ARC: Morningside Fall

by Jay Posey

  “Fine enough, we’ll call it.”

  “Excellent. I’ll have one of my boys handle the transfer. You can leave her with me.”

  The dealer barked a laugh. “Not so, lawdog, spendies – then she stays.”

  Of course Boss had known that’s how it’d go, but it was always worth a shot. The trick now was just figuring out which of his crew he needed in the room to keep things from turning into a bloodbath, and how to get them in without making him suspicious. Wing was a little faster on the draw, but Cauld was a deadeye who could shoot the flame off a candle and not even spill the wax. Probably couldn’t get both of them in the room without tipping the dealer off, though.

  Just then Wing poked his head in. “Hey, Boss, you got some guy out here wants to see you.”

  “He’ll have to wait. We’re in conference.” Boss said. That made the decision for him. Wing was already here. He should stay and help with the dealer.

  “Said it’d just take a second.”

  “What’s he want?” Boss asked Wing.

  “To see you, I reckon.”

  Boss dropped his gaze ever so slightly and clenched his jaw just a bit more. “Yeah, I figured that part. But what for? He selling or buying?” he asked.

  “Beats me, Boss. Just said he had a message.”

  “Not the kind where he walks in and tries to kill me.”

  “Nah, Boss, he ain’t gonna hurt nobody.” Wing chuckled. “He’s all old and beat-up lookin’. Beats all I ever seen. Got a blindfold and everything.”

  Boss scratched between his eyes with his thumb knuckle, but then it occurred to him that this might be just what he needed. A good distraction, an excuse to bring in both his guys. Just had to be careful not to give anything away. “You won’t mind I hope. Shouldn’t take long.”

  “Your house,” the dealer said. “Just don’t jerk.”

  “Alright,” Boss said, and then added a heavy sigh, like he was doing everyone a favor. “Bring him in, but stay on him. Hey, and while you’re at it, get Cauld in here so we can pay this man.”

  Wing scrunched up his face for a second, clearly trying to work out why Cauld would have anything to do with paying anybody, but then he figured it out. Thankfully the dealer was too busy watching Boss.

  “Sure, Boss. What’s the amount?” Wing asked.

  “One-ninety.”

  Wing whistled, and then looked the girl up and down. “Yeah, I guess I could see that. Usual package or secure?”

  “Secure.” It was their internal code: The usual package was for when someone might have some use alive. Secure meant drop the hit fast and hard. Wing nodded and disappeared.

  Boss raised his hands in mock exasperation. “Sorry for this. I have at times been overly kind to beggars. Guess word gets around.” It was true. Boss tried to help the less fortunate out when he could. Just hadn’t been able to all that much of late. The dealer didn’t respond, except that he pulled on the leash and drew the girl closer.

  A moment later, an older man shuffled through the door, his hand partially outstretched and head slightly bowed. Wing and Cauld followed him in. The dealer, wily as he was, slid over – slick as oil – and put his back to the wall, his eyes on the three arrivals while he kept the girl between him and Boss.

  Wing trailed close to the old man and put a hand on his shoulder to stop him from getting too close to Boss. Cauld was a pure professional. He rolled in casually with a case in his hands and took up a spot next to Boss, one that just happened to have a real good angle on the dealer.

  “You wanna handle the pay first, Boss?” Cauld asked.

  “Best to keep that private, I’d think?” Boss answered, looking at the dealer.

  “Fine that,” the dealer said, his eyes roving smoothly between Boss, Cauld, and Wing.

  The old man hadn’t raised his head or stirred since Wing had stopped him in place. He just stood there, head bowed, hands folded in front of himself – like a child waiting to be punished. His hair was long and wild, a dirty grey, his face dusted with a wispy matted beard. He really did look pathetic, and Boss thought for a moment it might be kindest to just put him down. But Boss was a businessman, not a murderer.

  “We’re in the middle of something here, old man. What’s the message?”

  The beggar didn’t raise his head or move at all, but his voice came out stronger than Boss expected. “An old friend seeks you.”

  “Oh yeah? Who’s that?”

  The old man was silent long enough that Boss opened his mouth to prompt him again. The old man drew a breath and said, “You were an agent once. A man of noble purpose and profession.”

  Boss snorted. “I was an agent, yeah. Don’t know about all that other.” He didn’t care for how often that’d been mentioned today. Boss briefly wondered if maybe the dealer and this old guy were partners in something. The dealer was on edge, though. If they were in on it together, he was doing a masterful job of acting.

  “You have strayed.”

  “Livin’ll do that to a man. Do I know you?” Boss asked.

  “You knew me once. Long ago.”

  “Yeah? What’s your name?”

  “Today,” the old man said, “I am Honor.”

  Boss couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. But Boss’s name was Boss, so he didn’t have much reason to doubt it. Still, it sounded funny, and so he let out a little non-committal chuckle that he hoped could be taken as either polite amusement, or simple acknowledgment. There was a too-long moment of silence afterwards.

  “Look here,” the dealer finally said, “clocks is spendies. Sum me out and chat after, or me and merch is scoots.”

  Boss was still trying to work out whether there was some connection between the two degenerates that stood before him – when all of a sudden the old man moved all easy and casual, like he was stretching after a nap. But in the movement he somehow covered the distance to the dealer and in the same motion, he swept his hand out in a graceful arc.

  Maybe he touched the dealer; Boss couldn’t tell exactly what happened. He just saw the dealer flinch. And just as smooth, the old man returned to his spot as calmly. And even as if he’d never moved at all, with his hands folded in front of him again. It’d all happened in less time than it took Boss to inhale. Everybody just stood there stunned for a second.

  Then the dealer made a little gurgle, and he let go of the leash and reached up to his neck with both hands, and all of a sudden it looked like he was trying to tie a crimson silk neckerchief on, the way his hands were going, and all the red. Boss’s brain wouldn’t process what he was seeing because he couldn’t comprehend what had just happened. The dealer fell on his knees and gurgled some more, and Wing said something that Boss didn’t quite catch.

  The old man was as still as if he’d turned to stone, even when the dealer went on over and fell, and leaked out everywhere. Standing there with his hands in front of him. But now Boss saw the blade; some sort of knife, though he had no idea where it’d come from.

  “What’d you do?” Boss heard himself say. The old man didn’t answer. Wing reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder, and Boss could’ve told him that was a bad idea if he’d just asked. It looked like the old man just kind of shrugged and brushed Wing’s hand, but somehow the next thing anyone knew, the old man had Wing’s hand flipped over palm up and bent the wrong way back, and Wing was howling like a woman with her hair on fire.

  A sudden motion caught Boss’s attention, and he saw Cauld had pulled out his little pocket popper, and almost had it aimed – when the old man flicked his other hand out. The knife came sliding out – flying straight like a dart – and stuck right in the middle of Cauld’s chest. Cauld stumbled back, and tried to get the pistol up anyway, but he acted like it’d gotten too heavy all of a sudden.

  Boss looked back in time to see the old man slam a fist into Wing’s throat. Wing choked up and stopped screaming then. The girl was just standing there, watching the whole thing happen, and Boss knew if he pulled the trigger,
he was going to hit her and probably Wing too. But at that point she didn’t seem so valuable anymore, and Wing was probably dying anyway. He reached under the desk and grabbed for the grip of his short-barreled two-gun.

  The old man took a funny little half-turn and kind of windmilled like he was doing a dance, and Boss realized the old man had produced a sword from somewhere and was bringing it down in a surprisingly fluid arc. He’d obviously misjudged the distance, though, and was coming down well short of his target. Boss almost felt sorry for him as he squeezed the trigger. Almost.

  The two-gun thundered and Boss was caught off guard by the recoil. He completely lost his grip on the massive weapon, and his arm flew backwards with surprising violence. Strangely enough, the old man hadn’t reacted at all. He was just standing there with his sword extended, having apparently cut Boss’s desk through the middle. The girl seemed to be alright too. She just had her hands over her ears.

  Boss noticed his hand had gone numb from the blast, and when he flexed it to check for damage, he noticed his hand wasn’t there anymore at all. Just a ragged mess of bone and pulpy flesh hanging where his wrist used to be.

  “What in the world?” he said. Then he saw under the desk where the two-gun was all mangled and blown out, and it dawned on him that the old man hadn’t been so far off the mark after all. He’d cut clean through the two-gun and blown it up in Boss’s hand.

  The old man finally relaxed from his stance and walked casually but confidently around Boss’s desk. He knelt over Cauld and whispered something.

  “Who are you?” Boss asked. Or at least, that’s what he’d wanted to ask, but the words came out slurred and with too many syllables. He tried again with the same result.

  “You’re going into shock,” the old man said quietly. He stood, and Boss saw he was holding his knife again. “There isn’t much time.”

  The girl, sadly, was stranger neither to the violence she’d endured, nor to that which she’d just witnessed. And she knew in this case, as in most cases, the very best thing to do was to stand very still and to be very quiet. She kept her head down, and watched carefully out of the corner of her eye. The old man with the blindfold was crouching in front of the big man behind the desk. The one that was going to buy her. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it looked like Old Guy was talking and the buyer, well… if she didn’t know better she would’ve said he was crying. He looked over at her once with wet eyes.

  After a minute or so, Old Guy stood up with his hand on the buyer’s shoulder. The girl had to see what was going on then. She dared to raise her head – just enough to get a better look. The buyer had Old Guy’s knife in his remaining hand and was just staring down at it. Old Guy stood over him, head bowed a bit. Maybe it was some kind of honor thing… not wanting to kill an unarmed man. Or maybe Old Guy was giving the buyer one last chance.

  From that close, the girl figured the buyer could stick Old Guy pretty quick. Either way, she was feeling pretty good about her chances of escape; couldn’t be too hard to outrun a one-handed fat guy in the process of bleeding to death, or a blind old man – no matter how good he was with a sword.

  She saw the buyer shift his weight and sit up a little straighter. He looked at her one more time and then nodded to himself. The buyer took a strong breath, exhaled sharply. He nodded again. And then plunged the knife into his own abdomen. In the next instant, Old Guy brought his sword up. The girl squeezed her eyes shut before it had a chance to come down again, but she heard the sound of steel through flesh and bone, and the thump of something falling to the floor.

  That was the time to run. But the girl found herself frozen in place, not wanting to open her eyes and see what she knew she’d see. There were soft sounds she couldn’t identify, and the next thing she knew, she could feel the old man standing in front of her. And then he was kneeling.

  “Don’t weep, child,” he said. “You are safe.”

  His voice wasn’t particularly deep, but it was warm and kind, like a grandfather’s. She dared to open one eye. He was there, on a knee in front of her, his head tilted back slightly, looking up at her. Though he had the blindfold on, so obviously he couldn’t be looking up at her.

  His hands moved up and she flinched reflexively. In response, he held his hands open, palms out, for a moment, before reaching out for her wrists. With skillful fingers, Old Guy went to work on the cords that bound her hands together, and she wondered at how well he could apparently feel the knot.

  “Will your parents be looking for you?” he asked.

  “No, sir.”

  “Have you any family left?”

  “No.”

  “Friends? Anyone to care for you?”

  She said, “I take care of myself.” Old Guy reached up and began gently removing the collar. “You’re gonna let me go?”

  “Of course, child. Do you have somewhere to go?”

  The girl thought about that. It’d been three days since that man had caught her the second time, after she’d escaped the first. “Yeah, I know lots of places,” she lied. She’d figure it out. Always had. She walked over to the corpse of the man who’d caused her so much pain and sorrow over the last week. His eyes were still open. “I appreciate what you done.”

  “It was necessary.”

  “Yeah, well,” she said. She nudged the dead man with her toe, just to make sure. Then she bent and went through his coat pockets, taking back what was hers and some of what wasn’t. She found her eight-kilojoule pistol and checked the cylinder. Still had all eight rounds. “I don’t reckon you’re headed back south?” the girl asked.

  She flicked the cylinder shut with a snap of her wrist and slid the weapon into her waistband. When she looked, she realized she was alone with a bunch of dead men. Old Guy was just gone.

  She sniffed once and thought about checking out what was in that case on the desk. But then she remembered what was behind the desk and thought better of it. Better not to push her luck. Better to move on and find a place before nightfall. For one final time, the girl looked at the man who’d tried to sell her.

  The girl cleared her throat. Spat right on his face. And set out once more on her own.

  EIGHT

  Cass surveyed the weary faces around the table. The Council had gathered yet again, this time before dawn, and patience was thin. Though saying they’d gathered was misleading, since they hadn’t ever departed after the chaos that erupted during Wren’s address. That had been intended to soothe fears and tensions. Instead, it had ignited them. Or rather, certain elements had chosen that particular moment to ignite them. Looking around that table, Cass couldn’t help but wonder who among them could be trusted. At the moment, she felt like there were none.

  It took all the discipline Cass could muster to force herself to sit there, in yet another meeting, listening to these people talking to one another. That seemed to be all they ever did anymore.

  She looked at Wren, seated on her right at the head of the table, his eyes vacant, ringed underneath with dark half-circles that gave him a bruised look. He sat staring, unfocused, at his hands folded in his lap, either listening intently or completely lost in his own thoughts. She hoped he’d at least be able to keep his eyes open.

  “Bottom line is, we’re losing control,” Hondo said. He wasn’t even bothering to try to sound diplomatic. “That little protest was just the beginning. We’re lucky we were able to put it down so quickly.”

  “It’s not luck to have a strong show of force prepared ahead of time,” Aron said.

  “Regardless. We don’t want people to start thinking they can take matters into their own hands. Once that starts, it won’t stop until the whole city’s in ruins.”

  “What about a curfew?” Vye offered. “Just until things cool down.”

  “Too dangerous,” Aron said. “We don’t have the manpower to enforce it, not if it’s challenged. The last thing we need is all these people figuring out we can’t control them.”

  “I think a c
urfew is a must. At least a start. We could pull the guards off the wall,” Rae said. “Use them to beef up the presence in the city, especially around the hotspots.”

  “And what about the Weir, Rae?” Hondo snapped. “You think they’ll just wait till we get back before they try again?”

  “There’s no reason to think they’ll try again,” Connor said. Aron looked at Connor sharply.

  Connor added, “I mean, not necessarily.”

  “I agree with Connor,” Vye said. “The Weir haven’t been a real concern for a long time. I don’t think we should assume there’s a reason to worry about them more now.”

  “You weren’t there, Vye,” Cass said. “There’s reason enough.”

  “Maybe that’s the problem,” Aron said. The tone of his voice changed; lower, less sharp, more thoughtful. It made Cass uncomfortable. “Maybe they haven’t been enough of a concern.”

  “If you’ve got a point,” Hondo said, “make it.”

  “All this drama we got going on inside the walls of our city, over what? Some people don’t like some other people. So what? That’s always been. But it’s like people forget why we have the wall in the first place.”

  “And what?” Rae said.

  “Maybe they need a reminder.”

  Hondo barked a humorless laugh. “What’d you have in mind, Aron? Leave a gate open overnight?”

  “I don’t know exactly. But something to shake these people up. Remind ’em what’s out there. And remind ’em who it is that keeps ’em safe.”

  Rae shook her head dismissively. “This isn’t even worth discussing, Aron. Out of the question.”

  “Well, hold on, Rae,” Connor said. “There’s no harm in talking it through.”

  “Just a means to an end,” Aron said with a shrug.

  Cass didn’t like where the conversation was headed, but at the same time she felt like the longer she let it go, the more insight she could get. Wren hadn’t budged.