Man of Steele

by Alex P. Berg

  Quinto nodded. “He’s extremely violent. He threatened Daggers and Steele during the Wyverns case, and he tried to kill Daggers. If he’s out, its not surprising he’s coming after them.”

  “And he’s smart,” I said. “He might not look it, but he is. I learned not to underestimate him during the Wyverns case. If he could organize his own escape from Coldgate from behind those walls, I have no doubt he could’ve put together the attacks on myself and Steele.”

  “Excuse me? Four burgers?”

  A waitress came by with a tray. She distributed the food and left, but none of us dug in right away.

  “So we assume Bonesaw’s involved in tonight's meeting,” said Knox after she’d left. “Why, exactly, is unclear. Maybe he’s called a meeting to talk to the other gangs, or the gangs are meeting to discuss his actions. Or something else we haven’t considered.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Well, that’s good,” said Knox. “Especially if Bonesaw is attending the meeting himself. Get him and we’ll get Steele, or at least get a bead on her—assuming she hasn’t broken free by then.”

  Quinto snorted. “You’re optimistic.”

  “I’m pragmatic, like Detective Steele. You realize she’s not sitting around, waiting for us to save her, don’t you, Daggers?”

  “I do,” I said. “But this is Bonesaw we’re talking about. We need to act, and soon.”

  “My thoughts, exactly,” said Captain Knox. “I’ll send our best to scout the theater. Then I’ll pull most of our officers from the scene of Steele’s disappearance. Spread the word that nobody’s going home until we find her. Once the scouts let us know the gangs have arrived, we’ll move in.”

  I shook my head. “Will all due respect Captain, no.”

  She looked at me keenly. “Why not?”

  “Because we don’t know who’s reliable and who isn’t,” I said. “If word slips to the wrong set of ears, the meeting’s off, and then what? We’re at square one. Worse. The gangs will know we’re onto them and Bonesaw will grow angrier. And I’ll bet you anything that if we were to capture Bonesaw, he wouldn’t talk. He’ll probably have put in place measures to leverage Steele’s capture against us should anything happen to him. We can’t risk it.”

  “I understand your concern, Detective,” said Knox, “but what would you have me do? Not put surveillance on the meeting you’ve argued is a focal point in Detective Steele’s abduction? Not make any move at all?”

  “Of course not. I’m saying I should make the move alone.”

  Knox glanced at Rodgers and Quinto. “Neither of you seem surprised.”

  “He’s not done,” said Quinto.

  “You mean this idea get crazier?”

  “Hear me out, Captain,” I said. “What we need isn’t to barge into this meeting, nightsticks swinging. We need information. We don’t know where Shay is, what Bonesaw’s goals are, or even why the meeting is taking place. I can sneak in and get a measure of what’s going on. Before you scoff, ask these guys. Ask Captain Armstrong. I’m one of the best tails in the department, I can lose just about anyone who’s onto me if I sense them, and I can be surprisingly quiet when motivated. Trust me, I’m motivated. I’m also the one with the most on the line. If anyone should stick their neck out, it’s me.”

  The Captain snorted. “Honestly, Detective, why are you telling me this? I know you well enough. If you thought this was the best chance you had of obtaining intel on Steele’s whereabouts, you’d do it without telling anyone, especially if you’re concerned about word getting out. So why are you telling me?”

  “Because if things go sideways, I’m going to need help,” I said. “And because I care too much about Rodgers and Quinto to ask them to risk their necks in a futile effort to save me, especially one that would almost certainly get them in the deepest of crap with you if they were to go along.”

  “For the record,” said Quinto, “I think the idea’s nuts. But he’s right about needing knowledge, knowledge we won’t get other than by spying on the meeting. And yes, Daggers, I’d happily put my neck on the line to save you. Steele, too.”

  “Not me?” said Rodgers.

  Quinto snorted. “You go without saying, pal.”

  Knox eyed her food, her face inscrutable. “I understand the need for secrecy. But no matter how much the three of you care for each other, that won’t do a lick of good against a building full of hardened thugs. We need boots on the ground. I’ll get in touch with SWAT. Get a couple teams together, see if we can’t get a spellcaster on our side. I’ll keep it discrete. Go through alternate channels. Nobody will know. We’ll have to come up with a detailed plan. Times. Routes. The works. That way I’ll know when to move in if you don’t come back. Speaking of, how in the world do you plan on infiltrating a meeting between hostile gangs? Because if you think they won’t be guarding against intruders at a clandestine meeting, regardless of their intel, you’re crazier than I already thought.”

  I smiled and picked up my burger. “With one of my most hated weapons, Captain. Research.”

  24

  It occurred to me as I crept along one of New Welwic’s three century old sewers, a lantern in hand and a tactical pack strapped tightly into place over my leather jacket, that Quinto was right. I was completely insane—or at least my plan was.

  I still couldn’t figure out how I’d managed to convince Captain Knox of its worth, especially considering I wasn’t totally sold on it myself. I knew it was the right course of action, without a doubt giving us the best chance at discovering crucial information as to Shay’s whereabouts, but the imminent threat of death or capture that might result from it put a damper on its overall merit. Rodgers and Quinto and the Captain’s strike teams, who lingered aboveground in the unnaturally blustery late summer evening, could only do so much to assuage my nerves.

  At least I had preparation on my side. So often in my past I’d barreled headlong into danger without sparing a thought for my own skin. Not this time. I’d cut it close on timing, but thanks to the efforts of sundry speedy rickshaw drivers, I’d paid visits to a host of old friends and acquaintances: fire mages, doctors, and semi-legal weapons distributors. I patted my belt, taking note of the various begged, borrowed, and bought implements I’d secured there, the ones I’d need quick access to in the event of a skirmish.

  I hoped I wouldn’t need them. My plan, which I’d gone over with the Captain, Rodgers, and Quinto so many times that there was little more than a nub left, involved stealth and speed, not combat. I was to get in quickly, quietly. Stick to the shadows and make less noise than a laryngitic mouse wearing moccasins. Listen to anyone within range, ideally one or more of the gang bosses, should I find them. I wasn’t to push too hard, and I was under strict orders not to expose myself. Even stricter were my orders to return within the hour, otherwise Knox would be sending the strike teams after me, one of them through the sewers and another through the front. At least the former would have access to the sewer blueprints to help them find me.

  Having borrowed the blueprints from the municipal library’s restricted document’s section (under the Captain’s orders of course), I’d memorized the directions from a sewer access grate southeast of the King’s Theater to the maintenance hatch underneath the abandoned building, drilling it into my brain until I could recite it by rote. Head east, third right, straight until the five-way intersection, take a hard left, straight again until the T, then right, third right again and the first left, up the ramp to the theater’s hatch. The problem was remembering which of the steps I was on.

  I stopped at an intersection of the underground canals, thankful for the two foot wide walkway at the edge that kept me out of the effluent underneath. How many passages had I walked past since I took a right after the T? I visualized them in my mind. Yes. This was the third.

  I shuttered my lantern and set it at the ground at my feet. I’d have to go in blind from here. I couldn’t risk being seen. Hopefully
I wouldn’t be smelt either. I’d donned a black cloth mask over my face, both to keep unwanted smells out and to hide my otherwise pasty skin, but it wouldn’t do much to keep the sewer’s unique aroma off me. I couldn’t smell any worse than most of the gangbangers on staff, though, could I?

  I walked carefully, trailing my hand along the wall until I felt it open. I turned, knowing from the blueprints it would be about a hundred and fifty feet until I reached the ramp. I counted steps in my head, more to make sure I wouldn’t be caught off guard by the angle of the floor than out of fear of missing it.

  Around the count of fifty, I noticed a light, in front of me and at roughly double my eye level. There should’ve been a grate separating the sewer access from a maintenance subbasement in the back of the theater. I assumed the light leaked through the grate from somewhere far above, but as I neared it I grew concerned.

  The grate hung open, the light shining from a lantern set inside.

  I paused at the foot of the ramp, wondering what to do. For all the planning I’d done, all the talks I’d had with the Captain, all the decisions regarding the positioning and timing of the SWAT teams, I’d never considered the possibility that the sewer entrance would be compromised.

  Of course, compromised though it might be, it didn’t appear to be guarded. As I hesitated at the base of the ramp, holding my breath and straining my ears, I didn’t catch sight of any motion beyond the grate, nor hear any footsteps or mumbles or grunts. Not so much as a whisper reached me, which begged the question: why was the lantern there? Did someone plan to use the sewer system in the event of a quick getaway? Was someone waiting for the arrival of someone through the tunnels? Had someone already used it to enter the theater? If so, who?

  I crept forward, one step at a time up the ramp, and gazed into the subbasement beyond. There wasn’t anyone there.

  I wouldn’t call it luck. Luck would’ve been finding the place dark and abandoned as expected, and to have a clear route to the gang meeting open in up in front of me as if by the whims of the gods. Still, I’d take it. As long as I could find a way in without being seen, I could find a way back out. I knew what I was risking when I stepped foot in the sewers.

  Quickly, I crossed the last stretch between myself and the grate, slipping into a theater subbasement full of moldy canvas sacks, decaying wood, and more mouse droppings than I cared to count. A rusted metal ladder hung bravely to the wall, leading to a hatch overhead.

  I put my ear as close to the hatch as I dared and listened. Still nothing.

  Hoping for the best, I pushed it open and slipped through into another basement, or so I thought. Instead of ending a few feet overhead, darkness shrouded the ceiling, probably a good three stories above me. Ropes stretched down from the rafters, many of them hanging from pulley systems and tipped with hooks. Stacks of wooden pallets and crates dotted the floor, as did several lever-laden stations that must’ve been tied to the rope systems.

  I slipped behind one of the stacks of crates as I oriented myself. Based on where I’d entered, I should be in the back of the theater. Perhaps in the loading and storage area where props had been stored during the King’s heyday? A ramp on the far end of the open area led to a pair of oversized doors secured with heavy chains. Windows set in the walls above flickered with lantern light from the outside, and somewhere in the distance, I heard a chortle. Apparently, the gangs didn’t trust the chains alone.

  The chortle turned into a snort, and I realized it wasn’t coming from outside. I slipped deeper into darkness, between a massive coil of rope and a stack of old set pieces, faded trees and dull brown mountains.

  I heard footsteps, two pairs of them, and voices. Quiet ones, one deep and another with a lazy drawl.

  Lazy Drawl reached me first. “—and I know that. But you can’t tell me it’s a good idea to parlay with these guys.”

  “I’m not so sure,” said the deep voice. “They want to talk, let ’em talk. What’s the downside?”

  “The downside is you legitimize them by listening. You give them a seat at the table once, they’re going to expect it going forward.”

  Deep chuckled. “Then they’ll be all the more surprised when we pull the chair out from under them.”

  The footsteps got closer.

  “You’re not taking this seriously.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe you’re taking it too seriously. You’re acting like we’re not the ones with the muscle. Anyone screws with us, we gut them. We’re the gods damned Seasides. These Winds of Change chumps are nothing but ants waiting to be squished.”

  “The boss doesn’t think so.”

  “The boss is being careful. And smart. You don’t get to be in charge by ignoring opportunities to make bank, even if they do seem on the crazy side.”

  The footsteps started to recede.

  “What if it’s a trap, though?”

  “A trap?” Deep snorted. “Yeah, for those Winds of Change chumps. They’re the ones who invited us here with twenty of our best. Same for the other gangs. Unless an army’s coming in through the cracks in the floor, I think we’ll be fine.”

  “Hey, you’re the one who called them ants.”

  “Give me a break. It’s a metaphor. You know, like if I was to say—”

  The voices faded. Winds of Change? Was that the name of the gang that had come after me? I wracked my brain, but I couldn’t recall hearing of them before. More importantly, there were a hundred gangbangers at the theater? If so, I needed to be quick. The Captain’s SWAT teams were eight men apiece. Even with Rodgers and Quinto on their side, they’d be outnumbered five to one if they came in after me. I couldn’t let that happen.

  I hopped out from behind the props and climbed to the level where I’d heard the guards making their loop. Their path around the perimeter of the theater suggested the meeting was taking place in the center, confirming my suspicions. Probably the bosses were meeting on the stage itself, or maybe underneath in the orchestra pit. Either way, that gave me some direction.

  With the King’s blueprints front and center in my mind, I worked my way inward, using old stage pieces, hanging curtains, and piles of discarded rubbish as hiding spots. Another pair of guards pacing through the backstage area forced me to slow, as did a few other times I caught snippets of conversation in the distance. Eventually, I worked my way far enough inside to catch a glimpse of the stage.

  It stood there, dark, bathed in glimmers of moonlight and reflected shadows cast from lanterns at the mouth of the auditorium. Empty, though. The orchestra pit it was, then.

  My internal clock ticked as I waited for another pair of guards to pass by. How long did I have left? Forty minutes? And that was to get out and back to the Captain. It didn’t give me long to listen, even if I could find the meeting. I needed to hurry.

  With the guards gone, I slipped down a stairwell to the basement level. This time, whether through luck or perseverance, I caught a break.

  At the edge of my hearing, I caught snippets of conversation. Not like those from the guards above. Shouts and bellows among more measured tones. The meeting, probably.

  I slipped around a corner and caught a glimpse of lantern light, distant but bright. A doorway stood open. Two guards stood outside it. The voices echoed from within.

  I slipped across the hallway, settling in behind a set of old crates that smelled of must and onions. It was as close as I could get to the meeting without risking being seen. I stretched my ears yet again, wishing I had Shay’s natural physiological advantages. Truth be told, the Captain should’ve sent an elf in my stead, but nobody in the precinct possessed my combination of craziness and moxie. One of the SWAT team could’ve taken my place, sure, but they didn’t have my same headstrong determination to save Shay.

  I slowed my breathing, letting my heart calm. Snippets of conversation reached me.

  An old voice. Creaky. “He’s serious, isn’t he? This guy’s actually serious.”

  A
younger voice. Headstrong. “You’ve gone crazy if you think any of us are going to agree to that. Why would we?”

  I missed the next part over a surge of mixed voices. Someone tried to calm everyone down. “Please, gentlemen. Relax. Hear me out.”

  The last voice was cold, even, and smooth. It carried a threatening note and flowed like oil over water. It was also somehow familiar.

  It continued. “You know me. I wouldn’t bring you here on a whim. I’m dead serious in everything I’ve retold. I’ve given you my demands. It’s up to you to meet them.”

  Another chorus of loud voices, some angry, some filled with mirth.

  “Are you kidding?”

  “This guy’s funny. I’m almost laughing.”

  “You dare make demands?”

  The voices quieted again, shushed by a new voice. An old one, weathered, raw, and barely audible. “I’ve heard enough. The Blacks decline. We heel to no one. Count yourself lucky that we agreed to this parlay, otherwise I’d be decorating my home with your entrails. As it is, I’ll give you twelve hours to make your leave from the city. Are we clear?”

  The oily voice cut through the air, slicing it like a knife. It laughed. “Charles… Are you sure you want to go that route?”

  The old voice snarled. “You will address me by my title, boy, or I’ll cut the truce to the time it takes you to reach the door.”

  I shivered, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I knew better than to think it was the gang boss’s tone. As I spun, I fumbled at my belt for a knife, the illegal one the Captain had turned a blind eye to as I was getting ready, knowing I’d have only seconds to silence whoever’d spotted me before they raised an alarm. That in turn would surely alert the guards. I’d have to run before anyone could identify me, make a bee line to the sewer grate, hopefully without encountering more resistance, and…