The Misrule series Box Set

by Andy Graham

  “I don’t know. I know he blamed himself for what happened. But I came home one day and he was gone. The flat was deserted. His guitar wasn’t behind the sofa where he used to hide it, either. He’d refused to sell it. He said it had sentimental value, being one of the few left-handed guitars made.”

  Ray looked over, a disquieting sensation spreading through him.

  “He could play a guitar with either hand, play a left-handed guitar right side up and a right-handed one left side up. It was his party piece. It made my head hurt to watch. ‘The both-handed guitarist’ he called himself. I never did find out what happened to him.”

  Martinez’s face was blank, his eyes twitching from instrument to instrument. Ray wondered what he was seeing and hearing. Was he lost in the noisy music bars of the last decade? Bars where you had to shout to be heard (and the musicians shouted at you to stop shouting), the smoke clung to your clothes like a second skin, and the good times infected you in a way that no science or maths equation could, no matter how well balanced the latter may be?

  “I blocked music out for a long time,” Martinez said. “Refused to listen to anything, unplugged the juke box in the Kickshaw. I think it was a middle-finger protest to the idiots who took the music away from me and my old man. Problem with that is you lose double. You lose the battle, and worse, you lose the music. Dad used to say that living without art is dying. I just think it’s shit.”

  Ray tapped his watch. “We got to move, Martinez.”

  “Yeah, I know.” He closed the piano lid, gently. “Stick close to me,” he called to the others. “This place is vast.”

  They disappeared into the humming shadows, accompanied by the irregular shuffle of boots and the clip of Martinez’s crutch. Their passage brought chords from the undampened strings around them, hints of chords that were waiting to be played, snatches of melodies itching to be discovered.

  29

  Smack Time (Two)

  They left Cage 433. A white builder’s van ferried them into the sleeping city of Effrea. The capital was darker than Ray remembered, as if someone had the city on a dimmer switch. The van took them to a building with a neon sign that Ray knew only too well: the Kickshaw.

  The bar was where Ray’s adventure with Stella Swann had started. He’d saved her from a cheap man in an even cheaper suit. Ray and Stella had hit on each other before he’d discovered they were playing by different rules and with different goals. It was the place he and his old legion had spent their nights off when they’d wangled city passes. They’d celebrated, given thanks to be alive and remembered their dead: Skovsky, Hamid and too many others to be healthy. The Kickshaw had been the 10th Legion’s bar, the Rivermen’s home.

  Inside, the smell of bleach and stale beer hung in the air. Glass lights crowded along the wooden ceiling beams. The jukebox, a thing from another age, stood mute. Ray adjusted his revolver under the serape that Martinez had found him for the journey. Holed up in a bar, surrounded by a bunch of misfits and irregulars, Ray really was starting to feel like an outlaw.

  Kayle had a pair of six-shooters slung low across his hips. The spare bullets twinkled in an arc around his leather shell belt. The Donian tribesman had lent his crossbow to one of the Mennai twins (Dylan). The other (Seren) was armed with a lever-action rifle. It was so old even the wood appeared to be rusting. The lewd-joke kid, Sebb, was clutching a weapon that looked to have been spawned by a blunderbuss and a water pistol. Despite the stream of innuendo and filth tripping off his lips, Sebb’s acne-ridden face was just scared.

  “This was all the legendary Resistance had been able to spare for such an important mission?” Ray muttered. He felt like the punchline in a bad joke.

  He couldn’t doubt his new squad’s fervour or enthusiasm, nor their commitment to the cause. However, there was a huge difference between acting the role and living the role. He’d heard many a lecture from his grandfather, Stann Taille, to that effect. Too many people decided they liked the look of boxing, the underground free-fighting circuit or elite bodyball (which was as close to actual warfare as Ray could imagine without weapons: ‘the brawl for the ball’). They bought the gear, cultivated a swagger, nurtured the lingo and carefully dropped the required buzzwords into conversation. Then the bell rang for what Stann called smack time, and they got hit properly. The exquisite flowering of pain, and the threat of lifelong disability that suddenly became all too real, disabused most people of the glamour of these professions very quickly.

  “Once the show lights and thumping music fades, you’re the one left with the lifelong of hurt that you nurse through the night, fed by an addiction to painkillers.” This time the child’s voice in his head was unmistakably wrapped up in Stann’s tobacco-scarred tones.

  Ray dragged a chair over and propped his foot on a waxed table. His ankle ached, a swelling throb. It teased at his balance. An ‘if-only’ crept into his brain. He understood why, now more than ever before, why people would so easily believe the miracle cures that promised a quick-fix solution for pain.

  Martinez limped over. Behind him was the manager of the Kickshaw, a woman with eyes that had seen the best and worst that late nights and alcohol can bring out in people.

  “Captain Ray Franklin.”

  “Ma’am.”

  “Please, call me Lynn. We’re all off-duty here. I can’t be standing on ceremony. All that bowing and scraping and saluting and nodding gets on my nerves. If we’re not careful, we’re gonna go full circle and start picking nits out of each other’s hair.” She sat between Martinez and Kayle. “I guess you’re not really a captain anymore, either?”

  “No.”

  “In which case, what is it you ex-legionnaires need?”

  “Some food and drink and we’ll be on our way. We’ll pay, of course. We’ll not be stopping long. I appreciate you taking the risk and opening up on your rest day for us. Especially given we’re not exactly welcome in the city.”

  Lynn cocked an eyebrow at him. “You didn’t tell him?” she asked Martinez.

  “I thought Ray’d have figured it out by now.”

  “What are you two talking about?”

  “I’m guessing Martinez didn’t tell you where the safe house was, citing operational security or a need-to-know basis, or some such military jargon.”

  Martinez’s face flushed purple under his scarred skin. “That’s how we always do it.”

  “And if you’d had an accident, Tino? Not only would I lose my best member of staff and go-between, Ray and these kids would be lost in the city with no idea of where’s hot and where’s not.”

  The pieces clunked into place. “The Kickshaw’s the safe house,” Ray said.

  “Finally. Given how sharp your mother is, I thought you’d have spotted that years ago. Too busy drinking and hitting on the young women in this place, that’s why.”

  “This is a safe house? But it’s stuffed full of government suits and military most evenings.”

  “Exactly. And it’s the only place in the capital you can get decent spirits and wine, which is what the elite prefer. Our customers are usually more women than men, which also helps keep the suits and uniforms distracted.”

  “You pay the women to be here?”

  Lynn raised a warning finger. “Careful where you go with that thought. I pay no one anything. I encourage women to come here in groups, throw them occasional favours and discounts on drinks. They’re safer in groups, especially with this serial killer still loose on the street. Women are more fun to have around. And the cocktail of fun, women and good alcohol gives people like me and places like this a lot of leeway. The authorities are less likely to investigate something they like. Do you think it’s a coincidence there are so few security cameras watching this part of the street? You people in the 10th Legion know that, did you ask yourselves why?”

  “Because the politicians come here?”

  Lynn held up her hands, fingers spread, as if to say ‘see, that wasn’t so hard to work out’. “Now, I�
��ll ask again. What is it you boys need?”

  “If you know why we’re here, you should know?”

  Lynn smiled. “Just playing with you, son. You were always a little too uptight when you were sober. You get that from your mum, I’ll warrant.”

  She pulled a small black oblong from her pocket and slid it over the table. Translucent green lines coalesced in the air to form a crude approximation of the Kickshaw. A red arrow flashed in one corner, pointing north across the river towards Tye.

  “That thing will take you to the last known location of Stella’s husband. It’s a combination of a sat nav and a personal tracker. If you toggle the other button, you can adjust the brightness of the hologram or use the inbuilt screen for more privacy. There’s even a projector function.”

  Ray adjusted the button. The hologram winked out and a 2D outline of the Kickshaw shone up from the waxed tabletop.

  “This thing’s a prototype,” Lynn said. “One of these top-secret experimental things the government nerds print in a lab. I managed to wangle myself a couple. The box has got maps of the city uploaded to it, and it should lead you at least part of the way there. But unless they’ve got satellites below ground, it’s not going to help you much once you reach your destination.”

  “Below ground? Where are we going?”

  Lynn shivered. “Nowhere I would want to be seen dead or alive.”

  Ray spun the box away. Martinez pushed it back. Lynn grabbed it. Kayle watched. Lynn pointed. “You can target it to track people,” she explained. “Either type in the ID off the swipe card, or insert a DNA sample here.” She motioned to a small hatch on one side. “That’s not as reliable at the moment. But seeing as you need your swipe card for anything in this bloody country, from opening doors to paying for prescriptions, and your swipe card is linked to your DNA—”

  “You can be tracked,” Ray finished.

  Lynn’s pink fingernails click clicked on the box. “This thing has access to real time data. My source says they’re working on matching it to people’s normal movement patterns. Tie that in with the database they have on us, and the government will be able to predict where you’ll be, what you’ll be doing and what you’ll need before you know it yourself.”

  “If you’re being generous, you could see that as a positive thing. Solving accidents, finding missing people,” Ray said.

  “Governments don’t do generous.”

  They caught the back end of a dirty joke from the next table. The twins and Sebb clapped each other on the shoulders in the manner of people determined to be seen having fun. Martinez shoved the box over to Ray. “It should help you triangulate your position when you get to Tye. Just like when we were on exercises. We won’t need any of your stellar navigation skills.” He grinned.

  Kayle’s eyes had been following the box’s travels around the table. “Why didn’t they use this thing to find Ray in the Weeping Woods?”

  “I didn’t need my swipe card to open many doors in a forest,” Ray replied. “And even if I’d had a prescription, there aren’t any pharmacies. I didn’t need much money. There was no way of tracking me.”

  “What about the drones?”

  “Canopy’s too thick. The cameras can’t see through leaves. Not even the dragonfly lenses.”

  Kayle nodded, once. His calm acceptance of the answer was a stark contrast to the snide comments and put-downs that Ray’s old squad would have been neck deep in by now. He never thought he’d have missed their acerbic nights out as much as he did now in the Kickshaw.

  “My source says they’re working on a way of tracking people’s DNA using satellites,” Lynn said.

  “Impossible,” Martinez replied.

  “I didn’t think the 10th Legion believed in impossible.”

  Martinez scowled and stared at his half-leg.

  “Who is your source?” Ray asked. “This is way beyond anything the 10th had access to.”

  Lynn tapped the side of her nose. Her eyes twinkled. “Need to know, boys, need to know. Now, forget the toys, time for real chat. I’m sure you can handle yourself in Tye, Ray, Kayle too, but them?”

  She swept her arm round to take in the giggling trio at the other table, the crossbow and the geriatric rifles. “You’ve come armed for a fancy-dress party, not a rescue mission. Tye is an unforgiving place at the best of times. The Ferals that have escaped Effrea to live off grid have done what any population does with no laws to restrain them. And any military sent over there on training exercises—”

  “Are armed with live ammo,” Ray finished. “They have a shoot-to-kill policy. I know.”

  Martinez butted in. “Officially, that’s only for the stray dogs.”

  “I’m more worried about the rats than the dogs or the people.” Lynn’s face scrunched up in disgust. “Horrible things, the size of pigs.”

  “I’ve been on one of those training exercises,” Ray said. “It’s part of the Urban Warfare and Adaptation programme the 10th have to do.”

  The twinkle was gone from Lynn’s eyes. “Adaptation my arse. They just want to get you used to death so you can do your job better. The big dogs used to call it killology, till some suit thought it was too pretentious. Then they changed it to Desensitisation to Death. That got rejected as too literal, or honest. Forcing recruits to play bodyball with severed heads was also banned, thankfully. They finally settled on Adaptation. Marginally better, I guess, but disingenuous. Now, Martinez, I need to talk to Ray and Kayle about the mission. Would you fix some food before they go?”

  “They?” His scowl deepened.

  Lynn laid her hand on his half-leg. “We have to play to our strengths, Tino. You know that as well as I do. You’ll slow them down in there.”

  “Slow them down? You going to replace your favourite cleaner with a mop-bot, too?”

  “Tino, please.” Her voice was gentle but firm. “Your time will come. I promise you. I need you here.”

  Martinez’s chair clattered to the floor behind him as he stood. “I guess if I can’t do impossible I can at least heat up some soup.” He flipped her a mocking salute and disappeared behind the bar. Ray heard the crash of pots and pans being slammed down on metal work surfaces.

  Lynn sighed. “He’ll be OK.”

  Their conversation was interrupted by Sebb nervously asking directions for the bathroom. As Lynn pointed them out, Ray caught the whiff of her perfume, apple and cinnamon. It brought back memories of the feasts around the Hallowtide fires in Tear.

  “Why are you doing this, Lynn?” Ray asked once the boy had got out of earshot. “You could lose everything. Management licences for bars are harder to come by than sun dust. If you get found out, at best, you’ll lose this place and you’ll never get through the vetting process again. At worst . . .”

  “Why?” she whispered, plucking at her top. They waited in silence until Sebb had walked back past them. He wiped his hands on his dirty trousers, sat down and started telling jokes again. The tiny shake of Lynn’s head did nothing for Ray’s confidence.

  “I was a beautiful woman, Ray.”

  He started, caught unawares by the shift in the conversation.

  “I realise that being in my forties, I’m probably not what you testosterone-fuelled meat sacks think of as attractive. But twenty years ago, I was slim and busty enough for even your old friend Nascimento to take note. He may even have been tempted enough to break his ‘once-only’ rule and come back for seconds.” Her voice faltered. “Then three children sucked the shape out of my breasts. One kid of my own. Two I was a wet nurse for after their mother died. The kids left my nipples ragged and my belly and arse scarred with stretch marks.”

  Ray kept his face impassive.

  “You reacted better to that statement than your friend Nascimento.”

  “You said that to him?”

  “I wanted to shock him. I’d heard his speech that ‘men and women should both have big chests because it’s a sign of masculinity and fertility’ enough times. So I showe
d him a picture of me in what the scientists call ‘my reproductive prime’.” She snorted. “Once he’d stopped gurgling over my cleavage, I told him who was in the picture: me. If he did give that particular speech again, I never heard it.”

  “So you’re working for the Resistance because of Nascimento’s obsession with big chests?”

  She laughed. “No. Nascimento’s a great kid but that’s not what turned me. I have three reasons to do what I do, their names were Aiden, Milly and Zack. Two boys and one girl. I used to say I’d nursed the entire alphabet, from A to Z. The boys weren’t born to me but they might as well have been. They had to sign up at sixteen. Neither one of them saw their eighteenth name day. Both were in the same legion, the 6th.”

  “The Iron Clad.”

  “Both died in a forgotten skirmish beyond the remilitarised zone in a field. Your commanders then decided that patch of mud wasn’t of strategic importance after all and deserted it. They ordered my boys’ kit be salvaged but they left the bones there to be picked clean by the birds.”

  “And your daughter?”

  “Milly.” Lynn smiled fondly, gazing at her lacquered fingernails. “Despite my best intentions, Milly turned into a pink, glittery princess. She’d only wear a dress if it had a decent spread when she spun in it, she called it the Twirl Index. I could deal with that but I struggled with the colour. I don’t think the pink princess thing is good for women to aspire to.”

  “Now you sound like Rose,” Ray said.

  Kayle, listening attentively, pulled out his revolvers and set to polishing the carved handles.

  “Rose?” Lynn raised a questioning eyebrow but let it drop. “I compromised in the end with Milly, I couldn’t afford to turn stuff down. If someone gave us pink clothes, I’d call it light red.” A distant smile flitted across her face. “I couldn’t save the boys but I was determined not to lose her. Milly was fiercely independent. I was overprotective. It wasn’t a good combination. She wouldn’t have spelt stubborn if her life depended on it. So to save her walking out on me for some muscle-headed jerk who insisted on calling a girl well on her way to being a woman ‘baby’, I gave her the space she wanted. Then she disappeared on her way home from school. The police said they could investigate. Later I realised they had said they could investigate, not would. Soon after that I met Rose, your mother,” she added with a warning finger pointed at Ray. “We got to talking and drinking. She told me about the Camp X517 where your brother was taken to. Where they took all the non-right-handers.”