Red Litten World

by Alexander, K. M.

  “You should be happy,” I said.

  “I didn’t want to lead a revolt,” he said. “I just wanted to get this city fed.”

  “Well, you did. Your brothers and sisters here used your momentum to overthrow the mayor and recall the constabulary. In less than a week trade’s opened along the Big Ninety. Everything’s different. But most importantly, I get to eat eggs and drink vermouth again.”

  I gave him a wide smile.

  “It’s true,” said Hagen. “Hannah and I went to Luther Island yesterday. The place is crawling with new folk, supplies. The trade is so thick they’re having a difficult time managing the logistics of it all. Never seen so many roaders in one place, not to mention the couriers and rickshaws.”

  “The caravans were running the short routes in the eastern Territories,” said Wensem. “You could tell it was frustrating them. The people out there appreciate caravans but you can only run between Hellgate and Syringa for so long. Lovat runs make up for more than half of most companies’ profits. I’m sure when they heard the news they all turned westward.”

  I nodded and skimmed the story in the paper. The mayor was locked away somewhere in a holding cell in Lovat Central, along with the Chief of Police, the Chief of the Fire Brigade, and two city council members. Elections were planned to take place in a few months, and in the meantime the city was being run by a temporary council. I passed the paper back to my partner.

  “You know, I’m surprised they’re not begging the Hero of Destiny to run for mayor.” I grinned at him, knowing he hated the nickname.

  “They did,” he said with an annoyed grunt. “I turned them down.”

  “What?” Hagen laughed. He leaned forward, his eyes wide behind his glasses. “They wanted you to run for mayor and you turned them down?”

  “I’m a roader, not a politician,” said Wensem. “I hate politics.”

  “But imagine the changes you could put through! The cabinet you could create! I, for one, would make an excellent Senior City Historian.” Hagen leaned back, eyeing the maero from below his brow as he took a noisy slurp from his coffee.

  “You’re going to have a hard time shaking free of the people,” I said. “I mean, you led the final battle against Conrad O’Conner. You helped drive the Purity Movement from the blockade and you led the first wainloads of food into this city. You’re a damned hero.”

  “I didn’t do shit,” said Wensem sourly. “I just kicked when things needed kicking.”

  Wensem hadn’t been forthright in talking about the fighting at the blockade. All we knew was what we had pieced together from other people’s stories and it was tough to believe everything they said. One thing was for certain: it had been bloody. A lot of Blockade Breakers and Purity Movement members had been killed. Some had taken to calling it the Crimson Blockade, and the road south out of Lovat the Crimson Road in honor of those who had fallen.

  “The Purity Movement hates you,” said Hagen. “It was in the papers, O’Conner was quick to distance himself from those at the blockade. But he’s calling for your banishment from the city.” Hagen dropped his voice into his best impression of the Purity Movement leader. “No human should ever be assaulted by species born of the loins of Cain—especially the maero. Wensem dal Ibble is not only an affront to the sovereignty of the self but also an affront to God’s blessed creation!”

  Wensem chuckled at Hagen’s impersonation. “That’s pretty good.”

  “O’Conner’s saying he’s going to run for mayor. Says he has a mandate and he’ll easily win.”

  Wensem chuckled and shook his head.

  “A mandate? Not damn likely,” I said. “They lost any influence they had with the human population after the blockade. All of Lovat suffered—humans included.” I looked across the table at Wensem. “You ever going to tell us what happened down there? It’s a pretty rare day when a specific maero’s name is dropped in an O’Conner sermon.”

  “Hero of Destiny!” said Hagen, raising his fork into the air.

  “Nice ring to it,” I said with a smirk.

  Wensem huffed. “Not much to tell. People died. The blockade broke.”

  “You don’t get called a hero if that’s all!” said Hagen.

  Wensem scoffed. “I’m no hero. Wal’s the real hero, facing down another First. Are you ever going to tell us what happened up there?”

  He parroted my tone. He looked at me across the table and blinked his blue-gray eyes expectantly.

  I hadn’t been the most forthcoming either. No one had seen the fight on Level Nine, and I wasn’t sure how to recount what I really saw. The wasteland. The conversation with Ashton. The fall. It wasn’t something I could even easily piece together inside my own head.

  Wensem broke the silence. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” he said.

  I blinked and refocused on him. The memories of Ashton faded as the sounds of Cedric’s eased me back into reality.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I said.

  A waitress appeared. Essie’s replacement was a short dauger with a tin mask that seemed to have a friendly appearance. She wore a similar uniform to Essie’s, and was good at her job, but she didn’t have quite the same aplomb. I had asked Cedric about Essie, hoping he’d be able to shed light on her disappearance. But he too said there wasn’t much to tell. She apologized to him for bailing, told him she was leaving Lovat for good. That she had been here too long. She asked for him to forward her last paycheck to her cousin in Destiny.

  “Honestly,” Cedric had said, “the place was closed when she broke the news so I didn’t realize what a blow it’d be. I sure as hell could have used her when we reopened after the deliveries started coming again. It was a madhouse.”

  I asked if he thought she was okay, and he had shrugged. It was always an interesting gesture on a cephel, with their eight appendages.

  “I hope so,” was all he said.

  I hoped she had found the simple, quiet life she wanted.

  “What’ll ya have?” The dauger waitress now asked, setting down a hot cup of coffee in front me. “Breakfast is all day. We finally got eggs this morning, but we’re out of gravy. Only thing still not on the menu is any chicken dish. We do have bacon. Oh, and a nice roasted side pork.”

  We ordered and the waitress wandered off to tell Cedric. As she did, the bell above the door rang and in walked Hannah. She was wearing a new brown leather jacket and had her hair tied in a bun. A brown leather glove was pulled over her wooden hand. Instead of sliding next to Wensem she pulled a loose chair from a table and sat on it backwards at the end of our booth.

  “You need anything, hun?” shouted the waitress from behind the counter.

  “Coffee. Black,” Hannah said. She turned to me and asked, “How’re you holding up?”

  “Getting better,” I said. “Get my message?”

  Hannah grinned and nodded. “I put the word out. Sent a message to Taft, as well. As lovely as this place has gotten lately, it’s about damn time we get back on the road. I’m getting bored sitting around.”

  “A roader’s got to eat,” I agreed.

  “Wal, are you sure?” said Hagen. “You’re still banged up. If you want, you’re welcome to crash at Saint Olm until you’re fully recovered,” said Hagen.

  I grinned at him. “You sound like your sister.”

  He chuckled. “Okay, maybe a little. But the offer stands.”

  “The only place for a roader is the road,” said Wensem with a smile.

  “I hear that,” said Hannah and the two of them pounded on the table.

  I had only seen Samantha once since the Shangdi. Apparently she and Bouchard had tried to get out onto Level Nine but a fire had broken out. By the time they got out there and followed our trail I was on my way back to Hagen’s. They had seen the streaks of blood on the platform and nothing else. They’d thought I had gone over.

  It wasn’t until later that she found me. She had burst into the small bonesaw office, wet and exhausted. Water dripped off
her horns, and her skin reflected the dull lights. Her clothes were soaked and clung to her. She was shivering.

  The concern drained out of her as she saw me, an IV of maero blood being pumped into my arm. The bonesaw, a maero, had smiled at her and disappeared, leaving us alone. Our full conversation escapes me but I had made some joke about her being soaked and cold on my account. She had rebutted with something snarky. I told her what had happened. Everything from Ashton’s escape to the fall. When I had finished we looked into the empty air for a long time, sitting in silence. Eventually Samantha smiled, met my eyes for the briefest of instants and then looked away.

  “I’m glad you’re okay,” she had said.

  “Me too,” I said.

  “Wal... I—” she had begun, then stopped herself.

  I didn’t press. I didn’t force the conversation. After a moment I thanked her for her friendship and her help. I told her I couldn’t have done it without her. I squeezed her hand and we sat in silence for a while until she excused herself and I watched her walk out of the office. I hadn’t seen her since.

  “Elephant’s looking for you,” said Hannah, jarring me from my thoughts. “One of her goons came to talk to me. He seemed nice enough.”

  “Why you?” I asked.

  Hannah gave a little smile. “How should I know? Maybe the Outfit thinks we all operate like they do.”

  “Possible,” said Wensem from behind his coffee. “We tend to think everyone thinks like a roader.”

  “She give a deadline?” I asked.

  “No deadline,” said Hannah.

  “I don’t trust her,” said Hagen. “She’s been playing a lot of angles.”

  “Everyone plays an angle,” I said.

  Hagen hrumphed and swallowed some coffee.

  “I’m with Hagen,” said Hannah. “I don’t trust her either. Owing anyone in the Outfit is never a good idea. She’ll eventually come to collect.”

  “She never officially said she was with the Outfit,” I pointed out.

  “It’s been damn well implied,” said Hagen.

  “Well, if she is, let’s hope all she ever needs is a caravan master.”

  The food arrived. Hagen had the side pork and a pile of fried rice. Wensem a dry piece of toast and plain oatmeal. I couldn’t resist Cedric’s all-day breakfast and had ordered an omelet as big as my head stuffed with cheese, mushrooms, thick bacon, and spicy peppers. We all began to eat.

  We parted ways after our meal, each moving to our corner of the city.

  I walked through Lovat, quietly admiring the city that loomed around me, the scent of smoke and cinders still lingering on the air. The sodium lamps burned golden in the roof above. The hum of neon lit the street in flashing greens, blues, whites, reds, and gaudy yellows. Scorched areas could still be seen pockmarking the streets. The vestiges of Auseil decorations littered gutters and alleys.

  Unlike the days before, people didn’t rush from building to building. Crowds once again filled Lovat’s streets. Most carried umbrellas to protect from the downspouts that poured from above. It was cold and damp, not freezing. A true Lovatine winter.

  A few hawkers once again braved the corners to sling their goods. Their voices raised over each other, always competing for the attention of customers while buskers played instruments, creating a cacophony of jazz that echoed through the cement canyons.

  Scents of grilled and fried foods wavered from pull-trucks and food carts and filled the city streets with a heady aroma. Even as full as I was the smells made my stomach rumble.

  I yawned and allowed myself to wander. Like Wensem, my own sleep had been disturbed. I slept fitfully, often waking in a cold sweat. I still saw Ashton, wearing his human skin, being carried away by gargoyles. I wondered if he was still in Lovat. Old, broken, trapped in his human skin. I wondered what a First would do to pass the time.

  Gold’s body had been recovered. The fall had shattered the dauger, and apparently it was only the gold mask that allowed authorities to identify him. The papers reported that Kiver was cremated and the ashes scattered in the waters between the city and the Rosalia Mountains. Kiver was well loved. Thousands of Lovatines and employees of Renna Monochromes had come to show their respects at his funeral. I felt bad for his kids.

  The papers hadn’t mentioned Argentum at all.

  I turned a corner, walking past a vendor selling beetles and a dimanian slinging socks, and made my way to the edge of the city, passing beneath a flickering sign that would soon burn out completely. I recognized the spot. I had been here before. This was where Essie had found me, still stunned from my first encounter with Argentum, alone and freezing on the edge of the city. I sat on the same bench and looked out, remembering the cigarette Essie had shared with me and the lights of the boats we had seen in the water far below. A light rain spattered my face, and I breathed deep lungfuls of air as I looked across the archipelago and towards the Rosalias.

  We exist in light, we souls of the earth. We can only go on because we don’t know what hammers at our door. The darkness that wants to leak in. The insanity that lurks at the edges of perception. But they wait—the Firsts, the elder gods of shadow and terror, the creatures of madness who lurk like ravenous beasts just outside our reality, eager to paw their way inside. Only a certain few are selected to take upon themselves the burden of this knowledge. It is our lot to shoulder through. We may be broken and bent but we must remain steadfast and true. We must stand guard against the darkness. We are the ones chosen, and we must protect this reality no matter how much of our blood spills.

  The sun still hung above the horizon, a fading golden disk partially obscured behind a line of broken clouds. Soon it would dip behind the peaks and paint the sky with brilliant purples, bright golden hues, and festive reds. The glass towers above me will reflect the light and glow like beacons visible for miles and miles. Behind those glowing transparent skins the elevated will continue to go about their business. Oblivious of the events that transpired outside their windows.

  And still, somewhere beneath us all, below Lovat’s red-lit upper reaches, below the lower levels, below even the Sunk, the heartless machinery that powers the fate of the world cranks onward. More pieces are moved into place. More Firsts are waking. When the time comes, I will face those horrors as I faced the creatures before them. But for now I didn’t care. I was safe. I was full. And for that moment, it was all my tired soul needed.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  First, I want to thank Kari-Lise, my wife and partner in this crazy life. I cannot think of anyone who has had a bigger impact on my writing. Wal’s world would be a much different place without your excitement, encouragement, and boundless understanding.

  Thank you to my editor, Lola Landekic. Editing my manuscripts isn’t easy. I’m a crazy sloppy writer who needs constant prodding to get this stuff right. Thank you for your patience and guidance in helping make Red Litten World the story it is today. This wouldn’t be the same without you.

  Again, I extend another huge thanks to Jon Contino, who lent his considerable talents for the lettering that graces the cover. It’s the first thing readers see, and it’s the perfect connection to Wal’s world and had helped set the tone for this series.

  Thanks to Steve Leroux and Sarah Steininger Leroux for your encouragement, support, and feedback. It means a lot. Thanks to Steve Toutonghi for your friendship, your advice, and for standing with me in all of this. Thanks to Josh Montreuil for spending the time waxing poetic about stories and worlds and monsters. Thanks to Christine Mancuso and Brian Jaramillo for letting me bounce ideas off of them at all hours.

  Huge thanks to my crew of beta-roaders who offer insight and impressions as I work through those first—and very rough—drafts: Ben Vanik, J. Rushing, Kelcey Rushing, and Sky Bintliff. You’re all amazing. It takes a special kind of talent to suffer through those early manuscripts. I can’t thank you enough.

  And of course, the biggest thanks goes out to you, my readers. Your excitement and pa
ssion for the world of Waldo Bell has continued to push me. This book exists because of you. Thank you for writing your reviews, tweeting your tweets, blogging your blog posts, sending the emails, and drawing the fan art. I hope this book lives up to your expectations. I cannot wait to share more with you.

  Finally, of course, B3S. Magna voce ridere æterna. Let’s keep making the world a better place.

  K. M. ALEXANDER is a Pacific Northwest native and novelist living and working in Seattle, Washington with his wife and two dogs. Red Litten World is the third book in his urban fantasy series, The Bell Forging Cycle. You can follow his exploits at blog.kmalexander.com.

  ALSO BY K. M. ALEXANDER

  THE BELL FORGING CYCLE, BOOK I

  The Stars Were Right

  thestarswereright.com

  THE BELL FORGING CYCLE, BOOK II

  Old Broken Road

  oldbrokenroad.com

  The Guardian returns in:

  THE BELL FORGING CYCLE, BOOK IV

  Gleam Upon The Waves

  gleamuponthewaves.com