by wildbow
“That’s fascinating,” Gordon said.
“Wait,” I said. “Hold up. “We’re tormenting Lil here, not me.”
The discussion continued, with a lot of back and forth and everyone getting their turn as the one made fun of. We were interrupted as we had to pass through a waypoint to get from one district to another. Another brief search and questioning. A mark made in a book.
Into the shims. The more dilapidated end of Radham.
“Same old markings,” Gordon said, touching a wall. The wood had been carved with a triangle, given two eyes and two circles for ears.
“Nostalgic,” I said.
“What does it mean?” Lillian asked.
“Safe spot for the young,” Gordon said. “Every generation or so, you’ll get a group that look after each other, not as an organized thing, but it’ll just happen. Because there’s too many kids who don’t have a good reason to go home and they have to spend their time with someone. Every other generation or so, you’ll get someone who ‘makes it’. Who has a shop or a house or something and they aren’t hard up for cash, and who looks after kids. The mouse is for places like that, or for groups that’ll look after you if you’re young.”
Lillian nodded. She’d left her hood down, and her hair was wet. She brought her hands up to tuck wet hair behind her ears.
“Three triangles for a fox,” Gordon gestured at the corner of one building, near to the ground. There were two such markings there. “Is the fox. That’s not one you used to see very often, and you’d never see it in pairs. Usually people would work together, deal with it, and the only fox mark you’d see would be crossed out.”
“There was one earlier, too,” Jamie said. “By the waypoint.”
“What’s the fox?” Lillian asked.
“The fox preys on the mouse,” I said.
Lillian’s eyes widened.
The rain was worse here, kind of. It wasn’t that it was technically heavier rain or anything, but the buildings didn’t necessarily have gutters, the water streamed off of the rooftops, and it spattered as it landed in puddles, where the water hadn’t drained completely.
The houses were dilapidated, falling to pieces, many uninhabitable. Even the poor had started migrating toward the city center, leaving the edges a little lonelier.
Jamie pointed, indicating another fox scratched into a doorframe. I nodded.
We came to a stop.
“Hey!” Gordon shouted. “Buttholes!”
There was a pause.
A window opened, on the second floor of a building across the street. A boy about our age poked his head out. “What, dickstink?”
“How about a hello, huh? Open the door,” Gordon said.
The kid smirked, then pulled his head back inside. I heard him give an order to another kid. A few seconds later, the door opened.
“This is meant as a bit of a treat to you, Mary,” I said.
She arched an eyebrow.
“Show you a bit of what Gordon and I used to do, back in the day,” I said.
“I like that,” she said, smiling. She folded up her umbrella.
We passed into the house. There were three kids on the ground floor, and an older, shirtless boy at the top of the stairs. I recognized Thom, and the young Daisy. The house was scattered with knick-knacks and detritus. I was being polite, given that it was ninety percent trash.
“And,” I added, under my breath, “I thought you might like to get some tips on lockpicking, among other things.”
Her eyes lit up. She gave me a happy little wiggle of the shoulders.
We made our way up the stairs, to a floor of the house that had little more than scattered bedding without beds, blankets, and discarded clothes.
“Long time, Gordon,” the shirtless boy said. “Hi Helen.”
Helen gave him a wave.
“Craig,” Gordon said. He threw an arm around Craig’s shoulders in a half-hug, Craig doing the same.
“Hi,” Lillian said, as the blonde girl Daisy approached. She was seven or eight, if I had to guess. Not that anyone had ever known or cared about Daisy’s birthday, to keep track.
Daisy ignored Lillian, talking to me instead. “I’ve been keeping an ear out.”
“That’s good.”
“I can tell you who’s who, now, and what happened with the Byron Boys, and how Miss E is sleeping with the pastor’s sister,” Daisy said.
“You gotta ask for cash before you drop tidbits like that.”
“Setting the hook,” Daisy said, looking up at me. “Like you told me. There’s enough more that I’m not worried.”
“Alright, fair. Hook’s set,” I said. “Curiosity piqued. But give me a bit to get caught up before I start grilling you. I don’t want to pay for information I can pick up for free.”
She made a face.
There were several more kids on the upper floor—six in all. A card game was underway. Most were just staying in the darker corners, enduring the heat. Many heads turned as Helen came up the stairs.
Thom came up the stairs behind us. I clapped a hand on his shoulder as he passed me. He’d helped me get my hands on the others’ files, back around the time we’d dealt with the snake charmer. He’d helped me many other times, besides.
“Someone’s going to break out the old practice locks for this pretty girl to learn lockpicking,” I said, indicating Mary. “And they’re going to do it for free.”
“That so?” a boy I didn’t know asked.
“She’ll show you a cool knife trick,” I said. “After she’s learned something.”
He mulled it over for a second, then waved her over, lifting up the bench under the window to pull out some stuff.
The rest found their places, Helen watching the card game, distracting both of the players. Lillian stuck closer to me, while Jamie found a seat, pulling out the book we’d interrupted him from reading earlier.
I started to fill Lillian in on particulars. Rules, expectations, groups, with Daisy nodding along and enjoying being able to offer her own input, while being very miffed at Lillian being there at the same time.
I was distracted from my explanation as I overheard Gordon talking with Craig in a low voice.
“Girl troubles,” Gordon said.
“I know those troubles,” Craig said.
Gordon smiled. He looked more at ease than I’d seen him in a while.
“You’ve got other troubles?” Gordon asked.
Of course he’d find other work to do. It’s not like we get a proper day off.
“Lots,” Craig said. “Be more specific.”
“Last I was aware, you had a lot more kids up here, that was half a year ago.”
“Ah,” Craig said. “Yeah.”
“It’s not because of the waypoints or anything, is it? Kids being unable to get from there to here, because of curfews and checkpoints and all that? There’s something else going on.”
Jamie was looking up from his book, watching. Most of the others were distracted.
“I saw four foxes scratched into the scenery on the way here,” Gordon said. “Kids in here, not out and about?”
Craig nodded.
“Who’re you hiding from?”
Craig made a face.
There were more ears listening, now.
“Come on,” Gordon said. “Out with it.”
“It’s awkward, given you are who you are,” Craig said. “Don’t know if I should. Don’t want to hurt our ongoing relationship.”
Gordon punched Craig, hard, in the arm.
“Try again,” Gordon said.
Craig frowned. “The Academy. Pretty sure it’s the Academy. Picking off the little ones. They go, they don’t come back, they don’t turn up at that Orphanage of yours.”
Previous Next
Lamb to the Slaughter—6.2
“I want the youngest ones out,” Craig said.
There was resistance. Daisy stiffened.
“If I haven’t had you in on previous le
adership meetings, I don’t want you in on this one,” Craig said. “Git!”
Daisy rose to her feet. Two more kids joined her in heading for the stairs.
“If there’s any sign of any of you listening in, you bleed,” Craig warned.
An unsteady sort of leadership here. One enforced with knocks on the head and crude threats. But it was necessary. Anything else wouldn’t work on kids like these, who didn’t know other sorts of authority, and the alternative was having no leadership at all.
Thom remained, as did the boy with the locks, who was sitting with Mary, and one other.
“We called them ghosts, at first. We lost two of the youngest ones, one right after the other,” Craig explained. “Sent Bertie home. He’d been here too long, taking too much, not giving. Figured his dad would give him a hard time and he could come back later. But he wasn’t to stay here all the time. He cried, but he went.”
“And he never made it?” Gordon asked.
Craig made a face. Disgusted. “I should’ve had him stay. My gut told me it wasn’t right, sending him back, but I wasn’t thinking about it in terms of the bigger picture, y’know? I thought it was about him and his dad and his dad roughed him up but he’d survive. Weighed his survival against ours and what he was costing us by eating out of our cupboards. Thinking too small, not considering everything else. Stupid!”
“You know deep down inside that there was no predicting something like this. You couldn’t have known.”
“I knew! Not about the ghosts or foxes or Academy. I knew he was little and he hadn’t got that thick skin we all get at some point. He ducked his head and he cried and anyone who looked at him knew he was a victim. Whoever took him knew he was a victim! He was prey to the whole rest of the world and I knew it and I sent him out there alone!”
“Okay,” Gordon said. “Then yeah. It was your fault, at least a little.”
Craig shook his head, but it was in anger at himself.
“You were angry with him,” I said. “You wanted to give him that thicker skin, you knew you couldn’t coddle him.”
“Doesn’t justify it,” Craig said.
“How far to his place? Where does his dad live?”
“Four streets over. Still in the shims.”
“That close?” Gordon asked, surprised. “Five or ten minutes away?”
Craig nodded.
“You said there was another.”
“There’ve been six I know of,” Craig said. “Two right from under my nose. Bert was the first. We went out looking for him. I expected to find his body. Nothing. But while we were looking, we got a little too far apart from each other. Len was helping out, never one to stay here overnight, had it pretty good, but he’d play cards with us, join in any games, participate if we were pulling something.”
“Sure,” Gordon said.
“Sharp enough a guy. Whisked away, not five seconds after I last saw him. No noise, no scuffle.”
“Len’s mom is torn up about it,” Thom said.
“And you?” Gordon asked Craig.
“Len could look after himself,” Craig said, but his expression betrayed some concern or doubt. Self-blame, but it didn’t cut as deep as Bert did. Craig cleared his throat. “We switched it around, so we didn’t go anywhere except in groups. When they were in the mood to play with cards or dice, I told them to do it from perches. Watch over the streets while they played. Keep an eye out for anything odd.”
“And?” Gordon asked.
“What we saw was people in Academy coats, using Academy carriages. People with gray coats, loading an unconscious kid into the coach. Since we started keeping an eye out, we’ve seen the carriages show up now and again. Usually from a distance. We try, we lay in wait, but they steer clear. Can’t seem to pin them down. But they’re still getting us. That’s when we started to call them ghosts.”
“All boys?” Lillian asked.
“No. Girls too,” Craig said. “Tom and Sam were at one perch. Got caught up in their game, not watching, Tom says. Then hands seize him, they tip him off the edge of the roof. Broken arm, broken leg, wrenched his arm so bad it tore out of the socket. What are you supposed to do, knowing what we know, that it’s Academy people doing this, and Tom is that hurt?”
There was a waver of emotion in Craig’s voice. He was younger than some of the leaders of the mice I’d seen. Experienced, but young. He didn’t have full control over his emotions, he wasn’t detached, and his skin was thinner than he’d like to pretend. When he asked what he was supposed to do, the uncertainty was spilling out. That uncertainty was laced with the raw fear of someone that was responsible for others and failing in their duties.
“What did you end up doing?” I asked. “With Tom?”
“Sent him to the Hedge. His mom says he’s there, he’s in repair. He hasn’t disappeared.”
“I think that was the right thing to do,” Gordon said.
Craig shook his head a little.
“And… I forget the other one’s name? Who was on the roof with him?” I asked.
“Sam. She was next oldest, compared to me. Tom didn’t even see them leave the building. Whoever attacked him, they and Sam just…”
Craig spread his hands.
“Gone. A ghost,” Gordon said.
“It was a lot easier when she was around,” Craig said.
“Yeah,” Gordon said. “I think I remember her. Scowler, wasn’t she?”
“Face like a dog with its muzzle smashed in,” Craig said. He glanced at Lillian, “Don’t give me that look.”
“I wasn’t—okay, I was, but you can’t say that about a girl.”
“She said worse about herself. She knew where her strengths were, and none of the whole sitting proper, doing up her hair nice, wearing powder on her face and being sweet stuff was part of it.”
Lillian shifted uncomfortably. Her hands had been folded in her lap, and she, very casually, shifted her posture, so they were gripping the bench on either side of her legs, instead.
“Feel like I have to ask, so I don’t step on toes,” Gordon said. “You want help with this one?”
“I don’t think I have any other choice,” Craig said.
Gordon nodded. He glanced at me, and I nodded confirmation.
“Do you have descriptions?” Jamie asked.
“Tom does, but he’s at the Hedge. Daisy was one of the ones who kept a lookout. She’s seen ’em from a distance. You could ask her.”
Jamie nodded, rising from his seat, bringing notebook and pen with as he headed downstairs.
Gordon heaved out a sigh. I didn’t miss the fact that one hand was clenched in a weird way. Another attack, so soon?
Still, he spoke in a very careful, level voice. “I know you know something about what we do. That we do work for the Academy. I know you know well enough not to ask. Because we’re not telling you particulars.”
Craig nodded, jaw set in a firm line.
This had been a point of contention in the past. The not-telling part. In a world where the stars had aligned differently, the pair could have been the best of friends. In this world, the secrecy had been a wedge.
“Knowing what I know about the Academy, I’ve got to say this, and I know the response you’re going to give, but I’ve got to say it. I don’t know that there’s any guarantee the Academy did it.”
Craig’s posture shifted, forward-leaning, aggressive, “Academy-controlled town in wartime, Gordon? Academy coats? Academy transportation?”
“It’s likely,” Gordon said. “But it’s not a guarantee.”
“Sure, Gordon,” Craig said, in the most disagreeable way possible, without quite being sarcastic. His hands clenched the fabric of his shorts at his knees. “Decide what you want. You have to do what you have to do. But if anyone gets snatched up while you’re wasting time trying to prove the people you work for didn’t do it, you know I’m going to hold it against you, yeah? If they’re dead or disappeared? That’ll be on you.”
“I
know,” Gordon said. He suddenly looked very tired.
“What do you need?”
“Clothes,” I said. “Clean-ish. We’re wearing orphanage clothes. We need orphan clothes, instead. So we don’t stand out if we happen to be looking around.”
“We don’t have many girl clothes,” Craig said. “Room under the stairs was where Sam changed when she came over. Might have something. Come on down, I’ll get some of my stuff so you can wear it. Might smell a bit.”
“We’ll live,” Gordon said.
Jamie was in the kitchen with Daisy, grilling her while he sketched. She wasn’t making him pay for the information, which was a little out of sync with the lessons I’d taught her. I’d used her on a previous job, way back in the day, because she’d been small enough to go unnoticed. She’d proven good at listening to the drone of gossip here and there, picking out the important details from the noise, and I’d had her hone those talents. Whatever she wound up doing, and the shims weren’t a part of Radham that brimmed with opportunity, knowing what was going on and what information other people might be willing to pay for was a skill she could carry with her.
I’d worked with others that weren’t here now. I’d worked with Thom, but not in a specific capacity.
“Under the stairs?” Lillian clarified. The area in question was adjacent to the kitchen.
“Yeah. That’s the girl’s room,” Craig said, waving his hand to indicate the general direction.
I glanced over, and noted that the ‘girl’s room’ wasn’t a room so much as a closet, and that might have been generous. A pole had been nailed into the doorway to the space, and a curtain hung from it. Lillian and Helen entered, while Mary joined me in watching Jamie’s sketching.
He was doing it in very loose, broad sketches. General shape. Man in a lab coat, drawn in about five loose sweeps of the pen, basic geometric shapes. When Daisy said the man had been taller and narrower, the hair different, sweeping back, Jamie started anew, elsewhere on the page. Once that was set, he moved on to details.
He still wasn’t an artist, but there was a process at work. One that relied on his ability to recreate that which he’d done before, making steady adjustments.
“I only saw him from far away,” Daisy said. “That’s more or less it? My head plays tricks on me. I imagine him as more devilish than I know he was.”