Tomorrow, the Killing (2 page)

‘This is my daughter,’ he said, sliding the object across the desk. ‘Her name is Rhaine, after her mother, who died bringing her into the world.’

It was a heart-shaped locket, a shell of gold wrapped around a thumbnail portrait. I snapped open the catch. Miniatures are a particularly inaccurate way to represent a fragment of reality. A square-inch oil, detail blurred to ambiguity by the requirements of size and the demands of an abstract notion of beauty. I thought it altogether unlikely that the subject of the sketch bore the slightest resemblance to the painting I held in my hand.

There was no great likeness between the general and his issue, but then the girl in the pendant must have been five decades younger than the man who sat across from me. And in fairness the dominating feature was her hair, red as the last moment of sunshine before evening, and time had long ago bleached the general’s own locks. Apart from that she looked like everyone looks in a portrait: pearl skin, a slender nose mimicking the arc of her neck. The one quality offering a nod to her ancestry was her striking blue eyes, evidently a Montgomery family trait.

‘She’s lovely,’ I said, though given the source I wasn’t altogether sure that was a welcome compliment.

‘She is indeed,’ he said. ‘She’s also vain, willful, spoiled – and missing.’

I figured the last the most pertinent. ‘How long?’

‘Two days.’

‘I notice you didn’t say taken.’

‘No, I didn’t. I have reason to believe she departed of her own accord.’

‘That would be?’

‘We had a . . . row, I suppose. We’ve had a lot of them lately, but I’m afraid this was the breaking point.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that, General,’ I said. ‘But the young are as quick to rage as they are to reconcile. I’m sure she’ll show up soon.’ Though of course I wasn’t sure of that at all.

‘I don’t think so. She’s headstrong, like her father.’ Primed, he managed to continue without my assistance. ‘She finished her schooling six months ago – an education, I assure you, that was as expensive as it was irrelevant. The interim since her graduation has been . . . trying for the both of us. She’s not content to be married off, and while I don’t blame her, I’m not sure sleeping till mid-afternoon and shouting at the staff is a better substitute. Truth told, I’m not sure either of us knows what to do with each other.’

This was more information about the family Montgomery then I felt I needed. ‘Be that as it may, General, I’m not sure what part I could play in your domestic issues.’

He pulled himself up in his seat, not so easy a task, given his age. ‘I have reason to believe that she’s somewhere in Low Town, hiding out. I want you to find her, and I want you to tell her . . . I want you to ask her to return.’

I scratched at the beginnings of a beard. ‘What makes you think she’s in Low Town?’

‘If she had stayed within Kor’s Heights, within her old circle, I’d know about it. And the nature of our fight led me to believe that she had taken it upon herself to look into something in your borough.’

That was indecipherably vague, but upon consideration I didn’t think I wanted clarification. ‘I don’t work for the Crown any longer, General,’ I said.

‘So I’ve been informed.’

It wasn’t much of a secret – though I doubted the general had an exactly accurate conception of my new slate of duties, or he would have sought help from a more appropriate source. ‘And missing persons isn’t my bailiwick these days.’ Never was, really – even when I’d worn the gray I’d been more involved in making them disappear. ‘I’m sure if you contacted Black House, they’d be happy to help you with your problem.’

‘They would, they would indeed – they’d be happy as hell to help, to track down Fightin’ Ed’s wild daughter, and to remember it as long after as they’d need to.’ He shook his head. ‘I’ve had enough dealings with the Old Man to last a lifetime.’

‘If it’s discretion you’re worried about, there are any number of firms who can offer it. I could give you the names of some reputable men.’

‘I don’t want discretion,’ he said, not quite testily, but with less friendliness than he’d been offering. ‘I want silence. I don’t want the whisper, the hint of this, ever to get out – I want it never to have happened, and none of the bigger operators can promise that.’ After a moment he cooled himself down a little, wiping at the flecks of spittle that had formed beside his mouth. ‘Besides, I’d heard that you were the man to speak to about what goes on in Low Town.’

‘And who’d you hear that from?’ I asked. I had trouble believing the general spent much time in rooms where my name was bandied about.

‘Iomhair Gilchrist,’ he said, and smiled at my reaction. ‘You don’t much care for old Iron Stomach?’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that. If the Creator hadn’t given us dung beetles, we’d have to spend a lot more time cleaning our shoes.’

‘He’s not a regular at Sunday dinner. But his avarice makes him easy to predict. I’m rich, he knows it, and that keeps him in my stable.’

‘All the money in the world wouldn’t buy him a spine – he’s a coward, and useless in a pinch. Even if you could trust him not to screw you, you still couldn’t trust him not to screw up.’

He nodded, not like he agreed with me, but like it didn’t matter. ‘Whatever else he is, he knows his business, and his business is knowing people, and he says you know yours.’

That was quite a little play on words, though I figured it was best not to call him on it. ‘As flattering as it is to hear Iron Stomach thinks so highly of me, the fact remains, finding lost children isn’t my line.’

I got the impression that Montgomery had expected this conversation to go easier. He took a long breath and rocked back in his chair, marshaling his forces before returning to battle. ‘You never met Rhaine, did you?’

I had perspired through my shirt. I figured if I sat here much longer I’d soak my way through the overcoat as well. ‘Not that I recall.’

‘When last you and I met she would have been a child. In many ways I suppose she’s still a child now. Roland quite doted on her. So did I. There were times when it seemed it was the only thing the two of us could agree on. And of course she returned his affection. After his death I fear it turned to adoration. The longer he’s been gone the more closely he resembles a saint.’

I concentrated firmly on the window behind the general, dull with dust and the glare of the sun.

‘He always spoke highly of you, Roland. Even when he had little good to say of the Crown, of Black House in particular – he always spoke very highly of you.’

‘That’s nice to hear,’ I said. It was the least definite statement I could think of.

‘Yesterday I asked Iomhair for the names of three men who were solid enough to find my girl, and whom I could expect not to put my business out into the street. When yours came back at the head of that list, I must admit that . . .’ he groped silently for words. It was clear the general was not one generally given to strong displays of emotion – I found myself wishing he’d hewn closer to his traditional habit of restraint.

‘I’m not a religious man, you understand. But somehow when I saw your name I couldn’t help but feel that the Daevas had some hand in it, in bringing you back into my life after such a long absence.’

I was far more keen to see the hand of the infernal in our renewed acquaintance than the divine. ‘Roland was a friend,’ I said. The fact that this was one of the few truths I’d bothered to tell over the course of the conversation was not lost on me. ‘And if I thought I could help you, I wouldn’t hesitate. But I’m not the sort to promise something I can’t deliver, and I can’t deliver this. I don’t know Rhaine, don’t know her habits, associates, don’t know anything about her. Low Town is a big place, and even I don’t have ears in all of it. And say I found her, what then? I’ve no leverage to force her to return, and cruel though it may be, the law wouldn’t allow me to drop her in a sack and carry her here by force.’ Laying them out like that they seemed like good excuses, not excuses even, explanations. I hoped he’d take them. ‘I’m sorry, sir – but there just isn’t anything I can do for you.’

He settled his antique body back into his chair, his face a shadow of what it had been a scant moment earlier. Nothing like breaking an old man’s heart before lunch. ‘Of course,’ he said, his voice indistinct. ‘I understand. Forgive me for wasting your time.’

‘It was no trouble,’ I returned, and then, wanting to say something to steady him, ‘It was good seeing you again, General. I have . . . fond memories of you, and your son.’ We were back to lies. I did have happy memories of Roland – but they were mixed evenly with some very terrible ones.

He didn’t seem to hear me, which was just as well. The leather seat stuck to my ass as I stood. ‘I’ll take my leave of you, then.’

He nodded a farewell, lost in thoughts far from happy.

The palm of my hand was settled against the brass door handle when the image of a man flashed through my mind. A man who looked something like the general, but with the same shock of auburn hair as the woman in the locket I’d left lying on the table. His eyes were bright as a torch, the kind of eyes you’d follow anywhere – wild eyes, dangerous eyes, eyes that promised you things you shouldn’t believe in.

‘I could keep my ears open,’ said the idiot in the badly tailored suit. ‘I’m not promising anything, but . . .’

Montgomery shot up from the table, nearly sprinting towards me, forgetting his age in the excitement. ‘Damn decent of you, damn decent of you!’ He pressed the locket into my hand, and his grip was firm. ‘I’ll pay you anything you need, you don’t worry about that. Just send me a bill and I’ll cover it, double it – anything you need.’

At that moment I needed to get the hell out of his house, and I was about to do so when something occurred to me. ‘One more thing, General,’ I said. ‘What was the fight about?’

The happy set of his face flushed away. ‘It was about her brother,’ he answered. ‘And the circumstances of his murder.’

I left without saying anything further, through the parlor and past Botha’s scowl, out the long hallway that led to the front room, through the gilded door and into the street. The sun shone down on a man who wished he’d had the last five minutes to do over again. Wished he’d had more than that, really, but who’d have settled for the last five minutes.

I
t was hotter back in the old neighborhood than it had been at the general’s, hot enough to dry up what little legitimate commerce existed and throw a pretty good dent in the illegitimate businesses as well. I managed to make it all the way back from Kor’s Heights with nothing more than a half-hearted catcall from a fabulously decrepit whore. I gave her an argent and told her to get out of the sun.

I felt a brief moment of relief as I slipped into the confines of the Staggering Earl. There wasn’t much to be said about the establishment of which I was half-owner. It was an unexceptional neighborhood bar in an unexceptional section of Low Town – ugly, threadbare, and catering to a class of customer straddling that narrow line between rough and outright criminal. But it was cool, and that was something. Actually, with the weather hot enough to bake bread, it was a lot.

It might have been enough if Adolphus, my partner and the nominal head of our enterprise, had been around to pour me a draft of ale. But he wasn’t. Nor was Adeline, his wife and the person actually responsible for the bar’s solvency. The common room was empty, rows of rough-hewn tables leading to a long counter and the private area behind. After a moment I heard voices wafting in from the back, and, curious, followed them to their source.

When I’d first met him, back during the half-decade we’d spent murdering people in the service of our country, Adolphus had been as impressive a physical specimen as one could have put eyes on. Well enough over six feet that there was no point in measuring him, with a pair of arms the size of a thick man’s legs and a back broad enough to run a cart over. Admittedly, his face was acne-scarred and homely, but the head it was attached to was set so far in the air that you barely noticed. He’d mustered out looking much the same, though now absent an eye courtesy of a Dren crossbow. Thirteen years of soft living and frequent sips from his tap had wilted him into something more believably a member of the human species. But he still looked like he could toss a cow over a wall, if for some reason he had been inclined to do so.

He was laughing when I came in, dominating the three men surrounding him as much by his brio as his size. It took me a moment to place them. Once I did, it took considerably less time for a scowl to work its way across my face.

‘Hello, Lieutenant,’ Hroudland began, quick with the pleasantries. ‘It’s been a while.’ He held out his hand. After a moment of looking foolish, he put it away.

‘Has it? I hadn’t realized. I suppose I don’t find myself thinking much about you.’

Hroudland nodded sadly, like he had hoped for better from me but had learned not to expect it. ‘An unfortunate state of events. Because we at the Veterans’ Association are thinking about you, you and all our other brothers, whose services to Throne and Country are being forgotten by the current administration.’

Hroudland was the very prototype of a mid-ranking officer, more an abstract ideal than a fully realized human being. Give him a problem to solve and he’d solve it, and never waste a moment’s thought on why it needed to be solved. He had a sharp enough mind, but he kept it in its case unless ordered otherwise. I didn’t much care for him, but compared to his fellows I’d have been happy to cut my hand and swear a blood oath, kiss him on the cheek and call him brother.

Ten unfortunate years I’d known Roussel, and still the incongruity between his boyish face and his long history of violence left me slack-jawed. Rare amongst the population of the Empire, the coming of the war had been a singular blessing for the young Rouender. It was one shared by the stray dogs of his neighborhood, which, prior to his enlisting, had occasion to find themselves strung up and dissected, intestines stretched along the sidewalk and sweetmeats poked at with thin instruments of metal. The business of the front meant that Roussel had become a killer before his sixteenth birthday, but he wouldn’t have lasted a virgin much longer even in civilian life. And though he came up barely to my shoulders, and had the blue eyes and pinked cheeks of a china doll, still he was the one I watched. The fact that Hroudland outranked him wouldn’t mean anything if he got it in his head to hurt someone.