The Vagrant (19 page)

‘When you said you had a job in mind for me, I’d imagined something different.’

‘I have no interest in your imaginings. Just get the job done.’

Harm presses his lips together and picks up another nutrispud, cutting into it savagely.

Vesper rocks back and forth, trying to roll over but each time, the cube adjusts, softening around her. Foiled, she flops onto her back and stamps her feet.

The banging draws Sir Phia’s attention. The knight leans over the cube, curling her lip. ‘Such a noisy, undisciplined thing she is. Quiet now.’

The command is ignored.

‘Quiet, I say.’

‘Good luck with that,’ mumurs Harm.

Sir Phia places a finger and thumb on the soft skin of Vesper’s thigh and pinches. Vesper’s expression moves quickly from shock, to outrage, to the purest misery. She begins to cry.

‘Quiet,’ repeats the knight.

Harm’s eyes narrow. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Teaching this child some discipline.’

‘Is that what you call it?’

‘In the Shining City they’d have her in a choir by now and she’d have learned how to listen.’

Vesper shrieks as fingers and thumb pinch again, merciless.

The nutrispud drops from Harm’s fingers, the small knife does not. ‘For someone so keen on obedience, you seem pretty bad at observing it yourself.’

Phia whirls round, baby forgotten. ‘What did you say, squire?’

‘Oh come on, you’ve waited all these years to retrieve Gamma’s sword and now it’s here you send it out into danger. This isn’t just about what the spy knows, it’s about him. You want to rescue him.’

‘Of course I do,’ she crosses to him, uncomfortably close. ‘I am responsible for the lives of all the operatives here in Slake.’

Green eyes flash, triumphant. ‘But he’s not one of the Lenses is he, let alone an operative? No wait, it’s more than that, he’s your lov—’

Her boot presses down on his injured leg. ‘Quiet.’ He glares at her and she keeps up the pressure until his head drops, hissing in defeat. ‘That’s better. Now get on with your job, we need to make our way to the rendezvous shortly and before that, we need to eat.’ She strides out, shaking her head. ‘Pathetic.’

Vesper raises her head, peering over the edge of the cube.

‘Sorry,’ mouths Harm.

Little feet begin to drum furiously, louder than ever, accompanied by random noises.

Harm smiles, wipes his eyes, and gets back to work.

Slake never sleeps. Even in the dark, figures hurry through streets, eyes glancing, avoiding contact. The Vagrant blends in easily, walking just close enough to Able to keep him in sight.

Before long the outside of the facility looms, dirty and featureless, giving little away. Cargo, living and otherwise, is brought by loaders to the front entrance, a blank square of a mouth with two conveyor belt tongues.

Able moves to a side door where a man stands guard, lightly armoured, a plaguemaker pistol twitching in his hands.

‘Wait here,’ he says. ‘I’ll deal with this.’

The Vagrant does as he’s told while Able shuffles forward, like a junkie keen for a fix. Words exchange between the two men and backs of hands are pressed together. The Vagrant sees a crack of light where skin touches skin. They separate and Able disappears through the door. A minute later the guard checks the street and waves the Vagrant in.

The corridor is cramped, with hot walls and dry air.

Able leans close, whispering in the Vagrant’s ear. ‘The other team’s already in place. We’ve got thirty minutes to do what we need to before they attack. I’ve got a route to storage that should be safe but stay sharp, there’s no guarantees.’

Lightly and quickly, the two men advance. Able often consults his hand where lines of light draw and redraw the facility’s floor plan. The door to storage is unprotected. They slide back the metal bolt and roll it open.

Mist hisses into the corridor, chilling their feet. It passes, revealing racks of bodies, wrapped in clinging plastic, snug as skin. The room takes up the majority of the building and it is packed full. Men and women of all ages, ordered by health, age and degree of taint. Some have already been partially harvested, their stumps neatly stitched.

Able goes inside, examining the tags on the nearest body. ‘Our mark is fit and barely tainted, he’ll be further down on the right. You take that row, I’ll take this one.’

But the Vagrant remains in the corridor, fingers on the seal around the door, digging tight. At his side, an eye opens, peering between silver feathers, baleful.

Able’s voice is dampened by the room, made ghostly. ‘I’ve found him. Over here.’

Slowly, the Vagrant’s hand lets go, a memory of his nails left behind in rubber. He watches the floor carefully, keeps his arms by his sides and ventures in. He finds Able examining a man.

‘We’re in luck, he’s not been touched. Time for you to do your part.’

The Vagrant leans forward, studying the man more closely. Beneath the exo-skin the face is young and handsome, dark haired. An infernal holds his mind still, forming a scab-like bandage across the lower half of his face. Mouth, nose and ears are covered. His eyes still move however, full of life.

The Vagrant draws the sword, lowering the flat of the blade towards the man’s lips. Blue-tinged light falls upon the Scab, making it twitch and detach. The Scab extends a tooth, cutting its way free of the plastic, fleeing the light which smokes upon its back. The Vagrant skewers it on the point of the sword and flicks it to the floor where it shrivels to ashes.

Able starts peeling the rest of the plastic from the man. ‘Can you hear me, Jaden? I’m a friend.’ He quickly intones his identification and offers the back of his hand.

Coughs and laboured breathing pass as a reply, then a voice, choked with cold. ‘Who are you?’

Able lowers his hand, untouched. His pause is barely noticeable. ‘Phia sent me.’

‘Phia? She’s here?’

‘Nearby, I’ll take you to her.’

Jaden struggles to stand, his muscles are frost-tight.

‘Sorry about this,’ Able says, reaching into his belt pouch.

‘About what?’

Able raises the Medgun and fires it against Jaden’s thigh. He talks through the other man’s gasp. ‘It’s a quick-fix cocktail. You’ll feel like shit in the morning but it should be enough to keep you pepped till we’re clear of Slake.’

‘Thank you. Do you have any clothes?’

‘Right here.’

As Jaden is helped to dress, the sword’s eye darts back and forth across the bodies. Unwillingly, the Vagrant follows its gaze. For every person, there is a parasite, breathing with them and holding them still.

He frowns, looking pained.

‘Come on,’ says Able, moving past him with Jaden in tow. ‘Time to go.’

He follows, sluggish. Rows of imploring eyes track his retreat. The Vagrant keeps his head down. Inexplicably, his free hand is drawn to his side, touching his ribs. The Vagrant stops and lets out a long sigh. A cloud births briefly at his lips.

‘Something wrong?’ asks Able from the doorway.

The Vagrant looks up, shakes his head. He raises the sword with a flourish. The air trills and an army of Scabs quiver, fearful.

Able speaks quickly, urgently. ‘This isn’t in the plan. Think! We do what we’re supposed to, we save a life right now, and with the sword and the info we save countless more. You have to keep your head or we’re all going to die.’

‘Yeah,’ agrees Jaden. ‘Let’s get out of here while we can.’

The Vagrant’s shoulders droop and he takes a step forward, then another. Then he stops. Again he presses a hand to his ribs. A strange smile touches his face. He brings the sword tight to his body and begins to spin.

A song is sung in all directions. It is simple, of one note. The Scabs understand immediately, dropping away from their hosts, seeking sanctuary, finding none. Trapped between their former prisoners and a layer of plastic, they writhe, then burn.

Throughout the building, alarms sound, shaking skulls and racing hearts. People jerk to life, like sleepers thrown in cold water. They strain against their bonds, stretching them till they break. Some fall, some climb from the racks. The fastest leap to their feet, staggering, and race for the door.

The Vagrant is waiting for them, sword barring their exit.

They ask him to move, their blue lips cracking with the effort.

He points past them to those still struggling. The injured, the young.

They look into his eyes, just once, then run back, offering assistance.

Behind him, two voices argue:

‘Let’s just go, leave him here. You came here for me, right?’

‘In part.’

‘That’s better than nothing, man! If we stay, we’ll both end up in that freezer. And I can’t go back, I’d rather die.’

Able notes the preference, offers Jaden a pistol. The other man takes it, his hands uneasy on the grip.

‘How long till the meds wear off?’

‘Four hours at peak effectiveness, then you’ll have up to another two before the side effects kick in.’

‘Side effects?’

‘Later. Come with me, cover the corridor.’

Within the giant freezer, chaos reigns. Those on the top levels wriggle free as best they can, toppling onto hard floors or other victims. Weakened muscles cramp and tear, legs break, tempers fray. Only the sword’s presence keeps panic at bay.

The Vagrant joins Able and Jaden at the doorway and a pale army comes after, numb feet slipping, teeth knocking together, a chorus of drills. The noise brings a guard running. As she rounds the corner Able fires something concealed within his wrist. A new freckle appears on the guard’s forehead and her mouth opens in surprise. Her fall is sudden, comic. No one laughs.

Able is the first to move, scooping up the guard’s gun and signalling the others to follow him.

The escapees hurriedly strip the woman’s clothes. Before they fight over them, the Vagrant steps in. Deciding on a new owner is difficult; they are all equally needy and so numerous he cannot easily count them. In his hands, he has enough clothing for one. Hopeful voices cry out to him:

‘Give them to me!’

‘Please, I need them.’

‘I’ll do anything!’

‘I’m pregnant!’

Two children share the spoils, the envy of their naked companions. The Vagrant shepherds them on quickly. In the corridor, people crush together, shoulders rubbing, intimate, desperate.

Minutes later they spill out into the street. Eyes blink in confusion, look for guidance, look at the Vagrant. In turn, he looks at Able.

‘You’ve done enough. They’re on their own from here.’

The Vagrant shakes his head.

‘They’re too weak to travel. Look at them, they’ll die of exposure. It’s time to go.’ Able takes the measure of the man in front of him. His lips press together in thought. ‘They could ride the hooks to the edge of Slake. Some might make it that way, but they’ll need food and clothes soon or it’s not going to matter. I have surplus meds for three. I’ll treat the strongest, they can help support the others, for all the good it will do. After that, you’re on your own.’ Able gets to work, adding only, ‘Knights!’ In his mouth, the word becomes a curse.

The Vagrant allows himself a bleak smile. It does not last long. People are still pouring from the building, too many, hundreds. The street is filling up. Soon, the vultures will come and the opportunists, and word will spread.

At his insistence, they rush to the outgoing hooks and jump on.

The journey out of Slake is slow, nightmarish, impossible to recall save in fragments of horror. Bit by bit, the group whittles down. A few slip away to friendly streets but they a minority. Several are plucked from the hooks as they glide by, vanished by magicians, sinister. Most fall away, like old skin, too weak to continue, trembling in the dust until the next predator arrives. More than once the sword protests, driving enemies back into shadow.

By the time they reach the rendezvous, less than two hundred draw breath.

It is barely morning, the suns are not yet ready and grey light holds dominion. Hidden in a valley sits a hollow-boned skiff. A disposable vehicle, constructed for its one and only voyage. Engines hum quietly, ready. Sir Phia stands next to it, checking the time, her nerves channelled through frequent tuts. Harm is also there, chatting with Vesper, one keeping the other calm.

Figures appear at the top of the valley, silhouettes cut out of a pale sky. Able arrives first, jogging easily down to the group.

Sir Phia strides to meet him. ‘Report.’

‘Our mission was a success. We evacuated the target. The strike team was in place to let us in and had infiltrated the facility on schedule. At last contact they were ready to move on their marks but I’m still awaiting confirmation of our tertiary objective.’

‘You’re late. Complications?’

‘Oh yes, Ma’am.’

Jaden appears at the top of the valley. Still drug strong, he breaks into a run, charging down the slope and into an embrace with the knight. ‘Phia!’

Her response is stilted. ‘It’s good to see you alive.’

‘You came for me, thank you! I thought I was going to die in that place!’

She detaches herself, holding him at arm’s length. ‘The servants of the Winged Eye look after their own. We’ll debrief fully later. You get on board, and rest.’

Jaden climbs onto the skiff, unaware of green eyes boring into the back of his skull.

Able clears his throat. ‘About those complications, Ma’am.’

‘Yes?’

‘They’ve just arrived.’

She watches the procession of people trudging towards her while Able fills her in. Despite the increasing light, her face darkens.

The group collects in a pool at the valley’s base, huddling close for warmth. A few of the older ones invoke the rite of mercy.

Phia tuts again. ‘Where is he?’

The Vagrant is swiftly found and brought before the glowering knight. Immediately, he kneels.

‘A bit late to play humble, isn’t it.’ The Vagrant keeps his head down. ‘You disobeyed my orders, endangered your fellow servants and no doubt led our enemies straight to us. When I am finished with you, you are going to wish you’d stayed in the womb!’