by Nik Korpon
Two days later, I led the raid on the power substation. The Tathadann countered by driving an explosive-filled truck through the front door of the Parkhead, the bar where Walleus and I had earlier devised plans for the uprising.
That kicked off a riot, the one that would eventually collapse like a dying star on Aífe and Donael.
They said she’d been trampled in the street, shielding our son. The only way they knew he was dead was his grey skin. To this day, I can’t even remember where I was when they told me. The shock of hearing they’d been killed wiped everything clean, and all that remains are jumbled glimpses of scenes. An old woman falling to the ground as I sprinted through the streets. Pressing my face against the pavement where they had been found, trying to recover any stray molecules of them. Punching a Tathadann soldier in the mouth as he tried to stop me from climbing over a Tathadann barricade that was in my way. A broken bottle glittering in the gutter where the riot had been, the way it seemed to wink at me. Walleus’s face as he held me back from killing the medic who said the bodies had already been transported for burning. The way my throat ached from howling all night long and puking up liquor during the day. I couldn’t even say goodbye to them, take her slender fingers in mine or muss his hair one last time, apologize for not being able to protect them.
I take the vial from the viewer and cup it in my palm for a minute, giving my dead family a good night hug as I do every time, then wrap it up in Aífe’s scarf. I set the viewer beside it and replace the board, slide the couch leg back over it.
I undress in the kitchen so my rustling won’t wake Emeríann, then slip into the bedroom and under the sheets. She drapes her leg over mine and nestles her face in my neck, our bodies becoming one. Her skin is warm and soft on mine.
“Did we win?” Her voice is thick with sleep.
I stare at the ceiling, listening to her breathing and feeling her skin, until the room lightens once more.
6
Walleus
Cobb’s feet jump around like a fish’s tail and one of his jagged toenails catches my forearm, leaving a nice little slash in its wake. His leg wiggles the shorts off and back to the floor.
“I said, give me your goddamn foot.” I manage not to scream which is nearly a miracle, though he probably wouldn’t be able to hear it if I did because Donael is standing beside us and he will not shut the hell up.
“And everyone’s going to be there, and Craesa’s mom said it’s fine and she doesn’t care and they cleaned the pool.”
Cobb smiles and clicks. His legs fall back into their marching pattern, matching the cadence of Donael’s pleas. His joints move like a robot in one of the old movies Liella, his mother, used to watch. Half the time I’m not sure if it’s his mouth or knees doing the clicking.
“Her mom doesn’t care because she can’t remember anything without vaporizing it,” I say. I grab Cobb’s foot and it slips from my hand. “She’ll be facedown and drooling before it’s lunchtime anyway. Someone’s going to drown.”
“Not if we know how to swim.”
“I said no, OK?” In the next room, the phone rings. “Can you get that for me?”
He gives me a blank stare. I snatch Cobb’s left ankle when it comes near and shove it into the leg of his shorts. The phone keeps ringing. I ask Donael again. Cobb yanks his leg back, kicking out his right foot and clipping my chin. I throw the shorts across the room. “Dress your own self. Or don’t. Do whatever you want. I don’t care.” I retreat to the kitchen, snatching the phone on my way with Donael following and yammering the whole time.
“Dammit, son, give me a minute.” I put my mouth to the phone. “What?”
“It’s me,” Belousz says.
“I’m busy.”
“I’m calling for Morrigan.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “What would her highness like now?”
“She’s, uh, inquiring to make sure that boy – what’s his name?”
“You have to be more specific.”
“Boss, you know exactly who I’m talking about.”
“Riab?” I say. Donael pulls at my arm and I wave my hand at him to leave me alone.
“Yeah. That his dad and granddad are coming in.”
“Dad’s on Henraek’s list. Should be in today,” I say. “Granddad came in yesterday.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Because Stilian said it wasn’t there.”
“Goddammit.” Donael yanks again and I retreat to the walk-in cupboard and close it. Donael calls my name but I stick my finger in my ear.
Belousz breathes into the phone.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Belousz says. “But – Greig’s gotten it into his head that Riab’s ex and the muscle she works with might be planning something big and bright. My guess is that’s why those two are on the list, sort of a precaution.”
I thump my head against a shelf, jars of sauce and oil clinking against one another. “I told her there’s nothing to it. He’s trying to get a leg up on me.”
“I told her the same,” he says. “But you know how she is. Given Henraek’s,” he fumbles for words, “connection with that side, I thought you might want to keep an eye on him.”
“Does she know about them?” I say. “Wait, how do you know about them?”
“It’s my job, boss.” I can hear his smile through the phone. “But I’m a lot better than Greig, so they’re fine for now. Long as Henraek’s OK.”
“He doesn’t wear the uniform but he knows what team he’s on.”
“I get that. But he’s also been known to take down a building on a whim and a whole lot of our capabilities with it. Then with him not delivering his full list…” He lets me fill in the blanks.
“He dances a lot but knows where the line is,” I say, as much to myself as to him. “I’ll look into it to make sure.”
“Wanted to keep you appraised of the happenings, let you put your face on before you come in, you know?”
Donael says Hello?, drawing every letter out to obnoxious proportions.
“I appreciate the call.” I glance toward the door, remind myself, You love him. It’s a good thing he’s here and safe with you. And selling him to the brigus for a couple bottles of hooch would be a bad idea. Even if it sounds tempting at the moment. “Hey, have you heard anything new on Daghda?”
He pauses a moment. “Isn’t he dead?”
“You can’t kill a myth.”
“Occasional things. He took over a state in the west. He drowned in the sea up north. He’s actually Lady Morrigan, with a wig. Nothing I thought was credible, or even real.” I can hear him swallow. “Why do you ask?”
“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head, though he can’t see it. “How’s your mother doing?”
“She is. She always is.” He gives what I think is a laugh, though he could have something caught in his throat. “Hey, boss?”
“Yeah.”
“Be careful. They’re gathering.”
I say, “On who?” but he’s already hung up. I stand and let things settle, the dead air humming in the darkness.
I take a deep breath and open the door, startling Donael, who sits cross-legged beside the cupboard. He jumps up and continues as if we’d never stopped.
“And if I don’t become comfortable in the water then I might accidentally fall in and drown because I panic and don’t know what to do.”
“You already know how to swim. I took you to lessons last year.”
“But that pool was inside. This one is outside. It’s different.” Donael knits his fingers together like he’s pleading. “So if I can’t go then I might die.”
“Oh, come off it, Donael.” I slug back the rest of my coffee and think about pouring a little something extra in there. “I told you no, so listen to what I’m saying.”
He stomps his foot into the ground. “Goddammit.”
“Watch your mouth, boy. You don’t talk that way in this house
.”
“You’re not my dad. You can’t tell me anything,” he says. “My parents are dead.”
I clench my jaw and breathe out hard through my nose, trying to remain calm. “And that means I’m all you have left.”
He storms off to his room, slamming the door for my benefit. Cobb stares at me from the doorway.
“What?” I say to him. “Now I’m the bad guy?”
He gives no response, instead parading barelegged from the living room into the kitchen then down to his room, his arms pumping over his head and clicks coming in rapid fire. I pour the dregs of coffee into my mug. Grounds float on the surface. I take two belts straight from the bottle and pour a little in my mug before stepping outside to get some air for a minute.
Cobb’s mother died pre-labor from the same blood disease that made him the way he is. Touched by the holy hand, according to the Brigu woman who’d lived down the hall when he was born.
She tried to abort him by using a broken bottle to cut him out. The doctors had to tear the cuts further open so they could pull Cobb out before he suffocated. They’d been surprised she even made it to term and said Cobb was a very lucky little boy.
I had no kind of response.
Medical know-how has advanced a lot in the last twelve years, but that doesn’t mean dick for Cobb. Nothing’s going to speed up his clock now that the time’s been set.
His clicking echoes down the hallway as he makes his way back to the kitchen. I drink half my cup even though it’s gone cold, squint away the burn of bourbon. When Cobb comes into the kitchen, he’s fully dressed in long sleeves. Donael skulks behind him.
“I told him he’d be too hot in that but he didn’t want to hear it,” Donael says. He looks at the toy in his hand when he speaks, though he’s not doing anything with it. “I thought you could use the help.”
I crouch down to be eye level with him, my knees popping like a snapped stick. I feel like we should have some moment here. Like I should offer some koan or a sprinkling of sage advice he’ll remember and tell his kid when this situation arises with them.
But I’ve got nothing, so instead I say, “I’m sorry too, kid. I’m only looking out for you.”
He mutters thanks then makes off to the living room and uploads a movie. I gather a few things to occupy Cobb at the Gallery later today and throw them in his bag, then run my hand through Donael’s hair, touching the flat spot on the back of his head.
“Tell Craesa she can come over here,” I say. “It’s her mother I don’t want you round, not her.”
He says OK and leans back against my hand, his passive-aggressive version of a hug.
“Remember, Cobb needs to be at Miss Neicy’s by nine, so don’t play around, OK?” I say. He nods. “Be good in school. Don’t get arrested.” I kiss them goodbye and step outside the front door.
Now. What the hell is going on?
7
Henraek
I pay for my coffee and find a table in the far corner. I drop three coins into the music player to give our conversation a little cover and select a torch singer that Emeríann likes but I don’t know very well. The six-inch hologram flickers into shape, a dark woman wearing an elaborate evening dress with a gardenia pinned to her hair.
Three tables over, a man strikes his lighter while another holds a vial of Paradise above the flame. They put their faces into the stream of smoke, inhale hard, then snatch their pocket-viewer and hurry into one of the bathrooms to lagonael. If I had been smart, I would have learned to repurpose old devices into portable viewers. Most of them are the size of a hand and only need a screen and a slot for the vial. It’s not always the best viewing, but if you’re resorting to stealing your sister’s pocket-jukebox so you can lagonael, quality isn’t much of a concern.
Walleus waits at the counter while they warm up his muffins – regular muffins, dry and with unevenly ground flour, not one of those rehydrated, designer ones like on his side of the city – then makes his way over to the table. Before he can even sit down, I start on him.
“We’re in a public space now, so tell me when you turned.”
“Come on, Henraek. I haven’t even had a chance to enjoy this muffin. Reminds me of those ones your mom made.” He smells it, revelling in the sensory associations of our youth, of my mother before she disappeared after she refused to license our property to the resource company.
“Then answer me and I’ll stop asking,” I say.
A slight smile creases his lips. “I thought you wanted to know about Riab’s family.”
“That was my next question.”
“What’s with the inquisition?”
“Morbid curiosity.”
He bites into his muffin, closing his eyes while he chews. After three nearly pornographic chews, I repeat my question.
Eyes still closed, he swallows and says, “Is there anything you’d like to tell me first?”
“No,” I say. “Should there be?”
“You tell me, Henraek.” He leans forward to stare straight through me, the light in the corner reflecting off his eyes in brilliant points.
“I have nothing to hide.”
He hooks a thumb over his shoulder, says, “You’ll excuse me if I go shit myself from laughter?”
“I can wait.”
“Maybe it’s in that vial you didn’t turn in yesterday? Riab’s grandfather?”
I sip my coffee to conceal any expression he could read as guilt or deception, taste the hint of wood bark. I believe the girl at the counter gave me the wrong kind. “Have Stilian check it again. My orders are always correct.”
The hologram sings Hush, don’t explain, then sings it again, again, the player skipping as the electric current lapses, and I begin to wonder if she’s advising Walleus or me.
He looks over, says, “Turn off.”
“Wrong neighborhood, Walleus.”
He reaches over and yanks the plug from the socket. The torch singer freezes with her head arched back and arms curled, mid-climax note, then dissolves into nothing.
“I’ll have him take another look, but it’d better be there. Word around the campfire is there’s something brewing at Johnstone’s. I don’t buy it, and as a fellow member of the Tathadann, I’m not suggesting you’re involved with anything. Maybe someone else is, or two someones. And maybe that’s related to the names on your list,” he says, then takes a considered bite of his muffin, trying to peer inside my skull while chewing. “I can’t get blindsided. It’d be bad for both of us, and anyone else who might be involved. So things need to be where they need to be, and if there’s something I need to know, I need to know it.”
“That statement is the ultimate summation of the superfluous presence of a bureaucracy. You have officially been there too long.”
“You officially need to speak in words I can spell.”
“Walleus, get yourself another coffee. There’s nothing to worry about here.”
He leans back, nodding with his lips sucked in, and unwraps the second muffin before breaking it in half and slipping it into his mouth. I plug the music player back in but my credit is gone and I don’t have any more coins.
“Don’t say I didn’t ask,” he says, holding up the other half of the muffin like the gesture should mean something. “But you and Emeríann might want to lay low for a while. For all our sakes.”
“Why are you eating anyway?” I say. “I thought you were making special pancakes.”
“I was planning to until my kid turned into an asshole.”
“Yeah, well,” I say, sipping at my coffee, “I wouldn’t know what that’s like.”
His eyes flick up, narrowing when they focus on me, challenging me. Maybe my pissing and moaning has become too much for him to bear, but there is no such thing as too much when discussing a family torn from you, and as I prepare to tell him that, I realize he’s actually looking behind me. I turn, and we both regard Greig and Belousz with long, dead stares.
I can hear Walleus swallow on th
e other side of the table and wonder if they did too. He and Belousz exchange a quick glance.
“We need him,” Greig says to Walleus, indicating me.
“I’m sitting right here. You can address me.”
He gives me a disgusted look, then turns back to Walleus and repeats it.
I tap my wrist, an archaic gesture that we still do for some reason. “I’ve got a job in ten. Sorry.”
Belousz doesn’t even blink his eye. “If Lady Morrigan wants you, Lady Morrigan gets you. So,” he exhales, “as we said.”
Pressing my fingertips against the mug, feeling the give of flesh against the cooling porcelain, I estimate how hard I could smash it against his head before it breaks, then take a deep breath and push my palms against the table to rise.
Walleus grabs my wrist to stop me.
“Is this moving on?” I say to him. “Because it looks the same to me.”
He does not look at me nor the two men, but instead stares through them.
“Were you following us?” he says. The words leave his mouth but his teeth do not part. He barely glances at Greig, but from the way Greig tries to conceal his flinch this is not a tone he uses lightly. Still, Greig remains silent.
“Don’t ignore me,” he says.
Greig pulls back his shoulders to stick out his chest, some new kind of confidence I haven’t seen in him, then nods to Belousz for back up. “By the order of Lady Morrigan, we need Henraek.”
I say, “It’s fine,” quickly to Walleus then stand and push my chair into Belousz’s legs twice, waiting for him to move before I put it all the way under the table.
“Appreciate your company,” I say to Walleus, “but you can’t dodge the truth forever. Light shines on everything, no matter how hard we try to hide.”
“Henraek, you have no idea,” he says. “Make sure your orders are filled.”
I walk out the door, waiting for Belousz and Greig to catch up.
When they come up on either side of me out on the sidewalk, I ask what the hell they want. And when they answer, “We need you to get us inside Johnstone’s,” my blood turns thick with anxiety. I never thought the Tathadann could move so quickly. I wonder how long this word has been going round their campfire.
