Heart of Veridon (32 page)

“No one,” I said. He nodded, then signaled five men to search, and another five to secure the door. They rushed off, as though anxious to be out of his presence.

Leaning against the desk, he stared at me with casual indifference. When the men came back and shook their heads, he sent them out into the street. Once we were alone he turned his attention to Emily.

“You’re concerned for her. She’s breathing still, if that’s your interest.” He craned his neck. “And she appears to be bleeding.” He turned back to me, his eyebrows up. His tone was conversational. “She’s been shot? Or stabbed? Good stuff. Ah, here we are.” He bent closer to her and raised his voice. “Good morning, dear.”

Emily moaned and stirred. I twisted to see her, but couldn’t get my head around too well. Sloane pushed me back with one foot.

“Yes, good morning, lovely. Feeling well? You’d be Emily, I suppose? Gone off the treaty a bit, haven’t we, my dear?”

She levered herself up, panting in pain. He nodded to her.

“Up, up, up. Onto the couch, quickly now.” He picked up the pistol, delicately, as though it would leave a foul stench on his hand if he gripped it too firmly. He waved it indistinctly in Emily’s direction. “No laying about on Mr. Sloane’s time, is there?”

“Where did you get that?” I asked, hoping to distract him from tormenting the girl. It was definitely a service revolver of the Air Corps.

“You like it? I thought you might be interested.” He held it so I could see the crest.
Glory of Day
. “Tell me, where do you think I got it?”

“From the Fehn. From the river.”

“Good. Dots are beginning to connect. And where do you think you got your pistol?”

I squirmed on the sofa and tried to sit up. He watched me disinterestedly, then smacked me lightly across the face with the pistol.

“Where. Do you think. You got your pistol?”

“You know.” I spat.

“Of course I know, Jacob. Because you got it from me. I wrapped it in that box and had it delivered to you at the Manor Tomb. Mysteriously. Mystery is such an effective tool in the paranoid mind, Mr. Burn.” He leaned happily against the desk and folded his arms, the pistol tucked under his elbow. “Speaking of which. Where is your pistol?”

“I left it at the Church. Dropped it.”

“Dropped it. At the Church. Really.” He looked over my shoulder at the wall. “I wonder what they’re going to make of that. Interesting.”

“What was the point, Sloane?”

“You didn’t give me a lot of time, Mr. Burn. I only found out you were going to be at that party that morning. Had to do something to keep you out of Angela’s hands, didn’t I? I figured getting you a little paranoid would do the trick.”

“So it was a setup?” I looked at Emily. “They got me up there to capture me. What about the Angel?”

“Yes! What about the Angel. I was hoping you could tell me, Jacob. What do you know about him?”

I laid out a long, tired sigh. “This is how you ask questions? I’m not telling you anything, man. Not anything.”

He smiled at me, a grim, empty smile.

“No, I suppose you’re not. Not at all.” He turned to Emily again. “On the couch, woman. I am patient, but not in that way.”

“Fuck off,” Emily spat from the floor. Sloane raised the pistol and cocked it.

“You get one warning. It’s a pity you use it on such a trivial thing.” He fired into the couch, inches above her head. I yelled and struggled forward. He kicked me in the face, without looking.

Grimacing, Emily dragged herself forward. He held the pistol on her, a little half smile wrinkling his face, until she collapsed next to me on the sofa. Her skin was cold and pale, and sweat beaded her face.

“Enough? This is a good start, but we really don’t have much time. Not the usual leisurely chat, for us. I’m going to start by assuming that you don’t have it with you?”

“What?” I asked.

He reached forward and cracked my face with his pistol. With my arms bound I fell to the ground, smearing blood on the carpet.

“I don’t want to sit through this again.” Arms on my shoulders, he grunted as he lifted and then dropped me onto the couch. Emily was gaping at him. When I looked up he was leaning against the desk, as though he had never moved.

“Jacob…” she whispered. “Fucking… Jacob…”

“That wasn’t my question. I don’t blame the boy, of course. From what I’ve heard you’re a talented girl. But let’s keep to the subject. Is it with you?”

“You mean the Cog?”

“I do.”

“Never heard of it,” I spat, blood dribbling down my chin.

His face didn’t change, but he hunched forward. Emily pressed herself back into the couch. Didn’t make any sense to me. I was the one getting punched, no need for her to flinch like that. Only the spook didn’t punch me, not yet. He set down the gun, then pulled on the thin leather gloves. His hand on my knee was heavy, like lead.

“Jacob. There are things you should know. Secrets. I know this whole thing has been very difficult for you.” He turned his head to look at Emily, then back to me. “Your family, as well. Hard on all of us. I’m not here to make things more difficult. It may get difficult, in the short term, I’ll admit that, but what happens is really up to you. Okay?”

“You’re a psychotic fuck, Sloane. Don’t play with me.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just my nature.” He squeezed my knee like an old grandfather. “But really, I’d like to help. Is there anything I can answer for you? Any questions you might have that might make this whole thing go easier?”

“Say you have me, and you get the Cog. What are you going to do about our winged friend?”

“The Angel?” He smirked. “Things are being lined up for him. Don’t worry. And now, I suppose, it’s my turn.”

He pulled his gloves tighter, then leaned close and ran a finger across my face. His face was screwed up in concentration.

“They did quite a job on you, Jacob Burn. I can feel it, burning out of you. The bruise is already fading. There is a fracture, as well. Here.” He stabbed an iron finger at my cheek. Pain shuddered through my face. The bones ground. I did what I could to not scream, but it was a near thing. “Yes, but not for long. Healing already.”

“What do you know about that?” I gasped as he dropped me back on to the couch. He wrinkled his brow.

“Yes, see. Curiosity. Questions.” He pulled a chair over and sat down, his hands folded casually in his lap. “And then answers. All very simple. So. What do I know about your little talent.”

“Don’t listen, Jacob,” Emily whispered, angry. “He’s just a thug. He’s just making shit up to get you talking.”

“Does it matter? I’ll tell you what I know, and you can believe it or you won’t. Doesn’t matter.” He leaned close to me. “Your heart, Jacob, is a favor done for some very powerful people. A debt that will be repaid, you understand.”

“Let me guess. You’re here to collect.”

Again, that smile. That dead, damn smile.

“It’s not your debt, Jacob. Now. My turn. The Cog isn’t here?”

“Fuck off.”

“I will take vulgarity as a demure negative. But you have it?”

“Fuck. You.”

“Hm. Look, Jacob. We both know that I can keep breaking you, and you can keep unbreaking. And as much as that idea interests me, well.” He tossed his hands up. “Time. It’s all down to the damn time. It’s just not in our favor.”

“Jacob…” Emily said. Her voice was laced with terror.

“But it’s just your body, right? There are ways around that.” He stood up, peeling off the gloves, throwing them on the table. Walking over to the jumble that was apparently Marcus, he rubbed his hands together. “Dear Marcus, for example. I could not… speak to his body, in my usual way. You made sure of that, yes?”

Hauling up the roughly dressed pipes and crude bolts as though they were foil, Sloane held the machine in front of us and flipped it on.

“Marcus?” he asked.

The pipes moaned. The legs struggled to find purchase, like a drunk on ice. Finally, the device stood on its own.

“But we found a way, didn’t we, Marcus?”

“Jacob? He’s here, isn’t he?” the pipes groaned. “Right here. I found him, like you said. Like the deal.”

“Deal is such a broad term, Marcus.” Sloane rattled the machine. “You found him, like we demanded.”

“That’s just a trick, Sloane.” I squirmed until I was sitting up. “There’s nothing of Marcus there.”

“Oh, but there is. Bits of him. The bits that can still be hurt.” Sloane ran a hand gingerly across the manifold, then slapped the lever off. Again, Marcus fell. The noise of the collapse was heavy.

“Like the soul machines in your lovely zepliners. You remember those, Jacob.” He twirled his fingers, like a butterfly in flight. “The spirit in the pipes, away from the body, in the machine. And if the body goes, well, the pipes are still there. And the soul.”

I thought of the captain on the
Glory of Day
, his metal voice on the
Glory
.

“Marcus was dead,” I said.

“Yes. Hugely helpful, you killing him. Something about souls, Jacob, and the people who kill them. Like two magnets, brought together.” He patted the collapsed shell of Marcus. “It’s slow, but inevitable.”

“This is how you kept finding us?” Emily asked. “At the lab, and now here?”

Sloane shrugged.

“My point, Jacob, is that I don’t need to hurt your body. And I don’t need to wait until you die to hurt your soul. It’s easier that way, but that’s… simply not on the table.”

“I’m terrified. Really. You should tie some more straps on me, because I might shake apart with the trembling, Sloane.”

“Brave man,” he said, grinning. “And funny. A god damn waste, kicking you out of the Council. Still,” he picked the leather bag up from the floor and set it on the desk. “You’ve served your purpose well.”

“Whatever you do, Sloane, leave her out of it. She doesn’t know anything.”

“Probably true.” The brass clasps snapped open, the buckle shrugging free to clang against the desk. “Wouldn’t that be interesting? Finding out what you know, girl. Finding all your secrets.”

Emily paled and shrank into the sofa. I wrestled with the straps across my chest. The leather was biting into my arms, but I thought that, with time, I’d be able to get free.

“Another time.” Sloane opened the bag and drew out a long tangle of hoses, bound in tarnished brass clasps and piped fittings. There was some central core to the machine, a complication of pumps and coiled springs. He set this on the table. It scarred the shiny veneer of the wood.

“Do you want to know about this? What it is, what it does?” Sloane held one of the rubber hoses across his thin palms like a holy relic. “Will that make it easier for you?” He looked down at me, his eyes flat, dark pits in his face.

Cold sweat broke out across my hands and face, something I couldn’t avoid. My toughest face wasn’t good enough for this.

“It helps me, sometimes. Knowing what’s going to happen. I form it in my head, smooth it out. See it.” Holding the hose in one hand, he cupped my chin, then ran a dry finger across my cheek. “In your situation, though. I understand, not wanting to know.”

He took the hose and looped it loosely around my head, gathered it up and looped it again, the coils building up beneath my chin. Each time he gathered, the hose snuggled up against my throat. It tightened. My head filled with the sound of my hammering blood. I tried to struggle, to flop free, but my body wouldn’t respond. I felt paralyzed, caught in the strange formality of the ritual.

“Emily, dear. Your eyes.” He planted his palm flat against my forehead and grimaced. “I would close your pretty eyes.”

With a jerk he tightened the hose. Emily screamed and threw herself off the couch. He brushed her aside, kicking her as she fell. My whole head squeezed shut, my tongue lolling up out of my mouth, my eyes wide and hot. I struggled to breathe, to scream, but my body felt farther and farther away. Through the hammering blood, I heard his voice.

“This is the worst part, Jacob. The worst.” He held the hose easily in one hand, his knuckles tight against my throat, holding me up. With his other hand he loosened his collar and showed me the old scars, the shiny skin of his neck. “I know. I understand. After this, my boy, there is nothing but darkness. The worst is almost over.”

He was right. The darkness came, and silence. The last thing I heard was the machine on the desk starting up, and the pulse moving through the hose, my neck, my blood, into my heart and dreams.

I
WOKE UP
to a taste, and nothing more. It was like tarnished brass filling my mouth, only I had no sense of mouth or tongue. Just a taste, hanging in emptiness.

There was nothing of my body, no feeling of pain, no sense of place or orientation. I could see nothing. Not blackness, as though I had closed my eyes or stood in a perfectly sealed room, but absolutely nothing. The idea of sight was distant, something remembered but unfamiliar.

“There, Jacob, you see? This isn’t as bad, is it? Not at first, anyway.” The voice of Sloane arrived without direction or weight. Just words I knew I was hearing, somewhere.