The broadcast cut back to a newsroom where the glamorous anchor, behind her TV smile, was thrown by the speech. Squatting on a box watching, Letty commented, “He knows how to switch it on, doesn’t he?”
“Yeah.” Flynt leant near the door. He hadn’t come all the way in, watching the airways outside. “You hear shouts? It’s gonna get everyone riled up . . .”
“About time.” Letty stood.
“You don’t think he should’ve waited?” Flynt asked. “We could have riots.”
“He’s the brains, you said. Guess he figured this would make it harder for someone to assassinate him. They do it now, Val’s culpable.”
Flynt frowned, distracted. “Think I heard someone ask where is he.”
“He’s got his plan.” Letty patted his arm, encouragingly. “And we should be figuring out ours. It’s time we got Smark and his lads to serve up Nimm.”
“We can’t –” Flynt started with surprise.
“We’ll wait on Edwing, okay?” Letty said. “But we’ll be ready. Mark my words, Flynt, you win fights by acting, not by fucking thinking about it.”
Fresko found Mix with one arm hanging over a doll’s armchair. Dropping onto the matching sofa, Fresko kicked his companion’s knee. Mix jumped up, grabbing at the nearest weapon, a second from tossing a bottle into Fresko’s face when he saw who it was. Grumbling complaints, Mix sat back, dark rings under his eyes.
“Figured I’d find you here,” Fresko said. “Trying to get yourself caught?”
It was actually the third place he’d looked, after their water tower and the summerhouse in a Ripton garden. This den, in the eaves above a betting shop in West Farling, was a favourite, adorned with takings from the rich locals – a likely spot for the Stabilisers to search.
Mix croaked, “No one’s looking for us now. You didn’t see the reports?”
Fresko narrowed his eyes. Mix stared back blearily, not about to explain. Fresko took out his phone and brought up the latest Fae news. The headlines about Edwing, that prick who’d met with Pax, giving a speech. Fresko had looked him up: the youngest member of the Council. Supported by forward-thinking Fae, known to question Val’s decisions. Bunch of do-gooders.
“FTC’s gone soft, hasn’t it?” Mix sneered. “Peace and love shit.”
“Yeah,” Fresko said. He could’ve predicted this. Did predict it. Edwing was saying they shouldn’t hurt one another. Lightgate wasn’t gonna like that. “The human and this guy, they’ve got a meeting happening in Tupsom. Like, right now. Lightgate’s gonna be there.”
“To do what? Ice the pair of them?”
It might’ve been a joke, but Mix was probably right. All this chatter and confusion, now this young one was promoting productive dialogue, open up the FTC. How was that gonna play with Lightgate watching?
“Pass me another bottle,” Mix groaned.
“You want a coffee,” Fresko told him. “You want a hit of dust and a clear fucking head, because once this meeting goes down things are gonna move fast.”
“Things,” Mix grumbled back. “Ain’t we had enough things for a lifetime?”
“You don’t want in, that’s your problem. But I’m not sitting back waiting for this to wash over us. I’m done living like a fucking degenerate, letting other people dick us around. Sit here and drown in puke – I’m heading to Tupsom.”
“What’s in Tupsom?”
Fresko strode to the exit, but a jangling of empty bottles and Mix’s huffing attempt to stand stalled him. “Wait, wait. Tell me. What’s in Tupsom?” He swayed uneasily and his foot caught a bottle, which rolled and almost toppled him. He cursed and kicked another bottle into the wall, putting on a whole show of standing. Finally, he straightened his belt and checked his hip-holster. Empty. He scanned the room.
“I told you,” Fresko said. “They’re meeting there. Lightgate and all.”
Mix snorted. “Fine. Pass me my gun. Might as well see first-hand how we’re gonna get fucked this time.”
Edwing arrived at the lido early, confident after a few circles of the open-air pool and its visitor centre that he was the first there. There was an old canteen inside, perfect for their chat; benefiting from natural light but hidden from outsiders. He flew through a broken window and settled on a central table, where he straightened out his suit, corrected his tie and practised a polite but welcoming posture. Now it was merely a matter of saying the right thing.
Welcome, Pax, good to see you again. Thanks for joining me.
I’m so happy to work with you.
Too formal?
How’re you doing? Having a good morning? Perhaps one of Flynt’s expressions would work best: Bet you killed it at the table last night? You’re looking fine? No. Complimenting a human’s looks could only be considered disingenuous.
Edwing cleared his throat and tried, “Good morning Pax, did you sleep well?”
“I can’t speak for her” – a female voice spun him around – “but I was too excited to sleep, myself.”
Lightgate was standing on the table behind him. One arm in a sling, but otherwise as perfectly presented as the last time Edwing had seen her. Pressed white suit, great mane of hair, and a youthful cheer that he now better understood as madness. He took a step back.
“Edwing, my friend,” she said. “You never called.”
“I –” Edwing stuttered. “I haven’t heard from you, either.”
“Me? I left a calling card at the FTC, didn’t I? If shooting people wasn’t a cry for revolution, I don’t know what is. And now fancy this” – she moved closer – “finding you cutting out the middle-woman. Chatting with my humans. Promising things to the FTC.”
Edwing took another step back, eyes on her guns. One bulging under her jacket, the other holstered low on her thigh. She listed to one side, swaying like she might fall, but she stayed upright. “Lightgate – I did come to visit you. I told Rolarn –”
“He’s dead.” Lightgate was mere inches away now. Edwing glanced over his shoulder. He could make it to the edge of the table. Fly for the rafters? Even if he had a gun, he wouldn’t dare fight. Lightgate ran a slow finger under her throat. “Butchered by your friend, Letty. Fae on Fae crime, can you believe that? A bit ironic, I think you started your speech about something like that.”
Edwing straightened himself up. No, there was no running. He would face her with dignity. “I’m sure Letty acted with good reason. You understand why I’m here now? We have an opportunity to combat Valoria. Things are going to change.”
“Yes.” Lightgate smiled slightly. “You make good with young Pax and the Ministry. Valoria either agrees to negotiations or steps down. Everyone talks happily ever after?”
“It is possible,” Edwing insisted. “A bloodless revolution.”
She studied him with a sad face, shifting closer. Almost chest to chest. Her breath stank like petrol. “Peaceful change? Valoria retires to the hills?”
“She won’t go quietly,” Edwing answered warily, leaning back. “But she will go – Fae won’t die for her, not when they understand our alternative.”
“Poor, naive Edwing,” Lightgate sighed, her alcoholic exhale stinging his eyes. “Don’t you realise you’re saying all the wrong things?”
“Lightgate. You came to me, you know –”
“I came to you with great ideas. And you give me this peace nonsense?”
Edwing opened his mouth to respond, but she moved quicker than he could speak. He didn’t even see the blade being drawn from her sling, only felt the fierce bite as it slid into his gut, all the energy shooting out of him. As he slumped forward, blood glugging up his throat, filling his mouth, he locked eyes with Lightgate, pleading, and she dug the knife deeper, leaning her weight into him with a lover’s embrace.
“Shh, Councillor. This is just step one.”
6
The Tupsom lido was a place Pax had been only vaguely aware of. It was not somewhere anyone outside the neighbourhood of Tupsom was likely to have visi
ted, even when it was open. Flanked on one side by a weed-riddled playing field, it sat behind a concrete wall, a single-storey building cracked by age. Its plaster mouldings, arched windows and doors went halfway to an impressive design, but the plant life, smashed windows and rotten door frames made it hard to imagine it as anything more than a relic.
It was also hard to believe the signs claiming the place was monitored by CCTV, under the threatening protection of LuxSecur. Aside from there being no cameras, Pax doubted that a firm trendy enough to drop the e from their name had set foot here in years. Across the courtyard lay the empty beer bottles and crisp packets of people who had ignored the warnings.
Rather than wait on Ward, who might have a skeleton key, Pax scouted the wall looking for the easiest way in: the main gate’s bars were too tight to squeeze through, and too tall to shimmy up. The wall itself looked scalable, thanks to occasional barred portholes, but it was topped with razor wire. No way the crisp-eaters took such risks. Further study turned up a gap in the side-wall, visible across the derelict playing field, which was encircled by a chain-link fence. The fence’s lattice was its own ladder, no razor wire there. She managed the climb almost gracefully.
Pax crossed the overgrown grass and squeezed through the wall where a hole had been kicked through, hardly concealed by a broken pallet. Inside the lido’s grounds, she went to the main building and checked through the grimy windows. The outside had got in, as nature partially reclaimed the metal tables and chairs with snaking weeds. Pax skirted the building to the back, where the lido itself sat; a concrete dipping pool, partly filled with dead leaves, sludge and – yes – a soiled pram.
Ignoring that mystery, Pax continued to the rear doors, where a bottom panel had been smashed, creating a gap for a person to crouch through. Which Pax did.
It was cool inside, holes and cracks making it as airy as outside, minus the sunlight. Pax walked between changing rooms, through to the reception area and finally to the overgrown café. A delightfully haunting meeting place; thanks, Edwing.
Pax searched the shadows in the corners, around the tiled ceiling. Tiles were missing above, exposing dark cavities, and in one spot the ceiling had collapsed into the room. Pax called out, “Edwing, you here?” She toed a broken chair leg out of her way, moving into the room. “You guys have an affinity for the dystopic, don’t you?”
With no answer, she continued, and spotted a dark shape at the centre of the room. Something standing in the middle of a table, the size of a fairy. But the posture was wrong. Pax frowned, getting closer. It was stiff – and splayed, four limbs out like a cross. Humanoid, at least . . .
“Holy fuck,” Pax gasped, bending to take it in. It took a second for her eyes to process the sight, then she turned away, hand to her mouth. “Fuck, fuck, fuck . . .”
She gave it another look – had to force herself, to be sure.
That was Edwing’s face alright. His tiny glasses, lying on the table behind him. His little stretched limbs, bound to – what – bent wire? And those were his guts spilt out of his open torso. Pulled apart like an anatomy experiment.
Pax turned on the spot. Every instinct said to run, get the hell away, but logic told her it was already too late. He’d been murdered, brutally, and left for her to find. Worse – for her to be found with. She checked the shadows again, searching for the culprit, sensing who it was. Fuck, fuck. She called out, “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Me?” Lightgate’s familiar voice came from an adjacent table. Pax clenched her fists as the miniature lunatic addressed her candidly: “You’re the one that did this.”
Fresko and Mix stopped at the window, seeing the human’s silhouette inside. Wordlessly, they slipped in through a broken pane, to perch on a jutting spur of window frame. From the human’s stance, something was wrong.
“The fuck is that?” Mix grunted, quietly.
Fresko swung the rifle up from over his shoulder and checked through the scope. He lowered the gun and gave Mix a disbelieving look. Pax, looking ready to gag, turned away from the table. Mix took the rifle and checked for himself. “Shit on a stick. Did she –”
Fresko snatched the rifle back, targeting the human himself. With the canteen separating them, she’d never see the shot coming. But she was saying something, edgy.
“Put her down!” Mix hissed. “About time, isn’t it? That psycho –”
“Shh!” Fresko snapped, following Pax’s gaze to the next table. “Lightgate’s there.”
“Shoot the human before she gets her too!”
“Wait.” Yeah, Pax looked ready to crush Lightgate. But the white-suited fairy was unafraid. The opposite. She was smiling, her good arm out to the side.
Nothing about this was right.
Dead bloody councillor, gutted. The giant lummox standing over him like she’d done it for kicks? Out of curiosity? No. He’d seen them talking last night. Chatting lovey-dovey bullshit about all getting along. She’d asked after Letty. Fresko had made bad assumptions before, thinking Pax killed Letty, and look where it got them. Mix rocked on the spot with agitation, so Fresko held a hand up for stillness. “Just fucking listen.”
“Someone,” Lightgate said, her voice rising, “tipped off Valoria’s people as to where poor Edwing was meeting with a human. But where are your Ministry friends? I was expecting more of a mess.”
“Fucking . . .” The human wasn’t able to string a sentence together.
“It’s Lightgate,” Fresko said. “She killed him. Set her up.”
“With Stabilisers on the way,” Mix added, looking out of the window. Fresko followed his gaze. The Stabilisers would take them down, along with the human, given the chance.
“Shoot her now,” Mix suggested, “we’re heroes again, right?”
“You psycho!” Pax snapped. She was trying to find words to break out of her shock. One fist was raised, as if she’d ever be fast enough to touch Lightgate. “How – why –”
“You’re upset,” Lightgate said, helpfully. With gentle wingbeats, she rose from the table to Pax’s head height. “So I’ll give you some advice. Run. Val’s people are nasty – I certainly don’t intend to stick around to greet them. But I had to say hi before I left. If you survive, we’ll talk again.”
“Fresko,” Mix urged, both of them sensing that Pax was about to make a move. This was their moment to take control. Fresko’s rifle drifted; his crosshairs trained on Lightgate’s chest.
“She’s the one murdered one of ours,” he said.
“The human can take the rap right now,” Mix snarled.
“You know,” Lightgate said, through a stifled yawn, ignoring Pax’s fierce look, “that clown is more use this way.”
Pax lunged and Lightgate moved too fast for Fresko to track. Pax’s snatching hand closed on air, the Fae suddenly a few feet above her, silver pistol drawn. “Oh. So close.”
Ignoring the gun, Pax jumped at Lightgate, tripping over a chair as she did. Lightgate effortlessly evaded her, floating towards the ceiling. Fresko picked her out again.
“Do her,” Mix said, meaning Pax. “We wait until –”
“Enjoy the party!” Lightgate shot into the shadows. Pax twisted on the spot, her only hope to spring wings and fly herself. Lightgate was gone, and that only left the reality of the situation. Her eyes went back to Edwing, the poor brutalised sod. Then something else caught her attention, at another window. Fresko and Mix saw it too. Three dark shapes converged on a break in the glass. A man said, “In there, she’s with the councillor!”
“I didn’t –” Pax started, protesting her innocence. But seeing the newcomers swarming to get in, she changed her mind. She ran.
“Out!” one of the Stabilisers shouted. “Cut her off!”
They hadn’t seen what’d happened, they didn’t care. The mission was to stop her.
“We take her, Val’s gotta reward that,” Mix said, drawing a pistol. Fresko grabbed his arm. He gave him a meaningful look, not sure how to explain it, bu
t hoping to get the message across. There were two sides to this. The right one might not be easy, but they’d been screwed around too much, for too long. He was done playing these games.
“We go after her,” Fresko decided, “it’s not for fucking Val.”
7
Pax crashed through the gap in the rear door, catching her shoulder on the broken panelling and forcing her way through. Not stopping as the wood shattered around her, coat ripping. She stumbled through the dry pool before vaulting the edge and charging the wall. She slid through the hole feet first, hitting the pallet on the other side, and scrambled along the wall edge, low. A voice shouted, “In the field!”
Rising to a half-crouch, Pax sprinted – they’d be here any second. The fence blocked her path, but she’d run through it if she had to.
A shape dropped in front of her, a man smaller than a tiny bird. Shit shit. Pax turned to open ground, no cover, no hope – but better than standing still.
“Stop or I stop you!” the man shouted, almost as loud as a human. Pax ran, and a gunshot popped like a carton bursting. It took a few steps for Pax to stop, fearing the next shot, arms out to her sides. Her chest burnt, just below her ribs – had she taken a bullet? Breathing heavily, she looked down, no sign of blood. Nothing. A fucking stitch, muscles not used to moving this fast, weak bloody lungs. She looked over her shoulder. Her pursuer was approaching quickly, rifle raised. A gun the size of a matchstick, but bigger than the pistols that had lanced her leg and riddled the Bartons’ house with holes.
“Got her,” said another voice, drawing her attention to the side. A second man hovering not two metres from her head. Armed with a similar gun, dressed in the same black uniform. The first man moved in front of Pax. They wore helmets with visors like fighter pilots. Two inches tall, miniature militant police.
The Sunken City Trilogy Page 81
