by Al K. Line
"You can count on it," I gasped, studying the big guy again.
"You're nuts, both of you," Vicky whispered, her throat hoarse.
"You not gonna make it, little lady?" he asked.
"I'm busy."
"Doing what?" I asked.
"Anything."
I gave Alfonse a bro hug, Vicky kind of patted him on the back, or at least a massive lump of meat that was part of his back, and we left to the grunts and the clangs deep beneath the streets of our city.
We dragged our aching legs back the way we'd come, both doing good impressions of arthritic penguins, which may or may not have been an improvement on the duck shuffle. At the exit point, I shoved on Vicky's bony, quivering ass—she'd developed a tic and her cheeks wobbled like electrocuted jelly—to get her up the ladder, then I clambered up with muscles screaming and legs shaking and cramping, dropped the lid that felt like it weighed a million and one pounds back into place, and we waddled, moaned, and spasmed off into the night.
Vicky trailed behind, bitching about sore bits she didn't even know were actual bits until now, so I turned and asked, "You wanna grab a bite? I know a place."
"Around here?" she asked dubiously.
"Yeah. Don't worry, nothing will happen to us."
Vicky shrugged, then her stomach rumbled.
Deeper into the wasteland of urban detritus, where there were no vehicles, no passersby, no rumble of traffic above, no nothing but concrete and garbage, we entered a small shantytown, a collection of tarps and scrap the occupants scavenged to shelter from the weather.
"What are we doing here?" whispered Vicky, eyes scanning around constantly.
"Getting something to eat. Trust me, it'll be worth it." I took her arm, led her aside, then pulled back a tatty sheet.
Inside was warm, the cramped, low-ceilinged interior lit by a large fire in a repurposed feed trough behind a makeshift counter. Cheap, smoky candles were dotted about at upended empty cable reels used as tables. Most were taken. It was little more than a shed really, albeit a big one, but the smell, oh if only I could describe it to you. Juicy steaks cooked however you wanted them, a mug of coffee or tea, and even a piece of lettuce if you were health-conscious.
Behind the plank of smooth wood that acted as a counter, Archer was busy watching over sizzling, spitting steaks with a keen eye. And I mean just the one. He bobbed his head ten times, then flipped them off onto plates, spun and dropped them onto the counter, and two guys wrapped up tight against any weather the UK could throw at them grabbed them hungrily and said thank you.
Archer grunted, then his attention drifted to us. He nodded.
"Hey, Archer. Busy tonight?"
Archer nodded. He liked to nod. And cook. It was his thing. Nodding and cooking. He liked being moody too.
"How'd you like yours? I asked Vicky.
"What?"
"Steak, dummy. How do you want it?"
"Um, er, well done, please."
"Make mine medium." I put down four notes on the counter. Archer raised an eyebrow, and I said, "Been a good week." He nodded thanks then began cooking.
We took a table, and by that I mean we squeezed past the hungry and the homeless or the merely cold, and sat on the freshly swept floor covered in cardboard, changed daily.
Vicky looked around dubiously and her nose twitched up in a very condescending way.
Keeping my voice low, I said, "Don't worry, it's clean, it's safe, and it's helping."
"Helping who?"
"Archer. He's a great chef, and he only charges if you have the money, so if you have any you give what you can, and it gives everyone somewhere they can fall back on. He won't stand for trouble, and you don't want to make him angry, but this is where I like to eat sometimes. Especially after a workout with Beast."
I guess Vicky was used to me taking her to odd places by now. I knew the city in different ways to her, knew different people, all part of the job, this underground, gangster life I had chosen for myself. So she didn't push, ask why Archer didn't speak, ask why people lived like this, as she knew from her experience with me that this was life for some people, that not everyone could cope with bills and be a citizen. Some people had issues, or merely chose a different path.
But she did ask about Beast.
"Does Alfonse live down there?"
"Sure does."
"Why? And how is he that big? Does he work out all day? Is he a steroid abuser?"
"Haha, Vicky, you poor innocent thing. No, he doesn't do steroids. Yes, he works out almost non-stop, and eats like you wouldn't believe, hence the wall of fridges and freezers, but he comes up and goes shopping, does other normal stuff. Apparently he's even got a car, but he likes it down there, has lived that way for years, decades actually. He's kind of old-fashioned, gave up the wizarding and the gangster life, mostly, before I was born."
"He's a wizard!?"
"Sure is. Or was. Not all of us have beards and look like someone scrunched up our face. Some wizards, er, they do things differently, find their own way."
"But why?"
"Why? Because he likes to lift heavy stuff. It's his hobby. It beats dealing with clients and getting chased around by goons. It's his thing."
The steaks arrived, looking delicious, smelling even better, and as I tucked in with gusto, Vicky took a tentative bite, smiled, and then wolfed it down. No pun intended.
Ten minutes later we were out the door, okay, sheet, and soon enough we were back in the car.
"Fancy a milkshake?" I asked.
Her eyes slits, Vicky vibed me, trying to do her gangster-mom stare, then said, "Are you winding me up? I think I've had enough for one night."
"Me too," I said with a smile. "I'm beat. I'm going to sleep a few hours tonight, I can feel it."
"So am I."
There was a rap at the window and I turned in time to see Nathan, the goddamn posh twat of a broker, and the face of Cerberus, I no longer cared to broker with, smile his smug smile as he lifted his cane.
I knew it was no normal walking aid, that he used it to help with his dodgy leg but also it was a staff of magic, so I shoved Vicky's head down, rolled out of the car, and readied to blast.
The evening had gone so well, too.
Nathan
"I want to show you something."
"Fuck off. No, actually, stay right there so I can kill you. You've screwed with me one time too many, Nathan. You promised to leave me alone but your goons almost killed us yesterday. Um, or was it the day before?" I asked Vicky.
Acting like it was an invitation to get out, she clambered across the seats then exited and stood beside me, hands on hips. The effect was somewhat spoiled as she had to stand on tip-toe to see over the car door. "Yesterday. Although it was before dawn so maybe that counts as the day before." Vicky scratched her pert nose and tried to glare at Nathan. He smiled back at her like she was a cute puppy dog.
"Whatever. I'm going to kill you anyway."
"Arthur, if you would give me a minute to explain before you try to kill me?" Nathan smoothed his sandy hair, in that annoying, languid, posh way I can't describe but just screams, "I'm a posh bugger and very confident and look, I wear tweed suits whatever the weather." He winced a little as the cane took less weight then adjusted his position. I kept one eye on him, one on the cane. I knew he could do rudimentary magic, just nothing in my league. But never underestimate a posh twat in tweed if they know magic, if for no other reason than their smug face as they get the better of you will haunt you until your dying day.
"Why should I? And how did you find me?" I asked, glaring at him, feeling the power stir inside.
"You should know I have many means by now. And why should you trust me? Because I had nothing to do with what happened this time. Things are, er, changing, and my superiors are becoming antsy. They want you gone, out of the picture. Say you're a liability."
"Because I keep taking things they want for themselves. You want to keep these items away from us, but it is
n't your place. Ugh, I can't be bothered with this, we've had this conversation a thousand times. Just stand still so I can kill you. It'll hurt. Promise."
I swear I was so close to doing it, seconds away, and I really wish I'd just killed him and had done with it. I didn't trust him, liked him about as much as I liked sprouts, and wanted to wipe that smug smile off his slender, handsome face once and for all.
"I want to show you something. It might change your mind, make you think twice about the artifacts you take. About who you give them to."
"Look, Nathan, I'm careful about who I take from and who I give to. People have a right to these things, it helps them. You just lock them away and refuse to let them be used, be read, whatever the case may be."
"As you say, we have been over this many times. So let me show you something. If you want to kill me after, then you can try. What have you got to lose?"
"My life, or several hours of it at least. And I don't like the company."
"Can I come?" asked Vicky, eyes sparkling as she imagined who knew what.
"My dear lady, of course you can. You are Arthur's partner, after all. In fact, I insist."
"Sidekick, that's what she is. She's the comic relief." I glared at Vicky. "Although she's failing miserably at that lately."
"Am not. Er, the comic relief. And I'm funny if I want to be." Vicky stomped her foot and splashed muddy water all over her leggings. I just raised an eyebrow and waited for her to say something. She didn't.
"Give me one good reason why I should come with you, trust you? It's probably a trap."
"I give you my word as a gentleman, as an equal. I swear on Cerberus and all I hold dear that I will not try to harm you. I want you on my side, I want you on our side. This is my last chance, my last hope. After this it's out of my hands I'm afraid. Moving forward, if this fails, our dealings will not be pleasant."
"Being ousted, are you"? I wondered what was happening, if he was being removed from his position as the second most important figure in Cerberus—the leader was a mystery man I knew nothing about. Maybe Nathan was in trouble for not stopping me, or maybe there was the usual political crap going on and this was a minor issue. I didn't kid myself I was that important. Just good at my job. Very good.
"My actions, and motives, are being questioned, doubted even, but I told them you aren't easy to kill, and now we are down several Hounds because of their faith in me. My superior isn't pleased. He gets annoyed about such things."
"Whatever. Fine, let's go, but no funny business," I warned.
"Wouldn't dream of it, my dear fellow."
I refrained from smacking Nathan into next week, but it was hard. Who the hell speaks like that? It was like he was born in another world, which, I guess, he was. I did not have a privileged upbringing, no silver spoon in my mouth.
Nathan pulled out a phone, spoke a few words, and five minutes later, after a very awkward silence, a helicopter landed.
"Cool," squealed Vicky.
"Bugger," I moaned.
A Sickness
I'm not good with helicopters, or anything small hurtling through the air. It ain't right, not natural. If I was meant to fly, I'd have wings. And I don't. At least not the last time I checked.
"You okay, Arthur?" Nathan asked with mock concern, his lip twitching as his smirk spread.
"You look green. Actually green," yelled Vicky, her face flushed with excitement as she leaned close to the door.
"I'm... fine." I wasn't.
Nathan communicated with the pilot via a headset on his helmet, but I couldn't hear what they were saying and didn't want to. I just wanted this to be over.
Nathan shifted in his seat and I turned to watch him to take my mind off things. His smirk was gone, replaced with a frown. He leaned forward a little and said something short and sharp, and the pilot turned and nodded seriously. He didn't look happy.
Then a single feather fell, from inside the freaking helicopter. I put out my hand and everyone watched as it drifted slowly into my palm.
It was black. I'd seen it before. I got a bad feeling.
Like sound being sucked out of the world, the engine died and the blades stopped whirring. I knew enough about helicopters to know that wasn't good, and then my stomach made a dash for my mouth as we plummeted over the capital of the UK, which I knew definitely wasn't good.
"This is why I hate flying," I muttered as I looked for the parachutes. But this was a helicopter, and apparently they fly so low you don't have a chance to use one before you get squashed. Which to my mind was an excellent reason why they should be banned. Or used to punish people, something like that.
We carried on falling. Or crashing, or plummeting, whatever you call it when you drop out of the sky in something that by rights shouldn't be able to fly in the first place.
Up It Comes
"It's mine," came a whisper from inside the helicopter.
Everyone turned to each other, unsure who had spoken. But I knew it wasn't anyone physically present.
"Return what you stole."
"Um, what was it?" I asked, surprising myself with how cool I was. Guess me and Death had a long history and I wasn't as worried as the others were.
"You know."
"Actually, no, there's been quite a few things I've taken. Can you narrow it down?"
"Arthur!" shouted Nathan. "Stop messing about." He gripped the seat hard, veins throbbing. Vicky was praying.
"Shut up, everyone, I'm handling this." Black feathers fell like snow, and the interior was frosty. The glass began to ice up and my teeth started to chatter.
"What you took this night belongs to me. I want it."
"Okay, but if I die you get nothing," I said, wondering how long it took for a helicopter to crash. Judging by how close the ground looked, not long at all. Just time enough to piss off a disembodied entity.
There was no reply, just a terrifying roar as the engine kicked in. The rotors whoop, whooped, began to spin fast, and we flipped to the side as the pilot struggled with the controls.
"I told you," shouted Nathan. "I told you repeatedly that you should stop, but you won't listen."
"Shut up. Whoever that was, if you'd taken what he wanted then he'd be after you instead. I stand by my principles, and that is I steal things and get paid. It's always gonna piss somebody off."
"Or something," whispered Vicky.
"Hey, Vicky, looking a bit green there." I gave her a wink, that'd teach her to make fun of me.
My humor vanished as Vicky puked up over my boots. It returned when she put a hand to her mouth and sprayed Nathan head-to-toe with chunks of quality steak. What a waste. Worth it though to see Nathan's face.
The helicopter righted, I picked black feathers off my trousers, and the pilot landed, turned off the engines, and generally fiddled about with switches and levers that looked impossibly complicated. As the blades slowed, I had a minor heart attack but kept it to myself.
I could hear Death cackling from behind the veil, saying, "Oh, so close, Arthur, you jammy git."
"You're telling me," I grumbled.
"What?" asked Vicky, wiping her mouth.
"Nothing, just talking to an old friend."
Haha
Nathan wiped himself down with handkerchiefs and wet wipes and dropped them all into a bag he left in the helicopter.
"Follow me," he said with a glare at Vicky.
"You don't want to ask about the spooky voice in the helicopter? Comment on the fact we almost died?"
"Why?" he snapped. "You know who it was, what it was?"
"Maybe I do, maybe I don't," I replied, scratching at my beard, then wobbling. I lost focus for a moment and began to teeter, but snapped back to reality even as sleep called me. My muscles were cramping up. I needed electrolytes, or maybe electrocuting, something to jolt me to my senses. "Can we do this another day? I'm sleepy." I swear I could have stretched out and gone to sleep on the damn helipad.
"You can sleep later, this is important. An
d we won't get another chance. As I told you, there is turmoil within our organization, so this may be your last chance to see."
"See what?" I was honestly past caring by now, but whatever, it was worth a shot.
"All in good time, dear boy."
"I swear, if you call me that one more time... Ugh, fuck it, just hurry up."
"And I have to get home," said Vicky. "My girls need me."
"Yeah, Nathan, and the Slug, er, her husband needs her too. Do you have a family? Any kids dressed in tweed diapers with silver spoons hanging out their mouths?"
"Arthur, don't push me. I'm trying here, but you don't make it easy." With that, Nathan strode across a lawn so perfect it was like a bowling green and toward a door in the quadrant. I swear, it was like being in Hogwarts or something, all Oxford University style with a gothic twist. Proper posh place, not my scene at all.
I shrugged at Vicky, wondered if my brain was giving out from lack of sleep, and we followed.
I was definitely losing my edge. I'd missed another chance to kill him and save us a lot of grief.
The Warehouse
We entered through a discreet wooden door, the carved arch above finely detailed just like the rest of the building. It led directly into a long hallway with dark oak flooring, paneled walls, and downlit paintings of old dudes in robes, looking pompous. Exactly what you'd expect from a posh government spook building full of old-timers playing their games.
As far as I knew, Nathan was very high up in some kind of secret service type organization and this was the headquarters, somewhere we'd followed him to and spied from the front entrance, but precisely what the organization was, and his exact position, Vicky, even with her mad skills, failed to discover.
But what was more important was that it was definitely a front for Cerberus, and maybe they were both inextricably tied, that one went hand in hand with the other. Cerberus had, for centuries, taken it upon themselves to try to gather all magical artifacts and would do anything to accomplish that, including duping me for years into helping them, something that still smarts to this day.
