She Who Waits (Low Town 3) (19 page)

Between the way he looked and the fact that he came from a branch of the minor gentry, Kenneth’s future in the guard was assured. His stint south of the Old City would be brief, a year or two until he could secure a more respectable position. He’d taken over after old Captain Galliard had choked to death on a herringbone one evening. Credit to Ascletin, he took his responsibilities, to use the term loosely, more seriously than most of his confederates. His men were always well clad and in reasonably high morale. A few months back he’d even managed to solve a case, picking up some lowlife that had been molesting housewives over by Brennock. I’d put an extra few ochres into his cut that month, a reward for good service.

‘How’s trade?’ I asked.

‘I’ll tell you, it’s a strange time. We’ve got Ling Chi’s people near at war with the Tarasaighn, we got random civilians going after each other with rusted metal, and it’s looking very much like the remains of the Bruised Fruit Mob is going to turn on each other to see who gets to be king of shit mountain. And heaven forbid I try to get any back-up from the Old City – with these fanatics running around stirring the waters, Black House is too busy to worry about the occasional rape or murder.’

‘Black House has never been real concerned about the occasional rape or murder.’

‘True,’ he conceded, ‘but this still feels different, somehow. Like there’s no rudder anymore, if you can follow?’

I followed exactly. ‘So what did you call me in for?’

He nodded regretfully. ‘Sorry about that – hope it didn’t cause you any trouble.’

‘I always have time for the law,’ I lied. ‘That said, I do have a man I’ve gotta see about a thing, so if we could get to the root …’

‘Of course, of course. I just thought you’d want to know, on the offchance you hadn’t heard already – the Gitts took a swing at Uriel last night.’

‘Did they now?’

‘Started by ruffing up a dealer, Kitterin Mayfair.’

‘How’s he doing?’

‘That depends. Do you think there’s more to life than lying in bed and staring motionlessly up at the ceiling?’

I thought about that a while. ‘Yes.’

‘Then I’d have to say he’s doing poorly.’

‘That’s a rough break – I’ll send condolences to his wife and kids.’

‘He’s got neither.’

‘His favorite whore, then.’

‘Apparently inspired by their handling of Mr Mayfair, the Gitts proceeded to lead a raid on one of Uriel’s gambling joints. Trashed the place, roughed up some patrons.’

‘Disrespected the wait staff?’

Kenneth gave a perfunctory chuckle before breaking serious. You could tell he was serious because his mouth swelled regretfully, and his deep brown eyes grew pregnant with meaning. In the eyes, though in little else, Captain Ascletin reminded me very much of a con man I’d once known, made his ochres swindling rich widows out of their fortunes. One got wise to it, threatened to make issue, and he panicked and buried an ax in her head and her head in the garden. Black House has a pretty strict policy about killing the wealthy, and he didn’t remain a free man for very long. Last I saw of him he was tangoing in mid-air, those bright eyes warped with blood and fear.

Back in the present, Kenneth sighed and made an expansive gesture with his hands. ‘Look Warden, we’re happy enough to let you boys blow off some steam once in a while. The nature of the business, the occasional broken bone or disappeared body. But there’s limits. I have people to answer to, same as everyone else.’

‘I’d think the Crown would have more to worry about than an unaffiliated button man getting worked over in an alleyway, what with the country a stray match away from inferno.’

‘That’s Black House’s set of worries. My set of worries is that this recent unpleasantness will be the opening salvo in a gang war that’s going to consume everything east of the docks.’

‘That’s a concern,’ I agreed. It was one of Kenneth’s many distinguished qualities, that he felt some faint sense of duty to his territory, even if it was born of nothing more than a practical consideration for his own career.

‘I’d consider it a favor if you could do something to squash that trouble.’

‘If I’ve given you the impression that the underworld went and voted me king, let me set you straight …’

‘These other boys, they respect you. Respect what you represent.’

‘Some of them did, once. Maybe. But things ain’t like they was.’

‘Not in anything,’ he agreed.

I scratched at what was becoming a beard. ‘I’ll run over to Uriel’s when I get the chance, see if I can’t head this thing off at the pass. But if I was you, I’d start thinking what you’re gonna tell the people you answer to. Cause the Asher are hungry, and I doubt there’s much I can say to lessen their appetite. And as for the Gitts …’

‘I know about the Gitts.’

‘You know about the Gitts,’ I agreed.

The Captain spent a moment silhouetted by the sunlight coming in through the window. He looked good, but then, he’d put in a lot of practice.

‘While we’re running things past each other, what’s your take on the Steps?’ I asked.

‘You aren’t getting mixed up in politics, are you?’ As if I’d suggested we strip naked and go bathing in a sewer.

‘I’d hope you knew me better than that.’

The Captain eased back in his chair, vaguely apologetic. ‘Sure, you’re right. Crazy times is all.’ He rubbed his chin with his index finger. ‘Well let’s put it that way – for a pack of zealots, the Steps know what they’re doing. They talk fierce, and they’re never without steel – but they stay on the right side of the line, careful not to do anything that might give Black House an excuse to pounce.’

‘Black House doesn’t generally need one.’

‘Special situation. The Sons aren’t some collection of anarchist dockworkers. Monck’s line is old as mud, he’s a few steps from the King himself. There are plenty of other folk wearing brown hats that could come up with a few hundred thousand ochres in the bank, and the right to interrupt the King at dinner time. Folk like that – well, you can’t just go making them disappear cause they speak unpleasant truths at cocktail parties.’

‘Tell me more about this Monck character.’

‘I don’t know anything beyond the common knowledge. He’s high born, like I said. Served in the war, not in the trenches of course, but still, supposedly he made a good enough showing. He’s been a member of parliament for a solid ten years now, sits with the radicals but doesn’t always talk to them.’ He crossed his eyes. I noted with watered-down envy that he was capable of making even this motion captivating. ‘Why are you so interested in the Steps all of a sudden?’

‘I’m thinking of helping them overthrow the state.’

‘All right, all right. Close to the chest, I wouldn’t expect anything else.’

No one ever believes me – I guess I don’t have an honest face.

‘Well, like I said,’ Kenneth began by way of an ending. ‘I’d owe you a solid if you could do anything to keep the city from killing each other.’

‘You don’t owe me nothing,’ I said, standing. ‘My life won’t get any easier if I have to start stepping over corpses going to market every morning.’

Outside of the building I went to roll myself a cigarette, realized I’d left my makings back at the bar. One of the guards lolling about was kind enough to provide a substitute – it wasn’t much as far as a return on my investment, but I appreciated the courtesy all the same.

I
was hauling myself towards Alledtown with a bag full of pixie’s breath when I noticed him shadowing me. Shadowing me was too strong, gives the impression that he wasn’t trying to be seen. And he was, very much – indeed, I suspected me seeing him was the point.

Of course, if he had been shadowing me, he wouldn’t have had much luck. One upside of having carved up Crowley’s face like a pumpkin – he really stood out in a crowd. You didn’t need to see him to know he was there, you could watch the reaction from passersby, nervous wavering, sidelong looks at his deformed flesh. Children wept and moaned, pregnant women miscarried – you get the idea. Not that stealth had ever been Crowley’s forte, even back when he’d been whole. He didn’t need it, or he thought he didn’t. Brute force and open intimidation had been Crowley’s favored tactics, and I didn’t suppose the six-inch cut I’d made from the top of his cheekbone past his incisors lessened their effectiveness. For twenty years Crowley had been the mailed fist to the Old Man’s velvet glove. Brutally competent, if thuglike – the cudgel as opposed to the stiletto.

The other upside of carving up Crowley’s face like a pumpkin was that doing it was the most fun you can have with your pants on. Not for him, obviously.

He noticed me noticing him and waved. He was smiling, which was bad news. Violence made Crowley happy, the nestled shrieks of pain from people that weren’t him. If things were going good for Crowley, it meant they were about to go damn bad for someone else. Under the circumstances, it was hard not to suppose that someone would be me.

I crossed the street into a little cafe. The waiter, a smiling Kiren in western garb stopped quickly by the table. I ordered a cup of coffee and waited for what was coming.

I didn’t have to wait long. Crowley cruised through the doorway, then came and sat down quickly across from me. He didn’t say anything for a while, just sat there, smiling. The waiter came back with my coffee. Crowley waved him off with a friendly nod, which worried me more. By habit Crowley was cruel to those beneath him, and he had a particular and not entirely unearned hatred of Kiren. That he had neglected to demean this one meant that he was in a swell mood indeed.

I figured I’d do my best to puncture it. ‘Remind me – the last time you followed me into a bar, how did it go for you?’

‘Good to see you’ve kept your sense of humor.’

‘That and a whole face.’ His eyes wavered, gnats hovering over pig shit. ‘I’ll tell you honestly, Crowley, I’m impressed.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Normally you don’t come to visit without a crew of thugs backing your play. Your pair drop since we last met?’

‘Just a friendly call – it’s been such a long time since we’ve seen each other.’

‘Did you miss me?’

‘Every day,’ he said with more than a hint of madness. ‘Every motherfucking day.’

I ran my hand down the length of my face, mirroring the discolored line on Crowley’s cheek. ‘That itch much?’ I asked.

His smile went away in a furious intake of air. His eyes gleamed madly. Below the table I let my knife fall out of my wrist sheath.

Then he laughed, and blinked away homicide. ‘It’s good to be reminded.’

I slid my weapon back up into my sleeve, not without regret. ‘Of what?’

‘Of what you did to me.’

My failures and mistakes, duly collected, would fill an encyclopedia. In the midst of such a catalog, leaving Crowley breathing when I had the chance to snuff him out ranked somewhere in the middle – nothing to be proud of, but far from the worst decision I’d ever made. And truth be told, like many of my errors, I didn’t regret it. I was afraid of Crowley, only a fool wouldn’t be. But I hated him more than I feared him. And if I’d killed him, he’d just be dead, a corpse, and you can’t do nothing to torment a corpse. Leaving Crowley alive I’d planted a seed into the bottom of his soul, an ugly little bur that had taken root and flowered into the cold thing that kept his eyes from meeting mine.

I had taught Crowley fear. Of course, he wanted to kill me for it, but he’d wanted to kill me long before, so nothing had really changed.

The window of potential violence closed, and now Crowley was all smiles again. He even signaled to our waiter for another cup of coffee. We waited silently until it came. Crowley dropped an argent into the bewildered server’s hand. He was very grateful, and I had to sit through about ten seconds of bowing and scraping before I could get back to making threats.

‘I understand that as a government employee you’re full up on empty time. But I’ve got a lot on my plate at the moment, so if we could skip ahead to the reason you’re here?’

‘You busy?’

‘I am busy, I’m extremely busy. I just said I was busy. Frankly, I’m too busy to be repeating myself.’

‘Still running drugs?’

‘Still asking dumb questions?’

He sort of laughed. Not at what I was saying, but at the situation. Despite my urgings, he seemed very little inclined towards hurry, or indeed, motion period.

‘If I was you – and daily I thank the Firstborn that I’m not – I wouldn’t make a point of trying to run into me. I’d think it would dredge up bitter memories. Like running into an old girlfriend, if said girlfriend had left you for dead in an alleyway.’

‘If I was you, I wouldn’t be so quick to crow about what you done. Might make me lose my temper.’

‘But you aren’t going to lose your temper, you’re just going to bluster for a while before heading home. You’re at the end of a short leash. The Old Man finds it useful for me to continue breathing, and so long as that’s the case, you’ve got no play. You’ll gnash your teeth and pout, but you’ll back down. Unless you want to go off-book – and that didn’t end well for you last time.’

He sipped at his coffee. For a lunatic, he was showing uncomfortable self-possession. ‘You’re about half right. It’s true the Old Man likes keeping you in his pocket. But then, he thinks you’re being a good little boy, pumping poison into that cesspit you run, keeping the rest of the trash in line. And what if you wasn’t? What if you started making your own moves – what if you’d decided to throw your hands in with the enemy?’

‘I find hypotheticals rather dull.’

‘More than a hypothetical.’

‘Is it?’

‘You’ve been sniffing into things you shouldn’t, for people you shouldn’t.’

‘Your problem Crowley – apart from the face – is that you have aspirations beyond your station. Today’s no different than twelve years ago. You don’t know what’s going on because you aren’t smart enough to follow the thread of it, and the Old Man don’t tell you anything because he knows that’s the case. Go back to Black House and talk to someone above your paygrade.’

‘What would they say?’

‘They’d say keep your mouth shut, and leave me the hell alone.’