Jay Posey - Three

“Then we will protect you.”

“They’d kill every man, woman, and child in your village, Mr Carter. I was afraid they might do it anyway, but once they hear what happened to the guards, they’ll know we’re nearby.”

Three’s mind ran through the scenarios. Dagon had tracked them down outside the wayhouse, to the Vault, and somehow through the Strand to Chapel’s village. How long would it be before he found them hiding here? Would he come alone this time? A sudden thought struck Three then, and he cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner. He’d assumed that after their last meeting, Dagon had rushed back to report their location to Asher. But what if he had merely trailed them from the village? The hair stood up on the back of Three’s neck, and a rage kindled in his heart.

This wasn’t his way. It hadn’t been from the start. Everything he’d been trained for, all the years he’d spent honing his senses, every scar he bore, it was all building him to be the predator, never the prey. And now, here, at the end, he found himself in little more than an urban cave, cornered.

He’d sensed it, back on that afternoon when she’d walked out of the bar, and he’d followed; he knew deep down that somehow this was the decision that was going to get him killed. And now he knew why. Because everything he’d done to this point had gone against his carefully cultivated discipline. His code. His way.

No more. If death was coming, Three was wise enough to know he was no match for that ageless enemy. But he was done sitting around, waiting for it to show up. It was his turn to stalk.

“Enough,” Three said. “Enough of this.”

“What will we do now?”

“Now?” Three answered. “Now, I’m going to do what I was made for.”

The night air was cold, cutting and clear, like a knife’s edge bitten by frost. A half-moon hung high in the sky, bathing the ruins on the outskirts of Morningside in a soft white-blue light. For a time, Three just crouched atop the roof of an abandoned and gutted building, staring at Morningside and its wall. Getting a feel for the flow of its people, the unique rhythm of the life inside. He let his eyes float unfocused, drinking in the cityscape without fixing on any one detail. From here, with the slope of the terrain and his elevated vantage, he could see glimpses over the wall, though he was too far away to make out specifics. Still, it was the big picture he was after, the subtle signals his subconscious would record and later recall unbidden, when the time was right.

The city was lively, the citizens inside oblivious to the dangers that plagued the rest of the world. Distant troubles, far removed. Even the outcasts and exiles that lived outside near the wall seemed unconcerned by thoughts of the Weir, or slavers, or any of the thousand other deadly things that lurked in the night. Three couldn’t help but wonder at this man Underdown, whose leadership and power extended so far beyond physical boundaries. Would such a man be approachable? Even if Asher had reached him first, would he have entertained discussion, or might he have cast Asher out with all the others that now huddled against the cold?

There was only one way to be certain. Three would go see for himself. He stood slowly, careful to make no sound; let the blood pump again after his hour or two of stillness.

Wren had been asleep when he’d left, and he had decided not to wake the boy. Three’d left Mr Carter watching over him, with clear and specific instructions. He’d said he’d be back before dawn broke. But if he didn’t show, Mr Carter had agreed to take Wren with him back to the village as soon as the sun was up. Three knew that if something happened to him, there was no better place for Wren to be than under Chapel’s watchful eye. And the thought lingered that even if nothing happened to him, Chapel’s home might still be the better place.

Now, perched on the roof’s edge, Three wasn’t sure whether he believed he’d be able to return or not. At the time he’d made the deal, he’d certainly intended to. But out here, looking at the city, a sense had begun to settle on him that it had been foolish to expect it. Morningside loomed luminescent, and he felt as if he were staring at a vast ocean, preparing to walk into its depthless waves.

Admittedly, he wasn’t even sure what he intended to do exactly. Find Asher, certainly. And most likely kill him. But he didn’t know where to begin. After the fight with the guards at the gate, surely news would spread. Asher would know they were near. And then what? Send Dagon after them? That was most likely, assuming Dagon had returned from the village. Asher himself wouldn’t be out doing the grunt work. He had people for that. Three would have to go to him.

Jez, and Ran: Three didn’t know enough about them to make a guess. They seemed to stay near Asher for the most part, so maybe they weren’t worth worrying about yet. Though if he spotted them, they’d be worth following. Jez he remembered well, with her ice-blonde hair and precise movements. More of a stalker than a tracker. And her beauty probably afforded RushRuin a level of charm it otherwise lacked without Cass around; all manner of authority could be circumvented with the right wink and smile. Ran he wasn’t sure he’d recognize just from Cass’s description. They’d called him the Mountain: a man as dispassionate and immovable as a wall of stone. There was danger there, an unknown variable.

And then there was Fedor. Fedor he knew plenty well. A hound. Not a tracker of Dagon’s caliber, Fedor was probably the one Asher sent out when the prey was near. An attack dog. And they still had unfinished business.

Fedor, then. Dagon was best avoided anyway, if possible. Three would start with the genie, and work his way back from there. Track down Fedor, see what doors opened up afterwards. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was a start.

He checked the blade at his back, and moved his hand to his holster out of habit, before catching himself. There was little hope of recovering his pistol, but it was one hope he allowed himself to indulge. Maybe, before this was all over, he’d get a chance to use that last shell.

Three inhaled deeply, and slowly released a long, controlled settling exhalation. It was time. He climbed down from his makeshift watchtower and followed the narrowest alleys towards Morningside. He had little concern of being stopped or engaged by any of the people outside the wall, but Three saw no need to draw attention to himself if it could be helped. He kept to the shadows and the dark places as he approached the city.

Getting into Morningside was actually easier than he’d anticipated. Though the wall looked smooth from a distance, it was in fact pieced together from all manner of steel plating, and presented plenty of sturdy hand- and footholds for a climber as skilled as Three. His biggest risk had been his own silhouette as he picked his way up the softly radiant wall. Few people would be interested in what was above them, however, and he’d chosen to climb a seam where two sections of the wall met, giving himself the best chance of escaping discovery.

The section of wall he’d selected afforded another advantage as well. Along the top, a garden of sorts had been planted; delicate-limbed trees and carefully arranged shrubs, lit softly for nighttime strolls. As he crested the wall, he realized now that the plants were all of course artificial, but the effect was not wholly lost. And most importantly, he was able to slip into them without notice.

There was a distinct pathway through the atrium, and a few citizens strode along it leisurely, some in pairs, some alone, some in small knots of hushed conversation. Three crouched in the shadows, waiting for the right moment. After a minute or two of observing, he simply slipped out onto the path and joined the flow, walking as a man deep in thought amongst the gentle beauty of the replicated garden.