Daniel Polansky - Tomorrow, the Killing

‘And where did you sit?’

‘He was my superior, for a while, back during the war. After . . .’ I flicked my toothpick onto the ground. ‘We were at cross-purposes.’

‘But you were a soldier, like Adolphus – Roland was fighting for you.’

My hopes of reaching mid-morning without losing my temper were starting to seem increasingly vain. Wren had perfected the ability to make me want to hurt him. ‘Let me explain to you how it is, boy – I wouldn’t think I’d need to, you growing up how you did. But you’re young, and still stupid, so I’ll tell you. There are men who walk in front, and men who stand behind them. The man behind, he’s always got a reason why he has to be where he is. Roland was better than most of them – at least he believed his line – but at the end of the day, it’s still the men up front catching the arrows.’

‘The veterans seem to think he was more than that.’

‘He had a good patter, like I said.’

‘That’s all there is?’

‘The Dren you hate so much – what do you think they marched for? You think their commanders told them they were the horde, make ready to swoop down on civilization and burn it to its embers? They got the same speech we did – glory, honor, justice. It comes down to where you’re sitting, like I said.’

‘None of it means anything?’

‘Not enough to die over.’

‘Then why are you doing this?’

‘Doing what?’

His eyes were hard and cold, harder and colder than a fourteen-year-old’s had any right to be. ‘You’ve got wheels spinning,’ he said. ‘You been spinning them all week.’

‘I spin wheels for a living.’

‘So you’ll see yellow out of what you got going with the veterans?’

Nothing like having the tables turned on you by a boy still holding his cherry. ‘It’s not all about coin.’

‘What’s it about then?’

I didn’t answer.

‘Glory? Honor?’ He smiled savagely. ‘Justice?’

I was saved by a knock from outside, a solid banging that seemed nearly an attempt to break the door down.

Wren went back to playing with his blade. ‘For a man who doesn’t stick his neck out for anything, you stick your neck out a lot.’

The thumping continued. ‘Warden, you in there?’

‘Yeah,’ I answered, but my eyes didn’t leave the boy.

‘It’s Hroudland. Commander needs to see you.’

‘One fucking second!’ I shouted back, then leaned my face against Wren’s. ‘Next time you touch my property you can expect the conversation to be a good deal less pleasant,’ I said, then rose and opened the door.

Hroudland and a couple of veterans stood outside, and they didn’t seem cheery. ‘Hello, boys – you miss me?’

36

Pretories was in a small cafe across from the burned-out wreckage of a building. He sat at a booth by the window, sipping from a mug too small for his hands. Three of his boys kept him wedged in respectfully, five if you counted by width. Each was engaged in impressive displays of fury, cracking knuckles, eyeballing passers-by, making quiet threats at no one in particular. By contrast Joachim seemed but faintly ruffled, blowing softly over his coffee.

This one would be a tight play, no room for error. The vial of breath swung heavy in my pocket, and I let it stay there. These Association types weren’t so liberated as my usual crowd.

‘I’m sorry, Commander,’ I said.

He swallowed my courtesy with a nod. ‘We had four boys in there, when they hit it.’

‘Like I said, I’m sorry.’

There was an uncanny stillness to Joachim that made you jittery by reflection, made your beard itch and your brow sweat. ‘Let’s hear it,’ he said finally.

‘Not sure I follow.’

‘You warned me, told me what was coming. I gave you the brush-off. You’re entitled to crow.’

I took the seat across from him. ‘I take no pleasure in the death of your men.’ Though I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it either – petty thugs with ten years of Joachim’s dirty work beneath their belts.

That was the last thing anyone said for a while. I watched tufts of white smoke leak out from the hole in the other side of the street. The boys watched me. Pretories didn’t seem to watch anything.

Without warning he brought his fist down against the table. The crockery rattled, and so did the personnel. He waited till both settled before continuing. ‘I don’t need this shit right now.’

‘I don’t imagine.’

‘Tomorrow is the biggest day in the history of our organiz-ation. Fifty thousand men marching in step, the largest contingent of veterans since the end of the war, taking our demands straight to the palace.’

‘Heavy.’

‘And now some . . . fading crime lord wants to go a round with us, bring up dirt that’s been buried for a decade.’

‘I admit – the timing is suspicious.’

His eyes rolled up to meet mine. ‘What does that mean?’

I took a deliberate look around the table. ‘Perhaps we’d best continue this in private.’

‘I don’t know what you’re used to, Lieutenant, but these men are my brothers. There are no secrets between us.’

The goons sat up straighter.

‘Word is the Giroies get their backing from a man on the top floor of Black House.’

‘Boys, secure the perimeter.’

The goons trickled out the booth, hurt and petulant.

Joachim waited until they were gone before continuing. ‘That’s impossible,’ he said, and perhaps he wasn’t quite straight as a quarterstaff.

‘Why?’

‘Black House has no reason to come after us – we’re a legitimate organization.’

‘Stirring up trouble with the council and the Crown. You think the Old Man is above taking sides on a political matter, you need to take another walk around the block. And besides, the Association might have put their revolutionary activities behind them, but Black House has a long memory. They’re not adverse to stepping on you for past misdeeds.’

‘I’m well aware of our history with Black House.’ He curled his lip up like he’d smelt something sour, and if he wasn’t quite fidgeting, it was close enough to see I’d gotten to him. ‘But we’ve reached an . . . equilibrium, at least, since Roland’s death. They’ve no reason to declare war on us.’

‘They didn’t – you did, when you decided on your march. Whatever unspoken accord you think you have with the Old Man, I can assure you, it lasts only until he thinks you’re making trouble for him – or till he sees an open shot at your throat.’

‘So he spurs up trouble with the Giroies to . . .’

‘Turn your flanks. They figure they’ll distract you with an old enmity.’

He seemed to realize the balance between us had shifted, and came on strong, trying to reassert his authority. ‘This is all very interesting, Lieutenant. I’m wondering why you didn’t think to mention it before?’

‘All I had were rumors, underworld gossip.’

‘And now?’

‘I did some digging since yesterday. There are still a few men in Black House willing to chat, so long as I’m buying the drinks, and the drinks cost ten ochre a pop.’

‘Whispers from underworld contacts and ex-colleagues – this is a far way from hard evidence.’

‘Fits though, doesn’t it?’

His silence was confirmation enough. There was another long pause, but this one I didn’t think was planned. Even for a man as unflappable as the commander, things were moving pretty quickly. He slunk down over his drink. ‘Years pulling ourselves out of Roland’s hole, years spent sitting on anything that touched on our old activities. Building our rolls, making contacts at court. Winning a place at the table for the men who’d fought for and earned it. This morning I wake up to the news that our station was bombed, four of our brothers murdered, and we’re back where we fucking started.’