Twig

by wildbow

  “You told me, a while later.”

  “He died before I fully came back from thinking all black and scarred-like. I was so inexperienced, so young,” Gordon said.

  “You were. We didn’t even have Lillian yet. Our balls hadn’t dropped.”

  “This cold reminds me of that,” Gordon said. “That day, that moment. The unfairness of it.”

  “Trying to correct things and making a bigger mess,” I commented.

  “Now you’re seeing what I spent so long getting at,” Gordon said. “All while we’re riding a carriage down memory lane.”

  “Country road twenty-one, I think,” I said.

  Gordon smiled.

  “What I don’t get, and this is sort of annoying me at this stage, but why the hell do I remember all of that, minus a few names, while I can’t remember for sure who’s in the carriage and I have to do mental acrobatics to remind myself that it was Rudy up on this bench a little while ago?”

  “Because,” Gordon said. “Remembering me as perfectly as you do means remembering the look on my face as I brought that hammer down, once a second, never missing, even as he flinched and tried to move out of the way.”

  I exhaled, and raised a cold hand to my face to rub at it, wet but still lukewarm.

  “There’s going to come a time, and it won’t be too long, but you’ll need the real estate, Sy. You’ll need to lose faces, like Evette was doing, to make better room for other memories. Otherwise you won’t stay functional.”

  “If I do that, I can’t break my suspension of disbelief and stop thinking of the Lambs as phantoms.”

  “You’re aware that’s a horrible idea, right Sy? This whole process will go more smoothly if you try to forestall the crazy. Don’t throw yourself down that slope and try to meet the rockiest, roughest bit with your face.”

  “It’s nicer this way.”

  “I’ll remind you that you said that,” Gordon said. “If I get the chance.”

  I blew on my hands, rubbing them. “I wish I’d gotten to see more of the other Gordon. The fragments of personality.”

  “They didn’t add up to a gestalt. They just… functioned. Barely.”

  “I know, I know,” I said. “But he was so much less naggy.”

  Gordon shot me a level glare.

  “Yeah,” I said. “There’s our friendliest rabbit again. Why don’t you get lost?”

  It seemed to be the rule now that the Lambs, Fray, and Mauer didn’t leave if I asked them to leave. Gordon stayed.

  Pierre was approaching from the other end of the road. He’d made the hour-long trip down the country roads from the city to Sedge, then back out to the city, and now he was meeting me here, with no signs that he was any worse for wear.

  One of his eyes squinted a touch where fur around it had frozen. His breath fogged, suggesting he’d been running moments before he’d slowed to a walk and strolled into view.

  “Any word?” I asked.

  Pierre shook his head.

  “Dang it,” I said.

  The carriage door opened. Jessie leaned out, saw Pierre, and then climbed up the side of the carriage, taking a seat beside me.

  “It sounded like Sy was having a whole conversation up here,” Jessie said. “Glad it was you, Pierre.”

  Pierre glanced at me, then looked at Jessie and gave her a bow. “They’re focused on the train.”

  “Is it really salvageable?” I asked.

  “I wouldn’t know,” Pierre said. “I don’t know about trains. But when they realized they couldn’t evacuate, they drew closer into the center of the city. A contingent is holding the train hostage.”

  “It has to do with the rail system layout,” Jessie said. “So long as the train is there and train and tracks are all held hostage, trains can’t pass through. They can detour, but it sets a bad precedent, shifts weight of responsibility, denies them easy access from one port to the next. Supplying the east coast becomes a snarl. All because of this one roadblock, a city of two hundred thousand situated by the coast.”

  I put a hand up by my mouth, whispering to Pierre, “She likes trains.”

  “I’m aware,” Pierre said.

  “Are you cold, Pierre? We’ve had you running here and there, and the weather is awful.”

  “I’m mostly fine. Won’t complain if we find a fire to warm our feet by soon, but I won’t lose a finger or toe to the cold anytime soon. Even my face is pretty toasty,” he said. He gave his rabbit cheeks a pat.

  “Good man,” I said.

  “I’m worried about Shirley,” he said.

  “We’ll help Shirley,” I said.

  The wagon slowed as it ascended a hill. The heat rising off of our stitched horses had intensified, the steam picking up.

  Rudy might be right. They might not last for the return trip.

  As we crested the hill, we could see the scene.

  The city wasn’t too large, as cities went, but it was a healthy one, organic in how things were laid out, all the components present and accounted for. It had a purpose it was built for, a port that could defend itself, and it had lived up to that purpose last night. It was surrounded by a wall. Two sections of the city looked quite well-to-do, with fancy, cathedral-esque architecture, and there was no sign of things being run down in the sprawls that extended out from the nicer areas.

  “That side of the city,” Pierre said, pointing, “Is where the rebels attacked first. They set fires and fired guns at quarantine officers. When the city guards moved over to respond, another group of rebels attacked the opposite side, which was only lightly defended. I went to check on Shirley and the others before reporting to you. Plague hit like a lightning bolt. South end, north end, running through everything in between, cases cropping up everywhere.”

  “Reminiscence,” I said.

  From a distance, the collected Academy forces were clearly visible. It wasn’t a perimeter.

  The others had climbed out of the carriage. Rudy, Second, Bea, Fang, and the Treasurer whose name I could never remember.

  “You can see the traces of red,” Rudy said “A tracery of crimson-pink.”

  Jessie and I glanced at the Treasurer.

  His hair straddling the line between orange and blond, his build very stocky and appearing all the more so for the sweater-neck that extended up to his chin and the many layers he wore. He wore his gun comfortably and carried two knives, one of which had been his, the other won in a bet. He looked uneasy.

  “Someone deliberately spread it?” he asked.

  “It seems so,” Jessie replied.

  The Treasurer had been planning to study epidemics and work in quarantine. He had been studying under a gray-coat specialist on the subject when his mentor had been caught fraternizing with non-human experiments in the lab. His parents had made him change schools to avoid the ensuing scandal. He had ended up at Beattle. From Beattle, he had made his way to us.

  While others were drinking and enjoying each other’s company, our Treasurer was diving into his work. He bore a deep, simmering resentment against Academy, Crown and parents, and had been likely since his parents had insisted he change schools.

  “They’re playing with fire, which means they’re stretched thin,” he decided. “Barely any soldiers or groups covering some tertiary roads, unless I’m missing something. Were there any rumors of strange monsters, Pierre?”

  “Some,” Pierre said.

  “Experimental measures to experimental measures,” the Treasurer said.

  I quirked an eyebrow.

  “It’s… a bad joke my boss once liked. They’re delivering experiment agents as one measure. Which suggests a mindset where they’re wanting or willing to try things that they aren’t certain will work… experimental measures.”

  “They think they have nothing left to lose. Everyone in that city is likely dead.”

  “Yes,” the Treasurer said. He looked out over the city, and there was the faintest glimmer in his eye of what I’d seen in Lillian while she
was on Wyvern, a glimmer when I saw her passion for her work at work. “We’re going to lose the city. You might want to plan accordingly.”

  “We’re planning on rescuing Shirley and our gang leaders,” Jessie said.

  “Agreed,” I said.

  Someone had attacked the city. They’d lost, according to Pierre. Violence provoked plague, plague had snapped through the city in a way that suggested the losing side might have decided to play dirty when they’d realized the direction things were going, and now we were going to lose Shirley, a city we needed to keep our camp running, and a painful amount of time and resources.

  Our pheromone trick wouldn’t work if things remained as they were. We at least needed to be able to hitch a train.

  “Cold weather should inhibit the spread of disease,” the Treasurer said.

  “It didn’t,” I remarked.

  “No,” he said. His face was perpetually sour, as if someone had just insulted his mother, but his eyes were aglitter. “It’s curious.”

  “Poison?” I asked. “In the food? Water?”

  “I don’t know where the fresh water supplies are,” the Treasurer said.

  “I do,” Jessie said.

  Then Jessie began running through it for the Treasurer, pointing out key details for the city proper.

  While the Treasurer tried to plot the spread using that information, Jessie suggested, “It could have been set up in advance, except—”

  “People are diffuse,” the Treasurer said. “Especially when it runs through one key area in town like this. It was too quick, too contained, if it was a line just like that, north to south, along some of the major roads.”

  “Horse dung? Steam from a stitched horse?” I asked. “Something that actually uses the road?”

  “Perhaps. I’m thinking it would be a food.”

  “That’s pretty god-damn premeditated,” Second said.

  His foul language went unremarked on. We were musing on the personality and attitude of someone who could spread a plague this ugly and do it intentionally.

  “It might not be. Something this virulent?” the Treasurer asked.

  “What are we doing?” Bea cut in. I did like how she was straight to business.

  I glanced at Jessie, “Tell me if I’m forgetting something.”

  “You’re forgetting everything, Sy,” she said.

  I rolled my eyes a little.

  “We rescue Shirley,” I said. “We rescue the gang leaders. If there’s a way to get this under control, we do that.”

  “Where was she?” the Treasurer asked.

  Jessie pointed, “By the large tree.”

  “They’ll pick a large, roomy space with good lighting,” the Treasurer said. “Set up quarantine, screen a base population of people, while keeping others in their homes, then try to stay ahead of it.”

  “They won’t,” I said, thinking of Tynewear. “This is a stalemate. The train held hostage, the Crown holding position at key points in the city. It’s a stalemate that won’t hold. If the plague spreads too far, if countermeasures don’t work, and experiments can’t kill people faster than they get infected, the Crown will erase the city from the map and rebuild the railroad.”

  “How are we splitting up for this one?” Jessie asked.

  “You stay outside—”

  “Try again, Sy,” she said.

  “You stay outside,” I tried again.

  “No, Sy. You function better alongside me, and I know the city layout. If I get sick again—”

  “Keeping in mind you’re prone to Ravage and Reminiscence.”

  “—If I get sick again, I know you can handle it, you have a scalpel” Jessie said. “It’s cold, we’re covered up, and we have our suspicion that the plague is presently being spread by food. We don’t eat while we’re there.”

  “They’ll close the borders of the city soon, as soon as reinforcements arrive,” the Treasurer said. “Getting in right now should be fine, but getting out is troublesome. You’ll want to go to some building in the nicer district there. One with room, possibly a jail, with cells.”

  “The Little Castle,” Jessie said.

  We looked at her.

  “It’s the stone building with the tree growing out of one corner that looks like it was on fire not long ago. It’s not. I’d call it a hotel, but it’s not. It’s the sort of place that a lesser noble might stay in while traveling across the country. Aristocrats, visiting allies of the Crown, it’s a place they like.”

  Pierre shifted his weight, antsy. His ears moved.

  “If you’re cold at all, Pierre,” I said. “The inside of the carriage has a heatlamp.”

  “I don’t like confined spaces,” Pierre said.

  “I know,” I said. “But if you’re that uncomfortable—”

  The ears moved slightly again. His shoulders moved back, chin raising.

  “Please,” I said, very firmly. “Let me know. It matters.”

  “Shirley is a good friend of yours and mine,” Pierre said. “I would like to see her safe and sound. I know for a fact you worked hard to recruit those men and women from the gangs of Laureas, and they aren’t insignificant. If we can save them too—”

  “Pierre,” I said, firm.

  What aren’t you saying?

  Our lanky rabbit man fell silent, glancing off in the direction of the city.

  “I’m not sure what’s going on,” Second said.

  “Secrets,” Bea said. She leaned against the side of the carriage, next to Fang, her boyfriend of the now.

  In the city itself, Warbeasts were being used to keep a crowd at bay. They roared, and even miles away, we could hear the echo of it.

  They were working to seize control, leaning heavily on experimental measures, which meant things like Dog and Catcher, likely with some resistance or immunity to plague. The net would slowly close, reinforcements arrive, and the city faced bombardment, gassing, or cleansing by fire.

  “Pierre. Trust us,” I said. “Trust that we value Shirley. That whatever it is, it won’t distract from that.”

  He bent his head. “If she’s there, she’s in the same place as him. A man who meets the criteria you set when you had us stake out the area, looking for new arrivals and anyone important, passing through.”

  “A noble?” I asked.

  “No,” Pierre said. “But close. A noble’s doctor, one left recently without work. This is a man who served the Duke of Francis.”

  Previous Next

  Head over Heels—16.3

  Jessie led the horses off. We’d unhitched them from the wagon, but the yoke that connected one horse to the other remained in place, as did the bridles and reins. She had a rifle slung over one shoulder, the rest of her well bundled up, with hat, hood, scarf, and coat, all black with blonde hair pinned against her neck by the scarf, only the ends sticking out.

  The others clustered around me, helping me retrieve our things from the back of the carriage. Rudy took one of the bags, slinging it over his shoulders and belting it in place. The other piece of equipment I’d packed was heavier, and took a few sets of hands. Second Gordon and Rudy both helped me haul it out.

  The launcher was mounted to a metal plate, builder’s wood framing a shaft and tube, with two cranks and several dials fixed to different points.

  I collected canisters and clipped them to my belt, while everyone else retrieved the clothing, bags, and packs we’d put in around the launcher to pad it and keep any structural elements or dials from being jarred or broken.

  Pierre had outlined the situation, and I’d told people what to bring, giving them a little bit of leeway in deciding for themselves. My hope was that they could learn for themselves, develop their individual styles and talents, and round themselves out with some Academy know-how.

  For now, Rudy was carrying the heavy stuff, Gordon Two had the tools and extraneous medical supplies, Bea and Fang had expressed some willingness to dip into combat drugs if absolutely required, and were thus equippe
d for a brawl, with truncheons, knives, and the same guns that I’d given the rest of the group, Pierre excepted.

  Pierre had provided particulars about what and where after we’d arrived, and now we’d see if the Beattle rebels could adapt and keep their heads and hands working in a crisis.

  The Treasurer was donning his lab equipment. It was of a more custom uniform, the bottom of the coat hanging lower, the collar high enough to touch his lips. He had a Beattle crest on the chest and sleeve, with the academy’ s navy blue, gold, and white braided trim.

  He attached a hood of the same materials and colors, clipping it on, pulled on thicker gloves over his winter gloves, and then pulled on a mask, the edges of the mask pressing the fabric of the hood and collar tight against his face. It was hard metal with built-in goggles, tinted blue. A tube ran down to a leather bag of air that he attached to his belt.

  Rudy, Second and I set up the gun. We found a stump by the side of the road, set it down, and worked the built-in screws in, to fix the plate to the stump. Jessie disappeared out of sight, and the Treasurer wrapped adhesive ribbon around his collar and hood, then where his gloves met his special lab coat. His breath hissed as it inflated and deflated the bladder of air.

  “High quality bit of work there,” Bea commented. “Custom buy?”

  The Treasurer nodded.

  “Get any use out of it?” Rudy asked.

  Again, the Treasurer nodded.

  Then the air bladder hissed, he moved a loop of metal by the hose, and spoke, sounding as if he came from the end of a deep tunnel that was pointing in a direction that wasn’t ours, “I’ll have to burn this after today. I’ve heard bad things about this red plague and don’t want to take chances. I’m going to miss this suit.”

  “You could bag it and drown it,” Bea suggested. “Freeze it, then bake it.”

  The Treasurer paused, as if considering, then ventured, “I’m not sure. Better to be safe.”

  “If the plague can survive all four of those treatments, humanity might be done for.”

  “Not done for,” the Treasurer said. “Cats and cockroaches.”