The Broken Isles (Legends of the Red Sun 4)

by Newton, Mark Charan

  ‘Why did you bring me here then?’ Derrouge spat. ‘You could’ve killed me in that alleyway if my death was all that you wanted.’

  ‘You’re a smart guy,’ Malum admitted. ‘You’re alive because I want information out of you, and it usually requires the informant to be alive.’

  ‘What information?’

  ‘Now we’re talking. You’re one of the bankers involved with the military’s schemes.’

  ‘We all are,’ Derrouge confessed.

  ‘I want to know all about your dealings with the albino commander.’

  ‘That’s all?’ Derrouge replied, surprised. ‘Well, the fellow is looking to rebuild the city and he needs our finance. One can’t build an Empire without capital.’ He gave a look of disdain to Malum, as if he was too stupid to understand.

  For that, he got a punch to the stomach.

  Malum gave him a couple of minutes and paced around the room, behind Derrouge, then back around in front of him. ‘Is that what he claims he’s after then, to rebuild the Empire?’

  ‘More or less, yes. I believe he has the city’s interests at heart.’

  ‘Does he fuck – he wants to stomp the Imperial seal on Villiren, a free city, bringing with it his military law.’

  ‘Well, that’s no issue to me. I’m simply looking to grow the bank’s finances, and the military is a very safe bet.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘If the worst happens, they just invade somewhere else and take the resources to pay us back,’ Derrouge chuckled.

  ‘Didn’t you make enough money from the war?’ Malum said. He walked over to the window and folded his arms. ‘I know of your dealings with arms manufacturers.’

  ‘It is true we made money from them. They needed loans for ore, we provided them, and the military gave them more orders than they could cope with. There’s nothing illegal about it.’

  ‘You’re profiting from death,’ Malum pointed out with a smile.

  ‘Business is business.’

  ‘Well now, there ain’t much difference between you and me, after all, is there?’ Malum grunted.

  Malum walked around the room contemplating his next question. Derrouge simply sat miserably, staring at the floor. The fire crackled in the stove.

  ‘I want details,’ Malum said. ‘I want to know not just the plans for any rebuilding projects, but I want to know what the military schemes are likely to be. You must know that. Most importantly, I want to find out what you know about the aliens south of the city – what their role is likely to be? Are they likely to be given their own island or shipped in with us lot?’

  ‘The aliens are to be integrated,’ Derrouge said. ‘That much I know.’

  ‘Are they likely to come to the cities? To Villiren – will they come into Villiren?’

  ‘It is possible,’ Derrouge said, his head low. ‘That’s what the commander suggests.’

  ‘They’re going to be treated like ordinary citizens?’

  ‘They are going to earn that honour by fighting alongside the Imperial soldiers,’ Derrouge replied. ‘I think that’s what the commander is after. He claims there’s little choice – it’s either that or fight against them, which he says is a battle that cannot be won.’

  Nothing but Imperial lies to control the city . . . This contradicts what the garuda told us. I’ve got plans for this damn city and the military does not feature in them. Malum tried not to let his anger show.

  ‘Where exactly does Villiren fit into all of this?’

  ‘How should I know?’

  Malum lifted a blade and rested it on the banker’s collarbone. ‘Perhaps this’ll clarify your mind a little.’

  ‘Honestly, I don’t know the full plans,’ the man spluttered, ‘but I know that the commander wants to protect the city, and funding for that is about as honourable as our profession gets.’

  ‘I want numbers, banker,’ Malum ordered. ‘I want numbers, I want plans. How many aliens are south of the city?’

  ‘I don’t know, honestly. Perhaps several thousand at the moment, but there are likely to be far more than that. To my understanding they are escaping problems in their own world – that could mean tens, possibly hundreds of thousands, possibly millions – and they all need communities to be built, which is why the commander is seeking finance – that, and to defend our islands in case of another war.’

  ‘So he’s using our money – money put in by the hard-working folk of this city – to spend on the welfare of creatures from another world?’

  ‘Who will then create prosperity with that money, making us all richer in the long run.’

  ‘That’s a fairy tale.’

  ‘You can look at it like that if you choose, but this is all I know. Please, I will help you if I can, I have knowledge of how the finance will flow, and in which direction.’

  Malum walked behind Derrouge and cut one hand free. He went to fetch a piece of paper and a pencil and thrust them at Derrouge. ‘You write down these names for me. Write down everyone who’s involved in financial dealings with the aliens, and you write them now.’

  This is a futile lead to pursue, Malum thought, as Derrouge hastily scribbled down the details.

  Malum also realized that he didn’t know precisely what he wanted from Derrouge any more, which was a desperate state to be in. He wasn’t used to such amateurism from himself.

  Still, he had now confirmed his great fear: aliens were indeed coming to invade their culture to make a ghetto of Villiren, and he vowed never to be a part of that. He would take this city for himself and make sure that both the military and the aliens had nothing to do with the city’s future.

  *

  Later, once Malum had dumped the banker on a street deep in the Ancient Quarter, he headed over to his underground hideout to meet up with some of the others in his gang. The only light came from the glow of a few cressets lined up to mark the way. There, in the subterranean darkness, he found them drinking home-brewed alcohol on upturned crates.

  Since the war, the Bloods – along with affiliate gang members – had secured various pockets of the city and, surprisingly, the military had done nothing to take back control. Businesses carried on, with the Bloods overseeing protection for their areas: a few streets in Deeping, Althing, Scarhouse and two in the Ancient Quarter, with larger communities of the Wastelands likely to be at their disposal, if they were actually worth maintaining.

  What had begun as the result of his wartime rage had become something he managed, and ultimately it wasn’t the fact that the commander was working with bankers that disgusted Malum – after all, he dealt with the rich himself.

  There were a few businessmen who had teamed up with Malum, worried that the military rule would stifle their markets. It was they who were most concerned about alien communities, worried about how their land might be taken from them. While the likes of tavern owners, landlords and butchers didn’t have the chutzpah to take up this cause against whatever Imperial plans were brewing, they knew that Malum did. They also knew that he had a proven record of dealing with Commander Lathraea and standing up to him. There was one other thing that businesses could not control, which was the wider population. They needed to manipulate the citizens, to cause problems so that control might be levered away from the military. That was where Malum came in, and he was happy to use the businessmen as a platform for his own plans to free Villiren from Imperial rule once and for all – and to make plenty of coin in the process.

  He had dreams of creating a pirate city, a free city. Something independent of the Empire, and which he could control in alliance with business owners. A few rogue cultists, fearful that they were going to be purged by military occupation and martial laws, had also pledged their allegiance. A force was building up and his tendrils were stretching out further. Malum was now dreaming of taking up the position of portreeve of a free Villiren: he would be the king of this city, officially, and not just the head of a gang.

  ‘How did it go?’ someone said, distra
cting his thoughts.

  There were about ten of his men here, some playing cards, some drinking, and one reading a book. These were his most trusted, those who felt uneasy about leaving an underground they were used to. Most were below the age of twenty, young men from various backgrounds, none of them particularly blessed. As the years rolled on Malum began to feel like a father to them.

  ‘Yeah, did he spill anything good?’ another asked eagerly. Soon their respectful attention all turned to him.

  ‘I got a little information out of him,’ Malum announced. ‘It wasn’t quite what we wanted, but I think I can act upon some of it. The fucker confirmed a lot of our worst fears though – the soldiers want the aliens to live with us.’

  The lads were silent.

  ‘Look, I need a hand,’ Malum said. ‘We’re running out of time and we need to start taking control of things. There’s a package I want to collect and the time is right. I need a couple of you to help transport something around the city.’

  ‘What’ve you got in mind, boss?’

  *

  Jeza didn’t like Malum all that much, though she didn’t know why specifically. However, she decided that she did like his money – if he was a paying client, she couldn’t exactly say no just because he was a bit of a weirdo. The city was full of weirdos.

  There was something about him that unnerved her – it wasn’t his lack of manners, since he had those in spades; he had all the charm in the world. It wasn’t the air of mystery around him, either – there were plenty of people in Villiren who had secrets. No, it was something about his nature – as if he was always trying to suppress something about himself. That he was holding something within that could burst out at any minute. His unspoken potential frightened her.

  When Jeza got Malum’s message she was agog at the amount of money he was offering. All she had to do was provide the remains of one of their botched operations – of which there were plenty. If anything, he was doing her a favour by helping remove one – it wasn’t as if she could dispose of them easily. What would people think? He had asked for the most bizarre-looking creature she could find, and she was fine with that, though she couldn’t help but feel a little dirty standing outside, waiting for him to come. There was an illicit feeling about this whole operation, prostituting everyone’s talents like this.

  This is what business is, Jeza told herself. Get used to it if you want to build up a big enterprise.

  As she continued waiting, something else niggled her. Why, for example, had she not told the others she was getting rid of the waste grotesques? Was that a sign of her guilt?

  She now lingered by the corner of Factory 54, while the rest of the gang headed out into the city to get food. Just outside one of the rear doors to the factory, no more than a dozen feet away, sat a crate containing a grotesque, which had not been able to cling on to life.

  The first time one had died, everyone felt sad. Of course they did. The second time, less so. They were, the gang warranted, creating life in the first place. There was no death first without life. The third and fourth time they were almost indifferent to the whole operation: their aim was simply to keep them alive for as long as possible, but no matter what dimensions the creatures took, most of them seemed to die quickly.

  But not this one.

  Eventually she saw movement at the end of the street. A horse was approaching, pulling a cart, and on top sat a man with a tricorne hat pulled low over his face, with the collars of a wax rain jacket covering his mouth.

  The horse approached and pulled in alongside her. The rider nodded and jumped down; suddenly four other men, whom she hadn’t seen previously, and who were dressed like the rider, leapt off the back of the cart and their boots thudded on the cobbles.

  They approached in a line. Nerves almost got her voice, but she managed to ask, ‘Is that you, Malum?’

  ‘That’s right, lass,’ Malum replied. ‘So, have you got what we’re after?’

  ‘Sure.’ She gestured behind to the crate. Whether or not it was the cold, she didn’t know, but she shivered as he moved past her with a crowbar in his hands.

  Malum approached the crate, levered open the top to look in and nodded to himself. He looked up at her and she realized suddenly that she could read him better. He now seemed very dangerous and she was scared. He looked across to his accomplices behind her, and said to them, ‘It’s all fine. Hand over the money to the lass, and we’ll be done.’

  Then he approached Jeza and gave a smile that seemed utterly unnatural. ‘You, uh, you might hear one or two things relating to this creature. I’d like it if you were to remain quiet about it, if you do hear anything. If anyone comes asking questions, please – your silence is expected, part of the contract.’

  ‘Hey, what you do with this from now on isn’t my concern,’ she said and laughed awkwardly. It took all her willpower not to enquire what he’d do with the corpse of the creature.

  ‘Good,’ he replied. ‘Then we have an arrangement.’

  Why was it that every word seemed like a threat? She hoped all future clients wouldn’t be like him.

  The four men lifted the crate under Malum’s direction and loaded it onto the back of the cart, then they jumped back on board. Malum climbed back up onto the seat and addressed Jeza one last time. ‘You might want to put the money somewhere safe now,’ he said, smirking. With a flip of the reins the horse plodded in a wide circle back the way it had come.

  Only when she saw the small sack by her feet did she realize what Malum meant. Glancing up, she watched the cart move away into the distance and on through the streets.

  She lifted the sack, noted the weight of the coin and, peering around sheepishly, headed back into the warmth of the factory.

  *

  Malum knew that if he was going to do this properly, to create the right amount of public fear, it would have to be in one of the most public places possible, an iren. The large one recently set up behind Port Nostalgia, where all the traders would be going about their business, would be ideal, and the irens were always busiest first thing in the morning.

  He worked through the pre-dawn darkness, getting everything ready. A stall had already been rented right in the centre – something in a prime location. He had his men set up a few trinkets on display, cheap cookware and the likes, in order to make the stall look genuine, but beneath a sheet weighed down with stones was the grotesque.

  They had bought a bucket of pig’s blood the night before from a butcher’s shop in Althing, and spread it liberally on the cobbles around the creature. Previously Malum had ordered one of his gang to locate the body of a child. He didn’t ask how or where they got it, but they managed to find one and the young boy’s body was intact. The corpse was placed by one of the creature’s outstretched paws, which poked up from under the sheet.

  ‘It has to look as if the creature killed the kid,’ Malum ordered, and his men began making the necessary adjustments.

  The city architecture began to define itself against the light of the pale dawn sky.

  ‘C’mon, you guys,’ he ordered. ‘We need to get this done before the sun’s up, and be clear of here as soon as possible.’

  Finally, they peeled back the sheet, rolled it up and stuffed it in the far corner of the iren, just as the first traders rolled their carts to unload their wares. The monster was unveiled in all its hideous glory.

  *

  Malum ordered his most presentable men to knock on the doors of local administrators and politicians, anyone who was someone in the Ancient Quarter. They were woken up from their slumber or dragged from their breakfast table to listen to the hottest rumour of the day, and the lines the gang used were simple:

  ‘Hey, have you seen what’s kicking off in the iren in Port Nostalgia? They say a monster’s come to the city from the south. It’s just died right in the middle of everything. They say it tried to eat a kid. There’s blood everywhere. Come quick!’

  It wasn’t a truly calculated plan, and cert
ainly wasn’t his finest hour, but Malum was happy enough watching, from a distance, as influential people moved towards the harbour, alarmed at the alien threat. After a short while, he decided to go back to see what was happening at the iren.

  Upon entering the area, Malum smiled widely.

  Everyone else’s stalls were not fully set up, trade had not commenced, and there were a good few hundred people – traders and customers looking to fill their baskets with supplies – clustering around where Malum had left the beast. He recognized the faces of influential people, cowering behind or their faces half-hidden beneath hoods. He pushed his way forward, in the game now – he knew people would recognize him and he had to be careful.

  The nearer he got the more hysterical people’s conversations were.

  Two or three traders built like barbarians were investigating the corpse, which in the morning light was clear to see in all its glory. The thing’s skin was almost reptilian, with scales along its underbelly; four crude, fur-covered arms jutted out from this, and two legs that seemed more at home on oxen. The head was a mash-up of all sorts of creatures, with a cluster of eyes and two long fangs. From head to foot, stretched out like this, it must have measured a good ten feet long. Blood had soaked into the fur nicely, and the overall effect was that it appeared to have killed the child and somehow had died in the process.

  It was a marvellous design, truly horrific, and it was having the desired effect on the gathered throng. It would also make the commander’s dream of alien integration a lot more difficult.

  Malum could overhear one or two of his men, deep within the crowds, shouting the message he had ordered them to spread:

  ‘This is one of those monsters from south of the city, I know it.’

  ‘I can’t believe we’re not being protected from these alien immigrants.’

  ‘The army needs to kill these brutes and quick.’

  ‘Do they really expect us to live alongside such foul things?’