by Peter Newman
He waits for himself and them to calm before continuing, putting away the sword and pulling out the scope to check behind them, lenses piercing the night.
No one follows.
Engines hum softly in the gloom, waiting. Like the rest of the city, they hold their breath, poised for Darktime, when the Usurper’s forces will command the city. When it comes, lights stutter to life, haphazard in their arrangement, illuminating unfairly. The signal brings people from their homes. Shops reopen, curtains of chain slide back out of sight, doors grind sideways, groaning. Signs lift, are turned by grimy hands and dropped with a bang. A hundred banners to the Uncivil wink, vanish and convert to the Usurper.
Soon, voices call out; exaggerations and lies masquerade as hope. Others join them with offers and bargains. Unbeatable prices for the belongings of the beaten.
People spill like vomit onto the streets, congealing into crowds.
The Vagrant weaves through, oblivious, till the leash pulls tight, yanking his arm backwards. The goat strains to look back at the charred thing on its rear, still smoking.
The Vagrant stops, and in Verdigris’ marketplace stopping invites attention.
‘Trouble with your beast I see? Yes, getting old now isn’t she? Old and tired, I know how she feels!’ The patter is only punctuated by laughs that come thick and fast and fake. ‘Funny things these, only get more stubborn with age, not less, like my children!’ More laughter. ‘But forgive me, where are my manners, I am Ezze. And you are?’
The Vagrant blinks. Ezze’s hand snakes around his shoulder, guiding him through sweaty bodies towards a set of wide open doors.
‘And a truly noble name it is! I am pleased to make your acquaintance, from this moment on you should consider Ezze your friend. Verdigris is a grand city, full of wonders but many of them are shy, not like the women! Ah, come now, don’t be like that, it is just Ezze’s joke. A gift to you. Enjoy, it’s the only thing you get for free tonight, that I promise! Now step this way my serious friend, I know a place where we can solve all of your problems.’
The shop is cramped, broken tech and old skinsuits compete with encroaching filth in the limited space. Jammed between twin cog stacks is a half-breed, shoulders bare, purple tinted. In his hands is a needle, potent and smoking. On his face a paid-for smile.
‘Welcome to my shop,’ says Ezze. ‘Be at home here. You’ll like Bruise—’ a scrawny arm indicates the smoker. ‘He’s like you, not one for the words. Ugly too, eh? Well you cannot all be beautiful like Ezze!’ He laughs into the silence. ‘Not one for jokes, I see that. Now tell me, what do you think of this?’ From the chaos a cylinder appears, scarred metal, topped with tubing, like wild hair. ‘It may not look it but this beauty is fresh from Wonderland, the very finest Deadtech. She’ll produce milk just as well as your beast but without the complaints.’
The Vagrant shakes his head.
‘You are thinking Ezze is mad but he is not! Let me explain how it works. We simply extract the required organs of your beast and place them in the tube. The miraculous device will sustain them and stimulate them to produce milk whenever you need it. You look like one who travels; imagine how it would be to have drinks on tap, even in the middle of the Blasted Lands? Truly we live in an age of wonders!’
The Vagrant says nothing.
‘You are worried about the cost. Let Ezze massage away your fear. The price will be fair and you can even part-exchange the rest of your beast to make the deal still sweeter. You see what Ezze did there? Ah yes, not one for the jokes. Are you ready to deal?’
Turning, the Vagrant begins to walk from the shop.
‘Wait, wait! There are other things, many things, to interest you here. You do not want to miss out!’
Outside the street is choked with bodies sliding past each other, touching. Skin thieves weave through them, stock-sampling, tiny claws seeking, tireless. But something unusual stirs the crowd, drives them from Verdigris’ southern gate. Amongst the anxious faces, glinting helms are glimpsed. Six predators spreading fear.
Vagrant and goat step back together.
A hand waits for each, sliding onto their necks. ‘Friend, you have made the right decision! This time, Ezze will let you do the talking. Say what you need and Ezze will deliver or deliver you to it, whatever it is. What do you need, friend?’
The Vagrant reaches for the door, pulls.
‘What are you doing?’ Ezze’s head appears between him and the outside, alert to strangeness, bobbing as it searches. ‘There’s trouble out there, Ezze sees it. That is not for us. We’re in the business of living, yes? Don’t close the door; you’ll draw them to us. You best stay here and we make deals. Ezze finds a nice place for you, a safe one. You live a good long life. Understand?’
Nodding, the Vagrant pulls some fruit from a sack, throws it over.
Ezze smiles, rubbing his nose over taut flesh. ‘The pasha is fine! You have more? Of course you do, you are a wise, rich man. This way, this way and don’t worry, you are in safe hands now.’
The Vagrant squeezes between piles of junk and lost treasures. The back room to the shop is small, shrunk further by the invasion of things, mysterious under cloth. A bed lines one wall, a jigsaw of rubber and foam, scavenged, forced into shape by wiry netting.
‘Welcome to my inner sanctum!’ Ezze proclaims with a flourish. ‘You will be safe here tonight. Now, share with me your dreams and I will make them true for a very fair price!’ Automatic laughter follows as the man pats the Vagrant’s arm. He stiffens. ‘So tense, my friend, maybe you want something to bring a smile back to that face of yours, eh? I have a friend, he has a girl, just tainted enough, hey!’ A finger waggles for emphasis. ‘You want Ezze to let you meet? For a little extra I let you use the room. What do you say?’
He shakes his head quickly.
‘What is this? You have not even let Ezze tell you about her, she is good girl, diligent, yes? Ezze will paint her with words and you will not resist!’ The Vagrant leans forward, it does not stop the words. ‘She is pert, very healthy, no rashes, no growths, Ezze only brings his friends goods he can trust. Ah, her hips are … are … Is there a problem, friend, you look unhappy? Ah Ezze sees now,’ fingers tap loudly against the shopkeeper’s forehead, ‘so obvious, Ezze is being blind man, many apologies. Forget the girl, she is too plain for you. I have another friend, he has a cousin, handsome boy, firm biceps, a tattoo, very tasteful, goes from the tip of his—’
The Vagrant catches the descending hand before it can point. He shakes his head, slowly this time, holding Ezze’s gaze.
‘Of course, of course, you are a serious man with a very firm grip and you like it that way! I see it all now. But give Ezze something! What do you want? I work miracles for you, but first you say what markets you love.’
He releases Ezze, takes out the navpack, shining its flickering light between their feet.
‘Is sad, yes? Looking at picture of what’s gone.’
The Vagrant points to the image of the mountains, flicks his finger northwards.
‘Ah, you wish to travel, to Wonderland? My friend it is an amazing place but trust Ezze when he says, it is not for you. Better that you stay here, make a life. Or travel south, so much easier to go back. The Usurper welcomes all to his cities but the north gate is watched, closed to the likes of you.’ Ezze’s frame shakes with a theatrical sigh. ‘But Ezze sees your heart is set. It will take a miracle and lots of wealth but it can happen. You stay here out of sight and Ezze will go, see what can be done for you, my travel-hungry friend.’
With practised ease, Ezze slips out into the shop. ‘Bruise, watch for customers. Remember, they cannot leave until they buy. And you, beast—’ he picks up a heavy piece of striped plastic sheeting ‘—your hairiness must be hidden!’ He throws the plastic over the goat’s head. ‘And if you shit on my floor, Ezze eats goat’s eyes tonight, ha!’
Bruise watches his master leave, smile settling to a sneer.
In the shopkeeper’s absence, oth
er noises take their turn. Erratically, tech ticks and legs scuttle just behind the walls. Though dimmed the street continues to bustle outside.
Small hands press on the inside of the Vagrant’s coat. He puts the baby on the bed, begins to search the room, lifting covers and lids. Mismatched earrings sit with nipple rings and nose studs, too clean to be innocent. Toes peek beneath a cloth in a corner, motionless. Frowning, the Vagrant pulls it away revealing a woman of foam, headless, her hips squished flat. He drops the cover back, searching no further.
A fresh smell fills the room, pungent, violent.
The baby giggles.
The Vagrant sighs, folds the soiled cloth and hides it, a secret memento. Bare legs wave excitedly, dancing to a beat unheard.
Hours pass. The baby drinks, wriggles, sleeps.
Footsteps herald the shopkeeper’s return. The Vagrant’s coat sweeps down, swallowing the baby once more.
‘Now it is all clear! Ezze has heard rumours, strange things.’ A hand waves towards the Vagrant. ‘Ezze has many friends and they tell him that the Usurper’s knights came here when they should not, entering the city before Darktime. Can you imagine such a thing? They are searching for a man. Some say he has killed one of them. Impossible, yes, but they are here. Ezze hears a challenge has been made between these knights and the Uncivil’s Duke. The one who gets this man first, wins. Both sides, they are hungry for victory, they will give a great reward to whoever helps them win. You understand, yes?’
The Vagrant’s hand drifts slowly towards the sword’s hilt.
‘All of Verdigris is looking for this man. If he wishes to escape he will need to be clever, to have powerful friends and great wealth. Ezze can be that friend, he has found people that can help but they are scared. Ezze is scared. But everything has a price; freedom, courage, it can all be bought if you have the right goods.’
Getting up, the Vagrant uncovers the goat, detaches a sack.
‘Ah yes, Ezze is interested. What else do you have?’
The Vagrant’s eyes narrow.
‘Before, a sack of pasha would be enough. But now? Now everything is changed. Now they are looking for you, all of them. Terrible things would happen if we are caught and then what would happen to the thirteen children, the three sisters, the sick brother who coughs blood, the hungry wives, and the lovers who keep Ezze going?’
Sacks are lined up between them, leaving the goat skinny, unburdened.
‘For this, Ezze can disguise you, get you to the gates a safe way, even bribe the guards. But you will need a distraction. It will cost. You understand, miracles are never cheap, eh?’
The Vagrant holds out a coin. It sits in his palm, too bright for the dingy room.
Ezze peers at the shining disk. ‘But what is this, another mystery? Ezze is speechless! There is a good price for these on the market now, so rare.’ Happy sweat lines the shopkeeper’s lip. ‘This is good, very good. Ezze accepts your offer.’ The coin is taken, kissed and tucked away, soft luminescence hidden within folded sleeves. ‘You still stare at Ezze, why? Ah you want change. Of course Ezze would normally give something back to balance such a valuable gift but it is not so simple. The coin is valuable, yes? Yes, this is not to be argued with but most have been seized, and to sell this one on will make questions. Ezze does not enjoy questions of this kind. When your distraction is bought and discretion for sale is bought, not much left for poor Ezze. So with much sadness I can give you no change.’
The Vagrant sighs.
‘Do not be that way, deal is done.’ Ezze’s hands smack together. ‘Now we must get to work, friend, if you are to escape Verdigris with all your fingers!’
The shopkeeper rummages, commentary unceasing. A pile of objects begins to grow at their feet.
‘Ezze sees problem. You are too strange, easy to spot. But fear not, friend, here are the answers!’ A pair of horns is held up, painted plastic given the appearance of bone. ‘For your beast,’ Ezze explains. ‘Make her look like a tainted male, yes? Ezze give her hump too, and fake double tail, even you will not know her! There used to be demand for costume, some customers like the taint, sexy, you know what I mean? Of course you do! But now market is full of real thing, so hard to shift costume.’ The shopkeeper examines the Vagrant, shaking his head, pursing his lips. ‘You are more tricky, for you Ezze needs to make purchase.’ A bundle of grimy cloth is offered. ‘Put this on while Ezze is out, and hide your things in a separate bag, we hide it in the hump, yes? They are looking for man with weapons so we give them something else to look at.’
Ezze leaves. Quiet follows.
The Vagrant begins to dress the goat, pulling it into the back room. Horns, tail and hump are attached, the latter’s hollow space stuffed with the Vagrant’s coat. The sword is too big for the hump. The Vagrant lashes it to a bundle of poles, crooked and rusty, wraps them in old sacking, hangs them by flaccid bags already slung across the goat’s back. The goat does not care, her nose dives into a sack, comes away with stolen fruit.
He turns to his own outfit. Stale plastic drops over his head, a giant’s poncho. He ties it loosely at the waist, slips the baby inside. It coughs delicately but does not wake. He waits.
Puffing is heard at the doors. ‘Good news, friend! Ezze finds perfect thing at Necrotraders.’ The shopkeeper emerges, unfurling something long, suckered and dead. ‘Impressive, no? Come closer, smell it.’
The Vagrant covers his nose, steps back.
‘Yes! You see, friend? We disguise you not just as tainted, but as sick. We fix tentacle to you, pad your clothes more, add a little juice, make them think you have leak. Nobody goes near you, no searching, no troubles.’
CHAPTER TEN
The Knights of Jade and Ash return to the gate, hands empty.
Under the arch lurks the commander. It is still, redrawing its boundaries, shaking off the sense of Patchwork and the echo of the Uncivil. New thoughts swirl within, taken from the blending of their essences. Patchwork is afraid of their coming, that they will find something, a secret. It did not expect them.
The group forms a circle, leaning together, visor to visor, essences touching, thoughts running as one.
‘Did you find the Malice?’
‘No. No. No. No. No. This feels wrong.’
‘Did you find its trail?’
‘No. No. No. No. No. There is a hole where the seventh should be.’
‘Patchwork will commune with the adversary.’
‘They will fight us?’
‘They will seek what is ours. We must hunt.’
‘Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. We are diminished. Will the Malice take us too?’
‘We hunt.’
They separate, forming behind the commander, one a step behind the others.
People part for them, pressing against the walls, staring. The commander senses something is wrong. It observes the humans recoiling but not running, their lack of fear disturbs.
A building looms, original walls hidden under repair plates hidden under yellowing skin. The Usurper’s banner hangs proud. Unlike the rest of Verdigris, it is forever loyal.
They push through unguarded doors, pass dozing half-breeds, moving deeper. They enter a hall, filled with living matter and walls that pulse, skin-cushioned, veined. A figure nestles within. It jerks up to meet them, features hidden within its robes. The commander remembers it was larger once.
It flinches from contact but the commander gives no choice, drawing out its fragmented essence.
‘Why … you … here?’
‘The master’s will.’
‘… Why?’
‘Where are the others?’
‘I …’
‘Where are our allies?’
‘They …’
‘What have they done to you?’
The memories are scattered, muddled, enough. The commander’s fists clench, powdering the empty shell beneath its fingers. This is the secret Patchwork hides. The Usurper’s agency in Verdigris is broken. It has been for some time
, allowing the Uncivil’s hold on the city to grow strong. Her cults are swelling with new recruits, her Necrotech fills the markets. She already rules Wonderland and Slake, and Veridgris is hers in all but name. If the coup is successful, word will reach the other infernals and they will doubt the Usurper’s majesty, flocking instead to the Uncivil’s banner or contest the master themselves. The commander’s thoughts fill with concern, with questions. How has the Uncivil become so powerful? How was this not seen? How did the master not know?
The group shuffles along Verdigris’ main street. It is clearing, people instinctively seeking shelter before the Darktime ends. A desperate few conclude business, snatching bargains.
As the group passes, people take notice. They see a slave master and his three wretches, heavy with death’s stench. First, they see the boy drool and moan, one eye open, the other pus-sealed. Second, they see the tainted man, his tentacle seeping, dead. They know he will soon follow. The third is a pitiful creature twisted by mutation, horns and tails sprouting from all available spaces, a second form grows from its back, mercifully covered from view. It moves slowly, every step a labour.
Hurriedly, the onlookers turn away.
Machines power down, their lights no longer needed. Verdigris stills. It is not the Uncivil’s domain, not yet, but change can be felt, the air pregnant with Starktime.
The group moves on, now alone. None speaks save the boy, who wails as if under torture.
Old buildings lean together, making tired arches. In places they collapse, closing streets, forcing new ways to be forged. Homes become throughways, windows become doors. In turn the piles of rubble accommodate life. Handlings scuttle between the cracks, competing for space with rats, ubiquitous, tainted.
Here, the group stops. The boy shrieks again, a fat blob of mucus splatters on the ground.
‘What is with all the noise, boy?’
The pus-lined eye opens, winks. ‘You told me I am dying, father, so I make dying noises.’
‘Ey! Ezze say look sick, and why did Ezze say this?’