The Broken Man

by Brandon Jones

  “It’s okay, you’re safe,” Josen said, rage and relief warring inside of him. He took a deep breath and looked up at Akelle, who was still holding the now openly weeping addict. “Good timing,” Josen said.

  “You know me,” Akelle said conversationally, as if he wasn’t holding a knife a twitch away from murder. “I’m quite the lurker. Always lurking. Hey!” he said, turning his attention to the sobbing man in front of him.

  “I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die,” the man repeated over and over.

  Akelle shook him by the hair, relaxing his knife enough to avoid killing him unintentionally. “Hey!” Akelle yelled again. “Cut that out. We probably won’t even kill you.” The addict’s sobs slowed, though he still looked unsure.

  Josen had been forced to kill more than once since leaving home six years ago, but never murder. However, at that moment, only Claret clutching at him, shaking and sobbing, stopped Josen from stepping forward to make good on the threat. Threats against himself or his friends who had grown up on the streets were one thing—they were just part of the landscape. But his family—his little sister, no less…

  Josen gave Akelle a simple hand signal. He felt a warm sense of satisfaction as the man’s eyes widened in fear in the moment before Akelle’s punch landed, hard and right at the base of the skull. The addict collapsed in a boneless heap on the dirty alley floor.

  “Well,” Josen said as he brushed Claret’s cloak off. “That was more excitement than I was expecting today.” The words were light and confident, but inside Josen was still full of rage as the four of them emerged from the alley a few moments later, blinking in the bright sunlight. Josen held his sister tight to his sided. Her sobs were mostly under control, but she was still shaking. It was all Josen could do to keep himself from going back to kill the man himself.

  “I’m sorry,” Claret said, her face buried in Josen’s chest. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t want you to go away again. I don’t want you to leave.”

  Josen held her tight, stroking her hair. “I’m sorry too,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

  “I’m sorry,” Claret said again.

  “It’s okay.”

  Josen stopped at the edge of the road on the outskirts of Ludon for a moment, holding his sister and thinking. He looked out towards the Finger looming large in the distance, where Saul was waiting for him—maybe counting on him to find some way to work him free. He thought of Saul—the first person since Grandpa Markise to really believe in Josen, to trust him and treat him as more than a child—and imagined him sitting in a cell, waiting.

  “Did I…” Claret began in a trembling voice. “I ruined something, didn’t I?” Josen looked down at his little sister, then back towards Ludon, in the direction of the carriage and the Pass that would take them back to Ceralon. Back home.

  “No,” he said, and began leading Claret back toward the carriage. “You haven’t ruined anything. Let’s get you home.”

  “What about Saul?” Tori whispered, walking on the opposite side of Josen.

  Josen glanced back over his shoulder, the monolith that was the Finger standing out sharply against the horizon. “Saul will have to take care of himself for one more night.”

  Chapter 16

  Josen managed to avoid Vale that night—something of a minor miracle, as he saw it—and set out for Ludon early the next morning. Though the sun had been well over the horizon when he, Akelle and Tori left Ceralon, there was only the faintest hint of light edging the eastern horizon in Ludon. Ludon’s main thoroughfare had only a few of the most optimistic and enterprising of shopkeepers and stall owners milling about, so there were no delays on this morning’s ride to the Finger.

  The Finger was aptly named twice over. It loomed tall on one of six narrow, grass-covered peninsulas rising out of the ocean like the jagged, six fingered hand of a stone giant. The Fingers, as the peninsulas were called, stretched several hundred yards into the ocean, each a little higher than the last like the fractured steps of some ancient, colossal staircase. Each of the Fingers ended with a sheer ocean side cliff and an ancient war of raging water breaking itself against stone cliffs.

  The Finger sat on the thumb of this stone hand. The prison was a massive, fat obelisk rising out of a squat, two-story base ending at the cliff’s edge on three sides. The fourth side, the side facing the city, was therefore the only possible entrance. The whole thing made for an impressive sight, but the most notorious feature of The Finger was a set of cells the tip of The Finger, facing the ocean, known as The Vaults. These special cells were reserved for residents of The Finger whose crimes merited a special kind of hell.

  The Vaults were partial cells—three walls, a half roof, and the open side with a stunning view overlooking the ocean, and the cliff side below. The Finger was positioned close enough to the cliff’s edge to make the residents of the Vaults contemplate—more every day—a leap from their vantage at the tip of the Finger, out over the squat lower levels of the prison and the cliff below, into the ocean and freedom.

  The special combination of exposure and despair, beauty and the shimmering ocean of hope crashing against the cliff below them must have been maddening, because despite the regular and gruesome reminder evidence of the impossibility of the leap, openings in the Vaults became available with surprising regularity. Almost without exception, the tenants of the ocean-view Vaults voluntarily vacated their cells, and the second-story prisoners nearest the edge of the cliff were the first to be made aware of openings.

  Despite its singularly gruesome reputation, Josen had always found the red highlights streaking the dark stone of the tower eerily beautiful. The Finger was constructed of an imported iron-rich granite, and the iron in the stone rusted and wept in Ludon’s wet climate. To Josen’s eyes, result was the impression that the grey stone tower was bleeding, slowly, into the ocean, like some kind of barbaric Tasoorian animal sacrifice. All in all, it made for a spectacular, intimidating sight.

  The reception room—such as it was in a prison—wasn’t a large room. A single, severe-looking Archonite officer, perhaps ten years Josen’s senior, sat behind a large wooden divider, staring at something held out of Josen’s sight. Behind her, half a dozen other Ladies sat at half as many desks, oversized stacks of paper working their way under half a dozen pens.

  The thin, severe woman at the front desk glanced up as Josen, Akelle and Tori stepped through the heavy, iron-banded wood door, her face a mask of weary resignation. Her wispy hair danced around her face as she moved her head, adding to what looked like a permanently exasperated expression. The look only intensified as the woman folded down the corner of the book she had been holding under the counter, previously out of sight.

  “What’s your business.” The words came out like a statement rather than a question. To Josen’s ears it sounded more like, “How can I get you out of my hair as quickly as possible?” She pursed her already thin lips until they seemed to retreat entirely into her mouth.

  “We just have a few quick questions,” Josen said as amiably as possible. The Ladies of the Archon had a reputation of impatience—particularly with the Clergy. Josen needed to antagonize her as little as possible. “About a friend who might have mistakenly been brought here.”

  “Right,” the wispy Archonite said. “We make mistakes like that all the time.” Her voice was flat and humorless.

  “I’m sorry,” Josen said, “I’m not trying to—”

  “I appreciate that—knowing you’re not trying to insult my intelligence. Would you like to borrow my keys and fetch you friend out yourself?”

  “Look, I just need information.”

  “Get lost. If your friend is to be afforded a trial, the information will be at the Archonite wing of the Governor’s Public Services building.” She picked the book back up and set it on the counter, turning her gaze away blatantly away from Josen.

  Josen stepped forward and flipped the book shut. “What is your name?” he asked, the
cold anger in his chest tinging the edge of his voice.

  “Officer Pemberley.”

  “Officer Pemberley. I am Reverate Josen Oak, and I suggest you drop the condescending sarcasm and run to fetch the most senior officer not sleeping or sitting on the toilet. I would like very much to have a conversation with her.” Officer Pemberley’s eyes widened by degrees as Josen spoke, until Josen was worried he would have to put them back in her head for her. She nodded and scurried away without a word, leaving Josen and his companions to wait in silence. None of the other Ladies bothered more than a glance up from their hellish stacks of paperwork.

  Josen did his best not to fidget while he waited, but nerves clawed at him. He had no idea how much the Ladies knew about Saul, about his role as a crime lord in the city. He had no idea if his attempt to talk or bribe Saul out of prison would have any kind of positive effect. It occurred to Josen as he stood there that his presence could even have the opposite effect—bring more scrutiny down on Saul, make the Ladies question why someone like himself would want to intervene on Saul’s behalf. His plan seemed so sound only moments before. He felt the sudden impulse to turn around and walk back out the door, gather more information before charging headlong into a bigger mess.

  Before the idea had a chance to take hold, however, a woman with steel-grey hair in a short braid appeared in the doorway behind the wooden divider. Despite her apparent age, she walked with the grace of a much younger woman and a genuine smile was set in a pretty, heart-shaped face with gentle smile lines.

  “Reverate Oak,” she said as she shook his hand. “I’m Captain Shelton.” She had a firm grip. “I apologize for your less-than-polite welcome. Officer Pemberley is stationed here precisely because of her sour tongue. I wish you had sent notice. People such as yourself don’t generally show up unannounced.”

  Josen kicked himself mentally for the lapse. He remembered father always doing exactly that. Josen would need to do a better job of acting the part of Reverate if he was going to take full advantage of the benefits and power of the office.

  “Thank you,” he said. There was silence for an uncomfortable moment. Shelton obviously expected something more, but Josen had no idea what.

  “What is it I can do for you?” Captain Shelton asked finally, and it was Josen’s turn to be surprised. He had expected to be invited into an office or private sitting room of some kind, not be forced to petition the Captain at the front desk in front of half a dozen other Ladies. This wasn’t going well at all, but Josen had little choice but to forge ahead now.

  “I have reason to believe an … associate of mine is being held here under false pretenses.”

  “What is this associate’s name?” Shelton asked as she pulled out a large leather-bound book and thumbed through it, looking for a specific page.

  “Saul,” Josen said, suddenly hoping very hard that Saul wasn’t an alias of some kind. “He would have been brought in two days ago. He got caught up in some kind of misunderstanding at the Right Corner, in the Mercantile District.”

  “Hmm,” she said absently, her finger tracking down the page. “Saul … Oh, yes. Charming man. Picked up at the Right Corner on Mercantile District two days ago, just as you said. Arrested for striking an Archonite.”

  “For striking an …” Josen trailed off. That wasn’t like Saul at all, but he wasn’t here to contest charges. “Never mind. He is here, then?” Josen asked.

  “Well,” Captain Shelton said, dragging the word out. She looked up from the book, a wicked sort of grin climbing up the corners of her mouth. This smile looked far more genuine than the one she had given moments before, and far more frightening for it. “In a way, I suppose.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Josen asked, feeling suddenly sick.

  “We decided to let this Saul cool off for a day or two in one of our ocean-view cells. He voluntarily vacated the cell in the usual way. Short and abrupt. He was one of two jumpers last night, actually. He and some Deferate—accused of conspiracy to counterfeit, accepting bribes, misuse of Holy Items, among other things. I believe we have a few of our inmates up on the roof scraping them off as we speak.”

  Josen felt his face drain of color. God’s tears, no. “He …” Josen swallowed and gathered himself. “He couldn’t have—”

  “I could take you up to the roof to identify the remains?” She paused deliberately. “They may not have finished…”

  “No. No, that won’t be necessary.” Josen thought he was going to throw up.

  “Hmm,” Captain Shelton said, consulting the book again. “It does say here that this friend of yours was suspected for several more crimes, with at least one accomplice still at large.” She tapped the book thoughtfully. “Well, I don’t think I have anything else I can do for you. Unless you have any other friends who might be staying with us?” Josen said nothing. “I see. Well, Reverate,” she said, her voice heavy with pleasure at his discomfort, “it was so nice of you to visit. Yourself. In person. To let me put a face to your name. I’ll watch for you in the future.”

  Josen stood there for a long moment, hands clenching and unclenching in mixed anger, confusion, and guilt. He worked the information over and over in his mind but couldn’t seem to turn it into anything usable. Saul was gone. And it was Josen’s fault. Josen had come to Ludon the day before to get him out of prison, but he’d turned around, chosen to go back home. Now Saul was just … gone.

  “Josen,” Tori said, startling Josen as she took him by the arm. He had forgotten entirely about her and Akelle. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  “Come back any time,” Captain Shelton said, closing the heavy book with a thud.

  Josen turned without a word and walked out of The Finger and into the briny dawn at the edge of Ludon, not waiting to see if anyone else followed.

  Chapter 17

  “Reverate Oak!”

  The shout came the moment Josen stepped out of the carriage back in Ceralon, bringing him out of the tangle of his own dark thoughts—images of Saul’s body, broken and twisted, and his last words of apology as he was led by the Archonites. Josen’s head came up at first, expecting to see his father somewhere nearby before realizing the shout was meant for him. He looked without success for the source of the shout, feeling disoriented.

  “Reverate Oak,” came the voice again, and Josen found it this time. Vale’s assistant—Sam, if Josen remembered right—was running toward him, looking both out of breath and relieved. “There you are, Reverate, sir. Vale has had me looking for you all morning.”

  “Is something wrong?” Josen asked.

  “I should probably let her explain,” Sam said.

  Josen looked to Tori and Akelle, hesitant to leave his friends. “Sorry,” he said, feeling numb. “I should probably—”

  “Go,” said Tori. She tried to put on a brave smile, but it came out more sad than anything. “Akelle and I will be fine. Just come find us when Vale is done with you.”

  “Is it girl troubles?” Sam asked seriously, misinterpreting Josen’s scowl as he hurried Josen into the house. “Because I’m good with girl troubles.”

  “What? No,” Josen said, surprised. “Wait, you’re what?” Josen asked.

  “Girls. They’re not actually all that complicated. I know it seems like it, but mostly they want to you to listen. You know—nod and shake your head and make soothing noises at all the right times. The rest of the time, it’s best to stay out of their way,” Sam said.

  “Really?” Josen asked with a small laugh despite everything. He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t tell if Sam was serious or deadpan, but it made Josen smile either way. “You seem kind of young to have too much trouble with girls,” Josen said.

  Sam laughed. “I have nineteen sisters and eight moms.”

  “Ah,” Josen said. “Old Pomay blood?”

  Sam nodded, looking surprised. “That’s right. You’ve been to Pomay?”

  “Tell you what,” Josen said, clapping Sam on the shoulder as they walke
d together. He used his other hand to straighten out his hair and wipe at the tear residue on his cheeks. “Let’s go see what has my sister’s pants in a twist. Afterwards we can trade stories. You tell me about your family and I’ll tell you about my trip to Pomay.” Sam broke into a huge, anticipatory grin. “Assuming my sister decides to let me live.”

  “Deal,” Sam said, grinning.

  They made their way through the house, still familiar to Josen even after years away. It was odd. He had only been back for a few days, but it was easy to fall back into familiarity with the place, even with his family. Josen trailed a hand along the smooth wood of a banister as they climbed the stairs. He walked his fingers across the polished surface just as he had as a boy. In some ways it felt like he had never left at all. In some ways he still felt like that boy, only taller, with more responsibility, more complicated problems.

  And people trying to kill him. For some reason, Josen’s nostalgia evaporated at the thought.

  Vale didn’t even seem to notice when Josen and Sam entered the study. She was bent over a desk, looking back and forth between a map of the Ceral Basin and another piece of paper cluttered with notes and numbers. She made a few notations on the paper, then scratched them out and returned her gaze to the map. Sam took out a book and made himself comfortable in the corner of the room. Josen watched his sister for several minutes, watching Vale repeat what looked like the same process over and over: trace a portion of the map with her finger, scratch out notes and calculations, return to the map and shake her head in frustration, cross out the notes and start again.

  “So,” Josen said finally unable to take the silence. Vale’s head jerked up in surprise. She really hadn’t noticed Josen and Sam enter. “Sam said there’s a problem?”

  Instead of answering the question, Vale looked over at Sam. “How long have you been here?” she asked, her voice somewhere between exhausted and manic. Sam didn’t look up from his book, but held up a hand, wiggling four fingers. “Ah,” Vale said. “That’s not bad. Reverate Oak,” she said as she turned her attention to Josen, her mouth twisting on the words.