Watershed (11 page)

‘Sir!' I protested. ‘That isn't –'

‘Silence!' The old man thumped the table with unexpected force, and even Garrick twitched. ‘Commander, I believe you have someone in mind?'

‘Yes, sir. Also ready to leave,' the Guard replied. I didn't need to see his face; his smirk was audible.

‘The same order applies then. The base of the Watch stairs in a half-hour.'

Garrick said nothing as we spiralled down the steps and through the gate at the bottom, which he took extra care to lock behind us. He said nothing as we walked the maze of tunnels to my quarters, where my pack and cloak and staff were waiting for collection. He said nothing while I kitted up with my knives and one of the bows, before fastening the carrier to my thigh and a waterskin to my belt. Only when I was done, cloaked and shouldering my pack, did he speak.

‘Told you to keep quiet. And now you're screwed.'

I nodded. ‘Yeah, I know.'

‘Maybe not all your fault, though,' he admitted, grudgingly. ‘Reckon we've been set up, Jem.'

I knew that too. Except there was no ‘we'. Just me. And some Guard I didn't know. Some idiot, still wet behind the ears, who'd probably never even killed before or, if he had, it was as part of a pack, with the thrust of a sword, messy and noisy and unprofessional. He'd be more hindrance than help, and I was beginning to wonder if that had been the plan all along. Because nothing about this was making any sense.

‘A fucking Guard. Should've been one of us going with you,' Garrick said. Then he gave me a long, level stare. ‘So you'll take the north road. Understand?'

‘Right.' Relieved, I grabbed the staff and closed the door to the room I called home. ‘What d'you know about that Commander?'

‘Name's Cade. His father's one of the Councillors, so I'm guessing that's why it played out the way it did. We didn't stand a chance.'

‘This isn't about culling the Disses, is it?' I said, thinking it through. ‘It's all about those two Guards.'

He nodded. ‘I reckon you could wipe out half the settlement and no one would give a shit. But if you let anything happen to those two, I'm gunna have to kill you myself. Don't make me do that, Jem.'

He wasn't saying it because he cared. If I died on assignment or elsewhere, Garrick wouldn't blink and he sure as hell wouldn't miss me. But if he had to kill me after this it'd be because of Cade, and Garrick didn't want to be made to do the bidding of a Guard. No matter who his father was.

I gave him a tight smile. ‘I'll do my best.'

We detoured to the mess hall where he let me drink a jug of water because it was better than wasting my own, and by the time we got back to the gate two figures were already waiting on the other side. Garrick and I eyed them both through the bars, though there was little to see. The Commander stood a good two heads taller than the Guard next to him, who was so wrapped in leggings and jerkins and cloaks and hoods it was impossible to tell his age or even see his face. All that padding was going to restrict his movements though, and I smiled to myself, thinking of the long climb ahead. His pack was big too, probably weighed down with extra food and water. And a soft pillow. Jerk.

‘You're late,' Cade said.

‘Get fucked,' returned Garrick. He unlocked the gate and motioned for the Guard to squeeze through the narrow gap, but I could see he wasn't happy about it. Garrick considered the compound sacred ground; letting in a Guard was as good as having them piss on his altar.

‘Not you,' he snarled, shoving Cade back when he tried to follow, before slamming the gate shut and turning the key.

‘I have a right to see my Guard to the exit,' Cade protested.

‘Well, if he gets lost between here and there, then he's got no chance of finding the Hills,' Garrick countered, and turning his back on his rival he pushed past the Guard to lead the way.

Cade reached through the gate and grabbed the Guard by the shoulder. ‘You know what to do,' he said softly, and the man nodded before hurrying after Garrick.

I didn't move, just stood and watched Cade watch his Guard disappear down the tunnel. After a couple of seconds he realised I was still there, and frowned.

‘What are you waiting for? Get going.' Again with the orders.

I regarded him calmly in the half-light. His face looked more worn than it had upstairs, older and filmed with sweat even though it was cool in the tunnel.

‘You gunna tell me what's going on, or am I going to have to find out the hard way?' I asked.

Drawing himself up to his full height, like it made a difference, he sneered, ‘You just do your job, Watchman, and let me do mine.'

I gave a nod. ‘The hard way then.'

The north tunnel sloped gently down and bottomed out before rising again to run for a mile or so beyond the last wall. Shoving aside the surprised sentry, who was no doubt relieved he hadn't been caught sleeping on the job, Garrick unbolted the gate and I nudged the Guard out into the night air, stopping briefly to nod at my boss.

‘Six weeks,' he said. ‘And bring back those tags, Jem. The whole fuckin' lot of 'em.'

I glanced at the waiting Guard, before smiling at Garrick. ‘That name you asked for earlier? It was Brandon.'

He flashed a grin and clapped me on the shoulder, thanking me for the gift. But I figured it was the least I could do. For both of us.

I preferred travelling at night. The days were too hot and the wind too strong, driving dust into eyes and ears and mouths, often whipping it into dark clouds that choked and blinded; not as bad
as the fierce storms that stirred without warning, billowing into thick brown waves that poured over the mountains and splashed the earth with grit hard enough to flay a man, but sufficiently frenzied to make any travel uncomfortable. At night, though, the wind dropped, the heat faded, and the cold took over, gripping everything tight and freezing it slowly. But as long as you kept moving it was bearable, and we set off at a reasonable pace, making good time on the rutted road. We didn't use a light, letting our eyes adjust to the darkness. And, thankfully, we didn't talk.

Most of the Guards I'd had dealings with never shut up. It was like blathering was a prerequisite for the job, a way to disguise their incompetency. But this one had the sense to leave me in peace, and I spent my time thinking on the Council and the Guard and the Watch, the report I'd read and the rumours I'd heard, shuffling and reshuffling everything, trying to make some sense of it. And it was hard work, because the side of my head throbbed where Garrick's fist had caught it, and when I touched it under my hood I could feel the bruise, already tender.

Trust no one.
Taggart's words kept floating back, annoying but insistent. The Guard I could understand; I wouldn't trust them to piss in the Sea without missing. But the Council was something else. I realised that in the time I'd been in the Tower I'd never heard a single name mentioned, apart from Garrick's and mine. The faces of the Councillors had been as forgettable as ours, each pale, wrinkled head much like the next. Briefly, I wondered which of them was Cade's father, then dismissed it because it made little difference to what I had to do.

So who were the men who'd sat at that table and decided my fate? Why all the interference with my schedule, and the route? And why were they so anxious to rescue those two Guards? Since when did a Guard's life count for anything? Fuck knows there were enough of them that a couple here or there wouldn't be missed. Question after question, and not a single answer.

And behind me, panting in his now-too-warm clothes and making way too much noise on the road, was the other, more immediate, question: why send a Guard on a Watchman's assignment? We had different uses, carried out different tasks. The Guard supposedly kept everyone in line and when they failed we were sent in to clean up the mess. That's how it was, how it'd always been. Not perfect, but it worked. And now the Council was screwing with it.

We kept walking and I kept thinking and the Guard kept panting. I hadn't asked his name. We might have to travel together, but we'd never become friends. Watchmen had no friends. It didn't pay to, coz you never knew when you might have to kill them.

By midnight the Citadel was far behind us and we'd come across no other travellers, not even camel-borne messengers. That didn't mean the road was empty though. We could've passed others resting off the side – sheltering in sand and dirt, or curled beneath dead scrub – without even realising it. Come morning, they'd be up and walking again, while we slept. The world moved in shifts, everyone doing their best to avoid everyone else, a hangover from the bad days. Guards were supposed to patrol the main roads, but we never saw a single one that night. Just one of many things they couldn't do right.

The jug of water I'd drunk passed slowly into my bladder, pressing for release, but I ignored the growing ache and walked on for another hour or so, picking up the pace a little. With just a few hours left until dawn, I pulled off the road and picked a path overland until I found a suitable rough outcrop of granite. The Guard followed, stumbling here and there, but without any complaint or curse.

Dropping the pack south-side of the rocks, I stretched my shoulders to ease the pain across my chest where the straps had rubbed at the new marks. They felt damp with fresh blood, but I'd have to wait until daylight before seeing to them. A half-moon
lent us enough greyness to scrounge in our packs for what we needed. Untying my trousers, I pulled out the new pot and removed the funnel cap, sighing with relief as my bladder emptied, the liquid warming the container in my cold hand. Glancing at the Guard, I held out the pot. Better to share, and piss was piss after all. When he shook his head, I shrugged. It meant no matter, but if you didn't put in you didn't take out either. He'd have to make his own water, coz he'd get none from me. Replacing the cap and attaching the tube and cylinder, I set it down to catch the first of the morning sun.

Sitting with my back to the rock face, holding my shirt away from the wounds while the blood dried, I chewed on a bit of bread and a couple of strips of meat, washing them down with short sips of water. The Guard sat opposite doing much the same, and I stared at him as he ate, watched him pull at his layers, trying to get comfortable.

‘I wouldn't do that,' I said, when he removed his cloak and started shrugging off an outer vest. ‘You'll have sweated under all that, and you'll chill too quick if you take any of it off now.'

He looked at me but nodded at last, pulling the cloak around him and flipping the hood back onto his head. From what I'd seen his hair was short, his face thin, and he looked about ten years old. He couldn't have been, but that's how he looked, and for fuck's sake what were they thinking? This kid was nothing more than a raw recruit, worse than useless. And if they thought I'd nurse him along, they were dead wrong.

‘This your first time out of the Citadel?' I asked, already knowing the answer.

‘Uh, yeah,' he admitted, his voice husky and low from the cold.

‘Why?' I said, wrestling another mouthful of meat from the strip in my hand.

‘Huh?'

‘You. Why send you instead of someone more experienced?' Someone who knew what to expect, and could take care of
himself. A Guard who at least might've realised that we weren't heading east.

He shrugged, not replying, and I swore loudly. Five days, four if I pushed it, until we reached the settlement. Then the little fucker was on his own. We sat in silence for a while, me thinking about what lay ahead, him probably missing his mother.

‘What's your name?' I asked him, at last. For later, if I needed it.

He hesitated for a moment, then said, ‘Alex. And yours?'

Surprised he hadn't already been told but pleased to be one-up, I said, ‘You don't need to know.'

Settling myself on the ground with my back to the rock, I pulled the pack under my head and brought my hood down over my face. One hand held the staff, the other rested lightly on a knife hilt, and without another word I closed my eyes, dismissing him.