Tim Akers - Heart of Veridon

He raised the pistol. “Is that a risk you’re willing to-”

I was. I lunged, ducking down. By the time he realized his error, finished calculating the risk of displeasing his masters versus the imminent threat of my attack, it was too late. I had my hand on his shoulder. The shot went wide. The metal wall of the carriage sizzled. I punched the old man twice, then hissed as a blade went into my shoulder. I batted the pistol out of his hand and looked down to see the other wrapped around the hilt of a knife that was digging around for my lung.

“I’m sorry, Jacob,” he said through gritted teeth. “Things change. We have to move with the tide.”

I broke his wrist, broke his arm and then plucked the knife out of my shoulder and put it into his throat. His powdered face flushed, then drained of color and he went limp. The driver was yelling. I banged on the wall of the carriage and we slid to a halt. By the time I got out, the driver had ditched and was disappearing around the corner of the nearest darkened alleyway.

The side of the carriage was brittle from the Bane. Not much good against inorganic material, certainly not as dangerous as it was to flesh. I picked up the pistol and checked the cylinder. The rest of the load was normal shot. It rarely took more than one. I fished my gun out of Matthew’s pocket, then leaned over the carriage wheel and threw up. I left Matthew his pistol, crossed his jigsaw puzzle arms over his chest and closed his blank eyes.

I ran. It wasn’t more than a block before the blood stopped leaking out of my shoulder, and in another block the wound didn’t hurt at all. I tried the arm out, twisting it back and forth. I was fine. Wilson was right. Whatever artifact had been installed in my chest was mending me, and it was doing a better job of it. I felt less real every day.

The ease with which I’d killed Matthew was still settling in. I’d known the old man since before I went into the Academy. He had betrayed me, fair enough, but to throw him away like that… it didn’t matter. I could feel the desperation nagging at my heels. I didn’t like being desperate. I was done being desperate.

I stumbled into our hidden cistern and started gathering my things. Wilson was back, busy in his corner under a frictionlamp, Emily peering over his shoulder.

“Any luck?” Emily asked. Her voice betrayed none of our earlier awkwardness.

“Kind of. Had to kill an old friend. But I found out some interesting stuff.”

“That your method now? Beating secrets out of old friends?”

“Hardly. He forced my hand.”

“Who?”

“Matthew Four. He pulled a gun on me. Bane.”

“Shit,” Emily said. Wilson looked up.

“He wasn’t bluffing?” Wilson asked.

“Nope. He only had the one round, but it was the true thing.”

“Shit,” Emily said again, just to be clear. “Valentine’s not going to like that. Four was a resource.”

“I’m getting tired of other people’s resources, Em. Right now I’m taking care of myself.” I finished packing my things. “But like I said. Learned some good stuff.”

“What, exactly?” she asked. Wilson had turned back to his work.

I told them about Sloane and Tomb, and about the split that seemed to be forming in the Council. If the Founding Families were aligning against the new Councilors, the industrialists and the commercial mavericks who had been buying out the Council seats for the last twenty years, then things were going to get difficult. If that split centered around Marcus’s mission downfalls, and this Cog, then the complications were just going to get worse and worse.

“One thing’s for sure. If there’s a fight brewing in the Council, there aren’t going to be any neutral parties. In the city, or in the Council.”

“You think it’s that serious?” Emily asked.

“Maybe not yet,” I said. “But soon. Council trouble always spills out on the streets.”

“That’s how it was with the Guild,” Wilson said. “Disagreement among families, and a new ally in the Church of the Algorithm. They took a vote, and by the time the ballots were tallied there were Badgemen kicking in doors all over the city.” He nodded absently, not looking up. “It can get bad fast, Emily.”

“So what are you going to do?”

I straightened my jacket, did the best I could with my hair. Living under the streets was doing nothing for my reputation as a rogue noble.

“Time to talk to the Family, dear.” I sighed. “Time to make a little call home.”

Emily appeared thoughtful, as though there was something else she wanted to add but couldn’t decide if she should. I filed that.

“Stay safe,” she said, eventually. “And be careful who you believe.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I will.”

“I was hoping to beetle you again,” Wilson said, turning to face me. He had a small vial in hand. Something brown and shiny scuttled up its length.

“Gee, sorry to miss that,” I said. I checked the load in my revolver one more time and headed back up to the streets.

When the Manor Burn was planted, generations ago and gone, this part of the Veridon delta was nothing but mossy stones and waterfalls to carry away the heat. Steam used to billow up in halos around our house. Now we piped it away, piped it and harnessed it and sold it by the pound of pressure. The ancient, deep furnace that was our family’s ticket into the circle of Founders still burned, would always burn. Its heat blistered the rock under my feet. Most of the family’s early money had gone into making the Manor livable in the presence of such incandescent fury. The high tower of the vent stacks glittered against the sky, spilling out flakes of burning ash and coiling sparks. My mouth filled with the scent of burning air and charred stone. Good to be home. Hard to forget a taste like that.

They let me in my own house. That was unexpected. I was nervous, walking into the dusty marble foyer. They had done a bad job of fixing the banister I’d busted up, the day I walked out. The day everything changed.

“Master Burn is in the library, gathering his morning thoughts and taking breakfast. He will attend you shortly.”

“Thanks, Billy.” I surrendered my coat, but not my holster. Billy disapproved, but that was okay. Billy usually disapproved in my presence. He disappeared.

The tower looked much the same. Older. Emptier. It reminded me of a store struggling to make the lease. Sell what it had in stock, not able to replenish its wares. Starving itself off, dying, but still alive. Hoping for some desperate gamble to pay off, to turn the corner. Failing in slow motion.

“Boy,” Alexander Burn said as he walked in. He was wiping his hands on a well soiled napkin, bacon grease on the carefully trimmed curls of his mustache. His hair was falsely black. Still fat, too, but at what cost. “Haven’t seen you on the grounds in a while. Here to beg for your allowance, perhaps?”

“Doesn’t look like you could provide it, even if I asked.” I looked around the room. “Nice of Billy to answer the door, let me disturb your meal. You hoping I’ll offer a loan?”

“Careful. You’re little more than a guest here, Jacob.”

I put my hands in my pockets and did a turn around the room. He watched me walk, chewing the last of his breakfast.

“Are you going to tell me why you’re here?” he asked. “Or is this just an opportunity to show off that remarkably gaudy pistol and rub your father’s face in your new lifestyle?”

I smiled and turned to him. “Going to make me stand in the foyer all day? Father?”

He grimaced, finished wiping his fingers with an obsessive twist and tossed the napkin onto an empty coat rack.