Watershed (40 page)

‘Sleeves,' the sentry said, knowing what I used. When I pulled them up and he saw my arms were bare, he nodded, making a note in his book. ‘Anything else?'

‘No,' I said, hoping my voice sounded normal. But it was hard to tell with all the pounding in my ears. The only man who knew I might be carrying something I shouldn't was standing right beside me. And he said nothing.

The sentry looked me over, and the noise in my head swelled to a roar while I waited for him to pat me down. They always did, always checking, Garrick never leaving anything to chance. But being with Taggart must have counted in my favour, and the sentry got busy with his pen, before nodding. ‘Right. You can go in.'

And I breathed again. For the first time, things were looking up.

We marched up the short passage to Garrick's rooms and I stared at the old iron ring driven into the wall, the one we used to tether the spoils before handing them over. Alex had been my last one, and I remembered her fear, because I was feeling it now too.

Taggart opened the door without knocking. The rest of us would've been hung out to dry if we'd tried it, but Taggart wasn't the rest of us. His age and position afforded him privileges we didn't have. Holding it wide, he motioned for me to enter first, then pushed it shut behind us before standing off to the side, while I waited front and centre, facing Garrick's desk. And his empty chair.

At my quizzical look, Taggart nodded at the cubicle door; bang on cue it was flung open and Garrick stalked out holding a shirt, and his belt and knives. His face, chest and arms were wet, not with sweat but water, like he'd just washed. I risked a quick sideways glance and saw the bed was empty. No more spoils for Garrick. No wonder he was in a shit of a mood.

Throwing everything on the desk, he glared at Taggart. ‘Took you long enough.'

‘Yeah,' Taggart replied but, as promised, didn't let on where he'd found me.

Still grumbling, Garrick buckled on his belt and a thigh holster, leaving the knives in a careless pile beside the shirt. I eyed them,
taking in their size and their number: three, one of them more short sword than dagger, another serrated, all of them double-edged and sharp. Blades were his thing, all kinds, all shapes; his preferred weapons, and I was yet to see anyone come close to matching his skill. My hands twitched to pull the gun straight off, catch him out before he could get one of them to hand, but he just pushed the pile aside and sat on the edge of the desk, finally looking at me. And that small room of his suddenly got a whole lot smaller.

‘You wanna hazard a guess as to why you're here?' he asked, and I shook my head, watching his eyes narrow before he reached across and picked up a folder, flipping the pages. ‘Well, I'll tell you, shall I? Seems this report of yours is just one big stack of shit, Jem. Tower's not happy, and guess what, arsehole? Neither am I.'

‘What d'you mean?' I asked, because I hadn't come here to confess, and without a plan the only thing I had left was to play dumb. I was pretty sure it wouldn't be too much of a stretch.

But Garrick wasn't buying it. Ripping a page from the report, he began reading out loud. ‘Ee Aitch three Em six six three one five, Yalick. Ee Aitch one Em seven one eight six nine, Carter. Cee four Em three two eight one nine one. And so on. And so on. Twenty-three tag numbers. All very fucking impressive. Except for one tiny little problem. You wanna tell me what that might be?'

‘Don't know what you're talking about,' I said.

‘No? That's some skill you got there, Jem. Killing people who're already dead. How
do
you manage it? You got some kinda supernatural power you're not sharing with the rest of us?'

I edged back, watching him, keeping Taggart in my peripheral, fighting the panic and wishing again that I had my bows. Or my knives. Or the staff. Anything, in fact, except the gun.

‘That's not –'

‘Don't!' he said. ‘You fucking lie to me again and I'll cut out that tongue of yours right now.' Standing, he took a step towards
me; not so bad, because it was one step further from his knives. ‘Seems everyone's lying these days. And I've fucking had it!'

But he wasn't the only one. I was pretty jack of it myself.

‘You know, Jem, twenty-three's a strange kinda number to pick. Real strange, when you think about it.'

‘What's there to think about?' I said, needling him, desperate to get some more distance between him and that desk. ‘Twenty-three. Right there between twenty-two and twenty-four. Or have you forgotten how to count?'

But he just smiled and stayed where he was. ‘Just saying we should have a good think about it. Maybe we'll do that when I'm taking back those marks I gave you.'

‘Fuck you,' I said, and that smile of his was wiped clean.

‘I've been here a lotta years. Taggart even more. Both of us here before that Tower was even built. The Watch is
mine
.
My
place. My fucking rules. But now, thanks to you and that other treacherous little turd, I've got the Council crawling so far up my arse I can't even shit. And a man who can't shit ain't one you wanna mess with.'

‘No shit,' I dared, and shuffled back some more.
C'mon, move!

He grinned again, maybe appreciating the joke, more likely thinking how he was going to punish me for making it. It was always hard to tell with Garrick.

‘Wrong again. Lots and lots of shit. So much that when it finally breaks, you and everyone else are gunna drown in it. No one fucks with the Watch, Jem. No one. Not the fucking Council. Not the Tower. Not the Disses or the goddamn Godders. And not
you
. You got that?'

‘Yeah, I think so. You're real particular.'

He cocked his head, and his eyes gleamed. ‘You know, considering what's about to happen, you got a real smart mouth on you. Why's that, I wonder?'

Finally, he took another step, all menace and power. One step, but just enough for me. Whipping my hands behind my back with
barely a fumble, I pulled the gun from under my shirt and thumbed the hammer, Taggart's instructions a sudden blur. But my aim was true and at least my hands were steady. Surprisingly steady.

Taggart straightened, but didn't voice his surprise or any kind of alarm. Garrick just laughed.

‘Well, fuck me. A gun,' he said, staring at it, then at me. ‘Really, Jem?'

‘Really,' I said, keeping it simple, not letting him distract me.

‘You remember what happened last time, right?'

‘I remember.'

‘Good. Coz the same rules apply. One shot is all you get.'

‘One's all I'm gunna need.'

‘We'll see,' he said. Then, still watching me, he said to Taggart, ‘Is he any good?'

‘Good enough,' Taggart replied. And that's when I felt the first tremor and that ooze of sweat on my palms.

Garrick sighed. ‘Not very original, are you, Jem? How many times are we gunna have to do this before you learn your lesson?'

‘This'll be the last,' I said, fingering the trigger.

‘Reckon that's what you thought before. Didn't work then either. I warned you not to mess with me. You're forgetting everything I've taught you, you ungrateful little shit. Every fucking rule. And now you're gunna pay for it.'

‘Except I'm the one with the gun,' I said, my finger curling, tightening, slow and steady, just like I'd been taught.

‘Then use it!' he snarled, and spread his arms wide. ‘C'mon, Jem, I'm right here!'

So I did.

Excerpt ~ Letter #18

 

You're allowed to make any number of mistakes in your life. What you're not allowed to do is repeat them. No one's perfect, but those who haven't learned to do better the next time are also foolish. Never be the fool, Jeremiah. No one can afford to waste a second chance.

Jeremiah had killed a man. Another one. A guard. Stabbed him and slit his throat with the knife Daniel had given him. That was all Sarah knew.

There was no explanation or reason given, no case to plead, and no one who would pardon. She wasn't permitted to see him, or say goodbye. Killing a guard was so much worse than killing a citizen, and his rights had been stripped. And she couldn't protest his innocence; insist there'd been a mistake, that her grandson would never do such a thing. How could she? She'd feared this all along, ever since that day in the square when they'd watched a guard beat a man to death and something had awoken inside Jeremiah and something else had died. This was the culmination of his long, silent struggle, and now he too would die, tossed onto the pyre with the rest, his lovely face turned to ash. And it was she who would be the last of them.

You'll never get to meet him now, she told Tee; he held her hand and said nothing while she cried.

She waited to be evicted from her home, expecting each day to return from work to find her belongings gone and another family occupying the room that was now too big for one. Space was prized in a place so overcrowded, and a criminal's infractions were often made to rebound upon relatives. Not even Tee could offer a reasonable explanation as to why she'd been left in peace; he seemed as puzzled as she. Maybe it was her age, he'd suggested, though they both knew the council and the guards were rarely so lenient. If she was worried, he said, he could find her somewhere else, before the decision was made for her? But she declined the offer, not wanting to leave, unwilling to relinquish the long years and what remained of
those she'd loved. So, for whatever reason, she continued to return to safety and sameness to spend her nights alone. And every night, as she lay on the bed where Jeremiah had snuffed the breath from Daniel, and she remembered the dead guard, she would stare across at the empty mattress and wonder the worst: had Daniel simply been an experiment to see if Jeremiah could go through with it? To see if killing a man was as easy as killing a bird?

She had to rely on Tee for confirmation that it was finally over, the execution carried out. But even then she couldn't help her doubt. Jeremiah had been dead long before he killed that guard, and surely a person couldn't die twice?

Every face, every voice, every deep laugh, was his. She'd see him in the room when the play of shadows would make her turn quickly; she'd see him around every corner of every street she walked, his cloaked figure striding confidently, his head up, his eyes bright again – until she'd realise it wasn't him, it was another young man, with a different face and brighter eyes; she'd feel him each time someone jostled her at a market stall; she'd hear him in a group of youths who'd pass by with their loud talk and crude jokes. He was everywhere and he was nowhere, just like his grandfather.

If she could talk to him, would she finally be able to say all the things she should have said before he died: that she understood, that she forgave him for Daniel and the guard, and for leaving her alone; that she still loved him?

She'd say what she needed to say, Tee told her.

Yes, she would, she thought. And that very evening, quill pressed to paper, she began. They were words Jeremiah wouldn't read, stories he'd never learn, thoughts he couldn't understand, dreams he'd never realise, but she wrote them anyway because she still had things to say. And every letter was placed carefully with the others that he'd kept over the years, bundled together in the locked box.

Killing a man's not easy, and it's never straightforward. It's not easy when it's done clean and quick, and it's not easy when it gets messed up. It's not even easy if it's deserved. I barely noticed the gun kick. There was the pull of the trigger, and noise, explosive like I remembered, but Garrick never flinched; didn't stumble back or fall to the ground. Just a single grunt, and his eyes filthy with rage.

Nope, even at the best of times, killing ain't easy. Other times it's fucking impossible.

I'd hit him, dead centre, could see the blood; no neat hole or gaping wound, nothing but a small gouge in his chest and a thin, red trickle. But there was no time to wonder what the fuck had gone wrong or even think of thumbing that hammer again, because he was onto me, one hand grabbing the muzzle, the other seizing the grip, crushing my fingers; a vicious wrench, down and to the side, and his knee jamming up, hard and fast. My face exploded, white-hot pain pooling and spreading. Another heave and he yanked the gun free, belted my back, and I was down on hands and knees, dazed and bitter, spitting my own blood and struggling to breathe. And, just like that, it was over.

Except it wasn't. Slamming his boot up into my stomach, almost lifting me off the ground, he yelled, ‘That's for shooting me!' Then another kick to my side, sending me sprawling. ‘And that's for cocking it up, you useless prick!'

It's not too late for you.

Yeah, it was. It really fucking was.

Blood washed my throat; I hawked it up and coughed it out, groaning at the throbbing ache in my nose. It wasn't the first time I'd had it broken, but I reckoned it'd be the last. Rolling back onto my knees, I tried finding my feet, but Garrick had other ideas.

‘Stay down.' Then, back-stepping to his desk, he tossed the gun to Taggart. ‘Reload it.'

Still trying to get my head around what'd happened, I watched Taggart empty the chamber and pocket the ammo before pulling out another handful and feeding in the cartridges, deft and sure. Garrick said nothing, just stared down at me, a small smile on his face.

I spat some more. ‘I fucking hit you.' My voice was thick and nasal, like Cobb's.

He glanced down at his chest, grinned and wiped at the blood. ‘So you did. Well done.'

‘What the –?'

‘Blanks, Jem. A bit like that expression on your face. One of Taggart's specialities.' Another grin and he flexed his shoulders. ‘Gotta say, though, they still pack a hell of a punch.'

‘Done,' Taggart said, handing the gun back to Garrick. Then, looking at me and not bothering with shame, he shrugged. ‘Sorry, lad. Warned you not to trust anyone.'

‘Yeah, I remember your warnings. Next time, don't bother.' No ‘old man'. Not this time.

‘We've both been warning you. Given you plenty. You've just been real slow to get it.'

Garrick smiled. ‘He loaded it right in front of you, and you had no idea. That's two rules broken right there. You've been played, Jem. Right from the start.'

I thought of Taggart's lesson, wasting Jackson's ammo, the sentry not searching me, no one running in when the gun had gone off. Oh yeah, I'd been played. Again. And fuck me if I wasn't getting real sick of it.

‘Shit.' I glared at Taggart. ‘Why?'

‘Told you, we like things the way they are.'

‘Not quite so cocky now, are you?' said Garrick. ‘Never mind. What was it you told Jackson out there in the Hills? Should've killed me while you had the chance?' He paused, giving it time to sink in. ‘I dunno, it was something like that. Hard to hear the exact words from where I was.'

I shook my head, remembering my constant vigilance, my search for any more tails, his comment later on in my quarters about the others thinking he might be favouring me.
Fuck!
‘You were there.'

‘Yeah, I was there. Long enough to work out a thing or two. You think I'd trust a dumb shit like Jackson to find out what I wanted? He tailed you, I tailed him and – well, we both know what happened next, don't we?'

I didn't say anything. I was too busy sorting it in my addled head, trying to calculate times and distances.

‘You were s'posed to be up north.'

‘So I was. And I found out a thing or two there as well. It's fuckin' amazing what people will tell you if you ask them nicely. So now it's your turn. Let's hear it, Jem. Give me the whole sorry story about how they forced you, made you turn on us. C'mon, make me cry.' When I said nothing, he snarled, ‘Well, at least you've got that going for you, you little prick.'

‘If you already knew, why didn't you just take the gun before? In the armoury?'

‘Seriously, Jem. Don't ruin all our fun,' said Garrick.

‘You sick shit.'

He studied me for a minute. ‘You know, if you wanted out all you had to do was say so. I should've cut you loose a long time ago. After you made your fifty. Taggart warned me, said you had too much heart. But you never asked to leave and for some reason I just couldn't bring myself to do it. You were too good to waste.'

‘Is that right? Lucky me, eh?'

‘Not any more,' he said, and my skin crawled. ‘Coz Taggart was right. You should've spotted me out there, and you should never have picked up that gun. You broke the rules, Jem. You let that piece of cunt mess with that bloody great heart of yours, and now you're no fucking good to anyone.'

‘Yeah, well, shit happens,' I said.

‘Doesn't it just?' he agreed.

I inched my right hand up my leg, feeling for the third knife. Too small to be much use against his, but it was all I had. And I wasn't ready to fail. Not yet, and not there. Not in that room, on my knees, in front of Garrick.

‘Don't s'pose I can take up that offer to leave now?' I asked.

‘'Fraid not,' he said.

I forced a smile, and gained another inch. ‘It was worth a shot.'

‘Eight years, Jem.' He stared, stony and cold. ‘Eight fucking years. Gotta say, this isn't how I saw it finishing up.'

‘That'd make two of us then,' I replied. Another inch. ‘But whatever you've got planned, get on with it. My knees are getting real sore and you're jabbering way too much.'

‘All in good time. And you'd better keep those hands where I can see them, or you're gunna lose 'em for good. On second thoughts –' Digging into his own pocket, he pulled out a coil of thick twine, ready-made, and threw it at me. ‘Be a real shame if either of us made any kinda wrong move, wouldn't it? C'mon, you know the drill.'

I glared and cursed; he stared and waited, watching while I slipped the noose over my hands and around my wrists. I pulled the strings with my teeth. ‘Tighter,' he said.

I gave them another tug, and he nodded, finally satisfied. Tight enough, but not uncomfortable.

‘What are you playing at, Garrick?' I asked, unsure whether to be relieved I was still alive, or alarmed that I wasn't yet dead. Because so far this wasn't going any way I'd imagined it might.

He shook his head. ‘See everything. Hear everything. Know everything. That's what I do, Jem. That's all I do. If you don't understand that by now, you never will.'

‘You've been playing games since I got back here. The both of you. Fucking with me, not fucking with Alex –'

‘Don't think I wasn't tempted, shithead. And I still might. Maybe I'll get her back here right now and fuck her three ways while you watch. Hmm? Is that what you want?'

I squeezed my eyes tight.
No!

‘No,' he said. ‘Didn't think so. So you'd better listen, and listen good. Coz what happens to her is all down to you now.'

Of course it was. Lately it seemed everything was down to me. But I gave a nod. Because even having to listen to Garrick was better than never hearing again.

Selecting one of his knives, he held it up, turning it, studying it, pressing the point to one palm and spinning it idly. Ballard had pressed his fingertips together and paced, all agitated; Garrick stayed calm and played with knives. I wasn't real fond of either habit.

‘Never thought this day'd come, Jem. My two best Watchmen coming at me, us caught in the middle. Never. And I hate being proved wrong. I really fucking hate it.'

‘I'm not with Reed,' I said.

‘That's a piss-poor excuse.' He twirled the knife some more. ‘Still, it's happened and here we are. You with the Disses. Reed with the Tower. But the only thing I care about is the Watch.
Keeping it going and keeping it safe. Coz I'm telling you, no matter what your new friends say, we need it. More than we need the fucking Council and the Tower, or any of those dipshit Guards.'

‘You would say that, wouldn't you?'

‘Yeah, I would. And so would you if you knew what I do. So shut your mouth.'

‘Then kill us both, Garrick. Me and Reed. What are you waiting for?'

‘Believe me, if it was that simple, I'd have done it already. The only thing in your favour right now is your treachery ain't half as bad as Reed's. We can handle the Disses. But the shit he's stirred? That's something else entirely. Reed'll get what's comin' to him, but I'm gunna give you one last chance. You get it right, and you might even get to bone your bitch again. Get it wrong, and it's bye-bye Jem and everyone else.'

I groaned. Again? Why was everyone so hell-bent on offering me redemption? ‘Thanks, but I've been down this last-chance road before, and I didn't like it then either. So you can stick your idea wherever the fuck it hurts the most.'

He didn't blink. ‘If you say so.' Then, to Taggart, ‘Go get her.'

‘
No!
' I surged up, onto my feet, but Garrick was already there, grabbing my hair, bearing down, that knife pressed to one of my eyes, ready to slice.

‘My rules!' he snarled.

‘Don't,' I said, hating that I was having to beg. ‘Do what you want to me, but leave her out of it. Just – just don't.'

He glared at me and snorted, before easing off and stepping back, and I blinked hard to clear my vision. Taggart hadn't moved.

‘So, what, you plug her a few times and now it's love?' Garrick said. ‘You're a fuckin' disgrace. This is what I'm talking about, Jem. This is what happens when you start letting those feelings of yours get in the way. When you mess with the rules, everything gets so much harder.'

‘There are worse reasons to die, Garrick.'

‘Believe me, there ain't.' Cocking his head, he peered down at me. ‘You know Taggart's always banging on about how clever you are, but I gotta say I'm really not seeing it.'

‘Then I guess that makes you the idiot,' I said, and watched that muscle in his jaw work overtime.

‘You just remember what I taught you, Jem. Watchmen don't feel. They do. And they keeping on doing until they die.'

‘Reckon I'm done doing, arsehole. So if it's all right with you, I'll die my way.'

He scowled, not happy. ‘No, you won't. And you know what else, shithead? No matter how much you're gunna wish otherwise, you won't be dying my way, either. Coz thanks to you and Reed, it ain't up to me any more. And I'm real disappointed about that, Jem. And real fucking pissed.'

There was that chill again, tickling my spine, digging in and settling low. My place, he'd said. My rules. And I knew those rules as well as anyone. But now it seemed even he was breaking them. He was giving up one of his own.

‘So you're gunna let the Guard do the hard work now?' I jeered, and saw his face darken. Nope, really not happy.

‘Worse than that, Jem. Much, much worse. So you'd better have taken my advice and rested up, coz the Council wants a full accounting of that report of yours. Piece by fucking piece.'

I gulped, but all I could taste was blood. ‘You might wanna think on the meaning of second chances, Garrick. Not sure you've really grasped the concept.'

‘Never said that last chance was for you,' he replied. ‘Just said you'd better get it right. And you'd better, Jem, coz everything's riding on it. You fucking owe me.'

‘I don't owe you shit.'

‘Yeah, you do,' he said. ‘But if it helps any, don't think of it as doing something for me. Think of those Disses, and what might happen to 'em if you don't.'

‘You're too late. The Tower already knows. They know about the Disses, they know about me. They fucking know everything! So go ahead and do your worst, Garrick, coz it's already over.'

‘It ain't over 'til I say so,' he snarled. ‘Yeah, the Tower knows all about the Disses. And yeah, you're all fucked. But you might wanna start thinkin' how they knew in the first place, Jem. Coz that's real important. And you'd better believe me when I say the Tower doesn't know everything.'

‘Funny. That's exactly what the Disses thought.'

‘The Disses knew just what they were s'posed to know. What they were told. Like we were. But now that's about to change, and then we'll see who knows what,' he said.

I stared at him, studying his face: wrathful and righteous and noble-looking, with dark eyes to match his dark heart, a straight, never-broken nose, and a mouth too ready to smile at another's pain. Not a single scar marred that perfection. It was a bloody travesty, and eight years on I still couldn't fathom it.

‘What the fuck're you on about, Garrick?'

‘Lies. Treachery. Betrayal. Fucking the Citadel and the settlements and everyone in them. Fucking us.' He sighed, all deep and dramatic. ‘But really, it's the lies, Jem. They get me every time. And there're enough flyin' around this place to make your head spin. You might wanna think on that.'

‘Reckon I'd rather think of other things,' I said.

‘Reckon you might, dickhead. But that don't mean you should.'

I glared. ‘You ever thought of just coming out and saying what's on your mind? It'd save us all a shitload of time.'