Hope and Red (13 page)

If you'd asked Red if the sex was good, he'd have said yes, even though he didn't have any basis of comparison. No tom wanted to admit he didn't enjoy a toss. It just wasn't a thing to say. But right after, still sweaty and panting, when he reached for her and she pushed him off, there was always a moment that struck him with a cold and lonely shot to the gut. In those moments, he would try anything to bridge that gap. Nettles didn't cuddle. She'd made that perfectly clear. Even holding hands irritated her. So he would use words to bridge that gap. Most of the time, as they lay in the dark, he would just rabbit on about whatever popped into his head, and she would respond with noncommittal grunts. But the night they robbed the butcher's, when he was going on about how he'd ingratiated himself with Neepman to find out the information that helped them succeed that night, she interrupted him.

“Your parents were from Silverback, then?”

“My dad was a whore there, as was his mom, and her dad before him. Long proud line of Silverback whores who served the artistic community for generations. Some call the whores in Silverback the Muses, since they are, on the whole, uncommonly attractive and have inspired many a painter or musician. My dad included.”

“What about your mom?”

At another place and time, Red would have answered more cautiously. He was not completely bludgeon. But in that moment, he was still on a high from the plan and the fight and the money and the sex, and he was so very desperate to close the gap he couldn't quite admit to himself that he felt. So he spoke crystal.

“My mom was from Hollow Falls.”

“Balls and pricks she was.”

“No, really. That's how I know how to read. I can paint, too, though I don't do that much these days.”

“Must be nice, coming from all that privilege.”

“What does
that
mean?”

“Nothing. So your mom was one of those lacy girls who came down to Silverback with dreams of being a famous painter?”

“She
was
a famous painter, actually. Until she got sick.”

“From the coral spice, you mean? Your red eyes give that away. Though I never seen 'em on anyone other than a baby.”

“Not just the spice. She had this other problem from the paints. She was real sick toward the end.”

“What was her name?”

“Gulia Pastinas.”

“Lacies always have such fancy names.”

“Lyrical names,” he said absently.

“Odd thing for a proper lacy like her to have a son named Red. Especially with the eyes. It's a bit pointed, isn't it?”

“Red is the name Sadie gave me when she took me in.”

“What's your birth name, then?”

“Promise you won't laugh?”

“Why would I laugh?”

“I don't know. Just promise.”

“Sure, fine, I promise.”

“My birth name is Rixidenteron.”

There was a long silence.

“Nettie?”

He heard a small rustling, and through the blanket he could feel her shaking. Then she suddenly burst out into the loudest laugh he'd ever heard from her.

“Sorry, sorry!” she gasped between bursts. “I just didn't expect!” Another burst of laughter. “Something like that!”

“Uh-huh.” Red felt the heat of shame rise in him.

“You're serious? Really?”

“Yes, that's my birth name. You can ask Filler. He's…” He wondered whether it was a good idea to share any more truth that night. But maybe it would help her see what a big deal it was and how much she was hurting him. “He's the only person I've told that to, besides you.”

“I can see why!” Nettles said, and erupted into a fresh burst of laughter.

The next night, Red and Filler sat in their room and shared a jug of ale that Prin had given them for clearing off some rowdy drunks at the Drowned Rat earlier that day. Summer heat had descended on New Laven like a blanket drenched in boiling water, and they sat side by side under the open window, trying to keep cool.

“Nettie came by the shop today to get a few adjustments to her chainblade. Said she gave it a good test last night while you two were on a job.”

“She did,” agreed Red. “My throwing blades worked well, too. Except they cut up my palms.”

“That why you got those leather gloves today from Brimmer?”

“Yeah.”

Filler took a long swallow on the jug. “Today, also. She asked me if it was true about your birth name.”

“Yeah, I told her last night.”

Filler handed Red the jug as he said, “She laughed, you know. When I told her it was true, she about choked on the gad.”

Red took a pull on the jug. “Yeah.” He took another pull, then handed it back to him. “She laughed last night, too.”

“You're getting sotted with her,” said Filler.

“Am not,” said Red automatically.

Filler gave him a skeptical look and took another swig.

“So what if I am, then?” asked Red. “It's not a bad thing, you know.”

“It is if she's not sotted with you.” He handed the jug back to Red.

Red frowned and stuck his thumb in the jug mouth, popping it in and out so it made a hollow noise. He had plenty of doubts himself. But sometimes doubts only made a person want to fight harder to believe. “I think she
is
sotted with me.”

“Nah. She likes you. And she likes tossing you. But she's not sotted.”

“How would you know?” Red couldn't help the defensive tone that was creeping into his voice.

“She don't look at you the same way you look at her.”

All Red's fancy talk and agile thinking sometimes just allowed him to run circles around himself faster than most. Sometimes it was Filler, with his simple way, who laid things bare and direct. Said like that from the wag Red knew and trusted above all others, there was nothing to be done but acknowledge it.

He looked at Filler plaintively. “What do I do?”

“Ask her. Maybe I'm wrong. Either way, then you'll know.”

“But what if we're supposed to be together? Like fate. Don't you think we're perfect for each other?”

“No,” said Filler. “Not really.”

Red looked over at him, his ruby eyes wide with surprise. “I thought you liked Nettles.”

“I like her fine. But she don't understand you the way you deserve to be understood.”

“You talk like I'm some sort of artsy ponce,” Red said bitterly.

Filler sighed. “Just promise me. When you talk to her, if things go leeward, promise you'll go see Sadie after.”

Red took a long swallow on the jug, then leaned his head back to rest on the open windowsill so the night winds blew across his sweaty forehead. “Fine. But it won't come to that. You'll see. She keeps it close, like any true wag of the Circle. But she's just as sotted as me.”

Red loved Paradise Circle. More than Silverback, where he'd spent his early childhood. More than the
Savage Wind
, though those were some of his favorite memories. And certainly more than Hollow Falls, which he'd never set eyes on. Granted, there had been times in his life, especially when he was younger, when he'd wished his aunt Minara would suddenly appear and take him to her uptown lacy mansion. He remembered her a little from the few times she'd come to visit while his mother was alive. Older and more conservative than his mother, but nearly identical in looks and far more gentle in speech and touch. Particularly in those months before he'd met Sadie, he'd longed for that touch. But now he knew those had been the dreams of a weak and frightened child. These days, if he thought about his aunt at all, it was to wonder why she'd never come, and mostly to be glad she hadn't.

Red loved Paradise Circle, but there were days when the clouds were low and gray, and rain fell not to clean the grimy streets, but only to turn the mud and trash and shit into a fetid soup. Days when every face in the street looked pinched with hunger and hostility, babies wailed for mothers that would never come, and children played listless games next to the bloated, rotting corpse of a horse. It was on days like that Red escaped to the rooftops.

He could see the whole neighborhood up there, and occasionally farther, if the clouds weren't too low. The air tasted different up there, unspoiled by the sewage that ran down the open gutters along the sides of the streets. And it was quiet up there. The sounds of the neighborhood receded to a murmur beneath the winds that rose up from the sea. For a little while, Red could pretend he was untouched by it all.

The rooftops had always been Red's alone. Filler wouldn't have admitted it outright, but he wasn't fond of heights. And there was no one else he wanted to share this temporary escape with. Until he met Nettles. He'd been trying to decide when the best time would be, and now he knew that it was where he would ask if she wanted him as her tom and she as his molly, forever and always.

Most of the roofs in Paradise Circle were slanted, but Red knew every one that was flat and wide enough to comfortably stand. And as it happened, one of them was a perfect place. Well, perfect symbolically. Just not easy to reach.

“We're doing what?” asked Nettles as they stood in a side street. She looked up skeptically at the awning above the door.

“If you need help, I can get up there first and throw down a rope.” He'd brought one, just in case.

“I don't need help, you salthead. I just don't know why we're doing it.”

“You'll see.” Red bounced his eyebrows mysteriously.

Nettles sighed. “Fine.”

They scrambled up onto the awning. From there, they shimmied along a ledge to a windowsill. From the windowsill it was a short jump to a clothesline pulley. Once one of them had the pulley, they had to swing their legs up to hook their heels on the rain gutter, then curl up to reach their hands on the gutter, and pull themselves up to the roof.

“Piss'ell.” Nettles massaged her hands. “How did you even figure that out?”

“It took a bit of doing,” said Red. “But if it were easy, everybody would be up here, right? Look at this view and tell me it wasn't worth it.”

He gestured with both hands to the rooftops that stretched out in all directions. The old temple and some of the other building tops were shrouded in the mist, which Red thought added a nicely magical touch. Even though it was still a while before sunset, the street lamps had already been lit in this section of the neighborhood, which made the fog luminescent.

“Huh,” said Nettles.

“And of course, when you look down there, you'll see why I chose this particular rooftop.” He pointed down to the intersection below with a flourish and a sly smile.

Nettles looked down at it, her expression unreadable.

Red waited.

Finally, Nettles shook her head. “Sorry. Not getting it. Why this rooftop?”

“Because it overlooks the intersection where we first kissed!” he said.

“Oh yeah. I guess it was.” Nettles looked around again, then rubbed her hands together. “A bit chilly. Why are we up here again?”

“Well, I just…” The reason seemed so obvious to Red that he had a hard time putting it into words. “It's sort of special. For us.”

She nodded.

“And…” Red's heart picked up speed. His hands were already sweating. His mouth was suddenly dry. He was actually nervous. Maybe it was Filler planting doubts in his head. Maybe it was the fact that Nettles clearly wasn't getting the whole romantic rooftop thing. Whatever the reason, he found his words catching in his throat as he looked at her.

She gazed at him through narrowed eyes, her arms crossed. “You're acting a bit slippy. What's going on?”

“I know—  I— Sorry,” he sputtered. Then he took a deep breath and tried again. “You are the finest molly I've ever met. Won't you be mine for keeps?” He reached his hand out to her.

She stared at his extended hand like it was something she didn't recognize. The longer she stared, the lower Red's stomach sank.

“I like you, Red,” she said quietly. “I like being with you. I like tossing with you. I would go far enough to say that I like you better than anyone I know. Except myself. I like me best of all. I ain't nobody's molly, and never will be. If that's what you want, you'll have to look elsewhere.”

Red stared at her. He was still standing, but on the inside he felt himself collapsing.

“You keen?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said numbly. “My mistake.” He turned and started to walk away.

“Now, don't get all poncey on me, Rixie,” she said teasingly.

It was the worst thing she could have said, and his walk turned into a run.

“Red? Come on, I was only joking!”

But he jumped to the next roof and kept running. He'd spent months trying to get as close as possible to this molly, and now he couldn't stand to be anywhere near her. He kept running from roof to roof, sliding on the treacherous angles of some of them, but never stopping until he came to a space too wide to jump. Below him was a long line of tents. He had reached Gunpowder Hall. He hadn't come here on purpose. But maybe there was a part of him deep down that had been drawn to this place. Or more specifically, to a person in this place.

Off to one side in Gunpowder Hall was a small cluster of tables where the old wrinks congregated. Red saw Sadie among them, leaning back against a table, her legs stretched out into the aisle. Life was hard in the Circle, and the last eight years had taken their toll on her. Her matted hair was mostly gray, her skin sagged a great deal, and she was missing more than a few teeth. But her eyes were still sharp and her mind was still quick. Most importantly, she was alive, which was better than many of her contemporaries. Few people were savvy enough to make it to old age in Paradise Circle. So anyone who did was given a measure of respect and generally left alone to reminisce, or whatever it was the old wrinks did in their corner.