Dead Man in a Ditch

by Luke Arnold

  “So you do know who the killer is.”

  “I can take a guess. All I know is what you know. What everyone knows. Some guy got blasted through the face. Now, an old-lady-Elf might have killed her husband in the same way. There are no spell-casters left and, even if there were, this is not a spell-casting world. Maybe you’re not looking for a killer, Simms. Maybe you’re looking for a weapon. But go back to where this started. With a stranger in town trying to buy this city for himself. I’m not the problem here. I might have walked this shit onto your carpet but we should be working together to see who dropped it in the first place.”

  My speech was as thin as cigarette paper and just as likely to go up in smoke, but it gave her something to chew on besides the Clayfield.

  “Thurston hired you?”

  “Yep.”

  “Is he getting his money’s worth?”

  I stirred a Clayfield in my coffee and took a sip. It wasn’t half bad.

  “Between you and me, it’s not his best investment.”

  Simms put her elbows on the desk and her head in her hands.

  “I have nobody left,” she said. “The whole department is kissing the ass of this Niles guy and I don’t know who to talk to. I don’t believe you’ve said one honest thing to me since you walked in here but I’m not convinced you’re my enemy either. Not yet, anyway. I’ll let you go. If you decide that you want to help me, you know where I am. But if I have even the faintest hunch that you’re going to screw me over more than you have already, I’ll lock you up with Tippity, and you’ll be begging to be on my side again.”

  I just nodded. After years of making the same mistake, I’d finally learned when to shut myself up.

  54

  When I opened my eyes, Hendricks was sitting at my desk, holding one of Tippity’s glass balls up to the light.

  I really needed to get that lock fixed.

  “What’s this?” he asked, shaking the bauble to watch the pink-tinted liquid splash around inside.

  “Careful, it’s acid or something. Tippity used it to unlock the Fae magic.”

  “How extraordinary.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Do you mind if I keep one?” Without waiting for an answer, he popped the ball back in its pouch and then put it in his pocket.

  “So, what’s the plan?” I asked.

  “The plan, my dear boy, is a little old-fashioned espionage. When Lance Niles came to town, the power plant was his first project. Workers are already up there, punching their timecards night and day. I’ve made some enquiries but I can’t find out what’s actually happening inside.”

  “So, how do we get in?”

  “I’m glad you asked. It will be impossible for me to pass myself off as an employee of the company but there is a good chance you can slip into the plant during a shift change and find out what they’re up to.”

  Not my favorite idea.

  “The Niles Company knows who I am,” I said, “and Tippity’s trial put my face in the papers. I’m not as incognito as I used to be.”

  “That’s why we’re off to see the Succubae,” he joked. At least, I thought he was joking.

  “I don’t think we have time for me to heal from surgery.”

  Hendricks smiled like his old self, all rascally and full of cheek.

  “They do have other skills.”

  55

  “Gentlemen, what a lovely surprise.”

  Exina kissed Hendricks on the lips like an estranged lover. Perhaps they were. Or maybe just like-minded, uninhibited creatures who’d cut their teeth on better times.

  Hendricks gave her a brief rundown of the plan as Exina led us down the hall and into the surgery where Loq was waiting. The room still had candles and silk curtains but there were also racks of sharp instruments and drains in the floor that were stained with rust or blood.

  When Exina told me to sit down on the metal patient’s chair, she noticed that I was shaking.

  “Oh, darling, don’t worry. We won’t do anything permanent.”

  “Not yet,” said Loq. “But I know you’ll be back.”

  Hendricks and the surgeons stood around me, scratching their chins.

  “Elf?” suggested Hendricks.

  “We’d have to source too much skin,” said Loq.

  “I’m thinking Lycum,” said Exina. “After the Coda, every member of their species ended up with a different percentage of animal and Human. If we make a couple of significant changes, nobody will ask any questions.”

  The group agreed. I was still deciding whether I should run away.

  “I’m going to be a Werewolf?” I asked.

  Exina turned to Loq.

  “Take a look in the icebox, my love. See what we have left over.”

  Werecat was the final decision.

  The Succubae made preparations while Hendricks went out and got some wine. As soon as he left, they strapped me into the chair. Loq said that it was because they didn’t want me disturbing their work by moving around too much but I’m pretty sure it was just so they could screw with me.

  Exina focused on the teeth first. She hollowed out two feline fangs so they would fit over my real canines. Loq gave me a haircut and dyed a ginger streak into my fringe. I hated it, which only made them love it more.

  “I’d love to change one of your eyes,” said Exina, “but we don’t really have time. Let’s give you a patch and let them wonder what lies underneath.”

  “I’m surprised,” said Hendricks, returning with a healthy collection of beverages. “I didn’t think you had it in you to leave anything to the imagination.”

  Exina slapped him and gave him a kiss.

  My eyebrows had barely grown back so it was easy to cover them with ginger fur taken from some previous patient.

  “Have we got any whiskers?” asked Exina. They checked with the Dwarf, who found a few discarded in the trash and attached them to my stubble. “They look a little sad but that’s the fashion these days. What else?”

  “Claws, of course,” said Hendricks, with a devilish grin.

  “Just the left hand,” I said. “If things go south, I’ll need my right in working order.”

  They attached sharp black nails to the top of my own.

  “They’re canine,” said Loq, “but I’ve filed them down so nobody will tell the difference unless they get up close, so don’t try to scratch anybody’s eyes out.”

  They didn’t let me look in a mirror till it was all done. I hate to admit it, but the work was impressive. Subtle enough to be believable and I didn’t look at all like myself. They’d used glue to pull my skin in a few strange ways that changed the shape of my face and made it look like the Coda had made its mark but been merciful.

  “Almost there,” said Hendricks, as he produced a Niles Company uniform from his bag.

  “Where did this come from?” I asked.

  “The laundry room of the Hotel Larone. I’ve been hatching a version of this plan for some time.”

  They stuck a pair of socks in the back of my underwear to make it look like the stump of a tail.

  “Just don’t let it fall too low, boy, or it will look like something else entirely.”

  Loq put a beanie on my head and pulled it down tight so that only the ginger hair poked out the front. I looked unrecognizable, even to myself.

  “Well, what do we call him?” asked Hendricks.

  “He’s your pet,” smirked Loq.

  They were having way too much fun.

  “I had a cat once,” said Exina.

  “What was his name?” asked Hendricks.

  “Montgomery Fiztwitch.”

  Hendricks nodded. “Monty for short.”

  56

  We walked along the path at the top of Mt Ramanak and found a patch of trees that hadn’t been cleared. Lying back between the thick roots of an oak, Hendricks and I could see the factory’s front gate while the foliage left us sufficiently disguised. Our plan was to wait for the shift change so I co
uld slip in with the new group of workers.

  “Drink?” asked Hendricks.

  “Sure.” I reached into my jacket and pulled out a silver flask. When I held it out to Hendricks, he already had an identical one in his hand. We both laughed.

  “Don’t say I never taught you anything.” He took a healthy swig. “What have you got?”

  “Whiskey.”

  “I’ve got rum. Give me a taste.”

  We swapped flasks and both had a drink.

  “Yours is better,” he said. “You won this round, Fetch Phillips.” He let my name hang out in the air like a kite in the breeze. “When did you take back that name?”

  “On the day I moved into my office. The painter asked me what I wanted written on my window and it just came out. I was Martin Phillips when I was born. Martin Kane in Weatherly. Then just Fetch. Shepherd Fetch, for a while. Private Fetch after that. Then, when it was all over and I needed a new name for this new world, it felt right to be Phillips again.”

  He chewed on it for a bit and washed it down with whiskey.

  “Did you remember that name? From your youth?”

  “No. I read it in some documents when the Human Army were trying to recruit me.” I wasn’t really ready to go down this road but I didn’t know how to turn myself around. “It was a report of what happened in Elan County. They named me as the only survivor. I definitely don’t feel like a Martin anymore, but Phillips seems to fit.”

  Hendricks looked over. His lips trembled as if they were shuffling through the hundred different ways to respond.

  The Human Army had told me that Hendricks was responsible for what had happened to my family, the Phillipses, back in Elan. He’d let a Chimera go free, despite many warnings, and the monster had wiped out my whole village. It was hearing that information that had convinced me to leave the Opus.

  Now that time had passed, I understood that his mistake had come from him trying to do the right thing. I couldn’t yet believe that of mine.

  It would have been the perfect moment to clear the air of everything that had happened. To begin the impossible task of trying to move on. To apologize. But the moment passed. I felt it drift away, like when you look out the window at a sunny day but by the time you put your shoes on the clouds have already rolled in.

  Hendricks just nodded and said, “Yes, boy. I believe the name fits you very well.”

  There was a whistle from down below.

  “That’s the first bell,” said Hendricks. “A ten-minute warning. The second bell means shift change. You ready?”

  “I wish I knew what I was walking into.”

  “The Niles Company is hiring so many new people, you won’t be the only one in over your head. Keep interaction to a minimum but if you must talk to the others, then let them know it’s your first day.”

  The glue was already itching.

  “What exactly am I looking for?”

  “Any information on how their operation works. What is their fuel source? How much energy can they produce? What are they using it for? Things like that.”

  They weren’t the kind of questions a laborer asks on his first day, but I got the idea. Hendricks straightened my whiskers, patted my shoulder, and Monty went out into the cold.

  57

  Up close, the power plant looked even bigger. It was a great metal mountain with tiny windows and one gigantic monster of a door. I joined the crowd that had formed outside. The other workers were all races, all sizes, all with that distant look of men whose bodies have always been more valuable than their minds. We funneled through the door, shoulder to shoulder, and I tried to peek through the crowd to see what my first test would be.

  Claustrophobia, apparently. I was in a hallway with a hundred other brutes, fighting our way to a few women with clipboards waiting up ahead. Each worker gave them a surname and a five-digit number and stepped past. I was already panicking, expecting to stumble at the first hurdle, but then I saw that the women were writing the numbers down, not checking them off a list. That meant that it was less about security and more about people getting paid. I followed suit.

  “Fiztwitch. Three, two, seven, eight, one.”

  She wrote it down and didn’t even look up. I waited for a response but someone just shoved me in the back to move me on.

  The room we stepped into was a quarter of the entire building but still enormous. The walls and roof were all made of metal panels and the high ceilings were fitted with many chimneys to filter out the smoky air. There were benches all around, and doors leading off into other rooms, but I couldn’t make sense of any of it. The majority of workers were heading to the east wall so I followed a brawny Ogre who looked like he knew the routine. He grabbed a pair of safety goggles from a rack so I did the same, then we picked up a couple of paper-wrapped bundles from a long table.

  I opened up the package and found a buttered bread roll with a fried egg inside. The Ogre shoved his into his mouth and made a few satisfied noises.

  “The only job I’ve ever ’ad where they give you breakfast,” he mumbled. “I reckon I’ll work here till the day I die.”

  I nodded. Smiling wasn’t easy with all the glue on my face, so Montgomery Fiztwitch wasn’t going to be one for socializing.

  After they’d grabbed their egg sandwiches, the workers all stood around and waited for the shift to change. On the other side of the room, a bunch of employees were opening crates and moving the contents into carts and trolleys. I couldn’t see what any of the pieces were, but they clanged like heavy metal when they were dropped on top of each other. Then they were pushed through a set of doors to the north.

  A horn blew loud and shrill and the change of shifts was underway. Half of the new workers went through a door on the western wall but I followed the group that went north into another huge room that was filled with lines of long, narrow tables.

  I’d seen half the building now. I could glimpse a little more of it through the open doors to the east. I still couldn’t tell what this place was all about, but one thing was clear: it was no power plant.

  It was some kind of factory. Because it was so new, the changeover didn’t happen smoothly. Everyone was doing their best to swap stations without injuring themselves or the people around them. The mass confusion helped me fit in, but it made it impossible to tell what work was being done.

  The group from the last shift had dropped their tools and nobody had picked them up yet. The trolleys full of metal sat at one end of the line and empty wooden crates waited at the other. I walked beside one of the tables, pretending that I had a place to go. The half-finished pieces told a story. It was an assembly line. Cylinders of wood were being screwed into pieces of metal piping. I walked on and—

  BANG.

  The commotion came from behind another door, off to the side. Someone was screaming. I left the assembly room and followed the noise into a smaller area that shimmered like a rusty swimming pool. The whole place was full of copper sheeting. Huge squares of metal leaned against the walls, smaller panels were stacked in piles, and tiny strips covered the dozens of workstations that were spread out around the room.

  A group had formed around a young Werewolf lying on the floor. He was screaming something awful, with his hands over his eyes.

  A door opened behind the group. Heads turned and voices hushed. Even the screamer dropped his volume. Someone with authority had entered the room.

  “Let’s have a look at him,” said a voice, full of boredom and false sympathy. It was a Human man in one of those charcoal suits that people in the Niles Company liked to wear. There wasn’t too much else to say about him. He had that close-shaven, new-haircut look that professional people have, as if they asked the barber to trim their personality down to the bone. “You two, grab a stretcher from the corner and get him to the medical bay.”

  Two Lycum carried the kid past me, and the room went eerily quiet. The concerned crowd went to their stations so I found an empty desk and sat down.

&nbs
p; There was a small strip of copper in front of me, along with a lead box and a series of tools. They seemed familiar, but I couldn’t remember where I’d seen them before: tiny scissors, little gold hammer, strange measuring spoon.

  Only a couple of folks had got to work. Most were still in shock about what had happened, perhaps wondering if they were going to be the next one to lose an eye.

  The man in the suit spoke again.

  “You want to say something?”

  I couldn’t see who he was talking to. Whoever it was, they were shorter than the workstations.

  “I warned you,” said the short person’s voice. He moved around the outside of the room and I could only see the tips of his ears. The charcoal suit followed, always staying just a step behind. “This stuff ain’t to be played with. You gotta be gentle every step of the way. One spark can lose you a finger or your life.”

  The voice came around the room until it passed through the aisle ahead of me.

  It was Victor Stricken.

  His metal leg was gone and the other one was lifeless. He was in a wheelchair now, being pushed around by the man in the charcoal suit, and he looked even more unhappy than before.

  “Do not rush this work. Each casing must be identical. Otherwise, it will not fit into the firearm.”

  I looked down at the copper sheet and realized where I’d seen the tools before: in Victor’s home out in Aaron Valley when he’d filled the caps with desert dust and loaded the machine.

  The machine: a cylinder of wood with a metal pipe. That’s what they were assembling in the other room.

  I watched Victor’s ears move down the aisle as he lectured everyone on the best way to make the ammunition without blowing their faces off. I’d felt guilty about not destroying the weapon. I thought it was the inventor’s dying wish. But now, here he was, making more of them. Thousands more.

  “What you’re making will soon be the deadliest weapon in this world. But one that feels so safe, people will keep it in their belts or tucked under their pillows. It’s your job to make sure that this power only escapes when the one who is wielding it wishes it to. Do not take this responsibility lightly.”