by wildbow
“Honestly? I turned up a few months ago. I saw and talked to a few mice—a few children. None of them said anything about this, or about you.”
“Doesn’t answer the question,” the queen said. She started to move her hand.
I was prepared to jump in and distract, but the king beat me to it. “It’s okay. There’s no rush. We aren’t with the ‘mice’, as you put it. To the rest of them, we’re big brothers and sisters. We help them, we give a hand, we’ll deal with the problems, use the messages on wall and teach them to read ’em and put ’em up. But they can’t just come in here uninvited. Invites are earned.”
He fixed me with a look as he said those last bits. The queen, meanwhile, picked through my wallet.
I was starting to get the picture.This particular group had been preyed on too much. They’d banded together, and for the most part they seemed pretty willing to turn to violence. There were two younger ones who’d backed off, but I was looking at the whole group now and wondering if maybe they had older siblings who were part of the group.
Damn it. I wasn’t sure I could use them. And I wasn’t sure I could leverage the other mice without drawing on the core group.
No, more than that. The queen was dangerous and the king capable. They were a romantic pair, and they had some clout, for whatever reason. They’d found each other and then the group had formed around them. Something had clicked into place, a group of people feeling desperate, scared and lost, and two people who could soothe those concerns.
The queen dropped her cigarette and stepped on it before returning her attention to my wallet. She pocketed the cash.
There goes the remainder of my spending money.
“Most don’t know that we have a club. Which, again, raises the question of how you found out,” the king said.
The queen nodded in agreement.
“My name is Sylvester. I’m wanted by the Crown. You could send anyone here to a police station or post office and see my face on the wall. Today, I broke two men out of the prison, and I gassed the building, forcing them to evacuate. I robbed that same station on my way out,” I said.
“I don’t believe you,” the queen said.
I could throttle her.
“I do,” the king said. “I heard something about this. That name, and the thing at the station.”
“You heard because you’re a—” I almost said Corinth Crown. “Bergewall student. You’re Academy.”
“Loosely affiliated, but yes,” he said.
An academy student and a mouse queen with an attitude problem.
I’d gauged that he was academy before I’d revealed any details. I knew that I was testing my luck here. But his presence here and his reaction to what I was saying suggested that he wasn’t about to turn me in for the cash. Not that he wouldn’t, but the drive to do so wouldn’t override everything else. My gut instinct was right, and he was still listening.
Not the worst eventuality, but I’d honestly hoped for someone more like Craig, or even someone like Mc-whatshisface from Warrick.
I’d gauged him as academy. I was sticking my neck out, and he was free to bring the guillotine down.
He and others would be thinking about the wanted poster. Those came with bounties, and bounties could be collected.
I needed to offer a better deal.
“I’m working on something bigger,” I said. “I approached all of you because I wanted to see if you wanted in.”
I wasn’t sure if I wanted them as part of things, now that I’d met them. But my options were few.
“What are you doing?” the mouse king asked me.
“Well, to start with, I need to deal with whoever directs the criminal groups in the city. There have to be some faces and names to watch out for—”
I saw a change in the mouse king’s expression at that. There were.
“And there have to be people who’ve wronged you and yours that you haven’t been able to touch.”
The mouse queen moved, and a part of me leaped at that, seizing on the change in body language and demeanor as validation that I was right.
But she was simply rummaging in a pocket for a bit of candy. She undid the wrapper and put the candy in her mouth.
Couldn’t read her at all, damn it.
“There are,” the mouse king told me.
“I only need their names, and some information on the others. Then I’ll want to relocate the younger ones that are scattered around here to another place. One where they’ll have food and shelter.”
The mouse queen shifted position. One foot down, the other foot up, against the wall. She reached over to the king’s face, turned it her way, and then pulled the slobbery orb of candy from her mouth, popping it into his, and stealing his cigarette as she brought her hand back toward her face.
The mouse king made a face at that. “Candy and cigarettes don’t mix.”
“I wanted a cigarette, but had to give you something back,” she said. “Evensies.”
“Only one an hour,” the mouse king said. “We’re rationing the things, remember?”
“I remember. I just had mine. Now I’m having yours,” she said.
I waited, patient, a knife still at my side.
The mouse queen turned her eyes to me. “We have experience with that sort of thing.”
It took me a second to click as to what she meant. She was referring to me talking about giving the mice a place to stay. How many other groups had come through here, collecting unwanted and unattached children for experiments or to ship off to places unknown?
“I can imagine you do,” I said.
She nodded slowly, drawing in a lungful of smoke.
She looked at the mouse king, then gestured airily at him.
He had to tuck the candy into his cheek before he could talk unimpeded. “I think we can give some consideration to the first part. Dealing with enemies? We can name names, so long as it doesn’t come back at us. But you’re not taking anyone anywhere, or we’ll have problems.”
A starting point, that. Except I still had an orphanage without children. My center stage with no actors and agents to support it.
Previous Next
Dyed in the Wool—12.4
The pair gestured, indicating the back door of the place. I winced as I started moving, shirt still held to my side, and then followed them out.
There was a porch overlooking a spacious backyard, filled with young trees. I could identify the types as fruit trees and some Academy-treated trees that would produce other things. Moving toward something sustainable for their small tribe, if I had to guess.
I cursed under my breath, seeing the investment they’d already made. Jamie and I had been busy plotting the major moves, and I’d made assumptions about the local mice.
We stopped at the railing of the porch. The king leaned forward over it, while the queen leaned back against it, beside him.
“Noreen,” the rat king indicated the queen. He touched his chest, “Maurice.”
“Sylvester Lambsbridge,” I said. Would be nice to talk to them one-on-one, and if I separated them, I might get some inklings into the group’s power structure. I gave it a shot, saying, “I’m still bleeding. Do you have anything for it?”
My heart sank as Maurice drew a small kit from a back pocket. “I haven’t done stitches since my second year. We’re supposed to do some at year end, for our refresher. Always nice to get some practice in with the basics.”
“I agree with you on that,” I said. “I could use some. I’ll do my own, if that’s alright.”
Maurice raised an eyebrow. “You’re sure?”
I nodded, and took the kit as he handed it over. I opened it up, threaded a needle, soaked it and the thread, and then pulled part of the shirt away from the slices at my ribs. I began stitching myself up.
“Cigarette?” Maurice asked me.
I considered for a moment, then decided it was necessary if I was going to get any traction with the group. I nodded.
The experience of smoking was unpleasant, I found. It reminded me of things like fighting the Baron and high tension moments like being at the prison as it filled with faintly noxious gas. It made me anxious.
“Lords, you’re better at that than I am, and you’re not even keeping an eye on your work,” Maurice observed. Noreen leaned forward to look, but gave no indicators of approval or disapproval.
“I was in the plague-stricken area for a few months. I’m mostly immune. Got a few spots, cut them out, that was that. Gave care to others.”
Was that a glimmer of respect I saw in Maurice’s eye? Good. He was someone I could work with.
Noreen being quiet was even better.
“Being a fugitive, breaking into the prison, flirting with the plague, and now attempting something with West Corinth as a whole? Sounds like you lead a busy life,” Maurice said. “A dangerous one, at that.”
“As far back as I can remember, I’ve been challenged and tested. But for a year and a half at the start and a few months here and there, there haven’t been many breaks from the danger, either,” I said. “If I don’t make trouble of my own, then it tends to find me. I’d rather have the initiative, and I’m taking the initiative here.”
“Facing down the local criminal element?” Maurice asked.
I nodded. “I need to know who they are and where they are.”
“And you’ll take the names of our enemies, taking revenge on our behalf,” Noreen said.
“That was part of the plan,” I said. “But it might not be as straightforward as all that. You should be happy with my results.”
“We’ll see,” she said. Cold, detached, with a threat maybe implied? It really, really bothered me that I couldn’t get a solid read on her. She reminded me of deadpan Helen, except even deadpan Helen had attachments and preferences that I could keep track of.
Maurice watched my work instead of my face. “I can give you the details you need. Three groups hold power, but the third has had his hands full with two groups of ‘visitors’. Assuming you’re not visitors, given that you don’t know particulars—”
“I’m not. I know some names, I know some faces, and I know some of the lieutenants of the groups. I didn’t know about the visitors, though.”
“There’s a man we go to talk to if we have a grievance. He runs the premier group around here. Colby. He’s normally content to have his slice of West Corinth, be the man in charge, and let others fight over their slices of the pie while he focuses on business elsewhere. He’s not happy with the quarantines and travel restrictions. I’m not sure what he’s doing or planning right now. Rather than hunting down the people you want to talk to and arranging individual meetings, I’d try to get him to tell you where to find them.”
“I know of him,” I said. My new recruit, Samuel, had been working for John Colby’s faction.
“I can tell you where he is. Down by the tributary, they used to have a school. There was a side building for assemblies and services. The school got pulled down, but the assembly hall stayed. It’s sort of being used as a warehouse, but it’s main purpose—”
“A meeting place,” I finished.
☙
I pushed open the doors. Pierre, Samuel, and the bounty hunters followed behind me. A bit of a show of power, and a touch of provocation.
The assembly hall had once had rows upon rows of seats, but the seats had been torn out, and the holes where they’d been set into the floor had been filled in. The floor gently sloped as it moved toward the stage at the end, but stacks of crates and pallets of goods still sat on that gentle slope. It felt precarious, like a landslide waiting for a push to start it on its way, or so many dominoes poised on their edges instead of on their ends.
Mr Colby took the position of prominence by the stage. Unassuming from a distance, his blond hair slicked back, face clean-shaven but for a pale mustache on his upper lip, and a suit coat placed over his shoulders but without his arms through the sleeves. Those arms were in front of him, hands clasped around the head of a cane.
As I drew nearer, I could see that the softer flesh of his throat, his nose, and his ears was faintly translucent, riddled with what looked like varicose veins.
He was a substance abuser, I knew.
His bloodshot eyes tracked Samuel, and with a slight turn of my head, I could see Samuel shrink a little under the look.
Be strong, I thought.
Mr. Colby was a man with a firm grip on this city. He’d held what he could for a long time, and extended his reach to nearby cities with organizations there. He was about the logistics of things, supply and demand, availability, supporting structures. But his grip had slipped recently. He couldn’t move things to where they were best placed when Crown law was restricting movement. He had to be feeling some insecurity right now.
I knew exactly what he was going to do. I’d told Samuel how it would unfold. Now success depended on me being right, both for confronting Mr. Colby and for winning Samuel’s confidence.
Three… two… one…
Mr. Colby remained silent.
One and a half, one and three quarters…
“How good of you, Sylvester, to rescue Samuel there and bring him back to me,” Mr. Colby said. “A good opening to negotiations.”
There we go. And, as we rehearsed…
“I’m not coming back to you, sir,” Samuel said, out loud.
Mr. Colby didn’t flinch visibly at that, but I knew I’d needled him.
“I released him for me, not for you,” I said. I allowed a very deliberate pause before saying, “Sir.”
Every head present, including the four other gang leaders, turned to look at Mr. Colby. Two of the leaders there were as visitors, relatively new to the city. Even they seemed to have a good sense of how things were here, because they were tense, as if expecting the man to snap and order me killed. He had his bodyguards with him, so it wasn’t out of the question.
Mr. Colby smiled.
“My mistake,” he said. “I’ve made an embarrassing assumption. Of course he’s yours.”
“You made him promises about getting him free and appealing his sentence that you hadn’t taken any steps to follow through on. I looked into it. Samuel was stuck in jail for a while, so he looked like fair game.”
Mr. Colby chuckled, shaking his head a little, he raised a hand to wag a finger at me. It was almost striped, red at the knuckle and pale at the finger between knuckles. The fingernail was bruised. “You got me there.”
The tension hadn’t left the other four leaders in the room. If anything, they looked even more spooked.
“If you do a shitty job of looking after your people,” I pronounced, thoroughly enjoying myself, “Then you can’t be surprised if someone more competent steps in and poaches them.”
Seeing the expressions and body language of the other leaders, it struck me that one of my biggest concerns right now was that one of them might come after me to stop me from saying anything further.
Mr. Colby, meanwhile, only laughed. He shook his finger at me again. “You’re downright impudent! I like you, Sylvester. You’re courageous. You’ve got balls, young man.”
I was silent. I finished walking down the long path that ran between the groupings of seats. I stopped, thumbs hooked into my pockets, my backup just behind me.
“I thought you were here to negotiate, or to try for something to spite the Academy, going by your wanted poster and the stories I’ve heard about you. Which reminds me. My condolences for the loss of your friend.”
“The condolences are appreciated,” I said.
“You’re not here to negotiate, are you? Are you here to poach? To carve out a section of the city for yourself?”
“None of that,” I said. “No
t really.”
He smiled genially. His teeth were bad. Damaged. “We’ve got a rebellion group here, a religious man, and now you, young sir. Trust me when I say we’re very open minded, whatever it is you’re looking to achieve.”
“I’m laying down the law,” I said. I looked everyone in the eye as I spoke. “The children of this city are, from here on out, untouchable.”
“Mildly inconvenient, that,” Mr. Colby said, still smiling. “All of us traffic or work with children to some extent. Sometimes they get in the way, and need some correction. But if you want to talk it out, I’m sure we can come to an understanding.”
“That might not be good enough. Not that you’re not being awfully accommodating, all things considered,” I said.
“Like I said, I’ve seen the wanted poster, and I reached out to some people, asking about you. I even have a file in my possession, detailing things about you that even you might not know.”
I raised my eyebrows. “I’m fairly certain I’ve seen it.”
“What was it the poster said?” the man asked me. The smile never left his lips, even as he talked, giving the illusion this was all some kind of joke he was in on, “Devastatingly intelligent? I dare say you’re smarter and more capable than I am. I respect that.”
“And I respect you for respecting that,” I said.
“But you’re not willing to work toward an understanding?” Mr. Colby asked. “That’s disappointing.”
“Like I said, there’s no negotiation here,” I told him. “I’m telling you how things are, now that I’m here. No trafficking in children, no selling them to the Academies. If one insults you, you let the insult pass. And to drive the point home, I’ve got a list of grievances. Past incidents and their culprits. Amends will be made and will be made promptly, or steps will be taken.”
The folded paper I’d drawn out of my pocket as I spoke flapped as I gestured.
“Well,” Mr. Colby said. He spread his hands, one hand holding the cane, before he brought it down to the floor again. “We’ll have to hear those grievances, won’t we?”
“You have the most,” I said. “Seven grievances. Three cases of willfully hurting a child in the recent past. One of separating a sister from her brother, sending her to parts unknown. Two of introducing children to drugs. One incident of killing a child.”