David Gunn - Day of the Damned

That’s what I thought.

‘You were here before them?’

That’s as close as I’m coming to asking him what the fuck he’s doing in a dump like this. I mean, there are one-horse towns and there are no-horse towns. And this one’s missing its horse and most of the town.

‘Hunting’s good round here.’

So we have a brief conversation about freshwater crocodiles and that leads on to my arm. Ripped off by a ferox sounds too unlikely. So I tell him it’s a battle injury. And I’m still waiting for compensation to get it fixed.

We both know how likely that is to happen.

‘Where you heading?’

Anton shoots me a glance. Not sure what it’s intended to say.

‘Farlight. We’re looking for a friend. Well, my boss is.’ My nod points out Anton. ‘He’s been out of the city for a while.’

‘Anyone I might know?’

‘Not unless you’re friends with the new duke.’

The sergeant whistles. ‘The old bastard himself? I heard he was off-planet. Leading our glorious troops to certain victory.’ Toro says this with a straight face. Since to doubt a single word of it is treason, that’s probably wise. He’s intending to say more but drops his hand to his side arm instead.

Maybe because the card-player I kneed earlier is in the doorway and clutching a pulse pistol. When I step towards him, he backs away and lifts his side arm a little higher. Seems he’s brought it to defend himself from another beating.

‘Call me if you need help . . .’ Sergeant Toro’s gaze sweeps over my combat arm and ends at the weapon in my hand. Its muzzle now rests under the chin of the man who’s come looking for me. Leona stands behind him. The only reason her gun isn’t at his head is mine got there first.

‘Not that it seems likely,’ he adds.

‘Mybosswantstoseeyou.’

‘What?’

‘Sir,’ Leona says. ‘You might want-’

I lower my pistol enough to let the man talk.

‘My boss wants to see you.’

‘Who’s your boss?’ Anton demands.

‘He’ll tell you himself.’ The card-player seems happier now Anton’s involved. ‘His room’s at the top of the stairs. He asked if you’d join him.’

Anton nods, as if to say of course . . .

The man with the cigarillo drags a lungful of smoke and lets it out slowly. ‘I’ll still be out here,’ he tells me.’ When you’re done. If you fancy a drink . . .’ He smiles sourly. ‘For old times’ sake?’

Once in the Legion, always in the Legion.

I nod, noticing the coldness between him and the man holding the gun. Anton’s already heading indoors. You would think being in prison would have sharpened his edge. Instead the relief of being free has blunted it altogether.

‘Me first,’ I say. ‘May as well try to keep you alive.’

Outside, the man with the cigar laughs.

*

A small man, simply dressed, looks up from a table and then glances back at a map unrolled in front of him. A tumbler and a bottle hold it flat at the edges. Both are filled with water. A quick pass of his hand hides whatever it is he doesn’t want us to see.

‘You’re travelling alone?’

‘Yes,’ Anton says.

‘The roads are dangerous. The whole world is dangerous these days.’

Sounds scripted to me. As if it is phrase and counter phrase. If it is, he’s disappointed because Anton stays silent.

The small man gives Anton a steady stare and then nods to himself. His jacket is black and looks expensive to me. He’s high clan. Maybe even a trade lord, to judge from the quality of the ring on his finger.

Not long ago I’d have missed that clue.

He wears a shoulder holster, and has a coat hung over the back of his chair. Standing, he leans across the table and offers his hand to Anton.

The two men shake.

‘Your bodyguard?’ he asks.

Anton nods and I take my position by the wall.

The stranger watches me check the door and the windows to confirm I have enough space to act if necessary and smiles approvingly. Makes me wonder exactly what’s going on around here.

‘I’m Senator Cos.’

‘Anton Tezuka. Travelling to the city.’

‘Tezuka. Isn’t that . . .’ Senator Cos hesitates, on the edge of saying something careless. Like, Aren’t you meant to be in exile? Unless he’s simply worried about being rude.

Reaching for the water bottle, he fills a second tumbler. The senator is careful to take a sip from his own first.’ To a safe journey.’

‘And safe roads,’ Anton answers. ‘For everyone.’

‘You’re . . .?’

‘My wife,’ says Anton, ‘is Lady Debro Wildeside.’

He finishes the water in a single gulp and replaces the tumbler on the table. Then he bows slightly, looking surprised when I step forward to open the door.

‘You could travel with us,’ the senator says. ‘In fact, you would be welcome.’

Anton considers this. ‘I have business in Farlight,’ he says finally, ‘that makes it better for me to travel alone.’

‘Then travel safely,’ Senator Cos says.

‘And you,’ says Anton, shutting the door behind him.

We make it halfway down the darkened stairs before I round on Anton. ‘You want to tell me what the fuck that was about? All the safe journey crap?’

Glancing behind him, Anton checks the door is shut, and I let him steer me to a window. A flare of flame lights the face of the sergeant we met earlier. He’s lighting another cigarillo and staring at our window. It’s as dark in here as it is out there. So I doubt if he sees anything.

The noise from the bar is muted. As if the senator’s men are aware we’ve halted on the stairs and are worried we might be listening.

‘Senator Cos is a doubter . . .’

I get that bit. The water, the simple black jacket. They’re clues.

Anton scowls when I say this. ‘He’s rich,’ he says. ‘And he’s close to the Jaxx. He’s been their banker. It doesn’t hurt to be careful.’

‘About what?’

‘Later,’ he says. ‘Let’s talk about it later.’

‘Don’t leave it too long.’

All this sloping around in disguise is getting to me.

A dozen faces stare at us and then slide away. I’m not sure what the senator told his men before we went up, but a room is ours. Anton asks me which watch I want to take. Way I’m feeling, the answer’s easy . . .

‘I’ll take them all.’

Sleep is fine, but I need less than others and I want to clear my head. Grabbing a bottle of beer from the bar to help that process, I button my coat against the wind and head for the door.

‘Sir,’ says the owner.

He lets go my arm the moment he sees my face.

‘You don’t need to keep watch. I lock the courtyard every night and your bikes will be safe . . .’

‘Bring me food,’ I say. ‘In about two hours.’

My order means he’ll have to stay awake or risk my anger. And he’s seen what I did to the man who didn’t open his door.

‘On second thoughts, send her.’

He follows my gaze to a girl collecting plates by the far wall. Large hips and full breasts, with dirty blonde hair tied back into a sloppy ponytail. She’s doing a good job of avoiding sly hands and slyer comments.

‘Your daughter?’

‘My wife’s niece.’

Thought he was taking it better than expected.

‘Stew,’ he says. ‘I’m afraid that’s what we’ve got.’

‘Of course it is.’ It’s all anywhere like this ever has.

I’ve eaten stew on three different planets, and in five different cities and half a dozen scuzzy little garrison towns, and it’s always that week’s leftovers, diced small and boiled to a tasteless pulp that even chillies do little to improve.

‘And send out more beer at the same time.’