City of the Snakes (36 page)

“It’s never too late,” I cut in. “You’ve got to go to war, but be careful who you go to war with. The Snakes aren’t the enemy, but they can be. Attack them now and you’ll not only condemn Raimi to more suffering, but you’ll create a military monster which in time will eclipse your own.

“On the other hand, if you hear me out, I can promise you Raimi’s return and more power and freedom than you’ve ever enjoyed. You’ll have to share, but it’ll be infinitely better than what you’ve got going now.”

“You’re not making sense,” he growls.

“I will if you give me a chance.”

He stares at me warily, his left eye glittering with doubt. Then he glances at Frank’s dead face and nods. “You’ve got ten minutes. Make it good.”

“I need twenty,” I tell him. “And I won’t make it good—I’ll make it
great.”

Tasso’s harder to win over than Davern. He’s spent longer kowtowing to the blind priests, and the superstitious fear the two Cardinals had of them has rubbed off on him. Because the
villacs
were like gods to Dorak and Raimi, Tasso never thought to chance rebellion.

“Capac wouldn’t like this,” he keeps muttering, and I have to press home the point that Raimi’s a creation of theirs, tied to them in ways that ordinary humans aren’t. If we can eliminate them, we’ll give this city back its free will.

“But could Capac survive without them?” Tasso asks.

“I’ve no idea,” I answer honestly. “But he’ll never return on his own terms as long as they’re running the show. We might have to sacrifice Raimi, but if that’s the price of this city’s freedom, don’t you think it’s worth it?”

“Dorak wouldn’t have agreed,” Tasso grumbles. “He wanted an heir who could run his company indefinitely.”

“But he thought Raimi would be able to work independently of the priests. Do you think he’d approve if he saw how they can do as they please? This isn’t Raimi’s city—it’s theirs. If my way works, at best we’ll hand it back to him and he can proceed as Dorak planned. At worst we’ll lose him, but we’ll rid this city of the priests, and I think Dorak would rather that than how things currently stand.”

Eventually he agrees to consider my proposal. He makes no promises, but says he’ll hold his forces in check while he mulls it over. He also lets me go and issues orders that I’m not to be harmed—for the time being. He says I won’t hear from him when he makes his decision. I’ll find out along with the rest of the city tomorrow. I have to settle for that. In truth, it’s more than I had any right to hope for.

I’m hungry and weary, so I visit a nearby café and fill up with sandwiches and coffee. Then I make one last call, to the shack of the Harpies and their minder. I make quick time on the quiet Sunday roads. I’m not sure why I’m including Bill in this—I could get all I need elsewhere—but gut instinct draws me to him, and I’m not about to start ignoring my instincts at this critical stage of the game.

One of the Harpies is digging in a small garden outside the house, crooning as she fusses over weeds as if they were prize plants. She gurgles happily when she see me pulling up—the Harpies associate me with feeding time. I park and enter by the unlocked front door.

Bill’s downstairs in the living room, reading to the other two women.
I stand in the doorway unseen for a few minutes. I recognize the text after a couple of lines. Mark Twain, either
Tom Sawyer
or
Huck Finn
.

Pausing at the end of a chapter, he glances up and spies me. A startled look shoots across his face

(
He’s come to kill me!
)

then he relaxes. “Hello, Al,” he smiles. “I didn’t expect to see you again.” Closing the book, he tells the ladies to run along. He remains seated, eyeing me silently. When he hears them in the yard, he asks quietly, “Come to finish the job?”

“If I wanted to kill you, I’d have done it last week.”

“Why didn’t you? You meant to when you arrived. What changed your mind?”

I don’t answer, but cross the room and stare through a crack in the boarded-over window. I can’t see the Harpies from here, just industrial wasteland, gray and infertile. “Still having the nightmares?”

His shiver is audible. “Yes.”

“You know how to stop them, don’t you?”

“Kill myself?” He laughs shortly.

“No.” I face him. “
Atonement
. Put right some of the wrongs of the past. Build where you demolished.”

He frowns. “I don’t understand.”

“I need your help, Bill.”

His face creases with astonishment. “You’re asking
me
for help? After all I did to you?”

I nod, hiding a wry smile. “I’m going into battle with some very dangerous men—your foes as well as mine—and I need to tool up. I can go elsewhere, but I thought I’d give you the chance to—”

“Yes!” he interrupts, pulling himself to his feet, wincing at the pain in his old bones. “I’d be glad to help. Overwhelmed! Tell me what I can do, Al.”

“You said you had bombs and bugs in the cellar, from the old days?” He nods eagerly, eyes bright, and I step away from the window. “Show me.”

A
ma’s bemused when I call and ask if she’d like to dine with me tonight. “I thought you’d have more important matters on your mind.”

I smile down the phone. “The important stuff can wait. Tomorrow’s a big day for me. I’d like to unwind before I face it.”

“What’s going on, Al?” she asks, perplexed.

“Tell you later. Want to go somewhere fancy or will we snack in Cafran’s?”

“Cafran’s is fine.”

“Eight-thirty?”

“Sure. Take care, Al.”

“I’ll try.”

I hit the shower, then towel myself dry. I begin applying face paint in front of my TV sets, keeping an eye on the latest news. My cell rings—Sard, with mixed news. He’s located most of the rogue Snakes, but six are still on the loose. I tell him not to bother with the final half-dozen. “Take the rest of the night off. Relax. Go bowling. Make love.”

“Sapa Inca?” he replies, startled.

“There’s a derelict office block on Romily Street,” I tell him, having chosen the location at random earlier. “Meet me there at midday tomorrow
on the top floor with a dozen of your most trusted Snakes. I have a special mission for you. It may prove the most vital of the entire campaign.”

“I won’t let you down,” he vows.

I finish applying the paint, check that the tattoos can’t be seen, then slip on the wig and clean clothes. I pedal across the city on my bike as plain Al Jeery, whistling as I go, as if I hadn’t a care in the world.

Cafran’s is busy but Ama has reserved a table near the back of the restaurant and we sit, shielded from the crowd by tall plastic plants.

“How’s Cafran?” I ask.

“Blooming. He’s off scouting for premises—thinking of opening a new joint. He could have done it long ago but never bothered. He said he didn’t consider it worth the effort, until now.”

“Because of you.” She smiles shyly. “Think you’ll stay here long-term?”

“I’d like to, if I have a choice.” A waitress materializes. Ama orders for me. While we’re waiting she opens a bottle of wine and pours. I fill her in on what’s been happening, the plan I’m hatching to pull the city back from the brink of all-out war. She listens intently, venturing little in the way of comment until I finish shortly after the first course has arrived.

“You really believe it will work?” she asks neutrally.

“Can’t hurt to try.”

“I don’t know about that. If the
villacs
find out what you’re up to, they might turn on you. Capac was their golden boy but it didn’t stop them slapping him down when he refused to bow to their wishes.”

“It’s worth the risk.”

She chews in silence, then says, “I want to help.”

“I figured you would. You know it’s dangerous, that we might have to sacrifice ourselves? My aim is to stop the priests. If I walk away alive, that’s a bonus.”

“I don’t care. I’m not going to let you go alone.”

I cough discreetly and wipe around my mouth with a napkin. “I won’t be
quite
alone. I plan to take along my father.”

She blinks. “The killer?”

“He’s a useful addition. Fast. Deadly. Unstoppable. Besides, if I don’t include him, he’ll leave, and I don’t want that, not until…” I shrug, not
entirely sure what I intend to do about Paucar Wami if everything works out with the priests.

“Can we trust him?” Ama asks.

“In this matter, yes. He hates the
villacs
even more than I do.”

Ama pushes her plate away, frowning. “What if Ford Tasso and Eugene Davern don’t come through?”

“I’ll push ahead anyway. I’ve come too far to back out now. I can’t finish off the priests without Tasso and Davern, but I’ll do what I can to hurt them.”

Ama sighs. “We must be crazy to think we can pull this off.”

“Yeah,” I grin.

She mirrors my smile. “So I guess we’d better make the most of the good life while we can.” She tops up our glasses. “Cheers!”

We eat slowly, padding out the meal with lots of conversation. Some of it concerns the
villacs
and the troubles, but mostly it’s about ourselves, our pasts (what little Ama can remember of hers) and what we’d like to do if we had the freedom to choose our futures. Ama wants to stay here, help Cafran, take over when he retires, squeeze in some travel during her vacations. I remind her of her limitations as an Ayuamarcan—she can only exist for a few days at a time away from the city—but she dismisses that. “We’re talking about dreams, not reality. I’ll dream what I like, thank you very much.”

Cafran Reed returns. He looks much brisker than the last time I saw him. He kisses Ama’s cheeks, draws up a chair and tells us about his day. He hasn’t found anywhere he loves, but has heard about a dockside café that sounds promising. We discuss property and rental prices as the restaurant empties around us.

As we drain the final bottle of the night, I bid Cafran and Ama farewell. Ama rises to see me out, but I tell her not to. Win or lose, she might never again sit with the man who was once her father. These minutes are precious and shouldn’t be wasted on a bum like me. “See you later,” I mutter, and she echoes the adieu, slipping me a pointed look to confirm our arrangement while Cafran smiles and sips his wine.

On the street I stand by my bike, savoring the night, putting off the
time when I have to shed the disguise and become Paucar Wami again. People rarely realize how well off they are. A fine meal, a good bottle of wine, charming company… who needs anything more? I’d happily trade the Snakes—hell, the whole city—for Cafran Reed’s restaurant and peace of mind.

Monday. Day of decisions. Day of destiny.

Sard and his dozen arrive precisely at midday. I greet them as their Sapa Inca in a tiny office—they only just squeeze in—and treat them to an abbreviated version of my plan. They’re confused and uneasy, but I impress on them the importance of their mission, how our future depends on it.

“It’s time to choose. Either you serve your people or you serve the
villacs
. You can’t have it both ways. I know they recruited and trained you, but they did so in order to use you. If you trust me, I’ll try to grant you the power you seek, as well as the freedom to enjoy it.”

Eventually I talk them around. The priests did too good a job of building me up. The Snakes think I’m infallible. They pledged their hearts and souls to Paucar Wami. They’ll do as I command, paradoxical as it seems to them.

I dismiss the Snakes with orders to carry on as usual if the day doesn’t go as planned, then return to my post at the burned-out police station where various Cobras await my instructions. It’s difficult to act as if this is a day like any other, but I focus on their reports and send them about their duties, marshaling them as they expect, taking a few minutes to “commend” the Snakes who carried out the attacks on the rest of the city.

It’s minutes shy of 16:00 when I learn of Ford Tasso’s decision. I’m in the van when a Snake on the border of our territory makes the call. “We’re under attack!” he shouts, the sound of heavy gunfire muffling his words. “It’s the Troops, repeat, the Troops! The bastards are invading!”

All eyes snap to me. I keep my face impassive, masking my emotions.

“Sapa Inca?” a Snake asks. “Should I tell the others in that area to move against the enemy?”

“No,” I sigh. “Sound a retreat. Tell them to back off slowly, to make the Troops fight for every block, but not to make a stand. And they’re to
advise civilians to seek shelter. I don’t want innocents getting caught in the cross fire.”

The Snake nods obediently and sets about alerting the Cobras. I spend the time it takes to spread the word in silent contemplation, considering the attack, what it means, where it might lead.

As the afternoon progresses, it becomes evident that the Troops have divided into four platoons and are marching on us from the west and south. They haven’t been sighted in the north and east. My Cobras think they’re lying in wait there, in case we make a break for freedom.

As the four platoons of Troops advance on Cockerel Square—their target was apparent early on, but I haven’t withdrawn the Snakes who are there—word breaks that Eugene Davern’s Kluxers have smashed through in the north.