The Violent Fae

by Phil Williams

  Obrington’s eyes bulged behind those glasses. “You sleeping with her?”

  “What?” Sam exclaimed. “No – I’m not gay –”

  “Try not to sound so offended. We’d all do best to avoid prejudice. But nine out of ten potential recruits, it’s an agent trying to get in someone’s pants.”

  “That’s not true.” Sam stopped, flashing on Cano Casaria. The man who’d recruited her certainly made enough awkward passes, culminating in a narrowly avoided violent outburst recently. He’d gone off the rails chasing Pax for the same reason, hadn’t he? Obrington’s claim might be a little true.

  “Pax has connections to the Fae,” Obrington said. “Making her suspect. Especially as you’ve not managed to follow up with them since the attacks?”

  Sam paused again. This was a bad start. She had been careful about exactly what she’d said to Management about Pax, and her unique senses, aware that her superiors might take rash action against either her or the Sunken City. Obrington’s comments were giving her no confidence that she could safely share Pax’s full situation with him. Partly to steer the conversation, partly because she had even less confidence that the fairy situation was under control, Sam said, “I hoped London might’ve heard from the Fae. Management kept such information from me in the past.”

  Obrington regarded Sam like he’d stepped in crap. “London hasn’t heard a thing. This is your problem. These fairies took our weapons? All those men dead? And you can bet the Fae aren’t sitting idle. Holding off following through there too, aren’t we? Haven’t you got gasses that could kill a Fae colony?”

  “You’re not serious? Our priority is diplomacy.”

  “Purging the Fae would sure make it easier to focus on the Sunken City.”

  “Absolutely not,” Sam said suddenly, and braced herself for a scolding. He glared, waiting. “With respect, the Fae can be talked to. They can help us. And enacting Protocol 38 would be reckless considering our current lack of understanding.” She gave another look towards the rear door, picturing that errant ravisher. Were there others like it, creatures lurking unchecked?

  “We’re not performing an academic study,” Obrington said. “We’re securing this city so I can go home to my tabby in Pelham and you can maybe take this chair.” He rattled the little plastic thing at the desk. What a reward. “Protocol 38 is the –”

  “We’ve been manipulated,” Sam insisted, quickly, before her courage failed her. “We have no idea if our weapons will work on the praelucente or just piss it off. But we do know the Fae had a weapon that hurt it, a weapon we ourselves lost, outside their community. We can’t move until we properly understand what we’re dealing with. If Mathers had listened to me, he might still be alive – if Management listened to me, this city might already be secure.”

  She stopped to catch her breath, like she’d run a mile. Face impassive, Obrington let out a thoughtful croak. “And you think we can afford to hesitate?”

  “Haste is far more dangerous,” Sam said, finally sounding confident.

  “Well. I’m not gonna be the fool that disdains the woman who dethroned the Raleigh Commission. And I want to believe you know what you’re doing, so I don’t have to stay in this bleeding town. So here’s this. I’ll give you all the rope you need to hang yourself, Ward, but only as much time as it takes to get our pieces in place for 38. Sound fair?”

  Sam merely stared for a moment. It almost sounded like a compromise. “As long as it’s enough time to revise our novisan scans. Our methods are time-consuming –”

  “Ah, the scans,” Obrington said. “Here starts a lesson. I can bring in new equipment, and new people, to speed things along, but if I do that, are you gonna accept responsibility for them?”

  Ominous and ambiguous. Why shouldn’t she? Was it another test? Sam nodded slowly. “That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?”

  The slightly slanted edge of a smirk on his face warned her it was a mistake. Another part of the test, though, sowing doubts?

  “Right you are, Ward. Let’s get started.”

  4

  Fresko watched the townhouse opposite, focusing on the wall-mounted air-conditioning unit. The sound of stuff being smashed drifted up from within. It had to be Stabilisers, damaging shit for the sake of it. There wasn’t anything in the Fae hideout that’d indicate where Fresko and Mix had gone; the pricks were only sending a message. The pair got the message clear enough from the windowsill opposite, having taken cover after hearing the disturbance.

  “Three of them,” Mix counted. “We can block the entrance and gun them down.”

  “You know what happens to people dumb enough to cross Stabilisers?” Fresko said.

  “Ain’t they already crossed us?” Mix grunted. The grizzled veteran looked more grizzled than ever, bruises still visible from the hiding their former chief, Letty, had given him. He’d been itching for another fight ever since, and it was only a matter of time before they got one.

  This was their second den the Stabilisers had busted. And from the word on the Fae wire, it wasn’t just them. Fae expats all over the city were in for a rough time on account of Letty’s mess. If you weren’t in the FTC, you didn’t belong in Ordshaw, they were saying. Even those that never did a thing to anyone, or those, like Fresko and Mix, that had actively followed Val’s orders. After kidnapping a human and trying to cover it up, they were especially high on the Stabiliser shit list.

  “Got them!” a voice shouted from above. “Out here!”

  Shit – another shape, a dark figure on the gutter of the adjacent roof. One hand to his ear, activating a radio, the other resting a gun against his hip. Mix drew a pistol as Fresko spotted another guy rising from beyond the A/C unit. The shadows inside scrambled for the exit. Fresko pulled Mix back. “Too many, come on!”

  The Stabiliser above fired; a sharp crack and the bullet hit brickwork a few inches off. Cursing, Mix twisted to join Fresko in speeding away. Another gunshot zipped past. Fresko called out, “Split up – meet at the bridge!”

  Mix peeled away, sticking close to the building fronts, as Fresko dived low, down through a treetop, deftly avoiding branches. A Stabiliser wasn’t far behind, radioing sharp reports: “On him – left – through the trees.”

  Fresko rolled around the trunk, doubling back, and caught a glimpse of his pursuer doing the same. Fast. Human cars passed in the road below. Fresko banked out of cover and flew over a moving van. He turned suddenly, darting alongside the vehicle. The Stabiliser shot overhead. Sensing he’d made a mistake, the guy turned in the air. Fresko pushed himself against the van for support and swung the rifle off his shoulder. He fired and the Stabiliser moved to the side. Missed, but Fresko followed him with the scope while keeping pace with the van, fired another shot as the guy dived behind a bin. Fresko dropped down, under the van’s carriage, and watched for a passing car – flew for that one. He caught hold of a metal fixing and hung underneath, bouncing over the road. Checking one way then another. They hadn’t seen him, had they?

  The car carried him away, turning and continuing up the road. No sign of Fae following. Fresko let himself breathe. There had been a half-dozen of them, at least. Not thugs bullying people out of town, but a bloody death squad.

  Another couple of blocks and Fresko ventured out from his cover. He flew up, higher and higher, to get an aerial view of the city. Looked clear. He drifted back towards central Ordshaw, aiming for the river, slow and cautious. Narrowing his eyes, he spotted another Fae converging on his position. Mix had made it. He gave Fresko a brief salute, and Fresko indicated their destination ahead. Midway across the August Bridge he dropped onto a tower, skipping a few steps to regain his balance before checking the sky.

  Mix stumbled to an even less graceful stop, a pistol in each hand. “I don’t like running.”

  “You hit?” Fresko asked. His companion’s glare said it was insulting to ask.

  “We could’ve taken them,” Mix snarled.

  “You and what army?�
� Fresko replied, scoping the central riverbank with his rifle. Plenty of humans, joggers, suits on phones, delivery boys. You couldn’t see Fae at this distance, if there were any. “We’ll hit Farling next, if they haven’t been there, too. Pick up some shit, make for the suburbs till this blows over.”

  Mix rubbed his nose with a fist and holstered one pistol. “More running? To the suburbs? Might as well ditch Ordshaw completely. We want to take charge, Fresko, for fuck’s sake. Trade one of those human bitches to Valoria – the poker player – gotta be worth something.”

  It was a bad idea; the sort that got them mixed up in all this to start with. But the comment drew Fresko’s attention to the north bank, where Featherback Casino sat. A crowd was gathered outside, half styled by wealth, the other half with no style at all.

  “Oh no.” A voice made them both spin. “The Ministry are sure to be watching her.”

  The newcomer stood unfazed by their guns aimed at her chest. She wasn’t a Stabiliser, though. The bloodstains on her slender white suit were offset by her bright, toothy smile, the grand mane of side-swept hair, and the gleaming polish of her holstered pistols. Even the sling holding her left arm looked stylish. Lightgate. Not just well-presented, but capable of reaching them unseen, even with all this empty space in every direction.

  “Fuck me.” Mix exhaled.

  She responded with a slow drawl. “You are too old, too fat, and dress like a biker’s charity sale. So no, thanks. But I have a better proposal than whatever you’re thinking.”

  Talking to Pax had a surprisingly calming effect on Letty. So much so that she stopped berating the men gathered in her room long enough to enjoy a hit of medicinal dust while they arranged another call. It was the job of a Fae tech, Newbry, a gangly guy with long, rank hair, a big nose, and a shirt and trousers too loose to look presentable. He had a bulky laptop and smelt bad; probably enjoyed unlit rooms and animated porn. But he was evidently Edwing’s resident computer whizz, having pinned down Pax via Holly Barton, and arranged a call the Stabilisers couldn’t trace. He said he couldn’t repeat it right away, though. Something to do with riding their signal on the back of someone else’s, careful timing, concerns about Pax being watched.

  Whatever – Letty could wait.

  While she did, she planned ahead, most of her ideas centring on how to get a longer conversation with Pax. That seemed to be Edwing’s plan, too, never mind what they might actually achieve with it. They both knew if they got to Pax without MEE or FTC interference, things would be easier. That meant directing her to another Fae exile. Letty had precious few friends left, though. Palleday?

  It was late when Newbry announced he was moderately confident he could put a call directly through to Pax’s phone. He had traced her to her apartment, back after her day in the casino, and connected them with Flynt and Edwing watching. As soon as Pax answered, Letty started, “Big day, champ? The website says you’re still in, 84 out of 121.”

  “Yeah,” Pax said. “I’m doing what I can. Hard to feel really safe yet. Are you?”

  Letty tried to hide a smile. This big idiot, worrying for everyone. “Sure, and I’ve got some Grade A dust that makes the pain go away. Don’t worry, when I get out of here we’ll sort out your poker game, get rich on it, buy a mansion, booze until the early hours.”

  She could practically hear Pax smiling, too. “I’m game. How do we get you out?”

  “Well, there’s the sticker. Sneaking out is next to impossible, they’re saying, which leaves dealing with the lockdown itself. Bringing in fucking Lightgate is option one. Securing the Dispenser would be another starter, force Val to act, once she can’t deny the weapon’s still out there.”

  “Wait. You don’t know the Dispenser’s in there?”

  Letty froze. “Come again?”

  “The Dispenser, your people have it.”

  “The fuck they do. Val hasn’t said shit about it.”

  “You were there, outside the FTC, when all those Ministry men got gunned down, weren’t you? They had it with them – your people grabbed their weapons before the clear-up crew got there.”

  “By leopard’s ghosts,” Letty huffed. “How the hell did you stop the Ministry dropping bombs on us?”

  “By opening their eyes,” Pax said. “The force behind all this had control of the Ministry, had been manipulating them for years. Maybe the blue screens got to your people, too?”

  “Hold up,” Letty said. “You figured that how? You tracked that Blue Angel down?”

  Pax took a breath. “Shit. We got time for the long story?”

  Letty gave Newbry a look and the technician shook his head. “Better keep it short.”

  “The blue screens themselves were the problem. They absorb novisan – the energy driving the Sunken City, the same being drained from people – to create things, like the liquid glo, or the monsters. One changed the Ministry’s documents, pretending to be a guy called Lord Asquith. Your leader might know him. I’m certain your people can bridge gaps in our understanding here. Your Fae dust, for example.”

  “You want –” Letty started, but a bang above cut them off. Someone hammering on a hatch higher in the building. She frowned at Flynt, and he in turn looked at Newbry.

  The technician tapped at his computer with mounting concern. “There’s a trace –”

  “Oh you shit,” Letty hissed. Another bang came with a muffled shout as Flynt ran into the corridor. “Got to go, Pax. You need Fae help, you won’t get it from the FTC.”

  “Move!” Flynt returned, waving hurriedly.

  “– your last warning!” a man’s voice bellowed above.

  “What’s going on, Letty?” Pax asked. “We need to talk –”

  “Yeah. Go to Palleday,” Letty barked. “Sandwich shop on Dresden Street – our people won’t touch him – and watch out for Lightgate!”

  She hung up and Newbry closed his computer to run for the door.

  “Go, Letty!” Edwing urged. “I’ll hold them off!”

  Something weighty cracked above, the intruders’ voices getting louder as they broke in. Flynt opened a floor-hatch, guiding Newbry down as the hatch above rattled against a lock. “Open up in the name of the FTC!”

  Letty climbed through the trapdoor as Edwing shouted, “This property belongs to the Informations Department! We have every right to –”

  “Break it!” another man shouted. As the hatch slammed behind Letty, she heard the one above being smashed. Flynt pulled her away as men descended on Edwing.

  “You trust Lightgate?” Mix asked, leaning against an upturned tuna tin littered with empty beer bottles. A table they’d used for years, soon to be discarded forever, once they ransacked the Farling den for ammo and drinks. “Swaggers in out of the blue claiming she can rally exiles? A thousand to one she’s as crooked as Valoria.”

  Fresko didn’t bother responding. Lightgate had given them instructions to round up whatever friends they had left in Ordshaw for some kind of rebellion, and Mix hadn’t kicked up a stink then. Only now that they were alone, getting ready to do as she asked, did he get bold.

  “Us getting our mates together while she does what exactly?”

  “Drinks herself into a stupor,” Fresko said. He knew Lightgate liked to delegate; either to get other people in trouble, or to buy time to lose what little mind she had boozing. She could tick off both the boxes with them. Chasing other Fae allies would put them in the Stabilisers’ crosshairs, keeping her safe. But you didn’t say no to Lightgate. They’d have to bring her someone or she’d gut them.

  Tossing bullets into a bag, Mix complained, “When did we lose our dicks? One bitch after another telling us what to do – Letty, Val, Lightgate. Fucking bitches.”

  Fresko couldn’t deny that. Human bitches, too, if you included the poker player. He paused, looking at his old tea-light candle seat, the wax warmed into just the right shape for a Fae rear. They used to be comfortable here. It was Pax who had taken all this from them, wasn’t it?

&
nbsp; “The fuck you thinking?” Mix demanded, before dragging heavily on his beer. “Always fucking thinking. Never sharing it. Getting some other genius plan?”

  “Regretting where we are, is all,” Fresko said.

  Mix’s fist tightened on his bottle like he wanted to smash it. “Yeah. Well, Ordshaw still beats being halfway round the world drinking fermented rice or some shit.”

  “Better than never drinking again. I got no desire to take a bullet.”

  Rather than respond, Mix rummaged in his pockets, searching for what was left of his Fae dust. He snorted some greedily, powdering his face in exhales of hungry breath, then rammed the rest into his beer. Maybe it’d calm him down.

  “You done?” Fresko asked. “Got any ideas for who we go to now?”

  Mix shook his head, focusing on his high.

  “We wanna hedge our bets. Go someplace that looks like we’re doing Lightgate a favour without putting our necks on the line. Not somewhere the Stabilisers will be watching, or someone that might actually join up with Lightgate.”

  “One of the dead gangs? Hooky in New Thornton, he moved on six months ago.”

  “Too obvious,” Fresko said. They needed someone more or less hidden. A forgotten Fae. “What about fucking Palleday?”

  5

  Cano Casaria exuded nonchalance as he entered 14 Greek Street, the Ministry’s drab shared office block and his supposed base of operations. Things had been hectic since the various disasters they’d faced, so he didn’t fault Management for failing to call him in; they probably assumed an agent of his calibre would return on his own initiative, anyway. But enough time had passed, while things were likely racing ahead, and his supposed injuries were all but gone. Granted, his toe was never coming back, but it wasn’t like it hurt. He climbed the stairs to the sixth floor, since the shattered remnants of the lift were hidden behind caution tape, and he put on a smile for them all.