The Broken Man

by Brandon Jones

  Vale held her mouth shut with a visible effort, staring at Josen with an intensity that he couldn’t describe before finally nodding.

  “Good. Alia, I have one more uncomfortable request—one I realize is presumptuous and a little rude by implication, but quite frankly, you’re the only Chessian I know, and—”

  “You want to know if I know anyone in the CRA,” Alia guessed, looking uncomfortable.

  “Well,” Josen said, trying to put on his most charming grin. He wasn’t sure how well it would work lying bruised and bandaged as he was, but he tried regardless. “I was going to try to phrase it more sensitively, but yes. I don’t know what Feramos and his band of revolutionaries hope to accomplish here in the Basin or if they can be reasoned with, but I would at least like to try. Do you know anyone who might be able to put me in contact with someone who might know someone who has a cousin who married someone who makes decisions in the CRA? Or something like that?”

  Alia’s face broke into the barest hint of a smile despite herself. “Something like that. I don’t know if there’s anyone willing to listen, but I’ll see what I can do.”

  “You’re wonderful,” Josen said. “I owe you.”

  “Yes, you do,” Alia said. “We can discuss payment later.”

  “The rest of us are still in the room,” Akelle said. Alia blushed, but her smile widened.

  “Not for long,” Josen said. “We all have work to do. Two days, people. If we’re going to make this work, then we need a solution in two days. Vale, that means I need you to file the paperwork with Berden for more livestock transport permits now. I don’t want to get stuck on a technicality. When we meet back here in two days, I want you all to have solutions for me. Let’s get moving.”

  Chairs scraped and cushions groaned in near unison as everyone but Josen stood and made their way towards the door.

  “What about me?” Akelle asked, approaching Josen instead of following everyone else out the door. “If you don’t give me something to do, I’m going to get myself in trouble.”

  “We have work to do too. I need to talk business with Abbahim, and I need to meet with Tori.”

  Akelle brightened at that.

  “Do you think you can find her,” Josen asked, “and set up a time for us to talk?”

  “Well,” Akelle said, unable to contain a grin. “If you insist, I suppose I could—”

  “Good,” Josen said, stifling a yawn. “You should go tonight. I need to get some rest, but I can meet you in Jurdon in the morning. You and I are going to visit a friend.”

  “Oh, God’s tears,” Akelle said, his grin gone in an instant. “You can’t be serious. Josen, you know how I feel about that old—”

  “Mind your manners,” Josen said. “Madame Junishu is a delightful old lady, and our best chance for the kind of job I’m looking for.”

  “Do I dare ask?”

  Josen winked at his young friend. “Something spectacular,” Josen said. “Something really, really big.”

  Chapter 29

  “So,” said Akelle as he leaned casually against the wall next to Josen, joining the dozen other people doing the same, “how’d business with Abbahim go?”

  “Oh, you know. Businessy.” Josen took another bite of his ooto—a spicy curry wrap that was Jurdon’s most popular street food. He felt good, far better than he had even yesterday, though his arm was still in a sling. Josen had paid a premium—nearly three times as much—for the potato-filled version instead of the fried ceral that usually came inside the ooto. Of course, the flatbread wrap was made from ceral, but Josen didn’t have time to mount a search for the rare vendor who might carry a few more exotic flatbreads. Besides, it was delicious, ceral and all, and having a little bit of ceral in his system could be useful if things got weird tonight. “Did you get a hold of Tori?”

  “Yeah. She seemed pretty stressed, but I got her to commit to a meetup tomorrow,” Akelle said. “She’ll find us at the Basin estate.” He gestured to a hawker and ordered an ooto of his own, then stared at Josen until Josen sighed and paid for the food. “So. Businessy,” Akelle said around a mouthful of hot food. “Sounds fascinating. Shame I missed it.”

  Josen finished the last of his ooto, sucked the juices from his fingers, and shrugged. “I didn’t figure you’d feel left out. Either way, we have some way to make the money we’ve been making useable now.”

  Akelle nearly choked on his food. “You what?” He wiped flecks of food from his mouth and stared at Josen. “I thought you were going to work out the details of renting sheep and buying manure!”

  “We did that too, but we also came to an agreement that let us merge our earnings from the Gennio and Takosi jobs into a real, usable account.”

  “Wah!” The noise that came from Akelle’s mouth was something like a duck being strangled by an especially weak-handed individual. “You told him what we do? ‘Hey, Abbahim, Akelle and I have a little side business in which we take other peoples’ valuables without their consent. Yeah, that is stealing, but hey, if you join us in our illicit activities, you can keep a portion of our ill-gotten earnings!’”

  “Abbahim is a man of business. We discussed business.”

  “And money laundering,” Akelle said. “I mean, the whole thing seems a little premature if you ask me. I think I would have waited to make sure I had a solid, workable plan before agreeing to pay a small mountain of gold for some rented sheep and cartloads of their shit—”

  “But that’s not the part that has you all worked up,” Josen said.

  “No.”

  “Akelle, I promise what Abbahim and I discussed was nothing out of the ordinary. When I brought up the money, he didn’t even blink. All he knows is that I have money I don’t want to have to explain. It’s not even that complicated of a process. I just don’t have the time or the inclination to set it all up myself.”

  “Unbelievable. Every lowlife criminal in the Passbound Cities scrapes and sneaks and dissembles in a dozen different ways to avoid getting picked up by the Ladies for the pettiest of crimes, but two rich guys can get together and talk openly about flouting the law over a bottle of red. You know, in Ludon we would have had to work for weeks to set up something like that.”

  “Are you complaining?” Josen asked. “Because that sounds like a simpler problem than the ones we’re playing with right now. Besides, I think you’re letting yourself get worked up because you don’t like visiting Madame Junishu. Speaking of which, we should probably get going.”

  The sun had sunk mostly beyond the horizon, but the streets in Jurdon were only getting busier. People bustled and yelled and laughed loudly as they moved past one another. Food vendors worked the crowd, proclaiming the superiority of their particular blend of spices or whatever else they thought might earn them a second of attention. Unlike the other Passbound Cities, Jurdon’s streets weren’t lined with shops and little restaurants. Nearly all the commerce in Jurdon took place in the form of street vending, including the food. Almost a third of the people Josen and Akelle passed as they pushed their way through the streets had some kind of food in hand, purchased from one of the many hawkers pressing the crowd with their wares. It gave Jurdon a very different feel from any of the other Passbound Cities, Josen thought. It made the city feel busier—more frantic.

  As the city fell deeper into the evening shadows, Jurdon’s other unique characteristic began to manifest. Rather than putting away their goods and closing their stands for the night, the endless row of street vendors brought out light rods to illuminate their wares.

  “I love this part,” Akelle said as the whole street seemed to light up in rapid succession. He paused briefly to get a closer look at one, eyes wide. The perfect light emanating from each of the glass rods was hard not to wonder at.

  Josen did his best not to gawk as well. It was difficult; the combination of all the rods together made quite the spectacle. The light rods came in every size and color, from pen-sized blue lights that many vendors used to edg
e their booths or wore like necklaces, to rods nearly as tall as Josen, usually red or orange. The Jurdish guild that made them—the Lightmasons, they called themselves—were both politically powerful and extremely jealous regarding the secret of making the wonderful lights.

  “Someday,” Akelle said as they made their way out of the busiest thoroughfares and into a wealthier part of the city. The houses grew larger and spread farther apart. All of these houses used the light rods as well, for both practical and artistic purposes, and Akelle was making no effort to disguise his gawking. “Someday we need to find a way to, um, procure a few of those.”

  Josen eyed his companion warily. “Don’t even think about it.”

  “I didn’t say I was planning to take one right now, just that—”

  “Keep those itchy little fingers to yourself, Akelle. The Lightmasons keep flawless records of each and every light rod they make. They know exactly who owns them and where that person lives. Any theft of a light rod is reported directly to the Lightmasons, and if the rumors are true, they even have their own team specialized in recovering missing rods. No sane person would ever buy—let alone display—a light rod not purchased directly from the Lightmasons right here in Jurdon.”

  “Who said I planned on selling it?”

  “So, if you can’t display it and you can’t sell it, what exactly do you think you’re going to do with it?” Josen asked. He handed Akelle a soft black mask and proceeded to tie an identical one around his own eyes.

  “So much better than a fake nose,” Akelle said instead of answering Josen’s question. He grinned up at Josen, his now-masked face lit by the soft bluish light that the residents of this particular neighborhood preferred. The only exception was the house at the end of the lane—the house that also happened to be Akelle and Josen’s destination.

  The tall, steep–gabled, gaudy monstrosity of a house would have stood out regardless of location, but at the edge of the city, alone in an unkempt field of tall grass and wild shrubs, it was absolutely impossible to miss.

  “Huh,” Josen said as he and Akelle made their way up the graveled walkway. “That’s a lot of pink.” And indeed it was. Lightrods as long as Josen’s arm lit the old house from every angle, painting the house a brilliant, glowing pink.

  “God’s tears,” Akelle said, reaching up to adjust his mask. “I feel like my eyes are melting.”

  “Come on,” Josen said. “This is an improvement to last time. I still have no idea how she managed to make her rods actually flicker.” Josen could still remember the headache the flashing lights had given him. Considering that Madame Junishu was one of the most prominent freelance criminals in the Passbound Cities, she certainly enjoyed drawing attention to herself.

  The door swung open the moment Josen’s shoes were both firmly on the porch, revealing a butler standing at stiff attention. The man was elderly, his face well wrinkled and spotted, his hair only starting to grey around his temples despite his age. But most noticeable was the man’s formal cut tuxedo—pale, mint green. His pink bowtie perfectly matched the lights outside.

  “Welcome, gentlemen,” the man said in a smooth baritone. “Should the Madame be expecting you?”

  “Unlikely,” Josen said, doing his best not to stare at the man’s clothes and trying to keep a straight face. This was a new extreme even for Madame Junishu. “Though I believe she’ll want to see us regardless. We share an uncommon interest in underground turtle racing.”

  “I see,” the butler said, his eyes narrowing in a way that made Josen nervous. “Excuse me while I speak with the lady of the house. Please make yourselves comfortable while you wait.” He was gone before Josen and Akelle settled into the pair of chairs nearest the front entryway.

  “Are you sure that was the right pass phrase?” Akelle whispered, eyes darting to several of the nearest available exits. “The walking watermelon didn’t seem impressed.”

  “Is that what he was going for? I kind of thought it was more of a faded parrot kind of look.”

  Akelle snickered. “But seriously,” he said. “It’s been a long time since we’ve visited the Madame. Nothing good happens if it turns out your passphrase is as bad as the fruit at the bottom of the barrel.”

  Josen shrugged. “What’s the old guy going to do to us, haul us out by our ears? Give us a firm scolding?”

  “Excuse me,” said a smooth, startling baritone voice.

  Josen felt the blood drain and his heart descend slowly into his stomach as he turned to face the butler.

  “The old guy has these,” said the butler, raising a pair of ornate wheellock pistols. “And steady hands.”

  Josen looked down the yawning barrel of one of the guns, then past the gun to the hands holding them. The butler’s dark, weathered hands were intricately tattooed. The pattern was obscured by wrinkles, but the tattoo clearly ran across his knuckles before swirling into a complex knot on the back of his hands.

  Hands that, true to the butler’s word, didn’t so much as quiver.

  The butler grinned at Josen.

  “Well, bleeding hands,” Akelle said. “Josen, if we live long enough, we need to have a serious conversation. Several, maybe.”

  “Come,” the butler said before Josen could respond—which was well enough, as Josen’s power of speech had taken a flying leap at the sight of a pistol aimed at his head. “The Madame does want to see you.”

  Chapter 30

  The butler opened a set of doors and gestured for Josen and Akelle to step through. The room was small and comfortably—if haphazardly—furnished. Pillows and throws decorated every surface with no preference for color or style. The only requirement seemed to an absolute emphasis on comfort.

  Madame Junishu stood in the center of the room and beckoned for them to enter. “Thank you, Gerult. Come here, gentleman. Let me see you.” Josen and Akelle obliged. Gerult hefted his pistols and smirked at them.

  Madame Junishu’s appearance, as always, was a masterpiece of dissonance—though whether intentional or by happy accident was a mystery. Her clothes were well made and as colorful as her home. She wore a flowing red and yellow dress with a man’s riding jacket dyed violet. Her kinky hair was wild and unkempt, but her nails were painted the same mint green as Gerult’s suit, and her makeup was flawless. The ensemble managed to both distract and draw attention to Madame Junishu’s pale, unseeing eyes.

  “Ah, the Broken Man,” said Madame Junishu, her hands working gently over Josen’s still-masked face, fingers doing the work her eyes could not. She kissed him lightly on the cheek when she finished the examination—her milky eyes remaining open as she did—and then moved her examination to Akelle. Akelle stood uncomfortably as Madame Junishu took her time caressing Akelle’s face in a far more intimate manner than with Josen. “And his pretty young partner. Gerult?”

  “Yes, Madame,” replied the ostentatiously dressed butler.

  “I am familiar with these two. They are welcome, despite their woeful and dangerous ignorance of our most recent passphrases.”

  “Yes, Madame.” Gerult closed the door behind him, pistols still in hand.

  “My, Broken Boy,” Madame Junishu purred, her hands still perusing Akelle’s face, “I do wish you wouldn’t wait so long between visits.”

  “Our apologies,” said Josen. “It has been a very busy few months.”

  “So I understand,” said Madame Junishu. She pulled Akelle in suddenly for an open-mouth kiss, then dropped his face and turned away to lower herself into an overstuffed chair. She gestured for Akelle and Josen to do the same, a small grin on her face. “I’ve heard your name mentioned a number of times in recent months.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Josen said. Akelle dug out a handkerchief and began wiping his tongue, trying not to gag.

  “Modest work. Well-paying and well-crafted jobs, from the rumors. A dozen diamond necklaces lost in transport from Kendai to Sefti, and ten white barrels of old man Gennio’s most exquisite whiskey disappeared from personal sho
p on the Efora. The only trace of either thievery was a broken steel mask left in place of the stolen goods.”

  “Yes, well—” Josen began.

  “And you didn’t approach me about fencing either,” Madame Junishu said with a pout. She put on a wounded expression and clucked her tongue, then sighed and massaged her hands through her hair. “I would have found them both good homes, but I’m more upset about the whiskey. I’ve never had a proper glass of Gennio, you know… But, you are here now. I may find it in myself to forgive you if you’ve brought me something particularly fun.” She sat forward, eager to hear Josen’s offer.

  “Actually,” Josen said, “we’re not looking to fence anything at the moment.”

  “Really?” Madame Junishu said, managing to sound both annoyed and intrigued at the same time. “Then what, might I ask, is the purpose of your visit?” For all her talk a moment before, admonishing them to visit more often, her tone had become dangerous at the suggestion that this might be nothing more than a social call. “I hope you haven’t come simply to waste my time.”

  “No. Certainly not,” Josen said, trying his best to keep his voice level and calm. “I would never dream of wasting even a moment of your very precious time.”

  “Then I suggest you get on with it, whatever it is.”

  “We want a wish-list job.”

  Madame Junishu’s mouth opened in a reply, and then shut almost immediately. She paused for a long moment before opening it again. “Beg pardon?” she said, her milky blue eyes narrowing ever so slightly. The danger in her voice had receded, but only barely.

  “Now, Madame,” Josen said, trying to sound hurt. “Don’t play coy. You know what I mean. I know your clients make requests on occasion. I find myself in want of money, and without the time or inclination to put together another job on speculation.”

  “Of course. But you do understand the precarious position this puts us in. I cannot simply hand you a list of items and let you have your choice. What would I do if, after giving you access to such a list, several of those items were stolen but never fenced through myself? I would have no way of knowing if you had cut me out in order to make yourself a few extra coins, or if it was mere coincidence. An enterprising woman of business would have no choice but to assume ill intent and take the appropriate measures. Before you know it, all my usual thieves—even my favorites like you, Broken Man—are dead in ditches because I chose to exercise caution only after the fact, once it had become the extreme option.”