The Horns of Ruin (8 page)

"You can't do any good," he said. "We've got
people. Let them do their thing."

"What thing are they doing?" I asked.

"Interviewing people. Searching the scene of the
crime."

"Scene of the crime. Like someone's precious bike was
stolen." I slapped the cylinder shut, opened it again, spun it, slapped it
shut. Nervous. "This isn't stolen property. This isn't even a murder. It's
an act of war, Justicar."

"We don't know that. Honestly, we don't know much of
anything. This stuff takes time, Eva."

"Time. Right. We're just awash with time. Probably a
whole twenty-four hours before they kill him, right? Isn't that what the
statistics say?"

"For a normal kidnapping, yes. But this isn't a normal
kidnapping-"

"That's what I've been saying! Brother-damn hell,
Justicar, we should be turning this city inside out."

"There's ... we don't want to upset the
populace." He looked back to the den, to the bunch of officers milling
about desks and talking into clockgeists. "We don't want to scare
anyone."

I sighed, like a steam engine bleeding off pressure.

"I'm going out."

"You can't," he said, trying not to sound timid.
Well. Trying to sound forceful, I guess.

"I can't."

"There are orders. I was trying to tell you, but ...
it's complicated. We're supposed to keep you here."

"Whose orders?" I asked, twisting the grip of my
bullistic in cold, sweaty hands.

"From the top office. From the god himself."

"Alexander?"

He nodded. "There have been threats. Warnings.
Someone's saying they're going to kill off the Cult of Morgan."

"Someone," I said. "Someone said that. And
you're keeping me here, keeping me safe."

Again, the nod. "Got word just after we reported in.
The Strength of Morgan is on lockdown. Most of our men are focused on that, and
finding out who made the threat."

"And keeping Alexander safe, no doubt. People start
bumping off his brother's Cult, can't be long before they come for him."

Owen looked down and shrugged. "Security measures have
been taken. Tightened. Sure, we're stepping up protection."

"Between guarding Alexander's precious white ass and
keeping the Strength on lockdown ... Owen, do you have anyone looking for the
Fratriarch?"

"We're prioritizing resources, Eva. We have to. There
are people looking, sure, but-"

I laughed, an angry laugh that cut the room to silence. He
stood there looking at me, gaping, face white as his sloppy white desk. "I
like the part where you were going to keep me here, Justicar," I said,
shaking my head. "That's good."

I turned and kicked the door open, splintering the lock
some idiot had installed. The street beyond was mostly empty. People were home
by now, getting ready for dinner. The first shades of dusk were starting to
dust the city in gray.

"That's real good," I said, and walked out into
the city to find the old man.

Owen took some liberties with his orders, modifying
"keep her in the station" to "try to keep up with her," and
came along. Members of his patrol, too, though not the whole group. I had the
feeling that frantic calls were being made back at the station. Not my problem.

"Where are we going?" he asked after we had
walked the first five blocks at a brisk pace. These guys were used to rolling
around in that stubby battle wagon of theirs. "I mean, are you following
some kind of plan, or are we just going to kick in doors until we find your
guy?"

"You guys could do with some door-kicking practice,"
I said. Honestly, I didn't have a plan. I just didn't like the idea of sitting
on my hands. Didn't want to admit that to these whiteshirts, though. I ambled
to a halt and pretended to fuss with the hang of my holster while I thought
about where we were and where we might be going. The patrol stood around me,
looking nervously at the dark windows and shadowy alleys.

"You don't have a plan, do you?" Owen asked.

"I have a sense of direction," I answered,
folding my arms across my chest. "A sense of purpose. And, as you've
noted, I have some experience kicking in doors."

"But no plan," he said.

I grimaced. "Not yet. I prefer to develop these things
organically. That way I don't have to fight my own presumptions when the
situation changes."

"Yeah," he said. "Don't think, just
jump."

"Look, if you'd rather be back at your desk, I'm not
keeping you here."

"Yeah."

We smoldered at each other, then he shook his head and
sighed.

"We have to start somewhere. What was the first
strange thing you noticed about that fight?"

"That we were going to the Library Desolate. That we
were talking to Amonites. That it was the Fratriarch doing all this, rather
than some attendant or man-at-arms."

"Or woman-at-arms," Owen said. His patrol was
getting antsy. I was getting antsy.

"Don't be smart. It was a weird bit of business."

"I agree," he said, "but I don't think
that'll help us find your man. Unless what he was doing might have something to
do with why he was taken."

And of course I hadn't considered that. To me, the business
was bad but it was just business. In my mind, the enemies of the Fratriarch
(and of the Cult of Morgan in general) didn't need a reason to do the things
they did. They were crazy. They hated us. They looked for opportunities, not
reasons. Consequently, I looked for ways to prevent those opportunities rather
than debating the reasons behind them. I shrugged.

"Maybe. You want me to list the dozens of factions and
principalities who might have a grudge against the Cult of Morgan? We've killed
a lot of people in our generations."

"Might be easier to list your allies," he said.

"I don't keep that list."

"You're a real bright spot in my day, Eva Forge.
So." He looked around at the dingy square where we were having our little
head-tohead. "You want to pick a door to kick in, or shall I?"

"We're not kicking in doors," I said. The idiot
patrollers actually looked relieved. "Maybe you're right. Maybe it was
related to what we were doing."

"With the Amonite? Probably. I mean, you have to
admit, it's kind of strange."

"Yeah. And there was that tail, the two guys with the
tattoos around their eyes."

"The who?"

"The two guys. I told your bureaucrat all about it,
during the interview."

"That wasn't in the report," he said, then
started digging in one of his pouches, eventually producing a wrinkled square
of paper. "`Subject picked up a tail shortly after leaving L-D,"' he
read. "That's the Library Desolate."

"Yeah. I remember being there."

"Right. Anyway, picked up a tail, took flight, opted
for the train out of consideration for the Fratriarch's health."

I grabbed the paper and scanned it. It was a summary of our
interview, leaving out a lot of the details. I gave it back to Owen.

"Close enough. The tail was two guys, bulky, wearing
cloaks. They had some kind of ... armored cowl over the lower half of their
faces, and they had tattoos around their eyes."

"You didn't think to mention that kind of detail in
the interview?"

"I did. It's just not in your report. I mean, how much
detail does a patrol Justicar need, really?"

"I guess. And those were the guys who attacked you
later?"

I shook my head. The report hadn't described my attackers,
either. I didn't feel up to it, right now.

"Different guys. I guess I never really thought about
the disconnect. You think that's important?"

He shrugged. "I think it's interesting."

"You want to base your investigation of the
disappearance of the Fratriarch on `interesting'?" I asked.

"Well, interesting is all we've got. Where was
this?"

I told him, as best as I could remember. It wasn't close.
At first the whiteshirts looked nervous, as they considered that kind of hike,
but Owen spun up his rig and called in for a wagon. They were all very happy
about that, and sat around talking about how happy they were until the wagon
clattered into the square and we all piled in and made our way south, toward
the Library Desolate and the place the Fratriarch and I had first run into
those weird guys with their eye tattoos.

The square where Barnabas and I had stopped with the girl
looked less sinister when I wasn't being pursued. The fountain was still dry,
and the dark windows of the surrounding buildings looked empty rather than
menacing. The monotrain rails that ran along the perimeter were quiet. All
service had been stopped on this circle while the attack was being investigated
and the tracks repaired. I sat on the edge of the fountain and looked around.

"Only a few hours," I said. "You wouldn't
think the place would look so different."

"Perception colors reality," Owen said.
"Looks the same to me."

"You're familiar with this place?"

"It's on our patrol route. It kind of always looks
like this."

"Hm. Could have used you this morning," I said.

"It's a long route. We only get through here once a
day, I guess. But yeah, sorry we weren't around."

I shrugged and stood up. "Let's not pretend it would
have made that much of a difference."

I walked around the perimeter of the fountain, looking for
anything out of place. Just cobbles and street trash. This was the last place
we had rested before making the final push to the train. Last chance anyone
following us would have had for an ambush. Either no one had been here, or we
had moved before they pulled the trigger. I didn't think that likely. We
probably lost our pursuers in our rush. Resting here had probably given them a
chance to catch up, to figure out where we were going. The Library Desolate
loomed darkly to our west. I turned that way and started walking. The
whiteshirts followed.

We had run this part of the route, and I didn't remember
much of it. Twice I had to stop and backtrack, after taking lefts when I should
have taken rights. I didn't remember making a lot of turns, but walking the
path now, it was clear that we had been dodging around like a rabbit in the
shadow of a hawk.

"You plan your escape routes as thoroughly as you plan
your rescues?" Owen asked at one point as we clumped back to the road we
had just left. "Because this is either a very cleverly devised route, or
you guys were just running scared."

"The Fratriarch does not run scared," I said.
"But no, we didn't plan this. We got spooked."

"You should have gotten an escort," he said.
"We would have walked you home."

"That came up. Frat didn't want it."

"That might have been a mistake."

"One of many, Mr. Justicar. Just one of many."

We ended up at the row of shops where Cassandra and I had
pretended to argue while the two peculiar men passed us by. We got there just
as night was taking the city of Ash in its grip. The moon was barely over the
horizon, painting the high buildings all around with silver light. The sky was
clear, and our breath puffed out as fog. Reminded me of the coldmen. Lots of
stuff reminded me of those freaks today.

"This is it. Our planned route continued around this
corner, up to the Terrace Boulevard, and then home. Long walk, but straight,
and lots of people." By now the Terrace would be empty, but the high lamps
that lined it would still be burning white. "Those two spoiled that."
I indicated their path with my hand. "Came right through here and around
that corner. We took off, back the way we just came."

"And you said they were big guys?"

"Bulky. Never got a look at what they were wearing
underneath those cloaks. Could have been armor."

"Hm." Owen paced the street, his patrol sticking
close to the wagon. All the perimeter lamps on the stubby wagon were burning,
bathing the vehicle in a circle of light. Good thing this wasn't a residential
district, I thought. "It seems weird that guys like that would be tailing
you. They sound kind of obvious to me, like they'd stick out in a crowd."