Red Litten World

by Alexander, K. M.

  We settled into our regular booth and waited for the server.

  “Heard from Wensem?” Hannah asked. She tapped her wooden hand against the tabletop absently.

  I shook my head and tried to swallow the worry that welled up. Wensem dal Ibble is my closest friend and also my partner in Bell Caravans. I hadn’t seen him in weeks. Last time we had talked he’d said he was thinking of going south with the Blockade Breakers, the group of civic-minded citizens in red armbands who were determined to open up the road to Bridgetown or end the Big Ninety Blockade.

  I hadn’t been too surprised. He had been worked up for a while. It’s hard to understand why the Purity Movement is tolerated by the mayor’s office and Lovat PD. When the Blockade Breakers began to organize, Wensem was enthralled. The end to the blockade was just one of their goals, sending the Purity Movement packing was another. Human support in the city was welcome but their participation in the campaign to the south wasn’t. The whole concept behind the Blockade Breakers was to show the Purity Movement that a group of non-human protesters could come together and stand against them.

  Being maero, Wensem had gladly signed on.

  About a month ago, he packed up his family and left to face O’Conner’s brutes on the road to Bridgetown. I hadn’t heard much from them since and it was difficult not to worry.

  “No,” I said. “Who knows what’s happening? There’s reports of a siege, clashes, but nothing solid. Most folks are saying it’s like Grovedare, two forces staring at each other, waiting. The papers aren’t saying much. No eyewitness accounts or anything. I tried to wire Kitasha but I got no answer. Maybe the telegraph lines are down?”

  Hannah frowned.

  “I’m sure he’s okay. Maero are hard to kill,” I said, repeating the old adage. It rang hollow inside my chest. I didn’t want to think about it.

  “Yeah, I suppose,” said Hannah, smiling slightly. “It’s just... I don’t know. I don’t like not knowing what’s happening with him. I like knowing where you two are...” She let her voice drift off for a moment. “Ever since the Broken Road, I just...,” she sighed. “Nevermind.”

  “You two again?” said a voice.

  I looked up and into the brightly smiling face of our server. Her name badge read “Esther” but she always insisted on “Essie.” She wore the official Cedric’s blue apron over a pair of dark trousers, and an untucked chambray shirt.

  “Hey, road boy,” she smiled down at me, resting a hand on my shoulder and letting it linger. “Hi, Hannah. It’s good to see you, hun. Happy Auseil.”

  We both echoed the holiday greeting.

  “We can’t stay away,” I said with a smile. She gave my shoulder a squeeze and pulled out a well-worn notepad.

  “Food here’s too good,” said Hannah, looking at me across the table with an inscrutable expression.

  “I’ll be sure to tell Cedric,” said Essie, glancing at me again and flashing a small smile.

  Essie was human, like we were. She had shoulder-length hair the color of burnt wood, dark umber eyes that were almost black, and a small button nose. She always painted her lips in a bright red that made them pop against her dusky skin. She looked like something from another time.

  “He likes seeing you two come in here, likes seeing roaders in his place. Says you legitimize what he’s doing,” she said, drawing out the word. Lowering her voice for the affectation, she impersonated Cedric. “They’re good folk, honest folk.”

  I was about to chuckle when Hannah said, “So we’ve become mascots?” Her smile was warm but there was a hint of annoyance there, too. She looked from Essie to me and then back again, her lips pursed and eyebrows knitted.

  “What’s on the menu today?” I asked, changing the subject.

  “The main is vegetable stew with a side of homemade crackers. There’s not many of them, though. Ced found a small bag of flour and put it to good use. Oh!” She looked down at her notepad. “We got our hands on some fresh salmon as well, it’s just bits and pieces, and it’s pretty expensive. It’s available in a scramble. Couple of eggs, some greens, onions, mushrooms, and the fish.”

  She stopped talking and looked at the two of us.

  “Is that it?” asked Hannah.

  “Afraid so,” said Essie. “We have oatmeal and the like, but supplies are tight. Every time we go to the market more stalls are shuttered. I hear it’s worse down below, especially on Two.”

  “Well, here’s to the Breakers,” I said, lifting my paper cup. “May they actually do some good.” I drained the cup. Lovat was growing desperate.

  “The stew and crackers are fine. It’s my treat, don’t let this one pay,” I said, pointing at Hannah. I didn’t feel like fish, and anyway, I didn’t have the money to pay for it. I hoped Hannah’s order would be as light. “Coffee too, if you have it.”

  “No coffee now. It’s under ration for Denny Lake as of yesterday.” Now I understood why the cart was swamped. “We’re on the docket to get a fresh bag next week but the best we have now is chicory or black tea.”

  I shook my head. “Right. How about vermouth, then?”

  Essie cocked an eyebrow. A smile played on her ruby-red lips. “We have a little. Your usual?”

  I nodded.

  “Okay,” she said. “What about you, Hannah?”

  Hannah ran the fingers of her right hand over the table and chewed on the inside of her cheek before making up her mind. “Does Cedric have any of that sugar-kelp pie from yesterday?”

  “There’s a few slices left, I think.”

  “I’ll take one of those, and a cup of chicory.”

  “It’ll be right out.”

  Essie paused again and smiled at me, lingering by our table for a brief moment before she rushed off towards the kitchen. I watched her go, followed her legs as she moved toward the counter. Before she disappeared, she paused again and looked over her shoulder, caught me watching and gave me a small wave and a wink. A slight smile graced those bright red lips. It made me want to grin. This had been going on a while. I should really ask her to dinner.

  “Hey,” Hannah snapped fingers in front of me. “Hey, boss? You hear me?” She slapped the table.

  I jumped and turned back to face her. “Oh... sorry. I was—”

  “Staring at Essie like a slack-jawed teenager,” said Hannah. She studied me for a few moments, her lips twisted in a frown.

  “Oh, come on,” I said. “She’s fun. I think she’s into me. She’s pretty. Can you blame me?”

  Hannah huffed and cast a glance in Essie’s direction. “Not my type.”

  I rolled my eyes. “What about that wain driver?”

  “We’re not talking about this.”

  “Dark hair, dark eyes...”

  “I said, we’re not discussing this,” Hannah snapped, but her tone wasn’t angry. “I asked what time it was, not how pretty Essie is. Then I asked if you had given any more thought to Kiver dal Renna’s request. It’s good money.”

  I sighed. I looked at my watch. “Well, it’s nearly four. And as for Renna: I thought about it. I did. I just don’t know about those elevated CEOs and bureaucrat types. I’m certainly no investigator... ”

  “His uncle gave you high praise. Really talked you up. He sought you out. Thinks the world of you after hearing about what you did at Methow.”

  “What we all did at Methow, you included.”

  Hannah looked down at her wooden hand, and then pulled it below the table, her mood sobered for a moment. “Yeah? Well, I’m not the damn Guardian.”

  That again. Guardian. It was a title given to me nearly a year and a half ago. It followed me around like a specter. It always dredged up bad memories. I had a hard enough time sleeping. The Firsts. Creatures of legend. Titanic creatures from beyond with incredible powers that were said to destroy all in their path. I had faced two now, somehow, and emerged on the other side. That’s not supposed to be the outcome. That’s not how the stories go.

  According to the myths they had
appeared once in ages past. They destroyed cities, leveled mountains, and ruined the seas. It was said that in their rage they brought about the Aligning and changed everything forever. But then, inexplicably, they left, and the earth was left in shambles. Humanity was no longer alone. Other species and new races roamed the wastes that were left behind. We rebuilt. From the ashes of the previous world, our strange new society formed. So it was said.

  Few believe in that anymore, most folk think of the Firsts as boogeymen and tall tales. To most, they’re the villains in monochrome pictures, the antagonists in the fantasy rags. There’s a few who still hold to the old stories and who believe in the ancient prophecies spoken by prognosticators from long-dead empires. They’re supposed to come back. The legends say when the stars are right they will once again return to our realm and wreak their havoc. A re-Aligning, as it were.

  I used to laugh at those stories. But now I see things differently.

  Hannah looked at me. I rolled the empty paper cup in my hands.

  “Who cares if it’s elevated folk?” she said. “So what if it happened on Level Eight? A kresh servant was found dead in a broom closet. Murdered. His blood used to write strange symbols that covered the walls. Esoteric bullshit. We know what that means.”

  Aklo.

  I tried to suppress a shudder. Of course it was Aklo. It couldn’t be anything else. I had seen the gargoyle out on the street. I had been seeing them for a while. I knew what they meant.

  Somewhere, something stirred.

  I didn’t want to be dealing with this again. I was trying to pull my life together. Establish myself before the city went to hell.

  “What? What does it mean?” I snapped.

  Hannah raised her hands. “Sheesh, boss. Bite my head off, why don’t you? I just figured you’d be willing to look. He said the police aren’t helping, he wants help.”

  I just want a quiet life. It had only been a few months.

  “What about real private investigators? Why me? There’s got to be a bloodhound who’d be willing to look into it.”

  “He’s tried. You don’t find a lot of elevated bloodhounds and this guy seems wary of scrapes in general. You were recommended.”

  Scrapes. The word was slang for those of us not fortunate enough to live under the open expanse of the sky. Scrapes lived in the span, the covered levels of the city that stretch off in all directions.

  “Well, I’m as sub as you can get.”

  “Yeah, but you have a reputation with this stuff now. Others don’t.”

  I sighed and leaned back against the hard booth. “If you ask me, it sounds like another one of the gilded murders.”

  Hannah raised an eyebrow and scowled at me.

  Murder happens all the time in a city of ninety-eight million people, especially in the lower levels. A pitch addict rides a bad load and, next thing you know, four people wind up dead. That sort of thing happens so often that papers like the illustrious Lovat Ledger barely give space to the reports. Instead, the editorial staff worked up a murder section, right there between the classifieds and the obits. It’s crammed full every morning. Jane and John Does are listed next to factory workers and spouses. With one exception. If you happen to have a wad of lira and a view for miles then you’re something different. Your murder is dubbed “gilded” and the papers stop at nothing to make sure justice is served. I’m sure it drives Lovat PD nuts.

  For whatever reason, gilded murders were on the rise. Every other day, big bold headlines spelled out the latest sun-dweller to get iced. Big, thick lettering across the top of the page, as if anyone in the subs cared. Crack reporters asking questions about the deceased, looking into their pasts, what enemies they might have had. As if the rich don’t build empires on the backs of their enemies and the have-nots. Carter’s cross, I know outfit goons with less trouble on their tails. Might as well be a different world up there.

  “Hear me out,” I said. “Rich guy finds a stiff left in some corner of his flat. Strange markings on the walls add to the scene. It scares him. Now, could be anything. It could be a rival, a jilted lover, hell, could be the Outfit looking to collect. You know how close the crime syndicates are with the wealthy. Yet you jump right to Aklo.”

  Hannah screwed up her face like she had just sucked on a brakendale.

  I raised a hand. “I understand what it looks like. All I’m saying is that there’s a million other things it could be.”

  “Gilded murders are all high profile: business folk, monochrome stars, writers, singers, CEOs—not servants. This guy was a kresh servant.”

  “Kresh, huh?”

  I don’t know many kresh, personally. They aren’t anything like the humanoid races. Nor are they truly aquatic like the cephel or anur. They exist in a halfway state between the water species and the humanoids. They are squat, four feet tall at the most, with wide bodies and narrow, vaguely birdlike heads. Two eyes sit on either side and look like hearts laying on their side. If they have a nose, I hadn’t yet distinguished it. Their mouth is a sort of fleshy V-shaped beak. They have short legs, and small arms that end in boney claw-like hands.

  “Maybe things uptop are as bleak as things down here. Carter’s cross,” I sighed. “Maybe it’s just a squabble between two servants.”

  “And the writing?”

  I breathed out slowly. “Look, the police are on it. He’s in the queue.”

  “Yeah? Well, they’re moving pretty slow.”

  “I don’t meddle in police affairs.”

  “Ah yes, the glory of Lovat’s finest, better not get in their way. Tell me, when have they been anything more than a nuisance? Especially these days?”

  I thought about Detective Bouchard. It had been almost six months since I had thought of the dimanian homicide detective. Big as a house, with swooping horns and the pallor of someone deep in the drink. I remember him chasing me, gun drawn. He had thought I was the Collector Killer—an actual serial killer—and wanted to lock me up. I have him to thank for the knee. That damn leap from Level Seven to a roof on Six. Later, I was cleared of all charges and the blame was laid at the feet of Peter Black and his Children of Pan cult. I gave the knee a rub.

  “No, Hannah,” I said.

  “What will it hurt, boss? Just hear the guy out?”

  “What’s in it for you?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

  She grinned and I saw hints of the woman that had been, her laughter, her joviality. “Well, I’m hoping you’ll drag me along! At the very least, I’ll get to wear a dress, do my hair, eat my fill of some elevated food. Maybe drink me some shimmer.” Her eyes twinkled and I let out a laugh, shaking my head.

  A distraction would be nice. I am no detective, but it wouldn’t hurt to poke around a rich guy’s flat and take his lira. Hannah was right, I could make a lot more in a few days with consultant work than I ever could working the wharfs and hauling barrels.

  “Okay. I’ll need a suit.”

  She grinned. “I asked him to meet us here in half an hour.”

  TWO

  HE WAS RIGHT ON TIME. A tall maero, with a narrow clean-shaven face, sharp nose, high cheekbones, and piercing gray eyes that took in the diner with long sweeps. His thin black hair was striped with gray and pulled back severely in a stubby ponytail at his nape.

  Two humans in simple suits slipped in behind the maero as the door closed. They looked clean-cut and dull, like moneymen at a mid-level firm. Dark hair. Dark skin. Dark eyes. Dark suits. On the more elevated levels they’d be perfect hired protection, able to blend into a crowd, disappear.

  A gust of cold air followed them in from outside, along with the pitter-patter of fluttering Auseil pages pulling against their wax seals. The maero shivered and rubbed his seven-fingered hands together before removing his heavy black coat and handing it to one of the men at his side. Below his coat he wore a smart gray suit and a crisp white shirt with bright blue tie and matching pocket square. He reeked of sandalwood, juniper, and bergamot. A smell that meant money and p
ower. He instantly stuck out among the Cedric’s crowd.

  I like maero. They’re an honest and straightforward people. They look a lot like humans but they have pale gray skin, long features, and seven digits on their hands and feet. They’re usually quite tall and they’re tough as nails. The adage goes that “maero are hard to kill” and—from what I’ve seen—it’s true.

  This had to be my client. Mister Kiver dal Renna of Renna Monochromes. One of the richest maero in the city.

  I pushed the remnants of the stew away from me and leaned back in the booth as I studied him. He looked around calmly and caught sight of me watching him. Recognition dawned on his face and he broke from his escorts to walk down the narrow lane towards our booth. His glistening shoes clipped along the tile floor, each step a punctuation mark.

  The two bodyguards didn’t follow, and instead took up residence along the counter. Near our booth, but just out of eavesdropping distance. The bulges of shoulder holsters could be seen beneath the fabric of their jackets, and they made no effort to settle in, just perched on the stools, watching. Their awkwardness drew glances from an old dauger in a bronze mask that sat a few stools down.

  He stopped by my table and looked down his nose at me. “Happy Auseil. Are you Bell?”

  I nodded and slowly rose. He was taller than me, but shorter than Wensem. The top of my head came to about his chin so I had to tilt my head up slightly to meet his gray eyes with my brown ones.

  “Happy Auseil to you as well. Yes, I’m Waldo Bell. Call me Wal.”

  We shook hands. He had the handshake of a maero who was in business: solid, firm, trustworthy. My old man always said you could tell a lot about someone by the way they shake hands. Kiver’s handshake told of confidence and ease with power.

  “Pleased to meet you. I’m Kiver dal Renna. Thanks for taking the time to meet. I understand you’re a busy man.”

  I nearly laughed.

  “Have a seat,” I said, motioning to the space across from me and next to Hannah as I sat back down on the hardwood of the booth. Hannah barely moved, just raised a hand in greeting and sipped her chicory, watching Kiver carefully.