Jay Posey - Three

“We gonna be safe here?” Three asked.

Mr Carter closed his eyes, and leaned back against the wall. After a moment, he nodded, drew a deep but strained breath. “Far enough out, the guards won’t come searching. Not tonight, anyway.”

“And the Weir?”

Mr Carter shrugged weakly. “Close enough to Morningside. We hope.”

He was still and quiet just long enough for Three to think that was all he had to say, but he eventually stirred and added, “I’ll stand watch. I just need a few minutes’ rest.”

Three gently turned Wren and walked him over towards Mr Carter. It was only then that Three at last realized the lightness of his own harness. His hand shot reflexively to his holster, even as his mind made the connection.

His pistol. Gone.

He remembered now. The grip around his neck releasing; the impact of falling to his knees. The pistol skittering across the concrete. And Wren in trouble. He’d grabbed the boy, and left the weapon behind. A sort of quiet despair sank into Three’s heart then, like the death of a long-time friend, or loss of a beloved pet, or both. Its heft had been a comfort. And it had saved his life more than once. He cursed aloud, startling both Wren and Mr Carter.

“What’s wrong?” Mr Carter asked.

“My pistol. It’s gone.”

“The guards?”

Three nodded.

“I’m sorry. It was a rare and fine weapon.”

“Still is. Just someone else’s now.”

“Hard earned.”

“Not hard enough.”

Three smoldered at the thought of one of Morningside’s guards sporting his pistol, ignorant of its legacy and worse, its power. It was all too easy to imagine one of them squeezing off a round and blowing a hole through some unfortunate citizen’s home. He was roused by Wren’s quiet crying.

“It’s alright, kiddo,” he said, thinking the boy was blaming himself. “It wasn’t your fault.” But Wren just stood there, facing the wall, sobbing.

“Hey. Wren.” Three turned Wren around to face him, and took a knee, looking into the boy’s eyes. “Wren, what is it? What’s wrong?”

Wren didn’t speak, just wept. But he held his hand out for Three to see. It was dark and sticky with blood. Three took the hand and searched it for injury, until it clicked, and he then understood. Not Wren’s blood. The guard’s.

“Oh, Wren,” he said, and instinctively he pulled Wren close to him, and held the boy tight to his chest. “It’s alright. It’s OK, Wren. You did the right thing.”

For a time, he just held Wren, and Wren stood there crying, letting himself be held. Eventually Wren’s crying ebbed into a quiet sniffling. Three let go, eased back to look at him again.

“Here, come over here.”

Three led Wren to across the room to another corner, and got out his canister of water. He took Wren’s hand, splashed water over it, scrubbed it with his own. Wordlessly, Three repeated the process, carefully washing Wren’s hand until there were no traces of blood remaining. Then he took both of Wren’s hands in his, dried them on his own shirt, and rubbed them vigorously to warm the tiny, chilled fingers in the cold night air.

“Better?”

Wren nodded.

“You OK now?”

Wren shook his head.

“Are you hurt somewhere?”

Wren shook his head again. “I’m sorry I hurt that man.”

“He was going to take you away, Wren. He would’ve taken you if you hadn’t hurt him.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“OK, buddy. It’s OK to be sorry. It was a bad situation. For everybody.” Wren nodded at that, and Three picked him up. “Tough day. Let’s get you something to eat, and then get some rest, alright?”

Three led him back to Mr Carter’s corner. Mr Carter had dozed off, and Three didn’t disturb him. He dug through his pack and pulled out some of the food Chapel had provided for them. They ate, though neither seemed to have much appetite. After they’d finished, Three pulled blankets from their packs and made a pallet for Wren to lie down on.

Rolled in one of the blankets, Three discovered a device; brushed steel, rectangle-shaped with rounded edges. It took him a moment to realize it was an old military heatcoil. When activated, it radiated a gentle warmth similar to natural body heat. Whether Chapel had slipped it in the packs, or Lil, it was truly a gift out here in the open. Three activated the heatcoil, and tucked it in with Wren. He laid his coat over the boy, and rested his hand on Wren’s head.

“Try to get some sleep, alright?”

Wren nodded and closed his eyes. Three sat with him for a while, rubbing his back because he didn’t know what else to do. After a time, Wren’s breathing was deep and even, and Three quietly got to his feet and walked to the door. He stopped at the entry, and stared down the corridor, into the darkness, wondering what the night might bring.

He heard shuffling from within the room, and soon Mr Carter appeared.

“I don’t understand it,” Mr Carter said, voice lowered. “What reason would they have to seize the child?”

Three shook his head. “I told them we needed to see the Governor. The guard reacted.”

“As if they had been expecting you?”

Three remembered the guard’s expression. Reflexive, but controlled. “Like they’d been warned.”

“By whom?”

“Asher,” Wren said quietly, apparently not asleep after all. He had said it so flatly, with such lack of emotion, that Three thought he’d misheard.

“What?”

Wren didn’t stir, didn’t open his eyes. “Asher’s there. In Morningside.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I know.”

Three wanted to argue, to tell Wren he was dreaming it, or imagining it, or just scared, but he knew better. If Wren knew it, then it was true. Asher was in Morningside, waiting for them.

“Who’s Asher?” Mr Carter asked.

“The kid’s brother,” Three answered. “The one we’ve been trying to escape.”

It didn’t seem possible, but at the same time, it made too much sense to be wrong. Pieces started falling together. Dagon showing up at Chapel’s commune. They could’ve tracked Cass and Wren to Greenstone. Probably convinced Bonefolder to let them on the train. Rode into Morningside, and just waited for their quarry to show up. But after Three’s delay, maybe they got nervous, and sent Dagon out into the Strand after them. And in the meantime did what? Tell Underdown Three was on his way?

Bonefolder had offered him a contract on Underdown’s life, after all. Sure. Man shows up with a kid, says he’s got private business with the Governor. Not likely to be a lot of people rolling into town with that story. And what story had Asher told? That Three was a kidnapper? A slaver? An assassin, using a child as cover?

Kill the man, rescue the boy? My baby brother?

Three laughed then, in spite of himself; a sad chuckle at first that started as a rumble in his chest, and grew slowly into a full throated laugh devoid of humor, and hope. “All of this,” he said. “All of it, and we’re right back where we started.” He squeezed his eyes shut, pinched the bridge of his nose, tried to keep the weight of inevitability from crushing down. Cass flashed before his eyes, weak, pale, life flowing from her. Not much different than when he’d first laid eyes on her, and her son, harried, frightened, desperate for help. “Except somewhere along the way, I lost something I never even wanted in the first place.”

Cass. She’d given her life to get her son to Underdown. What would she have done now?

“This man Asher,” Mr Carter said. “He is dangerous?”

“Worse. Deadly.”

“Then you should return with me. We will hide you.”

Three shook his head. “They already know about you. One of his men showed up night before last.”