Dead Man in a Ditch

by Luke Arnold

  Baxter had always been morbidly sincere. One of Amari’s favorite games was trying to get them to tell a joke. Even when they were trying to be happy, the words always seemed severe. Now, Baxter was speaking of dreams being fulfilled and there was something desperate about them. Their hands were clenched into fists and their mouth was locked in a sharp-toothed smile.

  I thought about what Hendricks had just been saying: how I’d attached my identity to this city so strongly that I couldn’t fathom leaving it behind. I had a feeling he would have similar things to say about our demonic friend.

  “If that’s true, then why not tell everybody what’s going on? Why all the lies?”

  Baxter shrugged. “Because Niles wanted it that way. And until I meet someone else who can bring trucks and tools into the city, someone who knows how to refit the pipes and get the fires to the surface, I have no problem giving him what he wants.”

  “That’s how we do business in this city now? Bend to whoever writes the check?”

  Baxter look like they’d been slapped.

  “That’s how it’s always been! What the hell’s wrong with you, Fetch? Have you forgotten where we are? That’s what Sunder City is. That’s why it survived. Because whoever pushes the hardest gets to the top. We have a future. Finally. Why the fuck does it matter to you how we get there?”

  I opened my mouth but no answer came out. Why did it matter to me? I tried to replay Hendricks’ voice in my head. To let his words convince me, again, that all of this was wrong.

  “I went into the factory,” I said. “The one they built on the bones of Brisak Reserve. You know what they’re making in there?”

  “Yes.”

  “And that sounds like a good idea to you?”

  “What other choice is there, Fetch? Are you going to get out there and build some homes? Are you going to pay the wages? It’s not the perfect deal but we had nothing to offer. Sunder City was dying. Now it’s not. Don’t you see what that means? You, more than anyone, should be on your knees thanking Niles for what he’s done. He’s the first man I’ve met that actually has the potential to fix your fucking mess.”

  That was a deeper cut than I expected from Baxter but I couldn’t fault them for it. In truth, I had trouble faulting anything they said. We all wanted to move forward and this was the only real proposal we’d seen so far. If the magic wasn’t coming back, then this was the only way to go. Better than trying to claw backwards like Edmund Rye had attempted to do. Or Harold Steeme and his stolen youth. Or…

  “Baxter, there’s something you should know—”

  A door opened on the western wall. I spun around. Thurston Niles was standing behind me.

  He’d changed his suit but his nose was still red and swollen and there were dark bruises under both his eyes. Despite all this, he seemed happy to see me.

  “Hello, Fetch. How’s the case coming along?”

  There was a small shadow with a sorry expression tucked into the doorway behind Niles. It was my quiet little pickpocket, waiting for his second payment. That’s what Baxter must have said to him before coming over – promised a few more coins if he told Thurston that I was here.

  “Hey, Niles.” I backed away from both of them, down the stairs towards the performance area. “Thanks for lending me your ride. You can pick it up on Sixth Street, outside the convenience store on the corner. Well, a little bit inside the store too. You might wanna check those brakes.”

  “You lied to me.”

  “I didn’t want to be left out. You’ve been lying to everyone in town. So has Baxter. I wanted to get in on the action.”

  I’d been careless, but not so careless that I hadn’t come into the hall first and scoped it out.

  “It’s time we had a little talk, Mr Phillips.”

  “I wish I could, Niles, but I’ve still got a few things to wrap up.”

  I jumped off the last step and onto the stage. There was one exit left – the place where I’d seen the musicians come from all those years ago. I was heading for the door but Cyran the Ogre opened it first.

  I put my shoulder into his chest – and bounced back. It was like hitting a refrigerator full of lead. He socked me with a cast-iron fist and I went down like a drunk baby deer.

  But I wasn’t going to be taken that easy. He tried to grab me but I rolled away from his thick fingers. He ripped the cheap jacket from my back but I slipped out of the sleeves and got to my feet. I ran faster than I’d ever run before, ignoring that old pain in my chest. Cyran was tough but he was slow and I lost him around the next corner when I jumped over a fence and ran through the grounds of an abandoned marketplace.

  I ran all the way back to The Ditch, taking the secret alleys and backstreets I’d been mapping most of my life. I charged through the back door, into the bar, but Boris was the only one left. He gave me a shrug that said, They’re gone.

  69

  Boris gave me the details as best as he could. The surgeons had patched Hendricks up, then Linda had arrived and the three women took him away. They’d left no message for me so I called the surgery. The Dwarf answered and put Exina on the line.

  “He’s not here.”

  “But you just brought him back.”

  “I know, but we couldn’t keep him still. He went off with that feline friend of yours.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know and I don’t want to know.”

  She had a clipped, frustrated tone to her voice that I hadn’t heard before.

  “Should I come over? We can put our heads together and—”

  “No. We have a business to run and I can’t afford to get caught up in your little games anymore. If you want to pay for our services, then come with money. Otherwise stay away.”

  She hung up.

  I listened to the dial tone and wondered whether she was telling the truth or not. Maybe she really was fed up with being dragged into our plans unwittingly. Maybe she overhead what Hendricks’ endgame was and realized that it was time to opt out. Or, perhaps, Hendricks had asked her to lie for him. Maybe they were all there: Eliah, Linda and the Succubae, all hatching their next plan without me. Either way, I was on my own. Again. As always.

  I started to feel a little mad, like I wanted to break things.

  I called Linda’s office. Nobody answered but I headed over there anyway. It was a desperate move but Boris wanted to reopen the bar and I had nowhere else to go.

  When I got to Five Shadows Square, it was dark inside the old florist. The door was locked and there was no sign of anyone.

  I couldn’t go home. I couldn’t go to the cops. Carissa was gone and Hendricks had vanished along with Linda. The surgeons didn’t want to see me and Baxter had already tried to hand me over to their boss. I had no place to go and the streets weren’t safe. A cop or charcoal suit could cross my path at any moment.

  I was wheezing but I couldn’t tell whether it was from physical pain or panic. Hendricks had abandoned me. As soon as he saw that I was doubting his plan, he’d cut me loose.

  I thought he’d come back because we were friends. Because he missed me. Maybe it wasn’t that at all. Maybe he just knew I was an obedient bit of muscle that he could order around, now that his own body was falling apart.

  As soon as Linda had come to his side, he’d swapped us out. I felt like throwing a brick through her window.

  The sky was dark. Hailstones hammered against tin roofs as I stood under the awning and tried to imagine any place in the city where I might be welcome. I dreamed of a nice hotel room with a warm shower but my only cash was leftover change, and Sunder despised charity. Besides, I was a wanted man. Any smart business owner would turn me over to one of the interested parties in exchange for a reward.

  I needed somewhere cheap. A place where folks didn’t make a habit of working with the police. A dark end of a dark street that didn’t want to draw attention to itself.

  Someplace like the Sickle.

  I slunk my way down side streets swear
ing under my breath and kicking hailstones along the path. I was furious that I’d been left behind. Heartbroken. All I’d wanted was a chance to change Hendricks’ mind.

  Things had been good again. For a few days. That man in this city. Now he was off with someone else putting together a plan to steal Sunder’s future and I was left out in the cold. I was pumped full of adrenaline and emotion and angst. I’d been uninvited from the party. Kicked out from the cool kids. I kept trying to bring my brain back to the things that mattered, like what Hendricks had planned for the city and whether it was right, but my heart kept dragging me back to wondering why my friend didn’t want me around.

  Sickle Street was quiet. Not peaceful. Never peaceful here. There was a hushed, patient tension like all the menace was just waiting for the clouds to clear. I wasn’t afraid of it anymore. I was part of it. Just another drop of poison in the bottle.

  Sampson’s tin casino looked shabby, even compared to its neighbors. It was the last place anyone would come looking, as long as I could convince them to let me stay.

  “Woah.” The doorman put out an arm to block my path. “How many have you had, buster?”

  “None.”

  “Really?”

  “That’s why I’m here. I’ll be a lot calmer when I have something to cool my blood.”

  He wrinkled up his nose.

  “You’re not going to be any trouble, are you?”

  I took a deep breath to get myself under control.

  “No. I will not. I just need to get out of the cold. Please.”

  I wish that I was faking the vulnerability but, in truth, if he’d said no, I might have broken into tears.

  “All right. Get inside.”

  It wasn’t much warmer but it was out of the wind and rain. There were fewer customers than last time. Sampson was counting receipts at his usual table and he didn’t notice me till I was standing at his side.

  “Can I sit down?”

  He looked as tired as I felt.

  “Are you going to behave yourself?”

  “Why do people keep asking me that?”

  “Are you?”

  “Yes. I promise.”

  “Then sit down.”

  I couldn’t hide my relief as I crumpled in front of him.

  “What can I get you, Mr Phillips?”

  “Well… I’m a little short on cash.”

  “Then get out.”

  “Please. Here…” I unloaded my pockets onto the table, dropping out a mess of money like a kid at the school canteen. One bronze coin and a scattering of copper. “I need somewhere to stay. People are after me.”

  “You can barely afford a cocktail but you’re asking for a drink, a room and secrecy?”

  “I’d be in your debt.”

  “You don’t want that, Mr Phillips.”

  “You can call on my services whenever you need.”

  “I’ve seen how you conduct your services and they don’t look like they’re worth much to me. Besides, from the way you’re talking, I’d be surprised if you survive the week.”

  I couldn’t argue with him. If I was in his shoes, I’d have kicked me out already.

  “Just a night or two. Please. I’ll be clean and quiet. I don’t need anything else. Just a place to sleep and gather my thoughts.”

  “This is a business, Mr Phillips. One that is struggling enough already without resorting to being paid in bad promises and bullshit.”

  I almost slammed the table, but I stopped myself. If I’d done that, it would have all been over. I swallowed my anger and looked him dead in the eye without blinking.

  “One day, you’re going to have one of those jobs. When something needs doing and nobody wants to do it. Something too dangerous. Too dark. Too risky to use your own men. That’s when you call me. Whatever it is, I’ll get it done.”

  He stroked the center strand of his goatee.

  “Does anyone know you’re here?”

  “Only the people in this room.”

  He threw a key across the table.

  “Then get out of sight. Now.”

  70

  The room was worth what I’d paid for it: a single crunchy mattress covered with a torn sheet and a scratchy wool blanket. No carpet, a three-legged armchair in the corner, and one small porthole of a window that looked out at a brick wall.

  It was safer than being on the streets but I felt anxious from the moment I closed the door. Like I was missing something. Missing everything.

  I lay on the bed and closed my eyes. I was beyond exhausted but it took me hours of turning in the bedclothes and begging for relief before sleep mercifully let me rest.

  We stumbled into her hotel room. Both drunk. Laughing. I craved her lips every second they weren’t on mine. She closed the door, opened a bottle of wine and poured two glasses.

  “Is this… the bed?” I asked.

  It was a basket full of leaves that took up a third of the room.

  “It’s a Fae cot. That’s what I sleep in when I’m at home. It’s hard to get a good one in Sunder because there aren’t enough leaves to keep it fresh. It feels so good to be in a proper bed again.”

  She jumped backwards onto the cot and the leaves engulfed her in an explosion of green and brown. It smelled like we were standing in the center of a forest after it rained. I looked down at Amari, her dress caught up around her thighs, her smile giddy and her hair all wild instead of tied up tight on the back of her head.

  I leaned over her and my knees sunk down, either side of her body. I put an arm through the leaves and around her back. I could only look into her eyes for a moment. It was all too real. She laughed, put a hand on my cheeks and brought my mouth to hers.

  The leaves shifted as we moved. Around us and over us. Clothes got lost in the foliage. It felt like we were sinking into the earth. In a cocoon. We wrapped around each other. Her limbs like vines. The tips of her fingers, soft like petals then firm like stone. Her breath in my mouth, mossy and sweet. Lips running across me like a waterfall. We rolled over each other, panting beneath a sea of green.

  Then her skin grew firm under my fingers. Her breath quickened and she gripped me, nails in my back, tight around my body, then… she froze.

  I couldn’t move. I didn’t dare. With only the dim moonlight coming through the window, I could barely make out her face. She was a statue. Wood-grain covered her closed eyelids. Her legs, wrapped around my waist, were immovable. My heavy panting was the only sound in the room. For just a handful of strange seconds, she was nothing more than a solid wooden sculpture. I didn’t dare move. Scared that if I shifted, I would break off a piece of her (or myself).

  Then, she was back.

  Her body melted underneath me. The softness of her skin returned and she sighed over my shoulder. I was laughing, in shock and relief.

  “Sorry,” she said. “That happens sometimes.”

  I kissed her. It was a good kiss. Our last kiss.

  The last good thing I’ve done.

  71

  There were no clocks in my room. No view of the sky. I had no idea of the time when I woke up. I didn’t even know what day it was. Had I slept for five minutes or five months?

  I looked out my door into the hallway. Deathly silent. No sign of life, just a folded towel. I took it and went walking. Every other door was closed. I found a dead end. Turned around. Went back the other way and finally found the door marked WC. Inside was one big room with a toilet and showerhead so close to each other that you could use them simultaneously if you were particularly pushed for time.

  That wasn’t me. I had all the time in the world. My friends were in hiding. They didn’t need me anymore. There was nothing for me to do but wait around for my enemies to find me instead.

  I washed myself off and put the same filthy clothes back on, then went down the hall into the main room of Sampson’s. There was no music. No customers. The place was closed and all the employees were gathered around the bar. It reminded me of the old days at The
Ditch: a special ritual for hospitality staff who don’t make enough money to drink anywhere else so the workplace becomes their local.

  Phara, the waitress that had served me the milkwood on my first trip, was there with her arms wrapped around the doorman. A couple of dice-dealing Dwarves and a hefty Human security guard were perched on stools and a Werecat dishwasher was leaning against the wall. They were all huddled around a little silver radio, listening so intently that they didn’t notice me sidle up to them, take a glass, and fill it with a double shot from the closest bottle. All their attention was locked firmly on the voice in the silver box.

  “… is still unexplained. The police department has not yet made an official statement, but eye witnesses say it happened over a matter of seconds. Only one injury so far: a young member of the police force who was standing outside the site is in a critical condition.”

  “What happened?” I asked.

  The dishwasher was the only one who turned his head.

  “Who are you?”

  “A guest. What happened?”

  “Somebody let that Warlock freak free,” said the doorman. “Tippy.”

  “Tippity? How did they do that? Wasn’t he in the Gullet?”

  “Yeah,” said Phara, “but they used some kind of spell.”

  Oh, great. Back to this again. If people weren’t already freaking out about dangerous spell-casters mucking around with new magic, this would push them over the edge.

  I wondered if it was disinformation put out by the Niles Company: a way to keep everyone afraid of Magum so they could sell more pistols.

  “What was it? More little flashes of fire?”

  “No,” said the dishwasher, refilling his glass. “Apparently a whole tree grew right out of the ground. It destroyed the walls of the Gullet and let Tippity climb to safety. Sounds crazy.”

  “Sounds incredible,” said Phara.

  “Probably some accomplice,” said the doorman. “Who knows how many of them are out there?”