The Axeboy's Blues (The Agents Of Book 1)

by Andy Reynolds

  “Donish will be angry if she sees you,” said Elsh as Roman took a seat on the barstool beside her. “She's been giving me grief for weeks about the mail being late.”

  “To hell with Donish! She can go topside and risk her own life swimming past the beasts. I'm not her damned mailman.”

  Elsh's face was a picture of serenity, her deep green eyes gazing into his.

  Roman laughed at himself and his anger. “Sorry. Like I was telling you, I've been doing work that's not my own for a while now, and can't wait to get back to my studies. I do what I can, but it's getting harder to care about all these little tasks.” He raised his drink to her, and she did the same. Then they sipped from their glasses and the flowery tastes exploded on his tongue as the liquid swirled down through him – the physical liquid waking up the more real and physical parts of his body and bringing them to the surface, making him more visible.

  “There you are,” said Elsh. “It's odd how I get so used to not really seeing you.”

  Out of his periphery, Roman watched as his hand holding the glass shifted in and out of plain sight. He could always see himself, of course, but whenever the Wonder brought out of him his less physical aspects, he saw his own body as a sort of thin hologram infused with a kind of inverted light. The world around him too became more heavy and real with every sip of his drink, just as the riverwalker sitting at the bar with him became darker and more exotic in his eyes as the more human parts of him, like desire and compassion, surfaced like buoys that had been held underwater. These changes in him were mixed with the changes brought on by the alcohol, which relaxed him so suddenly that he slouched down onto his bar stool, enjoying the feel of his weight on it. He let out a deep sigh.

  “It looks like you needed that drink,” said Elsh.

  Roman held up his glass and watched the liquid swirl around within. “I guess I haven't let myself relax since the last time I was down here. There's just so much to do, with the others all gone.”

  “Julius hasn't hired anyone to replace them yet?”

  Roman shook his head. “He's still depressed. Through all the different versions of him, I've never seen him this low. I don't know if he's going to come out of it.”

  “I'm sure he will. What is Julius without the Agency?”

  “Yes, he has to come out of it.” Roman looked down at his long hand as he made and unmade a fist. “Thirty-four. Thirty-four Agents I've watched die or vanish or become otherwise incapacitated over the years. I hadn't ever counted until last week. But the number just popped into my head, and it took me a while to figure out what the number meant.”

  “They all know the risks.”

  “Well, I can't say that the risks aren't downplayed. And it's not what can happen, it's what will most likely happen. You can only roll the dice so many times before rolling snake eyes.”

  “Some Agents retire.”

  “Yeah, but they sure don't add up to thirty-four. Not even half that number.”

  “So, are you thinking about retiring yourself, then?”

  “Me? No. I'll die on the job. I've lived quite long enough as it is.” He took a another sip of his drink. “It's the young ones that shake me up. You see, the ones like me who've been around and made peace with this kind of life, I don't feel as bad for them. But the new ones who never get to see their full potential, who are still uncertain with what the hell they're doing – when they die, I feel like we tricked them. Or helped them trick themselves.”

  He looked over at her and her eyes were still so calm – like little green pools promising so much life underneath the surface. Roman suddenly felt himself blushing and laughed at himself. “You make me feel so human sometimes.”

  Elsh shrugged – an obvious joke between them both, because shrugging was not something she'd ever do naturally, but was a human trait she'd always found weird-looking. “What's so bad about feeling human?”

  “It's kind of icky,” said Roman, playing the same game with the word icky. Not a word that would ever pass through the iron gates of his vocabulary. He finished the last of his drink, sighed and set the glass down on the bar.

  Elsh shrugged again, then finished her own off. “My turn.” She got up and approached the bottles.

  “What about you? How have you been keeping yourself occupied?”

  “You have your assignments,” she said as she opened a bottle and smelled it, “and we have ours. Most of it is kept from me – I only really know information pertaining to my own tasks.” She said the last word as if it tasted sour. “Donish makes sure I'm kept in the dark as much as possible.”

  “I thought you two were pretty close. What happened?”

  Elsh took out two fresh glasses and began carefully adding liquids to them. “She decided quite suddenly that she didn't care for the company I keep.” She looked at him and raised an eyebrow – a human trait she'd picked up that ironically wasn't a joke at all.

  “Wait, Donish doesn't like me now? What did I do?”

  “It's not anything you did, Roman. She just decided you're a little too enmeshed in the air-breathing world. Something's made her paranoid and she thinks the entities of the city have other plans for the river – and for us.”

  “Are your people preparing for a fight then?”

  Elsh pushed the drinks towards him and her bar stool, then walked around the bar and sat back down. “Most likely. I'm sure they're preparing for something, just in case.”

  Roman nodded. “Good. What if she's right? I wouldn't be able to help you. With Julius crippled and in the emotional state he's in, I'm the only fully active Agent right now. And it doesn't hurt to be prepared.”

  “I think of my people as always being prepared,” she said, raising her glass.

  He raised his own glass and tapped it against hers, then they tapped the bottoms of their glasses on the bar and took a drink. A mix of anise and seaweed with a touch of something not unlike clove. “Very nice,” he said, the flavors dancing on his tongue. “This might be your best yet.”

  She smiled and the gills of her neck stretched out in a way that showed Roman her sense of pride. Every riverwalker's emotions were given away by their gills, if one knew what to look for. The only way one of them could ever hope to trick Roman would be to keep their gills covered. If he lived long enough and somehow found the time, he'd most likely end up writing an extensive series of work on the species.

  Roman's wrist began to buzz, and he pulled back the sleeve of his coat and pushed the button on the side of his large time piece to silence it. “Damn, I've got to get going already – Albert should be starting up the storm again, and I have a meeting with The Function. Though gods know he's going to be late anyway, so I don't know why I'm going to bother being on time.” He took a long drink from his glass.

  “The Function?” She laughed. “Serendipity brought him out of the icebox again?”

  “Yeah. I'm not sure what he's up to, but he asked me to meet him on the docks by the bridge in half an hour.”

  She shrugged, making Roman smile, and then took a long drink. He pulled his eyes away from his friend. He didn't necessarily hate the desire he sometimes felt for her, or the humanness entwined with that desire – he hated the part of himself that liked it. He may even have tried to start some kind of relationship with Elsh if his desire for her wasn't so intense. He had never felt so strongly when he'd been with Rachel. Sometimes Roman was so, so glad that he was only half human – he couldn't fathom how humans could stand being what they were. He took a deep breath and yearned for the piece of Wonder that was in his coat pocket, one bite of which would cut him off from his desire.

  “Roman, are you alright?” She put a dark-skinned webbed hand on his shoulder, then she touched his cheek with the back it. “Your skin's really warm.”

  Roman swallowed. “Just, uh, stressed out. I'd better get going, Elsh.”

  “I worry about you.” Her eyes were swimming as he gazed into them. “I don't want you to die. You're the only person I
care about.”

  “Don't worry yourself about that.”

  She took his hand in hers, brought it to her lips, closed her eyes and kissed it. Roman's heart rippled through the rest of his body and he almost had to pull away from her. But then algae and seaweed sprouted from his hand where she kissed him, wrapping around his hand and wrist, and immediately he felt an intense and deep calm spread throughout his body. He closed his eyes and relaxed so suddenly that he would have fallen off his bar stool if Elsh hadn't held him up.

  After a few minutes he opened his eyes. “Thank you for that.”

  She smiled at him. “Certainly.”

  He sighed. “I don't want to leave. I feel like staying down here all day. But I should see what The Function has up his sleeve.” He slowly withdrew his hand from hers, with the sea plants still wrapped around it. He felt good – the desire was still there and he felt very human, but he also felt so calm and serene. He didn't like taking drugs of any kind, but he had to admit that the miniscule amount of poison from her lips had a very positive effect on him.

  She nodded. “Maybe I'll become an Agent so I can watch out for you.”

  “You'd hate being an Agent.”

  “That's probably true.”

  They both finished their drinks, put away the bottles and left their makeshift bar. As they walked down the length of the unused laboratory, Elsh looked at all of the lab equipment. “Do you think he'll ever come back?” she said, referring to The Scientist.

  Roman glanced at the lab equipment as they passed. “I never think about it. Not anymore. Whether he does or doesn't, neither will surprise me.”

  They walked through the vault door and Roman pushed it closed, then spun the handle shut. He took out a piece of the fruit called Wonder and took a couple of bites. “You should really come to the surface some day soon. There are some views of the city I'd show you, and the art galleries are really something else.” He reached over and pulled one of the levers as his body slowly became less body and more not-body. The transformation took a little longer, since the Wonder had to overpower the effects of the alcohol and of Elsh's poison that was in his system. The machinery began to churn loudly behind the metal walls as he kept eating the fruit. He looked over Elsh one last time with his human eyes, letting his desire dance somewhere between his mind and his heart before his desires were overshadowed by raw curiosity and logic.

  File 6 :: [Edith Downs]

  Nearly every block of The Central Business District, or CBD, has an abandoned building or two. Some have been damaged so badly by hurricanes and such that there is no way to profit from fixing them up. Others are owned by people who, knowing the area is booming, won't sell or fix them in hopes that the property will become so valuable that they can make a huge profit off selling them even if they're falling to pieces.

  Then there are “buildings.” “Buildings” look like buildings, but they aren't actually there. They're kind of like a prop in a movie, and what you see is just the face of a building that used to be there. You can go up and look through the glass-less windows and see piles of bricks and debris, along with the walls of the neighboring buildings and the sky above. The pieces of the building have been brought out through the front doors, which were then either locked shut or gated. Not many notice these “buildings,” and no one asks why they were left in such a state. Maybe they just weren't ready to die. Or maybe someone else just wasn't ready to face their death.

  It was to one of these “buildings” that The Function took Edith, about a block from The Wellington Bank. The front of the building was three stories tall with pretty windows, while the inside was one story with a floor of rubble. The door wasn't locked – The Function just had to pull up when he opened it, then push it as it grated against the debris.

  He looked up at the stormy sky, which took the place of the building's ceiling. “She's late.”

  “Looks like it's about to pour,” said Edith. “Wait, who's late?”

  “Your partner in crime.”

  Edith was still wearing her green dress and black slip-ons. He said she didn't need to change, and she didn't have a change of clothes at the shop anyway. She'd hidden her wallet and cash behind some boxes in the storage room and brought her purse so that she had somewhere to put the revolver. Her driver's license wrapped in a twenty dollar bill was hidden in her bra – she figured that if she got arrested the license would make things go a little smoother, and if she didn't get arrested then she'd need the twenty to buy a beer and a couple shots of whiskey.

  Thoughts crept into the back of her mind, thoughts that questioned how much she really valued the life she'd created for herself. They pointed out that jumping blind into this kind of situation so easily should be telling her something about how happy she really was with her life – but there was no time to get caught up in reflection just yet, so she shooed these thoughts away like flies. She was rolling the dice – if she lost, she'd go to prison or jail. And even if she somehow got out of any jail time, her business and reputation would be shot. If she broke even, she'd at least get an adventure out of it, and if she hit the jackpot she'd have one of the most prominent pastry shops in the city.

  Edith wasn't sure if it was the increase in adrenalin or the personality of Dean Smith rubbing off on her, but she was less and less interested in details like, How will I not show up on camera? or, What do I say when I get in there? or, How much money do I take? Perhaps it should have been mentioned sooner that she's a little tall but has a rather slender frame and could probably drag a 50-pound bag a lot faster than she could carry one, which still isn't very fast. But as far as she knew, bank robbers didn't usually drag their bags of cash out the door anyway, as it's not so elegant. Edith figured maybe her “partner” would be a large, muscular and do all the heavy lifting – that is until she saw the young woman pushing her orange bike into the doorway and across the rubble of the meeting spot.

  “Sorry I'm so late,” the girl said to The Function.

  “You're only a little late,” he said. “I knew you'd be late, so I told you an earlier time than the time I actually wanted you here.”

  “Good,” said the woman. “Then I'm only a little sorry.”

  The young woman took a leather case from the basket of her bike, set her bike against the wall and then shoved the door shut with her shoulder. She was shorter than Edith but carried herself with total confidence. Her red dreadlocks were tied into a bun with thick strands hanging down past her shoulders and a huge rams head tattoo displayed itself upon her chest. She wore a cream-colored tank top and the large, spiraling horns of the ram went under the straps of her shirt. The tattoo was done in incredible detail and the ram's eyes looked startlingly old and wise. Her black jeans looked much more appropriate for robbing a bank than what Edith had on and Edith could see in the girl's eyes that she was thinking the same thing.

  The girl walked up to Edith and stuck out her hand. “I'm Mars. This guy over here isn't so good at introductions. Or knowing how to plan a bank robbery.” Edith shook her hand, and then Mars glanced over at The Function. “Or knowing when to pay for a girl's drink.”

  “Ok,” said The Function, obviously annoyed. “I think she gets the point.”

  “At least someone does,” said Mars.

  “It's good to meet you,” said Edith. “I'm Edith. Do I know you from somewhere, Mars?”

  “I've been in your pastry shop,” she said. “Writing, getting my caffeine fix, spying on you, doing reconnaissance.”

  “Oh, wonderful."

  Mars shrugged. “Would you rather me say that I've been watching you, spying on you to get an idea of who you are, or that I know nothing about you and that we're both jumping into this robbery completely blind?” She cracked a smile, then knelt down, opened her brown leather case and pulled out an old antique camera.

  “Does that hold the memories of some old photographer?” asked Edith.

  “Gods, I hope not,” said Mars. “That would be creepy.”


  Mars pulled out several metal poles and began screwing some of them together. The poles were shiny and definitely not antique, and when she got them set up they'd turned into a tripod, on which she placed the antique camera.

  The camera was large – big enough to cover Edith's whole face – and Mars opened up the back of it, pulled out a couple other black metal pieces from her bag and began attaching them to the camera's insides. Edith didn't know much about old cameras, but she was certain that Mars wasn't doing anything normal to the camera. Mars kept on attaching more pieces to the camera with little clicks and whirs, until the camera was three times its own size with all the extra attachments – a couple of gauges, a few extra levers and some kind of vial filled with a dark green liquid or smoke.

  While Mars was working, Edith asked The Function, “So how much money do you expect me and her to carry out of there?”

  He looked up at the brewing storm and shrugged. “Doesn't matter that much. I mean, you should take something. Don't just take the customers' watches or cell phones, like in a train robbery – you should take money from the safe or the drawers. As much as you can.” He took a swig from his flask.

  Mars stood up with her camera. “Alright F, come here and I'll show you how to work this.”

  The Function looked over but didn't move from where he stood. “Listen, could you not call me 'F'? Just for one day?”

  Mars cocked her head. “Oh, I can think of worse. I can come up with names that will make you beg me to call you F.”

  “Ok,” he said, raising his hands and walking over. “We can discuss this later. How do you work this thing?”

  Edith walked over and watched them. Mars had a few sepia tone photographs with creases running along the middle of them. The one she held up was of two men in trench coats. One of them was Dean Smith, the man with the thin mustache whose memories were currently sitting on a chair in Edith's head. In the picture he was wearing a fedora. The other was a portly man in a bowler hat and a bushy mustache holding a shotgun.