by Jack Conner
The older man smiled a hard, sadistic smile as he applied more alcohol. “This could take a while.”
It did. Afterwards, Janx signed a few autographs for children. Apparently he was quite the big man in the Tangle, and the kids looked up to him as a hero. However, just as Janx had indicated, or at least Avery thought he had, there were several shapely women waiting for him as well, and they did not seem to be the boys’ mothers. He whispered in each one’s ear, and they giggled and left, one at a time.
“What did you tell them?” Avery asked when he, Janx and the trainer were under way, making toward a rear exit.
Janx produced a cigar and began unwrapping it. “I just made plans for the week.”
“You scheduled dates with them every day of the week?”
Janx grinned. “I wouldn’t call ‘em dates, Doc.”
Avery had to admire the man, at least a little. “Quite.”
Janx lit up his cigar, looking smug.
Outside, he and his trainer split up, and Avery walked with Janx through the cold night. There were still plenty of revelers on the streets, but it was well after midnight and the celebration had begun to wind down for the evening. Crushed glass from lights, glitter and streams of ribbon from costumes littered the streets. Avery felt glass crunch beneath his feet as he walked.
“Now,” said Avery, “I’d really like—”
“Hold that thought,” Janx said. “Wait till we have some privacy.”
The whaler led him to a tenement, and then up the wrought-iron fire escape whose ladder had conveniently been left down. The fire escape trembled and squealed under their weight, and Avery felt a swell of nausea.
They reached the roof, and wind howled all around them. Avery felt his jacket flutter and billow, and he had to shove his hat down low on his head. Janx didn’t pause but led Avery to the edge of the roof, which butted up against another building. The big man found a doorway and led inside. Janx ushered Avery to the roof of this second building, then over a bridge constructed of bolted-together pipes to the roof of another. From one roof to another Janx led, from time to time singing some obscene ballad under his breath but for the most part silent and thoughtful. They climbed mountains of stone, brick and crumbling mortar, then descended into cold valleys, then back up and around again. They passed through rooftop taverns and secret gardens. Along the way, Avery filled Janx in on what he’d learned.
“You really think Sheridan wants to break up Ghenisa?” Janx said, when Avery had finished. “How?”
“I think she wants to encourage the rift between Admiral Haggarty and Prime Minister Denaris. I don’t know how exactly—maybe she plans to manufacture evidence against Denaris, blackmail her—it doesn’t matter. Sheridan wants Haggarty to take over.”
“Haggarty’d let the Octs roll right over us—after he worked out a cozy deal for himself, that is.”
“Exactly. Sheridan might be working on that as we speak. And there’s more. A patient of mine, she claims to be able to hurt Octung. She even claims to be able to end the war. If Sheridan found out about her, she’d have the patient killed, I’m sure of it.”
“That’s some serious shit,” Janx said. “Is that what you came to see me for?”
“No. I—”
“Hold on.”
He and Avery clattered down a certain metal ramp and into a secluded courtyard on top of a building. They were between high walls of buildings on three sides, with a view of the panorama of the city to the fourth. In the distance, the lights on the harbor glittered. It was immediately obvious to Avery that this rooftop courtyard had been in use for some time. Rusty chairs crouched in a ragged circle before the huge, sagging water tower, and faded pennants of favored sports teams streamed from the pigeon coop. The pigeons squawked and ruffled their feathers, but the occupants of the roof paid them no mind.
A disparate band sprawled across the chairs or leaned against the water tower or gazed off at the horizon smoking hashish. There were half a dozen of them, and they looked rough and hard, scarred by lives of crime and marginalization. A crest of red hair stood up on one man’s head, a chittering monkey scampered up a woman’s arm, a small man in a black leather jacket sharpened a knife, a fat black man ate mutton wrapped in flatbread.
And, in the center of them all, hunched in his chair and counting a thick wad of cash, waited Muirblaag.
Avery started upon seeing the fish-man, and at first he thought this must be an ambush, that Janx’s enemies had lain in wait for him. Then Muirblaag glanced up, saw Janx and laughed. Janx, chuckling, stepped forward and the two embraced, wincing as they did. Each was still sore.
“Glad to see you made it,” said Muirblaag.
“Wouldn’t miss the fucker, would I?” said Janx. “This is my party.”
“Ours.”
The others crowded around, clamoring at Janx and Muirblaag, ignoring Avery entirely. He was beginning to get used to it.
“You’re late,” said the woman with the monkey, glaring at Janx. She wore a top hat and ratty formal jacket. The monkey hopped up and down on her shoulder. A silver hook gleamed where her left hand should be.
Janx shrugged. “Had to satisfy the mob, now, didn’t I?”
Muirblaag thrust a wad of money at him. “That’s your cut.”
Janx thumbed through it. With a raised eyebrow, he told Avery, “This is what it’s about.”
“Wait,” Avery said. “You mean to tell me it was all a set-up? That fight was a sham?”
“Fight was real enough,” Janx said. “At least, till the end it was. Mu and I’d figured when I needed to take the dive beforehand. Just had to make sure each other lasted till then.”
Muirblaag rubbed his bandaged jaw. “Almost didn’t.”
“Let’s drink,” said the scurvy little man with the knife.
Avery hadn’t noticed, but there was a barrel wedged beneath the water tower, and as he watched each of the ruffians put a crusty glass under the tap and filled up a mug with beer, one by one. Janx gestured for Avery to do likewise.
“No thanks,” Avery said.
He frowned as the others talked loudly, drinking, cursing, occasionally engaging in some ribald song as they waved mugs at the moons, only two of which were visible. Folk music drifted over the rooftops from an apartment, and some of the ruffians danced. The small man put away his knife and produced a violin. He played and jigged, and the others danced around him. It was quite a merry scene, or would have been if Avery had been in a better mood. Besides, it was obvious to him that this was a close-knit group. He was an outsider here. He didn’t even know the words to their ridiculous songs.
At last he took Janx aside and said, “Damn it, man. We have business to discuss.”
Janx burped. “Then speak up.”
The crew glanced up expectantly. The monkey chattered, and the woman in the top hat fed it a date.
“Privately,” Avery said.
“Doc, this is private.”
“What ... ?”
Janx waved a hand at the others. “These are your spies, Doc. Who d’ya think’s been followin’ our fair wee admiral around, eh?”
Avery stared at them, feeling suddenly cold. “But ... I thought you were going to use professionals ... I paid good money for professionals ...” He’d used all that was left of his new bonus to do it, too, and that had just been a down payment.
“We are professionals,” Muirblaag said, sounding mildly offended.
The black man said, “We’ve been hired on jobs too numerous and varied to relate. And we couldn’t anyway, because they’re confidential.”
Avery forced himself to silence for a moment, then said, “So you’re thieves?”
“Entrepreneurs, more like,” said Muirblaag.
“With some thievin’ thrown in,” said the woman with the monkey.
“Who do you think placed the bets tonight?” Janx said. “Mu and I couldn’t do it, now, could we? Not without lookin’ queer. See, we’ve worked many jobs together, th
e lot o’ us. You said you wanted the best. Ya came to the right place.”
Avery passed a hand over his face. This is all wrong. “How can I trust you? You’re criminals! Do you know what’s at stake here? It could be ... well, it could be everything.”
Muirblaag lifted his hairless eyebrows. “Everything?”
Briefly, and to Avery’s horror, Janx related what Avery had just told him, with a quick aside to Avery: “They’re riskin’ their lives. They need to know.”
Afterwards, there was some swearing and shaking of heads.
“This is big,” said the woman with the monkey. “Fuck me.”
“Exactly,” said Avery. “What we’re doing is not only important, it may determine whether Ghenisa stands or falls. And even whether Octung is stopped or not.”
The little man spat. “Damn.”
Concerned, Avery drew Janx to the side once more. “I don’t think they’re up to the job, frankly,” he said.
“They’re up for it,” Janx said, sounding very sober. “But since you’re payin’ for this, I can see why you’d want to be sure.”
“It’s not about the money, although I have precious little of it. It’s—”
Janx broke off and conferred with his group in low tones. Several cursed. The woman with the monkey shrugged. Muirblaag said, “We ain’t gettin’ paid enough.”
“It ain’t always about money,” Janx said. “’sides, I think we got that part covered.” He tapped his bulging pocket.
Muirblaag frowned. “I’m in if you are. We’ve already started the damned job, anyway. Why not see it through?”
“Binding, you mean?” said the black man.
“I think that should cost more,” said the woman with the monkey.
“Fine,” Avery said. “I’ll double your fee.” This was a bald-faced lie, of course, since he had nothing more to give. He could pay in installments forever and not pay what he would owe. But if whatever this binding was made them take the assignment more seriously, it was well worth the lie. “Payable after it’s done.”
“All right, then,” said the woman. “I’m in.” She considered. “Shit, I don’t need double. Tell you what, bones, I’ll do it for just twenty percent more. I mean, if it’s that all-fired important, if we can really throw a wrench into Octung’s plans.”
“Thank you,” Avery said, and meant it.
“You’re a sweetheart, Hildra,” Janx said. “Alright, twenty percent more. Now, if that’s settled, I’ll be right back.”
“Where’s he going?” Avery asked, as the whaler disappeared up a fire escape. “What did I just pay for?”
“He went to get some things,” Muirblaag said.
“What things?”
“It’s just somethin’ we do from time to time, like when some richer hires us to do a job, steal somethin’ or whatnot, but doesn’t trust us. Well, we started this little thing you’re about to see. It keeps us true, like it or not—and it’s helped us get many a job.”
Shortly Janx returned, a sack slung over his back. He extracted some wood, built a small pile on the rooftop, then squirted it with lighter fluid. The strike of a match, and fire blazed loudly, throwing sparks high into the night.
The others grumbled but meandered over. They seemed willing to follow whatever lead Janx and Muirblaag provided, if halfheartedly. All grouped around the fire.
Janx produced a heavy, aged volume and read a passage in what sounded like ancient L’ohen—Avery was shocked—and the criminals recited the passage, then another. At first they spoke listlessly, but their enthusiasm gained substance as they went on. During one particular passage, Janx tossed something that looked like dust into the fire. The fire blazed up, brighter than before, and turned, to Avery’s surprise, green.
The criminals grew quiet, and the eerie green light bathed their faces. Muirblaag, assisting Janx, took out a hunting knife from the sack. He closed his eyes, muttered something in L’ohen, and slit his palm over the fire. Inky blood fell into flames. He wiped the knife blade clean, using alcohol, then passed it to Janx, who said something himself, it sounded like some sort of private prayer, used the knife himself and passed it on. So it went, from criminal to criminal, each swearing some oath and bleeding into the fire. At last Janx looked up and said, “Your turn, Doc.”
“Me?”
Janx inclined his head. All the others turned to watch Avery.
Swallowing, he stepped forward. “I don’t normally pray,” he said.
“That’s fine,” Muirblaag said. “Just call to whatever gods you believe in, bind our oaths to you.”
“And what are they?”
“Whattaya think?” Janx said. “To follow your orders. To finish the job.”
“But don’t get fuckity,” said the small man. “You can only bind us to what we’ve already agreed to.”
“Do you know what you’re doing?” Avery said. “What you might be swearing yourselves into? What you’ve already sworn yourselves to?”
“Do you?” said Janx.
Avery hesitated, then joined the circle around the fire. Someone passed him the knife. Without a second thought, he raised his hand over the fire and prepared to cut. He paused for a moment, then, only because he had no gods to pray to. Generally when he prayed it was to the fates, or to whatever god might be listening. Then he thought of Mari and Ani, and he slit his palm. As his blood fell into the crackling green flames, he said, “I swear to the Three Sisters to lead these men and this woman against Sheridan, to collect evidence that she’s a spy, to stop her at whatever cost, to protect my patient and to help her save Ghenisa.”
Wind howled around him as he passed the knife back, and the burning in his palm hardly bothered him. Someone passed him a flask, and he drank from it gladly.
“So,” Janx said, “you trust us now?”
Avery peered around at them, somehow feeling closer to them. This could work, he told himself. It has to. “Yes,” he said. “I believe I do.”
“Good.”
Avery sucked in a breath. Time to say what he’d come all this way to say. “I want to speak to you all.” They were listening. “I gave Sheridan some information I knew she would be compelled to pass on to her handler. Tomorrow apparently she’s going to meet him or her. When I got your note, I was elated. Finally, I can get proof that she’s a spy.”
“We’ve got the equipment ready,” Muirblaag said.
“Good. I’ll help you use it. You see, I’m coming with you.”
Chapter 9
“Are you sure this is wise?” Janx asked as he and Avery walked down the street. It was Vruth Eve, and the sun shone brightly overhead.
Avery, his head still pounding from the night before, forced a smile. “Isn’t that what I said to you last night?”
“Yeah, but spyin’s different from boxin’.”
“I know.” The image of Paul’s corpse flashed briefly before him.
To Avery’s irritation, Janx’s head didn’t seem to bother him as much as it should. He seemed quite comfortable, in fact.
“You could get made,” Janx said. “I don’t plan to be there, and that’s why. That’s why the others’ve been following the Admiral, not me. She knows me.”
“I told you, I’ll wear a disguise.”
“You ain’t exactly a spook, Doc.”
Avery stopped and stared up at the towering immensity of Janx. The whaler’s bruises looked even more livid today, and the bright daylight didn’t help. Half his face was covered in bandages. People passed all around them, the conversation and babble loud. As long as Avery kept his words general and his tone low, he didn’t care what others heard.
“Listen,” he said, “I didn’t want to say this in front of your friends, but an oath doesn’t make them spies. I certainly trust them more now, but after getting a look at them, I just don’t see them catching the Admiral.” He continued on his way. He had the day off and intended to make good use of it.
“It’s your dime,” Janx said. “Of cour
se, you know I’m not doin’ this for the money. I could get better paid elsewhere. But we had to get somethin’ out of it or most of the others would have turned it down flat—let alone swear to you.”
“I appreciate that.”
“The others want to help. I mean, the Octs’re comin’ through the Pass any time now, and when that happens we’re screwed. My guys know that, and they’re not against trying to stop it. But they’re survivors. Food in their belly trumps heroics every time.”
“I can see that.”
“Still can’t believe Sheridan’s a fuckin’ spy! My own fuckin’ captain. I take that personal, you know.”
Avery didn’t rebuke him for using her name. “I know,” he said.
“Guess we’ll get her tonight.”
“Yes.” Avery spoke softly, distracted. Louder, he added, “Yes, I’m sure we will. We’ll overhear something that will lead to real, concrete evidence. We’ll get an idea of her network, something Parliament can corroborate. That should be enough.”
“You don’t need to be there, though.”
Avery stopped before a certain shop: MAZZY’S THREADS.
“This should do,” he said.
Smiling, he entered the shop, and Janx followed behind him. It was good to lead the big man around for a change.
“I still say this is a mistake,” Janx said.
Avery shot him a hard look. “It’s necessary. It occurred to me last night while I was reading. Tonight’s Vruth Eve. Wherever Sheridan goes, she’ll be in costume. In all likelihood, your band won’t recognize her. But I will. I would recognize her anywhere.” He paused, and Janx gave a reluctant nod. “Now come, let’s get ready.”
* * *
Water bubbled in the grotto, the sound echoing off the twisting stone walls like a monstrous heart murmur. Avery carefully walked along the ledge, then over a sloppily-made cement bridge which looked like it had been put together with slabs of melting glue. Graffiti marked the walls. Gevris sucks cock. Marya loves Jason. The occasional pile of trash heaped on the walkways. Torches set in brackets illuminated the dark, watery halls with red, uncertain light, so that Avery and Hildra walked through pools of shadow into warm firelight, then back into shadow again.
