The Legend of the Red Specter (The Adventures of the Red Specter Book 1)

by M. A. Wisniewski

  "Reporter?" Shiori narrowed her eyes at Joy. "We already went through this. That's your cover—"

  "No, no—it's not!" Joy said. "That's the truth, it really is. But nobody believed it, and you started hurting me, saying 'tell the truth,' but I already was telling the truth, so then I had to start lying, to make it stop, and..."

  "Bullshit," said Shiori. "No reporter does what you did."

  "Well, I didn't plan on any of this!" Joy cried. "Not at the outset. I just got an assignment, rumors of Red Specter sightings at the docks, and I'm supposed to interview the witnesses, and so I talk to Madam Zenovia—just about the Specter, not Benny—and she sends me to the Joanne Spaulding, and then Yang and Chen start harassing me, Chen freaks out when I mention the Red Specter, and then him and Yang started brawling, so of course I ran, and then they're chasing me, so I run and find a hiding place, except, hey, someone's already hiding there.

  “So now I've found this slave girl in chains, so I go to the Guard, except they're crooked, and in on it, and you show up, cows fall—and I had nothing to do with that, I even tried to warn you—and then Hsiu Mei says her sister's being shipped out tomorrow, and I can't go to the cops, and I can't contact Central in time, so I've got no choice but to rescue them myself, even though I don't really know what I'm doing. So that's what I do, and of course I get caught, and that's really what happened."

  Shiori stared at her, mulling things over. "Not a bad story," she said. "I'd almost buy that up until the rescue part. That doesn't make sense. Nobody does that."

  Shiori bore down on Joy, bringing the knife up to her ear.

  "Wait, why doesn't it make sense?" Joy said, fighting to keep her voice below screaming levels. "I told you, I didn't have any way to contact anyone else. I hadn't actually seen the Red Specter, and I had no idea the KIB was here already. The City Guard was corrupt, so I had no choice—"

  "No choice?" Shiori snorted. "Sure you did. You could've skipped town, run to the capital, and ratted us out there. That's what anyone with any sense would've done."

  "No, I would've lost Lin Lin—"

  "So what?" Shiori countered. "People get lost all the time. Did you even know her?"

  "No, but I couldn't..." Joy gasped. "I promised! I promised Hsiu Mei. What would I tell her—"

  "Tell her to be grateful at least she got away. You don't owe her anything. It's not your responsibility."

  "No, it is! It is! It's my responsibility. Mine!" Joy felt Shiori's blade reach the cut below her ear, still raw from before. It was getting harder to think straight through all the terror and exhaustion. She was babbling.

  "Really? And why is that?"

  "Because... because I'm the big sister."

  "What? You're not related," said Shiori. "Or are you changing your story again?"

  "No! No—but I just told them. Call me Big Sister. Because—"

  "What, that?" Shiori sneered. “That’s just a custom. You know. The Triad boys are non-stop with that shit, ‘Big Brother’ this, ‘Little Brother’ that. They do that with me, too, in case you didn’t notice.”

  “Huh?” Joy hadn’t noticed that, unless… “Ah Nei Wei, is that—”

  “Aneue,” Shiori interrupted. “Ah. Nay. Ooh. Ay. It’s a nice, respectful Zipangese word for ‘Big Sister.’ But it ain’t the same as real family, and you know that. It ain’t no reason to go on a fool suicide mission.”

  "Yes, it is! To me, it is. It's everything. It's who I am. I'm the eldest. I am. It's my job to look after everyone else. Always mine, for as long as I can remember. Always me, always my responsibility—mine! And every time...every time something went wrong, it was always my fault. I always had to set a good example. I always had to look out for everyone else. I had to order them around, even when they hated it. I had to be the nosy, bossy bitch up in everyone else's business, or I got yelled at, so that's what I did, even when they hated it and I hated it and it wasn't fair and I got so fucking sick of all that fucking bullshit that I moved away to a whole 'nother city where I don't know anyone and no one knows me and I'm free and all alone and poor and miserable and I miss them all so fucking bad.…"

  Joy began to sob, unable to stop the tears rolling down her face, barely even noticing when Shiori released her, letting her slump to the ground. Well, she'd learned a new thing about herself, hadn't she? Though she wouldn't recommend exhaustion and threats of torture as a therapy substitute. As her tears began to subside, she noticed Shiori staring down at her.

  "Man," said Shiori. "You are seriously fucked up, you know that?"

  Joy flipped her off, too drained to care about the consequences. Shiori just laughed.

  "You're really a reporter, huh?"

  "Yeah, really."

  "Well, then—suppose I believe you." Shiori grabbed Joy, hauled her back to her feet, and shoved her back against the wall of cargo. "That still doesn't give me a reason not to mutilate your sorry ass. I had a really sweet deal here, and now its all been blown to the Abyss. You know how hard it is to find an employer as good as Benny in this business?"

  Joy stared at Shiori. "He thinks he's a damned shark."

  The Caliburn knight stopped to consider that, but dismissed it with a shrug. "Eh, so he's eccentric, so what? It works for him, don't it? I mean, you seen his house? Even the toilets got gold on 'em. Dude's got so much money he literally craps on it. Can you imagine that?"

  "I'd...rather not," said Joy, wincing. "But still...those teeth—you've got to admit, that's pretty extreme, right?"

  "Extreme whatever," said Shiori. "He says he's got a shark soul. Well, maybe he does and maybe he don't. What do I care? Benny knows how to treat people. Doesn't matter who you are or where you're from—as long as you get results, Benny's got your back. Or he did."

  Shiori narrowed her eyes, leaned back in. "Until you came along, and now it's all blown to the Abyss."

  "Wait, me?" Joy protested. "I barely had anything to do with it. It was the Red Specter and the KIB. They were messing with you before I arrived."

  Shiori's vicious expression didn't change, and Joy decided to try another tack. "Besides which, hurting me won't get your job back, will it? Benny succeeded by using people—letting them do what they're good at, right? You should be like him. You want the world to respect you—the real Shiori Rosewing. I can help with that."

  "I dunno," growled Shiori. "It'd have to be a lot of help to make up for losing what I got. And for all the shit you've dumped on me. Literally."

  "The first time wasn't me. And the second time... Well, I had no way of knowing what was in that crate, did I? But that's in the past, right? We should look to the future. Look to the bright side."

  "Bright side?" Shiori snarled. "What bright side? Name me one good thing about what's happened."

  "Uh... You won't have to put up with Daphne any more?"

  "Huh," said Shiori, and Joy saw the corner of her mouth twitch upward, just ever so slightly. "Okay, I'll give you that one."

  Joy saw the opening and pounced on it. "Well, it's not a small thing, is it?"

  Joy adopted the haughtiest expression she could, and pitched her voice down an octave. "Oh, Mr. Fang, please—there's no need for you to remind me how perfect I am; I knew that already, you see. I didn't say stop, though."

  She mimed adjusting her glasses, and glanced down at an imaginary clipboard. "Such a shame none of your other employees can meet my standards, though. Fortunately for you I was able to compile an extensive list of their shortcomings, which I'll be happy to go over with you later. It shouldn't take long; it's only thirty pages or so."

  Shiori started laughing, and Joy started to relax, even as another part of her felt uneasy. Why was that? Why did this feel familiar?

  Oh, right—this was exactly the type of thing that had been whispered behind Joy's back while she'd been going through hell at the Journal, and when she’d been job-hunting afterwards. Now she was acting just like those idiot gossips. But these were extreme circumstances. Psychopath with a knife he
re! She needed to get out of here in one piece—the Sisterhood could take a flying leap.

  "You're pretty funny," said Shiori.

  "Ah, thanks. I—"

  "Which makes me wonder what kind of funny stories you're gonna tell about me, as soon as I skip town." Shiori bared her teeth, and the knife came out again. "Maybe you'll decide to tell a really funny tale about how you put one over on me. Is that it, huh?"

  Crap. She never should have abandoned the Sisterhood, not for an instant. Joy had to think fast. "No! I wouldn't do that—why would I? Because then...you'd come after me, right? And do all those horrible things you said you would. Why would I risk that? Spend my life looking over my shoulder, knowing you'd come after me? That's nuts. I don't want that! Who would?"

  "But...that's if you don't mutilate me, right?" Joy continued. "Because if you did, I wouldn't be scared anymore, because I'd have nothing left to lose. I'd write the nastiest things about you that I could, so when you came to kill me, it'd be a relief—because I'm so vain. So, it's your smartest move to...to not hurt me, so I can concentrate on the interview. You can tell me your whole story, and I'll do a fantastic write-up—like my life depended on it, haha. You can even look it over before I turn it in.”

  “And you'll be getting what you really want—a chance to tell your real story, cement your legacy against all that comic nonsense. It'll make it easier to move forward—get in with another organization, or even start your own gang, or crew, or whatever. Be your own boss. Doesn't that sound nice? Much more useful than just hurting me, right?"

  Joy watched Shiori's face, knowing that it held the key to her continued existence. Was she getting through?

  "And you can make that happen, huh?" said the Caliburn. "Which paper did you say you worked for?"

  "I'm freelance. That means I can sell the story to any of them." Joy saw a skeptical cast to Shiori's expression, and added, "I can definitely guarantee the Gazette will print it, if no one else will."

  "Gazette," said Shiori. "Hey, is that the paper that prints all the weird stuff that no one believes?"

  "Some people believe it," said Joy. "And you know what? It doesn't even matter. Nobody cares about the truth. Except me."

  Joy swallowed her bitterness. She didn't have time for that now. "If a story is good, they'll repeat it—tell their friends about it. And they'll tell their friends, and so on, and after a while, nobody will even remember that it started in the Gazette. It'll just be something everybody knows—the story of the real Shiori Rosewing. Isn't that what you want?"

  Shiori looked away, contemplative, and Joy held her breath, awaiting her fate.

  "Yeah, okay—you make a decent case," said the Templar. "We'll go with your idea. With one little exception. Hold still."

  Shiori grabbed a handful of Joy's hair and shoved her head against a nearby crate, facing sideways.

  "What? What are you—mmmph!" Joy felt something forced between her teeth. She looked down to see the cord-wrapped handle of one of Shiori's throwing knives.

  "You can bite down on that," said Shiori. "And try to keep the noise to a minimum. You start screaming and the whole deal's off, you understand?"

  Joy whined in protest, unable to form any coherent words. What was this? This wasn't the deal.

  "What, you think I'd let you off scot-free?" Shiori said. "You convinced me to spare you from the full course, but you still crossed me, and an interview ain't enough to make up for that. There's still a price to be paid. We already started on that ear, now you're going to lose the rest of it."

  Shiori snickered at Joy's panicked reaction. "Oh, don't be dramatic. It's just the one ear. It won't ruin your precious looks. You can get your hair styled so it covers that side of your head—maybe even start a new fashion trend. And it ain't gonna hurt you much with getting laid or anything. Trust me, I know guys. I know what they look at, I know what they talk about, and it ain't ears. Bunch of pigs—you'll do fine. And you'll have plenty more left to be scared of losing, so this works out for both of us."

  This doesn't work! This doesn't work at all! But even if she'd been able to speak, Joy had no idea what more she could say to stop this. She was all out of ideas. She'd already done more fast-talking than she'd ever done in her entire life, and she had nothing left to say. She was empty. All empty.

  "Oh, c'mon. Think of how this benefits you. Look on the bright side," Shiori mock-consoled her. "You can make it part of your story—it'll make it so much more dramatic. How often do reporters lose an ear to get an interview? Not many, I bet. And this way, you'll be able to sell your story anywhere. You can walk right in, and be like, 'Hey, I interviewed Shiori Rosewing—psycho bitch cut off my fucking ear, see?' And you could, like, even throw your ear on their desk or something. I'll let you keep it. Be worth it for that. 'Cuz that's convincing. No way they wouldn't believe you after that. It's perfect. Now hold still if you want a clean cut."

  There was nothing she could do. Joy felt hot tears roll down her cheeks and tried to put her mind elsewhere, somewhere far away. She wondered if it would all be worth it in the end. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. She wasn't going to die. She just had to get through...to get through.…

  Joy bit down on the corded hilt as a piercing agony knifed its way high up into her jawbone, and then it was gone, as well as the pressure on her head, as steel rang against steel, and Joy turned to see Shiori backpedalling, drawing her sword-spear, as a tall figure in a trench-coat interposed itself between them.

  Oh, sweet blessed Kovidh thank you thankyouthankyou! Joy clapped a hand to the side of her head to make sure her ear was still there, and it was, though her earlobe was free-hanging from the side of her head, sticky and warm. But still attached to the rest of her. For now.

  The Red Specter had joined the two halves of his weapon together to make his own sword-spear, though his had a round buckler acting as a hand-guard midway along its length. He glanced back over his shoulder to check on her. As he did, Shiori's arm blurred.

  Joy opened her mouth to shout a warning, before she could realize that it'd already be too late, as the sound of the impact of Shiori’s dagger reached her ears. The knife ricocheted off the Specter's buckler and skittered across the concrete. Joy stared open-mouthed. He'd tracked the path of one of Shiori's supersonic daggers with his peripheral vision (while wearing goggles?) and blocked it with the barest of motions.

  For the first time, Joy thought she saw Shiori look unnerved, though she recovered quickly, and sneered back over at Joy.

  "Ooh, looks like you're gonna get an even better story," she said. "You can watch as the real Shiori Rosewing kills the real Red Specter, and then you can tell the whole world about it."

  The Red Specter made a sound, echoing from within his mask. Something like a cough or a snort.

  Shiori narrowed her eyes. “Hey, you got something to say, Spooky?”

  The Red Specter just stood still, implacable glass lenses staring back at her.

  “Hey, I asked you a question,” Shiori yelled. “You got something you want to say to me? Better do it now, while you’re still breathin’. You won’t be doing that for much longer.”

  The Specter tilted his head. “NICE COSTUME. ROSEDEATH FLAG IS MY FAVORITE PART. VERY CREATIVE.”

  Joy thought she’d seen Shiori get angry before. She hadn’t. It was as if the Specter had reached out and slapped her. The shock got replaced by a cold, murderous fury that made Joy shrink back against the crates.

  “Looks to me like you’re the one in a stupid costume, asshole,” she said, readying her polearm and advancing on the Specter. “And it’s Rose-WING, not Rose-DEATH. Get it right.”

  Joy blinked, completely thrown by the non-sequitur. But that was a Rosedeath flag draped across her shoulders—the symbol painted on the ceramic pots that contained the lethal gas. Granted, that name wasn’t common knowledge—Rosedeath had been an ancient secret weapon of the Albion empire, so secret most of their own military had no knowledge of it, even as it was being deploye
d. Most people on both sides of the conflict had called it ‘Hemlock Gas.’ Joy only knew the real name from her stint as a KIB analyst, translating intercepted high-level enemy communications. But Shiori was infamous for using the gas—and she didn’t know what its real name was?

  The Red Specter made another sound. This one definitely sounded like a snicker.

  “Oh, you think something’s funny? This a game to you?” Shiori spit the words out like she was chewing nails.

  “GOT LAZY WITH THE ARMOR, THOUGH. REAL CALIBURN ARMOR IS—“

  “I KNOW what real Caliburn armor is…” Shiori’s face flushed as she bit off the rest of her sentence. “It got shot to pieces, moron. So I had to make—“

  “DIDN’T HEAL?”

  “Heal? What… I said my armor got shot, you idiot—I healed up fine. You…”

  But the Red Specter was just shaking his head, dismissive. Like you do when listening to someone who hasn’t got a clue, who doesn’t know up from down. Like when you’re listening to a great big phony.

  “TIME TO DROP THE ACT…’SHIORI’” Joy could practically hear the quotations around her name when he said it. “TIME TO—“

  “I’ll SHOW you who the FAKE one is, ASSHOLE!” Shiori shrieked, charging at the Specter.

  What followed was the most amazing exhibition of spear combat that Joy had ever seen, unmatched by anything she’d witnessed in a fencing match, or on a theater stage, or martial arts school, or anywhere. Shiori’s blade was a blur at the end of the pole, and it was in constant, frenzied motion. It was both wild and controlled—each strike was precise, powerful. Joy heard the hiss of the blade as it cut the air, and felt the gusts of wind hit her face from the combat that yards away from her. The strikes came relentlessly, one after the other.

  All the Specter could do was block—just hang on and survive. Shiori constantly pressed him back, forcing him to keep circling, around and around. As the fight went on she grew bolder, pressing him harder, rushing him so the hafts of their polearms clacked together crosswise, shoving him up against a wall of cargo and hacking at him for a finishing move. And each time the Red Specter was only barely fast enough to avoid disaster, managing to twist or spin at the last second, as Shiori’s blade tore through the space he’d occupied just a second before, shredding wooden crates and burlap sacks, sending splinters flying, as their contents bled out onto the concrete, as the Specter backpedalled to the center of the alleyway, barely able to bring his own spear up again to block Shiori’s next series of blows. Always a block, for Shiori’s constant onslaught gave him no space for offense, and Joy’s dismay rose as she realized how badly overmatched the Specter was. His awkward multipurpose weapon was outclassed by Shiori’s elegant sword-spear. The small buckler bolted midway along its length helped with parrying, but it must throw off the weapon’s balance. And the Specter’s blade looked heavier as well, especially with the steel prong running parallel to it by nearly a foot.