She Who Waits (Low Town 3) (22 page)

But then, Edward wasn’t wise, only clever. Though, in fairness, he had enough of this last to have expanded on his uncle’s holdings substantially, and at an impressive rate. Indeed, it was Edward’s moves these last few months – brutal, sudden, and with little concern for any implicit or spoken arrangements which had heretofore curbed violence in the area – that had led to his Uncle’s preeminence amongst the small group of petty criminals that claimed Low Town as their turf.

‘Fine, fine,’ Christiaan said too loudly. ‘Sit down then, we’ve got business to discuss.’

But Edward didn’t sit. The difference in size between them, substantial had they stood back to back, seemed vast. ‘Of course, Uncle.’

‘I want you to pay a call on Samhael Eirrson,’ Christiaan said, naming one of his direct competitors, a Valaan based out of the east corner of Offbend. ‘Word is he’s trying to set up a choke house on Alisanne Street.’ Christiaan slammed a fist against the table. His arm fat jiggled. ‘That’s our territory, and you damn well need to let him know it.’

‘I paid him a call last night, Uncle,’ Edward answered in a quiet voice.

‘What?’

‘We had a long discussion. He’ll make sure to keep to his own end in the future.’

‘That’s … excellent,’ Christiaan said, though something in his voice seemed to indicate he wasn’t entirely certain this was the case. ‘Very good,’ he turned to face the others. ‘The perfect deputy – you know what I need without me even asking it.’

Neither of Eddie’s boys laughed. That was one of the ways you could tell they were Eddie’s boys, and not Christiaan’s.

Eddie didn’t laugh either, but his smile should have given his uncle pause. ‘You know, I think I’ve changed my mind – actually, there is something I’d like.’

‘Of course, of course,’ Christiaan said. He gestured towards the display case and started to stand. ‘Whatever you want.’

Edward put a hand on his uncle’s shoulder and settled him back into his chair. ‘I don’t want a pastry.’

Uncle licked his lips. ‘What then?’

‘Everything,’ Edward said in a quiet voice. ‘I want you to give me everything.’

Looking back now, I don’t think Christiaan ever had the grit to keep his hands on what was his. What he had he had because he’d gotten in early, taken his cut of Low Town before the bigger players realized there was a meal to be made. And he should have seen what was growing in Edward, it wasn’t hard. No one likes being second on the chain, not when they’re doing the work to be first. Perhaps it was familial loyalty which had kept Christiaan from recognizing the viper at his breast, but I suspected it was just age. No one keeps an edge indefinitely.

‘I don’t understand,’ Christiaan said finally, though at this point he should have, and probably did.

‘What you have,’ Eddie began, still speaking in his low, soothing, serpent voice, ‘I want. Protection, the whorehouses, your share of the rackets. The breath and vine you’ve been bringing in from the docks. Even this shitty little sweetshop – I want it. I want it all.’

There was, obviously, very little to say to that. If it had been me sitting there I’d have gone for Eddie’s throat, done my best to bring him down before his associates sent me to meet She Who Waits Behind All Things. But it had been a long time since Christiaan had done his own work. He’d lost the spark of violence that a man on the wrong side of the law needs to keep forever nursed. ‘I’ve been … meaning to make some changes to the organization. Do something to recognize all the valuable work you’ve been putting in. Maybe deal you a percentage.’

Edward still had his hand on his uncle’s shoulder. Seen from afar there was something intimate in it, even paternal. He leaned over as if to whisper something, but when he spoke it was loud enough for me to hear. ‘Don’t embarrass yourself.’

The fat man’s jowls trembled. ‘What happens to me?’

Eddie shrugged and stood back up, letting his hand drop to his side. ‘What happens to all of us.’

‘You don’t mean …’

‘I do mean it, Uncle. I mean it very much indeed.’

‘You wouldn’t …’

‘I would.’

‘It’s not necessary. I’ll disappear – I’ll leave tonight, right now. You’ll never see me again. I won’t be a problem.’

‘Where would you go? Who would want you? You’re a fat old fuck who talks too much and drools when he eats. And besides – Low Town needs to know I’m serious.’

Most people, at the last gasp, when they see they don’t have a way out, react to their imminent demise with some last surge of nerve. The rest break completely, weeping and smearing snot on your boots. Christiaan, at least, was one of the former. ‘You’re a vile son of a bitch,’ he said. ‘You always were.’

Eddie put one hand to his breast, as if shocked by the profanity. ‘That’s your sister you’re talking about,’ he said. Then he nodded to one of the boys.

I turned away.

There was a wet sound, an ugly sound. Then a few short seconds of burbling as the life leaked out of Christiaan Theron. Then silence.

The whistle of the kettle broke it, and spurred me into motion. The best thing to do was to play it strong, bull right on out of the place. Edward wasn’t trying to keep what he’d done quiet – on the contrary, he wanted word of his ruthlessness to carry. There wasn’t any reason to do to me what he’d done to Christiaan, so long as I didn’t give him one.

All the same, my sudden appearance was something of a shock to the assemblage. There would be no consequences for the murder of Christiaan, the hoax were not called that because of their high level of efficiency, and obviously his family wasn’t going to declare a blood feud. But no one likes being surprised mid-murder. One of the boys tensed up when he saw me, the one who’d done the deed itself, to judge by the freshly painted knife he was holding. The other made a quick move for his own piece of steel.

Eddie was the only one who kept his cool – Eddie and me, I mean. ‘Christiaan seems to have had an accident,’ I said.

The one with the knife laughed. Years later, when I had him killed in the street, I remembered that chuckle and felt good about myself.

Edward didn’t laugh though. He leaned down till he was just about eye level, and took a slow look at me. ‘You got any notions of revenging him?’

He had a half foot on me, would for a few more years. But I didn’t look away from no one, not then, not ever. ‘I don’t give two shits about Christiaan. He was a man who paid me. I don’t imagine he’ll be the last.’

Eddie seemed to like that. He smiled and stood back to his full height. ‘You’re a smart boy,’ he said, and gave his men a quick head shake that meant I wouldn’t be following Christiaan into the next world. Then he waved at the front door. ‘You can see your own way out.’

But I didn’t. ‘Your uncle owed me two copper, for carrying a message from the hoax.’ Actually, I’d already collected my pay from Christiaan, but I didn’t see any harm in collecting it twice.

Eddie nodded towards the corpse on the chair, wide-eyed, a crimson semi-circle seeping into his shirt. ‘I don’t imagine he’ll be able to make good.’

‘It’s your set-up now, ain’t it? That means it’s your debt as well.’

‘Shut your fucking mouth kid, before you get it shut permanent.’ This from one of the hoods – not the one holding the knife, though I figured he had one on him somewhere.

Eddie didn’t answer, just kept staring at me. After a pause he reached into his pocket and came out with an argent. I reached over to take it and he grabbed my arm. ‘Smart boy, like I said. You ever feel like moving up from this petty-ante bullshit you’ve been doing, come see me. We’ve always got work for smart boys.’

He let go of my sleeve. I shoved the argent into my pocket and hoofed on out.

I stopped running errands for the syndicates not long after that. I was getting to the age when people started to expect you to make a commitment, and even then the idea of having some trumped up choke pusher tell me where to walk wasn’t my cup of brew. Besides, at the time I’d had dreams of being more than another Low Town thug. The foolishness of youth, but there it was.

Killing his uncle was only one step in Eddie’s positioning himself at the forefront of Low Town’s underworld. He was still a running dog for the Rouender interests, not much taken seriously in the city proper. But for the rest of his life he called the shots in Low Town, as much as anyone could claim to control the bedlam that reigned north of the bay and south of the Old City.

In the months and years to come, the reign of Christiaan Theron would come to be seen as a halcyon period in Low Town, and false memories of his charity and benevolence would spring up every time Eddie raised rents or brutalized a bystander, both of which he did with unfortunate frequency. Eddie was something very close to an animal, as killing his uncle had been meant to showcase. It was just as well, really. I’m not one for nostalgia, and in truth I think I preferred Eddie to his uncle. Evil is best served without a patina of hypocrisy. The man mugging you doesn’t need to offer false sympathy.

Despite his banter, despite his age, Christiaan didn’t understand Low Town. Nobody did, not like me. Because when Christiaan and Eddie and the rest of the city had taken shelter in the provinces, wetting their beds against the thought of the plague following them, I’d snuggled tight against her bosom. Fed from her effluvia, nested amidst her bones. Listened to her whispered secrets in the still hours of the night. The rest were summertime lovers, quick to show when times was easy and as hard to find when the day turned cold. Only I had stayed faithful to her.

So I could have told Christiaan something about Low Town, could have told all of them. She is a hateful bitch – without loyalty, without affection, ever eager to turn against your hand. To possess her is to take a wolf to bed, and to forget that fact is to be lost.

I
kept a bottle of whiskey in a closet in the back, near where Wren sleeps. It was ten years old when I was given it ten years back, partial payment from a distributor who’d decided liquor wasn’t enough for him, gotten pretty heavy into me for daevas honey. That night, after the trade had left and Adeline had gone to sleep, I pulled it out and cornered Adolphus at a back table he was cleaning.

‘I’ve had a thought,’ I told him, taking a seat and gesturing him down.

He obliged me. ‘A rare occurrence,’ he said, his smile ugly but honest.

‘And one that deserves commemoration.’ I poured us each a few fingers.

‘Your health.’

‘Yours.’

We clinked glasses.

‘By the Lost One, that’s good stuff,’ Adolphus said.

‘I’d hope so – I took it in exchange for like two ochres’ worth of ooze.’

He sucked his teeth. ‘It’s not that good.’

‘No.’

‘This was from that guy who owned the distillery?’

‘Yeah.’

‘What happened to him?’

What had happened to him? I chewed over lost memories. ‘I think he ended up offing himself.’

Adolphus took a long look at the amber-colored liquid he was sipping. ‘That’s pretty terrible.’

‘Yeah,’ I agreed, and gave us both another shot.

The fire cracked and snapped in the corner. On the surface it was like a lot of other nights we’d had, hundreds, maybe thousands going back to when we’d opened the bar. There wouldn’t be many more like them. It’s only at the end of things that you come to any appreciation for what you’ve let slide by.

‘This thought,’ Adolphus began, ‘I don’t suppose it’s a happy one?’

‘Depends on whether or not you go along with it.’

He finished off his end of the whiskey, wiggled his glass for more. I dutifully refilled it. ‘I’m listening,’ he said.

‘We’ve had a good run,’ I said.

‘That’s all you’ve got?’

‘Pretty much.’

‘We’ve had a good run,’ he repeated. ‘In the past tense.’

‘Yes.’

‘And what are we set to have now?’

‘A bad one,’ I said, and finished my own drink. ‘We’re getting ready to have a very bad one.’

‘Care to elaborate?’

‘I’ve gotten caught up in something.’

‘This is you elaborating?’

‘It’s still a little hazy – suffice to say things have gotten awfully knotted.’

‘You’ve unraveled them before.’

‘I’d be a fool to mistake luck for skill, and twice over for thinking it’ll last forever,’ I said. ‘You know that bum, sometimes see him begging for change around Crossed Street Market?’

‘Not really.’

‘He’s always screaming about how the world is gonna end? Sometimes holds a sign up to that effect?’

‘Oh, that one. Sure, I know him.’

‘I guess you don’t pay him much attention.’

‘Not really,’ Adolphus said, with an exaggerated show of patience. ‘Because he’s a bum holding a placard saying the world is gonna end.’

‘Understandably – he’s always been wrong before.’

‘Exactly.’

I set my hand on his, both gnarled, both wrinkled, one twice the size of the other. ‘But he won’t always be wrong. You wait around long enough, you’ll wake up to see everything turned to ash.’

‘This is all a little abstract.’

‘You want me to put it simple?’

‘We ain’t all so sharp as you.’

‘I think the Empire is on its last legs. I think Queen Bess was the last thing holding us together. Sure, she was nothing but an inbred hag eating off solid gold saucers while the rest of us scraped for dinner – but she’d been around so long we’d all grown attached. With her dead, the fissures are bound to start showing. There isn’t enough of everything for everyone that wants it, and ain’t nobody interested in sharing.’

‘This sense of impending doom,’ he said, ‘it have anything to do with that Step you met up with?’

‘In part.’

‘What’s the other?’

‘Black House.’

‘How long they gonna have you on a chain?’ he asked, shaking his head in sympathy. Despite everything we’d seen, there was still some part of Adolphus that was disappointed the powers that be weren’t honest.

‘Until the day I die, obviously. Though in fairness to the Old Man, I sort of … volunteered for this one.’

‘You haven’t volunteered for anything since you joined the army, and you’ve been complaining about that ever since. What possibly prompted you to work for Black House?’