She Who Waits (Low Town 3) (20 page)

‘Maybe they would say that. Maybe they’d say that exactly. So I’m not gonna ask them. I’m a representative of the Crown, sworn to hamper anyone who seeks to bring harm to the Empire. I find any evidence that includes you, and I’m not going to waste time kicking it up the chain. I’ll deal with you myself. Afterward I’ll be very sorry for what happened. I might even get a stern talking to.’

‘You muck up the Old Man’s game, he’ll wipe you right out of your shoes.’

Crowley was a man of ravenous appetites. He could eat a whole duck in a sitting, down a quart of vodka and walk off steady. He brought his mug of coffee up to the hole in his face, and when he set it back down it was all but empty. ‘The Old Man won’t live forever.’

‘He’s made a pretty good run at it so far.’

It was starting to rattle me, how little success I was having in rattling Crowley. He was not a man renowned for his sense of self-discipline, and I’d gotten off a zinger or two, if I said so myself. And he had good reason to hate me, several of them. If I knew Crowley, and to my chagrin, I did, he should have been near to murder. But instead he just sat there sneering, off-color teeth mashed crooked against each other.

‘Better men than you have gone broke betting on the downfall of the Old Man,’ I said. ‘And by “gone broke”, I mean ended up dead. You oughta know – you’ve killed most of them.’

‘Times change,’ he said. ‘Don’t nothing last.’

It was rare that I found myself in agreement with Aldous Crowley. It made me uncomfortable – water running uphill, cats and dogs lying down together. ‘You might be right. But even so, you’d be wrong.’

‘Oh?’

‘I’m sure you tell yourself that the Old Man’s protection is what’s kept you from coming after me these last six years – at times you may even believe it, you’re so fucking pathetic.’ I took a sip of my coffee. ‘But of course, that isn’t it at all. I’m not under the Old Man’s aegis, not really – you are. If you ever decided to come at me again I’d snap you up, Crowley, snap you right up. That the boss won’t sanction a move on me is a polite fiction that lets you pretend you’re still a man. But it’s a lie, you can tell that by a look in the mirror. If the Old Man falls, you do the smart thing and you get as far out of Rigus as you possibly can, because if someone else doesn’t come knocking on your door, I’ll go ahead and do it myself. And this time I won’t stop at cutting you – though I’ll sure as hell start there.’

It had taken me a while, but I’d finally managed to do for that smile of his. Crowley’s face went white and his eyes went mad. The hand holding his glass tensed, and then there were shards of glass on my lapel and blood running onto the wood. Our waiter reacted with admirable celerity, approaching with a rag in hand to do for the spill – but a quick look at the two of us must have convinced him that customer service took second place to self-preservation, and he scuttled back to his perch.

My shiv was out again, my heart fairly leaping at the prospect of using it. There was something about Crowley that made me not ever want to see him again, that wanted to make certain of that fact and was unconcerned about what would come after. I didn’t suppose the public murder of a Crown’s Agent would be something Black House could casually overlook. Nor was I entirely certain that I’d be the one left standing if the two of us threw down. But at that moment, neither of those things mattered to me. My breath was rapid, my throat dry, every muscle tensed and waiting for release. We’d been hating at each other too long – it starts to eat into a man.

It was an uncharacteristic display of self-control on Crowley’s part which saved one of our lives. He wrapped a napkin around his wounded hand, tying it tight while keeping his eyes firm on me. ‘We’ll see each other again soon,’ he said, standing.

‘Make sure you bring some friends by, help keep your spine straight,’ I returned, by way of a parting shot.

The problem, of course, was that he would do just that. For all my talk, I took a back way out of the restaurant, and I kept my head swiveling during the walk east.

T
his time the two men outside of Uriel’s house decided to make me wait. I wasn’t sure if that was meant to indicate my stock had fallen with their masters since my last visit, or if they’d just decided to upgrade security now that open warfare with the Gitts was in the air. When they saw me round the corner they started muttering back and forth in their native tongue, a fierce-sounding song appropriate to the race that owned it. Then one of them disappeared into the building, presumably to square my arrival with the boss. I tried to strike up a conversation with the one that remained, a square-jawed stereotype with thick muscle over fat, but either he didn’t understand Rigun or he just wasn’t interested in anything I had to say. Eventually his comrade returned and nodded me inside.

Uriel was normally as composed as granite, calm as a running stream, and even now he was far from what you’d call addled. His suit was a pleasant cream color, perfectly cut and unwrinkled. A cut flower peeked out from a button in his lapel – hothouse grown, I assumed, as it was far too late in the season to pick them wild. Not that I could see Uriel picking a lot of wildflowers at any point in the year. He’d combed his hair back in a slick wave, and nary a stray curl broke from formation. But the hand holding his mug of tea was taut, like he was being careful not to spill it, and a few beads of sweat had leaked down his forehead. In a normal human being, this was the equivalent of a state of derangement rarely seen outside of an asylum.

His brother was doing a pretty good impression of a caged bear. He huffed and puffed and throttled his silk scarf in his hand. He was wearing a bright purple suit, and he looked like a two-day-old bruise.

‘My sincerest apologies for keeping you outside,’ Uriel said. ‘Can I get you some whiskey? Perhaps a twist of vine?’

‘I’d love a cup of tea,’ I said. This was a lie – I hated tea, but I wanted to see what a little push would do.

‘Qoheleth, make the man a cup of tea.’

‘Fuck the tea – and fuck the man. You’re in here a week ago promising bright skies and easy sailing, now the swamp-dwellers are busting up our operations and murdering our people!’

‘Make the man a cup of tea,’ Uriel repeated, and though he didn’t raise his voice there was enough menace in it to propel his flesh and blood up out of his seat and into the back room. Once he was gone, Uriel said, ‘You’ll have to forgive my brother. He’s not much of a diplomat.’

‘Already forgotten,’ I assured him.

‘Of course, he has other virtues.’

‘I’m sure.’

‘The Asher believe that every man needs to be trained in blade, bow and spear. It’s akin to religious instruction for us – our priests teach that the One Above demands we give a good account of ourselves if we wish to meet with him.’

‘I was in the war,’ I answered. ‘The Asher units were … well regarded.’ Feared would be a more accurate term, ranks of black-robed men with the stink of death on them, crawling over each other to volunteer for suicide missions.

‘Back when we were still within the fold, Qoheleth was considered the most talented swordsman in the Enclave. Something of a prodigy, in fact. Our instructor was heartbroken when we left – would have been at least, if my brother hadn’t killed him.’

One thing I appreciated about Uriel, in contrast to most of the bully boys with their swagger and cheap talk – he could make a threat quietly. Not that there was much subtlety in that last one. ‘To live is to suffer disappointment.’

‘Quite,’ Uriel said, nodding. ‘And while there’s no excuse for my brother’s outburst, surely you can understand his ill temper.’

‘Can I?’

‘He’s just overcome with grief regarding the recent injuries to our organization.’

‘You ever think that maybe he’s got too soft a heart for our business?’

‘I make up for him.’

‘That’s the good thing about a solid partnership, you even out the other man’s flaws – leveling passion with reason, as it were.’

‘In the abstract, I agree with you. But in this instance, as it happens – I’m also overcome with grief regarding the recent injuries to our organization.’

‘Surely you don’t hold me responsible?’

‘Oh, the culprits are very clear.’ He made a face like he smelled something foul. ‘They made no effort to hide their involvement.’

Qoheleth came in from the other room, a mug of tea in his mitt. He spilled most of it onto the table setting it in front of me. Then he dropped back into his chair, crossed his legs, then his arms, and began to chew over his lips in a manner that brought to mind a rabid canine.

I took a sip of what was left. ‘Got any sugar?’

Qoheleth stayed where he was, but his neck swelled bright red around the polka dot of his collared shirt.

‘You know our door is always open to you, Warden,’ Uriel continued, ‘and there’s nothing I enjoy more than the occasional back and forth. But I have to say, today we’re a bit busy for a casual chat, so if we could get to the main dish.’

‘I had assumed my reputation as peacemaker had preceded me, but if you need a formal explanation – I’d like you to forgo any violence against the Gitts. I’d like you to agree to a sit down in the next couple of days, on my territory, with me guaranteeing security. And in the interim I’d like you to forgive the recent raid on your enterprise.’

‘I’d like a handjob from Queen Bess, but it ain’t gonna happen,’ Qoheleth ruptured.

I shrugged. ‘Everyone’s got their own thing, I suppose.’

‘While I hesitate to express myself in terms as … profane as my sibling, I’m afraid I regard your proposition with equal lack of enthusiasm. I don’t need to explain to you what happens when someone in my line of work loses his reputation as a person who looks out for his own. Were I to allow this attack to go unanswered, it would be seen as weakness – a misimpression I wouldn’t want getting around.’

‘It’s a simple question of business, you say.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Ochres and argents.’

‘Yes.’

‘The hard bottom line.’

‘As I said.’

‘If that were really the case, then you’d do every fucking thing I just asked you, and you’d do it without giving me any more trouble. Because I assure you, however busy you think you are today, I’ve got you beat by a long shot – and it don’t mean a thing to me personally if you and the Gitts decide to massacre each other. I’ll shed no tears on my pillow, not for you, not for your half-lunatic brother, not for that inbred pack of fuckwits living east of the walls. My being here is a kindness to you, and you’d be wise to recognize it as such.’

Qoheleth was ready to open me up, slice tendons and break bone. I was certain that I didn’t stand a chance against him, so I didn’t bother trying to defend myself, preferring to take my chances with his brother’s good graces. And indeed, Uriel kept that same even face on, and put his arm across his sibling, easing him back down. There was a moment when it looked like Qoheleth might throw off the burden of fraternal loyalty and mash me into something less pretty, but it abated.

With Qoheleth back in his chair, Uriel spoke quietly. ‘We very much appreciate you taking time out of your schedule to stop by and clarify the situation. Perhaps, having been so kind already, you might go so far as to explain yourself further.’

‘I had a meeting yesterday with Captain Ascletin, of the city watch.’

‘Did you? I have a meeting with him once a week, during which I give him a pouch of yellow. In exchange, he leaves me to make my own decisions during the rest of it.’

I shook my head back and forth, chuckling vaguely. ‘You new kids, you’re always so quick to shit on the hoax.’

‘I didn’t realize you held them in such esteem.’

‘I wouldn’t walk a mile in that direction. But I recognize their role, and the difficulty of it. Middle-management is a bitch. So let me clarify a point that you seem to be hung up on – the hoax don’t work for you, they just take your money. The hoax work for the Crown, which means they work for Black House. Most days, Black House doesn’t give a damn what we all do to each other, and the hoax is happy to follow their lead in apathy. Today is not one of those days.’

‘Of what interest could our little disagreements with the Gitts be to the men upstairs?’

‘Maybe you’ve noticed the brown-robed fanatics hanging around every intersection in the city, passing out fliers and generally making a ruckus?’

‘I notice lots of things.’

‘Maybe you’ve heard their complaints about the incompetence – indeed, even the corruption of those forces sworn to uphold Crown Law south of the Old City.’

‘Terrible, the way these rumors get around.’

‘It would be worse if anything happened to confirm them.’

‘Meaning?’

‘The word from up high is this – no one gets to kill each other this week. Next week, next month maybe, you can start hanging people from lampposts – but right now, today, the peace gets kept. The hoax don’t like to work, but they’ll take it up if the alternative is answering to Black House. And as close at Ascletin is with the Gitts, who do you think he’s going to decide to bring his weight on?’

‘I hadn’t realized that the good captain is on the Gitts’ payroll.’

‘The good captain is on everyone’s payroll, as you observed – but he’s a little more on the Gitts’, if you follow me. Things keep going in the direction they are, you’re going to get a visit from the hoax that you won’t enjoy. Or, hell, maybe the Old Man will decide to cut out the middlemen, send a squad of hitters over to your house in the middle of the night, slit your throat in front of your kids.’

‘I don’t have kids.’

‘But you have a throat.’

Uriel’s eyes widened about an eighth of an inch. To cover up for such histrionics he pulled the nosegay out of from his shirt and held it beneath his nostrils, as if warding away a foul odor.

Even Qoheleth, with his dim sense of consequence, seemed slightly taken aback. He settled into his seat, his scowl suddenly less threatening and more petulant. ‘Black House don’t mean shit to me,’ he muttered, though the fact he couldn’t quite speak aloud went a ways towards undercutting the sentiment.