Daniel Polansky - Low Town

I took a sweet from the dish, unwrapping the paper and popping the confection into my mouth. “That was just motive of course. I assume Guiscard already told you of the Blade’s connection to Operation Ingress.” The agent’s sudden willingness to help had never smelled right, but it wasn’t until I was sitting in front of his boss that I decided to voice my suspicions. It was something of a shot in the dark, and I was gratified to see surprise hiccup across the Old Man’s perfect composure. “After he failed to find any takers for his illicit services, the Blade moved on to plan B. Someone, probably Brightfellow, contracted out the abduction to the Kiren. When that didn’t work, they aced him and took the matter into their own hands. I can go on if you want-I know it’s been a long time since you did actual police work.”

The Old Man’s face returned to its friendly hollowness. Then he shook his head, saddened by the bad news he was about to relay. “Not enough. Not nearly enough. Perhaps it’s my fault-perhaps I’ve failed to sufficiently motivate you. Perhaps I should send someone down to that bar you own, pay your friends a nice visit.”

I let that slide past without grabbing at it. “Not enough for a warrant maybe-but enough for the two of us to be sure.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“I’ll take care of it. Off the books.”

He tut-tutted disapprovingly. “So much blood, so much fuss. What will it look like?”

“You’re Special Operations-it’ll look like what you say it looks like. Don’t pretend you don’t relish the idea of taking out a noble, and an ally of the Crown Prince at that. I’m doing you a favor, and you know it.” I pushed across the desk, narrowing the air between us. “Unless you feel like waiting around for the Blade and his pet sorcerer to complete their ritual.”

The Old Man’s eyes were blue as a summer evening. “Are you offering to return to the Crown’s service?”

I knew he was baiting me but damn if I didn’t want to take it. “A singular proposition. Beaconfield and I have a discussion, and you wake up tomorrow with one less problem to deal with.”

“And why are you so keen to take responsibility for the good duke’s demise?”

“I bore easily-what do you care? It’ll get done.”

He clasped his hands in front of his face, giving the impression of serious contemplation. After fifteen seconds of uncomfortable silence he spread his palms faceup and leaned back in his chair. “Accidents happen,” he said.

I started to walk out, opening the door then turning back toward him. “There’ll be some cleanup required. It’ll be quick, but it’ll be noisy.”

“As you said, we’re Special Operations.”

“When I do you, it’ll be quiet as a chapel.”

He let out an embarrassed chuckle, chagrined at my misbehavior. “Such a temper! You’ll never make it to my age if you don’t learn to enjoy life a little.”

I didn’t respond, closing the door on the blank office and the evil man who lived there.

Then it was back to the Earl, half jogging through the knee-high snow. The constant cold was wearing on me. I could remember a time when the sky was light and the clouds didn’t spew ice, but only dimly.

I arrived to discover the bar had closed for the night-not that we’d see much business, the weather being what it was. The front room was deserted, Adolphus in the back looking after his wife. I didn’t have time to search for him. I wasn’t planning to move on the Blade till nightfall, but I’d need every minute of the interim to ready the setup.

Up in my room I noticed a small envelope on my dresser. Across it Adolphus had scrawled a quick note- Grenwald’s messenger came while you were out. Under different circumstances this would have warranted a good laugh. To think for once in his useless fucking existence my old major actually came through for me, and it was too damn late to do any good. I ignored it and turned to more pressing duties.

I removed the brown-wrapped parcel from the trunk beneath my bed, then sat at my table and began to unpack it. Two hours were lost in the haze of critical but menial tasks required to bring the equipment into readiness. I grabbed a couple of throwing knives and a thin stretch of wire before slipping a tin of faceblack into my pocket and heading downstairs.

I was so fixed on my purpose that I nearly rebounded off Adolphus, who stood at the foot of the steps, rendered nearly invisible by the low light and his own uncanny stillness. Beneath his heavy overcoat a ragged suit of studded leather stretched taut against his chest, and he’d even dug up his old kettle helmet, the steel dented by five years of close calls. Apart from his dress he was also festooned with weapons, two short blades hanging at his side and a battle-ax strapped to his back.

“What the hell are you wearing?” I asked, astounded.

The savagery in his eyes left me with no doubt that my comrade was quite serious in his choice of attire. “You didn’t think you were going alone? This isn’t our first time over the top. I’ve got my eyes on your back, as always.”

Was he drunk? I sniffed at his breath-apparently not. “I don’t have time for this. Watch Adeline, I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Wren’s my son,” he said without affectation or aggrandizement. “I’ll not sit by the fire while his life is in danger.”

The Oathkeeper spare us from such pointless nobility. “Your offer is appreciated but unnecessary.”

I tried to squeeze by, but he put one hand against my collar and held me firm against the banister. “It wasn’t an offer.”

The streaks of gray outnumbered the black in his once charcoal hair. His pockmarked face was heavy. Was I that old? Did I look that foolish, my collar pulled up like a hoodlum, steel bulging from my pockets, a middle-aged man playing at the adventures of youth?

It didn’t do to think like that. Wren needed me-I could have a crisis of faith if I was still alive in six hours.

I brushed off Adolphus’s hand and took a step back up the stairs, giving myself enough room to maneuver. “You’re fat-you were always big, but you’re fat now. You’re slow and you can’t sneak, and you don’t have it in you to kill a man anymore, not the way I’m going to do it. I’m not sure that you ever did. I’ve no time to flatter your vanity-every second you waste, the boy gets closer to death. Get the fuck out of my way.”

For a moment I thought I had overplayed my hand and he would knock my head off my shoulders. But then he turned his face to the ground and all the energy seemed to slump out of him, like I’d put a hole in the bottom of a jug. He turned away from the staircase, his collection of cutlery jangling.

“Look after Adeline,” I said. “I’ll be back in an hour or two.” That was far from certain, but there was no point in saying so. I slipped out into the night.

I crouched by a bush twenty yards out from the back gate of Beaconfield’s mansion. I’d darkened my skin with faceblack, and the wire hanging from my hands shimmered in the moonlight. I was trying to think up a way that Dunkan didn’t have to die. So far nothing was coming.

I couldn’t knock him out. That doesn’t work the way people think it does-one quick sock in the noggin and your mark wakes up an hour later with a dull headache. Half the time he moves and you don’t hit him right, and you’re left standing there like a fool. If you do knock him out, he’ll probably be back up in time to cause trouble; and if he stays down, it usually means his brains are scrambled and he’s going to spend the rest of his life shitting himself, and for my money that’s no great improvement on being dead.

And it was going to be a close thing, even if it went straight, this would be as close a thing as I’d ever done.