Red Litten World

by Alexander, K. M.

  “When?” I breathed, my word a rasp that was drowned out by the revelers at the bar behind me.

  Argentum bowed his head forward ever so slightly. “Well, as mentioned, I have been trying to contact you for months. It is a shame we are only now running into one another.”

  “How long?” I braced myself.

  “You have one week.”

  I sat back, speechless. My breath fluttered out of me.

  One week. I nearly laughed.

  It was a death sentence. William Shaler had figured out a way to kill me, legally have my body cut up. My organs would be divvied up among the upper levels to keep some elevated bastard alive.

  I needed a drink.

  I needed a lot of drinks.

  I ran my hands through my hair.

  Argentum folded his hands and laid them on the table. The sharp silver nail on his pinky finger caught the light and glowed like an Auseil decoration. “Please do us both a favor and do not try to run. I have seen it before and it only delays the inevitable. I will always find you, Mister Bell.”

  A promise.

  I said nothing. Stared into nothing as the crowd around me laughed and sang and celebrated.

  Argentum stood and straightened his jacket.

  “I will see you in a week. As far as payment is concerned, the client has requested it be provided in cash, if you please.”

  I blinked.

  Argentum bowed his head towards me ever so slightly, then turned, and disappeared out the front door.

  FOUR

  THE ROWDY CROWD WAS GONE and most of the lights dimmed by the time the bartender appeared at the table and asked me to leave. It had to be well past midnight. My shift at the wharf would start in a few hours. I pulled myself off the chair and slipped outside, ignoring the sour expression on the bartender. A blast of freezing night air slapped my face and froze my lungs. Most of the shops along Third Avenue were dark now, proprietors gone home for the evening, windows barred by accordion security gates. Only a few late night food carts and street vendors remained, and even they were closing down. Shuttering sides and pulling their carts away for the night. A few left their carts where they stood, chained down what they could, and hoped for the best.

  The lights in the ceiling were dim. The thin crowd was lit only by humming neon signs, glowing Auseil branches, and the occasional pools of light that dribbled out of apartment windows.

  Clouds of vapor rose from vents in the street making the whole scene look familiar, like a detective serial from the monochrome. A low trumpet sounded a primal call from somewhere, resonating through the avenue and narrow alleys. It seemed a sad old song, a tune by Pops himself: West End Blues or something similar. I thought of my mother, swaying to the radio on a cold morning.

  Head down against the cold, hands buried in my jacket pockets, I walked north. Mindless north. In some warrens, not watching where I was going would have put me at risk of stumbling through an open floor, ending up in a different level. At this moment I wouldn’t have minded. Some adrenaline might be nice. Warm. Something to spice up this heavy dead feeling that currently resided in my chest.

  What mattered to me anymore? I was stuck. I could wish for all the time in the world, but I didn’t have it. This threat was very real. The money was more than I could come up with and I only had a week. What could I do in that time?

  I considered liquidating my portion of Bell Caravans, but even that wasn’t much. A small gearwain, some supplies, a few weapons. My half would be a couple thousand, three at the most. Banks wouldn’t consider me. I could go to my parents but they were just as broke and the last thing I wanted was to drag them into this mess. Most of my friends were dead or also struggling. There was the Usurer Guild, but they were out of the question for a sum that large. Few thousand maybe, but twenty-five? Not a chance. I knew what I had to do, but I didn’t want to consider it. Not now.

  Twenty-five thousand lira. It was the kind of money entire warrens dreamt of. If I had that sort of cash I wouldn’t even be here.

  I changed course, heading west to the edge of the city. Tried to lose myself in the views of the ocean and the archipelago.

  From far above, Lovat is shaped like a fat fish hook. It crawls south, rising across hundreds of small islands, and sitting atop the remains of a flooded ruin of a city far more ancient. That has always been the way of things—the young building upon the backs of the old, the old eventually forgotten. Lost beneath the waves of memory.

  The majority of the city occupies the hook’s stem, while a portion arches out west where the barb would be. From where I stood I could see the gap of the hook’s bend. See the lights from West Lovat twinkling across the narrow bay that invaded the interior of the city.

  Beyond West Lovat’s small towers I could see the Rosalia Mountains, black shadows against a starry sky. Somewhere north of the mountainous islands lay Empress, the only open port of Victory; the hermit nation to Lovat’s north. Beyond all of that was the open ocean, unknowable and immense.

  The fresh air along the open side of the city felt good. It brought clarity to my foggy mind. I settled on a bench to watch a freighter with massive sails disappear below the floor of Level Three into the wharf district in the bend of the fat hook, the space between the warren of South Dome and West Lovat.

  Somewhere beneath Level Three’s floor were the massive gantry cranes used for moving rusty containers from boats and settling them gently onto cargowains. I imagined their engines roaring to life, belching black smoke as the docks burned precious fuel to aid in the quick unloading of cargo. Their smaller cousins sprang from the side of the city, held in place by thick cabling. The cranes were helpful for lifting all manner of goods up and down the city’s edge. The waters far below were dangerous and generally avoided.

  The blasts of wind that howled down streets and burrowed their way into the city behind me kept me focused. I stood and moved to the edge, pulling out the card Kiver had handed me and staring at it again.

  The offer he had made might be able to keep me afloat. I doubted he’d pay twenty-five thousand for my help, but maybe there were deals that could be made with the collectors—with interest of course. Make sure it was more than they’d get from cutting me up. I had heard stories of people who’d tried to work out deals with the collectors. They hadn’t been exactly successful. The Society didn’t want to bother with payments and bills. They were quick, efficient, and had a lot of sharp objects. However... if I could make the offer tempting enough. Maybe there was a chance.

  Maybe.

  I sighed. I rubbed my thumb over the thick card. I knew what taking Kiver’s job meant. The thought blackened my mood. Damn the Firsts. Damn their plotting and scheming and their unholy terror. I slipped the card back into my pocket.

  “Didn’t expect to run into you out here.”

  I started at the voice, standing up straighter. I whipped my head around in its direction. Essie. She stood there, wearing a thick knitted hat over her dark hair and a heavy coat that hung down to mid-calf. A cigarette jutted from her fingers, the wind too strong to let the smoke linger. The end glowed a hot orange that reminded me of an umbra’s eye.

  “Essie. Hi. Er... I didn’t expect to see anyone out here.” It had to be nearly three in the morning.

  “It’s pretty late, Wal... or early. Depends on how you look at it, I suppose. Didn’t you say you had a shift this morning?”

  I turned from her and leaned against the railing. I looked at the wharf. The dull blue glow of the lights that guided ships into the mouth reflected icily on the rolling black water. I was supposed to be there in a couple of hours, but what did it matter? A few extra lira means little to a dead man.

  “I quit.”

  “Really?” She sounded surprised. “I thought it was your gig until the roads opened back up. Something to do before you could get back to caravanning.”

  Was that all it was? That’s what I had told her, yes, but I wondered if it wasn’t a bit of a lie. My knee was s
till a problem, and with my last run such a failure and showing up in the papers I doubted many exporters would be interested in retaining Bell Caravans anytime soon. Having deaths on the shoulders of your company did little to encourage business. I let out a long breath. Maybe Wensem had the right of it. Maybe I should have looked for a new battle to fight instead of scrambling backwards to some dead-end job I loathed.

  For him it had been the Blockade Breakers. For me... I guess Kiver’s job was my new battle to fight.

  Essie drew up next to me. I could smell the kitchen grease that clung to her and the sharp scent of cannabis tobacco from her cigarettes but I didn’t turn to look at her. I was too lost in my troubles.

  “You come out here often?” she eventually asked. I heard the pop of a match as she lit another cigarette.

  “Not really. No,” I said. “Just a lot on my mind.”

  “I come out here all the time. Usually after work,” she said, inhaling deeply from the cigarette. She offered it to me. I looked at it. Normally I’m not a smoker but what did it matter when you only have a week to live? Plus, it was freezing. I took it and put it to my lips.

  She went on. “If it’s early enough—and the sky isn’t too hazy—I can get a good view of the Rosalias. Make sure West Lovat is still there. Be certain it hasn’t been swept away or something,” she laughed. A pleasant sound, warm and friendly.

  “Why do you check up on West Lovat?” I asked, handing the cigarette back to her.

  “I was raised over there, went to school there, hell, almost got married there. I got out before it swallowed me up. I haven’t been back in years.”

  “Why not?” I said. I watched a small fishing boat chug its way toward the wharf. From this height it looked like a tiny little beetle. I imagined the hungry people that waited for its arrival. And the shady, besuited figures that slipped in and walked away with crates before they could get to them.

  Essie let out a breath of smoke and handed the cigarette to me. “Just wanted a quieter life,” she said. “Wanted something simple. Things back home... they weren’t simple. I guess I just grew in a different direction. It’s not my Lovat. Not anymore.” Her voice was wistful and sad. Her words sounded a lot like mine. I thought about the starving city surrounding us and understood. In a lot of ways this didn’t feel like my Lovat, either.

  “Yeah?” I said, letting the word out with a cloud of smoke. “I know the feeling.”

  “Oh yeah?” Essie asked, accepting the cigarette. The smoke had begun to warm my chest. “What do you mean?”

  “Well—“ I blinked, realized I had almost started to explain. I reeled myself back in. Essie was a hardworking woman with a decent job. I was a regular who tipped well and smiled at her. She didn’t need to hear my problems.

  “It’s nothing,” I said, expecting her to drop it.

  “Bullshit.”

  I gave her a sad smile and sighed, then turned back to the water. Everything in my head churned. The words didn’t come. Up until this moment most of our conversation had been small talk, but this was something else. Essie stood there silently. Just being. It was nice. She didn’t prod. She just stood there, passing the cigarette and leaning on the railing next to me, staring out over the water.

  “You want to grab a drink and talk, road boy?” she said after some time had passed.

  The nickname made me smile. I pushed back from the railing and looked at her. Her skin changed from a blue hue to a soft yellow as a sign near us flashed through its cycle. Her dark eyes studied me and her red lips were turned up at the corner in a playful smile.

  I looked back towards the water. The fishing boat had disappeared, swallowed up by Lovat’s superstructure. I still had a few lira in my pocket. Maybe a drink wouldn’t hurt. Help me relax. It’d be great company, a new friend, and I could dull my thoughts a bit. Allow me to start fresh tomorrow.

  Yeah.

  It’d be real nice to have some company.

  “Sure. I could go for a drink,” I said.

  She flicked the cigarette butt over the edge, let out a warm laugh, and smiled. “I know a great place just down the street. Come on.”

  FIVE

  IN THAT MOMENT BETWEEN SLEEPING AND WAKING I heard things. They were subtle at first, but they pulled me towards the waking world. In the distance a bass thrummed a beat. Somewhere above a mother yelled at her children. Old pipes gurgled away as air and liquid was forced through them. It was the buzz of Lovat, the endless cacophony of life. I yawned. I stretched. My eyes popped open.

  I woke staring at a drawing of a tropical island taped to the ceiling. It looked old. The words that once covered a corner of the poster were faded beyond legibility and in a strange and unfamiliar kind of Strutten. I could make out only a few of the characters. I looked at the poster. Where did such things exist?

  I pushed myself into a sitting position and dropped my feet off the edge of the bed and onto the carpet. I wiggled my toes, feeling the thick piles scrunch between them. My head throbbed behind my eyes and my throat felt raw. Something had changed. My mood from the night before had shifted.

  I turned and looked at Essie. Her dark eyes were closed. Her breathing was steady and calm. Her brown shoulders rose and fell with each breath. Her small apartment was cool, and I readjusted the blanket so a chill wouldn’t rouse her. I turned, rubbing my eyes with the heels of my palms and trying to clear away the headache. It had been a good night.

  We had gone to a small bar on the second story of a building on Level Three. An all-night tiki joint. We talked. Drank strong fruity drinks. Mentioned our families only fleetingly. Talked about our mutual desire for a simple, quiet life. We talked about politics only once—joint laughter over the ineptitude of the mayor. One drink turned into two, and two into three, and any inhibitions I had about getting close to Essie disappeared. When we exhausted the tiki bar we hit up another all-night dive. Then another.

  I could barely remember stumbling back to her apartment. There was kissing. The clothes came off. A blur of skin on skin, mouth on mouth, her legs wrapped around mine. I felt the smile on my face as I tried to dredge up more memories from beneath my hangover.

  I wanted more. Craved a deeper connection. I didn’t want this to be just a throw between two lonely people looking for some companionship. Walking the trails between towns, struggling against obstacles, fighting so many fights. It had begun to wear on me. I could see the lines forming in my brow, crinkling in the corners of my eyes. My sleep as of late had become more and more restless. Being a drifter wasn’t the life I wanted. Not anymore. I needed a refuge. I ached for a place to call home. I wondered if I could find that with Essie.

  She was different. There was a familiarity there, something I hadn’t really felt before. An equal footing. The way we had laughed together last night, the flashes in her eyes as she looked at me. She understood me. She understood why I was tired of the road. Maybe it’s this place, maybe it’s the temporary nature of this city. She wanted stability too. A home. Somewhere to hang up your boots. It was refreshing. Uplifting, even.

  A bright beam of light cut in from behind thick curtains and told me it was early afternoon. I rose and poked my head behind them, squinting at the bright light coming in from outside. Essie’s apartment was on the top floor of a Level Three block. The view was minimal. Another building sat across a narrow alley. Huge sodium lamps hung from the ceiling and blazed on their afternoon setting. Above them a tangle of wires hung down from the roof, dripping sparks that burned themselves out before hitting the alley below. Massive ducts crisscrossed one another, running this way and that, like the roots of some enormous tree. Big circulators slowly spun in their housings.

  Across the alley, atop the building opposite, stood a gargoyle. My heart jerked. The thing didn’t move. Just stood there, head tilted so it could look downward. Its blank face—inseparable from the tall hood—seemed to face in my direction. Watching.

  “Bastard,” I growled, pulling my head back inside. I readjuste
d the curtains to keep the interior dark and I gently settled back on the bed, trying to wipe the thing from my mind. I looked down at my hands, rough from weeks of dock work, the nails dirty. I could use a shower.

  More of the previous evening shifted into clarity. I remembered the face of the dauger—Argentum—staring at me across the table. The way his words felt like a verdict. A feeling of being cornered. This morning it was different. Maybe it was Essie. Maybe it was my throbbing head. Maybe it was just a good sleep in a real bed. Regardless, the path was clear. I was going to help Kiver. Maybe enlist the help of some friends along the way. I was better with friends. Better with people beside me. I couldn’t go at this kind of stuff alone. I had tried that before and it always fouled itself up.

  If I negotiated properly I could collect a hefty sum. It’d be the first step towards salvation. The Society of Collectors are first and foremost a business. I could probably negotiate a payment plan. If I couldn’t... well, I would run. I could head south. Join up with Wensem and his Blockade Breakers or lose myself in the Giffords, the mountains south of the city. The wilds held nothing fearsome for me anymore.

  Quietly, I rose again and padded across the carpet to Essie’s tiny bathroom and closed the narrow door behind me. I could barely turn around inside. A shower was crammed into a corner, a toilet squatted beside it, a small sink beside that. It was clean but messy: bottles lined the small shelves and little notes were stuck up on the mirror with plastic tape reminding Essie to “Pick up mail” and “Return books to Raul.” A few old copies of the Lovat Ledger were piled in a corner. A towel was draped over a steel curtain rod, dark eye-makeup stains staring up from the terry cloth.

  Pulling the towel free, I stepped inside the shower and closed the curtain. The initial burst of cold water jerked me out of the last vestiges of sleepiness. Now fully awake, I luxuriated in the water pouring over my shoulders. I let the increasing heat soak into my back and ease the dull ache in my knee. It had been a long time since I had felt anything other than cold.