Mark Newton - The Broken Isles

‘So he’s using our money — money put in by the hard-working folk of this city — to spend on the welfare of creatures from another world?’

‘Who will then create prosperity with that money, making us all richer in the long run.’

‘That’s a fairy tale.’

‘You can look at it like that if you choose, but this is all I know. Please, I will help you if I can, I have knowledge of how the finance will flow, and in which direction.’

Malum walked behind Derrouge and cut one hand free. He went to fetch a piece of paper and a pencil and thrust them at Derrouge. ‘You write down these names for me. Write down everyone who’s involved in financial dealings with the aliens, and you write them now.’

This is a futile lead to pursue , Malum thought, as Derrouge hastily scribbled down the details.

Malum also realized that he didn’t know precisely what he wanted from Derrouge any more, which was a desperate state to be in. He wasn’t used to such amateurism from himself.

Still, he had now confirmed his great fear: aliens were indeed coming to invade their culture to make a ghetto of Villiren, and he vowed never to be a part of that. He would take this city for himself and make sure that both the military and the aliens had nothing to do with the city’s future.

Later, once Malum had dumped the banker on a street deep in the Ancient Quarter, he headed over to his underground hideout to meet up with some of the others in his gang. The only light came from the glow of a few cressets lined up to mark the way. There, in the subterranean darkness, he found them drinking home-brewed alcohol on upturned crates.

Since the war, the Bloods — along with affiliate gang members — had secured various pockets of the city and, surprisingly, the military had done nothing to take back control. Businesses carried on, with the Bloods overseeing protection for their areas: a few streets in Deeping, Althing, Scarhouse and two in the Ancient Quarter, with larger communities of the Wastelands likely to be at their disposal, if they were actually worth maintaining.

What had begun as the result of his wartime rage had become something he managed, and ultimately it wasn’t the fact that the commander was working with bankers that disgusted Malum — after all, he dealt with the rich himself.

There were a few businessmen who had teamed up with Malum, worried that the military rule would stifle their markets. It was they who were most concerned about alien communities, worried about how their land might be taken from them. While the likes of tavern owners, landlords and butchers didn’t have the chutzpah to take up this cause against whatever Imperial plans were brewing, they knew that Malum did. They also knew that he had a proven record of dealing with Commander Lathraea and standing up to him. There was one other thing that businesses could not control, which was the wider population. They needed to manipulate the citizens, to cause problems so that control might be levered away from the military. That was where Malum came in, and he was happy to use the businessmen as a platform for his own plans to free Villiren from Imperial rule once and for all — and to make plenty of coin in the process.

He had dreams of creating a pirate city, a free city. Something independent of the Empire, and which he could control in alliance with business owners. A few rogue cultists, fearful that they were going to be purged by military occupation and martial laws, had also pledged their allegiance. A force was building up and his tendrils were stretching out further. Malum was now dreaming of taking up the position of portreeve of a free Villiren: he would be the king of this city, officially, and not just the head of a gang.

‘How did it go?’ someone said, distracting his thoughts.

There were about ten of his men here, some playing cards, some drinking, and one reading a book. These were his most trusted, those who felt uneasy about leaving an underground they were used to. Most were below the age of twenty, young men from various backgrounds, none of them particularly blessed. As the years rolled on Malum began to feel like a father to them.

‘Yeah, did he spill anything good?’ another asked eagerly. Soon their respectful attention all turned to him.

‘I got a little information out of him,’ Malum announced. ‘It wasn’t quite what we wanted, but I think I can act upon some of it. The fucker confirmed a lot of our worst fears though — the soldiers want the aliens to live with us.’

The lads were silent.

‘Look, I need a hand,’ Malum said. ‘We’re running out of time and we need to start taking control of things. There’s a package I want to collect and the time is right. I need a couple of you to help transport something around the city.’

‘What’ve you got in mind, boss?’

Jeza didn’t like Malum all that much, though she didn’t know why specifically. However, she decided that she did like his money — if he was a paying client, she couldn’t exactly say no just because he was a bit of a weirdo. The city was full of weirdos.

There was something about him that unnerved her — it wasn’t his lack of manners, since he had those in spades; he had all the charm in the world. It wasn’t the air of mystery around him, either — there were plenty of people in Villiren who had secrets. No, it was something about his nature — as if he was always trying to suppress something about himself. That he was holding something within that could burst out at any minute. His unspoken potential frightened her.

When Jeza got Malum’s message she was agog at the amount of money he was offering. All she had to do was provide the remains of one of their botched operations — of which there were plenty. If anything, he was doing her a favour by helping remove one — it wasn’t as if she could dispose of them easily. What would people think? He had asked for the most bizarre-looking creature she could find, and she was fine with that, though she couldn’t help but feel a little dirty standing outside, waiting for him to come. There was an illicit feeling about this whole operation, prostituting everyone’s talents like this.

This is what business is , Jeza told herself. Get used to it if you want to build up a big enterprise.

As she continued waiting, something else niggled her. Why, for example, had she not told the others she was getting rid of the waste grotesques? Was that a sign of her guilt?

She now lingered by the corner of Factory 54, while the rest of the gang headed out into the city to get food. Just outside one of the rear doors to the factory, no more than a dozen feet away, sat a crate containing a grotesque, which had not been able to cling on to life.

The first time one had died, everyone felt sad. Of course they did. The second time, less so. They were, the gang warranted, creating life in the first place. There was no death first without life. The third and fourth time they were almost indifferent to the whole operation: their aim was simply to keep them alive for as long as possible, but no matter what dimensions the creatures took, most of them seemed to die quickly.

But not this one.

Eventually she saw movement at the end of the street. A horse was approaching, pulling a cart, and on top sat a man with a tricorne hat pulled low over his face, with the collars of a wax rain jacket covering his mouth.

The horse approached and pulled in alongside her. The rider nodded and jumped down; suddenly four other men, whom she hadn’t seen previously, and who were dressed like the rider, leapt off the back of the cart and their boots thudded on the cobbles.

They approached in a line. Nerves almost got her voice, but she managed to ask, ‘Is that you, Malum?’