Crucible Zero (24 page)

“You should not,” he said, rising to lean across his cluttered desk and shake my hand. “So wonderful to meet you.” He let go and pointed at another chair near Abraham. “Have a seat. We're all friends here.” He paused, looked at Abraham. “I assume we're friends?”

He nodded once. “Close enough. Though I'd think Matilda might say we simply had similar goals.”

“Ah.” Oscar turned and poured a honey-colored liquor out of a cut crystal decanter into four glasses. “Well, then, you've certainly come to the right place.” He glanced back at me over his glasses. “We are all about friendly, temporary alliances here.”

He turned with the tray and stepped over to Abraham, who took one of the glasses.

“Tell me how it is that we at Coal and Ice can help you,” he said, offering me a glass.

I wasn't one for drinking, but after the night I'd had, I could use something more than water in my belly.

“She doesn't want help from Coal and Ice,” Abraham said.

“Oh?” Oscar gave the last glass to Foster, who was leaning inside the doorway, his massive bulk probably making the room even more secure than a dead-bolted door.

I looked over at Abraham. I didn't know what he was talking about. I thought we'd come here for weapons and information on how to get into House Fire. How was that
not
my wanting Coal and Ice's favor?

“This will be a personal favor. To me,” he said.

“Hold on,” I said.

“No.” Oscar lifted a finger. “I'd like to hear what he has to say. It's not often he asks such things. Also, I assume he didn't clear this with you. No?” Oscar laughed and walked back around to the other side of the desk.

“You have always had such style, Abraham. Please go on.” He sat and took a sip of his drink. Only then did Abraham and Foster drink.

Oh, right. I supposed there might be traditions to be followed here.

Or they were waiting for him to drink to prove it wasn't poison.

I took a sip. It was surprisingly mild, like an apple juice with just the hint of fermentation. Nice, actually.

“Matilda and I have a common goal,” Abraham went on. “She and I will work out the price of our alliance privately. What I want from you, Binek, as a friend and a man who should also see the benefit of our success, is weapons, intelligence, and political pull.”

Oscar breathed in and sat back in his chair. The laughter was gone, replaced by a steel edge that I hadn't seen in him before. “You must want something very badly to bring up my family, Abraham.”

Abraham didn't say anything.

Oscar sipped his drink again. “My favors don't come lightly.”

“I understand that.”

“Speak,” Oscar finally said.

“We intend to kill Slater, head of House Fire.”

Oscar blinked, then drained his drink. “He's galvanized.”

“Galvanized can be killed,” Abraham said.

“Galvanized don't kill galvanized,” Oscar said.

“I'm going to kill him,” I said.

Both of them flicked a look my way.

“How are you planning on doing that, Ms. Case?” Oscar asked.

“A weapon has fallen into my hands that will get the job done,” I said, not wanting to tell him about the Shelley dust.

“That is . . . intriguing. I understand why Abraham wants to kill him,” Oscar said. “Tell me why you are interested in doing a very dangerous and very foolish thing.”

As opposed to all the very safe, very smart things I've been doing lately?
I thought.

But what I said was, “He killed my family and my friends. And he is even now killing innocent people I care about.”

Oscar frowned.

“He's bombing House Earth,” Abraham provided.

“Ah, yes,” Oscar said. “He's blaming House Water for that.”

“It isn't House Water. It's Slater,” I said.

“I didn't say I didn't believe you. Do you have proof? Documents that might be acted upon?”

“Not with me, no.” I hadn't thought of that. The letter Sallyo had delivered was proof that Slater intended to bomb the compounds. If a document like that held up in court in this time.

If they even had courts in this time.

“Killing a head of a House is punishable by death, Matilda Case,” Oscar said. “Even the people who walk these streets and take these jobs that so often fall into my hands—distasteful jobs that most people have no stomach for—would think twice about killing a head of a House.”

“I've thought about it more than twice,” I said.

“Hmm.” His lips pulled back in a tight smile. “I see that you have. And are you willing to let this ride on Abraham's debt to me?”

“We're in this together,” Abraham said.

He looked over at me.

I could say no. I could bear the cost of this, although I didn't know what Oscar would want in trade for such sensitive information, not to mention his culpability in Slater's murder. Would he ask me for my farm, my house? Would he demand servitude?

And what would he ask out of Abraham?

“We are in it together,” I agreed, “but we will share the debt.”

“Good,” Oscar said, pointing a finger at me in approval. “I like a soul who's not afraid to carry her own burden. Tell me
exactly
what you need from me.”

“Slater's schedule,” Abraham said. “Any entries and exits to House Fire that have changed in the past few months since he's taken over power. Weapons: guns, preferably with silencers, scopes, but also close-range weapons. And we want your brother, Hollis, to look the other way while we take care of the thorn in his side.”

I had no idea what position Hollis had in this time. Back in mine, he was in league with several other Houses and trying to dethrone Oscar from head of House Gray by killing him.

Which he'd done.

“We trust Hollis?” I asked.

Oscar laughed. “I see you must have met my brother. No, we do not trust him. But he has his price, just as any man does.”

“And he's in a position to help?” I asked.

“Hollis is the head of defense for House Water,” Abraham said.

“Okay?”

He gave me that crooked smile again. “He should just hold the title of consummate spy. If there's dirt to be found on anyone, Hollis has it. Which means,” he added before I asked, because I still wasn't seeing how a House Water official could help us with our House Fire problem, “that he can make people, even House Fire people, step aside so we can get what we want.”

“Oh,” I said. “Oh.” I nodded. “And how much will that cost us?”

“I'll be the one setting the rate,” Oscar said. “Weapons, intel, political favor.” He steepled his fingers together in front of his mouth and looked over his glasses at Abraham.

Abraham took the last swallow of his drink and returned Oscar's gaze, unconcerned. It was like watching two poker players feel each other out over a particularly large pot.

“A year's contract at half pay,” Oscar started.

“Six months,” Abraham countered.

“Six months, quarter pay,” Oscar said.

“Done.”

“And,” Oscar said holding up his finger, “I want something from Matilda.”

“The only thing she has is a broken-down farm in the middle of the scratch,” Abraham said. “Nothing worthwhile there. Don't see you as the toiling-in-the-soil type, Binek.”

Oscar wiggled his eyebrows. “I'm not interested in the farm. At the moment,” he added. “Although I am impressed with the size and variety of the stitched beasts that wander your property,” he said. “Which are very much worthwhile, Abraham. Never kid a kidder.”

Okay, so he knew about our farm. His brother was apparently the head of defense for House Water, and king spy. It was no wonder he would know where I lived.

“Just ask,” I said. “If it's a fair price and doesn't put the lives of the people I love in danger, I'll pay it.”

Oscar grinned and sat forward. “
That
is how I like to do business,” he declared. “Do you see how easy that is, Abraham? How an amicable exchange”—he waved his hand at himself, then me—“between two interested, honest parties can bring about such a quick and simple agreement?”

“You don't have to shove candy up my ass,” Abraham said. “I've known you since you were six.”

“Five,” Oscar corrected. “And completely beside the point. The point is what I'm asking of you, Matilda Case.”

I raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“The cure to the One-five plague,” he said.

Abraham frowned. “You can't ask for things that don't exist.”

“But it does exist. Doesn't it, Ms. Case?”

He waited, watching me. Abraham was watching me too. He and Foster both knew Quinten had the cure. It was nice of Abraham to try to keep that secret. It wasn't my secret to tell. It sure as hell wasn't mine to give away or promise to anyone.

If I said yes, how much danger would Quinten be in?

The way Oscar was looking at me, he could be bluffing. Quinten was one of the most careful men at covering his tracks. I doubted even superspy Hollis knew what Quinten had been gathering those medical records for. He couldn't have known that Quinten was trying to find a cure for the plague.

Unless someone ratted him out.

Maybe someone like Welton.

I thought about it. Was Welton the kind of person to stir the pot and make trouble just for fun?

Oh, hell, yes. He always had been.

And with Slater declaring martial law and the Houses under attack, would Welton have traded favors and information with Oscar? Would he have outfitted his compound with better weapons from one of the Houses, or maybe better medical supplies?

Yes. Yes. And yes.

Shit. Oscar wasn't bluffing. Oscar knew.

“I can't guarantee that,” I said.

“Oh? Why not?”

“It hasn't been tested.”

Oscar nodded. “Is that why your brother and you left in such a hurry to go to Compound Five?”

“He has a friend there who is ill,” I said.

It didn't seem to matter if I told the truth. I suspected he already knew all this.

“And is he treating this friend?”

“Yes. He has made enough to treat one person. If it works, I will do what is in my power to make sure you also have access to the formula.”

“No,” Oscar said mildly. “I didn't say I also wanted access to it. I said I wanted it. The formula and all rights to distribute the cure, and charge whatever price I see fit for access to it.”

The man who owned the cure would own the world. I liked Oscar. The Oscar from my time. Maybe I might even like this Oscar. Abraham certainly seemed friendly with him.

But I was not at all convinced the world should be in any one man's hands.

I think I know what it is. What you need to kill him. I must reach you before he does.

—W.Y.

“Y
ou'll have to name another price,” I said. “I can't give you the cure.”

“But that is all I want.” He spread his hands, as if helpless to change his actions.

I shook my head. “It's not mine to give. Even if I agreed and signed a contract, there are other people who know about it. People who knew about it before you and already staked their claim.”

“I'll buy them out.”

“The answer's still no. If that's all you'll accept in payment, then I'll be going. Thanks for your time.” I turned to leave.

“Wait,” he said. “Wait. Even I can be . . . flexible. Offer me a price.”

“I don't have anything you would want.”

“You don't know that,” he said. “Try, Matilda.” His words were deceptively encouraging.

I was getting such mixed signals from him. He had been a good man before, and I defaulted to wanting to believe he was good still. It was messing with my ability to close this deal.

What did I have that a man like Oscar, whom I really didn't know anymore, would want?

Not the farm. The thread, the jam.

No! Jelly!

“There's a healing balm unique to my farm,” I said. “Can't be reproduced anywhere else in the world. It makes wounds heal faster and keeps infection at bay. I'll make you the exclusive distributor of sixty percent of the product we manufacture.”

“I'm not a man who buys snake oil, my dear.”

“It's not snake oil. Ask Abraham. I put it on his gut wound.”

“Is this true?” Oscar asked. “Did you get stabbed in the very short time since I've last seen you?”

Abraham stood, took a breath, and let it out. He shook his head at me. “You should have given him the unproven plague cure,” he said as he pulled off his jacket. “Never offer up something of real, proven value,” he said, dragging his shirt off over his head, “when you can get away with providing the fake crap that a man desires.” He stripped down, then turned toward Oscar, bare chested.

“Bullet hole.” He pointed to three almost healed holes in a tight configuration just below his right pec muscle. “Slash from a fall down a cliff.” He pushed aside the bandaging to show the stitches across a cut that looked like it was at least a week old and healing.

“You fell down a cliff?” Oscar asked. “How clumsy of you, Abraham.”

“Well, if
someone
would have canceled the contract on the Cases after I told him we were coming this way, maybe I wouldn't have had to thin Coal and Ice's ranks.”

“I don't see how your poor reflexes are my fault,” he said. “Also, I am not one to miss an opportunity. I knew you'd take care of the mercenaries who were on your trail. And since most of them hated you and had shortchanged a few contracts with me, I'm not sorry to have lost any of those assholes. Win-win.” Then he looked back at me. “Ninety percent of what you manufacture.”

“Fifty,” I said.

He grinned. “Are we talking a bucket or a teaspoon? How much of this balm do you make in a year?”

I thought about it. I could put up about fifty pounds of it from the one lizard I'd had back in my time. And Quinten had cobbled together three dozen lizards. Even if they yielded only half the scales, it should be a decent amount.

Still, I'd been taught to never overpromise. “I don't have my records on hand,” I said, “and I haven't taken inventory. But I can safely guarantee a hundred pounds over a year's time.”

“I'll want a ten-year exclusive.”

“I'll give you two.”

“Eight.”

“Six months.”

His grin was back. “Three years.”

“Thirty months.”

“Thirty months of ninety percent of your production?”

“Thirty months of fifty percent of our production.”

He considered it for a moment, and I tried not to let him see how nervous I was about it.

“Does it work on humans?” he asked.

I pointed at Abraham. “Yes?”

“No, humans. Not galvanized.”

I raised my eyebrows. “I hadn't thought you'd be such a judgmental man, considering your line of work.”

He laughed and clapped his hands together. “My line of work is nothing
but
judgment, my dear Matilda. I take your answer to mean that your balm will work on those of us less long-lived?”

I'd used it on Quinten, and he'd told me he used it on his own wounds too. “Yes. It works on humans. Animals too.”

“Good! Most of the people in Coal and Ice tend to be one or the other.” He stood and walked around his desk again, his hand extended. “It is a true pleasure to do business with you, Ms. Case.”

I shook his hand. “You too. So when do we get our guns?”

*   *   *

It turned out guns were the easy part of our resupply plan. Information took a little longer. Oscar invited us to stay in one of the many rooms of his building while we waited. While I thought there probably wasn't a safer place to stay than with the head of Coal and Ice, and Foster agreed to stay with a quiet grunt, Abraham refused.

“There are some things I need to pick up at my place,” he said. “Matilda?”

I don't know why I was so surprised. I mean, Abraham had to actually live somewhere. It made sense that he live here, with the other killers and assassins.

I just hadn't expected him to want to take me home.

“Sure,” I said, suddenly itching with curiosity. In my world, Abraham had lived with Oscar, as a personal bodyguard and advisor. And Oscar, being the head of House Gray, had lived richly and provided fine living to Abraham.

I wondered what sort of place Abraham would settle down in, given his own means.

“You're in a good mood,” he said as we walked along the sidewalk and toward the north end of town.

“It's after dawn and I'm not dead yet,” I said. “What's not to smile about?”

He glanced over at me. “You do know every one of these people we're passing is a thief, killer, and reprobate?”

“So?”

“Aren't you worried about how far you've fallen, Ms. Case? Why, just a few days ago, you were nothing but an honest, hardworking farm girl.”

“Sure,” I said. “I was that. And I was a lot more than you can ever imagine.”

“A time traveler.”

“That too.”

“Sister, fighter, hero, healer.”

“Mmm.”

“Lover?”

“Are you offering or are you asking?”

He stepped around a sandwich-board sign advertising fresh fruits that was propped in the middle of the sidewalk. “It depends. Are you accepting or explaining?”

“No. Nuh-uh,” I said. “No weaseling out of it. Give me a straight answer.”

He kept his eyes forward. Was he searching the alley and second-story windows for assassins? Probably. But he was also trying not to look at me.

It was kind of cute.

“I just thought . . . well, back there in the van.” He paused, and we let a car rumble past before crossing the street.

“Back there in the van,” I prompted.

He bit at the stitches on the side of his mouth. It was a nervous habit.

I liked that I could make him nervous. Liked it a lot.

“We . . . you . . . well.” He finally looked over at me. He let go of those stitches and pursed his lips into a smile. “We might just be something a lot more together than apart,” he said.

“Is that you telling me you like me, Mr. Vail?”

“I did search the whole world for you.”

“So you did,” I said. “Are you happy with what you found?”

“Other than you do seem to attract more trouble than any woman I've ever met?”

I rolled my eyes. “Please. You can't tell me in three hundred years, you've never run into a single troublemaker like me.”

“Troublemakers, yes.” He stopped. Half turned toward me. “But no one like you.”

I looked up at him. At the sincerity in his eyes. At the man I could easily see myself spending the rest of my life with.

“That's really sweet,” I said, meaning it. “Anyone tell you how sweet you are, Abraham?”

“Yes,” he said softly, sincerely. “And you, well, you have guts in your hair.”

“Really? That's how you take a compliment?” My hands flew up to my hair.

“It's . . .” He pointed toward the other side of my hair.

I combed my fingers through as much as the tangles would allow.

“That's not helping much,” he said. “You sort of spread it around. Might want a bath.”

“And how much is that going to cost me in this town? No, wait—let me guess. I'll have to barter for it.”

“Under other circumstances, yes. But since you offered to take on half the cost of funding our hunt for Slater, I'll throw a shower in for free.”

“How generous. Do I get soap with that?”

“Probably.”

He walked up the three stairs onto a porch of a small, well-built house. He slipped three keys into locks, pressed something else that looked a lot like a digital keypad, and then opened the door.

“This is your place?”

He glanced at it, glanced back at me. “You sound surprised.”

“Sturdy walls, solid roof, and no obvious bullet holes. Exceeds my wildest expectations.”

“Might charge you for hot water if you keep that up.” He strolled into the place. “Come on in.”

I walked up the stairs and into Abraham's house.

Oscar's church office had a heavily polished wood interior, each thin board slatted seamlessly into the other. Abraham's home looked like a modern log cabin. A short set of stairs directly to my left led up to a loft bedroom that looked out over the living space. A stone hearth rose from floor to ceiling along the back wall, and tasteful furniture set about the room in deep burgundy and browns contrasted nicely with the wall painted pale sage, beyond which I could see a kitchen.

“Bathroom there.” He pointed to the left of the kitchen to a white door. “Water will be hot, and it's plumbed. Since you don't have a change of clothes . . .”

“I'll make do with what I have in my duffel,” I said.

He paused, looked at me from head to toe. “I'm getting you new clothes.”

“Not necessary.”

“It will take days to get the stink of feral blood out of them, including the things in your duffel. I'd rather not draw ferals to us. We're leaving today. In two hours, tops. Not enough time to wash and dry your clothes.”

“I'll wear them wet.”

“Tempting,” he said, tipping his head sideways, “but impractical. I'll get you a new set.”

I walked across the hardwood, trying to avoid getting dirt or blood on the expensive-looking throw rugs in the living room. “There is a lot left to be desired by your inability to take no for an answer,” I said.

“You'll get used to it, since I'm always right.”

I shook my head and walked into the bathroom.

The walls were wood painted white, and the ceiling was wood left bare. But it was the enormous lion's-foot bathtub that had me drooling.

I locked the door, then stripped out of my clothing. Abraham wasn't joking. My shirt was covered in blood and chunks of stuff I didn't want to identify. When I turned to the full-length mirror, I was a little horrified at the state of my hair.

If this was how I looked and Oscar hadn't batted an eye about doing business with me, it said a lot about his clientele.

I turned away from the mirror and opened the tap. Hot water steamed into the beautiful cast-iron tub, and I crawled into it, sluicing away the worst of the grime from my body and hair before setting the plug to let the tub fill for a good soak.

Yes, there was soap, and I intended to use it all.

*   *   *

I was out of the tub and wrapped in an oversized towel, using the brush I'd found in the vanity to get the tangles out of my hair. I'd done my best with my clothes, using a damp washcloth to scrape most of the gore off. They were still filthy, and as much as I hated to admit it, Abraham was right: they stank to high heaven.

I had carefully removed the three slender vials of Shelley dust and made sure they weren't broken. Luckily, they were still intact and stoppered. I made sure to wrap them back in the handkerchief.

I worked my hair into one loose braid, then checked my stitches, bruises, and cuts to make sure nothing was going bad.

I was procrastinating, taking the time to enjoy being clean. And maybe not wanting to tell Abraham he was right. I needed a new set of clothing.

Abraham knocked on the door. “Matilda? I have a pile of clean, dry clothing in your size.”

Crap.

I walked over to the door and unlocked it.

He didn't smile as he very solemnly handed me the stack of clothes. “Just in case you changed your mind,” he said, eyes twinkling.

“Thank you.” I took the clothes from him and shut the door in his smug face.

Abraham had a good eye for size—all the way from long-sleeved flannel outer shirt, down to pants, underwear, and bra, the clothing he'd picked out fit perfectly.

It was wonderful to be dry, clean, and warm.

I tugged on the thick socks and put my boots over that, then pulled into the jacket last and tucked the vials of Shelley dust into the inside breast pocket.

The jacket was a beautiful thing, brown leather that ended at my waist, with a couple old-time patches on it I didn't recognize. I shrugged into it and it settled over me like a protective wing. It was a little too big, but I liked it.

Might even have to talk Abraham into letting me keep it once this was done.

I took a quick look in the mirror, shook my head at how well everything fit, and stepped out of the room.

Abraham had changed too, and washed the blood out of his hair and off his face and hands.