Occasionally a name would pop up in the papers. Some hoopla about a crime boss going down, some corruption exposed, but it was rare.
Myrtle wasn’t far from King Station. A twenty-minute walk, tops. How quickly do bok swim? Again, she anticipated my question.
“Hank’s fast. Even hauling a caravan master. We have a few exits from this building into the Sunk. He was able to slip you inside and perform CPR.”
I brought my hand to my mouth and looked at the bok. Hank said nothing, just tipped back his glass of wine.
“I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while,” she continued.
“Oh, yeah?” I asked, a little surprised.
“Indeed. You a religious man, Waldo?”
I blinked. “Honestly, I’m not sure anymore.”
I narrowed my eyes and took another drink. Where was this going?
She smiled. “Well, as my priest would say, I think the guiding hand of Providence brought us together.”
“Well, however I got here, I’m grateful. If Hank hadn’t saved me, I’m not sure I’d have survived. How can I help you?”
“Tell me about the elevated,” she said.
“What about them?”
“Who was killed this time? The papers are being coy.”
I studied her expression before answering. Her eyes flashed eagerly.
“Coy?”
“Yes, they indicated that the recent victim was elevated, but they aren’t naming names this time. Seems like another glided murder. Is that true?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer. Who was this woman? She could be working with the LPD. She could be the killer herself. I did find it strange how interested she was in the deaths.
“It was a human man named Doctor Frank Adderley,” I said. I wasn’t sure how knowing the victim’s name could hurt anything.
Her eyebrows twitched at the name. Her expression wavered a moment. Recognition? Something else? She caught herself and forced a smile.
“So what were you doing all the way up there? Especially an Auseil party. You seem to be good people. Wouldn’t expect you to go messing with that crowd.”
That crowd? The rich? Or another sort? Maybe the Aklo was not the only place to be looking.
“Small job,” I said casually. “I needed the money.”
She leaned forward. In the lamplight I could see her eyes were ice blue, the color of the sky on a winter morning. “We all need money. That’s why anyone does anything. What I’m wondering, Waldo, is what you were doing for Kiver dal Renna. He’s not the sort to seek out caravan masters of low breeding. No offense.”
I paused and then leaned back.
“Call me Wal,” I said, trying to buy time.
The big lizard set down his glass and I worried briefly that he was going to come at me, threaten me in some way. Instead he turned and disappeared from the room, ducking through one of the doors.
Elephant didn’t blink, just kept me fixated in her icy stare. “All right, Wal. Level with me. What is going on with Kiver dal Renna?”
I breathed out a long breath. “A kresh servant was found murdered in his apartment.”
This was public information. She nodded as if she already knew this.
“He asked me to look into it.”
One of her eyebrows rose. “You don’t seem the bloodhound type.”
I shook my head. “I’m not. I have some experience with some of the questions Kiver has, so he sought me out.”
Elephant smiled, white teeth flashing behind her lips. “I assume this... project is how you ended up bleeding out in the Sunk? Why that dauger was chasing you?”
She didn’t miss much. I took a deep breath and finished my water, then took a swig of beer. I studied the strange woman across from me and weighed my chances. I didn’t know her. But she knew an awful lot already. I wondered if she was an Outfit lieutenant. Everything pointed that way.
I swallowed thickly and decided to keep my doubts about Argentum’s legitimacy to myself. “I’m under a collection notice from the Society.”
Elephant made a low and long whistle. “Carter’s cross.”
I nodded and took another swig of beer.
“So you were trying to save your neck.”
I nodded.
“So when the LPD showed up and that buffoon Bouchard threw you out...” she let her words trail off.
How did she...? I tried not to let my expression give too much away, but this was a bit much.
“How do you know so much about this? Why have you been tracking me?” I said, my frustration boiling over. Obviously she had a mole in Kiver’s organization. Who was she paying to tip her off and why?
“I have my reasons. Business is business.”
“Is that business the same reason there’s crates of food in that warehouse?” I gestured behind me, my voice rising. “Crates of food hoarded away while the city suffers? While everyone works themselves into a froth?” I tried to keep my emotions in check. Wensem always said I was hotheaded.
She leaned back and drank from her beer. The coat of her jacket opened, revealing a close-fitting shirt with dark stripes.
“It’s not personal,” she said calmly. “Business is business.”
“You sound like one of the Outfit,” I said.
Outfit goons generally didn’t like being called out. It was chancy, but it seemed like the right thing to say. She seemed as interested in studying me as she was in revealing her own hand.
Elephant smiled but didn’t confirm or deny. Hank returned before I could say anything else. He ducked beneath the doorframe and held out a clean white undershirt, a flannel shirt of gray and black, and a thick coat.
“These are for you,” said Elephant. “Unfortunately, we don’t have a fresh pair of trousers in your size.”
I took the undershirt and slipped it over my head, gingerly pulling it over the bandage. The wound was still tender. Then I grabbed the flannel. I left my suspenders loose—no sense adding extra pressure to my chest and shoulders. The coat was wool, thick and black. Nicer than my old jacket. I laid it over the back of my chair.
“Thanks,” I said, then turned to face Elephant. Her lips curled into a smile which did not reach her eyes. She was still waiting for more information.
I sat back down and took another pull of my beer.
“Maybe I should have been more upfront. Some of the folks you met at that little Auseil shindig are... friends of mine. Kiver is one, there’s a few more. I am concerned for the safety of some of our elevated citizens.
“When I heard that the man who faced a First and won had mingled with my colleagues, I figured I should meet him. It was just dumb luck that Hank found you first. I think we should be willing to trade information. Help each other out. I know things, you know things. We could both benefit.”
“Business is business,” I said, quoting her words. “It’s not personal.”
She smiled and spread her hands. “Exactly.”
Elephant drained her beer and pulled a pack of pre-rolled cigarettes from a jacket pocket. She withdrew one and stuck it between her lips, lighting it with a silver flip lighter. She offered the pack to me. I waved it away.
Acrid gray smoke drifted above her.
“So what do you know about the recent gilded murders?”
“Very little,” I admitted. I didn’t read the papers and until recently I hadn’t cared much about the happenings on the high levels.
She frowned. “Unfortunate. You know the stories at least?”
“Sure. It’s what the scrapes call it when the press pays attention to the deaths of wealthy folk. It’s not uncommon,” I said flatly, taking a sip. The carbonation burned my throat, but kicked more energy into my limbs.
“Indeed,” she inhaled sharply and blew another stream of smoke. “However, they’ve been happening more frequently. In the last month, there have been fifteen dead. Fifteen. On one hand, the connections seem obvious: they’re all wealthy, high-ranking business owners. But the cau
se of death is different each time. Some look like suicides. Some, accidents. Very few look like murders. But they keep happening.”
“So?”
“Curious, isn’t it?”
I shifted slightly. “You think they’re connected?”
“The constabulary’s away on the front and the elevated begin dropping left and right?” she exhaled another cloud of smoke. “Fascinating, don’t you think?”
“I guess,” I said. I studied her face.
“The upper class are running scared. Leaping at their own shadows, afraid of moving in public. They should be. Someone’s hunting them.”
“Could be a vigilante,” I said. I didn’t want to go into details about my own investigation. The two bodies I had looked into were connected by writing, not by social standing. “You know, a defender of the people, a freedom fighter. Why let the rich feast while the poor suffer? That sort of thing. Maybe they’re trying to incite riots.”
“Forcing mergers and corporate takeovers is an odd way to revolt,” Elephant said.
What did she mean by that? I ran a finger through a ring of moisture on the table.
“A defender of the people wouldn’t slice open a scrape servant and spend time writing on walls in the victim’s blood,” she added.
My eyes flicked to hers and a fresh grin broke across her face. I hadn’t mentioned the Aklo, or any details about the scenes. How many connections did this woman have?
“Unlike the rush of gilded murders, the case you were looking into was different. There’s a consistency. The writing is one, the means of death is another.” She took a long drag and then continued. “Freedom fighters smash a face in with a club or a brick. They act out of a wild passion working to stop a perceived injustice. These last two killings were committed ritualistically. That’s fueled by a completely different reason.”
“And that is?” I asked.
She smiled almost seductively. “Faith.”
I blinked. “You think—”
She interrupted. “I believe these two murders, the kresh and the doctor, cannot be assumed to be anything other than what they are. Connected, and for a very specific purpose. The ritualistic death, the writing, it’s all for one reason. This is a new pattern.
“The kresh had nothing of value. As far as we know, Adderley was beloved, but he wasn’t a shareholder in any major firm. He made most of his money from his standing at Dyer Memorial,” she said.
“So, the gilded murders are about power, and the deaths of Adderley and Taaka are about something else?”
She nodded. “It’s a convenient time to shake things up. By the time the standoff ends, everyone will have moved on. Meanwhile, if someone needs a body count, the murders could easily be lost in the shuffle.” She waved a hand. “This is all speculation, mind you.”
It sounded good, but something was missing. There was something else happening behind the scenes, a big hole.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I’m hoping we can work together. As I said before, a partnership could be very beneficial. I have interests up top. LPD isn’t working fast enough. I’ve lost a few... contracts recently. If we could stop these deaths, I might be able to help you down here.”
Help me? I was starting to wonder what strings this woman pulled.
“Help me down here? With what?”
She smiled. “How much do you need for the collectors?”
This woman’s intimate knowledge of my life was exhausting. Was she offering to clear my name? I was also starting to wonder if she wasn’t more dangerous than Argentum. I said nothing.
“I want to know who is doing this,” she said. “I want to know who and why. The deaths of the elevated are hurting business in more ways than one. Recent homicides have got people scared and they’re not... working with me the way I prefer. I need to take advantage of this position while I can. Eventually the siege will break and caravans will flood in from the east. The value of that food behind you will drop. I’m not planning on opening a grocery.”
Ah, so she was selling food to the elevated. Probably for thousands, maybe millions of lira.
“You help me find out what is happening up there, and I’ll wipe that debt of yours clean.”
“Seems to me like you know what’s happening already.”
After a few moments she rubbed out her cigarette and pushed back from the table.
“How much do you owe?”
I studied her. She knew too much. I needed to play this right. Keep her guessing while I sorted out the details.
“Well?” she said, a touch of impatience in her voice.
“Twenty-five thousand lira,” I said.
She laughed loudly. “Carter’s bloody cross, what did you do?”
“Got into some trouble in Syringa.”
“Mhm,” she said, her eyes narrowing.
A moment of silence fell between us and we eyed each other across the table. Eventually, she rose, came over to me, and extended a hand. I took it, and gave it a shake. Her palms were soft, the nails well groomed. She hadn’t done a hard day’s labor in years.
“It was good chatting with you, Wal. Think about the offer. Come back if you’re interested. I’m serious about helping end your trouble.
“Hank will show you the exit. Stay safe.”
“You too,” I said, forcing a smile. She returned it. But hers was a smile that held many secrets.
I let Hank show me the way out. Her words rattled around inside my head. I couldn’t help but wonder what the hell I’d stumbled into this time.
THIRTEEN
THE DOORWAY TO ELEPHANT’S WAREHOUSE WAS UNASSUMING and easy to miss. I stood right outside and took in my surroundings. The place was a good enough hiding spot, a narrow door sandwiched between a crematorium and an abandoned automat that had long ago been stripped of any foodstuff. Three dimanian pitch addicts sat at one of the automat’s dirty tables rocking back and forth. Forgotten. Abandoned. A dreary tableau of Level Two, where Lovat’s lost souls gather to die.
My mind was running through my conversation with Elephant. A partnership? A trade of information? She was willing to free me from the collectors. Words had been spoken but no promises were made. The whole experience left me more confused than anything. Hank was a puzzle of his own. Elevated citizen, another crazed killer, gargoyles, a possible First, and now the Outfit. It was a who’s who of Lovat’s rich, famous, and strange.
A yawn surfaced and I rubbed my eyes, trying to ignore my headache. I was exhausted. The rush through the city, the near drowning. I might have woken up in the warehouse but I certainly hadn’t rested. My throat was raw and sore, my body sluggish and heavy. I had a cut in my side and I was probably covered in bruises.
My friends needed to know what happened to me. I had to contact them—Samantha especially. She already believed me reckless. Disappearing for hours and coming back wounded was not going to help. Heading back to St. Olm wasn’t an option, at least not right now. Argentum would probably be haunting the place. I couldn’t go to my regular spots, but I needed to get word out.
Hagen had disconnected his telephone and replaced it with a monochrome so that left me the city telegraph system.
I found an office a few blocks down from Elephant’s place. It had a dilapidated storefront. The sign above the door flickered, the front window had been boarded over. The interior wasn’t much better. A dirty tile floor and standing room for no more than a couple of people. The operator sat behind a glass partition and sipped coffee from a stained paper cup. I shuffled up to the counter and filled out the slip to wire Hagen. Nothing extraneous, just a quick message to set nerves at ease: “Ran into trouble. I’ll be by later.”
As I stepped out of the telegraph office and back into the cold air I bumped into a pair of kresh. They were arguing right outside, and dressed in shabby clothes. They sported red Breaker armbands similar to what I had seen on the dimanian youth earlier. One of them glared at me.
“Sorry,” I
said. I noticed one of them was smeared with green blood across his beak and one of his heart-shaped eyes was swollen shut. He looked like he had been in a brawl. “You all right?”
He shook his head and sneered. “No. Got shoved at the docks. Some bastard maero. I think he might have cracked my skull.”
“What’s happening at the docks?”
The other kresh turned to me and stuck a boney finger in my face. “Where ’ave you been? There’s riots all over the city.”
My eyebrows went up, but I wasn’t that surprised.
“They started down by the docks. LPD wouldn’t let people buy food from the boats.”
“Wait, why was LPD not letting people buy food?”
The wounded kresh coughed and the other huffed irritably. “Ah, come on, hume.”
“Fine, fine,” I said, holding my hands up and ignoring the slur. “Didn’t mean to offend.”
“Whatever.”
I moved on, thinking about the crates of food in Elephant’s little warehouse and the tables I had seen at Kiver’s Auseil party. No wonder people were rioting. A full belly goes a lot further than vague assurances when you want to placate the masses. Lovat was tired. Tired of the blockade, tired of the cold, tired of the hunger. If the mayor and the LPD didn’t act, Lovat could burn.
I walked with my head down, my collar up, and my head pulled as low into my new coat as possible. It was nice, much nicer than the one I lost to Argentum’s knife. I was grateful. Cold weather rarely lingers in Lovat—it usually gets cool in the winter, and it’s always wet—but we don’t see biting cold like this. Not for days and days.
I needed to lay low. Get my bearings. Try to sort this out and reapproach my Society problem. I checked the lamplight. I was nowhere near the edge of the city, so I had to rely on the lights. It had to be about mid-morning, which put me missing for more than twelve hours. I was glad I sent the telegraph off.
I needed sleep and for now there was only one place to find it.
Cedric’s was empty when I pushed through the door. There was no one lingering at the bar. No old timers gossiping about the latest jai alai or ausca standings.
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