Watershed

by Jane Abbott

  The next shot was better, the one after that almost finding the centre of the target. Then he made me step right back to the wall to fire the final four, only the last two clipping the bullseye. And that was it. A half-hour down and nine bullets gone. Darts could be reused – the ones I could retrieve anyway – but once a cartridge was spent, it was history. Damned waste. Plus I was almost deaf.

  He took out a couple of tools and cleaned the weapon, showing me the basics, before reloading it himself with another six and handing it across.

  ‘Keep it out of sight, and out of the dust. Once you’ve got past that first shot, you’ll be fine. But, Jem? Only use it if you got no other choice.’

  I gave him the water and tucked the gun into the back of my belt, pulling my shirt down over it. ‘Thanks, old man. I owe you one.’

  He waved it off. ‘You use any of those wooden darts I gave you?’

  I grinned. ‘Yeah. Kinda came in handy.’

  He gave me a sharp glance but didn’t ask for details, busying himself behind his counter and stowing away the tools. I watched him and wondered about what Ballard had said, about Taggart once being in charge of the Watch; I wondered if things might’ve been better under his command, how different my life would’ve been with him calling the shots. He knew more about killing than anyone else, but he wasn’t cruel with it like Garrick, and with the right people he could be patient, sometimes almost kind. And then I stopped wondering, because he wasn’t in charge and there was no point wishing he were. But I had to ask all the same.

  ‘Met a man in the Hills,’ I said. ‘Told me you used to run the Watch. Before Garrick. That true?’

  ‘Which man?’ was all he asked. Question for question.

  ‘Some old Guard. Retired. Can’t remember his name.’ I liked Taggart, but not that much. Trust no one.

  He wiped down the counter top and threw the cloth underneath. ‘That was a long time ago, Jem. I’m happy enough with things the way they are. Garrick too.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. But with a shitload of luck, not for much longer.

  ‘Go on, get outta here,’ he said, suddenly surly. ‘Got things to do.’

  The mess hall was almost full, more Watchmen than I’d ever seen before in one place. Garrick hadn’t been lying when he’d said everything had gone quiet. And again I questioned Ballard’s decision, because having them all there, at a time when I needed them gone, just added to the pressure. Then again, maybe that was the plan, to wipe them all out at once and get rid of the Watch for good. Kill nineteen killers. Unless they killed me first. No, I remembered, eighteen; coz Reed was gone too.

  It was a strange meal. Close to twenty men crowded the room, pushing for space on narrow benches, but hardly a word was spoken. Just the sound of spoons scraping plates, the chewing of food, the slurping of water, the occasional loud belch. United in a common cause but distanced by cruelty, we ate and we drank and we minded our own business, a few times sneaking a glance, assessing and judging, but passing no comment. I struggled to eat, the food indeed like boot leather, sticking to my throat so I had to wash down every mouthful. And as I ate, feeling the tight pull of the stitches and the ache in my thigh, I thought about Garrick. After eight years of trying not to think about him, now it seemed he was all I thought about. Him, and Alex.

  I’d handed over the report, confident it was accurate – as much as six pages of lies could be. I’d pretty much stuck to what Ballard had written, changing just a few of the details, adding a much-needed explanation for the scars made by the darts, and embellishing my final recommendations. But despite his earlier warning, Garrick had done nothing more than flick through it before tossing it onto a stack of others.

  ‘Get much sleep?’ he asked, both pointed and unnecessary. He would’ve already known the answer.

  ‘Eventually.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he grunted, rubbing his crotch, making a good show of it and making me sick. ‘Know what you mean.’

  I couldn’t help it. It was instinctive; the slight turn of my head, sliding my gaze right to see into his quarters, through the half-open door to the bed where I knew Alex lay, probably chained, definitely in pain.

  ‘What the fuck’re you looking at?’ Garrick barked, and I snapped back to attention.

  It was already exhausting, this game we were playing – me not knowing, him always a step ahead, teasing me with some comment or a sudden question, like he already knew everything and was waiting for me to fail. I wasn’t cut out for this. It was nothing like my job, where I was in control and knew how things would play out. It was nothing like my grandfather’s favourite old stories about spies, the ones he used to tell me when I was a boy. This was real and fucking frightening, and after just one day of it, I knew in my gut I’d never be able to go the distance.

  I shifted to take the weight off my leg, and again he missed nothing.

  ‘You seen to that yet?’ he asked, then snorted when I shook my head. ‘Come here and show me.’

  I edged around the desk to where he lounged in his chair, not wanting what was coming, but in no position to argue. Pulling at my ties, I dropped my trousers and unwound the bandage. He whistled low when he saw the wound.

  ‘Really took a chunk out,’ he said, almost appreciatively, before standing. ‘Take a load off, and I’ll stitch it.’

  ‘It’s fine. I can do it myself.’ The idea of Garrick sticking me with a needle while I sat with my dick out held absolutely no appeal.

  ‘Sit the fuck down. That’s an order.’

  He opened a small cupboard and pulled out a box. Not the one with his little knife and the black powder, but another, bigger one. He poured something onto a square of cloth and the sharp, bitter smell of spirit pricked my nose. Kneeling, he pressed the cloth into the wound.

  ‘Fuck!’ I cried, because it stung and burned, worse than my piss had done, and he clamped a hand on my leg to keep me steady, and grinned up at me.

  ‘Kills, don’t it? Rots your guts too. But it has its uses.’

  Watchmen didn’t drink spirit. Couldn’t afford to have it mess with our heads, or slow our reactions. Another one of Garrick’s rules. But you didn’t miss what you didn’t know, or if you did you soon forgot about it, and none of us cared too much, relying on other ways to get our kicks and relieve our guilt.

  He swabbed the wound again, really soaking it, and I gritted my teeth, trying not to groan. I watched him thread the needle. It was short but thick, like one of my darts, and curved at one end; I couldn’t imagine how he was going to be able to push it through the muscle, but I knew he’d have fun trying. Pinching the edges of the wound to close up the flesh, he hooked the barb deep and drew the thread through tight, jerking it a little before digging in again for the next stitch, taking his time. And while he sewed my leg together, he tore my head apart.

  ‘You know, Jem, I’ve always liked you,’ he said, ruining any hope I’d had that he’d work quietly, like he did when he marked us. ‘Could always rely on you to do the right thing, felt like I could trust you. I guess it’s coz we’re so much alike.’ He yanked the thread hard, and I gasped.

  People like you and Garrick, Ballard’s voice teased, and I wanted to deny it, to tell Garrick I was nothing like him, and never would be. But this wasn’t the time for any kind of stupid heroics. He tugged on the gut again, pulling the muscle and joining the skin; no seamstress, but he knew what he was doing. And he knew how to make it hurt. The needle dug again, and so did his words.

  ‘Something’s going down, Jem. I can feel it in my fucking bones. And when it does, I wanna know I can count on you. Can I do that? Can I rely on you?’

  I nodded, not trusting my voice not to give me away. Jackson had been right. Garrick did suspect, not just something, but someone. Maybe me, but not yet, not for sure, because otherwise he’d be doing a whole lot more than just sticking me with a needle. And I had to trust to that; that he was just fishing. Fishing and digging, trying to get inside.

  ‘Speak up, Jem.’ He
tugged again, and pinched the flesh tighter.

  ‘Oh fuck! Yes! You can count on me.’

  He looked up then, leaving the needle in my leg, mid-stitch. ‘You wouldn’t be lying to me, would you? Coz you know how I feel about liars, Jem. You know what I’ll do.’

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ I muttered. Just finish the job. Fucking finish it and let me out of here!

  He pulled the needle through and tugged again. ‘I’ve been thinking about us – you and me,’ he said. ‘You ever think about us, Jem?’

  Not if I can help it.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that first hurdle you had to get over,’ he continued. ‘Well, let’s face it, I’m gunna have to take some of the credit. You remember that one? For a moment there I thought you’d never do it, thought I was gunna have to take you out, and I would have been really pissed at that, coz I put a lot of time and effort into you. A hell of a lot. You think I’d take the trouble to flog just anyone the number of times I flogged you? That’s hard work, that is. Broke one of my best rods on your back. Remember that?’ He sat back on his haunches, smiling at the memory. ‘I’ll admit that job was a hard one, damned hard, but when you came through I was all like, fuck yeah! Coz you proved you had it in you. Proved me right. And it made all that effort worthwhile, Jem. Made you what you are now.’

  I listened with horror as he talked, and I willed him to work faster, screwing my eyes tight, fighting the tears, fighting the pain, inside and out. His voice was so smooth, almost soothing, patting me down, killing me gently. I gagged on surging bile and I knew he heard, coz he pulled the final stitch so tight it almost tore out again.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck!

  Then his voice hardened. ‘I made you what you are, shithead. Me. And don’t you ever fucking forget it.’

  I wouldn’t. Not if I lived a thousand lifetimes. But I just nodded and said nothing.

  Knotting and cutting the gut, he packed everything back into the box, then stood over me, blocking any escape.

  ‘But here’s the thing,’ he said. ‘I don’t think you appreciate everything I’ve done for you. And I don’t think you’ve ever thanked me, have you? Not properly.’

  I looked up at him, incredulous and terrified. Was he serious? But his gaze bore into mine, unflinching, and I knew he was. Dead serious.

  ‘C’mon, Jem. Just say the words. Coz if you don’t, I know plenty of ways to make you show your gratitude.’ His gaze slid down then, slow and chilling.

  ‘Thank you,’ I whispered, without hesitation, because I knew exactly what he meant. He’d done it with others and we’d all heard the stories. There was no way I was going to be added to that list. No fucking way. And definitely not with Alex in the next room.

  ‘Again, Jem. Louder this time. Say it like you mean it.’

  ‘Thank you, Garrick,’ I said, with as much enthusiasm as I could manage. He slapped my thigh, real hard, and I almost screamed.

  ‘Good man,’ he said, all happy again. ‘Those stitches should hold. I made sure they were real deep. Just don’t do anything too strenuous for a couple of days. I need you in peak condition.’

  I didn’t dare ask why. Just stood and pulled up my trousers, glad to have my dick covered over again and out of sight. My thigh throbbed, the material rubbing at the stitches, but it was nothing compared to what might’ve been. Shouldering me roughly out of the way, he reclaimed his chair and I limped to the door.

  ‘Just a minute,’ he said, and I froze before turning to face him again. He’d picked up the report and was scouring it thoroughly this time, wading knee-deep through the lies. He frowned as he scanned each page and my heart thudded, the blood roaring, filling the silence. If there was any fault, he’d find it for sure. But when he’d read the whole thing, turning the last page and looking up at me with a sudden grin, I breathed again.

  ‘Seems like you had some fun out there,’ he said.

  ‘Oh yeah,’ I drawled, tapping my leg. ‘It was a fucking blast.’

  He laughed and I wished I still had that knife in my boot. Wished I could shut him up for good.

  ‘Can I go now?’ I asked. And the laughter stopped.

  ‘Not yet. Got a job for you.’ He leaned back in his chair and watched me, basking in my disappointment.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked.

  He jerked his head at the cubicle door. ‘I’ve finished with that one. You can take her down to Cobb.’

  I stared at him and it took a few seconds to find my voice. ‘That’s not my job.’ And it wasn’t. That was something he kept for the raws, breaking them gently.

  ‘Told you I’d find ways to keep you busy,’ he growled. ‘Do it. Now!’

  He threw me a key and I limped back to the half-open door and pushed it wide. I knew what to expect, had known what would happen to her, but it didn’t make it any easier. I didn’t want to see Alex broken and bruised and bleeding. I couldn’t.

  The bed was wide, bigger than any cot, and she lay prone, her legs stretched out and chained to each corner, her arms pulled forwards by a single tether attached to a ring in the wall above the bed. A blanket had been thrown over her carelessly, covering her top half, leaving the bottom exposed, and I almost choked when I saw the mess of blood and other fluids, her hips and thighs bruised, the flesh mottled where he’d gripped her tight.

  ‘For fuck’s sake, hurry it up,’ Garrick drawled behind me and I turned to see him lounging against the frame, watching. Swallowing my misery, I bent and unlocked the chains around her ankles, pulling them free, trying not to hurt her any more. She moaned and made an attempt to struggle but it was feeble, defeated, a token gesture only. I didn’t try justifying my own contributions, didn’t bother telling myself that Garrick was black and I was white. No point lying about it any more, to myself or anyone else. But it didn’t ease my rage.

  You sick fuck. You sick, sick fuck! It was all I could think as I tugged her legs together and pulled down the blanket, hiding his handiwork. And then I sighed, unable to stop the sound and not even caring if he heard. Because the girl wasn’t Alex. Her hair was longer, and fair, and my anguish gave way to relief, before confusion took over. Where the hell was Alex?

  Removing the manacles from her wrists, I pulled the girl to her feet, holding her when she swayed, unsteady and groaning. Her face was bruised too, her nose swollen and broken, her lips split, and there were bite marks on her neck and breasts. She stared at the ground, as though not seeing the two of us might make the whole thing imaginary, the worst possible nightmare. Gathering up the blanket, I threw it around her, letting her clutch it with sore hands. Whatever clothes she’d had were gone and she’d have no use for them any more, but I was damned if I’d parade her down the tunnels naked. She didn’t deserve that. She didn’t deserve any of it.

  Finally, because I couldn’t stand not knowing, I glanced at Garrick. ‘So where is she? The one I brought you?’ I asked, accusing him, like he hadn’t appreciated my gift.

  He smiled slowly and raised one eyebrow. ‘Where d’you think, Jem? Got a lot of men to keep happy.’ He straightened and moved aside as I guided the girl past him. Then he shot out an arm, blocking the way, and tugged the blanket aside. ‘Besides, I’m not really much of a tit man. This is all I need.’ And grabbing one of her breasts, he pinched the flesh, twisting it hard so the girl whimpered.

  ‘Shit, Garrick, leave her alone,’ I challenged, and we both glared at each other. It was the first time since my training that I’d stood up to him, and I’d forgotten the thrill of the chill, that prickling across my scalp and the quick thud of my heart. And for the briefest moment I relished it, until I remembered what it had got me the last time.

  But he was the first to back down, and dropping his hand he let us pass. ‘Tell Cobb he’s got two days to get her right, then I want her put to work.’

  Tell him yourself, arsehole.

  ‘And I’ll be wanting that blanket back, Jem,’ he called, before I slammed the door hard.

  Cobb was a mean, shrivelled
son of a bitch, pale-skinned and pale-eyed, like he’d been washed out in the Sea and hung up to fade and dry. The whorehouse had been running long before I’d joined – maybe even since the Watch began – with Cobb as its front man, chief of his own dirty little realm. Dark and dank and deep underground, the air sour with sex and pain, the place was a tangle of rooms and narrow cubicles, offering any kind of kink a Watchman could wish for. Or afford.

  Two sentries guarded the entry, both young, both probably yearning for the day when they’d be allowed inside. If they ever made it that far. Pretty much ignoring me, they eyed the girl, and she clutched the blanket tighter, knowing her fate but fighting to the last.

  ‘Got a delivery from Garrick,’ I said, and one of them nodded, whipping out some papers and a pen.

  ‘Your name and number?’

  ‘None of your fucking business,’ I said. His officiousness faltered, while the other one continued to leer at the girl; it wasn’t hard to see what he was thinking. ‘And what the fuck are you staring at?’ My voice surly, my mood dark, and he’d better take heed. It was scary how quickly Garrick’s mannerisms rubbed off.

  ‘I need you to sign in, sir,’ the first sentry tried again. ‘It’s the rules.’

  I glared, before snatching the paper from him. Two columns, filled with names and tag numbers, some of them repeated. I wondered why they bothered keeping check and then realised the information was for Garrick, so he could see who came and went, and how often. Keeping tabs, always that step ahead. I scrawled on the next line and tossed the page back.

  ‘There. Happy now?’

  He checked it over and looked up, bewildered. ‘Uh, no, that’s not what –’

  ‘That’s all you’re gunna get.’ I pushed past them, dragging the girl behind me, and stopped just inside, blinking to see in the dim light.