by Jasmine Walt
Avery stood.
She reached over and grabbed his arm with her good hand. Her one hand. “What in the hells do you think you’re doing, Doc?”
“If that man returns to the table, he’ll order Sheridan to have her killed. To have me kill her. I’ve got to keep him from making that phone call.”
“You’re out of your mind!”
“Give me your gun.”
“What?” Hildra’s eyes bulged. “I’d never—to him—that could be death—worse than death ...”
Avery made his voice hard, his eyes flinty. “I’m your boss—you took an oath!—and I’m giving you an order. Give. Me. Your. Gun.”
She gazed up at him in amazement and horror. Slowly, as if in a dream, she reached into her jacket and passed him the pistol behind a menu, not that anyone cared in this place.
“Thanks,” he said. “I won’t be long.”
“Take your time. I won’t be here. I can’t—I’m sorry, but I can’t be associated with this.” Shakily, she drained her glass and stood up. “Keep the gun. It’s unregistered. And don’t forget the bill.”
She saluted him with her hook, turned and left.
Avery threw a few bills down on the table and departed, too. He’d marked the direction Gaescruhd had vanished in and found a stairwell leading down that way. He passed through a main room and then slipped into tight, rounded tunnels. Water beaded the limestone, and patches of moss and lichen adorned it. Somewhere he could hear a watery murmur. The tunnels honeycombed the spaces between the cantina’s main areas, dark and seemingly cut off from the cantina proper. Figures congregated in dark alcoves and shot him nasty looks as he passed them. At last, in one of the chambers where several corridors intersected, he saw Gaescruhd. The mobster marched from one hall and into another, presumably on the way to a payphone.
Two huge men flanked him. Avery hadn’t noticed them before. They must have hung back, waiting on their employer. They were giants, rolling mountains of muscle beneath expensive suits and hats, and Avery had no doubt they carried guns and moved like lightning.
He gripped his own weapon tightly. Just one shot, he thought. It doesn’t have to be a mortal wound. Hit him and run. There was still a chance Avery could get out of this alive.
The sounds of the cantina seemed very far away. It was as if he passed through another area of the grotto. At one point, he was even obliged to cross a cement bridge. Muddy water ran under him, and an albino fish splashed in an eddy.
Gaescruhd wove ahead of him, always seeming to slip around a corner just as Avery caught sight of him. Avery knew there were other members of Janx’s crew here, scattered throughout Claver’s in case Sheridan and her handler had not met in the room indicated in her note, but he didn’t know where they were and there was no way to contact them in any case. As Avery followed, the darkness seemed to gather around him like a living thing, cold and gurgling.
A shadowy figure stepped out from behind a corner directly into his path.
A gun clicked.
Avery stepped back. Water splashed under his heel. From the uncertain light spilling from down a connecting hallway, he couldn’t be sure who stood before him. His heart beat fast, and he shifted the gun in his pocket.
“Do it and die,” the figure said, and he recognized Sheridan’s voice.
He tensed, then eased off the gun.
“Hands out of your pockets. Now.” To emphasize her point, she took an aggressive step forward, and the muzzle of her gun entered a shaft of light. It glittered like death itself.
Swallowing nervously, Avery obeyed.
“Fancy meeting you here,” he said. “I was just going for—”
“Cut the shit,” she snapped. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Going to find a cigarette machine, what else?”
She advanced another step, her gun gleaming. The entire world seemed to consist of that one object.
“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you.”
“Fine. I knew you were up to something, so I followed you. I wanted to listen in on Gaescruhd’s phone call. I know what you’re doing now, or part of it. I ... I want in.”
“In on what?”
“Now it’s you who’s bullshitting. There’s no need. I’m on your side. I want the war to end as soon as possible.”
“I should put a bullet in your brain,” she said.
“Then why don’t you?”
She hesitated. He could see her eyes now, vague gray gleams behind her gun. After a long, uncomfortable moment, she said, “Convince me. How can you help?”
He spread his hands disarmingly. “I know about the girl. I was listening. I don’t know what she is, but I can verify she speaks Octunggen. I’ve overheard her talk in her sleep.”
Sheridan hissed in a breath. “Amazing ...” She lowered her gun, just fractionally.
“Is she really a Collossum?” Avery asked.
Sheridan didn’t answer. Water dripped in the background, and Avery’s heart went from a pounding jackhammer to a rapid-fire drum. Sweat beaded his brow.
In a low voice, Sheridan said, “She must be killed.”
Avery nodded, as if this were sensible. “Then let me do it.”
10
Thunder boomed outside the windows of the Headless Drake, and Avery jumped at the doomsday crack. He sat huddled in his dilapidated armchair, staring at the fire that roared in the hearth. He cradled his bottle of bourbon in his hands and draped a once-fine blanket over himself, feeling unbearably cold. His hands shivered as they gripped the bottle.
A sudden explosion of sound made him gasp and sit up.
When he realized what the noise was, he chuckled at himself—a strained, nervous chuckle.
“I’ll be right there.”
Setting the empty bottle down and climbing out of the chair, he made for the secret compartment that connected to his suite. He’d requested another bottle from Martin, and Martin had delivered, right on time.
Avery slid the panel back, and darkness gaped. For a moment, that’s all he could see, and then, suddenly, figures stepped out of the dark.
Avery flinched. It wasn’t just Martin that stood in the opening. Looming behind him, massive and scowling, was Janx.
“Pay me later,” Martin said, shoving the bottle into Avery’s hands. Shooting the doctor a significant look, he disappeared down the tunnel.
Janx lumbered forward, slamming the panel behind him, never once taking his eyes off Avery.
The doctor stepped back, staring up at Janx’s scowl. “Well, hello, my friend, it’s good to see you’re making new—”
Janx grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. “Don’t give me that crap. I ain’t makin’ new friends.” He seemed to get hold of himself and released Avery.
Avery stumbled back, sucked in a breath, and made for the kitchen.
“Where the hell have you been?” Janx demanded. “You won’t answer notes, calls, letters. Won’t even answer the fuckin’ door!”
Avery set the bottle down and began working the cap off. Tremulously, he said, “You received my note, didn’t you?”
“You mean your little scrawl? Yeah, I got it. It didn’t tell me much. Shit, till then we all thought you were dead. Hildra says the last she saw of you you were goin’ off to fucking murder Gaescruhd—and I’ll tell you right now, you bastard, that ain’t the kinda thing we do. Killing a man like him, or more likely fucking it up, would bring no end of misery down on our heads—for however fucking long we kept ‘em.” He kicked a chair angrily.
With shaking hands, Avery poured two glasses of bourbon. He sipped his gratefully, feeling the whiskey’s soothing, fiery burn warm his throat. With a sigh, he reentered the main room and gave Janx a glass. The big man examined it doubtfully.
“You’ve been goin’ at this stuff too hard, bones.”
“I’ve needed it.”
Janx said nothing as Avery plopped back down in his chair and stared at the fire.
Silent, brooding, Janx moved
to stand over him, blocking out his view of the flames. Janx was just a black silhouette against the glow.
Avery closed his eyes and sipped. Better. Much better. His shaking continued to subside.
Janx, seeming to realize that Avery would speak when he was ready, waited. Glowering—Avery could feel it—he waited.
When Avery finished his glass, he glanced up. “I haven’t been making contact with you and your people because ... well, I didn’t know what to say. For a while I considered fleeing, for a time I considered leaping out a window. But now I’ve realized what I must do.”
“Keep going.”
Avery strained a smile. “I’m going to do something very stupid. And I’m going to need your help to do it.”
“What?”
“My patient is an enemy of Octung, it seems. I still don’t know what she is, not really, but she claims to want to end the war.”
“Welcome to the club, sweetheart.”
“She claims to be able to do it. What’s more, the Octunggen fear her. Why? The only thing that makes sense is because she can hurt them.”
“Hildra said something about a Collossum.”
Avery hesitated. Would Janx help him if the whaler knew just how big this whole thing could truly be?
“I think she misheard,” Avery said, wincing at the lie. “At any rate, if my patient can hurt Octung, we should help her.” Avery looked to the shrine of his family, lit by candlelight and mounted in solidified wax.
“That may be too big for just us, Doc.”
“Maybe, maybe not.” Avery refilled his glass and downed a sip. For some reason, now that he had finally reached this decision, he felt oddly relaxed. His hands only shook a little now. “She can hurt them, Janx. She’s one of the Black Sect. And the Sect, it’s more than we thought.”
“Yeah? What is it?”
“I’m still not sure exactly. According to what Sheridan and her handler said, they’re powerful. Not Collossum, that’s crazy, but more than just saboteurs. Maybe she can actually do what she claims. But right now she’s at the mercy of the Navy, and that’s run by Haggarty, who’s been corrupted by Sheridan.” Avery grimaced ruefully. “I know Sheridan’s a traitor, but there’s no way I can prove it, and those I proved it to might be traitors, too. Don’t you see, Janx? It goes all the way to the top. Now, unless I do something about it, Sheridan’s going to kill the one person that may be able to stop Octung. The only thing that’s prevented Sheridan from killing her so far is that she thinks I’m the one that’s going to do it.”
“Are you saying what I think you are?”
Avery sucked down a deep breath. Once I start this, there’s no going back.
“We have to help her escape,” he said.
Heart pounding, Avery sawed off a section of the giant lobster carapace. It stank of decay, salt and nameless minerals. The whine of the saw filled his ears, and fine dust from the sawing bathed his face. Fortunately he wore a mask and goggles, but even so the air stank of pulverized lobster shell and rot. Avery had walked along beaches where he’d come across the putrid bodies of conventional crustaceans and jellyfish, and their stink was nauseating enough, but this was exponentially worse.
He finished sawing off the carapace section and, with the help of his junior doctors, carted the shell over to the mound of similar sections. Some were quite massive, ten feet long or more. Dr. Wasnair and his crew had wanted whole pieces so that they could study the carapace from the inside out, the better to understand the lightning phenomenon. All the pieces were tagged and photographed.
Wiping sweat and shell dust from his forehead, Avery turned back to the gargantuan mound of rotting crustacean and said, “We’re free to probe the area now. Who wants the honors?”
The junior scientists gazed at each other nervously.
One raised a reluctant hand. “I drew the short straw.”
With a lowered head, the young man approached the monstrosity, and the others backed away. He took out his instruments and set to work, eyes wide, forehead bathed in sweat. Very gingerly, he carved into the flesh, while the others held their breath. When he didn’t dissolve instantly into a steaming puddle, they exhaled, but didn’t relax. The young man said a prayer under his breath and continued working.
Over the next hour, each young scientist went at it, none of them willing to spend more than fifteen minutes at a stretch.
Several more researchers had died grisly, nightmarish deaths following the melting of Dr. Winegold and her assistants. Three had pierced something that looked like a spleen that had emitted a black gas that ate their lungs like acid; they had died vomiting blood. Four more had been poisoned by some substance that squirted at them from a piece of anatomy. Their eyes had boiled in their sockets and their brains had run out their ears. The current death tally hovered somewhere around fourteen. Hence the reason Avery had insisted on sawing into the shell. After that wearying task, he could claim he’d done his duty for the moment and needed time to recover. Of course, his assistants had quickly caught on, and at the beginning of every shift they gambled for who got to saw. Avery, who had learned a few tricks over the years, almost always won.
Counting the minutes till the end of the shift, the young scientists worked, sweating buckets as they did. They examined the backside of the lobster today, the safer side, but did not seem relieved. The pitiful monster itself looked shabby and naked, half its shell torn away and its salmon-colored flesh (not white like a normal lobster) revealed for all to see. Much of its meat had also been sawn away to give the researchers better access to its organs. The problem now seemed to be that organs were too accessible, which is why Avery’s assistants had pleaded to work on the backside.
Even this, apparently, was still too dangerous. Half an hour before the shift was over, one of his assistants came up to him sweaty and pale. “Dr. Avery, come, see this.”
Putting down his paperwork, Avery approached. Carved flesh gaped on the lobster’s back.
“There,” said one of the assistants. “Do you see it?”
They pointed, and with a start Avery noticed a glistening black thing poking through folds of flesh.
“It’s the spleen,” he marveled. Of course, only the gods knew what the organ actually was, but the researchers had taken to calling it the spleen because it vaguely resembled the human version of the organ. After killing Dr. Nayed and his assistants, it seemed to have migrated, vanishing entirely from the area of study.
“You’ve found it,” Avery said.
They looked wan and nervous, but excited. As much as they wanted to avoid danger, they also wanted the recognition and possible advancement that studying the organ might achieve. “What shall we do, Doctor?”
“Clamp off any connecting veins, arteries or tissues and remove it.”
Their eyes widened.
“Remove it?”
“That sounds ... dangerous,” another added.
“Wrap it in plastic,” Avery said. “Make it airtight. Then remove it. Place it on Table 3. Go. Now. We don’t have all night.”
Sweating, they turned back to the specimen and did as instructed. With the plastic sheeting in place, they appeared somewhat relieved, and they managed to remove the organ without any fatalities. Avery was quite pleased. Now he had an excuse to dismiss them early. When it was ten minutes till shift’s end, he said, “Well done, doctors. For your efforts, I’ll let you knock off for the night.”
They breathed deeply and wiped sweaty foreheads. The young woman currently investigating the spleen hastily quit, stepping back gratefully.
“Are you sure, Doctor?” one asked. “There’s still a few loads bound for the incinerator.”
“That’s fine. Just place it on the cart for me. Start with that big piece, there, no to the right, yes that’s the one. Just put it on the cart—yes, like that. Careful now. And a few hunks of flesh, too. It does stink an awful lot, doesn’t it? All right there, that will be fine. Have a good evening.”
“You too,
Doctor.”
They gathered their things and fled, filing out without a look back. They stood straighter and easier with every step they took. Then they were gone.
Avery, very slowly, turned to his mystery patient.
“And now you.”
He had to be fast. The next shift would come on duty in just a few minutes. It was late, though, well after midnight, and often the later shifts straggled in to work. With any luck they would be tardy. And if they’re early? What then?
He yanked back the curtains.
The woman looked mostly the same as she always did, blond and attractive, though there was an extra flush in her cheeks now, and she looked healthier overall due to a week of fresh food and exercise. Dr. Wasnair and the others had noticed it, too, and exclaimed that she must be healing; Avery let them believe what they wanted.
“Come on,” he whispered in Octunggen. “It’s time.”
Warily, she opened her eyes. When she saw that he was the only one around, she said, “At last.”
Groggily, she sat up, and he helped her.
“Let’s just get these,” he said, reaching for the needles in her arms. In a few quick movements, he had removed them and slapped bandages over the wounds.
She rubbed them and grit her teeth. “Itches.”
“You’ve had them in for a long time. It will itch.”
She started to get up from the bed, but he placed a restraining hand on her shoulder. Curious, she stared up at him.
“What?”
“Before I do this, before I go through with it, I need to hear it. What’s your plan? We’ll be risking our lives because of you. I’m leaving everything. My home, my position, my life. I’ll be a hunted fugitive for the rest of my days for this.”
“We don’t have time for this, Doctor.” She started to rise again.
He shoved her down. “You will answer me.”
She stared up at him but stubbornly said nothing.
He studied her for long moment, seeking truth, seeking answers. It was painful to realize that though he had been growing more attached to her all this time, his whole life revolving around her in a sense, she had been unconscious, unaware and uncaring of his efforts.