Valentine's Rising

by E. E. Knight

  “She gets good marks for volume,” Valentine said.

  “You wouldn’t say that if you lived next to her.”

  It wasn’t so much a room as it was a long closet. There was a double bed, with a single mounted above in such a way that it formed a half-canopy, a table, two closets . . .

  “And a john, for the johns,” she said, opening a narrow door. “There’s even a shower. If we want a bath, there’s a tub down the hall.”

  “You share the room?”

  RC removed her shoes, frowning. “A dancer. Her name’s Melanie. If the deadbolt’s closed, she knows not to come in. There’s a mattress in their dressing room, so she can sleep there tonight.”

  Valentine collapsed on the double bed, focusing on the ticking pattern on the mattress.

  “Bedspins?” RC said, sitting down beside him.

  “No. Just really, really, tired.”

  “Why’s your gun off safety?” she asked, examining the gun he’d dropped beside him.

  “Old habit, when I sleep in a strange place.”

  “Tricky with a .45. Don’t worry, you’re safe. The scuzzies might hit the boats, or the warehouses across the river. Never here.”

  “I see. You know your guns.”

  “Basic training starts at eleven for a girl in Dallas. The boys start at eight.”

  “Louisiana starts at fifteen.”

  “You don’t talk like swamp trash.”

  “I grew up in New Orleans.” Valentine thought he’d better get off the subject in a hurry. “Why’d you leave Big D?”

  “You really want to talk, after a tab of Horny?”

  “You’re beautiful, RC, but I’m about to leave New Columbia. Still a little curious about you. You’re authentically nice.”

  “Authentically nice. I’ll take it.”

  “What’s Dallas like?”

  “I was on my back at twelve. You invest the capital you’re given. I was pretty slender; the guys with a taste for . . . younger stuff . . . dug me until I was over eighteen. My face and hair didn’t hurt. But once I passed twenty and had a kid, well, I wasn’t worth much to my boss. Dom and Garrett, the doorman, were hunting up girls on the cheap. Dom bought me out for next to nothing, and taught me to talk better and do my eyes right while he was building the joint.”

  “Where’s your—”

  “Son, they told me. New Universal Church youth center. Never even got a good look at him.”

  “Fresh start, huh?”

  “Yes. Wasn’t a real change, just on the outside. I’m still doing soldiers, still wondering if the penicillin they’re giving me is the good stuff or not. I just wear a nicer dress is all. Appearances can be deceiving.” “Yes,” Valentine said, drifting off to sleep.

  “You ever wanted to change who you are?”

  “Constantly.”

  RC might have been saying something else, just above a whisper, but he sank into an exhausted slumber.

  Molly was moving beneath him in the darkness of the little basement room. He felt her bucking beneath him, clawing at his back, but the pain only made him thrust harder. Her eyes screwed up tight in orgasm, then opened as she screamed in passion.

  Her slit pupils widened in their yellow irises as her tongue shot toward his breastbone . . .

  Valentine woke, the sheets wet against his back, a rancid taste in his mouth as though someone had wiped his mouth with a discarded diaper.

  “What’s going on?” he whispered. There were thumps and a shout or two from below.

  RC turned against him. “Eyuuhh? I don’t hear anything.”

  Valentine felt a Reaper, somewhere below. Its presence pulsed with cold energy. He heard the crash of a table overturning.

  “It’s two in the morning,” RC yawned. “They’re just closing up downstairs. Sometimes they have to drag people out.”

  The Reaper moved into the street as RC spoke. He heard an engine start.

  “They took someone out,” Valentine agreed. He could picture the scene downstairs. The Reaper arriving, possibly with a human goon or two, and shaking someone awake. The horrible realization that they probably had less than an hour to live as they looked under the hood at the pale, emotionless face. Handcuffs, a waiting vehicle. “The Meet Wagons,” they used to call them in New Orleans. Then the final struggle against its embrace: the last dance.

  “God, your heart is pounding,” RC said, pressing her palm to his chest. “That always happens when you wake up?” She was a shadowy presence beside him, nude, her long hair tied up for sleep. He felt her skin against his leg, softer than the sheets, save for the tickling tangle of hair between her legs.

  “I startle easy,” Valentine said. The Reaper was gone. He collapsed back on the bed.

  Her hand moved lower. “Do you always get a gun when you’re startled?”

  Valentine’s hand had moved to his gunbelt hung on the corner of the bed when he woke, but her attention was fixed on flesh, not steel.

  “A gun?”

  RC turned up the corner of her mouth as her hand explored him, tugged at his pubes, tested his shaft, cupped his testicles. “That’s what I’ve always called them. Men take a lot of pride in them. Wave them around. They can be dangerous if mishandled.” Something of a Texas twang came into her voice. “They shoot. Hell, you’ve got a real rifle, Knox.” She began to stroke him, gently, before turning on the bed. Her nipple left a long, electric trail across his stomach. Her mouth met her hand, and he swelled in excitement. “Big game,” she giggled, a string of saliva linking them.

  He lay there, enjoying himself, until it occurred to him that Malia Carrasca’s baby—his baby, their baby, was due soon. His orgasm, while apparently thrilling to RC, was just an empty series of physical sensations.

  Valentine was on his third glass of water and was reaching for the pitcher again when he heard a knock.

  RC rose and slipped a robe on her slight shoulders. “Melanie probably wants the room back. Don’t worry, you don’t have to leave until you feel like.”

  “I should be off anyway,” Valentine said.

  “Mel, gimme a break, woul—” she said to the door as she opened it. Duvalier stood there, her hair tucked in some kind of bag and a mask of creamy mud on her face. “Oh, Ty, hi . . . I’ve got company.”

  “I know, RC. Can I talk to him, in private? I need him to do something so I can surprise the Number One on his birthday.”

  “Umm, yeah . . . I guess.”

  “Just five minutes, sweetie.”

  RC looked at Valentine, hurriedly pulling up his trousers. “Knox, you remember Ty?”

  “The singer from last night? Check her for forks,” he said. “I’m sorry. I was a little drunk last night, Miss, uhhh, Bright. I didn’t even know the general’s birthday was coming.”

  “Thanks, sweetie,” Ali said. She put a finger to her lips. “Shhhhh, okay? Secret mission.”

  “My lips are sealed,” RC said, grabbing a basket of towels and soap and moving into the hall.

  “Not hardly,” Duvalier said, closing the door and shooting the lock.

  “Tanny Bright?” Valentine said, after sweeping the balcony and the hall with hard ears. It was early morning, still; all he heard were RC’s footfalls.

  “I told him my real name is Ronny McDonalds, which he thought was even funnier. You missed my second number. Was she worth it?”

  “I didn’t know you could sing.”

  “Since this shit started I’ve sung in three different clubs. I’ll let you in on a trade secret: The less she wears, the worse her voice can be. You look a bit green this morning.”

  Valentine poured himself more water, and offered his fellow Cat a glass, but she shook her head. “The ‘hero’s brandy’ wasn’t agreeing with me. I didn’t even try to keep it down. My stomach generally knows best. Are we going to talk about anything important?”

  She lowered her voice until it made no more noise than the breeze through the shutters. “God yes. I’m still active, under Mantilla. Are
you in his contact group too?”

  “I understand you’re active under Hamm.” He used sign language for this, the motions coming slowly thanks to brain-fog.

  She switched over to hands as well. “Don’t go there, Valentine. I thought you wanted to talk shop.”

  “You’re right. Sorry, whatever you’re doing is for the Cause. No, I’m not active. I was delayed getting back from Texas. I didn’t return until just before Christmas. It’s been nothing but disaster ever since.”

  Her hands again: “I just found out about you being here when I hit town. Southern Command got the report you sent with Finner. The overrun was already in full swing when I came up from New Orleans. I got the women and kids from your crew out. It’s a story I don’t have time for. They’re safe down at Steiner Station.”

  “Steiner? Hal Steiner? Lots of rice paddies and a little fortified town?”

  “That’s the last place I was before this assignment. Steiner’s place . . . it’s grown. He’s trying to feed and hide thousands of refugees in those swamps, plus a chunk of what’s left of Southern Command. Got it all phonied up to took like a little Kurian Province. It won’t last forever.”

  “I know,” Valentine audibilized this time, though he kept his voice down. “I’ve got the newest battalion in Hamm’s division.”

  Her hands fluttered like fighting birds; she’d always been better than he at signing. “You say it like it’s your fault. It’s not. Being mistress to not one, but two, count ’em, two generals and an oily restaurateur wasn’t in my plans when I got tasked with infiltration. Mantilla’s one of us, too. Not a Cat, but he reports directly to the Lifeweavers. I haven’t had the chance to tell him about you.”

  “You said you have orders from Southern Command?” he signed.

  “From the Lifeweavers. They’re in hiding, naturally. No sign of Ryu, but your old man Amu’s been passing stuff back and forth to me through some Wolves and Mantilla.”

  “Anything for me?”

  She rested her hands for a moment. “Yes, I’ve got orders. They want you to raise a ruckus behind the lines once the offensive gets under way. Theirs or ours, whichever comes first. Cut the north-south line through Little Rock so they can’t shift their forces south quickly. Tie down as many of them as you can for as long as you can.”

  “If they can hold out a few more months, it’ll be a different story. Consul Solon’s about to send more of his army back to where they borrowed it. Texas, mostly.”

  “I’ve thought they seemed in a big hurry. This is just a guess, but I think something’s in the works, Val. Southern Command’s going to strike back somewhere unexpected, at least I hope so. If you can gum things up here—”

  “I’ll see what I can do. What’s my line of retreat? Back west to the Ouachitas?”

  “I’ve got nothing for you about that. They said just cause as much trouble as you can, for as long as you can.”

  With no orders where and when to run? Sorry, Valentine, right place, right time. You’re a pawn in a good spot to tie down the King and Queen until they maneuver to take you.

  “Who’s my superior?” Valentine asked.

  “I’ve no idea. I don’t think Southern Command knows much more than that you’re in here with some men. They’re leaving it up to you.”

  “Well, there’s more. I brought back something, something that kills Reapers. I put that in the report that went out with Finner.”

  “If you’ve got something that kills Reapers, start using it. Mantilla might be able to get some to the rest of Southern Command.”

  “It’s just wood. It’s some kind of catalyst, acts on the thickening agent in their blood. They seize up and die.”

  Duvalier pursed her lips in thought. “Wood isn’t much help against artillery and armored cars. Speaking of Reapers, that’s the second thing I’ve got to tell you. They arrested a captain on Hamm’s staff. I’ve been stealing papers and I planted some on him to string this out a little more. I think Hamm’s getting set to get rid of me. He used to bring his briefcase and what have you when we were together. No more. Kur knows there’s a spy in his division. He’s taking precautions.”

  “Good. I’m the new guy; they’ll look at me.”

  “I doubt it. It’s gone on since Hamm’s predecessor, and they know it. I took him out, by the way. It was business and pleasure. He tried to pass me around like a party favor.”

  “That house fire. I heard the sad story. Sounded like your handiwork, Smoke.”

  She smiled and said in a whisper, “That’s better than ‘funbunny.’ You know I wouldn’t do the pillow recon if it wasn’t for all this shit. The next incendiary device is going down Hamm’s pants, then I’m blowing town.”

  “I’ll try to light a fire of my own.”

  “Be careful.”

  “Sounds like the orders are to be destructive. That doesn’t always go along with being careful.”

  “Well—”

  “Ali, there’s something you could do for me. Sort of a last request.”

  “Still Hornied up?” she said, incredulity written in block capitals on her forehead. “I thought that tall drink of water took care of you. Dream on.”

  He went back to sign language: “Get me whatever you can on Xray-Tango. He used to serve on the plains. He might even be semifriendly.”

  “That’ll be tricky,” she signed back. “I don’t even know who’s got the intelligence archives.”

  “Anything you can get me would help,” he said.

  “I’ll see if I can get a message out. Maybe some Wolf can find you with the answer. How important is this?”

  “It’s important to me. He’s got some strange qualities. Makes me think a parent of his might have been a Hunter. Sometimes things get passed down.”

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  Valentine stood up. “That’s always more than enough.” “Thanks, Ghost.”

  “Keep it safe, Smoke.”

  She gave him a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. “I’ve missed working with you, Val,” she breathed in his ear. “You’re one of the good ones.”

  Without further explanation, she left.

  Valentine picked up his clothes, and looked around RC’s shared room. There was a tiny stuffed bear sitting on a shelf in the closet above where the silk cocktail dress hung. He wondered about the little girl it had once belonged to.

  He realized he was whistling as he descended the stairs, strangely buoyant. There was sunshine above New Columbia, though the clouds were building as they crept in from the west, but something more than the sun cheered him. RC had brought him an egg-and-toast breakfast after her bath, returning to the half-servant, half-girlfriend manners of the previous night. The taste of fresh eggs and butter wasn’t it either. Perhaps it was just the knowledge that Ali was alive and well, and around to help. Despite the hangover he felt as though a door had been thrown open inside him; the world was giving him another day and another chance.

  It crossed his mind that it could be the prospect of action. He’d been nervous and breathless since Duvalier’s update; plans began to form in his head immediately, and with that momentum his mind shifted to a higher gear. He felt damnably close to precognitive, like a gambler pushing all his winnings onto the green double zero on the roulette table knowing the ball would fall to that slot on the next spin.

  Raise a ruckus . . . raise a ruckus . . . Duvalier’s words ran through his head like the trumpet’s flourish in her rollicking song from last night. He realized where the tune he was whistling had come from.

  He made his way through the alley, past the rat-infested Dumpster, and out into the spring sunshine. General Hamm, Reeves and a few of his other officers were enjoying a café breakfast outdoors.

  “Coffee’s hot, Le Sain, join us,” Hamm called.

  Valentine grabbed an empty chair. “Thank you. Just one cup, though. I’ve got to get across the river, General. The battalion is probably wondering what happened to me.”

  “The
y’ll survive a few more hours. We had some funny business in the night, Le Sain. You’ve got some mud on your collar, by the way.” Hamm stared at the stain for a moment, then continued. “One of my officers was taken away, and I don’t like it. Williams. You remember him?”

  “I met him last night,” Valentine said, remembering the vigorous young officer, exchanging jibes with the rest of the table, frightened only by the bar tab he was running up. “But he wasn’t on the trip out to the Consul’s Residence.”

  “No. No, he wasn’t. Apparently he went rooting through my papers while I was away.”

  “He had access to them?”

  “He was my chief of staff’s assistant,” Hamm said, eyes leveled like firing squad muzzles at Reeves. Reeves looked a little pale in the morning sunshine.

  Valentine tucked his collar under his tunic, hiding Ali’s pasty smear.

  “Who came—”

  “The usual,” Hamm cut him off. “By the time they woke me, he was gone, or I’d have asked some questions. I can’t figure out why someone with access to my office would steal everyday correspondence. Something from the safe, yes, that’d be valuable to those crackers. But why steal letters about the state of the transport system in northern Arkansas . . . err, the Upper Trans-Mississippi? We’re supposed to stop with the old state designations, by the way, Le Sain. Solon’s orders.”

  “Because he wasn’t a spy, someone wanted him to look like one?” Valentine said, feeling that it was a rhetorical question due out of Hamm’s mouth within about five seconds.

  Hamm leaned closer to him. “It’s looking like there’s a spy in my headquarters, Knox. We got royally raped last October, and I think it’s because someone knew the hour and date we were pulling out of the line and sidling.”

  “Ask Solon for different orders for the offensive, or to move up the date, and keep them to yourself until the last minute, is my suggestion, sir. That or get a bigger safe.”

  “I’m wondering if I need a new chief of staff. I get the feeling you can organize and think for yourself. I need to replace Williams. You want the job? Staff work’s a lot nicer than line duty.”