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The Incorruptibles

Page 23

by John Hornor Jacobs


  For a long moment she looked at Fisk, riding ahead between Titus and Manius driving the wagon. She turned back to me, and for the first time I truly saw her desperation. It was all bound up with love and heartache and sorrow. A beautiful woman, Livia. And now afflicted by her love.

  ‘I—’ She stopped. ‘I love him and don’t know what to do about it. I’ve … never felt this way before. Both of us—’ Her eyes grew luminous and moist but she blinked and swallowed hard. ‘Both of us are so compromised. And there’s nothing we can do about it.’

  I bowed my head.

  She nodded. ‘I will tell him the arrangements.’

  ‘Maybe I should be there, too.’

  We kicked our mounts forward and caught up to Fisk. Livia, her horse very close to his, reached out and softly touched his arm.

  ‘Baby …’ she said, hushed and low.

  His head pivoted, reminding me for a moment of the long necks of the vaettir, their inhuman, predatory grace. He fixed his eyes on her, and then me. They were cold, distant, and cruel.

  ‘My love,’ she said and his expression shifted, like a man waking from a nightmare. I was glad to see he still had that scrap of humanity left him.

  Livia said, ‘I will make arrangements for the rest of the company at the hotel, since I carry the purse.’ She paused. ‘Tonight, I think I should room with Samantha.’

  Fisk looked at me and raised his eyebrow.

  ‘I need your help, pard, watching after Agrippina. Without her, we won’t be able to ransom Isabelle. I need you to remember Isabelle. Tonight we share a bed of hay.’

  He looked at us, his face as blank as the surface of Big Rill when it hits the plains, wide and smooth and untroubled. Placid on the surface, but underneath currents deadly and terrible. After a long while Fisk tried to smile, and it looked almost genuine. Almost.

  Before he took up the daemon hand, he had been guarded – stingy, even – with his emotions. Now he was seemingly so much freer with them, but it all meant nothing in the end.

  ‘Right. I’ll miss you, my heart,’ he said. He took Livia’s hand and kissed it.

  I think maybe a little of her died then. Or maybe that infinitesimal part of her that was her soul alone grew larger. Expanded.

  Hellfire and damnation. I don’t know.

  We took the horses to the stables, passing the Croesus Hotel and Saloon, where our company was to lodge. The stables were a new construction, a large, half-empty affair with two towheaded boys attending to all the travellers’ mounts. The massive building was a long way away from the main street, and connected by a wooden walkway. It still smelled strongly of raw rough-cut pine lumber, half-sweet and half-rotten. Livia paid for the horses with a handful of sestertii and a wan smile. The company dispersed.

  I drew Fisk aside.

  ‘Might be you should outride a bit on one of the fresh ponies, check out our front trail.’

  He looked at me, his face devoid of any expression. ‘No.’

  ‘Fisk, it’s a terrible weight you bear and it will only get—’

  He bowed his head, and when he raised it again his jaw was clenched, but he didn’t have a murderous air about him. Maybe the Crimson Man was there, maybe not. Fisk’s mouth didn’t fill with flame, his eyes didn’t ignite with hatred. Maybe he had whupped the daemon, at least for the moment.

  ‘If I outride, I’ll never turn back. He won’t let me.’ He stopped. ‘You got some cacique?’

  ‘’Course.’

  He held out his hand.

  I went to Bess and retrieved the bottle in which I keep my supply. I handed it to him.

  ‘You told me there was water in this.’

  ‘Huh? Might’ve. It’s expensive. Gotta ride west of Harbor Town to get it.’

  He pulled the cork with his teeth and spat it at me. It bounced off my forehead and rolled into the hay.

  He put the bottle to his mouth and drank, long pulls, his throat working up and down painfully. When he was done he went to a rough pine bench, sat, and rolled a cigarette on his knee.

  ‘I’ll keep this here with me, pard.’ Then he tucked his tobacco pouch back in his vest and popped the cigarette in his mouth. He dug in his shirt pocket for a match.

  I waited, watching him.

  ‘Do I need to hobble you?’ I was only partially joking.

  He laughed, patting the bottle. Cigarette smoke curled around his head. ‘You already have.’

  ‘Keep an eye on the stretcher, will you?’

  He nodded and hefted the bottle again.

  I went in search of dinner for the both of us and some charcoal for the farrier’s brazier. It was going to be a cold night.

  The Croesus Hotel and Saloon was a nice place – done up in the Hellenic style with columns everywhere – with crystal chandeliers and a polished mahogany bar that spanned twenty feet if it spanned an inch. A wide-open room with tables where men and women, gentlefolk and labourers, all mingled together without strife or umbrage. The open area mirrored the bar. Grand stairs, at the rear of the building, led up toward what I could only assume were the lodging rooms. Liveried clerks and baggage boys – all bearing the Croesus crest – scampered to and fro, offering patrons assistance. Two bully boys stood to either side of the front door.

  The hotel smelled of roasted meat and beer and good tobacco.

  I had purchased a wheel of cheese and some bread at the bar and was sorely tempted to draw out my time with a small libation, yet I resisted. I was saddened by the fact I wouldn’t be sleeping there on clean sheets and drinking whiskey in the warmth of the saloon.

  I left there with great reluctance. My time on the Cornelian had clearly softened me.

  Along the main thoroughfare, I found the general mercantile – also owned by Croesus and Company – and bought some withered apples for Bess and a sooty gunnysack full of charcoal.

  It was full dark and freezing when I returned to the stables. Fisk was dead drunk, insensible in the hay. So I broke off some cheese and bread, wrapped them in cloth, and placed them by him, should he awake in the night. I filled the brazier with coals and lit it, enjoying the heat radiating off the metal. After I had warmed my extremities and eaten, I went to the wagon, removed the bag of stones, and placed them in the coals to heat.

  After a moment of consideration, I walked over to Fisk and gingerly removed the bottle from the crook of his arm. He had consumed enough for four men to become drunk. There was enough left for me to take a swig or two to fend off the cold.

  I felt content and as happy as possible as I placed the warm rocks on Agrippina, massaged her arms and legs, and then wrapped myself in coarse woollen blankets and fell asleep in the hay.

  I’m sound asleep and snoring when he rises on silent legs. He stands over me for a long time, looking down at my small form wrapped in grey blankets. Had I been awake, I would have worried. He leans over me and the daemon hand turns on its hasp, catching on its obsidian surface the thin, sharp light seeping into the stables from the blue stars. When I shift in my sleep, he grins a terrible smile and walks out into the night, coatless, his hand on his six-gun. Still grinning.

  There’s no whorehouse in Hot Springs – at least no obvious one like in New Damnation – so he moseys down the main street, whipping out his pistol, twirling it, and reseating it in the holster. But fast. So fast it’s like some sleight of hand – except this trick ends in death and damnation. He takes bead on a lantern in a window, a windvane at the top of a house, the sign of the lares crossroad college at the end of the street. He draws on the doors, the windows. He draws on a falling leaf.

  He draws on the moon. He draws on the stars.

  When he nears the Croesus Hotel and hears the strains of guests’ voices inside – drunken and full of revelry – filtering through the chill night air, Fisk clicks his heels together like a merry partygoer and mounts the steps.
He licks cracked lips, sore from the unaccustomed toothy smile and whistles the chorus of “The White Rose of Cordova”.

  He’s framed by light as he pulls the door open and enters.

  Livia shook me awake.

  She fell backward and sat down hard on her arse as I came up suddenly, brandishing a naked blade.

  I stood up, resheathed my knife, went to the wagon, and flipped back the tarpaulin. Agrippina was where she was supposed to be.

  But Fisk wasn’t.

  Shaking my head, I looked around. Behind Livia stood Titus, bloodied at the temple and holding his arm as though he’d been injured.

  ‘Oh shit,’ I said, slumping back on the hay.

  ‘He came to the hotel,’ she said. ‘But there wasn’t much of Fisk in there.’

  Titus nodded. ‘He busted in, had the piano man play “The White Rose of Cordova” over and over again and started drinking at the bar. Drinkin’ heavy, like a man desperate for drink. He did that for a while, catcalling and cursing. When I came to him and tried to calm him, because the Croesus brutes were watching, he damn near ripped my arm from the socket.’ He shuddered. ‘I got off easy. The look in his eye … ain’t never gonna forget that.’

  Livia, looking more fraught with worry than ever, said, ‘The Crimson Man wanted to play cards.’

  ‘That’s right. He out-cardsharped the cardsharp. Neat little man from Covenant in a three piece and carrying a hogleg. Name of Piet Mondsall, heard all the whores talkin’ bout him. A ladies’ man and almost as rich as Croesus himself.’

  I rubbed my face. This wasn’t going to be good.

  ‘So they sat down to play, Fisk slinging around a bottle of whiskey and grinning that—’ He paused, swallowed. ‘That hungry grin I ain’t never seen before on him except for recently. They sat down to play, and Fisk was winning. He was taking the cardsharp for a bundle, and folks were gathered around the table. The sharp pulled out that hogleg of his and put it right on the table, pointing at Fisk, and Fisk just smiled bigger and said, “Let me deal, one last time,” and he started flicking them cards out on the table and each one of them landed face-up with a death’s head grinning at the cardsharp.’ Titus shook his head. ‘Like he’d switched decks or something. And the grin on that skull was just like the grin on his face.

  ‘So the sharp grabbed up his hogleg, put it right in Fisk’s face, and pulled the trigger. But the hammer just clicked. Fisk started laughing, and I can’t remember exactly what he said, because if the truth be told, I was damn near to wetting my britches right then, but he said something like, “That won’t work against me,” and something about Hellfire being at his command and right then all the guns in the room went off.’

  ‘For that second, when all them guns let go, the room stank of brimstone and we was all surrounded by fire and imps and above it all Fisk laughing, and it was like, shit—’ He blinked and swallowed again. ‘Like Hell on earth, I guess. Lots of folks got hit then from the gunfire. But I was watching the guards, who nearly jumped out of their skins as their six-guns let go. They came a’barrelin’ into the barroom, holding those smoking pistols that had just blown holes in their holsters. Started pulling the triggers immediately, aiming to gun down Fisk, but he just threw back his head and laughed more. Ain’t a laugh I’ve ever heard before. Ain’t one I want to hear again.’

  I pushed myself up from the hay, grabbed the bottle of cacique, and handed it to Titus. He took a long pull and shivered with the alcohol. I offered it to Livia, but she pursed her lips and shook her head no.

  ‘Fisk’s arm shot out like it weren’t even part of him, and that dead hand around his neck was a’glowin’ like a coal in a fire. Fisk snatched up the cardsharp’s neck. There’s a cracklin’ where all the sharp’s bones start a’breakin, and Fisk swings the man around in one hand like he was a flail or something and beats the guards to the ground with the sharp’s body and paints the room red with the blood a’pourin’ from the sharp’s carcass and the bodies of the guards. At some point the sharp’s head was squeezed right off and rolled across the floor, and that’s when the screaming really started.’

  Livia said, ‘I heard the shots and came downstairs, fearing the worse. The townsfolk were huddled against the wall, screaming, while Fisk was laughing and beating to death the guards who kept coming. Beating them with their own bodies. But when he saw me …’

  ‘Miss Livia appeared in the doorway, and Fisk stopped dead and dropped what was left of the guard he had in his hands, so I roused myself and snatched up the sharp’s hogleg and a’clobbered him on the back of the head. He dropped, but not without a couple of licks, and I’m afraid I might’ve cracked something in there.’

  Titus took another messy belt from the bottle of cacique.

  ‘The remaining guards took him and threw him in the jail.’ Livia cocked her head to the stable doors that stood open. ‘He’s to be executed at dawn on the gallows.’

  ‘And Manius?’

  ‘Dead.’

  ‘Reeve?’

  ‘He caught a swipe from a guard, but he should be along soon. He’s getting Samantha and our gear together.’

  I felt poleaxed. I had known the Crimson Man was strong, but not this strong, able to take Fisk over completely.

  ‘What are we gonna do?’

  Livia was quiet for a long while.

  ‘When the sun rises, I will go to the Croesus offices and plead for Fisk’s life and explain the situation we’re all in if we do not recover Isabelle.’

  I nodded. It made sense. Croesus was a Hellene, judging from his name. And, even if he was not a Ruman, then surely he was someone who understood the security that the Ruman presence in the Hardscrabble Territories provided. The Medierans were a great power, but most of that power was vested in ships and the sea. Rumans ruled the land – the legions made sure that remained true. Croesus would see his interests lay with Rume if we explained the situation properly.

  ‘If he doesn’t listen?’

  ‘If he doesn’t listen, Fisk will die. We will never find Isabelle. If Fisk dies, there will be war.’

  TWENTY-FIVE

  The winter sun exploded over the plains to the east and the light filtered through the steam and smoke of Hot Springs, colouring the buildings with the orange and yellow of flame.

  The sound of falling hammers on pine lumber – the industrious noise of coffins being built – resounded over the cock’s crow and the braying of mules. Already, even in the half-light of dawn, people gathered around the gallows, breath steaming, their booted feet churning the ice and freeze of night.

  Livia had returned from her rooms to the stables to gather me and Titus. She was dressed in her finest garb: a beautiful gown, low cut, with a long sable coat, and black leather gloves lined with fur. Jewels at her neck, her ears. Though I would wager gold she had the sawn-off on her person.

  She was breathtaking.

  To Samantha and Reeve, she said, ‘We need you to remain here and watch the gallows, ready the horses.’ She stopped as though something had just occurred to her. ‘What will happen if Fisk dies? Will the Crimson Man be released?’

  ‘No.’ Samantha shook her head. ‘He will remain seated in the hand, which can then be destroyed, sending him back to Hell. Or someone else could take up the object and gain his power. The conditions must be exactly right for him to gain his freedom; the hand must be rejoined to Isabelle. She doesn’t need to accept it, but the hand must be joined with her in some way.’

  ‘Hung over her neck, then, if she isn’t able or willing to take it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I didn’t like thinking about what would happen then.

  ‘You’ll be able to protect her, correct?’ Livia gave a frantic, desperate laugh. ‘This is all pointless if you can’t protect her.’

  ‘Yes, I can. There is no animus toward her from the daemon. It’s a strange covenant
based on the wholeness of things. Once she takes the hand, she will be whole once more and the conditions of his bindings will be fulfilled and void. However, Fisk, who has served as the Crimson Man’s prison and bearer, I do not know if I can protect him …’

  Livia bowed her head. She looked so lovely in the dress, the jewel shining at her throat, the diamonds sparkling at her ears. Strange she had packed such finery for this mission – how could she have known we might have any need for it? – but I was glad she had.

  ‘We cannot concern ourselves with Fisk’s welfare after we reach Isabelle.’ When she looked at me, I knew she was lying. She would never stop concerning herself with his welfare.

  I would save him, if I could. But we weren’t going to make decisions based on that. Not anymore.

  As hard as it was to come to that silent agreement with her, come to it I did. Fisk’s life was a small thing in comparison with the lives that would be lost in a war between Rume and Mediera – and possibly the Autumn Lords.

  The Ruman army is the largest and finest fighting force in the known world. They’re hundreds of thousands strong and bring with them Hellfire in all its various forms: gun, cannon, mechanized baggage train, and steamship.

  But Mediera is mighty, too. It is said that put side to side, her ships could span the seas and could put a fighting force anywhere in the world within days.

  And the Autumn Lords? Should they care to make war, they would have all the might of Tchinee behind them, with three thousand years of civilization driving them on. Who knows what kind of army they could marshal?

  No, I couldn’t even fathom the cost to the world if we lost the girl.

  ‘Have all prepared to leave quickly. If I can’t convince Croesus …’ Livia stood straight, clasped her purse close to her breasts, and said, ‘No matter. I must convince him or all is lost.’

  She turned and left the stables, and I followed her.

 

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