My heart snagged on the corner of fear, but I just gripped his arm and gave him a little shove. “Go on. Get out of here while he still lets you.”
Anuk glared at me; he was worried, I could always tell. And Jig was on the fighting edge, face pale and pupils huge in the shadows. I had to get him away, at least, or the evening would end in blood. I was dead sure of that. Finally Anuk sighed and turned away, waving the other kids after him. One by one they followed, slowly clearing the alley, until it was just me and Branigan and the toughs. I swallowed and turned around to face them.
“Loyal crew you’ve got,” Branigan said, sidling up to me. “I can respect that.”
“All right,” I said. “It’s just us. So talk.”
“Oh.” He waved at me. “Let’s get off the streets. Come have a drink with me.”
I gritted my teeth, warning flags waving like mad in my thoughts. This nightmare just kept falling deeper and deeper into disaster. But I followed him, because I had to, and because somewhere in the back of my mind I kept telling myself I could always Cloak to get out of danger, if it came to that. I just hoped that Anuk had decided to lurk in the shadows and trail us at a distance…but it was a feeble hope. I’d told him to scram, so, he’d likely obeyed.
The toughs walked behind me and Branigan, not to be polite, but to keep me from bolting. Somehow the situation kept shifting away from me being in control, to me being trapped. We wound through the shadows until even I couldn’t tell where we were. Then, abruptly, we stepped out into an alley that I recognized. My heart sank, and my blood ran cold.
The sweet shop.
Branigan shot me a glance, appraising me. I met his gaze coldly.
“Never been to this joint I take it?” he asked, that same strange smile on his face.
“Can’t say I have,” I said.
He pushed open the door, the toughs crowding up behind me. If I had any lingering illusions about this being a meet of equals, they fizzled with the point of a gun in the small of my back. I winced and stepped into the shadows inside.
From the doorway it looked rather like Astel’s dive. Booths lined the walls around a wide bar like any old restaurant, but the place extended even further into curtained-off rooms that leeched amber light, sickly sweet smells, and utter, terrifying silence.
Branigan waved me into a booth. I slid into the seat across from him, and one of the toughs shot me a vicious grin as he sat beside me. He was the one with the gun; I glanced down and saw it laying across his lap, pointed at me. For a moment the other man fumbled with the sticky oil lamp on the table, striking two matches that must have gotten wet before finally getting one to light. Once the lamp was burning, Branigan caught the bartender’s eye and held up two fingers.
I’d never felt quite so hyper-aware of my scant seventeen years as that moment. Next to these men, I felt so exposed, so powerless. I tried not to hunch over the table, or cram myself into the corner of the booth, but even sitting straight and calm, I knew Branigan could see right through the sham.
“Now we can talk,” he said, flashing me a shallow smile.
“Now you’ve trapped me?” I asked.
“Oh, come on. We’re all friends here.”
Call no man friend… I heard Trabin say.
“Then go ahead and talk,” I said. “Any time you want to share.”
A waitress set down a pair of low glasses in front of Branigan and me, the sickly golden liquid swallowing the lamplight. Cheap liquor. Branigan took his glass and swirled it.
“Here’s the thing,” he said. “I’m thinking an even trade. But first, let’s drink to a mutually profitable business arrangement.”
He raised his glass and I, gritting my teeth, lifted my own and took a small sip. The liquid hit my tongue with a caustic fire, and I grimaced. I’d never had a liking for whiskey, and this was the worst I’d ever had. The cloying taste lingered in my mouth, turning bitter once I’d swallowed. I tried another sip, as if that could wash away the taste, but it only made it worse. I scraped my tongue against the roof of my mouth and grimaced.
“What sort of even trade?” I asked, settling the glass between us.
He waved his hand. “Business can wait. I’ve heard so much about you, but we really haven’t had a chance to get to know one another yet, have we?”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
“He’s prickly, isn’t he?” Branigan asked his boys. “No wonder he’s got a name for himself already.” Then he asked me, “You’re from Istia, right? Mage? What brought you to Cavnal?”
“Not the whiskey,” I said.
He laughed aloud. “Well, we’re not too picky down here.” He studied me a bit, then flicked a glance at the two men flanking us. “Relax, boys. I think you’re making him nervous.”
They obeyed like dogs, going from rigid watchfulness to easy lounging in a mere moment. But the tough next to me didn’t holster his gun. It didn’t bother me, though. It was all kind of ridiculous.
“What’s it like, Istia?” Branigan asked. “Always wanted to see it.”
“Stars, who wouldn’t?” I asked. “It’s…paradise.”
“Paradise, eh? Never heard it described like that.”
“Depends on your notion of paradise, I suppose,” I said.
My throat tickled with thirst, so I sipped again at the liquor.
“What’s your clan?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Why are you wasting my time?”
“Oh,” he said, drawling the syllable, feigning injury. “And here I’d thought we could be friends, you and me.”
“That’s not my problem.”
I almost laughed, because he looked a bit startled, maybe even confused. He wasn’t so bad, Branigan. He talked like he was some kind of tough mob boss, but nobody had told me how easy he’d be to intimidate. I leaned back, smiling. This wouldn’t be too hard. Not too hard at all.
“Why do you need these boys following you around, Branigan?” I asked. “Lonely?”
“Watch your mouth,” snapped the tough sitting beside me.
I wrinkled my nose. “I can’t. Unless you’ve got a mirror on hand.”
He exchanged a glance with Branigan, some dark, pointed look that struck me as rather amusing.
“Oh, c’mon,” I said. “That was funny.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Hilarious.”
“You know he’s got a gun pointed at me?” I asked Branigan, the words a little too loud. My throat burned, but the whiskey did a fair job of soothing it. “Not a very nice way to treat your friends, right?”
“Not sure I can trust you just yet,” Branigan said. “You’re not exactly being very friendly yourself.”
I laughed, the sound harsh and abrading in my ears. For some reason I found myself leaning forward, peering out into the room, counting all the burning lamps, sketching each shadowed face in my mind. The barmaid caught my gaze and winked, and I didn’t blush and I didn’t glance away, but I grinned and leaned back, twirling my cup dangerously on the tabletop.
“Can we just finish up here?”
“Got somewhere you need to be?” Branigan asked, malicious.
Did I? A vague confusion tugged on my thoughts, but I waved it aside. It wasn’t important. I leaned my head against the back of the booth, staring up at the pipes in the ceiling. They made me think of the motorcar, though I don’t know why, with its pipes and boiler and twisting coils…
Branigan was talking to me. I hadn’t heard a word of it. I leaned forward, too far, so I found myself staring at the table instead of Branigan. Funny.
“Sorry, what?” I asked.
He gave me a peeved look. “Listen, Shade. You know I’ve got some information Rivano is going to want. And it’s come to my attention that you might have some for me. Even trade.”
He thought I had information for him? As if I would share any information with him, the fool, the coward. I took another sip of the whiskey, eying him over the rim of my glass the way my father—no, Trabin—so often did.
“That’s what you heard, is it?”
He smiled, like acid. “You have friends in lofty places.”
That snapped me into a faint bit of worry. What has he heard? What does he know?
“Not all of them are, apparently,” I said with all the bravado I could summon, and stared straight at him.
He laughed and pointed his glass at me. “That was funny.”
The muscle sitting next to him smirked at me, approving, the smile fractured by the scar on his cheek.
“What can you tell me about Dreyden?” Branigan asked.
I frowned. “Who?”
“My eyes on the street said they saw you with him.”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” I said, my voice pitching up, too loud.
“Don’t give me that bull.”
“Who is he?” I asked, and when he just stared at me, I slammed my hand on the table and leaned forward. “I don’t know.”
Branigan sat back, scrutinizing me with a cold gaze. I met it evenly, desperate to convince him I was telling the truth.
Finally I asked, “Can you describe him at least?”
Branigan exchanged a glance with the man beside me.
“Tall,” he said. “Bald. Fidgety.”
Kor! I realized, flinching. Oh, this is just swell. I took another sip of the whiskey, while the corners of my vision faded and darkened, and the tips of my fingers tingled. A strange uneasiness crept over me. I’d drunk more than this before, but it had never affected me like this. This was something else. This was…wrong.
My fingers spasmed on the glass.
“Said his name was Dreyden?” I asked, to give myself a moment to gather my scattering thoughts.
Branigan was watching me like a hawk. Waiting. Waiting for what? My heart thudded, wanting to race, but turning sluggish instead. Every nerve in my body screamed at me to run away, to get away, but I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.
Don’t talk. Don’t talk. Don’t talk.
Oh God.
The table moved under my hands, like a boat on water. Branigan twisted the knob on the oil lamp, making the light flare up. Blinding. Too bright, too bright… I winced away and found myself staring at the barrel of the gun in the tough’s lap, shining like lightning. My hand fought to hold myself up, and my tongue…my tongue cleaved to the roof of my mouth, parched…thick…cracking. I needed to drink something, anything…
“You all right, Shade?” Branigan asked, the words weaving into my thoughts in watery pulses.
I gestured at my face, terror like suffocation beating down on me.
“Here,” he said, nudging my glass toward me. “Take a drink. It’ll be fine.”
My fingers tightened on the glass and I felt another hand on mine, steadying it, helping me lift the glass to my lips. I sipped greedily at the liquid. The sweetness stuck to my throat, and I drank again to wash it away. My head pounded. Lights exploded all across my vision.
“What’re you doing?” I asked…or tried. The words crawled out like sludge.
“All right, that’s enough,” Branigan said, pulling the cup away from me.
My hands spasmed toward it, fingers clawing. I’d die without something to drink. I’d die, I’d die…
“You’re just a bit uneasy,” Branigan said.
Someone’s hand fought mine back, because I kept trying to grab the glass that was just…just…too far to reach.
“Give me that,” I gasped, fighting the tough for my hand.
He reached around me, and then I was falling to the side, because he’d grabbed my other hand and pulled it behind me. He jerked me upright, and vaguely I felt something cold on one wrist, then the other. Panicking suddenly, I tried to twist away…but couldn’t balance. Couldn’t free my hands. They were shackled behind me, and I couldn’t reach the glass at all now.
Funny—right then, that was all I cared about.
“Sit back, relax,” Branigan said, soothing. “You’re not in danger here.”
But I am…I am…I thought, and couldn’t figure out why. Except they kept that glass out of my reach, and I was dying of thirst…
“Just a sip,” I whispered, my voice breaking.
The man beside Branigan picked up the glass, but Branigan waved him back.
“He’s had enough. We still need to talk.”
“What do you want to know?” I asked, and laughed, because it was so funny…want to know, want to know…
I tipped my head and felt it hit the back of the booth, and I laughed even harder because I didn’t mean to hit my head on the booth, but the booth just kind of jumped up in the way of my head and now my head was stuck to it, or maybe I just couldn’t move it again. No one else was laughing. I couldn’t figure out why.
“We were talking about Dreyden,” Branigan said. The side of his face melted a bit as he spoke.
“You’re wavy,” I said.
“Damn,” Branigan said, fixing a glare across the room.
“I can’t breathe. I need that.”
“Talk first, then drink.”
“Bald and fidgety,” I said. The high, manic laugh that carried my voice startled me. Somewhere…somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew something was desperately wrong…
“That’s right. Tell me about him.”
“Why should I, you cheating…”
Branigan waved the glass in front of me and I winced, dragging my tongue across the roof of my mouth again.
Don’t speak…don’t speak…
“Why’re you interested?” I asked, the words mumbling, so slow, so slow. “What d’you know already?”
“He has a big mouth,” Branigan said.
A laugh convulsed me. Kor has a big mouth…
“He does have a big mouth,” I said.
“So, you do know him.”
“Of course I know him. He’s swell. He’s a chum.”
Branigan nodded. “And he has the ear of some powerful people, doesn’t he?”
“Of course he does,” I said.
Worry bloomed in my mind. Was I supposed to say that?
“Some of the Ministers, I suppose,” Branigan mused.
I stared at the oil lamp, blazing and sparkling and bleaching out my vision.
What does he want? I wondered and, to my horror, I heard my voice saying, “Just the Ministers? That’s what you think?”
“Why, who else does he talk to?”
“Me,” I laughed. “Me and the King and God.”
“This is pointless,” Branigan hissed to the man on his left.
“Next time will be easier,” he said.
“You’re dismissed,” I said, waving at them, feeling pleased with myself.
Branigan clenched his hands in fists on the table.
“Can I have a drink now?”
“Drown in it,” he snapped.
Fear sparked in my heart, but I couldn’t move. Couldn’t pull away as the tough beside me grabbed the glass and shoved it against my lips. His other hand latched on my jaw. Squeezing. My mouth opened, and sticky sweet liquid spilled down my throat…too fast to swallow…
I coughed, inhaling whiskey, choking…tried to pull away…but he kept pouring, pouring…
The world danced and darkened. Couldn’t breathe.
“Enough,” a voice said. “You’re going to kill him. Then we’d have hell to pay.”
The world turned black, and my head cracked against the table.
Chapter 9 — Hayli
I’d almost fallen asleep when someone threw back my curtain, setting all the gears clanging against each other. I sat jackstraight, heart racing, until I recognized Anuk’s anxious face in the dim light.
I stared at him. In all my life, I’d never seen him so terrified.
“You a’right?” I asked, scrambling up off my cot. “What’s got you so clammed? How’d it gan at the meet?”
“It’s Shade,” he whispered. “Branigan convinced him to send us off. I tried to follow them, but I lost
them in the alleys…”
I brushed hair from my face. “You dan’ think Shade can handle himself?”
“I think Shade doesn’t know what he’s messing with.”
I frowned at him, trying to make sense of what he was doing here, rattling my curtain, waking me up.
“Anuk…what d’you need me for?”
He shifted his weight, scrubbing at his tousle of red curls. “We thought you could help. I heard about you, what you can do. We thought maybe you could Shift and the crow could see the streets from up high. You might be able to find him better than us.”
I gaped at him. They wanted me…they wanted my help. My magic.
All my thoughts tumbled about in a jumble, but all I said was, “I’ll do my best.”
Jig and Coins were already waiting for us topside, and soon as Anuk and I joined them, we all set off into the night. Once we found the street where the initial meet had happened, we let Anuk try to lead us far as he could remember having their trail. After about ten minutes, he stopped.
“Lost them here,” he said.
I nodded, and Shifted.
I scan the rooftops, the streets, the lay of the buildings. Something feels familiar about this place, with the lights of the Station shining on my shoulder and the iron-combed gutters to keep the pigeons away. In a moment I realize why, and with my heart pattering like mad, I sweep back to the alley where I left the lads.
“We’re in Trip’s turf,” I said, picking myself off the ground.
“What? Really?” Anuk asked, puzzled.
“You got all turned about back there, but.” I nodded at the roof. “This is the building behind the sweet shop.”
“The sweet shop,” Jig hissed. “No, he wouldn’t.”
Somehow I’d hoped and prayed he wouldn’t say it, because that was what I’d feared more than aught. I forced myself to nod, slowly, my skin all prickly with cold, cold horror.
“C’mon,” Anuk said, and pushed ahead.
Another minute and we stumbled out of the alley near the rubbish bin where Jig had beat up Shade so long ago, and there, in a patch of watery moonlight, we found Shade lying all in a heap.
“Shade!” I hollered, and ran the last bit of distance to him.
The Madness Project (The Madness Method) Page 40
