d told him to unlock the joint at nine and not come back before twelve. I was hopeful he would still have an establishment to run after lunch.

The deal had been two men apiece, but Calum had the good sense to come solo. He was worth a second by his lonesome, and the folk he had backing him wouldn’t be much use over a negotiating table. Uriel had brought his brother. It would have been wiser if he had followed Calum’s lead, but he probably wasn’t as sure of himself up close as was the Tarasaighn. Besides, Qoheleth did not seem like the sort to be left out of a party.

We were sitting around a big circular table, the two groups as far apart as circumference would allow. I’d contracted security out to a crew of Islanders from the Isthmus. They fit the bill, being large, frightening, and unaffiliated with either of the two parties. There were a small handful of them outside, smoking dreamvine and making sure we weren’t disturbed. Two more stood at the door, big men with steel weighing down their winter coats. They’d searched us all thoroughly when we’d come in a few minutes earlier.

‘Obviously, you two have had your difficulties. We aren’t here to relive them. We aren’t here to make you best friends, or allies. We’re here to make sure that we all keep making money – that’s the point of this, not to figure out whose dick is bigger. Keep that end in mind, I’m sure we can reach a reasonable accommodation.’ Things were moving nicely; at this point it was all over but picking up the pieces. I was anxious to reach that stage, and having difficulty keeping my mind on the proceedings.

Events were slowed by Uriel’s strong attachment to the ring of his own voice. ‘First I’d like to take the opportunity to express my deepest appreciation to our host, whose wisdom and good humor are an … example to all of us.’

I inclined my head.

‘And, as he said, the issue at hand here is not the broken body of our compatriot, although we have not forgotten that. Nor the disrespect shown in injuring a member of our organization – the issue at hand is of course, how we can divide the territory east of the docks in such a fashion as to ensure that the aforementioned provocations are the last of their kind.’

‘Warden’s a man got words,’ Calum said. ‘You sound like you the same. Words is just loud breathing, far as I’m concerned. Glandon is ours. Was yesterday. Be tomorrow. Anyone thinks otherwise …’ he trailed off, as if he couldn’t be bothered to end the threat.

‘We’ve no interest in your ancestral domain. But Glandon’s boundaries, last I checked, did not extend to Brennock, nor Nestria, nor the entirety of the bay.’

I found my fingers dribbling a beat on the table, forced them into repose. I ought to have been at least pretending like I was interested in the proceedings, for all that I knew how things would end. What came next was still in doubt, I supposed, which of the men in front of me would be alive in a month, which of their families. The Asher knew how to brawl, no doubt about that. But Calum’s folk weren’t any less slow to draw steel, nor use it. I figured it’d play itself out into a bloody stalemate – Calum aside, the Gitts didn’t have enough on the ball to take down Uriel – but nor could I imagine the Asher and his brother leading a team into the Gitts’ territory and burning out their shacks. Of course, it wouldn’t really matter – even if Uriel ended the conflict victorious, his organization would come out battered and broken, easy prey for any of the other mobs that had been watching his rise with displeasure.

For some reason I found myself going over yesterday’s meeting with Guiscard, and his warning about the Old Man having a spy in my camp. At first I’d figured he’d meant Touissant, but looking at that now it didn’t add up. Touissant was Crowley’s creature, if the dead giant had been reporting directly to the Old Man then Crowley would have gotten called off before things had come to a head.

Back on the main stage they were hammering out the details, specific pushers to be protected, which avenues and thoroughfares were whose, the boundaries of each enterprise.

‘Your wyrm den on High Street isn’t big enough to hook in the whole neighborhood,’ Uriel was saying.

Calum spurted tobacco juice from between closed lips, then leaked a response out through the same. ‘Been doing well enough so far.’

If not Touissant, then who the fuck was in the Old Man’s pocket? I don’t know that many people – well, I know a lot of people, but don’t many of them know me. The circle of folk who had any idea what I was doing next was small enough to keep on one hand.

So I counted them out. Should have done it the day before, but I hadn’t. Adolphus, Wren, Adeline – obviously they weren’t whispering anything to Black House. Uriel broke me out of contemplation with a question I missed the specifics of.

‘It depends on how you look at it,’ I said.

Something else from Uriel.

‘I can see both sides.’

The conversation I wasn’t paying attention to was interrupted by a commotion from outside, an angry back and forth between the Islanders and a newcomer. After a moment the door opened, and a member of my security peeked in. ‘Ay, Warden.’

‘Yeah?’

‘We got a black robe out here, says he wants to talk to the ones inside.’

The tension in the room rose a notch. ‘What’s this about, Uriel?’ I asked.

Uriel looked at Qoheleth, who shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said.

‘That wasn’t the deal,’ Calum said, and it was hard to miss the note of menace.

‘Whatever it is, you’d best figure it out quick,’ I said. Uriel nodded, and I nodded at my security.

The door opened, and one of Uriel’s men came inside. He took a wide route around Calum, circling the table before bending down and whispering something into his boss’s ear. Uriel listened without speaking, without blinking, without breathing. Message delivered, the Asher took a few steps backwards.

Uriel didn’t say anything for a while.

Then he was up from his seat, up like a shot. The table we were sitting at was a big round oaken thing, and Uriel’s fist went through it with enough force to send splinters spraying in my direction. He must have broken half the bones in his hand, though he didn’t seem in the mood to notice it.

‘You inbred son of a bitch!’ Uriel screamed. He’d pulled his hand out from the hole he’d made, brought it instinctively down to his hip. The realization that he wasn’t carrying a weapon didn’t slow him down, if Qoheleth hadn’t wrapped him up in a bear hug I think Uriel would have climbed across the table and gone at Calum with his teeth. ‘You traitorous, backstabbing cocksucker!’ Uriel continued, bucking furiously in his brother’s arms. ‘I’m going to cut you till you beg to die! I’m going to lick your blood off of my fucking fingers! I’m going to slice your heart out and shit in the hole!’

It had taken some doing, but I’d finally managed to ruffle Uriel the Unredeemed.

The two Islanders stationed at the door got off it quick enough, pulling swords and double-timing it over. I held up a hand to keep them from using their weapons. The rest of their brethren heard the commotion and were inside a moment later. ‘Nobody is doing nothing to nobody. Not so long as you’re in here. What the hell is going on, Uriel?’

The half dozen Islanders with drawn steel were enough to bring Uriel down a notch, but barely. He said a word to Qoheleth in their native tongue, and his brother released him rather grudgingly. ‘He had his tame Captain raid our shop! Didn’t you, you sister-fucking sack of garbage. Talk peace while you’ve got a man cutting our throats! I don’t know how you found out about it, and I don’t care – it’ll be the last victory you ever enjoy, I swear on the One Above. I’m going to gut you and play with your insides. I’m going to murder every living thing with a drop of your blood in their veins!’

I was never exactly sure what Calum thought about the situation. He didn’t have a tame Captain on the payroll, and he obviously wasn’t responsible for destroying Uriel’s factory. But on the other hand, we were clearly beyond the point of explanation or excuse. And it was like I’d told Wren – these were violent men. They didn’t need much of a push.

‘I’ll remind you of all that,’ Calum said, standing, ‘when I’ve got you strung up next to your brother.’

Uriel responded in kind, though I barely noticed him. Something had finally clicked in my head, something that reminded me the immediate goings-on were far from the largest of my concerns. I’d wasted too much time on them already. There was one person who had known of my plans but wasn’t a part of them, whose guilt I hadn’t even considered because it seemed so pointless and far-fetched.

‘Boys, come on now, let’s not have things end this way,’ I said – wasted effort, even if I’d meant it. Calum had a smile on his face that would have set a child to screaming, and he walked out through the door without taking his eyes off Uriel and his brother. They’d be out the back soon after, off to headquarters to plot out the next round of violence. It was everything I could do not to hurry them out.

I needed to see Yancey the Rhymer. I needed to see him very badly.

I
waited in the rain across from the Rhymer’s house until I saw his mother leave, then quickly slipped across the thoroughfare. The lock should have been easy, a thin piece of tin worth maybe half an argent. But my hands were unsteady, and it took longer than it should have. Thankfully the weather kept traffic to a minimum, or I might have had to give an uncomfortable explanation as to why I was breaking into the house of a dying man at midday.

The foyer was dark, but I didn’t need the light to find my way up to Yancey’s room. Years and years I’d been coming here, years of friendship with a man I trusted, whose imminent loss was a wound I tried not to think about, who had betrayed me to my worst enemy.

Yancey’s jaw was slack, his face turned up at the ceiling. He didn’t notice me when I came in, or he didn’t bother to react.

‘Hey, brother,’ I said.

‘Hey.’

‘I told you I’d be stopping in to say goodbye.’

‘Is this that?’

‘One way or the other.’

‘You figured?’

‘I guess that was why you only did six months for tagging that noble.’