Watershed (43 page)

Reed circled around, still clutching his weapon, all smirk and no sympathy.

‘You know, for a dead man, you're not that scary,' I taunted.

But I was wrong. He used me like a punching bag, the giant keeping me in place while Reed got stuck in with fist and metal, grunting and howling with rage, venting his issues, and all I could do was bring up my arms and tuck down my head, riding every blow. Then I was dropped again, to crouch on elbows and knees, sucking cold air painfully behind cracked ribs, no longer spitting blood but coughing it up, bright red and thin.

‘Quinn was supposed to attack the Catchers,' Fenton carried on. ‘That didn't happen, and now he's disappeared. We need to find him. And find out what went wrong.'

I shook my head, still dazed. As far as I remembered all Quinn was supposed to have done was take control of the Port. And everything had gone wrong.

‘How the fuck should I know?' I said. ‘I wasn't there.'

A huge fist sank into my neck, hammering every nerve, and I hissed my agony.

‘But you do know, Jeremiah. Quinn got a message out before he vanished, presumably to Cade. It was never delivered. We believe you have it.'

I hoped my face was as blank as my head. ‘I have no idea what you're talking about.'

I managed to shrink away before the next punch connected, lessening the pain only a little. Fenton watched while I panted and moaned. Finally done listening, he said, ‘This is not the time for any show of strength, Jeremiah. Tell us what we want to know.'

I lifted my head, and stared him straight. ‘I'm a lot stronger than you think, you old fuck. So go ahead. Give it your best shot.'

‘Very well.' Fenton raised his hand and waved it, as though pulling puppet strings; Alex and Cade were herded out of the shadows by a few Guards and shoved to their knees. Cade looked a little worse for wear, bound and gagged, a bit roughed up and stripped of his bright, shiny uniform. No professing his god this time; not the great man Tate had called him, about to achieve great things. But I didn't care all that much. I just stared at Alex. She still wore my cloak and was tied and gagged too, much like she'd been on the journey back to the Citadel; I held her gaze, seeing her hurt and her anger and her fear, wishing I could do something – anything – to ease it. Trust me, and I'll get us out of this, I'd told her. But I hadn't.
I'm sorry, Alex. I'm so fucking sorry.

Then another body lurched into the light, half carried, half dragged, his gag twisted around his neck. Ballard. Set on his feet and held in place, he stood crooked, something inside him broken or torn, or both, and my heart sank even more. His shoulders and elbows were disjointed and every finger had been twisted so his hands looked back to front. Ballard had been to that place I'd just been threatened with visiting, and he was in a real bad way. A jab into his back made him grunt; a harder one up high made him groan, and he shuddered and coughed up the red stuff. Finally we'd found some common ground, and I reckon even he might've appreciated the irony.

‘Not looking too good there, Ballard,' I said at last. Whatever our differences, I hadn't wished this on him.

His smile, when it came, was as crooked as the rest of him, his lips and broken teeth stained pink.

‘Nor you, Jem,' he said. ‘Seems you were right not to trust us.'

‘Yeah. Ain't hindsight a wonderful thing?'

Another attempt at a smile, a shit-sorry parody of a shrug, and he coughed again, spraying blood.

‘Where's Tate?' I urged. ‘What's happened to him?'

His face tightened, sad and terrified. ‘I – I don't know. They know everything.'

‘Yeah.'

He swayed suddenly, weak and bewildered. ‘They – he –'

‘
No!
' Trying to shake off the paw that grabbed at me, I reared up as Ballard gasped and stiffened, wide-eyed. The Guard worked him from behind, fast and hard, again and again, the knife puncturing flesh and organ, hitting bone and piercing nerve. Too shocked to show any pain, Ballard just buckled and folded and dropped in a heap.

Alex screamed into her gag, straining to get to her brother, the Guard behind her struggling to hold her down. Cade bowed his head, unable, or maybe just unwilling, to watch. A couple of spasms,
a last heave, Ballard sighing out, then not breathing in any more and, just like that, his dreams were over. Alex was crying, bent over her knees, her shoulders heaving, and I watched, helpless, because all I could think about was Tate, and how badly I'd let him down.

Fuck!

‘Why?' I said to Fenton. ‘Why are you even bothering? You fucking know
everything!
'

‘I warned you to start listening, Jeremiah. Perhaps now you will answer our questions. Tell us how you intercepted Quinn's message and what you've done with it.'

‘Not even if I knew what you were talking about,' I said, crying out when Reed's boot slammed into my thigh, splitting the wound Garrick had stitched so deeply.

‘We had the messenger followed, but he was killed before they could get to him. They also found three other bodies. Their tags had been removed.' He paused, maybe for effect, maybe to give me time. Either way I was glad because I needed that time – every fucking second of it – just to realise what an idiot I'd been.

You were there.

‘Tell us what happened, Jeremiah. What you saw and what you did,' Fenton urged.

You give up even a single word, I'll do that bitch. And then I'll kill her.

Sucking in the air, welcoming the chill on my tongue, in my throat, I bowed my head and steeled my body. ‘I went to the Hills and I came back again. I don't know anything about any fucking message.'

I wasn't given another chance. The burning pain from the white-hot iron bar, searing my skin and scorching it, finally forced a scream. I twisted away but Reed pulled me back, onto the point, holding me there, and I felt my flesh melt, heard it hiss, smelled it smoulder.

Oh! Shit! Oh, fuck!

‘Again, Jeremiah,' Fenton's voice, louder than mine. ‘What happened?'

I wheezed, high and hoarse. ‘Walked a few miles, had a few laughs –'

The Guard slammed the rod into my side, holding it there, rolling it hard and slow so the sizzling stench of cooked flesh seemed to fill the room, mingling with terrible screams. But not just my screams. Through a thick pink haze I saw Alex fight to stand, heard her angry muffled cries before the Guard cuffed her hard across the head, knocking her down. Beside her, Cade didn't move, just kept his eyes on me, watching and shaking his head, none of it helping.

We all have a safe place inside that we crawl into when the pain's too deep or the hurt too great. A sanctuary we can escape to, for protection or to heal. But as I battled to breathe, and felt the wash of pain, waves of it lapping and sucking, and that freezing air fanning the fire on my skin, I knew if I crept into mine now there was a real good chance I'd never come out again. So I held on, swaying on my knees, dribbling blood and spit and looking past Ballard's still body to focus on Alex, breathing her in,
hold on,
and out,
hold on,
and in again,
oh fuck, hold on
–

Iron clanged on iron, the bar back in the brazier, and suddenly I couldn't see Alex any more. There was just Reed, crouching dark and cruel and eager, and me kneeling before him, sore and sorry and so fucked-up. Everything else had slipped back to shadow.

I'd known all kinds of cruelty, had seen what cruel men do, had thought I understood what fuelled their desires. Garrick's was brutal and honest; the Guards who'd raped Marin and cut off Connor's hands had been lustful and savage; Fenton was cold and crazed with power. But Reed was something else, evil and sinister and scary as shit. His eyes were dark, but bright too, alive and keen like his smile and, when he spoke, his voice was soft, beguiling.

‘My turn,' he said.

‘Won't change anything,' I muttered, wasting my breath; nothing was going to keep him from his fun.

‘You don't look so cold any more, Jem.' He scraped my skin with the edge of his knife before holding it up, waiting for me to focus; the blade was wet. ‘In fact, you've worked up a real sweat there. You must be getting thirsty. Am I right?'

I was. I could've swallowed the Sea, fucking salt and all, but I shook my head.

‘Thirst is a terrible way to die,' he said. ‘Surprisingly painful. But there's no need to tell you, is there? You've seen your fair share. We all have. I wonder, how many people have you watched die of thirst, Jem? Hmmm? Ten? Twenty? Not many, really. You're too young to remember when it happened by the hundreds. Or the thousands. You weren't around then, were you? But we were.'

Just what I needed: another idiot hooked on the past. ‘Fuck's sake, get to the point,' I said. He scraped again, and flicked droplets of my sweat on the floor.

‘The point is the only thing worse than dying of thirst is the anticipation of it,' he said. ‘The fear. It does crazy things to a person, Jem. You take away someone's water and there's no knowing what they'll do. How they'll react.'

I stared at him. ‘What are you on about? There's plenty of water.'

His smile was wide, as he got busy with his knife again. The scratch of the blade was sharp, a hard caress of steel that took my attention from the burning sodden mess on my side. ‘Let's talk about Quinn,' he said. ‘Let's talk about what he didn't do.'

‘Go ahead. You talk. I'll listen.'

Just the slightest change in pressure, and his knife scored my flesh, drawing blood. Jerking away, I gasped when I felt a wet tearing of blistered skin. Something oozed.
Shit!

‘It's very simple, Jem. We think Quinn saw something he shouldn't. That attack on the Catchers was the key to everything and when it didn't happen, the rest panicked. We need to find them. We need to find Quinn. Or at least the message he sent. You give us that, and this will all be over. C'mon. It's no use to you now.'

‘Why the fuck do you even care? You have what you want. The Port's safe. The Disses are done for. What difference does it make if a few of them slipped through?'

‘We need to find them, Jem.' His voice had hardened, and the knife with it. Another cut, shoulder to elbow, just opening the skin. This time I tensed, but kept still.

‘That's what the Watch is for, shithead. And maybe if you'd used us in the first place you wouldn't be wasting everyone's time trying to find what you lost.' Not that I cared too much any more, but what'd happened downstairs, Garrick's fury and Taggart's concern, was suddenly starting to make a lot more sense.

‘Defending the Watch? Even now? That's admirable, Jem. Real admirable. It's a shame they never did the same for you when they had the chance, eh?'

My scalp prickled. ‘What d'you mean?'

A high laugh, and nasty, before he glanced up at the table to receive Fenton's sharp nod and faced me again with sudden glee. His blade pressed my chest and I raised feeble hands to knock it away, but the Guard just reached down and grabbed them, pulling my arms straight, stretching my body and forcing another deep groan. Another wash of sweat, hot then ice cold.

‘Didn't you know?' Reed said, pressing the knife harder. ‘You're the chosen one, Jem. All that loyalty you're feelin' for the Watch? You can thank us for that.'

‘Fuck you, Reed.'

‘Not just you. There were others, of course, in case you didn't make it through. But you were always our first choice. The fucking anointed one. And Garrick made sure of it, didn't he?'

‘
Fuck
you!'

‘You've always been ours, Jem. Our guarantee. We knew the Disses would get to you. We were counting on it. Because you see, in a way, this is all your doing.' The knife began to move, up over my stomach to tease my chest, up, and up. ‘Which one was it,
I wonder?' he murmured. The tip of the blade stopped just under my right shoulder, and there was the sickest sense of been-there-done-that. But I was fairly sure this time it'd be a whole lot worse.

Turning the knife just enough, he did what Ballard had only threatened, slicing quick and strong, carving skin and flesh. But I didn't scream this time, clamping down and groaning through gritted teeth. When I opened my eyes again, blinking away sweat and tears, Reed was grinning.

‘Or maybe this one.' He did the same thing again, gouging into my left shoulder and cutting out my guilt, and I could feel myself slipping again, retreating, my body begging for any kind of relief. But there was just that groan again, wet and guttural, tight and desperate.
Fuck me!

My hands were let go, my arms dropped, and this time, when I opened my eyes, he wasn't smiling.

‘You know what I think, Jem? I think we've underestimated you. Garrick did too good a job and you are one fucking hard rock, aren't you? We can keep cutting and burning all night, and you won't give up a thing.'

‘I don't
know
anything.'

‘Yeah you do,' he said, making a show of wiping the blade clean of my blood. ‘You like to sing, don't you, Jem?' He smiled again when he saw my sudden panic. ‘Yeah, that's right. ‘How does that song go again? Something about a frog and boys and girls? Catchy tune. Yeah, you were banging it out, weren't you? Right before you banged her.'

I stared at his face, unbelieving. ‘You –'

He laughed. ‘There's a tunnel down there. Runs along behind the rooms. Cobb says it's so he can keep an eye on those chains, make sure they're working right. But really I think he's just a sick fuck who likes to watch. And you two put on quite the show, didn't you?'

‘Glad you enjoyed it,' I said. I didn't care what he'd seen, only what he might've heard.