"It's okay to cry. Go ahead."
She buried her face in his shoulder and howled like a wounded animal. He smoothed down her hair and rocked gently, letting her release all her sorrow and fear. His leg burned like a building on fire, but he ignored the pain. Corday stepped into the hall and stopped.
She mouthed. "We'll take care of things."
He nodded and continued rocking and comforting Jo. Without thinking, he began to whisper a song he didn't know he remembered. Soon the whispers morphed into an ancient song.
Hush, little girl, don't say a word,
Papa's gonna buy you a mocking bird.
And if that mockingbird don't sing,
Papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring.
He continued singing until she quieted and grew still. When he looked down, she slept in his arms. For a few minutes, he watched her sleep. Frail and small for her age, she looked like the sweetest thing he'd ever seen. She fit in his arms as if she belonged there. Something quiet and gentle settled inside him. He had no way of explaining the moment to himself or anyone else. He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment.
As gently as he could, he stood. With her in his arms, he limped into Burkhart's office, where Burkhart remained tied to his chair. When he saw Fortinbras, he mumbled through the dirty rag poking from his mouth and flopped around in his chair. In the hall, Archangel and Corday had tied and gagged Shark, who still had arrows protruding from his body parts, and two of his men. In the far distance, occasional gunshots fired. The fighting was winding down. He assumed Akbar had made short work of the gangs. If there were any Betrayers left, he was sure they would abandon their leader and get out of town.
He carried Jo to the taxi, wrapped his Legate duster over her, and told the taxi driver to watch over her. He sat on the side of the road and dug the shrapnel out of his leg. He started a small fire from the debris around the plaza. He held his knife to the flame until the metal glowed red. Biting on a piece of rope, he cauterized the wound, grimacing on the outside and howling like a wounded lion on the inside.
Leaving Jo, he joined Archangel and Corday. Since everything was secure, he sent them for transportation to take the prisoners to Collins' office. Ignoring his leg, he strolled into Burkhart's office. The office smelt of blood, unhealthy body odor, and rotting food.
Fortinbras removed the gag and watched as Burkhart moved his jaw back and forth, swallowing and staring at him like a frightened puppy.
"I want answers," Fortinbras said.
"Water," Burkhart said.
"I don't have water. Keep swallowing." After a few moments of watching Burkhart try to moisten his throat, he asked, "Why?"
"Why what?" Burkhart stated as dumbfounded as a wild coyote caught in the glare of a bright lantern.
"Why rip our town apart? Why were you stupid enough to hire Betrayers? Why did you kill the woman I loved?"
Burkhart's eyes grew wide as Fortinbras finished the last sentence. Seconds later, the man frowned and his jaws sagged.
Fortinbras experienced a moment's satisfaction as Burkhart realized he wasn't being rescued. Slowly and deliberately, he took out his pistol and rested the muzzle on Burkhart's forehead.
"Talk."
"Collins. I wanted to get back at Collins. I was hoping he'd be home."
"You tore the entire town apart for a vendetta against Collins?"
"And . . . I . . . I wanted to take over the town. Please, take the gun off my head. I'll tell you anything you want to know."
He lowered his pistol.
"You should thank me. I've given you revenge, too. You of all people must know how that feels. We could be partners. You and me together . . . indestructible."
"And the Betrayers?"
The man's eyes gleamed. "I knew you'd get it. Perfect cover. Everyone will blame the Union, and I'm blameless."
"Well, you fucked up. The Legates are in town and waiting to put you and your Betrayers on trial." Fortinbras refrained from punching the man in the face. "You're the worst sort of man."
"You think you're better than me," the greasy man sneered. "You ain't. You're nothing but a killer. Legate. That ain't nothin' but a fancy word to make you feel better."
Burkhart glared at him, and the overpowering stench nagged at Fortinbras. The room seemed too small, too closed in, too stale. He needed to get outside. He escorted Burkhart into the hall, and shoved him down beside Shark. When Corday and Archangel returned, they took the men out onto the plaza. A few people had gathered there. Many more were in the streets. Men, women, and children milled about, some stained with blood, most angry. When they saw Burkhart, they shook their fists, shouting in a blurred cacophony of accusations and curses. A short, older balding man spat in his face. A gray-haired woman holding a bloody cap stepped in front of Burkhart.
"This was my boy's. He was a good boy." She slapped him.
"Everyone calm down," Fortinbras said. "You'll have justice soon enough."
"We want justice now," a man shouted.
"You'll let the Legates take care of this. They will be punished. You have my word."
A tall boy stepped forward holding a weeping woman's hand. "You promise us, Mr. Fort? No matter what, you promise?"
Fortinbras stared at the boy for a few seconds. "Yes," he said, committing himself to taking care of Burkhart if the Legates failed.
The group parted, letting them pass. Archangel and Corday escorted the prisoners to the Collins' Building.
Fortinbras delivered Jason's body to Gabby and the large man she brought to help her. They stood next to the taxi, a makeshift wagon between them.
"I can bring you the ashes," she said.
He slipped her two cards with enough credit to take care of Jason and some extra for her efforts.
Jo was awake now, listening and watching as he placed her brother's body in the wagon. He climbed into the taxi.
"Collins Building."
He tried to keep his mind focused, tried not to think about the girl. It didn't work. He'd gotten her brother killed. This town was going to eat her alive. If she didn't starve to death, she'd be raped and used until her body gave out. She couldn't pretend to be a boy forever. A lone boy wasn't safe either. Now the city was going to have to recover from another attack, and gangs within the town always got bolder after something like this.
"I wanted to kill him," Jo said. "I wanted to kill him for killing Jason." She looked up, her blue eyes filled with tears and her face twisted into a grotesque mask. "I was too little. I couldn't do anything."
He wanted to tell her that revenge wouldn't solve anything. That it would eat her up and cause her heartbreak and misery, but he didn't. He couldn't because he knew she wouldn't listen or understand.
"Did you kill them?"
"No. Burkhart and the man who had you, they'll have a trial and the law will punish them."
"You mean kill them."
"Maybe, but we won't know until the trial."
"That's rotten. It ain't right. They should die for all the wrong things they done."
"They will."
"Well, if the law don't kill them, I'll grow up and do the job myself."
"If we are ever going to be civilized, we need to trust the law," he spoke more to himself than to her.
He left Jo to wait in the cab. She didn't object.
Corday and Archangel had the prisoners in the lobby. Archangel had bandaged their wounds, but Corday stood apart, ignoring the men, waiting for Fortinbras.
"Akbar's on his way. He wants the trial to happen fast." She pointed to the plaza. "I sent word to the neighborhoods."
Inside, the secretary and Collins' daughter were gone. Bodyguards lounged about in the reception area. Christian Collins sat alone in his office and glanced up when Fortinbras entered.
"Burkhart's responsible. He started this business. He wanted to get rid of you."
Collins took a deep breath. "Yeah, I'
ve made his life miserable. Never thought he'd have the guts to turn on me."
He sat on the edge of Collins' desk and pointed to the security screen.
"You've watched that over and over. It's in your mind and will never leave you. I can still see my dad, dead and bloody in the dirt. I can hear my mother and sister screaming in the house. I can feel your grimy hands holding me back when I tried to help them. I can smell the stink of you and see the smile on your face as you ordered the house burned."
Collins hung his head.
"Now you have a memory. It'll haunt you. Don't let it destroy you."
For the first time in eighteen years, he didn't have the urge to kill Collins. He didn't like the man, but he didn't hate him either.
"I ain't like you. She didn't mean nothin' to me."
"Sure."
Collins looked him in the eye and held his gaze for a few moments.
"Come. Have a drink."
He waved Fortinbras to sit across from him and poured two whiskeys.
Collins held up his glass. "To Olivia. The love of my life."
They touched glasses and drank.
"I know you loved her. She loved you. That was my pathetic excuse for last night. And, all the other nights. I thought someday, she'd learn to love me. Now, I keep thinking if only I had been home."
He almost felt pity for Collins. He'd had similar thoughts all day.
"You'd be dead," Fortinbras finally said.
Collins threw back his head and laughed. "That would make you happy."
"Last night, I went to warn you. I couldn't find you. You weren't home. I tried to convince her to leave with me."
He took a swallow of whiskey.
"She wouldn't. She told me that if she were in danger, you'd come and protect her. She told me to leave. I waited outside until Gordo ran me off. I wanted to make sure she was safe. I hoped you'd come home, so I could convince you to leave."
Collins stared at him. "Why tell me?"
"I don't know. Maybe because I'd rather have you ruling the city than Burkhart." He shook his head. "No, not that. Maybe so you'll take care of this town. Take care of your daughter. Give her a better life. Make this a better town."
He snorted. "You sound like her."
"She's in my head."
"Yeah, I know the feeling."
The sound of gunfire and explosions interrupted them. They moved to the window, but couldn't see any evidence of immediate trouble.
"We don't have the manpower," Collins whispered.
"The Legates will take care of it."
In the distance, an airship came into view. Fortinbras recognized it immediately. It was a cargo ship. The balloon and ship proper were painted to blend into the sky. Pragmatism and not aesthetics dictated the design. Akbar was on his way. When the ship landed, a crew swarmed out of the ship's enormous belly. They unloaded lumber and other supplies.
"What are they doing?"
"They're building an execution platform. From the size of it, I'd say, they found more Betrayers."
"Before things get crazy, I want to thank you for saving the town." Collins' voice cracked at the end of this short speech.
"Save your thanks. This isn't going to be easy for anyone. You think I'm a hard-ass. You haven't seen anything yet."
Once the workers unloaded their supplies, Akbar disembarked in full Legate regalia. Although he was one of the oldest Legates, his stature impressed everyone. Fortinbras was six foot three inches; Akbar stood a few inches taller. Six Legates, two on each side and two behind him, surrounded him.
Fortinbras told Collins to send for the prisoners. Within minutes, they stood in Collins' office. Fortinbras instructed them on Legate protocol. When Shark interrupted, Fortinbras had him gagged. When he advised Burkhart to confess, the man balked.
"If you confess and cooperate, things will be easier for you."
"You mean they won't kill me?"
"No, I mean your death will be swift."
"Dead is dead. I ain't confessing."
Fortinbras leaned in close to Burkhart and whispered, "They have the Betrayers. They will testify against you. If you don't cooperate, you'll be drawn and quartered."
Burkhart shrugged and looked bored, until Fortinbras whispered the details of such a death. The color drained from Burkhart's face.
When the Legates arrived, the prisoners were lined against the wall. Fortinbras had sent for Jo, who stood next to Collins, glaring at Burkhart. Akbar surveyed the group as if he were inspecting troops. Finally, he raised his fisted hand and tapped his chest.
"Greetings."
The Legates returned Akbar's solute.
Fortinbras introduced Burkhart, Gordo and Jo.
"Jo, may I ask why you are included in this group?"
She glanced at Fortinbras and stepped forward. "Sir, this man killed me brother and hung him from a flagpole."
"That doesn't explain your presence. Why are you here?"
"To see justice for me brother."
Fortinbras suppressed a grin. She had evidently listened more closely than he imagined.
"You permit this?" Akbar asked Fortinbras.
He nodded.
"Burkhart."
When Akbar spoke his name, Burkhart flinched, but managed to hold his head high.
"How many Betrayers did you hire?"
"Twenty."
"We have several in custody. They confessed. Are you ready to do the same?"
Burkhart nodded.
"I must have a verbal answer."
"Yes."
Akbar read the offenses to Burkhart.
"Do you plead guilty or not guilty?"
Burkhart hesitated, glanced at Fortinbras, and said, "Guilty."
Akbar turned to the six Legates in his party. They whispered among themselves and before facing the prisoners.
"It is the judgment of this tribunal that you and the Betrayers will be executed tomorrow at seven a.m."
Burkhart fell on his knees. "No. You can't do this. I beg for mercy."
Akbar looked down at Burkhart as if he were looking at a repulsive slug. "Did you show mercy to Jo's bother? Collin's wife? To Gordo and Fortinbras' friends and dear ones?" Without waiting for an answer, Akbar left.
The Legates escorted the prisoners out of the office. Outside, amid hammering, the work of raising the scaffold echoed in the background.
Collins moved to his cabinet, took out four glasses and an unopened whiskey bottle.
"So that's how the law works," he said as he poured the drinks. Then he slapped Gordo on the back. "I think I'm going to like this system. Justice and revenge, I'm not seeing the difference. Join me."
He took up his glass and held it out. "To justice."
Fortinbras downed his drink in one gulp. The bitterness overpowered the sweet. Jo coughed and sputtered, but she managed.
"We've got work to do and not much time. Gordo, I want this televised. Have them start broadcasting now. Film the building of the scaffold. If someone's not at the execution, I want them watching it. Get the newspaper guy and the photographer over here. Give them the story and the details. Take care of that. Send runners out to let everyone know what's happening. Have that ugly new guy move heaven and hell to get to the hospital to bring Jackson to attend the execution. His son will help."
PART V
That night, Jo stood in Fortinbras' living room, staring out at the fire. It would be days before the smell dissipated. In the distance, a gray smoke cloud filled most of the sky.
"You think all those rich people are dead?"
Fortinbras shrugged.
"How long will it burn?"
"Don't know."
"I don't want to burn," she said.
"You won't."
She turned from the window and plopped in his chair.
"Your furniture's weird."
Glancing around the cavernous room with enough furniture to make a Spart
an happy, he took a sip of whiskey. "I like my furniture. I made it."
"It's shit. You could buy fancy stuff."
"I've got better things to do with my money. You need to get some sleep. We're getting up early."
"I can't sleep."
"Why?"
"It ain't safe."
She reminded him of hard, unbending metal.
Fortinbras made a show of locking the doors and checking the surveillance. He pointed to the screens that surveyed the empty halls, the other floors, and the area outside. She feigned disinterest, but he saw her watching in spite of her intentions.
"Lights," he said.
The apartment lit up. Stepping near the window, he motioned downward with his hand. The metal shutters clanked across the windows, cocooning them inside.
"Maybe it's safe here, but not in the hall," she said.
"You're not sleeping in the hall. What's your name?"
"Jo."
"Your real name."
"Jo . . . I don't know. Jason told me Jo."
"That won't do." He studied her until she looked down. "Lyra."
"I ain't no . . . girl." She glared at him. "How'd you know?"
"I pay attention. Go to bed." He pointed to the couch where a blanket and pillow waited for her.
"It's Jo from a book you gave Jason. Jo, Josephine March. He read it to me. He was teaching me to read just like you taught him."
"That's a good name," he said.
From his bedroom, he listened to her muffled sobs.
He remembered another night. After Collins killed his family, he took him to his office. Fortinbras felt as if his heart had been ripped out of his body. Collins yelled at him. He'd cried more. Finally, Collins kicked him in the side. He buried his grief in the fabric of an old blanket that felt like sandpaper and smelled like chicken. The next morning, Collins took him to the Legate Academy.
Jo ran out of tears.
In the quiet, he ruminated over his dilemma. What was he going to do with her? He couldn't think of a place where she'd be safe. He was so engrossed in these thoughts that he didn't hear her get up and come to his door.
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