Crucible Zero

by Devon Monk

  The road looked like it got a fair share of traffic. The hills around here did not appear to be farmed, and there were no apple orchards or really much else. I didn’t know what the main resource might be in this area, other than the wink of a rather large river that I caught a glimpse of now and again.

  I was expecting Coal and Ice to be some sort of city set behind walls, and I was not wrong. Except whereas House Earth’s compound felt like a place where one could build a life and raise a family, this place looked like the kind of thing one might want to remain a part of only if one liked living in a battle fortress.

  The walls were thick, concrete and metal, with slits for windows useful for sniper rifles. Strangely, the front gate was wide open.

  We were headed to the intelligence center for mercenaries, killers, and others who took life one bloody, illegal opportunity at a time, and they didn’t even have a weapons check at the door.

  “Not much for precaution, are they?” I asked as we rolled down the streets.

  “Don’t have to be,” Abraham said.

  The streets were hard-packed dirt, which must turn into a bog hole when the winter rains came. The buildings had a sense of impermanence, as if they had been put up quickly and could be abandoned at a moment’s notice.

  The number of saloons, bars, and other sorts of pleasure houses was boggling.

  The people who walked the streets—and there were a lot of them—seemed to have taken their fashion from the same page that Abraham and Foster subscribed to.

  Basically, hearty clothing, accessorized by as many weapons as one could bear to support.

  That put the open-door policy into perspective. Everyone was armed; therefore it didn’t matter what kind of person strolled into the town. Visitors weren’t a potential danger to the town; the town was a potential danger to visitors.

  Coal and Ice was also much smaller than Compound 5. I estimated it to be a half mile by a half mile in acreage, and built on a grid, so it seemed even smaller than that.

  Foster pulled up to a building that could have once been a church, steeple and everything.

  It was painted navy blue with deep maroon trim, the door rounded at the top and gunmetal gray.

  “This is our stop,” Abraham said.

  “A church?” I asked.

  “Binek’s office. Come on in. I think you’ll like him.”

  Abraham stepped out of the van and took the time to remove his jacket while he waited for me to get out. I didn’t know why he didn’t want his coat on. But then I noticed the people on the street, and more people in windows across the street, who were studying him. One after another, they looked away, stepped away, and went about their business.

  And I knew why. With his jacket off and sleeves rolled up, the thick, black, distinctive stitches on his arms and wrists were very evident. Add the blood and gore that covered him, and he made for an intimidating man. No, he made for an intimidating galvanized man.

  Someone who even these hardened criminals would rather not mess with.

  Well, that said a lot for how the galvanized were seen here.

  We walked up the stairs, and Foster opened the door, which we all strolled through.

  Apparently, one didn’t need reservations to meet the big man.

  The interior of the building fit my assumption that this had been a church. Polished wood everywhere—walls, ceiling, floor, all of it set together in long blond and toasted brown strips. The ceiling vaulted up at a sharp angle. A set of stairs leading up to our right, double doors in front of us, and a single door to the left.

  We went left.

  Foster opened that door. Nothing here was locked; no people were guarding the doors.

  After House Earth’s security setup, it was sort of odd.

  A hallway took us deeper into the building, which I realized was a lot bigger than it seemed from the outside.

  Still no one here. The place had the sort of hushed reverence of silence filling it.

  At the end of the hall was another door. It was open.

  I shook my head at the sheer lack of locks, guards, and fear. Abraham, walking beside me, smiled. He stopped in front of the doorway and knocked on the doorframe.

  “Do you have time today?” he asked.

  I couldn’t see into the room past the mountain of Abraham filling it, but I knew the voice that answered.

  “Abraham,” the man said. “Come in. Of course. Come in. Tell me how things went.”

  “They went well.” Abraham stepped into the room. I walked in behind him.

  There, sitting behind a desk covered in papers and books and rolled maps, was Oscar Gray.

  I was so happy to see him, I pressed my fingertips against my lips so I wouldn’t say something stupid.

  “Hello,” he said, looking at me through the small round glasses perched on the end of his nose. He was so much the same as how I remembered him from my timeway, I couldn’t help but smile. Short, curly hair gone gray, round face, and stout build. He didn’t wear the mix of jackets and scarves he’d sported in the world where we’d first met. Here he was dressed in a clean white shirt under a pinstripe vest and jacket.

  If I’d never met him before, if I didn’t know him from my timeway as the head of House Gray, or from this time as, apparently, the head of the Coal and Ice, I might think he was a jovial accountant or a friendly uncle.

  I wanted him to be the same kindhearted man I’d met in what was only over a week ago, to my memory. But just as Abraham wasn’t quite the same, nor Quinten, Welton, or even, in many ways, I myself, I tried not to hold too much hope that Oscar would be the generous man I had known.

  He was, after all, the head of all the criminals, assassins, and killers for hire.

  “Hello, Oscar,” I said, taking my fingers away from my mouth.

  “Oscar?” Abraham said. “Is that it? Is that your first name?”

  “That,” Oscar said shortly, “doesn’t matter. I am curious as to who told you it might be.”

  “I just thought . . . I must have heard it from Abraham,” I said.

  “No,” Oscar said. “You did not. He doesn’t know my first name. No one knows my first name.”

  “Not even your parents?” I asked.

  His round eyes curved into crescents as he laughed. “Really. I must know. Who told you?”

  “No one,” I said truthfully. “I . . . guessed.”

  He studied me, his eyes bright. “You must be Matilda Case,” he said. “The girl who knew the future. Is this lovely young woman Matilda Case, Abraham?”

  “It is indeed what she tells me, Binek.” Abraham strolled over and sat in the wide leather and wood chair on one side of Oscar’s cozy office. “Or should I call you Oscar?”

  “You should not,” he said, rising to lean across his cluttered desk and shake my hand. “So wonderful to meet you.” He let go and pointed at another chair near Abraham. “Have a seat. We’re all friends here.” He paused, looked at Abraham. “I assume we’re friends?”

  He nodded once. “Close enough. Though I’d think Matilda might say we simply had similar goals.”

  “Ah.” Oscar turned and poured a honey-colored liquor out of a cut crystal decanter into four glasses. “Well, then, you’ve certainly come to the right place.” He glanced back at me over his glasses. “We are all about friendly, temporary alliances here.”

  He turned with the tray and stepped over to Abraham, who took one of the glasses.

  “Tell me how it is that we at Coal and Ice can help you,” he said, offering me a glass.

  I wasn’t one for drinking, but after the night I’d had, I could use something more than water in my belly.

  “She doesn’t want help from Coal and Ice,” Abraham said.

  “Oh?” Oscar gave the last glass to Foster, who was leaning inside the doorway, his massive bu
lk probably making the room even more secure than a dead-bolted door.

  I looked over at Abraham. I didn’t know what he was talking about. I thought we’d come here for weapons and information on how to get into House Fire. How was that not my wanting Coal and Ice’s favor?

  “This will be a personal favor. To me,” he said.

  “Hold on,” I said.

  “No.” Oscar lifted a finger. “I’d like to hear what he has to say. It’s not often he asks such things. Also, I assume he didn’t clear this with you. No?” Oscar laughed and walked back around to the other side of the desk.

  “You have always had such style, Abraham. Please go on.” He sat and took a sip of his drink. Only then did Abraham and Foster drink.

  Oh, right. I supposed there might be traditions to be followed here.

  Or they were waiting for him to drink to prove it wasn’t poison.

  I took a sip. It was surprisingly mild, like an apple juice with just the hint of fermentation. Nice, actually.

  “Matilda and I have a common goal,” Abraham went on. “She and I will work out the price of our alliance privately. What I want from you, Binek, as a friend and a man who should also see the benefit of our success, is weapons, intelligence, and political pull.”

  Oscar breathed in and sat back in his chair. The laughter was gone, replaced by a steel edge that I hadn’t seen in him before. “You must want something very badly to bring up my family, Abraham.”

  Abraham didn’t say anything.

  Oscar sipped his drink again. “My favors don’t come lightly.”

  “I understand that.”

  “Speak,” Oscar finally said.

  “We intend to kill Slater, head of House Fire.”

  Oscar blinked, then drained his drink. “He’s galvanized.”

  “Galvanized can be killed,” Abraham said.

  “Galvanized don’t kill galvanized,” Oscar said.

  “I’m going to kill him,” I said.

  Both of them flicked a look my way.

  “How are you planning on doing that, Ms. Case?” Oscar asked.

  “A weapon has fallen into my hands that will get the job done,” I said, not wanting to tell him about the Shelley dust.

  “That is . . . intriguing. I understand why Abraham wants to kill him,” Oscar said. “Tell me why you are interested in doing a very dangerous and very foolish thing.”

  As opposed to all the very safe, very smart things I’ve been doing lately? I thought.

  But what I said was, “He killed my family and my friends. And he is even now killing innocent people I care about.”

  Oscar frowned.

  “He’s bombing House Earth,” Abraham provided.

  “Ah, yes,” Oscar said. “He’s blaming House Water for that.”

  “It isn’t House Water. It’s Slater,” I said.

  “I didn’t say I didn’t believe you. Do you have proof? Documents that might be acted upon?”

  “Not with me, no.” I hadn’t thought of that. The letter Sallyo had delivered was proof that Slater intended to bomb the compounds. If a document like that held up in court in this time.

  If they even had courts in this time.

  “Killing a head of a House is punishable by death, Matilda Case,” Oscar said. “Even the people who walk these streets and take these jobs that so often fall into my hands—distasteful jobs that most people have no stomach for—would think twice about killing a head of a House.”

  “I’ve thought about it more than twice,” I said.

  “Hmm.” His lips pulled back in a tight smile. “I see that you have. And are you willing to let this ride on Abraham’s debt to me?”

  “We’re in this together,” Abraham said.

  He looked over at me.

  I could say no. I could bear the cost of this, although I didn’t know what Oscar would want in trade for such sensitive information, not to mention his culpability in Slater’s murder. Would he ask me for my farm, my house? Would he demand servitude?

  And what would he ask out of Abraham?

  “We are in it together,” I agreed, “but we will share the debt.”

  “Good,” Oscar said, pointing a finger at me in approval. “I like a soul who’s not afraid to carry her own burden. Tell me exactly what you need from me.”

  “Slater’s schedule,” Abraham said. “Any entries and exits to House Fire that have changed in the past few months since he’s taken over power. Weapons: guns, preferably with silencers, scopes, but also close-range weapons. And we want your brother, Hollis, to look the other way while we take care of the thorn in his side.”

  I had no idea what position Hollis had in this time. Back in mine, he was in league with several other Houses and trying to dethrone Oscar from head of House Gray by killing him.

  Which he’d done.

  “We trust Hollis?” I asked.

  Oscar laughed. “I see you must have met my brother. No, we do not trust him. But he has his price, just as any man does.”

  “And he’s in a position to help?” I asked.

  “Hollis is the head of defense for House Water,” Abraham said.

  “Okay?”

  He gave me that crooked smile again. “He should just hold the title of consummate spy. If there’s dirt to be found on anyone, Hollis has it. Which means,” he added before I asked, because I still wasn’t seeing how a House Water official could help us with our House Fire problem, “that he can make people, even House Fire people, step aside so we can get what we want.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Oh.” I nodded. “And how much will that cost us?”

  “I’ll be the one setting the rate,” Oscar said. “Weapons, intel, political favor.” He steepled his fingers together in front of his mouth and looked over his glasses at Abraham.

  Abraham took the last swallow of his drink and returned Oscar’s gaze, unconcerned. It was like watching two poker players feel each other out over a particularly large pot.

  “A year’s contract at half pay,” Oscar started.

  “Six months,” Abraham countered.

  “Six months, quarter pay,” Oscar said.

  “Done.”

  “And,” Oscar said holding up his finger, “I want something from Matilda.”

  “The only thing she has is a broken-down farm in the middle of the scratch,” Abraham said. “Nothing worthwhile there. Don’t see you as the toiling-in-the-soil type, Binek.”

  Oscar wiggled his eyebrows. “I’m not interested in the farm. At the moment,” he added. “Although I am impressed with the size and variety of the stitched beasts that wander your property,” he said. “Which are very much worthwhile, Abraham. Never kid a kidder.”

  Okay, so he knew about our farm. His brother was apparently the head of defense for House Water, and king spy. It was no wonder he would know where I lived.

  “Just ask,” I said. “If it’s a fair price and doesn’t put the lives of the people I love in danger, I’ll pay it.”

  Oscar grinned and sat forward. “That is how I like to do business,” he declared. “Do you see how easy that is, Abraham? How an amicable exchange”—he waved his hand at himself, then me—“between two interested, honest parties can bring about such a quick and simple agreement?”

  “You don’t have to shove candy up my ass,” Abraham said. “I’ve known you since you were six.”

  “Five,” Oscar corrected. “And completely beside the point. The point is what I’m asking of you, Matilda Case.”

  I raised an eyebrow, waiting.

  “The cure to the One-five plague,” he said.

  Abraham frowned. “You can’t ask for things that don’t exist.”

  “But it does exist. Doesn’t it, Ms. Case?”

  He waited, watching me. Abraham was watching me too. He and Foste
r both knew Quinten had the cure. It was nice of Abraham to try to keep that secret. It wasn’t my secret to tell. It sure as hell wasn’t mine to give away or promise to anyone.

  If I said yes, how much danger would Quinten be in?

  The way Oscar was looking at me, he could be bluffing. Quinten was one of the most careful men at covering his tracks. I doubted even superspy Hollis knew what Quinten had been gathering those medical records for. He couldn’t have known that Quinten was trying to find a cure for the plague.

  Unless someone ratted him out.

  Maybe someone like Welton.

  I thought about it. Was Welton the kind of person to stir the pot and make trouble just for fun?

  Oh, hell, yes. He always had been.

  And with Slater declaring martial law and the Houses under attack, would Welton have traded favors and information with Oscar? Would he have outfitted his compound with better weapons from one of the Houses, or maybe better medical supplies?

  Yes. Yes. And yes.

  Shit. Oscar wasn’t bluffing. Oscar knew.

  “I can’t guarantee that,” I said.

  “Oh? Why not?”

  “It hasn’t been tested.”

  Oscar nodded. “Is that why your brother and you left in such a hurry to go to Compound Five?”

  “He has a friend there who is ill,” I said.

  It didn’t seem to matter if I told the truth. I suspected he already knew all this.

  “And is he treating this friend?”

  “Yes. He has made enough to treat one person. If it works, I will do what is in my power to make sure you also have access to the formula.”

  “No,” Oscar said mildly. “I didn’t say I also wanted access to it. I said I wanted it. The formula and all rights to distribute the cure, and charge whatever price I see fit for access to it.”

  The man who owned the cure would own the world. I liked Oscar. The Oscar from my time. Maybe I might even like this Oscar. Abraham certainly seemed friendly with him.

  But I was not at all convinced the world should be in any one man’s hands.

  17

  I think I know what it is. What you need to kill him. I must reach you before he does.