City of Broken Magic

by Mirah Bolender

  A yelp and crash caught their attention. Okane had slipped on the wall and tumbled to the ground. The thorny bush shook as he scrambled to his feet, its pink flowers closing up. Loose soil coated Okane’s front, and he batted it away as best he could, flushing in embarrassment.

  “You okay?” Laura called.

  “Fine,” he mumbled, walking over and studying his hands.

  The thorns had pricked a small hole in his sleeve but he escaped getting hurt too badly, with the exception of a long, thin cut on the side of his left hand. The blood appeared extra dark against the pallor of his skin and white sleeve. Clae grabbed him by the wrist and Okane recoiled, trying to jerk his hand back. Clae hung on and scolded, “Calm down, it’s just Laura. It’s not like she’s going to bite you.”

  Okane deflated. It looked like he was retreating into an invisible shell.

  “You really are a bully,” said Laura. Clae shrugged that off.

  “Look,” he instructed, nodding at Okane’s hand. “You should know about this too, take it into account later.”

  Frowning, Laura stepped closer. Yep. Blood. Clae rubbed the spot with his thumb, smearing the redness away from the cut. Only there was no cut. It looked a few days healed, and in a matter of seconds it was like he’d never bled at all.

  “What the—”

  “Another Magi perk,” Clae explained, letting go. Okane held his freed hand close to his chest. “Works fast on small injuries, speeds up recovery a little for bigger ones.”

  “That’s…”

  “And he’s essentially a kin lighthouse when monsters get close. Ideal Sweeper if he gets it all under control.” From Clae that might’ve been a compliment, but it didn’t sound like one.

  “How have I never heard of this?” said Laura. “The magic thing, that’s easy to miss, but instant healing? Doctors would be desperate to figure out how that works. They’d whine about it all over the radios. How on earth—”

  “I told you the Magi went underground,” said Clae, as Okane shrank still further. “They know very well what the cities would like to do with them, and they’re not interested. I wouldn’t be surprised if Okane’s the only Magi in all of Amicae.”

  “But even if they were in another city—”

  “The natives may have agreed to return, but the Magi knew better,” said Okane.

  “But if they’re not in a city, where are they?”

  “Somewhere no city can find them.”

  A low howl rose in the September air, brassy like it came from a horn, but it continued in a drone that grew subtly quieter, then louder, then quieter again. It sounded distant, but after a minute an echoing drone started up nearby.

  “Is that a siren?” Laura looked around but couldn’t spot the source.

  Sirens were rare in Amicae, only used when particularly bad weather rolled in, but nothing in the cloudless sky hinted at incoming storms.

  “We’re not about to get a typhoon, are we?”

  “No,” said Clae.

  “Then why—”

  “It means there’s danger, not just bad weather. Rex has been on the move, hasn’t it? Either they’ve been sighted nearby or some spies managed to get in.”

  “They’re not targeting us, are they?”

  “They target everyone.”

  “Rex?” Okane questioned. “Isn’t that another city?”

  “The city everyone else hates. They’re military-based and belligerent to the point they can be downright stupid. They’re obsessed with the idea of reaching the apex of human potential, and seem to think they can reach it through battle. So they go out and attack anyone and everyone. It’s a wonder they haven’t been wiped out yet. Problem is, trying to interfere with them is like poking a kinral nest. You get swarmed and bitten before you know what’s happening.”

  Okane’s brow furrowed. “Then what do we do now?”

  “Everyone should be getting indoors so the police can comb the area. By the sound of it the warning is restricted to the bottom Quarters,” Clae mused.

  “So should we go back to the shop?” said Laura, getting antsy now. She never wanted to meet anyone from Rex, spies least of all.

  “They’ve probably shut down the cable cars and roads.” Clae dug his hands in his pockets to fiddle with his watch again.

  “What?”

  “Keep the spies from getting any further. Trap them, catch them. We’ll have to wait in this Quarter until the ban gets lifted.”

  “If they have to comb for spies, how long will that take?”

  “If all else fails we can probably convince the police to let us back through. Sweeper privileges.”

  “Where do we go in the meantime?” Laura spread her arms out at the surrounding greenery. “We can’t just lurk in the garden for god knows how long!”

  “We’ll wait in there.” Clae gestured at a nearby shop, a hunkered-down building with a rough pinkish exterior and no visible signage. The large windows and location marked it as a kind of shop, as did the big cages being hauled inside by a man dressed in black. Laura couldn’t identify what kind of shop it was, though.

  “You’ve been in there before?”

  “Sure I have. Come on.”

  He led them out of the garden and across the street, catching the door before it closed behind man and cage. The man looked back at the sound, bleary eyes unfocused and almost looking in opposite directions. His black hair wound in tight curls that sprang out from his scalp in a frizzy mane to hide his ears, gray and white streaking through in corkscrew curls. His gaunt face was waxy and pale; Laura thought this must be what the living dead would look like.

  “Sinclair,” the man warbled. Between the eyes, the voice, and the fact that she realized he wore a tattered robe and slippers, she concluded he wasn’t all there. “Come to visit, eh? Came to visit … last week, didn’t yer? Got no … candy for ya.”

  “That’s unnecessary. We’re just waiting in here until they give the all-clear,” Clae replied.

  “All-clear fer wha … t?” The man squinted outside. What did he mean, “for what”? The siren made him go inside too, didn’t it?

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  Clae grabbed the cage and heaved it up to carry it out of the way. As he did, the pack of rabbits inside squirmed about in anxiety. With the way cleared, Laura and Okane edged inside. The man tottered after Clae and plucked a rabbit from the cage before flopping onto an armchair. A few ratty couches were pushed against the other walls, though the armchair guarded the staircase and a radio squatted in the opposite corner. Gloom and dust settled over everything, lending the aura of a crypt. Laura felt unwelcome, so hovered in the open space rather than sit down. Clae lingered by the window, squinting out the filthy panes at the street while muffled sirens wailed on. The man petted his rabbit, and the animal quivered, eyes bulging.

  “No … candy,” he repeated.

  “I don’t want candy,” Clae retorted.

  “Eh?” the man screeched, rolling his head to look at him. “No?”

  “No.”

  The man rolled his head back and clacked his teeth, gaze roving around the room before alighting on the apprentices.

  “Anklebiters.”

  Clae didn’t correct him, simply transferring himself over to the couch. Springs groaned and dust shifted under his weight.

  “Here,” the man wheezed, holding out the rabbit. “Take the rabbit. Take … rabbit.” Laura stayed rooted to the spot. The man moved the rabbit up and down in his outstretched arms, calling again, “Have the rabbit. Don’ … hafta buy. Hold rabbit.”

  He kept insisting until Okane finally crept forward. Taking pains not to touch the man’s clawlike hands, he took the rabbit and cradled it to his chest. The animal might as well have been a doll; throughout the transaction it made no movement save for the furious twitching of its nose.

  “Nice rabbit.” The man grinned.

  “How do you know this man?” Laura asked, sinking down next to Clae.

  “He’s
Old Gabe,” Clae responded. “Used to be a scientist. He did experiments with the mixture of magic and science, like the robots only bigger, all meant to further Sweeper abilities. My father had him over at the shop a lot, but he was always offering candy and edging around us. He talked strangely in the first place, then got caught in the middle of some experiment malfunction. He doesn’t remember much of it but on the odd occasion he does he’s happy to say it was an electrifying experience. So now he sells stew rabbits.”

  “Why exactly is he trying to bribe you with candy?”

  “Because he’s stuck with the memory of me at six years old. No one’s really smart at six but even then we knew he was strange. Back when he was smarter his wife was around to send him on wild-goose chases, but she died … ten years ago now? During the epidemic. He’s harmless these days.”

  “I’m sure.”

  Old Gabe didn’t look harmless. His eyes were big and mad and fixed on Okane, marking him a victim.

  “Rabbits’re … fascinatin’,” he slurred. “Y’know. Haven’ changed since … ever. Born with the world as is. All them … Firins? Felons. Felins, and muck in th’ wilds grew like tha’. Weren’ all ugly in the beginning, no sir. Only domestic animals’re unchanged by them wilds. Rabbit … from th’ dawn ’f time.”

  He grinned toothily but Okane didn’t return the gesture. He glanced over at the others for help. Laura would help, but she’d probably just take over as the next target. She gave an exaggerated shrug and pulled a face. Okane made a pitiful noise. Clae leaned over to the radio and turned dials until it crackled to life.

  “—Mershon’s got the ball, he’s running for the goal, what a game, folks—” Click. “Mr. Frank Sullivan announced today that he’ll be backing—” Click. “Shipment of canir furs—” Click. “—regards to the alert—”

  Clae’s fingers hovered over the dial but this time he allowed the sentence to finish.

  “We appreciate the trouble this has caused the citizens at this time, and will do our best to minimize the duration and resolve the problem. Again, if you are outside in the Sixth, Fifth, or Fourth Quarters, please return to your homes or locate a public shelter. Police and militia are standing by to see to your safety. A small hostile group has infiltrated the city, and as such, the cable systems, roadways, and interior doors have been barred. City officials who need to return to the upper Quarters may do so by approaching one of the road blockades and presenting proper identification.”

  “Hear that? We can go back!” Laura would much rather be bored to tears in the Sweeper shop than hanging out with Old Gabe. Clae hummed a discordant note, and she frowned. “Wait, do you … Do you really want to stay here?”

  “Identification is the problem. Okane over there”—he nodded toward the hapless victim in question—“doesn’t have a proper ID. As far as Amicae public records go, he doesn’t exist. The Sullivans either never registered him or got rid of his records. Unless they take Sweeper rings as sufficient ID, we won’t be able to get through.”

  “But he should’ve got an ID the minute he walked in the city! People can’t just mess with public records like that.”

  “Enough money can buy anything.”

  Laura leaned further against the couch. “I feel like the more I learn about people, the more I lose faith in the world.”

  “And that’s why you need to be a pain, don’t let people walk all over you.”

  Laura wrinkled her nose. “Better a pain than a comfort?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then you need to start teaching Okane fast. Look at him. He’s a pain unto himself.”

  “Backbones take time,” Clae scoffed, making no move to help. “I’ve been working with Albright to get him a proper identity. Until then we just need to keep him out of too much trouble. Not that I expect him to get arrested or anything.”

  “That’s one of the reasons he’s living with you?”

  Clae shot her a confused look, as if he hadn’t even considered another option. “Where else would he go?”

  “I’ve just gotten a message,” the radio announcer piped up. “The Sinclair Sweepers have been asked to return to their headquarters. Why I’m not sure, but the police have requested they avoid the lower Quarters.”

  “There we go.” Laura clapped her hands on her knees. “If they’re expecting Sweepers, they’ll know what we look like.”

  Clae hummed again but didn’t move. He sounded unconvinced.

  Laura stood and walked to Okane. She plucked the rabbit from his arms and offered it back to Old Gabe. “Sorry, but we’ve got to go.”

  She tried to sound as sweet as possible, but it backfired. Old Gabe snatched the rabbit back and glowered at her. Laura held up her hands in surrender. Okane shuffled to hide behind her, but with him being taller than both her and Clae, this didn’t work too well.

  “Sinclairs,” Old Gabe sneered. “Al’ys … ruuude.”

  “Comes with the job,” Clae agreed, standing slow and leisurely.

  “Sssweepers.”

  “Clean this place, there’s rabbit droppings in the couch.”

  The nearest blockade was located on Nera Street, on one of the sections that broke apart from the main drag and sloped gradually along the inner wall to reach the next Quarter. A line of police cars had been parked lengthwise across the road, blocking the way with another matching line behind it. Policemen and soldiers alike manned the area, and more could be seen over the edge of the wall above. When the Sweepers grew close, the soldiers raised rifles. Almost immediately the police started moving more erratically and there was an audible command to stand down, for god’s sake don’t shoot them of all people, but the soldiers were hesitant to lower their weapons. Clae raised his hands and advanced slower, and the other two followed his example. One of the policemen tried to tame the line of soldiers while another ran toward the Sweepers with a galloping gait.

  Baxter again. At least it was someone they knew. Laura relaxed at the sight of him but didn’t lower her hands.

  “You order Sweepers to come, then try to shoot them?” Clae snarked.

  “My apologies.” Baxter cast an anxious glance back. “Considering the intruders, everyone’s on edge.”

  “You’ve identified them?”

  “Ah, yes. The chief said specifically to tell you that they had numbers on their faces.”

  “Oh, that’s just lovely,” Clae hissed through his teeth. He obviously knew the culprits, but the description meant nothing to Laura. Baxter nodded.

  “We want you out of the line of fire as soon as possible. Fighting monsters may be your job, but fighting humans is ours.”

  “Knock yourselves out, I want nothing to do with this,” said Clae.

  Baxter’s mouth quirked uneasily. “Of course. Please follow me. We’ll get you through quickly.”

  He led them to the line of defenders. The soldiers had finally lowered their guns, but their faces were wary. The policemen recognized Sweepers right away—Laura and Clae, at least—but a dark-skinned man in the military uniform stepped to block them. His dreadlocks framed his scowl, and his voice boomed deep.

  “Let’s see some identification,” he ordered.

  Clae sighed. “What did I tell you.”

  “Sir, these are the Sinclair Sweepers. We’ve worked with them before, we know them.”

  Nearby police nodded and murmured in assent, but the soldier and his brethren remained unconvinced.

  “Amulets have changed someone’s appearance before. ID, now.”

  Clae let out a short, annoyed huff, and stuck out his right arm. The man twitched backward in response.

  “The rings,” Baxter prompted. “They’re like the army crest or police badge. The Sweeper’s name is on the inside.”

  The soldier looked at the hand, at Clae’s face, then back down at the hand and back again before assuring himself that there was no chance of an attack. He grabbed Clae’s fingers and leaned in to squint at the gold ring.

  “‘S.S.Am.,
’” he read aloud.

  “Sinclair Sweepers of Amicae,” Clae recited.

  The man sneered and let go before waving Laura over. “Come on, you next.” Laura could feel thick calluses when he took her hand, and his grip felt too tight. Luckily his inspection ended in a matter of seconds, and he moved on to Okane. Okane had a ring, but he fidgeted and squirmed, much to the soldier’s annoyance. He had to be told twice to stop fussing before he got released too. The soldier wasn’t happy, but he was placated.

  “Get out of here, then. You’re in the way.” He sent them off.

  Baxter accompanied them to the top of the hill.

  “The chief herself is on the prowl,” he chuckled. “With her on the job, there shouldn’t be much to worry about. Of course if you do run into any trouble, then call right away. We’ve still got people minding the telephones just in case.”

  Baxter doubled back to his post while they turned onto a thin road, directed toward the middle of the Third Quarter. A few soldiers tracked them from their places along the wall, and some police rushed past, but those soon fell behind.

  “So,” Laura sighed, “what did that mean, when he said those people had numbers on their faces?”

  “It shows they’re part of the Rex breeding program. Sure, Rex encourages specific matches, but there’s only one declared breeding program, and that’s with their Sweepers. The result is a crack force of the best Sweepers in the world. God knows they need them, with all their forays into the wilds outside the cities. But those people don’t have name tags. They have serial numbers on their faces, right here.” Clae tapped his left cheekbone. “That’s all they’re ever known by.”

  “Why would Rex send Sweepers here?”

  “If we’re judging by the police’s reactions, they’re here for us.”

  “Us?” Okane repeated, looking up.

  “Yes.”

  “But why?”

  “Because if we’re not around, Amicae falls. Without us taking care of monsters and monitoring Pits, infestations would take root and eat this city with no resistance. Then people would leave the walls and become easy prey for Rex troops. There are other ways to destroy Amicae, of course, but the military has plans to counter those. No one has plans with Sweepers but the police, and theirs aren’t long-term.”