But they couldn’t. There was no way the Council could allow the Sweepers to fail; if there was even consideration, wouldn’t there have been signs? Budget cuts? Benefit cuts? This was her place; somewhere she could be herself with no nagging about “would Charlie approve of that” or griping about her ending up a mop mary, where someone always had her back. No one should be able to take it away.
“They wouldn’t,” she said. “It’s impossible. The city would—”
“Miss Kramer.” The strangeness of the title and the warning in Clae’s tone made Laura’s mouth click shut. Clae watched her, blank-faced but with narrowed eyes, and Laura ducked her head.
The interior door stood open and waiting for them, their usual man hovering in the opening.
“Morning!” he called as they approached.
“Entering the interior,” Clae called. “Get into single file, don’t disturb the workers.”
The followers shuffled to comply, and Clae slipped between Annabelle and the apprentices. “What were you yelling about?” he asked, voice low enough that it was almost lost to the roar of the machines.
Laura looked up at him and tried to drink in everything she could. Over the time she’d been a Sweeper, she’d figured out most of his tells: his posture, the slight shifts of his eyes. Right now he was intent, expecting, complete attention on her. She doubted any other job included a boss who’d think of her this much like an equal; certainly none of the options Morgan had rattled off. Other places had people like Charlie, ones who refused to see her as a person beyond being a girl. If the Sweepers disbanded she’d lose this forever.
“That politician wants to get rid of Sweepers,” she hissed.
“Not entirely,” Annabelle corrected, following close behind. “The Sweepers would be absorbed into the police department.”
Clae snorted. “As if that would ever work.”
He seemed relaxed enough that the tension drained from Laura’s shoulders.
“So you don’t even see it as a possibility?” said Annabelle.
“You saw Douglas’s files. Think over those again and see if any politician could overcome such arguments.”
Their long line wound across the walkways, not quite single file and forcing some workers to the far side of the path. Thankfully the elevator fit them all, even if it was cramped. The Sweepers ended up next to the grilles as they rattled shut, and Laura drew back so they didn’t close on her nose. The ride up was quiet, broken by some coughing and shuffling over the mechanical rattle. Laura listed so far back she practically leaned on Clae to keep a distance from the gaps in the grate. When they reached the top of the shaft and the grilles opened again, she dragged Okane and the trunk into open air.
They strode along the walkway and deposited the trunk while the crowd gathered around. Clae worked on opening the Pit. Laura watched distractedly, listening to the conversations among their followers. Annabelle murmured something to Wilcox, some policemen whispered about the interior, and a small cluster of younger policewomen giggled about Clae’s looks.
“Of all the things to talk about,” Laura sighed.
“The machinery?” Okane questioned, looking over at her.
“No, the girls.”
Okane angled his head to hear them better. “Clae has a dip in his arm?”
“What?”
“They say he has an ugly dent.”
Clae had his sleeves rolled up as he turned the handle, showing off an indented scar in his left forearm. Laura didn’t know the story behind it, but the thought that these girls were gossiping about scars was a little disturbing. Laura adjusted her shirt. Her own faint battle scars were easy to hide on the worst of days, but it made her feel better to make sure.
With the Pit yawning wide, Clae straightened.
“As I’ve explained before, this is a Pit, one of the three functioning in Amicae. There used to be more, but those have been ‘sunk’ to make room for the city; they’re still highly dangerous. Due to stupidity, the remaining Pits had to be modified to keep working. Broken amulets are at the bottom, the better to monitor.” When some edged closer, he added, “They’re far enough down you won’t be able to see them, and there’s no way to catch yourself if you fall. Back off.” They scuttled back immediately.
Laura took the lock off the trunk and pulled it open. She and Okane lifted the large Egg out of its cushion and over to the edge. Clae hovered while Laura unscrewed the lid, set that aside, and she and Okane poured out the kin. Some people drew closer again once the kin started its little dance to watch its descent. Once all the kin was out, they pulled up the Egg and put it away.
“Is that it?” asked the young policewoman from earlier.
“Wait for it.”
As Laura clicked the lock back on the trunk, she heard the sighing from the Pit.
“There. That’s the sound of a destroyed infestation that took root. That’s why we use the Pits.”
“Seems simple,” the girl murmured.
“A simple job with far too much drain on the city funds.” Laura looked around to see Annabelle beside her. The woman had been imitating a male voice just now, and broke into a smile. “That’s what Mr. Wilcox was saying. He doesn’t buy your boss’s story. Thinks you’re making up a hoax to get more funding. He keeps saying the police can handle it all themselves.”
They doubled back and sat in the shop, so the crowd could lounge and talk as much as they wanted. They waited for anyone to come in with news about infestations or amulets to recycle. One person came in to turn in an amulet, but she left in a hurry—the amount of attention proved too much for her. Laura wished more would come in. The shop being this slow must only reinforce Wilcox’s idea that their only jobs came through the police and only from mob activity. Clae didn’t look bothered. He fended off people who got close to the Kin, dodging all questions on how it worked. Okane leaned against the wall by the drapes, and Laura went through the stack of papers by the door, hunting for anything that might hint at why or how long people had been cracking down on the Sweepers again. She found an article in Amicae’s Sun newspaper: an editorial from two days ago, ARE OUR SWEEPERS NO BETTER THAN VANDALS?
The Sinclair Sweepers were recently called into the Sixth Quarter to carry out the extermination of an amulet proven to be property of the Mad Dogs. While successful, they also added to their streak of destruction. Sweepers have always been notorious for property damage, including the vandalism of private homes, businesses, and public amenities such as the Mechanics Museum of the Second Quarter. Their latest action has ruined the upper floors of a military barracks building, decimating one wall and causing over 5,000 argents’ worth of damage. “They have no control,” says military spokesperson Charles Goodwyn. “They have no control and they don’t care what their effects are.” The military isn’t the only voice complaining: the Sweepers are in hot water with the City Council as well. One of their most disappointed fans is treasurer Marcus Walz, who pointed out the astronomical cost of keeping up a Sweeper department, and shared his frustration with the expectation for the Council to foot the bill for damages. “Sweepers eat up as much of the city’s budget as the police, and don’t have even one-third of the manpower,” he explained, going on to lament the assumption that taxpayers must pay for flagrant lack of caution. With Sweepers’ destruction rate climbing over the past few months, there are some fears that taxes may rise to match. Up-and-coming politician Alexander Wilcox has shared his own opinion of the situation: “The demands of Sweepers are too large to grant, and their work directly harms the lives and property of constituents. If they’re truly heirs to the MARU, how is it that they never seem to leave an impact? Mob crime runs rampant and they do nothing to stop it. Is it truly wise to uphold such an inept office?” The police chief, who works closely with the Sweeper force, was unavailable for comment, but this reporter was able to contact the Head Sweeper about the case. When asked for his opinion, he simply replied, “Amicae is a city that has forgotten what the rest of the
world knows.” Forgetful we may be, but the city finds it hard to forget the 37 buildings Sweepers have rendered structurally unsound during this man’s career.
Laura walked to the counter and set the paper, article visible, on the space next to Clae’s elbow. He took in the newspaper, the headline, and looked back up at her.
“What?”
“That’s all you said?”
“No, but that’s all the reporter remembered. They have selective memory.”
“And you’re going to just let it go?”
“Reporters write what they want, and the Council already knows everything. There’s nothing that can be done about it.”
“Aren’t you the one who’s always saying we have to be a pain? There are so many routes you could’ve gone, but this? It just feels weak. Like the joke’s on you.”
“I will be a goddamn pain until I die, but they’re desensitized. They don’t like listening to things like this.”
Laura folded her arms, frowning. “That’s what you meant, then. Amicae has forgotten what the rest of the world knows.”
“Of course. Look at the state of our Sweeper guild. Every other city beefs up their Sweepers because they know how vital we are. By some grim luck, Amicae came to the conclusion that there is no real threat, but why else is there a quarantine?” He gestured grandly in frustration. “Why do you think we haven’t been in contact with the Old World? Why do you think any ship that goes far enough into the Beaumaris never returns? Everyone knows that if the monsters spread and feed as they like, there will be no civilization left. Orien is a massacre waiting to happen, and Sweepers are the only things keeping that from happening. But here’s Amicae, the goddamn Sweeper city, not even teaching people about amulets anymore, deliberately destroying Sweeper property, and deluding its citizens into thinking we’re the enemy. It’s almost funny; we’re killing ourselves.”
“Wow, that’s optimistic,” Laura grumbled, sitting down on the stool next to his.
Clae calmed a little, glared at empty air as if he was stewing, then looked back at her. “If the Sweepers are incorporated into the police, we won’t get the equipment we need, not the same quality or quantity, and we won’t be able to fight off infestations as easily as we have now. Hell, we could even be fired for the damage we’ve caused already. If that’s the case, if the Sweeper position is gone, then you two are going to pick up and move to either Vitae or Terrae. Vitae because the Amicae Sweepers came from there; we have ties they’ll uphold. Terrae because I have a good contact. Sweeper networks exist in all the cities, but those are where you’ll get the most help. The Sweepers there will help get you on your feet. Whatever the case, you can’t stay in Amicae.”
“But—”
“But nothing. With Sweepers gone, give it a year, maybe two, and the city will be destroyed. I’ve gotten letters from Fatum about Rex’s latest expedition, and they’re going in force. The spike is going to hit soon and hit hard.”
Laura gritted her teeth. She’d never left Amicae, not even gone to a satellite town. Her whole world was in these walls. The idea of leaving the job was bad enough, but abandoning the city for any reason was frightening, even when talking hypothetically.
“Us two,” Okane piped up from the side, wearing an uneasy expression of his own. “What do --- mean? Where would --- be going?”
“I wouldn’t.” Clae crossed his arms.
“But --- just said the city would be destroyed.”
“I’m a Sinclair Sweeper. My family was there in the beginning of Amicae. It’ll be there at the end, too.” Clae ignored their pale faces and pulled out his pocket watch. “Four o’clock,” he announced to the room, and this signaled the drop of their earlier topic. “You’ve got another two days to follow us, but for today you’re done. Scram.”
The police nearest them had gone eerily quiet to listen to their conversation, and some looked just as unnerved as Laura felt. At his words, they started and moved. A few people politely thanked him for “hospitality,” while the majority surged for the door. Annabelle scribbled on her notepad all the way out, following Wilcox as he made his exit. With the shop vacated, Laura breathed easier.
“Go on, you too,” Clae shooed her.
Laura leaned against the counter and frowned. She wanted to keep talking about his little doom prophecy, but he’d clearly purposely derailed the topic, so she forced herself not to. “Another two days, huh?”
“Yes, two days. Then they’re out of our hair.”
“Are you going to try talking to Wilcox at some point?”
“Why should I? He’s not going to hold up at the Council. Douglas’ll whip him.”
“She won’t be around forever.”
“What, did that reporter say something about her retiring? She’s not going to retire till she’s dead, and then you’ll hear her roaring from the grave.”
Laura smirked at the mental image.
“---’re not actually worried, then?” asked Okane.
“No.”
“But --- just went on a rant.”
“With Wilcox and a reporter in the room. Maybe it’ll drive something home.” Clae stretched leisurely, but the look in his eyes didn’t fool Laura. He meant what he said, even if he pretended it was an act.
“Whatever you say,” she sighed, standing again and moving toward her bike.
Okane made a funny noise of distress. “Then we’re okay?”
“Yes, we’re fine right now. Don’t worry about it, Okane.”
Laura said her usual good-bye and left, bumping her bicycle down the steps and onto Acis Road. It was only when she’d wheeled it a few feet away that she realized she’d taken the paper with her. It was an old one, so Clae wouldn’t miss it. She was starting to slip it into her bag when she saw another one of the small headlines, on the same page as the Sweeper editorial: SULLIVAN WIFE FOUND DEAD.
She stopped short and stared at it, taking in only a few details. Missing for five weeks. Presumed kidnapping. Corpse floating in one of the canals.
Mind in a daze, she leaned her bike against the outside of the shop and walked back in. Okane had vanished upstairs but Clae was still there, checking over everything under the counter. He raised one eyebrow when he saw her.
“Did you forget something?”
Laura held up the newspaper. “Mary Sullivan’s dead.”
He didn’t seem surprised. “And?”
“What happened?”
Clae glanced up at the ceiling, then gestured for her to come closer. When she did, he spoke in a lower tone, so his voice didn’t carry far.
“I suspected she’d die. One way or another, she was annoying the Sullivans, so it’s a miracle she survived as long as she did.”
“What?” Was he saying the Sullivans did this? “But Henry Sullivan married her.”
“It was a political maneuver. Those rich people in the upper Quarters, they rarely marry for love. When Henry married a lower-Quarter woman, people latched on to it as a kind of fairy-tale love story. It provided a distraction from Frank’s schemes and gained public favor. Nothing more.”
“Schemes like the scholarship and the Mad Dogs?”
“Exactly. She was too autonomous for their tastes in the end, and losing Okane was the final straw. She went ‘missing’ a few days after we got him out of there.”
Laura felt stupefied. “Then … it’s our fault she’s dead?”
“Of course it’s not. Sullivan is a rotten apple, always has been. Once something’s outlived its usefulness, he gets rid of it, person, tool, or otherwise.”
“You seem to know a lot about him.”
“I’ve met him before, back when he had that dealing with my father. I was a lot younger then, but our whole family knew he was rotten. My father made it a point never to associate with businesses afterward, because of Sullivan and a few others. Too risky to deal with them directly. We always suspected they were linked with the mobs. Okane just confirmed it.”
“But we did deal with th
em directly,” Laura pointed out.
“Okane is safe as a result.”
“But doesn’t that make us, I don’t know, a target?”
“He’s backing Wilcox, if that means anything to you.”
“He’s what?”
“Paying for the campaign. If Wilcox is elected, Sullivan can use him like a puppet.”
“And then he can mess with the Sweepers.”
“Which is why you two would leave Amicae. But that, of course, is not going to happen. The Council may be a bunch of idiots, but they don’t like the idea of big money steering politics like that. They won’t take it lying down. If he gets elected, they’ll impeach him.”
“Because Victoria Douglas’ll whip him?” Laura gave a small smile.
“Nobody messes with Victoria Douglas.”
“You have a lot of faith in her.”
“She’s smart, and she’s a pain. I approve.”
Laura laughed. It was a bit strange; he kept canceling out his more foreboding words. Be ready for this catastrophe, but it’s okay, it’s not actually going to happen. She hoped that was the case.
“So you’re saying we’re in good hands.”
“You could put it that way.”
“Great.”
Mind a little more at ease, Laura walked back to the door. She opened it and looked back to say good-bye again. Clae had already turned his attention away to tilt one of the glass parts of the Kin, tipping it to sit diagonally in its wire support. As he did this, something else occurred to her.
“Hey Clae? I don’t want to be annoying, but—”
“Be annoying. Rowena wasn’t annoying, she died.”
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