The Misrule series Box Set

by Andy Graham

That’s why I’m here. I’m looking for Stella.

  No.

  Not Stella. Her husband. Son.

  There was something sticky running down his cheek from his temple. He reached up, his movements slow and clumsy. His fingers came away red and sticky. Blood. His own.

  “Why did Orr hit me? We’re friends.”

  A flash of pain stabbed through his head. Lancing down his neck. He reached up with his other hand, trying to rub the pain away. Steel bit into his wrist. Clinked. Anchored his hand.

  Ray squinted down. He couldn’t focus. Everything was blurred, like the time he had slipped under the stream in his village of Tear and drowned.

  That wasn’t me.

  It was my brother.

  He died.

  Why am I handcuffed?

  He pulled. His arm moved. Whatever he was chained to wasn’t fixed. His fingers fumbled along the floor. They closed around something stiff and cold. A hand.

  He rolled onto his side. Fireworks exploded in his head.

  He was chained to a body.

  His eyes swam into focus.

  He saw his mother’s dead face. Her skin was tinged with a blue hint. The brown curls tumbled loose and free around her shoulders. She was wearing those large hoop earrings he had played with as a child. The memories that had been dancing away from him snapped into place. Ray rolled to his knees and vomited onto the floor, tears and howls separating the spasms racking his body.

  After a lifetime, the dry-heaving stopped. He sucked in mouthfuls of air. Ignored the vicious crushing pain under his ribcage. He wiped his face clean. Cradled his mother in his arms. Pushed the hair back from her eyes. His tears left clean streaks down her face.

  Rats were chittering in the corridor. Not rats. People. A person. Laughing. Someone was laughing. A low snickering sound.

  “Very touching,” said a lumbering shape from the next cell. “If you fail as a rebel as good as you failed as a legionnaire, maybe you could go into show business. Not sure who you’ll go running to when you get bad reviews, though, seeing as your whore mother is dead.”

  “Seth.”

  “That’s still Corporal Seth to you, Franklin.” Seth picked at his teeth with a splinter of wood. “And you owe me a new knife.” He pointed to the broken hilt in the wall. “When I’m done with you and you beg to be allowed to bring me a new knife, I’ll strap it to my cock and make you watch as I use it on your dead-bitch mother.”

  The insults washed over Ray. Every part of him was numb.

  “Why the knife? Do you need a splint?”

  “When they’re shit ugly, I do.”

  “You’re boring, Seth.” Ray laid his mother’s head on the floor and closed her eyes.

  “Just you wait till I get out of here, Franklin.”

  There was a scuff of boots from the entrance. A crackle of blue light. The corridor was thrown into darkness as someone stopped through the entrance.

  “About time,” Seth called.

  A figure in an ill-fitting uniform waddled down the corridor. Helmet and goggles obscured most of the legionnaire’s face.

  “Get me out of here,” Seth yelled. “I’m hungry and the bitch is beginning to stink.”

  The figure walked past Seth’s cell. Without a word, it unhooked the key to Ray’s cell off the wall and unlocked the padlock. Ray caught the whiff of apples and cinnamon.

  “Hey, who are you?” Seth called. “You’re a bit chubby for a legionnaire.”

  “I’m no legionnaire.” It was a woman’s voice. She pulled her helmet off. Dark brown hair tumbled to her shoulders.

  “You’re the slut who manages the Kickshaw,” Seth exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

  Ray’s padlock clanked to the ground.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” Seth yelled. “Someone help,” he shouted. “The prisoners are escaping!”

  “They won’t hear you,” Lynn said. “Most of the 13th have gone with the VP. And apart from the handful left watching Stella and her husband, the rest are trying to deal with the fires. The blaze underground is spreading and the bridges of Tye are burning. That has sent all those giant carnivorous rats into the tunnels. How many of them do you know by first name, or do you not talk to your family?”

  “Shut it.”

  “How did you find me?” Ray asked.

  Lynn pulled a black tracking box from her pocket. Green shapes sprang up in the air, moulding themselves to the shape of the corridor. “I had a spare. This thing can trace anyone if you have a sample of their DNA. The box got me into the tunnels and I followed the noise the rest of the way.”

  “My DNA?”

  “Your saliva was on the soup spoon you used in the Kickshaw. Saliva has DNA.” She tossed Ray a key for his handcuffs. “I got this from the guard on the door. I assume it fits.”

  The cuffs dropped to the floor. Ray folded his mother’s arms across her chest. She was supposed to look peaceful, like she was sleeping. He didn’t know what peace you could get after a life and death like hers.

  Seth was hollering down the corridor, alternating between cries for help and threats.

  “Ray,” Lynn said, “we haven’t got long. I only stunned the guard, he’ll come round soon. We’ve got to get back. I left Emily with Martinez, but—”

  “We should cremate her,” he said. “That’s the Free Town way. It’ll keep the rats off her, too.”

  That’s how Hamid died, and Aalok. It has to be done this way.

  “We don’t have time, Ray. Rose died trying to bring your family back together. Don’t die down here alone. You’ll achieve nothing.”

  He stared at the still form of his mother, not Rose, his mother. Whatever she had been, she was long gone with her heartbeat. The chittering noise in the darkness was swelling.

  Lynn took one of his hands in hers. “Brooke’s pregnant. Rose was scared to tell you.”

  “Pregnant?”

  Lynn nodded, her face creasing into a smile. “Kaleyne and the rest of the Donian are caring for her.”

  The shaking in his limbs faded. Ray unsheathed Lynn’s knife. He cut a lock of Rose’s hair off and placed it in his pocket.

  “Those who went before us,” Ray said the first line of the legions’ stanza to the fallen.

  “Will keep the watchfires burning,” Lynn finished.

  He kissed Rose’s forehead. “Goodbye.”

  They sprinted down the corridor, stopping at the stunned guard to filch his pistol and rifle.

  “You can run, Franklin,” Seth called, “but once I get out of this cell I’m going to ruin your mother’s corpse. That’s assuming the rats leave anything. They can get through these bars, you know? I’ll bring you a memento of her.”

  Ray stopped. The pistol quivered in his hand.

  “Leave it, Ray,” Lynn said. “He’s sick. She’s dead. Rose can’t be hurt now.”

  He was expecting the voice in his head to pipe up. But the multicoloured whispers that had stalked him over the last few months were gone. Somehow he knew that he would never hear them again. Nor would he hear his mother’s voice.

  Ray walked back to Seth.

  “Fancy a bit of one-on-one, do you, Franklin? A heroic last struggle?”

  “Nope,” Ray raised the pistol. “I told you I’d kill you quickly if you let me go when we were outside the Weeping Woods.”

  The smirk vanished from Seth’s face. “Hang on now, Ray. I was following orders. I couldn’t let you go.” He wiped his hands on his trousers. “You’re not going to kill an unarmed man in a prison cell, are you?”

  “No, Corporal Seth.”

  “Seth’s just fine, Ray. Put the gun away then. You know I was just jesting about your mother?”

  “I lied back outside the woods. I’m not going to kill you.”

  “Good man.

  “Just slow you down.”

  A shot rang out, Seth’s knee exploded. Another retort took the ankle on that leg. The third bullet the elbow on that side. Seth dropped to the floor,
half of his body convulsing around the other.

  “Good luck with the rats, Corporal Seth. Let me know how your anti-mobility study works out.”

  The Unsung’s screams were answered by a thunder of claws from the darkness.

  Ray grabbed Lynn’s arm. “Stella’s family. Let’s go.”

  48

  Nervous & Suspicious

  Ray and Lynn sprinted up the corridor. They barrelled through a crack in the flames in the old specimen room, traced his and Stann’s steps up the corridors, and stopped at the bridge outside the octagonal room.

  “You sure?” he asked Lynn.

  She pushed a strand of her hair back up under the helmet. “It makes sense.”

  “It’ll be dangerous.”

  She laughed. It was a low dirty laugh he recognised from her many put-downs in the Kickshaw. “Thanks for pointing that out. I hadn’t realised.” She wiped her hands on her trousers and pulled the revolver out of its holster.

  “It shouldn’t come to you having to shoot, but just in case.” He pointed. “Safety and trigger. Then you point and fire.”

  “Point and fire. Point and fire. Point and fire,” she said under her breath.

  “At them, preferably.”

  She punched him on the arm.

  Ray peered round the corner at the rubble strewn over the floor where Stann had made his last stand. “It looks like Stann got away.”

  Lynn moved closer to him. “Rose used to say Stann’ll outlive us all. Either based on the fact he’s got less body than most of us so his organs don’t have to work so hard or—”

  “Because he’s a stubborn bastard.”

  “Yes. Did you know—” She stopped. “Sorry. Talking. Lots. Nervous. Very.”

  He took her hands. “You can go home,” he whispered. “You don’t need to do this.”

  “I do. I have the Unsung uniform. You’re dressed as a 10th legionnaire.” Her nose wrinkled. “A dirty one. Besides,” her voice faltered. “Three reasons, remember? Aiden, Milly and Zack.”

  “Your kids?”

  She cleared her throat. “Yes. And I like the story you people from Tear and Axeford tell about Greenfields.”

  “Stann calls it Screamfields.”

  “That’s what Martinez calls it. He told me the story. Dying in the fight for justice is kind of romantic. Much better than growing old and grey pulling pints for politicians who are only concerned with pulling the wool over our eyes.” She wiped the sweat off her cheeks.

  “The plan is not to get you killed, Lynn,” Ray said softly. “The plan is for you to distract them, draw them out into the open so I can shoot them without Stella and Dan getting shot.”

  “Won’t the noise be a problem?”

  “Unless you can think of another solution, we’ll have to take a chance.”

  She squeezed his hand. “Let’s do it before I bottle it.”

  Lynn clambered over the rubble, emerged through the dust and yelled a hoarse greeting to the two Unsung in a voice honed by years of working in a loud bar. “Last orders are off, gents. Come out of whichever cell you’re skulking in. Soulier wants the prisoners transferred to a new location.”

  Two men crept out of a cell. They were young, Ray saw from behind the corner. Hopefully young in this case meant nervous and looking for leadership, rather than cocky and suspicious.

  Lynn strode around the bloodstained walkway. She was blocking Ray’s shot.

  “She’s one of us. Outranks us, too.” The whispers of the first rustled around the octagon.

  “Identify yourself,” the second called.

  Ray groaned inwardly. They’d got both varieties of young legionnaire — nervous and suspicious.

  “My uniform not enough for you?” Lynn wiped a window in the dust on her sleeve. “Count the stripes on my arm, Sub-Corporal, and then compare them to yours.”

  “C’mon, she’s one of us,” said Private Nervous. “Who else would know we’re here?”

  Sub-Corporal Suspicious appeared to be considering this. His rifle lowered. “We still need ID, ma’am.”

  “Lost in the fire-fight, son. Like most of my team.”

  C’mon, Lynn! Move out the way so I have a clear shot.

  The sub-corporal’s eyes ran over Lynn’s body. It wasn’t the body of a serving legionnaire. Lynn appeared to realise this. She slapped her belly, barking a short laugh.

  “Not at my trimmest, eh, boys? Randall Soulier called me personally. He wanted me off desk-duty in the military finance office. We’re short-handed here. Chester’s awake and spitting blind fury. Laudanum’s being devious somewhere. And we got some Donians to do over.”

  Private Nervous appeared to relax. A smile that was more relief than humour spread across his face. “I’ll get the prisoners.”

  Lynn was still blocking Ray’s shot. A bead of sweat trailed down his cheek. He ignored it, kept his breath even.

  The sub-corporal hadn’t moved. His rifle was down but his finger was hovering near the trigger. It moved in twitchy jerks. “Do I know you?” he asked Lynn.

  “You know everyone in this legion, Sub-Corporal?”

  “Maybe. Can I see your face, ma’am? Your voice is familiar.”

  “I probably pay you, that’s why. You must have called me complaining about your pay being late.” Lynn’s confident laugh was cut with panic.

  “Move, Lynn. Move,” Ray hissed under his breath.

  “If you work for the finance unit, you know how much I get paid.” The sub-corporal edged closer to her.

  “Not enough. Same as me.”

  “I want an amount.”

  Lynn paused. Ray could see the vessels in her neck thumping. She mumbled a figure Ray didn’t catch. The legionnaire nodded.

  “Correct. When was the last time I got paid?” His fingers tightened on the rifle.

  Her answer was instant. “Hallowtide. All pay has been delayed since then. Issues with the clearance.”

  Suspicious’s finger drifted away from the trigger and snapped the safety on. The tension around the man’s eyes, however, stayed where it was.

  Private Nervous stuck his head round the corner. “You gonna do something about that money, ma’am? My baby’s starving. The wife’s been feeding him grass soup the last few days. She said she’s gonna have to start adding worms soon.” He spat. “Money. Only reason I joined this farce of a unit.”

  Ray clocked Lynn’s flinch as his own stomach twisted.

  “I’ll push you to the top of the pile,” she said weakly.

  “Cool.” Nervous disappeared back into the cell. Moments later he reappeared, keeping his rifle trained on Stella and her husband. Dan staggered out, his shoulders slumped around his chest. Tears leaked down his face. Stella was supporting him. Her hair was as wild as her eyes.

  Ray’s finger was poised over the trigger. Move, Lynn. Move! Why are you improvising like this? Stick to the plan.

  “OK. Where we taking them?” asked Suspicious.

  Lynn held out the tracking device. “We follow this. Operational security, need-to-know basis. The usual drill.”

  Private Nervous rolled his eyes. “Yeah. All that above-your-clearance crap. Those boxes are cool, mind.” He gestured. “Feels kind of special knowing only the 13th have them. Maybe I could nick one and sell it.”

  “You never told me your name,” said Suspicious to Lynn.

  Stella looked up and saw the woman in front of her. Her jaw dropped open. “Lynn. What are you doing here? Don’t tell me you’re working for that bastard, too?”

  “Lynn?” said Sub-Corporal Suspicious. “That’s the name of the manager from the Kickshaw. I drink in that bar. I knew I recognised you.” He flicked the safety off his rifle. “It’s fake,” he yelled. “Call for backup.”

  Lynn threw herself to the walkway. Ray’s rifle kicked twice. A crimson gout exploded from Suspicious’s head. He dropped off the walkway. A bloody trail streaked after him. Stella dragged her husband back into the cell. Eyes still screwed shut, Dan stu
mbled on a rock and fell. Private Nervous screamed. Stella grabbed her husband by the arm. The sinews in her neck strained. She struggled to pull him to safety. Nervous pointed his rifle at Stella. Ray aimed, exhaled, fired. Click. The rifle jammed.

  “Fuck.” He was on his feet in a second, sprinting towards the cell. He was too far away. Nervous squeezed the trigger.

  “No, not Stella!”

  The first shot set rock dust pattering through the air. A second retort thundered around the stone octagon. Splinters of stone rained down. A rifle clattered to the walkway. A third shot sent Private Nervous spinning into the throat of the octagon.

  Ray skidded to a halt. He prised the revolver out of Lynn’s trembling hands and pulled her upright. She buried her tear-soaked face into his chest.

  “What have I done? I killed a man. I killed a man. Help me. Please. What have I done? His baby. What did I do? The stories don’t talk about this. What have I done? I killed a baby’s daddy.” She sobbed and sobbed and sobbed.

  Ray held Lynn tight, feeling her body heaving against his. Stella, face trapped between bitterness and worry, was helping her husband to his feet.

  “We have to go, Lynn.” Ray eased her head back and looked into her eyes, already red and puffy. “We have to go.”

  “I know. I’ve never . . .”

  “Killed someone before?”

  She freed herself from his embrace and wiped her nose on her sleeve. “Does it get easier?”

  “No. Neither does burying them.”

  49

  Three Reasons

  They hurried along the walkways lining the sewers. Ray supported Dan. Stella supported Lynn. Smoke curled around their feet. The taste of ash and burned flesh left a sickly taste in the air.

  “Which way are we going?” Stella called.

  Ray pointed to the chains connecting the sewer boats. “We follow them until this tracking box picks up a signal. The boats are bound to lead somewhere.”

  “Somewhere is not always good, Ray,” Stella said.

  “It’s a damn sight better than nowhere, and marginally better than everywhere or anywhere. Let’s move.”