Tomorrow, the Killing lt-2

by Daniel Polansky

  I had harbored vague hopes that this first part of our conversation would go differently. Perhaps hopes were too strong – delusions might be a better term. Roland Montgomery had never second-guessed himself on anything in his life, and wasn’t likely to start now.

  ‘You’ve set yourself quite a task,’ I said.

  ‘Like in the war – conquer, or die.’

  ‘Of course, you didn’t win the war all on your own.’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘There are men in Black House less averse to change than its leader.’

  ‘Then why aren’t they sitting here?’

  ‘Because their lives are worth more to them than mine is.’

  He weighed that for a moment, then nodded. ‘Go on.’

  ‘The men I’m talking about can’t let it be known that they’re talking.’

  ‘It wouldn’t play strongly to the affections of my constituency either,’ he said. ‘Of course, if they aren’t willing to show their faces, it seems unlikely we can reach effective union.’

  ‘They sent me out here to gauge your interest. Make sure that you’re committed to the task at hand, that you won’t flinch when the moment comes to strike.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘It’s clear that you’re prepared to do anything to reach your aims.’

  There were depths to that, if Roland had cared to look. But he didn’t – his eyes were on the future, on his grand plans and grander ambitions.

  ‘I’ll contact you soon, with the details of a meet,’ I said.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘It can’t be your territory, because my people can’t be seen with you. And it can’t be ours for the same reason. I’m thinking Low Town. I’ll set up security, some of my old friends from the neighborhood, uninvolved with either side and not particularly interested in politics.’

  He mulled that over for a while, then stood and smiled. ‘I’m glad to have you with us, Lieutenant.’ He put a firm hand on my shoulder. ‘A light awaits us at the end of the struggle.’

  He nodded at his guard and they fell in behind him, sparing a second to toss final snarls of disapproval. I stayed a while afterward, finishing the wine, then calling for something stronger.

  32

  The Square of Benevolence was a cobblestone space that stretched out from the Chapel of Prachetas, the unofficial barrier between the Old City and the beginnings of the ghetto. On a brisk fall afternoon it was the best spot in Rigus, lined with quiet cafes where a man could grab a drink and watch the world rot around him. In the height of summer, crowded with a division of ex-soldiers, it was stifling. Sun reflected off the red bricks, sweat stench off the multitudes. Despite the heat there was a festive atmosphere, concessionaires doing a good business in fried honey-bread and chilled tea. No doubt the pickpockets were doing better, though this last wasn’t a game for amateurs. The men who’d filed their way into the plaza had been killers, once. It wouldn’t take much for them turn so again.

  From Black House I’d headed over to Association Headquarters, hoping for a few minutes with Pretories. They’d sent me over here, told me he was helping set up for the rally. I didn’t see him, but I did catch a glimpse of Hroudland and his crew stationed near the back, and headed over in their direction.

  When Rabbit saw me he broke out of his conversation and took my hand between his calloused palms. ‘Nice to see you again, Lieutenant.’

  ‘Any day with you in it is a good one, Rabbit.’

  He seemed happy to see me. But then he seemed pretty happy, period. ‘Gotta say, Lieutenant, I was surprised when I heard you’d signed up with us.’

  ‘Fucking shocked,’ Roussel said. He was chewing on a stalk of straw like it had done him evil.

  ‘I like to keep people on their toes.’

  ‘Don’t make no sense to me,’ said Roussel. There was a rosy bloom to his cheeks, either from the heat or his barely suppressed homicidal rage.

  ‘Ignorance is a lamentable condition,’ I replied.

  He grunted and went back to milling grain between his sneer.

  ‘What can we do for you?’ Hroudland asked, splitting the difference in attitude between his two subordinates.

  ‘I need to whisper to the man.’

  ‘Tell me what it is – I’ll take it to him.’

  ‘Won’t cut it. I need a face-to-face.’

  ‘The commander’s got a lot going on at the moment, what with the speeches about to start.’

  ‘I got a bum leg. You think we can skip the song and dance?’

  ‘How’d you get gimped, Lieutenant?’ Rabbit piped in.

  ‘Fell out of bed with Roussel’s mother.’

  ‘Mom’s dead,’ Roussel answered, without much in the way of emotion.

  ‘I hope she lived long enough to see her son make good.’

  The back and forth had given Hroudland enough time to make the decision we both knew he was going to. ‘Fall in,’ he said, ‘but this better not be a waste of his time.’

  ‘I am an awful boring person, so no guarantees.’

  The commander sat alone in a back corner of one of the surrounding establishments, beneath a covered awning on a raised patio. A few solid men stood guard at the entrance. Hroudland knocked off to talk to them, leaving me alone with his superior.

  ‘Good morning, Lieutenant,’ Joachim said. ‘What’s got you all the way out here?’

  ‘You’re gonna get hit,’ I answered.

  His eyes were dark and sad. You could have dropped a live snake in his lap and they wouldn’t so much have flickered. ‘You live long enough and that’ll happen.’

  ‘You live a little longer, you learn to try and dodge it.’

  He nodded vague agreement, then waved at a spot next to him. I slid into it. ‘Can I dodge this one?’

  ‘Maybe. If you’re quick.’

  ‘And who’s looking to add my scalp to their collection?’

  ‘A whole bunch of folk, I imagine, though the only party I can say with certainty works out of a restaurant in the Old City.’

  ‘The Giroies?’

  ‘Got it in one.’

  ‘I’m starting to feel like I’ve had this conversation already.’

  ‘Last time I was passing on a rumor. This time I’m tipping you tomorrow’s broadsheet.’

  ‘I didn’t realize you were a soothsayer.’

  ‘Nothing soothing about it.’

  ‘I’d think puns beneath you.’

  ‘There’s very little that’s beneath me, Commander.’

  That didn’t seem to encourage him. ‘Look, Lieutenant,’ he began slowly, laying it out for me. ‘We went through this. The Giroies and the Association have been quits for ten years. Until I see proof otherwise, I’m not going to do anything to stir the waters.’

  ‘You think I enjoy these go-rounds so much that I’d come up here if I wasn’t sure what I was talking about?’

  ‘Nobody’s right all the time.’

  I drew myself up from the chair. ‘Enjoy the speeches.’

  ‘Sit down,’ he said, a command.

  I didn’t follow it, but I stopped moving.

  ‘Sit down,’ he repeated, softer, and this time I took the suggestion. Pretories drummed his fingers against the table, considering. A waiter came over, poured out some water, then left. The square below us was filling up rapidly, near packed, the dull roar steadily forcing our own conversation to be conducted at a volume inappropriate to its substance.

  ‘What’s your source on this?’ he asked finally.

  ‘A little bird alighted on my shoulder.’

  ‘That’s not good enough, not for this. I need specifics.’

  ‘You know everyone I know?’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘Scratch is his street name. Half-Islander, freelance muscle.’ I knew three separate people who fit this general description, and I didn’t imagine any of them would be easy to find. ‘He tells me the Giroies have been adding men to the rolls, double quick.’

 
‘Why would he tell you that?’

  ‘Either because we’re best friends, or because I pay a premium for relevant gossip.’

  ‘And what does your man say is coming down the pike?’

  ‘You must have outposts apart from headquarters.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Double their guard.’

  He cracked one finger against another, then shook his head. ‘We’re stretched to capacity as it is, preparing for the march.’

  I waved a hand at the crowd. ‘Five thousand men here, you telling me you can’t detail anyone to stand outside of your joints and look tough?’

  ‘There’s a difference between paying dues and strapping on steel. These men are my constituency. I work for them, not the other way around.’

  It was nice to know Pretories was back on his heels. ‘Conscript someone then. It worked for the Crown, didn’t it?’

  ‘Volunteers are more reliable.’

  ‘Numbers matter, when you’re going to war.’

  ‘We’re at war now? I don’t remember receiving a declaration.’

  ‘I’ll make sure and register a complaint with the relevant authorities. You’ll be a corpse by then, but at least it’ll comfort your kin.’

  He swiped his tongue across his teeth. I must really have been getting to him. ‘The Giroies,’ he began finally. ‘They’re serious?’

  ‘Well, they’re not the Dren,’ I responded. ‘But you don’t have to be to stick metal in meat.’

  I stood up for a second time, and for a second time the commander stopped me. ‘Aren’t you sticking around?’

  ‘I was five years in the service. I don’t need a monologue to remind me of it.’

  ‘Just thought it might interest you, what with your friend being our first speaker.’

  ‘What?’

  Pretories nodded to the stage. A half-dozen men sat behind a podium, awaiting their chance to speak. Stationed at the far left, notable by virtue of being twice the size of any of the others, Adolphus shuffled his feet nervously.

  What I got for not paying Wren proper attention. I pointed myself back at Pretories for the parting shot. ‘I get it, Commander, you don’t quite trust me. That’s fine, I’m not quite a trustworthy person. But I’m right about this – the Giroies are coming. Prepare yourself today, or lament your lack of faith tomorrow.’

  Pretories was a tough one to read, and I wasn’t sure which way he’d go. For my purposes it didn’t really matter. ‘I’ll take it under consideration,’ he said.

  I padded off the verandah, past Roussel’s sneer and Rabbit’s corpse-grin, down into the sea of flesh surrounding us. Once engulfed it was hard to make out the stage. I angled myself as best I could and started toward it, brushing my way through the throng. The role of master of ceremonies was played by the same speaker I’d ignored the last time I’d been at headquarters, and his loquaciousness gave me time to elbow my way to the front. I had a pretty decent view of the podium by the time Adolphus stepped up to it.

  He was sweating more than the heat strictly demanded, but other than that he looked good, for an ugly man deep into middle age. He uncreased a sheet of paper and set it against the podium, hands fumbling. His mouth opened and closed in a reasonable imitation of speech, but I couldn’t make anything out.

  ‘Talk louder!’ someone yelled from the audience.

  ‘Some of you know me,’ he began again, shouting.

  Laughter rippled through the crowd. My best friend blushed uncomfortably, and I joined him.

  ‘Some of you know me,’ he said a third time, striking an appropriate middle ground.

  ‘The Hero of Aunis!’ a voice amended, most likely a plant.

  He shook his head. ‘Sergeant Adolphus Gustav, of the First Capital Infantry – that’s good enough for me.’

  A rumble of agreement from the audience.

  ‘Good enough for any man,’ he ad-libbed, and the mass cheered, and he was off.

  I wouldn’t have thought Adolphus much of a public speaker, but he did all right. The wound helped, and his size – everyone looking up at him knew that this was a man who had fought for the Empire, fought hard and suffered for it.

  But there was more than that. He believed what he was saying, and it came through. No paid herald mouthing another man’s words. He spoke slowly and simply, and after a few sentences he stopped looking at his notes. He knew the story well enough, after all. A boy from the provinces who’d never been ten miles from his village, who’d signed up to serve his country and found himself holding a pike in a foreign land. Who’d done his duty and been called a hero for it. Who didn’t resent his loss, who was just happy to have been able to come back home when so many others hadn’t. Who’d never asked for anything more than his due, but who owed it to the fallen to demand what was due to them.

  It was a good speech. Most of it was even true.

  ‘Will we let them turn their backs on our brothers, dead in a foreign land? Their families, desperate for a few crusts of bread?’

  The chorus answered in the negative.

  ‘Is it time to remind them of our sacrifice?’

  Enthusiastic agreement.

  ‘The day after tomorrow, I’m going over the top – and I hope to the Firstborn you’ll all be coming with me!’

  Five thousand men screamed their support, threw their fists in the air, climbed over each other in excitement. One kept silent, and in the tumult that followed, he forced himself out from the ranks and made his way home.

  33

  Back at the Earl I opened every window and propped the door. In the alley outside the corpse of a mule was starting to rot, and flies were trickling in with the stench. Apart from their fetid buzzing it was a quiet afternoon, languid even. Wren was at Mazzie’s, or damn well should have been. Adeline was running errands. I took a seat at the bar and set to rectify my sobriety with workmanlike diligence.

  I’d more or less accomplished my task by the time Adolphus came through the door, chest out and whistling. He dropped himself at my table with a grunt, his uneven grin wide enough to swallow a calf. Half of me was happy to see him so, and half of me wanted to bust my glass against his melon.

  I wasn’t shocked to find my lesser nature winning out. ‘That was quite a speech.’

  ‘You were there?’

  ‘Joachim . . .’ I corrected myself. ‘The commander and I had business.’

  A glancing blow, insufficient to snuff out his good humor. Maybe there was some part of him hoping I’d changed my mind about the whole thing, decided to support the vets honestly. Adolphus always was a desperate optimist. ‘What did you think?’

  ‘The war sounds like lots of fun. I’m sorry I missed it.’

  ‘That wasn’t funny.’

  ‘Maybe I’m losing my touch.’ I pulled out a vial of breath and held it to my nose.

  ‘You been going at that awful hard lately.’

  Fifteen seconds went by, then I brought it back to my side. ‘I’ve got a thing or two on my mind.’

  ‘That help?’

  ‘Doesn’t hurt.’

  He chewed over his cud lips but didn’t say anything. ‘Too bad the boy couldn’t see it. Then again, I suppose it’s time he started his learning.’

  It was an olive branch, but I wasn’t in the mood to take it. ‘That what we think now? Time to start his learning?’

  ‘I’ll bring him along next time,’ he said. An aside, but meant to be noticed.

  ‘What does that mean, next time?’

  ‘The commander asked me to speak again tomorrow. Wants me to help rally some of the other Low Town vets. Even asked me to take a spot in the front line for the march.’

  I took a last snoot, then put the bottle back into my satchel. ‘Śakra’s cock, Adolphus, when are you gonna give this up?’

  He squared his shoulders. ‘When the Crown holds to their obligations.’

  ‘When the Firstborn comes to claim us, you mean? I’d bring a book.’

  ‘We’re owed,
’ he said, his voice gravel and not easily dismissed.

  ‘Come off it, Adolphus. A ten percent tax on your pension won’t break your back. This has nothing to do with money. It’s more fun for you to play hero than it is to tend bar.’

  I’d struck a nerve. His eye narrowed. ‘You think so little of me?’

  ‘This isn’t a game. What’s the Crown going to do when they see the Association making trouble?’

  ‘We got the right to peaceful assembly.’

  ‘You got every right in the world, till they decide to start taking them from you.’

  ‘We’re not the sort to melt in the rain – the Dren discovered that. Black House wants trouble, they’ll learn the same.’

  ‘That was what Roland Montgomery thought,’ I said. ‘It’ll get you what it got him.’

  ‘General Montgomery was assassinated while fighting for the rights of his country and his men. I’d be proud to fall the same way.’ Hours spouting rhetoric were affecting his judgment. ‘There’s such a thing as right and wrong.’

  ‘No, Adolphus – there’s just alive and dead. The war should have taught you that.’

  ‘Maybe we learned different things.’

  ‘Maybe you don’t remember your lessons.’

  ‘Quit telling me what I believe!’ he bellowed suddenly, bull chest straining his shirt, face red. He gave himself a moment to deflate before continuing, but it didn’t seem to help. ‘You know what I think?’

  ‘Waiting to hear it.’

  ‘I think you don’t like to see me being cheered for. I think you got used to me being your lapdog, watching your back while you play the big man.’

  ‘That’s what you think? That your celebrity offends my ego?’

  ‘Fifteen years carrying your water. Fifteen years being your second. I guess it’s natural you’d get jealous, try and work your way in with the commander.’

  It was strange to discover this vein of rancor amidst such well-trammeled territory, like finding a torture chamber hidden in the kitchen closet. How many other conversations had this echoed through, I wondered? ‘It’s not like that,’ I said feebly, knowing there was nothing I could say that would close a wound so long festered. ‘What I got going with Joachim . . . it ain’t about you.’