Hale, Ginn

by Wicked Gentleman (lit)

  "She collapsed on the street." Harper stepped back out of Edward's way.

  There was a chair, but he felt too agitated to sit. He hung behind Edward waiting for something to do. Edward pulled the old woman's eyes open, then let the lids drop back closed. Then, carefully, Edward ran his fingers along the woman's neck and over her head.

  Harper wanted to pace, but the room was too small, and he knew he'd just get in Edward's way. He wasn't good at waiting while another man took care of things. He had to keep himself from restlessly picking up the surgical instruments in the room and toying with them.

  "Will she be all right?" Harper asked.

  "I think so...It doesn't look like she hurt her head when she fell. Her neck feels fine as well. These clothes have to go." With a practiced ease, Edward grabbed a pair of surgical scissors and sliced off the filthy remains of the woman's clothes. He studied her withered white body for a moment.

  "Her knee looks bad. It'll need stitches." Edward moved quickly past Harper, gathering the supplies he would need. "There aren't any swellings from broken bones that I can see. Aside from her knee and the cold, she seems just fine." He paused a moment to catch Harper's eye. "By the way, it's good to see you at last."

  Harper nodded and tried not to look awkward. In the last two months he had hardly seen Edward at all. He knew he should have been there to comfort Edward after Joan's funeral. But pretending to mourn while Edward truly suffered made Harper feel sick with his own deception.

  It had been easier to bury himself in work and avoid all thoughts of the matter.

  "I've been busy...I'm sorry." Harper offered the excuse flatly.

  "I understand. I've been trying to keep myself busy too." Edward filled a basin and rinsed his hands. "Will you be going out to the Foster Estate again this year?"

  "I was on my way when I came across this woman."

  Edward nodded.

  "Do you think you might have a few days free after that?" he asked.

  "I wasn't thinking of staying there the entire month," Harper said. "Just a week or so. After that I'll be free. Why don't we plan on getting together next week?"

  "I'd really like that." Edward smiled brightly for a moment, then his attention returned to the old woman.

  "Older ladies shouldn't be hauled around through storms, you know? You should have sent for me. It would have been just as fast for me to come to you as it was for you to get her here to me."

  "I'll remember that next time," Harper replied.

  "No, you won't." Edward smiled. "You couldn't stand to just wait around for me to get to you."

  As he spoke, Edward sponged the mud and water off her and then covered her with a thick cotton blanket. He left only her wounded, right leg exposed.

  Harper watched as Edward laid out the tools he would need: the long curving needles, silk thread, gauze, a hypodermic needle and syringe. Harper stared at the syringe for a moment as a feeling of dread welled up through him.

  "Belimai," Harper whispered, and Edward glanced up to him.

  "What?" Edward asked.

  "Edward, I have to go." Harper started for the door.

  "What about this woman?" Edward demanded.

  "I'll be back for her. Just don't let anyone know she's here with you, all right? Especially not anyone from the Inquisition." Harper knew he was asking more of Edward than he had a right to, but he had no other choice. "I have to go. They may kill him if I don't get to him first."

  "Wait! Will, who are you talking about?"

  "I'll explain later."

  Harper bolted out, leaving his coat behind. All he could think of was that time was not with him tonight. No matter how fast he ran, no matter how brutally he forced strength into his exhausted body, the moments between life and death slipped past him.

  Chapter Three

  Black Nails

  The rain worsened, and the packed dirt of the streets softened into a citywide bog. Harper ran hard, keeping to the raised walkways. In the street beside him, cart horses struggled to pull themselves and their burdens through the thick mud. Harper crossed the road at Butcher Street. He sank almost to his knees. The mud clung to Harper's legs and pulled at him as he fought his way forward.

  Frigid rain slapped down against him. His wet clothes clung to his body, spreading the chill of wind and rain across his skin. Mud oozed through the crack in his boot heel. If he had thought about it, Harper might have noticed that he could hardly feel his fingers or toes anymore.

  But he didn't think about it. Just as he didn't think of what the Inquisition men could have done if they had already found Belimai. Vivid, bleeding images flickered through Harper's mind, but he did not acknowledge them.

  He counted silently to mute the fear surging through him. It was easier to count the moments that passed than to think of what could occur during them. After sixty he began again at one, turning time back on itself in a sixty second circle. As he had once named devils so that they could have no power over him, he now named the seconds. Another man might have prayed, but Harper had abandoned prayer long ago.

  Harper's darkest fears, those that hunted him even in his dreams, were bred from this constant, hopeless race. In his nightmares, he always arrived too late. No matter how hard he ran, moments slipped past him. He reached his mother only an instant after her death. He burst into his stepfather's study to find his pipe still burning but the man gone, never to return. He never even came close to reaching his sister before her tears turned to streams of furious blood.

  Harper rounded the corner of Butcher Street and sprinted toward the slumping, three-story tenement where Belimai lived. Harper took the stairs up to Belimai's rented rooms in quick leaps. At the top of the staircase, all of his driving energy slammed to a halt. Belimai's door hung crookedly off its hinges. The doorjamb had been reduced to a shattered mass of splinters.

  Past the broken door, Harper glimpsed the wreckage of Belimai's home. The walls were stripped bare. All of the books lay in heaps among pieces of smashed furniture and slashed upholstery. A wide spill of ink bled out from the cracked body of Belimai's desk. Sheaves of Belimai's drawings were strewn everywhere. A delicate sketch of a grasshopper lay on the floor near Harper. The paper was crumpled and marked with the muddy impression of a boot heel.

  Suddenly Harper was aware of the rawness of his throat. Sharp, biting pain lanced through his chest. His legs trembled, and for a moment he didn't know if he could remain standing. He closed his eyes and leaned against the hard support of the doorframe.

  Then, from inside the room, he heard a softly whispered obscenity.

  Harper shoved the door open in time to catch Belimai climbing back in through one of the shattered windows. For an instant Harper felt the overwhelming urge to rush forward and pull Belimai to him. Belimai's expression stopped him. Belimai's pale yellow eyes were slitted with fury, his thin lips drawn back in a hiss of rage. Harper froze, giving Belimai a moment to recognize him. Belimai didn't quite smile, but the fear and anger drained from his expression.

  The kinky branches of Belimai's black hair hung dripping around his bare shoulders. He wore only a pair of wet, black pants and a single sock. He folded his thin arms over his chest, surveying the ruins of his home.

  "You just missed your friends." Belimai went to his desk and began searching through its broken hull.

  "They're likely to come back." Harper wanted to offer some comfort, but he knew that Belimai wouldn't accept it. There was some deep perversity about Belimai that made him despise kindness. He avoided compliments as if they were collection notices. Sympathy simply made him furious.

  "I thought you were supposed to be at some country estate this week." Belimai jerked at the crumpled desk drawers. The jammed pieces of wood resisted him.

  "I missed my carriage," Harper replied.

  "I guess it's been a bad day all around then." Belimai continued prying at the drawer. He finally clawed off the drawer face with his long black nails.

  "Those fucking basta
rds." Belimai lifted out the cracked bodies of several glass syringes as if they had been cherished pets.

  "Bastards." Belimai glared at the shattered needles before he hurled them aside.

  "We need to go," Harper reminded Belimai. "They probably only left to ask your neighbors if they know where you are. They'll be back. It's standard procedure."

  "Standard procedure for what?" Belimai looked up at Harper. "Did I break some arcane law by putting pictures on the walls? Why the hell did they do this?" Belimai swept his pale arms out over the wreckage littering his floor.

  "A lord's niece was murdered this evening. You're one of the suspects." At first Harper wasn't sure if Belimai understood him. Belimai said nothing. He simply sat staring at the huge spill of ink in front of him. Then Belimai stood and walked to the bed-room. Harper heard him rifling through his broken belongings and cursing very softly.

  Harper watched the stairs. Now that he wasn't running, he felt the cold sinking through his wet uniform. He wondered if Belimai was ever going to come out of the bedroom.

  If it were Edward in there, Harper would have simply followed him into the room and seen what he was doing. If he were packing, Harper would have helped him. If he were crying and cursing his luck, then Harper would have told him to do it later.

  But Belimai was not at all like Edward. Belimai was deeply private. Even when Harper held Belimai's naked body against his own, touching and exploring every inch of him, he wasn't sure of his right to ask if it pleased Belimai. Physically, he knew Belimai well. But beyond the flesh, Harper knew less of Belimai's feelings than did the fleas in Belimai's bed.

  Harper was scratching his shoulder involuntarily at the thought of fleas when Belimai emerged from his bedroom. He had dressed and held a satchel of belongings. His wet hair was tucked under a black cap that Harper was almost positive had once been his. Belimai offered Harper an ugly green coat and a pair of gloves.

  The coat didn't do much to warm Harper's wet body, but it kept the wind from chilling him further.

  "You left those gloves last time you were here," Belimai said. Harper removed his wet gloves and stuffed them into his pocket before pulling on the dry pair.

  "I thought you said that you couldn't find them." Harper flexed his fingers against the tight leather.

  "I did say that, didn't I?" Belimai shrugged. "Shall we go?"

  "Do you have everything you need?" Harper didn't want to delay, but more than that, he didn't want to have to come back.

  "I've got what I can carry. That will have to be enough, won't it?" Belimai's pale yellow eyes flickered over the ruined belongings that he was leaving behind.

  "Let's go, then." Harper held the door for Belimai and felt absurd doing it. Belimai seemed too depressed to even offer a snide comment.

  Harper followed Belimai through narrow alleys of tenements and workhouses. Eruptions of low thunder rolled through the noise of heavy machinery. Steam spewed out of chimneys only to be beaten down by the pelting rain. Most of the gas lamps had gone out, but distant flickers of lightning lit the sky from time to time.

  As they walked steadily onward, the smell of the river began to drift through the rain and wind. They passed the cannery row and threaded their way between the lines of massive water pumps and sewage pipes.

  At last, Belimai stopped beside the abandoned remains of a beached trawler. He pushed aside a sheet of corroded metal and started into the darkness of the ship's decrepit hull. The smell of urine and rotting kelp wafted out of the opening. Harper noticed the shadows of people watching them from inside the trawler's hull. Most of them had yellow eyes, like Belimai.

  Harper caught Belimai's arm.

  "This is where you're planning to stay?" Harper asked.

  "It's out of the rain," Belimai replied.

  "It's a shit hole." At the best of times, Harper found Belimai's living conditions a little too run down, but this was actually revolting.

  "I'm not planning to move in," Belimai replied. "The Crone does her recruiting here."

  "The Butcher Street Crone?" Harper lowered his voice as several of the Prodigals inside the boat stared at him. All of them were likely to be fugitives like Belimai, who were willing to work as whores and cutthroats in exchange for the Crone's protection from the Inquisition.

  "Are you seriously thinking of working for the Crone?" Harper tightened his grip on Belimai's thin arm. "At best she'll make a whore of you. More likely she'll have you murdering honest men for ophorium."

  "It might save me the trouble of buying the drug myself," Belimai responded.

  A burning pain flared up through Harper's chest at the thought of Belimai ending up gutted on an Inquisition table or screaming from an execution fire. Even the Butcher Boys who weren't executed might as well have died. They were vacant bodies, living only to feed their addictions.

  "She'll only use you, Belimai. As soon as you're too worn out or old, she'll let the Inquisition have you," Harper said.

  "I worked for the Crone after I was first released from the Inquisition. She took good care of me then." Belimai's tone was oddly flat. "I'm accused of murdering a lord's niece. The Inquisition isn't going to just stop looking for me, and I can't hide in the clouds for the rest of my life. But the Crone has connections. If anyone can get a Prodigal out of the capital, she can. I'll just have to do a couple jobs for her first. Nothing I haven't done before." Belimai pulled free of Harper's grip. He gave Harper a short, forced smile.

  "I guess we should call this goodbye—" Belimai began.

  "Like hell." Harper grabbed Belimai at the waist and flung him up over his shoulder. Then he turned with Belimai and walked away from the rotting ship.

  "Harper." Belimai hung limply against Harper's back. "What do you think you're doing?"

  "What I damn well should have done from the start," Harper snapped. "I didn't run myself half to death just to hand you over to the Butcher Street Crone. I came to save your life, and no matter what you want, that's what I'm going to do."

  "Harper, if you're caught with me—"

  "Shut up." Harper didn't want to hear why he shouldn't be doing what he was doing. He knew the reasons well enough.

  "At least put me down," Belimai demanded. "If anything is going to make an Inquisitor notice us, this is it."

  "You are not going to work for the Crone," Harper stated flatly.

  "All right. Just let me down."

  Harper decided to oblige Belimai, partly because they looked conspicuous, but mainly because he was too tired to carry Belimai any farther. Harper set Belimai on his feet and then leaned back against a cannery wall. The slight overhang of its roof sheltered him from the rain. Belimai joined him against the wall.

  "If you're found out helping me, they'll skin you alive," Belimai said.

  "I'm thinking," Harper replied. He stared out at the sky.

  He couldn't just take Belimai back to his house. His upstanding neighbors would report it in a matter of hours. Belimai would be safest outside the city, but every road and pier had checkpoints. The normal security would be intensified after a murder. Even Prodigals with special passes to leave the capital would be held back tonight. By morning, word would have spread, and even the lax security allowed for wealthy travelers would be tightened.

  He wished he had a cigarette and dry feet.

  "If this damn rain just would let up..." Harper muttered, as if all their troubles could be blamed on the weather.

  "It's worse up high." Belimai gazed up into the dark clouds. Reflections of bursting lightning flickered across his yellow eyes.

  "Is that where you went when they broke in your door?"

  "Of course. As soon as I heard the wood crack, I was out the window. With the weather like this, there was no chance they could catch me in a net." Belimai frowned slightly. "But even I can't stay up there all the time. I nearly froze."

  Harper considered hiding Belimai in Hells Below. Joan would take Belimai if Harper asked her to, he was sure of that. She might have
changed her name, but she was still Harper's sister. But Hells Below was the first place anyone would look for a fugitive Prodigal. Also, Nick Sariel was there. Harper didn't like the idea of Belimai and Nick becoming reacquainted. Harper gazed at Belimai's sharp features. No, he didn't like the thought of Belimai and Sariel living together in Good Commons at all.

  "That is my cap you're wearing, isn't it?" Harper asked.

  "You left it after that first night you spent with me." Belimai pushed the brim up a little so that it didn't cover so much of his face. "I thought it would be best if they didn't find any of your things in my rooms."

  "Smart." Harper stepped back from Belimai, studying his slim figure. The rain had soaked Belimai's navy coat to black. Between that and the cap, he could have been mistaken for an Inquisitor. No one catching sight of his black fingernails or yellow eyes would be fooled, but there were ways of hiding both.

  "Should I ask what you're planning?" Belimai inquired.

  "That would ruin the surprise," Harper replied. "Hold this, will you?"

  Harper pulled off his coat and handed it to Belimai. The wind sliced through Harper's wet clothes and sent shivers rushing over his skin. Quickly he unbuttoned his uniform jacket and peeled it off. He handed it to Belimai.

  "Is this a plan that involves us warming each other with our naked bodies?" Belimai gave Harper a lewd smile.

  "Maybe later." Harper unclipped his stiff priest's collar and then fitted it around Belimai's throat.

  Belimai arched a black brow at him.

  "Now, put on my uniform jacket," Harper said.

  "You have to be joking," Belimai said.

  "I'm not," Harper replied.

  Belimai shrugged and put on Harper's jacket. It wasn't a perfect fit, but the dark coat disguised the discrepancies. Belimai's thin frame became a solid black form from which the two silver Inquisitor's emblems and the white priest's collar stood out sharply.

  "You almost look good enough to salute." Harper took his heavy green coat back from Belimai and put it on quickly.

  "What about these?" Belimai held up his hands. His black nails caught the light of a distant gas lamp like obsidian.