Reciprocity

by Sean M Locke

  The usual way to get from one place to another on the Lower Terrace was to drive or take a cab, if you’ve got the scratch. Most regular folks hopped on a cable car, or just walked. If you had a longer trip or needed to get all the way around the island, the Cirkelvormige Elevated Train was the way to go. Once upon a time, the Cirkel was a marvel of modern engineering, all gleaming steel and humming electricity. These days, the rust and rivets showed through, but it could still move people and freight around the perimeter of the Lower.

  For Kasper’s errand, the best route was to take the northbound Cirkel to the Spit Terminus, and then swing south to Wheelwright Station. An easy errand to run, and I’d be back at the Exedra Arms before lunch, not that I’d have much of an appetite. The memory of that jumble of bodies in the warehouse wouldn’t fade any time soon.

  The good people of Leemte thronged outside the Cirkel station — so many going in or coming out, and the gods alone knew how someone didn’t get trampled every other day. Impossible to pick out a single face, unless you were keyed up to look for a dagger in your ribs. A scrawny horse-faced girl of eleven or twelve was selling day-old sausage rolls next to a newspaper stand. Maybe it was the way she twisted the handle of her basket in her hands and shifted from foot to foot, or the way she suddenly stopped calling for passers-by as soon as she laid eyes on me. She coughed into the crook of her elbow, and she glanced at something over my shoulder before looking at me again.

  When I came up even with her, she stepped in front of me, blocking my way. “Mevrouw, please, would you like to buy . . . ?”

  I feigned a stumble and muttered an apology as I spun past her. It gave me an excuse to look behind me, and I saw a grimy-looking kid in a too-big vest, striped shirt, and sooty newsboy cap. He made a grab for my satchel, but my clumsy-looking turn made him get a handful of my breast instead. He tried to snatch his hand back, but I turned his wrist the wrong way and pulled him closer. A couple of quick jabs to the floating rib sent him to his knees, moaning and coughing. If anyone saw us, I had an excuse — he’d gotten off light for copping a feel.

  A muttered curse reached my ears through the noise of the crowd, and I saw a couple of other boys stop to stare at me. I wouldn’t say they were all dressed the same, but they were similar enough, and they all wore a black band on their left arms. My dancing partner had one too, and I could see it had a capital R stitched on. Could they be mourning the Rademaker massacre in the warehouse already?

  Hanging around to ask seemed like a poor use of my time. I dropped the boy and walked off, away from the Cirkel station.

  A quick scan of the crowd showed me that the clear way was down Florenstraat, so I took it. Maybe I could get away from them. Or maybe they were herding me into an ambush.

  Some of the good people glanced at me, but most kept their heads down, and I tried to emulate them. Head down, feet fast but not running, and on my own business. I couldn’t see if the Rademaker boys were following me, but I had this peculiar itch between my shoulders, and I’d learned to trust that little itch. In a town like Leemte, you learned to look up, too. The man in a newsboy cap on the third-story roof of a tenement might just be lounging, or he might be keeping an eye on me from the rooftops.

  Beyond him and down the street floated a police aerostat, its heliograph blinking away. Maybe the cops in there were bored and talking to another aerostat, or maybe they noticed the little scuffle by the Cirkel station, or maybe those cops were on the take and were relaying my movements to someone else, somewhere else. Someone with an R on the sleeve.

  I’d survived this long in Leemte by assuming the very worst thing might happen and then making sure it didn’t happen to me. There wasn’t time to stop and decipher the flickering, so I kept moving, now putting buildings between me and that aerostat.

  Down Florenstraat two blocks, a right at Enterprise Parkway, hitch a ride on the cable car for a couple blocks, and into Noordmarkt Plaza. Open places, lots of people — that was the key. I stopped at a newspaper stand and picked up the morning edition, but the only news that interested me was whether I was going to make it to lunch without getting shanked by some Rademaker punk. I hid my face behind the pages and tried to blend in with the other folks reading their papers, but I didn’t have much hope for it.

  My gaze slid left, and I could see the crowd parting before a wedge of Rademaker boys, snarling and puffed up, their hands full of bad news. No one could accuse these boys of the crime of subtlety.

  I turned away from the Rademakers and started threading through the crowd. The good people generally didn’t love a courier bulling her way through crowds, but they expected it as much as they expected taxes in the winter and damp heat in the summer. People made way for me, and I watched their eyes as I passed them, watching for any sign of panic or alarm. I didn’t dare look over my shoulder at the Rademakers. No sense encouraging them to drop the fiction of a civilized pursuit.

  Not that it mattered in the end. I took Dynamic Avenue out of the plaza, hoping to lose them in a decent-looking hotel called Mercure. The Rademakers had other ideas, of course; a shoeshine boy gasped and looked past me with wide eyes, and I knew that was my cue. I sprinted through the crowd without looking behind me; I didn’t need to see the stampede of heavy boots chasing me down.

  People in Leemte knew how to mind their business. I’d seen it a hundred times—a brawl happened or someone got mugged, and people found ways to stay out of the way, to disappear, to forget that anything had happened. Passersby now hit the walls, crouched in doorways, or scuttled into alleys and streets, and I was thankful for that. Getting clear of the Rademakers would be hard enough without running headlong into some worker or vendor or, gods forbid, a madill-eyed tourist.

  I turned the corner in front of the Mercure and saw two things that ruined my day. The first was a young noblewoman, entirely too close to dodge. She wasn’t Henriette but looked a little like her, armed to the teeth and strolling the Lower Terrace like she owned the place. The other thing was a pair of men I knew, sitting down to breakfast at an outdoor table of the café across the street. One burly and stubble-jawed, the other crisp and blond and whipcord lean. They might have been the last two guys in the world I wanted to see just then.

  I had the barest fraction of a second to wonder about those two, and another fraction to wonder if the noblewoman would get out of my way like every other thinking person did. And then there was no time for wondering at all; I barreled into her and went down in a graceless heap, with a half dozen or twenty or a hundred Rademakers hot on my heels.

  * * *

  I spun around the lady, fell ass over appetite, and tumbled hard. A streetlight finally stopped me, but things kept spinning, and I lay there for a little bit wishing it would stop. Flat on my back, I could see the glittering arc of the Spray above me. I remembered school and my astronomy classes and how the Spray was made of millions of rocks all tumbling in space. I thought of how the moons and the Spray rotated around the world, and how people in the southern half of the world, whoever they were, looked north to see the other side of the Spray. I thought about how the world spun on its axis, and how the moons turned around the planet, and how the whole thing tumbled around the sun. Then I thought I might puke from all the spinning and turning.

  A pretty face appeared and blotted out the Spray, and that was nice, because all the spinning slowed down some. Olive skin, sky-blue eyes, coal-black hair all piled up with pins and things, and a tiny lace hat perched on top of it all. Long nose, striking eyebrows pulled together, a pretty mouth opening and closing, saying something from very far away. A few strands of her hair had come undone and tickled my nose, and my hand moved to brush them away, but I couldn’t quite manage.

  She turned her face from me, showing me the long line of her neck. A tendon stood out, tense. I turned my head that way too—a bunch of boots and ragged shoes all came to a stop down by the corner. The world snapped into sharp focus, and I remembered what kind of trouble I was in. There wasn’t
time to wonder about the noble girl—there was only time to keep these Rademaker boys from braining me and stealing Kasper’s package. I had half a mind to just let them have the damn thing, but they’d still probably crack my skull for the trouble I’d given them. And if they didn’t, Kasper sure would.

  The noble stood and put herself between me and the Rademakers. I pulled myself up by the streetlight and leaned into it. She argued with them, but my brains were still rattled enough that I couldn’t make out the particulars. I pushed off from the light, and one of them called out, and when I looked over my shoulder, one of them was pointing at me with a chair leg. They surged and milled around but didn’t come after me, because the noble girl held them all at bay.

  She pointed her sword at them and stood like she knew what to do with it. Her other hand swept her longcoat aside and showed the skirt of a smart-looking cream dress with black trim. Her hand rested on a pistol near the small of her back. She twisted her beaded shoe into the sidewalk and her whole body tensed like a wound spring. She had to be a noble, no doubt about it. No commoner could afford to dress like that. No commoner would dare carry a gun around in the open. Only nobles and desperate crooks would carry one at all.

  “This is the last time I’ll say it: Leave this woman to her business,” she called out. Her voice rang clear through the fog in my head. “Do otherwise and I won’t be held responsible for what happens to you.”

  I wobbled to the hotel’s back alley and ducked in. Rich Girl was going to buy me time for whatever reason suited her, and I’d be a fool to not take it. I’d need to get through this back alley, find my way back to Anvil Way, and hustle to find Lewis’s place. Simple, but not easy. It tasted bad to run this errand for Kasper, to run away from those ridiculous Rademakers, to leave a dim-witted noble girl to a serious beating. But a mouth full of the Socket with concrete sandals on my feet was bound to taste worse.

  Good sense told me to beat feet, but I knew I’d feel filthy if I left myself in debt to a complete stranger. I peeked around the corner of the alley, looking back at the standoff between the girl and the eight milling Rademaker thugs. Beyond that simmering riot I could see the two men from the café—lantern-jawed Wolfgang staring right at me, and ever-dapper Felix holding Wolfgang’s elbow and saying something into his ear.

  The tallest, fattest Rademaker shouted something, drawing my attention back to him. He was young and a little better dressed than the rest. There was something familiar about him. Something vulpine and grasping. Something mean.

  His voice got brave. “To hell with this standing around. Jura, Franco, to the alley—get our package. Rest of you, sort out her Ladyship, and be careful of that sword. Don’t mark up her face. Go!”

  “You got it, Tommy!” one of them cried. They charged, waving their improvised weapons around.

  I knew that nobles were mad for dueling, and that their kids cut their teeth on the barrel of a gun or the hilt of a sword. The girl couldn’t have been much older than twenty, but she was damned tall and full of fight. She hardly seemed to move at first—just a shifting of her feet and a quick upward flick of her blade to the right, and then down again to the left. Jura and Franco were down and screaming; one of them writhed on the pavement holding on to a hole in his calf, and the other curled his bleeding hand close to his chest. The girl moved past them and brought her rear leg around in a graceful arc. Her cream-and-black dress bloomed like a spring calla lily, and the ball of her foot drilled Claw Hammer in his chest. He stopped, but his arms and legs didn’t, and he fell on his backside good and hard.

  She managed a respectable uppercut to Cricket Bat’s chin with the basket hilt of her saber, but things went to hell after that. A kid with a meter-length of rebar laid into the small of her back, and all three went down in a tangle of limbs. She didn’t have a chance now, if she ever did.

  In an instant I was back on the sidewalk, my legs pumping hard, my boots slapping concrete. My slingrod sat in my hand, though I couldn’t recall dropping it out of my sleeve. I caught the leather pouch that dangled from one end and pulled back. The kid with the rebar straddled the girl, leaning into his weapon and trying to crush her throat. She was pushing back with one hand, but her sword arm lay trapped under Cricket Bat’s limp body.

  At a dead run, I let a steel ball bearing fly, and another one before the first one hit. Rebar snatched a hand away from his weapon with a curse, letting up on the noble’s throat, and clutched at his temple. A little blood trickled from between his fingers, but I couldn’t study him too close after that. I lifted one foot and used Rebar’s head for a springboard. He gave a nice-sounding grunt as I sent myself airborne, twirling the slingrod and touching the little brass stud. Half a kilo of lead shot telescoped from the other end in a spring-loaded shudder. Axe Handle and Butcher Knife stared at me with cow-eyed wonder as I flew. I gave both boys a quick tap on the tops of their melons as I landed, and they fell in a senseless heap. My momentum brushed me past Tommy, who was staring at the mess like a mule-kicked boozehound.

  Felix had to work a little harder now to keep Wolfgang from charging into the fray. He strained to keep his partner in check, a struggle Felix wouldn’t win if it came down to brute strength. Wolfje and I hadn’t been on speaking terms for a while on account of me being a crook and him being a cop, but he’d still want to look after his little sister. I had to wrap this tussle up quick if I wanted any chance of keeping those two out of my business.

  Tommy and I faced each other. He worked his mouth like he wanted to say something. All that jumping around wore me out a little, so I took slow steps and deep breaths. That had the fringe benefit of making me look menacing, probably. I decided I’d take it.

  Police sirens wailed in the distance, no more than twelve blocks away. He walked backward, his hands open in front of him.

  The noble girl had gotten herself sorted out and stood behind Tommy now. Her hair was mussed and her little hat was missing, but her shoulders were straight and her chin was up. A little blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. Tommy kept backing away from me, and she stopped him with a flat-bladed smack to the back of his head with her saber. He yelped and spun around, his hands covering his head.

  “Young man,” was all she said, and he blubbered something in response.

  I gave him a nasty stroke across the back of the legs with the heavy end of my slingrod, dropping him to his knees. He groaned and cursed at me as I came around and stood shoulder to shoulder with the noblewoman. Tommy kept cursing as I collapsed both ends of the slingrod and put it back up my sleeve. I took my time straightening my clothes and let him say one more unprintable thing before I backhanded him across the mouth.

  “That’ll do,” I said, and he stopped. “Now suppose you tell me who sent you, and why.”

  “How about you just give me that satchel instead,” he said with his chin thrust out, “and maybe you’ll live to see tomorrow.”

  I tilted my head and gave him a sympathetic smile. He reminded me of someone, that same defiant chin, that same badger-toothed stubbornness. “You’re a very brave boy, but it’s time to be serious now.”

  Tommy laughed, mean as a sack of cats. “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

  “Afraid not, son, but the cops will be here soon to sort you out.” Sirens loomed closer, and Felix would lose his hold on Wolfje at any second. “I don’t plan to be here when they come. So spill, and maybe I won’t ask the nice lady here to cut you in a delicate spot.”

  Tommy’s eyes shifted to the lady next to me, who still had her sword out, held point down before her like a statue of a war hero. He swallowed and set his teeth. “Ain’t tellin’ you nothin’.”

  “Fine. My lady,” I said to the noble with a small, ironic bow, “I think Tommy wants to go to the cathedral and sing with the castrati. You want to sponsor him?”

  “My sister will hear about this, and she’ll have your hearts. She’ll—” he started, but clammed up quick.

  “Big Sister will get me,
huh?” I said, but my smirk died, and my stomach started a three-espresso burn. “Wait. I knew you looked familiar.”

  I didn’t know why he made his move then. Maybe he thought I’d kill him in broad daylight, in an open street. Maybe he just panicked. I didn’t get a chance to ask. He pulled a ragged revolver from his waistband, a cap-and-ball type from the last war. Ancient powder fouled the cylinder, and rust spotted the barrel.

  An old terror rose up and seized my limbs. A dirty white flash filled the air, along with a loud bang. Smoke billowed everywhere, and something plucked at my sleeve. A dozen or more voices started screaming, some very close and some farther away. When I put a hand to my throat, I found mine wasn’t one of them. Someone grabbed my other wrist and placed a heavy and warm thing in my hand.

  “Hold that, if you please,” the noblewoman said, her voice just audible under all the ringing. I thought maybe she choked a little, maybe on nerves or on powder smoke. “I will see to our friend.”

  “What?” I asked, but I wasn’t looking at her. The smoke cleared a little, and Tommy was one of the people screaming. He screeched, high and girlish, his eyes blinking away spatters of blood as he stared at the stump of his wrist. I watched, fascinated, as blood spurted from the wound. Some of it landed on my hand and trickled onto the basket hilt of the girl’s sword. My eyes trailed down the long, red-smeared blade. The old revolver lay on the ground, and something curled loosely around the grip. I didn’t inspect it too closely.

  Tommy Sforza, a mean-spirited punk barely out of his teens, had big shoes to fill. His big sister Vedette was raadsman for the Rademakers. He’d have to make a big splash to impress his sister and earn his soldat rank. Grabbing this package right out of Kasper’s hands was one way of doing it. Blowing a hole through me could have been another way. Now neither of those things was going to happen, and if Tommy survived the day, he’d be looking for payback. That was, I decided, a problem for another day.