Daniel Polansky - Low Town

The Old Man’s soft grin creased his face, eyes twinkling with merriment. “What a grand thing it is to see one of my children return after such a long absence. How we’ve missed you here at your old home.”

The sight of him was enough to stoke a little fire in my belly. “I figured I’d come by and see how the place was holding up. Y’all seem busy though, maybe I’ll stop in another time.”

He held to his smile, then nodded to the Questioner, who promptly and without fuss began to unpack his bag onto the table.

“We’re gonna put it to you,” Crowley said. “We’re gonna put it to you hard. By the time we’re done with you we’ll know every sin that stains your soul.”

I forced a laugh, no easy thing with the straps taut against my wrists. “Better clear your dinner plans.” If it was only Crowley, I wouldn’t have gone through the bother of talking-he was a goon, useful only for his savagery. But the Old Man was sharp as a dagger and twice as cold. That grandfatherly visage hid the mind of a master strategist and an utter madman to boot. He’d like to see me in the ground, no doubt, but that wouldn’t influence him-only humans base decisions on emotion. “Apart from giving the Questioner here some unneeded practice, what exactly do you think you’re going to accomplish with all this fuss?”

Crowley ground his cigar between the jagged line of his ivories. “You know something about the child and the demon, something that’ll help get us closer. And if you don’t”-his smile was rabid-“I’ll still get to watch the walls get painted red with your insides.”

“You see, Crowley, this is why you used to report to me. This is why you’ll never take over for the Old Man. You can’t see past the next victim. You’re a blunt instrument, useless without someone ahead of you to mark a trail.”

Beside me the Questioner continued to unravel his tools, sharp silver things on a blanket of black velvet.

“When you finish today and tomorrow a child goes missing, what will you do then? There are issues here beyond indulging your sadism.”

Crowley had managed to hold his temper, though his flyspeck eyes had swelled up to near the size of egg yolks. “We’ll get whoever’s killing the kids-don’t you worry about that.”

“Horseshit.” I focused on the Old Man. “You don’t have anyone here as good as me, and you know it. Whoever did this learned it from the Crown-you can’t depend on your own people. I can rely on support outside the Throne, I’ve got contacts riddled through Low Town, and I know what these things look like.” I swallowed hard-time to play my trump. “And I’ve got a lead.”

“Then we’ll get it from you with the knife and follow it where it goes,” Crowley said.

“You won’t. No one in Low Town will talk to you, and you wouldn’t be able to put the pieces together even if they did.”

For only the second time thus far the Old Man spoke. “Are you so desperate to return to my employ? From what I’ve heard, you’ve become little better than a dog, an addict waiting for a knife in an alley.”

“I was sharp enough to find the first one. Either you throw in with me or you leave it to the ape. And we both know it’s too important to let him foul it up.”

The Old Man’s smile grew broader, and I knew his next words were to decide my fate-freedom in his service or a session with the Questioner and an unmarked grave. It was a long moment. In retrospect I think I handled myself admirably, which is to say I didn’t leak piss down the leg of my pants.

He set one gnarled hand on my shoulder and squeezed it with surprising firmness. “You won’t disappoint me, my boy. You’ll find whoever is hurting these poor girls, and together we’ll make sure to bring them to justice.” Crowley began to sputter a protest, but a glance from the chief shut his mouth. The Old Man undid one restraint with the care of a mother tending a scraped knee. He made a move for the other, then stopped. “A week ought to be sufficient, I would think, for a man of your intellect to determine who is responsible for these monstrosities.” He shook his head sadly, his gentle nature offended by the cruelty of a senseless world.

“Two,” I said. “I don’t have your resources-I’ll need time to work my contacts.”

For a single tick of a second his eyes shifted and the facade gave way to the monster beneath, and I almost flinched-but his face was turned toward me and his voice remained friendly.

“We’ll see you in seven days.” The illusion of humanity snapped back, and he released the second cuff. He turned to Crowley. “See our dear friend off, won’t you?” Flashing one last smile, he walked out the iron door, taking the other agents with him.

Crowley watched it close, his cigar clenched so tightly in his mouth I thought he might choke on it. He spent a while trying to think of something he could say or do to offset the humiliation he had suffered. When nothing came, he turned and left.

The Questioner was repacking his tools with a vague air of disappointment. Deciding my legs were steady enough to carry me, I propped myself to my feet, then turned toward my would-be torturer. “You got a cigarette?” I asked.

He shook his head, the burnt red crown of his hood bobbing. “I don’t smoke,” he said without taking his eyes off his work. “That stuff will kill you.”

“The Firstborn willing.”

Outside the rain had stopped, but it was cold as ever. I massaged my wrists and wondered how much of it the Old Man had planned. The whole thing had the feel of theater-not for Crowley of course, he wasn’t in on the gag-but this was an awfully blunt play for someone as knotted as the Old Man.

It didn’t matter really. If this had all been a ploy to retain my services, I had no illusions that the deadline was anything other than deathly serious. I headed back home to tool up, and to plan.

When I stepped into the Earl, Adolphus was moping at the counter, his face wide and blubbery. I guess he’d figured I was dead. It wasn’t an unreasonable assumption, though I was glad to prove him wrong. He turned when he heard the door open, and before it closed he’d wrapped me in his massive limbs, pressing his weeping face against the top of my head and calling for Adeline and Wren.

It was a bit much, particularly as in all likelihood I had only delayed the inevitable, and Adolphus’s melodrama would be replayed in another week. But he seemed happy and I didn’t have the heart to say anything, until his affection started to prove a danger to the integrity of my rib cage.

Adeline had come in from the back and set her round frame against me. Over her head I could see Wren descending the staircase, his usual neutral demeanor on his face. “Not excited to see me? Just another day at the Earl, your benefactor getting arrested by the Crown and released before lunch?”

Adolphus responded elatedly, “He said he wasn’t worried! Said he knew you’d be back so there was no point in getting upset.”

“Nice to see you’ve got such confidence in me,” I said. “Remember, though-just ’cause your horse came in doesn’t mean you made a smart bet.”

If it were up to Adolphus, I would have spent the rest of the day wrapped in a blanket like a fever victim, and much as the notion of a long nap appealed to me, the trail was growing cold. Brushing off his mothering, I headed to my room and removed a long black box from beneath my bed.

I don’t pack a weapon regularly, hadn’t for nearly half a decade, not since I first left the Crown’s service and had to carve out my business from the ruins of the last big syndicate war. Carrying a blade means someone’s going to make you use it, and corpses are bad for business. Better to be friendly to everyone, pay off who you need to, and keep a grin on your face until it’s time to stop smiling.