Dawnbreaker

by Posey, Jay

  And that was how jCharles found himself standing across the street from the Bonefolder’s place the next morning, Kyth at his side. There was a tall, lean man at the door, watching them with a dead expression on his face. jCharles recognized him as Bonefolder’s nephew, Sander. Opening the front door was about all she allowed him to do anymore, on account of his handling of the situation with Cass long ago. Nice to see he still had work, at least.

  “Just follow my lead,” jCharles said. “And keep your hands where everybody can see them.”

  “OK, slugger,” Kyth said, and she slapped him on the backside, and then walked right up to Sander. “Hey, sweetheart,” she said, “We’re expected.” And she leaned in close.

  Sander was about to respond when he apparently figured out what Kyth’s tattoo said. Then he pressed himself back up against the wall to avoid contact.

  “Sander,” jCharles said.

  “Yeah, go on in,” he said, and reached over and fiddled with the handle to let them pass, careful to keep as much distance between himself and Kyth as he could manage in that narrow space.

  jCharles followed Kyth in, whispered, “Why do you have to give everyone such a hard time?”

  “Aw come on, we’re all having fun here.”

  The place still looked exactly the same as it had the last time jCharles had seen it, so much so that he felt a wave of deja vu; the main difference was that he was with Kyth instead of Three. The room was a wide open space, containing a number of tables. A far more upscale version of the Samurai McGann. Same idea, but highly refined. Bonefolder would have been horrified if she ever found out that her place and his had occurred together in the same thought. The bartender stood behind the bar on the left; in his sixties, and still looked like he could bite through a steel bar. The bartender dipped his head in greeting. jCharles nodded back. He scanned the balcony, where three men were arrayed around it, keeping watch over the floor below. And there, at her usual table, alone, sat the Bonefolder. Still just as old, just as severe as she’d ever been. The woman was like an ancient tree that just seemed to get stronger even as she got more gnarled. Impeccably dressed, as usual. But her face was even more sour than usual.

  “Sit,” she said sharply. Didn’t even offer them a drink. jCharles led the way, pulled a chair out for Kyth, who flopped into it. She was being even more gregarious than usual. He took a seat next to her.

  “How should I address this one?” Bonefolder asked jCharles, waving a dismissive hand Kyth’s direction.

  “You can call me Trouble,” Kyth said before jCharles could answer. “And you can talk to me directly. I don’t let other people speak for me.”

  Bonefolder turned her withering disapproval towards Kyth, but it bounced right off Kyth’s gleaming smile.

  “Trouble is not a name,” she said, but whatever else she was going to say caught in her mouth. She closed it with a snap, frowned, and then continued. “Oh. Oh now that is unfortunate. Tell me, my dear, why would you let anyone devalue you in that manner?”

  “I’m sorry?” Kyth said.

  “Another man’s property, indeed. I find that repugnant.” Which was an odd thing to hear her say, since jCharles knew for a fact that Bonefolder had shuttled slavers around, and made a good chunk of money off it.

  “Oh,” Kyth said, and she pointed up at her tattoo. “This?”

  The Bonefolder dipped her head in her slow, mechanical nod.

  “This is just stating the obvious,” Kyth said. She glanced over at jCharles for the first time, gave him a look. From anyone else, the look would have been asking for permission; from Kyth, it was just a warning about what she was going to do. He shrugged.

  Kyth leaned forward across the table, lowered her voice. “I’m Kyth.”

  For the first time in jCharles’s life, he saw Bonefolder look confused. It was a subtle expression; a mild pursing of the lips, a small furrow in her brow. It was magnificent to behold.

  “I beg your pardon,” she said.

  “I’m Kyth,” Kyth repeated. “I know you’ve probably heard otherwise, but that’s by design.”

  She sat back in her chair. “Can I get a drink or something?”

  Bonefolder looked at her for a long moment, like an algorithm someone had just fed a bunch of garbage data to. It went on so long that jCharles started to think the whole thing was blown; that the Bonefolder was so offended she was busy calculating the consequences she would have to face if she just had both of them killed on the spot. Even a couple of the guys on the balcony started shifting, like they knew something was up.

  Then Bonefolder flicked a finger at the bartender.

  “What can I get you, ma’am?” he asked.

  She turned and fixed him with her gaze. “Surprise me.”

  “Please don’t,” jCharles said.

  The bartender ignored the comment and went to work.

  “I assure you,” Bonefolder said, “this is not a game you want to play with me.”

  “No game,” Kyth said, holding her hands up. “Our business has overlapped once before. I’m sure you recall it. You got a good deal. Taught me a good lesson about keeping tabs on who’s on the local security payroll, too, so it was win-win. Even though you won bigger.” She smiled when she said it.

  The Bonefolder’s eyes narrowed. Whatever Kyth was referring to must have given her claim some credibility. The bartender walked over and placed a glass in front of Kyth.

  “Thanks, fella,” she said. She took a sip, rolled it around in her mouth. Nodded.

  “I made the whole Kyth-is-a-guy thing up,” Kyth continued. “Pretty early on, I got tired of having to prove myself every time some boy wanted to do business with me. So I just started giving credit to Kyth, as if he was my boss, and let him take all the credit for my work. Once word got around of how protective he was about his property, I had this done.” She indicated her tattoo again. “And hey, what do you know, suddenly business was a lot less of an argument. I’m sure you know how boys can be.”

  And now jCharles was doubly blessed, nearly miraculously so. Bonefolder’s expression shifted from confusion to one that he didn’t believe was even possible. She smiled. Not in her usual condescending manner that actually communicated disdain. A real life, honest to goodness, smile. At least, her mouth drew into a thin line that was vaguely curved upward at the corners. jCharles imagined that maybe those muscles hadn’t been used in something like a hundred years.

  “How remarkable,” Bonefolder said. “Remarkable indeed.”

  She relaxed visibly, as much as anyone with her perfect posture could be said to relax. “It’s so refreshing to see a young lady having such success. And so clever. I’m delighted.”

  Kyth shrugged. “It’s kind of taking the easy way out, I know. But I don’t have the patience that you must.”

  “Indeed,” Bonefolder said. “Few do.”

  And for all her ridiculousness, jCharles realized that Kyth had just accomplished something no one else had ever done. She’d established a rapport with the Bonefolder.

  “Tell me, Ms Kyth,” Bonefolder said, “what is the purpose of your visit today?”

  More than established a rapport. Apparently she’d just usurped jCharles’s position at the table.

  “Bad news,” Kyth said. “I’m sure you’re aware that something’s going on across the Strand.”

  Bonefolder made no indication one way or the other.

  “Well, whatever you think is happening over there, it’s much, much worse.” From there, Kyth launched into a brief recap of everything jCharles had told her. Listening to her, he couldn’t help but be impressed. She didn’t tell it the way jCharles would have at all, and yet as she did, he couldn’t remember why he’d thought his way had been a good idea at all. Kyth seemed to know exactly which points to emphasize, which to ignore, and how to set up the request. Strangely, though, when it came time to lay out what they needed, instead of asking for anything she and jCharles had discussed, Kyth just ended and took a sip of her
drink. Bonefolder was silent for a few moments.

  “A bit farfetched,” she said finally. “Even if only half true.”

  “If I were lying,” Kyth said, “trust me, I would have told you something that was a whole lot easier to believe.”

  Bonefolder twitched her little smile again.

  “Materials,” she said. “Personnel. Additional funding, I imagine. These are what you will require.”

  Kyth smiled.

  “You will be overseeing this initiative?” the Bonefolder asked, eyes still on Kyth.

  “Not my show,” Kyth said. “This is Twitch’s bag.”

  The corners of Bonefolder’s mouth turned down as if she’d just bitten into something intensely bitter. She blinked slowly, and then, with effort, turned to face him.

  “We have often been at crosspurposes,” she said to jCharles. “I expect we will continue to be so in the future. But as this seems to involve more than either of us could prepare for individually, I acquiesce.”

  She turned back to Kyth. “For you, Ms Kyth, I will see what can be arranged.”

  “I’d appreciate that very much,” Kyth said brightly. “Thanks for your time. And for this,” she said, tipping her glass forward. “A high-class establishment in every respect.”

  “Allow me to return the compliment,” Bonefolder replied. “It is rare that I have the opportunity to enjoy the company of a person of substance. I had almost forgotten it was possible. A pleasant change.”

  She didn’t look at jCharles of course, but he knew the comment was pointed his direction.

  “I will deal with you directly,” she continued. “Keep me apprised.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Kyth said. jCharles couldn’t remember ever having heard Kyth call anyone ma’am before.

  “You may go,” the Bonefolder said, and that was the end of the conversation. jCharles followed Kyth out in a mild daze.

  “What exactly did I just witness?” he said as they crossed the street and started back towards the Samurai McGann. Kyth laughed.

  “It’s called shared experience,” she said. “I could try to explain it, but I don’t think you’d get it.”

  jCharles shook his head and chuckled. “Well I hope whatever magic you did lasts long enough to get this all done.”

  Kyth wrapped her arm inside of jCharles’s, laid her head on his shoulder. “You really need to let yourself have a little more fun with life, Twitch. You try too hard.” He peeled her hand off his bicep, shrugged her off his shoulder.

  “I’m having all the fun I can stand, Trouble,” he said. “I gotta check in with Nimble, see if anything blew up while you were having your tea party.” Kyth smiled at him.

  jCharles pimmed Nimble to let him know they were out of the Bonefolder’s place and on their way back.

  “Good to hear,” Nimble said. “Hollander come lookin’ for ye.”

  “Uh oh,” jCharles said. Hollander typically didn’t like to initiate contact because it made other elements in Greenstone jumpy. “What’s the problem?”

  “Crew came in haulin’ hardware ta make your eyes pop out. Greens stopped ’em at the gate, Hollander’s got ’em now. Guess they’re askin’ for ye.”

  “A crew?”

  “Aye, two ladies, six rough lookin’ fellas,” Nimble said.

  “You get a name?”

  “Just one, the girl’s,” Nimble said. “Call herself Gamble.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  It was the sound that first caught Cass’s attention. A shadow of her footfalls, haunting her trail. Initially she wrote it off as an echo of her own movements, enhanced by the ghost of her weary imagination; she hadn’t slept in nearly two days, after all, and she’d covered a lot of ground in that time. But as the day grew older, the noise grew more distinct, less synchronized with her own steps. Someone was following her, and either becoming less cautious or too tired to continue timing their movement with hers. The recognition triggered an all-too familiar fight-or-flight reaction. And Cass had never been much of one for flight.

  She fell back onto paths well worn by habit. Her years of running with RushRuin had given her plenty of experience at detecting and shaking off anyone who tried to tail her. And all of her practice with increasingly risky chem deals had made her adept at drawing would-be followers into an ambush of her own design. Cass maintained her pace, scanned her surroundings with new purpose. Large blocks of crumbled, collapsed, and rounded architecture formed narrow corridors; cheaply-constructed five- and six-story buildings wasted and blown out, fortresses of concrete snow beneath the unblinking sun.

  It seemed unlikely that anyone who’d started trailing her out here had anything good in mind for her, but that didn’t necessarily mean they’d continue to stick with her if she proved herself to be something other than easy prey. Unfortunately she didn’t know exactly how long her pursuer had been following her, so she didn’t have a good gauge of how determined the person was. Time to put it to the test. She passed a lane on her right and began counting the seconds until she reached the next. When she reached it, she turned the corner, continuing to count, and took her next available right. Her route didn’t take her around in a perfect loop, but it was close enough. When she came out in a place near her original starting point, she turned right again and took off at a full sprint. Best estimate, she needed four seconds in the clear to make it to the next turn.

  She cut the corner at three and a half and held there, crouched, pressed up against the dry and dusted exterior wall of a building, and counted down. Six... five... four... She slipped the edge to get a glimpse, exposing as little of herself as possible. Her count was off by about nine seconds, but sure enough her admirer emerged into the street, thirty yards away, bent low to the ground like a tracker or someone trying to keep out of the line of fire. This was the moment of telling. Cass had demonstrated her awareness of the tail and her ability to escape it. The implications would surely not be lost on her follower; either he would give up and walk away, or he would escalate his pursuit. She had no interest in punishing curiosity, but if the man meant ill, he would receive it in full measure. His fate was in his own hands.

  And it was a man, she could see, though only in partial profile from her vantage. Thin, wiry, balding. His remaining hair was cropped short, his cheeks were heavily stubbled. Unfortunately his reaction didn’t give her the clarity she’d hoped for. He straightened up and started looking quickly about him, obviously wondering where she’d gone. He took a few steps one direction, and then stopped, uncertain. Then he turned her way, looking up the street but not seeming to notice her. And she recognized him.

  The Weir from the gate of Morningside. The one whose life she’d twice saved. It glanced back over its shoulder, the other direction. No, not it, she reminded herself. Him. He was confused now, frustrated. Maybe even a little frightened. Whatever he’d intended to do when he caught up with her, it was clear he didn’t have a plan for having lost her trail. She wondered that he could have followed her for so long without her noticing; clearly he must have been doing so since she left the others. But then she hadn’t been making herself hard to follow necessarily. She’d ducked him with such a simple trick. Even if he did mean her harm, seeing him there, hugging himself in the midst of his uncertainty, any doubts she’d been harboring about being able to deal with him vanished.

  She stood and stepped out into the road, called to him.

  “Over here.”

  He practically jumped at her voice, hunched in on himself as if preparing for an impact. They stood there staring at each other for a few seconds, neither willing to move. He was poised, tensed, ready to spring away, or maybe towards her. She wanted to see which he’d choose before she decided how to proceed.

  Finally, when it became obvious that each was waiting for the other to make the first move, Cass took the initiative. She held her hands up to show they were empty, took a slow step forward. The Weir coiled further, but the angle and direction was enough to reveal intent. He was abo
ut to bolt. Cass stopped.

  “Easy,” she said, not knowing whether or not the creature could understand her words. It hesitated. He hesitated. Why was it so hard to think of them as people? “I’m not going to hurt you,” she said. “Not unless you start something first.”

  The Weir’s eyes narrowed as if he was trying to puzzle out what she’d said. He responded with a quiet burst of vocalized static; not quite the same as the typical sound of a Weir, but in the same family. This was warmer somehow, had some measure of emotional content. Cass couldn’t understand what he meant to communicate of course, but she was certain he was trying to communicate.

  “I don’t guess you’re going to tell me why you’re following me, huh?” Cass said. It was hard not to think of the man as a creature, as something more akin to a dog or a wolf than a man. But there was more than just animal intelligence behind the eyes. The Weir squawked again, louder this time, and afterward he closed his eyes, clenched his fists. Cass recognized the emotion. Frustration.

  “You can understand me, can’t you?”

  The Weir opened its eyes and cocked its head slightly. Cass glanced up at the sky, accessed her internal connection to check how long until sunset. Forty-two minutes. How long had it taken with Swoop? She didn’t know how much time she’d need to find a place to hole up for the night. The fact that Swoop hadn’t reacted to her with instant hostility when he was still a Weir had strengthened her suspicions that she might be able to move among them, but she wasn’t ready to test that hypothesis quite yet. But her curiosity was nearly overpowering. What was this Weir before her now? Not Weir, not Awakened, but something caught in-between. The image of the woman she’d killed was still strong in her mind, the guilt lingering. The similarities were too great to be ignored or to be an accident. She had to know. And if she’d been able to Awaken Swoop from his fully-Weir state with Finn’s help, maybe this creature was a good opportunity for her to try again on her own.