- Mercenary
- Life-long cultist or worshipper, refound the faith
- Ludo is a cover story. Ain't no Ludo
- Something inhuman
- Badass warrior-sorcerer come to take things over
That last one, no. Military minds, they run on military thoughts and those are detail-oriented, lockstep thoughts. When you think in terms of kill-zones and firing solutions and the adrenaline of killing, that sort of crowds out the other kinds of imagination you need to spark up magic. Could happen, though. Just that they're skillsets that rarely overlap.
Looks like it happened with Ludo though. In which case, I for one, bow to our new badass warrior-sorcerer overlord and look forward to moving on him when he sleeps.
Monster? Yeah, why not. Mercenary? Could be, who could pay him, though? Fuck knows. Any of it. There's no point in deciding you know the answer in advance. It's a bad move.
And I see there's a contact number for him. Hmmm.
I light up and think about it.
Bettina comes back at sunset. Wards shiver, narrow their wave-length, my permanent texta protection recognising her, but like a scorpion, ever eager to harm. I answer her.
She looks strange. Troubled.
We sit and drink beer again. She's worked for me, but there's still so little we know about each other. Or perhaps I'm just a weird creep.
'I went in the dirt last night. You woke me up too early.'
I bristle. 'You want to quit?'
She makes an irritated face at me and moves her head away, swings it back.
'Why you got to be like that, man?'
'What?'
'I like working for you. It's interesting work and I owe you. Without you, I'd be some fucked-up zombie. And I know you could, you know, make me help you. But that ain't your way and that means something to me.'
I say nothing. She peels the beer label now, suddenly shy.
'But you always look for the worst meaning to any words anyone says to you.'
I don't say anything. It's true enough. Besides, I'm just waiting for what this is really all about, for it to come to what she wants from me. When I say nothing, she just moves on.
'You got to understand something. In the dirt, it's different. You're dead but you ain't gone. The dirt. It. The dirt sort of. I dunno. Do I sound stupid?'
Talk it out, Sage. 'No.'
'I don't want to say womb cos it ain't a like like that. I just know. But it's something. It feeds you. It sort of seeps into you. Like, power? No. Like, it teaches you things. You have dreams and they're weird. But not I was in school but it wasn't school and my aunt was there but she was a bird bullshit. But you see things. Feel 'em. Things only the dead can know.'
The wisdom of the grave. I listen carefully.
'There's a sickness somewhere. Can you feel it?'
I cannot.
'Something is buggin' out. It's like the dirt is in a tremor, you know? Like... one time, my cousin, he lives north over the bridge. It turns out there was mercury in the ground of his school. Some prick zoned a school on an industry dumping ground. We all went up to see it and it all kind of freaked us out knowing there was poison in the ground, under the grass. I don't know what that is but it feels like that. When I was a kid. '
I stub out and light up. 'It's just how it felt to you when you were a kid that counts. It's about the links in your memory and the feelings and images you assign to things. Like attracts like. You're saying there's a pollution, using the schemes your mind already has.'
'I think so.'
That's interesting. But it's also for an other day.
'Are you strong enough to work tonight?'
'Yeah. I am. But I'm not like fucking Wonder Woman right now. Need more time in the ground.'
'That'll do for me.'
I make a call.
'My name is Lark. I want to talk to Ludo.'
Twenty-Three
They don't let me talk to Ludo, but that's alright. I have to get through the usual 'we don't know who that is' bollocks. They question who I am and I say I work for the Library. That gets me far. Then I say that I need something for body work and I hear he's the man to see.
A meet. Under Crooked Bridge. One of the major arteries into the city.
'Right. Now we're getting somewhere.'
Bettina has bought us take-out, and I eat. She picks at some meat from her kebab, but that can only serve as an aperitif to what she craves.
I call a car service.
She pulls her fingerless gloves on and off.
'What's up?'
'Seriously?'
'What?'
'You take a car in, how do you get out?'
'I'll be alright.'
'You strapped?'
'I don't like guns.'
'I can go, get a piece in an hour. We got three to spare.'
'I don't like guns.'
Throws up her hands. 'You told me once a magician gets high on his own lies.'
It's true. If you aren't confident, if you aren't convinced you have a right to tread with gods and monsters, they'll be unconvinced too. If you can't rely on yourself, you'll get snapped up by magic, which seems to be amused by magicians most of all.
Still, I owe an explanation. Otherwise she'll just think I'm stupid and stubborn.
'I go in there with a gun, strapped up like a hardcase, like a cowboy, that's what I am, right? But you and I both know I'm not street and I'm not military. I like to read books and drink cuervo. But at the same time, I am a competent, skilled magician with a lot of years behind me.
'I go to this meet like a gunman, I'm a gunman. The magic knows. The symbolism of the gun is... it's pretty powerful, don't you think?'
She nods, hesitant.
'Got a gun, get respect. Pull jobs. Fight back, protect your family, threaten others. Think about all the stuff a gun means.' Again, a nod.
'But that ain't me. I'm a magician, an initiated man. Magic doesn't allow itself to be disrespected, so I want to rely on magic, I have to rely on magic.'
Frown. Nod.
'Still. Wait here.'
I go to my bedroom and find a gift from Jon. It's nine inches of blade and ugly as hell. Functional. Aside from its blue-tinted iron, it's as unpleasant as its purpose.
'This do?'
'Where'd you get this?'
'Present.'
'From who?'
'Sanest fucking psycho to walk the earth.'
'Interesting-sounding motherfucker.'
'Yeah, that he was.'
She takes the blade but she isn't finished.
'You're a man with some science, right? You know a thing or two. People talk about you like a man who knows his business.'
Flatter the ego.
'But this is my business, keeping your ass alive. I don't think you're taking it serious.'
'I. Well. Maybe. But I'll do you a deal, Bettina. I'll see this guy. And I do have some science. I don't like it, we bust the fuck out. For real. We just move. I can see things most can't and I'll know, straight away, if he's serious. I was enforcing for seven years. For the Library. That's not nothing.
'I'm not the man who gave me that blade, but I'm not soft. And I need to get close to this Ludo dude. I have to take his measure. See if he's got the volts, you know?'
One side of her mouth frowns, cutting deep into her face.
'Yeah, I hear. You smart motherfuckers can be so fucking stupid, man. I trust you to make a smart play. Cos it ain't just you can get dead from this. Me too.'
'You died.'
'Ain't eager to catch the rerun.'
Twenty-Four
Under the bridge, it used to be a tourist attraction. Like, carnival stuff. That's all closed now, all wired off. The parks here are scrub, nettle and nasty. There's a substation for... something, here. Electricity, I imagine. We walk down to the river bank, the substation towering over us at the top of an embankment. It's just sidewalk for a mile, water on one side, bridge above it all, intruding in
to the eye line. Supersolid. The water stinks of garbage and wounded salt. Glass all over the place, shattered and vicious.
We get in early. Scout the scene. On the ground, someone's drawn a glyph. Hmmm. It'll let them spy on us. That's not an easy spell to cast. It's also hidden sloppily. Slip on my glasses, check it out. Been there an hour or two.
And I recognise the style. Hi, you pricks. Tempted to wave.
Whose listening to my calls? I type out a message on my phone, show it to Bettina. 'Some one following us.'
She shrugs.
I'm in an overcoat and a suit, no tie. It's the best I've got these days. I stole the suit the day before I left the Library, and it's more than I can afford now. Same with the coat, which is wool and midnight blue and the most beautiful thing I own. My hair is slicked back, but only because I haven't had a haircut in five months. Look professional.
Two men come walking out of the night.. They stride along the sidewalk, between the water and the rusting, ugly fence like clockwork. Men about a job with an ant's efficacy. One is a guy in jeans and a hockey jersey but, if you look, you'd see something about him that's dangerous... but why would you look?
The other is the one I want to see. Ludo.
I recognise him from Jeancat's memories, but if I never saw him, I'd know he was the Man. Like me, he wears a suit. No tie. Unlike me, his suit is tailored. He looks like a fucking monolith. Jeancat made him more handsome than he is, attracted somehow to this beast, but that sloping back head, that creole skin leave me certain. He's wearing cool frameless sunglasses. I always heard you shouldn't wear glasses on the job, but he seems to be doing fine.
He clearly indicates his man is staying put.
I do the same with Bettina.
'Look at him!' she hisses. 'He's fucking OG.'
I do. I go low and slow, slipping into a meditation gaze. Samadhi stakeout vision. His glasses are something. No telling what. He's got a pendant on under his suit. Serious gear.
I leave the trance and start forward. We size each other up.
'You're a famous man.' His vowels are wide and rubber. Sudafrique for sure.
'I'm not here to talk about that.'
'You want to buy something. That's interesting, because I'm a salesman, not a store.'
'You say you know me?'
He grins. Looks me up and down. 'By reputation, blanco. You were, like, a policeman yes?'
'Nah. But close enough. And I know people. I know people from the day. You've been making a stir.'
He has no body language. He's just still. Breathing regular. I look him up and down, more and more. He's just got to have a thirty kilos on me and five inches. I'm not small. I slowly move my hand to my coat, grab a smoke and I can see him watching my hand as sure as if that little red finding dot moved with it. I realise too late it is too windy to smoke. Keep it in my mouth.
'I have been making a stir. But, well, you aren't a policeman any more, are you?'
'No. But I don't want to talk histories, and neither do you. Listen, there's things I want that I can't get any more. Can we do business? I have money. I have trade. I have favours. Do you want to talk business?'
He nods.
I look over the water, look up at the bridge, all the empty space. I'm not used to the emptiness. Too many nights in alleys and bad rooms. It leads me back to old ambitions to leave this city, but this is no place to lose focus. The wind is cold.
I go deep into trance again. While I explain to him that I need hands of glory and a mournival. He doesn't recognise either term, and I explain those too. I can see very clearly now. The tiny bulge in the suit where he keeps his weapon. No magician at all.
While I talk, I let the words hypnotise me. I'm just going to smash a sigil into this man's head and have him spilling his guts.
I listen carefully to my last sentence.
'If you can find those, I can pay and pay well.'
Create a magic word, one-time use. Use my sentence to fuel the magic. PywllwyP. Hold the shape of it in my mind. Turn it into a sigil.
I envision the shape of the glyph in my head, load it like a automatic pistol loads a bullet onto my tongue. My breath is ballistic I pretend, the sigil leaving my mouth like a round, heading between his eyes and into his brainstem.
I've done this spell a hundred times. I have. It's easy. He shouldn't even have the time to question that I've said something stupid and weird and clumsy. But the skill of magic is just finding ways to blend in, to create miracles out of the muck, to make witchcraft out of conversation.
A magic word that should rewire his desires and make them amenable to me. Spell goes off.
Doesn't land.
Suddenly, I understand what his amulet is. Idea-eater. Spell-breaker. Confidence, arrogance, is a sorcerer's tool, but I've been a fool. Hurrying. Trying to finish this quick to impress a woman.
To show everyone I'm still the man.
Idea-eater tells him straightaway what is happening.
'Fucking pathetic.'
He takes two steps to me, closing the space so quick I can't even track his movements. His fist comes up and I'm still in trance-state. React to slowly and just stare as his fist pistons back. Which is what he wants. The hand is a distraction. He kicks.
His leg strikes out, foot turned like a man making a goal. It hits me just below the knee, in the meat of the calf, and it's fucking horrible. He punches me in the side of the head and it's only the fact I'm screaming and falling backwards from his bullshit Wing Tsung moves that prevents his taking the head off me. I feel my hair catch in his fists. But even though he misses taking me in the chin, it hits me in the temple and just lights up in my skull.
Another kick to the side of my knee that's a dull and awful pain.
I'm flying back and he's already on me. He's so fast.
But so is Bettina.
She can't go five-seven and she can't go sixty kg, but one strike and he goes flying. She pushes him with one hand, fingers spread wide, and it's like a car hits him. She runs past Ludo and chops down his partner with a hand turned flat and executive. He never even got to his gat.
Then, from the substation up the bank, shots ring out. Rounds tear through her body. She doesn't drop an inch. She turns, leaps after Ludo, grabs him, uses him as a shield. I can see her guts leaking out of her like toothpaste.
'Fucking run!' she screams at me. I try but he's done something to my leg. My knee clicks and the pain races up to thigh and down to toe.
Ludo elbows her in the skull, but it means nothing to her. He grabs her thumb and pulls is back, breaking it, which breaks her hold on him. She backhands him and he rolls to take the force away. She should have caved in his face, but he's too smart for that. He goes for his gun.
Ludo's not going to mix it up eye to eye with Bettina again, that much is clear.
We retreat back. More bullets strike her in the torso.
Through the pain, I manage to put a jinx on the partner. He fires wild and Ludo gets down. But here's luck. His bullets cover us against the sniper, who curses from the distance, my ears too sore from gunfire to hear his words.
'Fucking run!'
I do. Grind my leg to splinters, but I go.
Ludo is walking backwards, finger to his ear firing. Another gunshot drives through her and then they try to go me. Up the embankment, the man with a rifle has recovered.
I've been shot at before but not this sniper shit. I scream out another word, then two more. Hiding words. Confusing words. The gunman tries again but the shot is wild and I know we're safe from him. He's unprotected and I've put a wasp in his skull.
'Sage, you come to me!'
We run. Hobble. Ludo's black autopistol fires up, raking, and I piss myself, I do. But she takes the bullets for me. The noise is huge and awful, but not as bad as feeling her body stutter and shake, raked with gunfire. Pressed against me, I feel the shock of ballistic penetration and the cold of her slow, leaked blood slicking me.
I make taxi magic, mind shar
p with fear and one comes down across the bridge. Spell I've used a hundred times like any I've cast tonight, but suddenly so desperate. Whispering the car's secret name. Adrenaline in my ears, I have to calm myself to cast it.
Safe. For now.
What the fuck was that? What. the fuck. was that?
In the taxi, I shiver.
I should put Bettina back into her grave but I'm not ready to rebury a body tonight. Not with my hands shaking. Besides, I might still need her. Tell the driver to head back to my place. I hypnotise the poor bastard into oblivion so he won't complain about corpse or blood. He'll clean up when we're gone, never noticing what he's doing. Bettina is grey and still. I can see her naked body through the tatters of her clothes. No, I can see into the cavity of her chest. Her heart doesn't beat. I sort of want to puke.
Get home. Get in.
I walk Bettina to the bath, stained with rust like tears. She's on automatic. Sleepwalker, shock victim. Reminds me of insect legs moving long after they're dead. Surround the bath with candles for a quick rite to lock in whatever necromantic information still buzzes in her body. Pour the emergency grave-dirt over her body. It will help a little. Tomorrow we'll rebury her, but this will do for now.
I leave her there in her open casket, ready to be viewed.
When that's done, I strip naked, throwing away the blood and urine stained suit. Wash myself with a towel and hot water as best I can and put on a robe. Sticky with blood and sick from used-by-date adrenaline.
Twenty-Five
I drink whisky, trying for drunk like a man meeting a deadline. Bettina's corpse is stinking out my place.
Humiliated.
That Ludo motherfucker flensed me of pride. I ice my leg and try not to catch my eyes in the windows as dawn comes up. This isn't how it was meant to be. Fuck. I smoke cigarette after cigarette.
Shame. Anger. Punching at my temples.
Amateur.
Pussy.
Fuck.
So used to being the top dog with Jon that everyone is afraid of me. So used to coasting on rep. But that shit was a long time ago and, even if he knows who I used to be, this Ludo motherfucker is pretty unimpressed with who I am.
Black City (The Lark Case Files) Page 8
