by Tim Akers
She grimaced, and then the two of us crossed to the next roof. Wilson was waiting. We spent an hour hiding, running, looking for someplace in the city where we’d be safe from whatever forces pursued us. We didn’t talk much. It was grim work.
WE FOUND A hole and planted. Veridon is full of holes, burrows in the steep slopes or nooks under the built up terraces of the modern city. This one was a warehouse that had lost its floor to a cistern that had collapsed, one of the ancient rivers that ran under the city shaking off its domestic borders and cutting into the architecture.
We set up on the ledges around the lake. Stairs led down into the water, and under the old first floor there was a cave of brick and mud, just a sliver of space that couldn’t be seen from the street. It was cool down there. The bricks were mossy and slick, and the air smelled like dead fish.
I lay my coat out on the brick and tried to relax. Wilson was setting up in the corner, and Emily was crouched at the water’s edge, staring down into the cold.
“Don’t get too comfortable, Wilson,” I said. He was hanging his tool belt on the wall, holding it there with some kind of viscous gunk. “We’re not sticking around.”
“Was that some crude swipe at humor?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Was it funny?”
“Not particularly.” He kept his back to me. His shoulders were twitching.
“Well then. I guess not.”
“We’re going to need food,” Emily said. “And we can’t be hiding in empty buildings forever.” She craned her neck to look at us over her shoulder. “We need a plan.”
“We need to know what we’re dealing with, first,” I said, struggling up. “There’s a lot more going on than is apparent.”
“Every Badgeman in Veridon is hunting us, Valentine has banned you from the organization… there’s more than that?”
“Yes,” I said. “The gods are trying to kill us or something?” Emily asked.
“Something like that.”
Wilson snorted, but he didn’t say anything. I folded my coat open and fished out the list I had gotten from Calvin.
“The guy you talked to, after I left. A little shorter than me, neatly dressed. Could have been military at some point. Bald. Leather gloves?”
“Yes,” she said. “It’s the gloves I remember the most. And his hands were hard. Very strong.”
“That’s Mr. Malcolm Sloane.” I took the paper and spread it out on the ground, smoothing it down. “Right here at the top.”
Wilson and Emily gathered close, stooping to look at the list.
“What is this?” Emily asked. “Angela Tomb is on this list. Where did you get this?”
“A friend. It’s a list of deceased, all from a single military unit. Their date and cause of death was censured, by order of the Council. Angela’s name is here because she authorized it. Sloane was Coordinating Officer.”
“Then he’s not the guy who came by Emily’s place, is he?” Wilson looked at me. “I mean, if he’s been declared dead.”
“Two things,” I said. “Coordinating Officer is not a field rank. It’s administrative. These other names could be the deployed unit. Sloane was the guy they’d report to when they got back to the city. Secondly, recognize anyone else on the list?”
“Marcus?” Emily said. “I didn’t know he was military.”
“Neither did I. A man of surprises, our Marcus.”
“This guy, too,” Wilson said. “Gerrus. I know he wasn’t military. A very clever thief, but never military.”
“So maybe this isn’t a military list after all?” Emily asked. “Maybe it’s something else. A list of criminals?”
“I’ve seen the original. This is military, trust me.” I took the ID card out of my coat and set it next to the list, by Wellons’s name.
“You collect military records now, Jacob?” Emily asked.
“This I got off a body, up on the Heights. It was in the quarters of the Artificers, surrounded by dead Guildsmen.”
“A marine. You’re saying a marine killed a bunch of Artificers? Or someone killed them, and this guy tried to defend them, got himself popped?” Wilson grimaced. “Seems unlikely.”
“No. Our friend Wellons was long dead. At least a couple weeks.”
Emily and Wilson stared at me dully for a few breaths. Finally Emily nodded as though she understood.
“Huh,” she said.
“So.” Wilson murmured. He sat back on his heels. “So, we’ve got a list of people, with deceased dates two years old. Only we know two of them didn’t die two years ago. But both of those people are dead now. This is good.” He smiled. “This is meaty.”
“There’s more.” They both turned to look at me. “I think I know who Marcus was running from.”
“When he crashed the Glory?” Emily asked.
“Yeah. The guy I told you about, the one who jumped. I saw him again, up on the Heights.”
Emily got dead still. “You could have mentioned that.”
“Been busy getting shot. At least I think it was him. And he changed, he became some kind of… an angel.”
“Angel,” Emily said.
“Yeah. Wings of steel and cog, talons like knives. Angel.”
Wilson was staring at me. They both were. Didn’t blame them. Angels were part of the mythology of Veridon. The Church of the Algorithm claimed that the wreckage they strained from the river Reine was sent to them by angels of steel and wire. They claimed to have been visited by one specific angel, a girl named Camilla. She was sick, and they were able to help her. In exchange, she gifted them with the secrets of the river. No one believed it, not even me, and I had seen an angel. I had killed an angel.
“This is… unusual,” Wilson finally said. He was fiddling with his tool belt, worrying it between his thin fingers like a prayer chain. “What did he want?”
“The Cog. Everyone wants the Cog. I saw him with the Artificers, and again later after I did the deal with Prescott. Later that night, I thought to go talk to him, went to see the Artificers. There was Wellons’s body, dead Guildsmen, the Summer Girl missing. He killed Prescott, probably thought I’d given the Cog to him, then came after me. Nearly killed me.”
“You’re a hard man to kill,” Wilson said.
“We’ve covered that. And you’re right, I am. I put him down. Her, it turned out.”
“Her?”
“There was a performance that night. The Summer Girl. It was her, the angel was her. When she died, the bugs fell away, the angel dissolved. There was just her.”
“That’s awful,” Emily said. “Gods, you killed that girl?”
“No. I killed that monster,” I hunched over the list, gathered up my coat. “I didn’t know.”
“What is this Cog?” Wilson asked. I sat up and looked at him.
“Not sure. I picked it up off a dead friend. Marcus here,” I said, pointing to the list. “Things have been weird ever since.”
“I have that problem sometimes,” Wilson said. “Dead friends leave strange gifts. This friend of yours, he brought you this Cog?”
“It ended up in my hands.” I stood up. The ruined ceiling was close. “I gave it to Emily to look after. See if she could find anything out about it.”
Wilson looked to Emily. “You could have brought it to me.”
“Things got strange,” she said, not turning around. “I had to ditch it fast. Some people showed up at my place, then Jacob got shot. It got complicated.”
“So.” Wilson said. “Angels and Councilmen. This must be one hell of a Cog.” He turned to Emily. “Where is it?”
“Tomb has it. I gave it to the Family Tomb.”
I nodded and loosened the revolver in my holster. The hammer was smooth and warm under my thumb.
“Complicated,” I said.
Chapter Seven
Trustlocks, Tombs and Eyes of Pale Flesh
EMILY EXPLAINED. PART of the deal Tomb had going with Valentine involved safe houses. Tomb was one of the most su
ccessful of the old families, one of the few to maintain both power and money. They had interests all over Veridon. Valentine was borrowing some of those interests, to hide people and things he needed put quietly away when there was trouble. Emily was aware of the deal, and took advantage. The Cog was buried in one of Tomb’s houses, safe as it could be.
Right where we couldn’t get to it. Right where we’d have to be crazy to break in.
“How do you know about that?” I asked.
“What, The hiding places? I arranged the deal.”
“Not according to Valentine. He told me it was true, that he had been talking to the Tombs, but no one knew it. Not even you.”
Emily flinched and sat down. “Let’s chalk it up to self interest.”
“How?” I asked.
“I’ve been snooping around Valentine, months now. There’s a lot of money going into that operation that’s just disappearing.” She gave me a sick look. “I’m just trying to get a piece. Looking out for myself, I guess.”
“And you found out about his secret deals with one of the Founding Families?” Wilson asked. “That’s some deep secret you dug up.”
“It wasn’t easy. The Tombs were overconfident. One of their couriers…” she looked embarrassed and shot me a hot look. “He likes me. So. I found out.”
“Well. You could have mentioned that earlier.”
“You don’t react well, when I bring up that side of my life.”
I shrugged. Wilson chuckled. “So what now?” he asked.
“You put it there,” I said. Emily was facing away from us again, a little pale. “You can get it back. Right?”
“I was about to say. That’s what I was trying to do, while you were laid up at Wilson’s.” She shifted in her seat. “It’s gone.”
“Gone? What, like someone came through and cleared the place out? Stole it?”
“No, just it. Just the Cog. Everything else was the same, near as I could tell.”
“You tell anyone else you put it there?”
“No.”
“So someone magically guessed that it was there, broke in, and took just that.”
Emily squirmed. “They didn’t break in. There are signs, trustlocks that have to be maintained. Someone in on the deal had to take it. No one else knows the patterns.”
“The deal? The one between Valentine and Tomb, you mean?”
“Yeah, that deal.” Emily turned to look at me. She looked sorry. “So someone on the inside. Valentine’s people, or Tomb’s. No one else knows.”
I sat back. Trustlocks were tricky. It took a combination to open them, a combination based on the configuration of the lock. And when you closed it again, it never went back in the same way. Had to be set. The whole deal was based on one use-codes and algorithms. You could pick them, but you couldn’t put them back without the codes, least not in a way that the next guy opening it wouldn’t notice. Tamper-proof. They got used a lot, by people who didn’t trust each other.
“So one of Valentine’s. Or one of Tomb’s.” I rubbed my eyes. “Valentine doesn’t want any part of this. So let’s say it’s one of Tomb’s. Let’s say the Lady Tomb has this thing, now.”
Wilson sighed. He had taken up a spot in the corner of our little room, sitting on his hands and watching us argue. “What does that mean to us?” he asked.
“If we’re serious about figuring out what’s going on here, it means we have to go get it,” I said. I took my revolver out and laid it on the coat, then started to disassemble and clean it.
“Yeah. So what? We break into the Manor Tomb and steal it?”
“Probably not,” Emily said. “That’s probably too much of a task, even for the great Jacob Burn.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I kept focused on the pieces of the revolver. A simple puzzle, a task I knew. “Probably asking too much that she has it on display somewhere. Probably going to take talking to her.”
“You want me to handle that?” Emily asked.
“You’ve had contact with her?”
“No, I just…” she stuttered to a stop. “No.”
“No, you haven’t. I have. This is my job. This is just the sort of job Valentine hires me for.” I sighed and sat quietly for a minute as I finished up with the revolver. When it was together again I put it into my shoulder holster, then stood up. “Stay here. I’ll be back, soon enough.”
“Like hell,” Wilson said. I paused at the door to the basement and turned. He was standing.
“You don’t trust me?” I asked.
“Better. I don’t even know you. You’re asking us to stay here, to stay put, while you go running around the city. The Badge is looking for you, Jacob, and they’re looking for us too. They catch you, it isn’t going to be long before they get us.”
“Look, I do this kind of job all the time. It’s what Valentine pays me for. Look smart, talk to the pretty people, maybe threaten some milksop then get out.” I turned back to the door. “All the damn time.”
“It’s not like that this time, Jacob.” Wilson walked over to me, wedged himself between me and the door, and crossed his arms. “This isn’t some drug deal, okay? I’m going with you.”
“A bug,” I turned to Emily and waved my hand. “Em, maybe, but I’m not taking a bug.” I stopped talking when I felt the steel against my cheek. I turned, slowly.
“We don’t use that word,” Wilson said. “Civilized people like us don’t use that word.”
“Right. Sorry,” I muttered. He lowered the knife. “I just don’t think Tomb is going to be too friendly to me showing up with an anansi. That’s all.”
“It’s okay,” he said, sheathing the knife. “You’ll tell them that we’re friends.” He looped his arm through mine and pulled me toward the door. “Good friends.”
“Be careful, kids,” Emily said. I think she was chuckling.
“Yes, dear,” I said.
I clambered out of the flooded basement, swirling my coat on over my shoulders. Dusk was settling down on the streets of Veridon. The frictionlamps were humming.
“And while we’re out, we can look for some engram beetles, for your pattern,” Wilson said with a sharp smile and a tug on my arm.
I thought of the sharp legs clawing their way down my throat, the blood and chitin flaking off my lips when I woke up. I grimaced.
“Sure,” I said. “We’ll look.”
IT WORKED LIKE this. The Families on the Council, both the Founders and the new breed that’s buying them out, they have their own servants. Drivers, butlers, handmaidens, stablers… the whole domestic scene. They have their own little brute squads, too. House Guard. Housies, we called them. They, you know, guard the house.
Tomb’s House Guard was nowhere to be seen. The Manor Tomb sits in the older part of town, just on the edge of what could be called respectable real estate. It was high up in the city. It started out posh, but the years had built up and the wealth had migrated. Now the smoke from the Dunje-side factories formed a putrid strata that clung to the streets and scraped against the walls up here. Rich as the Tombs were, they couldn’t afford to move their address. Grandpa was inside, and grandpa was immobile. And when grandpa went, the whole family went, the writ of name already mortgaged off to one of those new families. So. The manor stayed.
The Manor Tomb was an impressive place, all stone and wrought iron, the brows of the mansion scowling at the street below. The wall that surrounded the grounds was stone, and the gate was well maintained and usually guarded. Not today. Today, the gatehouse was empty. Perfect opportunity, right, except for the street around the manor. The street was full of officers of the Badge. They looked like they were preparing for a war, agitated, the men clutching their weapons as they faced away from the manor, like they expected Veridon to rise up and invade the place. Lots of Badge, with equipment and officers and marching orders. It didn’t look right.
It was going to be tough to get an audience with the Lady under those circumstances. Of course, the alternative was to squat in
that flooded basement while Wilson stuffed bugs down my throat. I figured to give it the old Burn try, at least.
Wilson and I circled around the Manor, crossing streets until we were out of sight of the wall and then working our way back to the postern. There was Badge back here, too, but they were playing sneaky; hiding in shops, gathering behind the boarded up windows of warehouses. We picked our way closer to the postern, trying to not catch the eye of the Badge. Wilson walked with his head down, his hunched shoulders twitching under his coat.
The grounds of the Manor Tomb were old. The wall was original to the founding, from when the Veridon Delta was still a dangerous place, and didn’t contain that much space. In the generations that had since passed, the Tombs had filled the interior of the wall with buildings and gardens and the like. That left no room for stables or garages for the family carriage. These things were outside the postern now, spilling out into the district.
I ducked into the stables, Wilson close behind me, and hunched my way to the gate. The Badge outside hadn’t stopped us, so that was half the fight. I looked down at my grimy shirt. I couldn’t look too good, I thought, probably not good enough to bluff my way into the estate. Best to be direct.
There were two guards by the postern, looking nervously between me and Wilson. They were armed with shortrifles and had been eyeing us since we came around the corner. I smiled at them and bobbed my head.
“Morning, boys. Here to see the Lady Tomb.”
“Lady’s not taking visitors today,” the OverGuard said. He had his back flat against the iron bars of the gate. Over his shoulder I could see a dozen more Housies, peeking around corners and kneeling behind barrels. He looked briefly at me, and then pointedly at Wilson. Wilson smiled, his mouth full of tiny, sharp teeth. It would have been better if he didn’t smile.
“Something up? Awful lot of steel in the street this morning,” I said.
“Badge is agitating. Say they’ve got reports of a riot in the area. They’re offering security.”
“Generous of them,” I said. “So you said Lady’s not taking guests today?”