Daniel Polansky - Low Town

It was interesting, but it didn’t relate directly to the murders, and I knew it wouldn’t be enough for the Old Man, not with the hard-on he had for me. My heart beat double time, and I worked to settle it. “Was that everything?”

From the moment he had sat down in front of me, I could see Kendrick had an edge to him that contrasted with the amiability he had displayed during our first conversation. Now it reached a crescendo, my casual question eliciting a scowl that sat incongruously on his face. “No, that isn’t everything. That isn’t everything at all.” Underneath the table he passed me a parcel wrapped in brown butcher’s paper. I undid the string and let the object inside fall into my hands.

If I saw it on a shelf or behind glass, it wouldn’t have meant anything, an open razor of the sort you could buy in any corner store in the city, a bit of sharpened steel folded back into a brass hilt. But holding it I could tell clear what it was; as soon as I touched the metal a line of bile wretched itself up from my throat and my testicles held firm to the flesh of my thigh. Vile things had been done with this weapon, acts that had stained its very substance. Its contact with the void had leaked out into our reality and left behind a memory of its blasphemies. You didn’t need to be a scryer to recognize it, needed no extra degree of perception-you felt it in your gut, in your soul. I wrapped the thing back in the paper and shoved it into my bag.

The doctor had felt it and he was not happy to have done so. “You didn’t say anything about this.”

“I didn’t know anything about it.”

He brought himself to his feet. “Send my money to my agent, and don’t contact me again. I don’t like being in the dark.”

“It’s a shit way to spend time,” I agreed.

I sat there as he walked out, and for a while after. The doctor wasn’t my favorite person, and I wouldn’t have tossed him another gig even if he’d been up for taking it-but I couldn’t fail to recognize that lately I’d been convincing a lot of people to stop speaking to me.

Still, I had what I needed. There was no way the Old Man could ignore the instrument of sacrifice with which Beaconfield had disposed of two children.

I was back in the Earl twenty minutes later-the whole errand had taken less than an hour. I yelled a greeting, crowing with success and expecting accolades from the gallery. I knew Adeline would be out for groceries, but still figured Wren and my partner would be around to commiserate my success.

But the boy was nowhere to be seen, and I found Adolphus sitting next to the fire, his face stone and a slip of paper open in his hand. He passed me the note without comment, and before I even opened it I had a pretty good idea what it said. I have the child. You will do nothing until I contact you.

I folded it in two and cursed myself for a fool.

Adolphus and I were plotting in the corner when Adeline came in, plump and red cheeked, anticipating the Midwinter feast she was about to prepare. If it was just me I could probably have carried it, but you don’t share a man’s bed for a decade without gaining some ability to appraise his mood. Besides, Adolphus ain’t much for guile. “What’s wrong?”

Adolphus and I exchanged the kind of look that prefaces the arrival of bad news, but neither of us said anything.

She inspected me with a gaze that would be the envy of many a magistrate. “Where’s Wren?”

A hole opened up in the bottom of my stomach and I fell into it. I stumbled through a lie. “I left him at the Aerie.”

“You never mentioned anything about visiting the Crane today.”

“I don’t tell you every time I void my bowels, but the chamber pot still gets plenty of use.”

A burst of movement, faster than I would have credited her for, and she was in front of me. Her voice was louder than usual, but steady. “Stop lying-I’m not a fool. Where is he?”

I swallowed hard and nodded at Adolphus. He slipped the paper out of his back pocket and handed it to her.

I’m not sure what I expected, how I thought she would react. For all her low voice and sweet nature, for all that she allowed Adolphus his delusions of tyranny, Adeline was no weakling. But then I couldn’t imagine what the arrival of Wren to a woman long childless meant. She read over the missive, the grim set of her face unaltered. Then she looked back at me, her eyes incredulous. “How could this happen?” Not angry yet, just confused.

“He must have followed me out of the bar. He did it once before, but I thought I told him off. I’m not sure, I didn’t see him.”

She struck me once across the face, closed palm. “You stupid, stupid man.” She raised her hand again, then dropped it. “You stupid man.”

I swallowed that.

“Swear to me you’ll find him.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

She shook her head and grabbed the lapel of my coat, her eyes wide and furious. “No-swear to me, swear to me you’ll bring him back safe.”

My throat was so dry I stumbled over the words. “I swear.” As a rule I don’t promise anything I can’t deliver-I wished I could take it back as soon as I had said it.

She let go of me and collapsed into Adolphus, her composure broken, weeping softly. He patted her softly on the back. I moved to leave. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

“You aren’t…” Adolphus let the sentence trail off.

“Not yet. I’ve got something I need to do first.”

It wouldn’t do to murder a member of the peerage without notifying the authorities. I needed to see the Old Man.

I pushed open the doors into Black House like I was still the top agent in the place, instead of a low-rent pusher. I must have done a decent enough impression because the guard on duty let me by without any trouble. From there I made my way deeper into the labyrinth, unsurprised to discover I hadn’t forgotten my way.

The Old Man’s office is located in the dead center of the building, at the heart of a web of dull offices and unattractive carpeting. I entered without knocking, but somehow he knew I was coming and sat comfortably in his chair, owning absolutely the space he inhabited. The wooden desk in front of him was clean of paper, book, or bauble, the only adornment a small bowl of hard candy.

“A day early,” I said, taking the seat opposite his and tossing the packet onto the desk.

It landed with a thud. The Old Man looked up at me, then at the dossier, then back at me. He took hold of the folder and then settled into his seat, flipping through it with agonizing slowness. Finally he set the papers back on his desk. “This does make for interesting reading-unfortunately, it isn’t the information I tasked you to find. For your sake, I certainly hope this isn’t all you came here with.”

The razor sat in my satchel. All I needed to do was lay it down on the table and walk out, free and clear, at least until the next time they wanted something from me-the razor pulsed with the void; it was as good as a signed confession. But with the boy gone that was out; one street urchin didn’t matter anything to the Old Man, didn’t matter an eyelash or a clipped toenail.

The Blade drew too much water for him to disappear into Black House and never come out again-if they went after him they’d have to uphold a pretense of legality, weeks of subpoenas and judicial wrangling, and I didn’t imagine Beaconfield would leave Wren alive through that. This of course assumed the Old Man would try to bring him down, which I doubted. More likely he’d use what I gave him to flip Beaconfield, put him back out on the street in Black House’s employ-the duke was worth more in his pocket than swinging on a rope.

The only chance I had of getting the boy back safe was if I was holding the reins, and that meant I needed to play this tight, pass out enough to get sanction on the duke without tipping my hand so far that the Old Man decided to steal my play.