Daniel Polansky - Tomorrow, the Killing

In the pause I recognized him, the white-haired mope I’d seen hanging around the last time I’d gone to visit Pretories. It took his mind a long moment to square itself from the beating he’d taken, then his eyes fixed on my face and gleamed with recognition. ‘What are you doing here?’

I hesitated in answering, trying to think up something smart. It’s a good thing I’m not all that clever because the silence was interrupted by a noise from the alley behind me, and I grabbed my man and swung him around. It was instinct – I can’t pretend I knew what the sound was, but on some dim level I realized it was better to have my captive between me and it.

There was another sound then, one I did recognize – the thwack of a released bowstring. Concurrent with this, or nearly so, was the grunt of my human shield, and the sight of a quarrel head poking out from his chest.

At that distance there was a fair chance the bolt would have passed through its target with enough force to do me as well. I didn’t take time to enjoy my luck. Leaving the mug to drop where he was I dove back through the window, an awkward motion, desperate and ungainly, my shin banging against the frame. Once inside I ducked down below the window, taking care not to present a target. A taper on the desk provided the only light, and I searched for something to knock it over with. My hands settled on a heavy ledger, and I sent it spinning at the candle. Given the debris there was a better than average chance the falling spark would set the place off like a tinderbox.

But it didn’t, and I stayed crouched down in the dark, my trench blade in one hand, a throwing knife in the other. If whoever was out there decided to rush me I figured they’d do it then, and I’d be set to meet them. If it was just the one guy it might end in my favor. It probably wasn’t just the one guy, I conceded.

Five minutes passed. If they were waiting me out, they were doing a good job. Another five. Nobody’s that patient, not after killing a man. Whoever had fired that bolt was gone. I waited ten more to be sure, then sheathed my weapons, closed the window and started searching for the candle.

It was a while before I found it, rolled beneath a pile of half-decade-old broadsheets. I lit it with a match from my belt and surveyed the room. It was still a cluttered mess, uneaten food on the bookshelves and rotting paperwork on the floor. It was chaos when I’d been there last – it was chaos now. Whatever struggles had taken place in the last half hour had left little enough mark on the terrain. Little enough except the body on the floor, of course.

To be absolutely honest, I would not have bet my stake of the Earl on the continued vitality of Iomhair Gilchrist – still, I’d been hoping he’d stick around a little longer, for purely mercenary reasons.

Wish in one hand and shit in the other, as they say. The corpse at my feet seemed definitive proof as to which was the more effective means of filling a palm. Iron Stomach had been no great beauty in life, and death hadn’t done him any favors. His fat face was swelled like an over-ripe melon, his mustache a thin line of silver amidst the bloated red. He’d swallowed most of the rag they’d stuffed into his mouth to keep him quiet, and two wide handprints were bruised into his neck. Had they been made by the same pair that had done Rhaine? Somehow I didn’t doubt it.

Not that I’d needed confirmation, but I had it. Joachim Pretories had killed Rhaine’s adviser, just as he’d killed Rhaine herself. I left the corpse where it was, undid the front door and slipped out into the night. On principle, I didn’t like leaving the body there to rot, but I couldn’t very well call attention to my presence by contacting the authorities. Besides, the way things were going, he’d have plenty of company.

27

I slept poorly.

The dinner trade had been sparse and languid, a thin squad of losers out-drinking the coin in their purses. Violent though – twice Adolphus had been forced to leave his perch behind the bar and express to our patrons the necessity of tranquility in fashion both sanguinary and ironic. At the end of the night Adeline had soaked blood out of her mop. Hadn’t been the first time, wouldn’t be the last.

I’d spent the evening alternating shots of liquor and snorts of breath, and trying to convince myself that the death of Iomhair Gilchrist wouldn’t lead directly to my own. It had been dark in the alleyway – too dark, I hoped, to make out faces. The fact that the bowman had mistaken his own for me was proof enough of that. If he had recognized me, though, the whole thing was fucked sideways. Pretories less than half-trusted me as it was – if he heard I’d been freelancing he’d put me down, no sense leaving me around to make trouble. It would be the smart move and, despite his missteps, I didn’t think Joachim a fool.

Practically speaking, of course, it didn’t matter. I was in it to the hilt. That’s the thing about sprinting downhill – you run it out or you tumble.

Around one o’clock I’d climbed up to the roof, angled my feet off the balcony and rolled a spliff. Somewhere out in the darkness men were dying because of me. They weren’t very good men, I supposed – the thugs and bully-boys Artur Giroie the Second had hired to watch his shipment of poison. But then I wasn’t a very good man either, and perhaps shouldn’t be so casual with the lives of my confederates in immorality.

It was a long time before I’d gone to bed, and as I mentioned, I hadn’t had much success once I’d gotten there.

My morning schedule was light. Apparently Wren’s was as well, because I’d been up for a solid hour before he made an appearance, and I’m no early riser.

He came in finally from the back, yawning and shirtless, thin as gristle, skin stretched over bone. ‘Anything left for me?’

I forked a last morsel of egg into my mouth. ‘You’re a resourceful child. I’m confident you’ll find something.’

He scowled unhappily, then took a seat at my table.

I pulled out the armband Mazzie had given me and passed it over to him. ‘Wear this when you go to your appointment – make sure the local element knows you’ve been marked.’

Wren eyed it with discomfort bordering on disgust, like I’d dropped a turd onto the table. Then he stuffed it into his back pocket and muttered something.

‘What was that?’

‘I don’t see the point.’

‘I thought I clarified it during our last conversation.’

‘I don’t need any help. I can figure out what I need to on my own.’

‘You can’t, but that wasn’t what I meant. If you don’t go see Mazzie tomorrow I’m going to hang you out the window by your fucking ankles. That firm up your schedule?’

The threat left him silent for a whole five seconds. Then he wiped his nose with a dirty hand and continued, ‘Adolphus has a speech tomorrow.’

‘That didn’t interest me the first time I heard it.’

‘It’s a big deal. There might be five thousand men watching him.’

‘So you can ask one of them how it went.’

‘It’s important to him. He’s a hero, you know.’

‘Is he? I hadn’t heard.’

‘He held the line at Aunis. Killed twenty men single-handed.’

‘That what makes a man a hero? Killing a lot of people?’

‘It does if they’re Dren.’

‘You meet a lot of Dren in Low Town?’

He shook his head.

‘You ever watch a man burn to death? You ever smell a man char?’

He swallowed hard, but kept his eyes on mine.

‘You won’t ever look at a chop steak again the same way, I can guarantee you that much.’

Now he did look away, craning his neck to avoid my gaze.

‘Wouldn’t be so quick to talk about glory neither, I’d reckon.’ I sipped my coffee and turned to look out the window. ‘Keep that sloppy cunt mouth of yours shut around me from now on, or I’ll close it myself.’