Watershed

by Jane Abbott

  Cobb wasn’t at his counter when I left, and remembering his prediction as I signed out with the sentries, I knew he’d probably have a good laugh about me not going the distance. No names were listed below mine and, quickly scanning the page, I noticed I was also the last to leave. If I hadn’t already been so paranoid, that might’ve rung a few alarms.

  The compound was never a bustling place. Watchmen came and went, sentries stood guard, silent and obedient, the tunnels were avenues to be used when needed for the delivery of messages or to get from one place to another, echoing with footfalls and the ring of shouts and curses from the arena, none of them ever too busy or noisy. But as soon as I climbed the stairs to make my way back to my room, I knew something wasn’t right. There’s quiet, and then there’s no fucking noise at all; there’s the gloom cast by a couple of dozen wall lamps, and then there’s the darkness left by none. The silence was unnerving enough, but the faint glow up ahead, where just a single lamp lit the junction of tunnels, made me hesitate. The lamps were always doused at night, saving the fat, but by my reckoning there was still an hour or two before sundown. Maybe I should’ve rejoiced; I knew it so well I could walk the compound blindfolded, and the added darkness would only work in my favour. But I wasn’t real trusting of coincidence, and my gut churned again as I thought of a hundred reasons why I shouldn’t be grateful for any unlooked-for favours. Why, just when I needed every bit of help I could get, was it suddenly being offered?

  Worse, what if it wasn’t?

  Hurrying to my quarters, I slumped against the closed door. Ballard had told me to use my time well, to plan and scheme and wait for news from the Port. But there’d be no such news now. And in my experience, Garrick had never been one to sit and wait for others’ plans to unfold all nice and neat, everything falling exactly as it should. So I hadn’t planned or schemed or done any of the things I’d been told. Because every plan, even the most ambitious, is seeded with hope. Hope that every possibility’s been considered, and a blind belief that nothing will go wrong. When a plan’s been screwed with, that hope still carries on, all desperate and don’t-forget-me, coz maybe, just maybe, there’s a loophole, something that’s been overlooked, something your enemy hasn’t foreseen. But that’s the kind of thinking that can get a man killed. So I reckoned I was already one-up by having no plan. No plan meant no hope. And no fucking disappointments.

  Except it didn’t give me many advantages either. There was a real good chance there’d be no Disses making their way to the compound gates, but I couldn’t take the risk there wouldn’t be, either. I’d seen first-hand how the Guard extracted information from prisoners, the lengths they went to, and it was a given that Cade and Ballard and Tate would cave, spitting out every single detail. It was just a question of when. The only thing I could rely on with any certainty was the Tower not yet knowing that I knew. And if they were expecting me to make certain moves, to stick to Ballard’s instructions and follow my orders, then maybe it’d pay to do just that. But I’d do it my way. Because a game’s no contest when only one side is playing.

  Fishing out the box, I grabbed the gun and opened the loading gate, relieved to see the ammo still bedded inside the chamber. I tucked it into the small of my back, under my shirt, but though it went against every instinct and every principle, though I still strapped on my knives and hid another in my leggings, I left the bows and the staff untouched.

  You’re better off sticking with what you know.

  Except, they knew it too. So this time I was better off without them.

  The best way to hide any intent – even when there’s no one around to see it – is to make it look like you have none. Ignoring the race of my heart, I slowed my feet, even pausing for a few seconds at the junction, beneath the lamp, before turning east and continuing up the long tunnel, pressing to the wall, sinking myself into stone and leaving no opportunity for any silhouette. But I needn’t have bothered with any kind of stealth, because I wasn’t halfway there before I heard all their noise: heavy hammering, and a whole lot of cursing.

  Not the usual two sentries, but four. No, six! They milled in front of the gate, in the faint circle cast by another lamp, and even from a distance I could see they were barricading the gate, nailing lengths of wood across the frame and blocking the exit. And any earlier bravado, fuelled by my foolish certainty of being one step ahead of the Tower, hissed right out of me. Shit!

  I didn’t waste any more time watching. I’d wasted plenty downstairs and now I was paying for it. Instead, needing to know for sure, I retreated slowly, creeping back the way I’d come, into the main tunnel, past the next three turnoffs before taking the left fork to the south and sidling downhill. I slowed to a crawl, then a stop and counted another six men doing exactly the same thing at that gate. Just as I’d threatened back in the mine, Micah and his men were indeed being left out in the cold.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck!

  Crouched in the dark, I thought through my options; there weren’t many. I couldn’t use the gun; couldn’t afford to waste any of the cartridges, and even with the banging going on, the noise would only bring others. And where the hell was the rest of the Watch? I still hadn’t seen or heard a single one, though the sentries were deterrent enough. They might’ve been raws but they weren’t completely useless; with only my knives and none of my bows, taking them out would prove a hard fight and not one I could afford to risk yet. There was still Garrick to deal with. It might not be happening in the order I’d hoped, but killing him now seemed the only chance I’d have to get Alex out safely. And there was Reed to kill too, a request I yearned to fulfil.

  Kill them all. Do it for me.

  But there were other words ringing in my head too, just as insistent and a whole lot more reasonable, and eyeing the blocked gate, picturing the little cavern beyond, the bright gap in the stone that’d now be dulling to black with the fall of night, I thought I could almost hear the last of the wind, imagined I could smell the Sea, felt the lure of open space. Past those sentries, through the gate and the crevice, beyond the compound and away from the Citadel, lay freedom. I had nothing with me; no water, no food, no cloak, my best weapons were still in my room and, below, Alex waited on a dirty cot, afraid and alone and counting on me. But in that moment, with the cold darkness all around and the light ahead, none of it mattered. All I could sense was dust and heat and safety, and all I felt was a deep yearning to pull my knives, do what I knew I could, hope I got through it unscathed, and just walk away. Leave everything behind and start over.

  It’s not too late for you.

  It’d be so easy. Fuck knows I’d served my time, paying my dues and then some, and I owed nothing to anyone. I knew how to hide out and how to make do. And if Garrick ever came for me, well then we’d finally have our reckoning.

  I could do it. I would. I knew I should. My fingers slid to the hilt of a knife.

  Do it for me.

  A quick shiver, a bitter smile, and the moment passed.

  Because it seemed Ballard was wrong after all. We don’t always get to choose our path; sometimes it’s chosen for us.

  ‘What are you doin’ out here, lad?’

  Fighting my panic, I turned and saw Taggart a few feet behind me, just out of the light, his grizzled face shadowed and giving me nothing. What was I doing here? What the fuck was he doing? Had he tailed me? Had he seen me come out of the south tunnel?

  ‘What d’you mean?’ I asked, stalling, stalling … C’mon, Jem, think! Then, just in case, I added, ‘What the hell’s happening at the gates?’

  He cocked his head. Taggart didn’t miss much. ‘We’re in lockdown. Everyone’s confined to quarters.’

  Which explained why no one else had signed in downstairs. And maybe it went some way to explaining why I hadn’t seen a single Watchman in the tunnels. But it sure as hell didn’t explain why Taggart was prowling around and bailing me up.

  ‘Lockdown?” I asked. ‘Why? What’s going on?’ Like I didn’t know.

>   He moved closer and sidestepped the question. ‘You didn’t get the order?’

  So I did the same. ‘Looks like you missed it too, old man,’ I said, reminding him, for what it was worth.

  He shrugged. ‘I was comin’ to fetch you, but I guess I’m done.’ He paused, and eyed me straight. ‘Garrick’s askin’ for you.’

  I felt my hackles rise, stiffening to spikes, all rigid and uncomfortable. ‘Why?’

  ‘Dunno, lad. Reckon he’ll tell you when he sees you.’

  Yeah, I reckoned he would. That, and other things. But Garrick sending for me just as I was heading his way was a little too convenient, and those hackles wouldn’t settle.

  ‘You running his errands now, Taggart?’

  Taggart raised an eyebrow. ‘We all run his errands, Jem.’ When I didn’t reply he gave another quick shrug, like he didn’t care either way. ‘All I know is I’ve been with him the past couple of hours, and he sent me. I wasn’t gunna argue about it.’

  ‘No,’ I said. And at least one question had been answered. If he’d been with Garrick and still hadn’t slit my throat – fuck knows he would’ve had plenty of opportunities before now – then it meant he had no idea of my involvement. Of course, answering one question led to asking a whole lot more: had Garrick not told him, or had Garrick not yet been told himself? Just how much had the Tower let on, and how long did I have before everything was revealed?

  ‘C’mon, lad,’ said Taggart, coming up beside me. ‘He said to make it quick, and he’s in a shit of a mood.’

  But as far as I could tell, Garrick had been in a shit of a mood ever since I’d returned from the Hills.

  ‘Yeah?’ I asked, dragging it out to give my brain time to work. ‘What’s today’s excuse?’

  ‘Does he need one?’ Taggart returned. He flashed me one of his gritty grins, and it took just a couple of seconds for me to return it. Because another problem had solved itself: I now had a legitimate reason to access Garrick’s quarters.

  ‘Guess not,’ I said, and at Taggart’s curt nod we set off along the tunnel, him setting the pace and me matching it. But the closer we got to Garrick, the more pressed I felt, like I was being pushed into the earth, weighted down, every breath a struggle, and every heartbeat a hammer, thumping in my ears so loudly it was a wonder the other man couldn’t hear it.

  ‘Still haven’t told me where you were,’ Taggart said at last.

  His question caught me off guard and it took an age to think of any sort of reply. If he wasn’t suspicious yet, my nervous fucking around might just be enough to get him there.

  ‘Downstairs,’ I said. ‘Then I thought I’d get some fresh air. Been cooped in here too long.’ And wasn’t that the truth?

  ‘Without a cloak?’ he asked, and I cursed his sharp old eyes.

  Kill him! My brain screamed. Kill him now!

  Except I couldn’t. I knew I couldn’t. Since I’d first joined the Watch, Taggart had always seen me right; no friend, but the closest I’d come to having one. And his question wasn’t unreasonable. He might’ve once called the shots, but not any more, and whatever Garrick was up to, it’d be a mistake to panic now. Like the rest of us, Taggart was just doing what he was told and if he died before all this was over it wouldn’t be by my hand. I reckoned he deserved that much.

  ‘Wasn’t gunna go out in it,’ I said. ‘Just needed the air. When I saw all the sentries, I figured something was up.’ My voice sounded harder than it needed to, and I struggled to calm myself.

  Maybe sensing my concern, definitely misreading it, he said, ‘Don’t worry, lad. I ain’t tellin’.’

  I nodded, surprise disguised as thanks, and we didn’t speak again. We rounded the last corner and stopped at the entrance so the sentry could check us in. This was the moment I’d been dreading, the moment everything hinged on, and I watched Taggart hand over his knife and a gun, not a six-shooter, but squarish and black. Then it was my turn. I placed my knives on the table, feeling the wrench as I let each go.

  ‘Sleeves,’ the sentry said, knowing what I used. When I pulled them up and he saw my arms were bare, he nodded, making a note in his book. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘No,’ I said, hoping my voice sounded normal. But it was hard to tell with all the pounding in my ears. The only man who knew I might be carrying something I shouldn’t was standing right beside me. And he said nothing.

  The sentry looked me over, and the noise in my head swelled to a roar while I waited for him to pat me down. They always did, always checking, Garrick never leaving anything to chance. But being with Taggart must have counted in my favour, and the sentry got busy with his pen, before nodding. ‘Right. You can go in.’

  And I breathed again. For the first time, things were looking up.

  We marched up the short passage to Garrick’s rooms and I stared at the old iron ring driven into the wall, the one we used to tether the spoils before handing them over. Alex had been my last one, and I remembered her fear, because I was feeling it now too.

  Taggart opened the door without knocking. The rest of us would’ve been hung out to dry if we’d tried it, but Taggart wasn’t the rest of us. His age and position afforded him privileges we didn’t have. Holding it wide, he motioned for me to enter first, then pushed it shut behind us before standing off to the side, while I waited front and centre, facing Garrick’s desk. And his empty chair.

  At my quizzical look, Taggart nodded at the cubicle door; bang on cue it was flung open and Garrick stalked out holding a shirt, and his belt and knives. His face, chest and arms were wet, not with sweat but water, like he’d just washed. I risked a quick sideways glance and saw the bed was empty. No more spoils for Garrick. No wonder he was in a shit of a mood.

  Throwing everything on the desk, he glared at Taggart. ‘Took you long enough.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Taggart replied but, as promised, didn’t let on where he’d found me.

  Still grumbling, Garrick buckled on his belt and a thigh holster, leaving the knives in a careless pile beside the shirt. I eyed them, taking in their size and their number: three, one of them more short sword than dagger, another serrated, all of them double-edged and sharp. Blades were his thing, all kinds, all shapes; his preferred weapons, and I was yet to see anyone come close to matching his skill. My hands twitched to pull the gun straight off, catch him out before he could get one of them to hand, but he just pushed the pile aside and sat on the edge of the desk, finally looking at me. And that small room of his suddenly got a whole lot smaller.

  ‘You wanna hazard a guess as to why you’re here?’ he asked, and I shook my head, watching his eyes narrow before he reached across and picked up a folder, flipping the pages. ‘Well, I’ll tell you, shall I? Seems this report of yours is just one big stack of shit, Jem. Tower’s not happy, and guess what, arsehole? Neither am I.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’ I asked, because I hadn’t come here to confess, and without a plan the only thing I had left was to play dumb. I was pretty sure it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch.

  But Garrick wasn’t buying it. Ripping a page from the report, he began reading out loud. ‘Ee Aitch three Em six six three one five, Yalick. Ee Aitch one Em seven one eight six nine, Carter. Cee four Em three two eight one nine one. And so on. And so on. Twenty-three tag numbers. All very fucking impressive. Except for one tiny little problem. You wanna tell me what that might be?’

  ‘Don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I said.

  ‘No? That’s some skill you got there, Jem. Killing people who’re already dead. How do you manage it? You got some kinda supernatural power you’re not sharing with the rest of us?’

  I edged back, watching him, keeping Taggart in my peripheral, fighting the panic and wishing again that I had my bows. Or my knives. Or the staff. Anything, in fact, except the gun.

  ‘That’s not –’

  ‘Don’t!’ he said. ‘You fucking lie to me again and I’ll cut out that tongue of yours right now.’ Standing, he took a step tow
ards me; not so bad, because it was one step further from his knives. ‘Seems everyone’s lying these days. And I’ve fucking had it!’

  But he wasn’t the only one. I was pretty jack of it myself.

  ‘You know, Jem, twenty-three’s a strange kinda number to pick. Real strange, when you think about it.’

  ‘What’s there to think about?’ I said, needling him, desperate to get some more distance between him and that desk. ‘Twenty-three. Right there between twenty-two and twenty-four. Or have you forgotten how to count?’

  But he just smiled and stayed where he was. ‘Just saying we should have a good think about it. Maybe we’ll do that when I’m taking back those marks I gave you.’

  ‘Fuck you,’ I said, and that smile of his was wiped clean.

  ‘I’ve been here a lotta years. Taggart even more. Both of us here before that Tower was even built. The Watch is mine. My place. My fucking rules. But now, thanks to you and that other treacherous little turd, I’ve got the Council crawling so far up my arse I can’t even shit. And a man who can’t shit ain’t one you wanna mess with.’

  ‘No shit,’ I dared, and shuffled back some more. C’mon, move!

  He grinned again, maybe appreciating the joke, more likely thinking how he was going to punish me for making it. It was always hard to tell with Garrick.

  ‘Wrong again. Lots and lots of shit. So much that when it finally breaks, you and everyone else are gunna drown in it. No one fucks with the Watch, Jem. No one. Not the fucking Council. Not the Tower. Not the Disses or the goddamn Godders. And not you. You got that?’

  ‘Yeah, I think so. You’re real particular.’

  He cocked his head, and his eyes gleamed. ‘You know, considering what’s about to happen, you got a real smart mouth on you. Why’s that, I wonder?’

  Finally, he took another step, all menace and power. One step, but just enough for me. Whipping my hands behind my back with barely a fumble, I pulled the gun from under my shirt and thumbed the hammer, Taggart’s instructions a sudden blur. But my aim was true and at least my hands were steady. Surprisingly steady.