She kissed him softly and he held her for a while. The place didn’t feel so stark now, the walls holding them like an embrace.
‘Tell Brennev I’ll do it,’ she said.
He pressed her to his chest. ‘I’m sorry it had to be like this.’
‘I don’t have the first clue how, though.’
‘I’ll show you.’
Debrayn
The train rumbled along, heading out from Keln and hugging the coast. Corrosion from the salt spray had eaten at the joints in the track and made it uneven. At every kink or turn the great caterpillar would shift to one side with the squeal of steel on steel. The engine car couldn’t be heard from where Cale and the other two were hidden, in a box car near the very end of the long line of carriages. The only sounds were the groans of the suspension and the regular snicker-snack of wheel on rail.
They’d cleared a space between cargo crates by the rear doors. Brabant had assured them the carriage was marked with his private seal and wouldn’t be checked, but Cale wanted to be able to get out fast if he needed to. Derrin lay stretched out on his bedroll, fiddling with a knife he’d claimed from the bag of clothes and equipment Brabant had provided. Cale was helping Ardal Syn with his new legs.
‘Pink, I ask you!’ said the mercenary, puffing out his cheeks. ‘Just look at me. I look like an Aspedair sex doll!’
‘Keep still,’ said Cale, his eyes level with the mercenary’s hip. With a multitool he tightened the bolts and rods that secured the artificial legs to Syn’s hip joints. All four limbs had turned out to be sheathed in synthetic coating of garish pink that glistened like oil under the lights. Brabant had stated, quite unapologetically, that this was the best he could do at short notice. Syn had plumbed new depths of profanity, but eventually relented in the face of Brabant’s wide smile and impassive bulk. Not long into the journey to Debrayn, they’d discovered that the hip joints made a high-pitched squeal at anything faster than a slow walk. Cale agreed to help with the calibrations.
‘Not exactly subtle is it, buck? This delightful shade of death-sick? Oh fuckadee-dee, I’ll never get laid again.’ He scratched a patch of raw skin over his collarbone. ‘You should have seen me. Oh, the dash I cut in my old gear. Magnetic compensators, carbon-fibre gyros, the works! Girls go mad for that sort of thing, you know. I could pick four of them up at once, and I mean that literally.’ He affected a wistful look. ‘Grand times.’
Cale kept his eyes on the screw he was tightening. ‘Maybe save it for when I’m not down by your crotch.’
‘Message received, buck. Strictly business.’ Syn rubbed at his forearm as if trying to dull the sheen. ‘Maybe we could put some boot polish on it or something.’
‘You’re not coming with me, Syn.’ Cale finished tightening the joint fasteners and closed the access port. ‘Try them now.’
Syn set off up the narrow aisle between the crates at a jog. There was no grinding noise. Cale heard him lope up the carriage and back, reappearing with his usual smirk. ‘It’ll do. Not as good as what I used to carry, but a fuck sight better than nothing at all. They’ll serve.’
He accepted the trousers Cale held out, then went over to where he’d dumped his gear and pulled on a black shirt and a khaki gilet. ‘Now that you bring it up, buck, a word in your shell-like.’ He snapped shut the fasteners on the front of the gilet. ‘I’ll do what I damn well please, even if it’s following your substantial backside on some ill-advised rescue. Have you ever actually set eyes on this place?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, then, you’ll know it’s surrounded by fences, guards and turrets. As hospitals go, it doesn’t scream about the healing part.’
Cale didn’t reply, instead stowing the multitool in a kitbag.
‘That band of toothless, salty inbreds would have figured out I wouldn’t be ransomed, and then I’d have spent the rest of my short life as a meat punchbag. You got me out. I intend to settle. It’s just good business.’
‘You don’t owe me.’
‘Yes, I do.’
Cale went to his bedroll where he sat with his back to the wall. Syn grabbed length of rope. ‘Think on this, buck, while I go get used to these new appendages. I am very good at being where I’m not wanted, I know where we can get a good driver and I have an exit already in mind.’
‘Why do we need a driver?’
‘You’ll find out soon enough. Also, I think I know where we can offload our young flame-haired friend here.’
Derrin glared at Syn.
‘I’m getting you in, I’ll get you and your boy out, and if you still feel bad you can buy me a drink. Several drinks. Then we’re even.’ Syn hefted the rope and walked away up the carriage. From the other side of the stack of crates, Cale heard the swish of the skipping rope. After a few seconds there was a crash, followed by a burst of colourful invective.
‘I don’t trust him,’ said Derrin.
‘He may have a point.’
Derrin propped himself up on his elbow and lowered his voice. ‘I mean, he just pops up, this… freak, out of nowhere, then he won’t leave you alone. What’s he after?’
‘Should I worry about you too?’
‘That’s not the same! I don’t have anywhere to go! You know I—’
Cale raised a hand. ‘I know. But he’s right about one thing: I do want you to be on your way once we reach Debrayn. Brabant said we could make arrangements, maybe get you a contract on another ship.’
‘I hated working on that ship.’
‘I can’t take you where I’m going.’ Cale fixed the youth with a steady look and held it until he looked away. He knew it wouldn’t be the end of it. ‘Let me worry about Syn.’
Derrin sighed and hunkered down on his bedroll. ‘What’s your son like?’
Cale paused and thought for a moment. ‘Now? I don’t really know. It’s been a long time since I last saw him.’
‘Why?’
‘We had an argument. About my wife. My second wife.’
Sounds so simple, he thought, when it was anything but.
‘I used to fight with my guardian. Over the stupidest things.’ Derrin rotated the blade in front of his eyes. ‘Most of the time it just opened the door to the bigger stuff, things you keep bottled up.’
Cale considered this for a moment. ‘He was a very angry boy.’
And whose fault was that?
‘I hope you know what you’re doing,’ said Derrin.
‘I do,’ he lied.
Derrin turned to the wall; after a few minutes, his breathing deepened. Cale watched him sleep. He was the age Bowden had been when they’d last set eyes on each other. The fight was hazy, just jagged flashes of accusation and anger.
I’m your son, but we’re strangers.
He’d been right, and that had hurt the most.
* * *
Banners and garlands from the parades still hung from the roofs and lampposts, a fading, frayed hangover. No one had seen fit to remove the planters that ran along the main avenue and the yellow and blue flowers that had bloomed just in time for the start of the Quincentennial had now withered, leaving brown stalks spiking out of the dry dirt. The cooling air of early evening brought with it dust eddies that scurried around the pavements, stirring up litter in tiny dances. Debrayn echoed quiet – curfew was not far away, and the locals had learned to be off the main streets in good time.
Syn led them off the main avenue and into the back alleys that wormed their way deeper into the city. It was close and dark between the blocks. The dryness of the main streets gave way to damp earth and decay, the smell of people living close together. Pipes and cables twisted along overhead, forming unnatural overhangs slung from the face of concrete cliffs. It felt like hundreds of windows above them were watching; occasionally there was movement, a head or arm silhouetted against the darkening sky before darting away.
Debrayn was a large city, the largest outside of the Home Peninsula. It squatted on the plains, dark and spreading, consuming the
surrounding landscape a little more every year. It wasn’t the centre of anywhere, had no strategic value and no major resources but it had a gravity that drew people in droves from the wasted countryside to live, work and multiply. The middle of the city had been razed and restructured in a style that suited the Hegemony – wide avenues and clean, brutal facades, even a diminutive copy of Karume’s Tower – but outside the inner precincts spread overcrowded warrens where light and law were only occasional visitors. The hives, Syn told them, grew by the year.
Their path wound downhill, a spiral of passages that grew closer and hotter. As they penetrated deeper they began to hear signs of life: a man yelling overhead, a woman bawling back. From nowhere a gaggle of children in ragged trousers scampered past, skidding around the legs of the three strangers like a stream around rocks, chittering amongst themselves.
‘Watch them,’ said Syn. ‘Little shits’ll have your teeth out.’
Derrin tripped over something, gasped when he saw the shape of a jawbone. Syn poked the stripped human skull with his toe. The rest of the body was half buried in a subsided pile of refuse, still trailing the rags it had worn in life.
‘Must have been caught in the last purge,’ he said.
They began to hear a thump-pulse of music, faint but rising. They came upon an alley mouth, where overhead pipes completely hid the sky and the heavy beat made the air throb, light thrown from sparks and lit signs scattering over the mud and water and grime that slicked every wall and doorway. The smell of frying meat and stale urine came at them all at once, and somewhere a man roared with laughter just as another screamed.
‘They used to call this Piss-Gutter Road,’ said Syn. ‘Mind you don’t get stabbed.’
The alley was crisscrossed with strings of blinking coloured lights. Drops of water caught the wires and sent showers of sparks racing down the walls. Bunched tight, wall to wall, were grilled-meat stalls and drinking dens, each one little more than a room with a lit sign, three walls and a counter at which men sat, drinking and chewing on skewers.
Cale stepped carefully over the sodden ground, avoiding the milky stream running along a central culvert. Somewhere ahead there was a roar and the sound of breaking furniture. ‘The Factors allow this?’ he asked.
‘They raid it once in a while, hang a few. It springs up again soon enough.’
‘You called it a purge.’
‘Keep your voice down,’ Syn cautioned. ‘No. Purges are far worse, when the homeless spill over into the nicer parts of town. The military comes in. The locals don’t like to be reminded.’
They came to a small doorway with a red sign blinking weakly above it, a filth-encrusted, stylised depiction of a growling patchkrit. Half of the tubes had died and it didn’t look like anyone was bothered enough to replace them.
Syn banged on the metal door. After a moment the view-slit slid open and a set of narrow eyes glared out. Syn said something in a low voice and pushed a crumpled bill through the hatch, then the door creaked open, revealing a set of steps going down. The mercenary waved them in.
The door clanged shut behind them and Derrin gasped in alarm. Cale hoped Syn was right and they could find some way to send the boy on his way.
The stairs opened out onto a low vaulted room lined with curtained booths and a bar at the far end. The place was half full, drug smoke wafting in blue clouds over the heads of the patrons. Cale felt rather than saw them size him up and knew better than to make eye contact.
Syn waved over a server and leaned in to whisper in his ear. Money changed hands, then they were led to a booth along the back wall.
‘Bring a pitcher of whatever’s drinkable,’ Syn said to the server, who disappeared off into the crowd as Cale and Derrin settled into the splitting leather couch.
‘What now?’ Derrin said with a crack in his voice. His eyes darted around, unsure.
‘We have a drink. Like civilised people,’ answered Syn.
The server came back with a clay pitcher and some cups. The dark liquid sloshed over the rim as he banged it down on the table, then left without a word.
‘I don’t like it here,’ said Derrin. ‘We should leave.’
Cale shook his head. He held out his cup for Syn, who filled it. ‘We stay. There’ll already be eyes on us.’
Syn poured Derrin a drink, then took a chug of his own. ‘Oh, that’s just awful. Should’ve tipped. This calls for something stronger – wait here while I get us some rakk.’ He scooted out of the booth and waggled a finger at Cale and Derrin. ‘Don’t start anything.’ He wandered off in the direction of the bar.
Derrin considered the foaming ale in front of him, unsure. Cale took a sip; it was acrid on the tongue and smelled like a bag of wet hay. He’d had worse.
A crash from a nearby table made him crane his neck. The remains of a card game lay scattered, two men yelling at each other while the other players scrambled to recover their spilled chips. A louder shout from the direction of the bar revealed a fat bald man in a stained butcher’s apron. The barman hefted a hand-cannon and rumbled something that didn’t need to be heard to be understood. The opponents swapped murderous looks but backed away, to the disappointment of the crowd of onlookers, who’d smelled blood in the air. The table was turned over, the cards dealt, and the game continued as if nothing had happened.
Derrin looked like he might bolt. ‘This place is full of scum.’
‘I’d keep that to yourself. I don’t think Syn was joking about the stabbing.’
The boy lapsed into a sullen silence. He tried the brew, recoiled. ‘It’s worse than the shit they used to serve up on the Alec.’
Just then Syn reappeared with another man in tow. Cale looked him over as he approached: short and heavy-browed. One eye was milky-white and he had a tradesman’s rough hands.
‘This is Dar,’ said Syn. ‘He tells me he can drive fast and away from things.’ Syn indicated the space occupied by Derrin. ‘Little crowded?’
Cale turned to the boy. ‘Now would be a good time to go looking for work.’
‘I noticed a group of cargoers talking over the other side of the room,’ said Syn.
‘Why don’t you go talk to them?’ Cale held Derrin’s gaze without blinking. The boy’s face went red and Cale thought he might argue, but he scooted out, giving the newcomer a glare before pushing into the crowd. Dar, for his part, gave no indication he’d seen the poisoned look and wedged himself into Derrin’s seat.
‘What’s the job?’ he asked, his good eye looking Cale up and down.
‘Getting someone out of Sessarmin.’
Dar shook his head and made to leave. ‘Too risky. Bad place.’
Syn dropped a hand on his arm. ‘Not so hasty there, Dar. You haven’t even heard the details. Five hundred in cash just to sit on your arse and wait. Get that kind of offer every day, do you?’
Dar paused and looked between Cale and Syn. Cale caught his good eye and nodded. ‘You just need to keep the engine going. No risk.’
The bald man sat back and thought for a moment. ‘A thousand,’ he finally said. ‘And I can keep the uniform.’
‘Seven hundred and you can have both of ours as well.’
Dar nodded and spat on his palm. ‘All right.’ He shook Syn’s hand. ‘Where and when?’
‘Tomorrow, early,’ said Syn. ‘We’ll meet you here a half-hour after curfew ends.’
Dar nodded. He gave Cale another searching look before sliding out of the booth and heading for the bar.
‘You’ve done that before,’ said Cale.
‘I know how they work. People like that don’t want complications, they want a price and a time and little more. Actually, I rather like Dar’s sort. There’s rarely a dull moment around the saltier types.’
Syn filled their cups. The bar was bustling now; all the booths were taken and standing patrons were pressed up against the walls. The music had been turned up and the sound of a thousand conversations, arguments and seductions all mingled together, a pulsing p
ool of sound. They sat in silence, watching the ebb and flow of the crowd. Cale knew there was planning to be done and details to settle but just for these few moments he’d take the peace of a crowded room.
Something in the soundscape of the room shifted, as sudden as a thunderclap. Someone killed the music and in the vacuum conversation died, just for an instant, before a chorus of shouts rose from the centre of the barroom. Syn shot Cale a sharp look and the two of them got to their feet.
Pushing past a couple of drunks they found a circle had cleared in the middle of the room. A table lay smashed and a man was sprawled on his back, the handle of a large knife sticking out of his chest. Next to him was another on his knees, eyes wide, face dark with blood. Red hair slicked back on one side by gore. As Syn and Cale approached he looked up and mouthed something over the roar of the crowd.
‘Little idiot!’ Syn hauled Derrin up and lifted him off his feet. Cale turned to cut a path to the door, pushing past a sea of angry faces.
He saw the first punch swinging his way. He ducked and threw a kick in the direction it had come, feeling it connect. A heavy blow landed in his side and he winced. Syn put his shoulder in and a man went flying over a table, then they were clear and rushing up the narrow stairs. The bouncer took one look at them, weighed the options, then yanked the door open. The three of them burst out into the alley.
A little later, when they were far enough away that they could no longer hear the shouting, they stopped. Cale leaned against a wall, his breath wheezing as he gulped the air. Derrin slumped to the floor. He opened his mouth, but before he could get more than half a word out Syn grabbed him by the collar and pushed him up against the wall.
‘What the fuck happened?’
Derrin tried to push the mercenary away but the pink netick hand was unyielding. ‘I was… just… came at me,’ he spluttered.
‘And you thought you’d stick a knife in him? The very man we’d just hired for the job?’
Cale straightened and looked him in the eye. ‘You’re sure?’
Syn nodded, his face thunderous. ‘Bald. Ugly. Gammy eye. Pissing blood, thanks to our buddy here.’ His fist tightened with a whirr of servos and Derrin’s feet left the ground. ‘What’s your game, boy?’
Ruin's Wake Page 15