She Who Waits (Low Town 3)

by Daniel Polansky

  ‘I’d do anything for the Crown,’ Harribuld said, affronted, though of course he’d never done anything for anyone. Had he served in the war, I wondered? Probably he had spent his tour attached to some elderly general with four stars on his lapel, never came close enough to the front to smell the shit and blood. Probably had himself a chest of medals somewhere, commemorating his noble service. I made a mental note to look it up in his file when I got back to Black House. We had files on everyone – getting to sift through the dirty laundry of strangers was one of the perks of being an agent. There were a lot of perks, truth to tell.

  ‘Then it won’t be any trouble for you to answer a few questions.’

  ‘But then you see, there’s the Crown,’ he continued on as if he hadn’t heard me. ‘And then there’s the Crown.’ It was clear which end I sat on.

  ‘A neat distinction – we make a similar one, at Black House. There are loyal subjects, and there are disloyal subjects. Amongst the latter would include anyone unwilling to participate in an ongoing investigation.’

  Arrogance gives the upper crust a dash which can occasionally be mistaken for courage, though of course it stems from a different root entirely. It’s not a disregard for danger, rather the belief that their position keeps them immune from harm. He twisted his mustache till I thought it might detach from his face, then snapped his hands to his sides and stood up. ‘I’ve heard all about the policies of your superior. You can go back and tell him that there are still men in the Empire unaccustomed to cringing like dogs before their lessers. You can tell him that my father’s father led the King’s armies into battle, and I’ll be damned before I bend knee to some trumped up tradesman.’

  I let his words hang in the firmament for longer than necessary. I always enjoyed watching them right at the crest, so certain of themselves, so unprepared for what was about to come. ‘Is there anything else you’d like relayed?’

  He didn’t bother to answer that.

  ‘Here’s what’s going to happen, Harribuld. I’m going to walk up out of here, because the stench of unearned wealth is getting too much for me to stomach. I’m going to roll, light and enjoy a cigarette. Then I’m going to go back to Black House and find whatever it is you don’t want found.’ His mustache quivered, prelude to an objection but I continued without pause. ‘There’s no point in arguing – everyone’s got something, you bluebloods more than most. Gambling losses, taxes, girls, boys – it doesn’t matter. It’s there, and I’ll get it. Then I’ll come back over here and bend you over it until you break right in two. We’ll cart you off to a cell in the tower, and a dozen men in jackboots will trail mud onto your carpets and get their fingerprints on your heirlooms. Your house will get sold at auction, your prized possessions find their way to sidewalk antique dealers.’ I laughed loud enough to scandalize the butler. ‘You fucking nobles, you crack me up. You traded power for wealth and comfort, and while you were sodomizing the help and perfuming yourself, fresher men, men like me, we came and picked up what you cast aside. And now, right now, this very second, you’re looking at me and realizing it. Because your name, and your line, and that fake mole affixed to your cheek, they don’t mean shit. I’m the new breed, Harribuld, get a strong whiff. What I don’t own now I’ll own soon. Acclimatize yourself and your retirement can be comfortable. Fuck with me and I’ll snap you like a toothpick.’

  I stood up. ‘But first, there’s that cigarette.’ He was near spitting in fury at this point, shaking with it, but that would pass in a moment. The aristocracy had their spine bred out of them long ago. ‘If I was you, and I thank the Firstborn I’m not – I’d spend a moment considering how seriously you take class loyalty. Your father’s father led the King’s armies into battle – what do you want your son to do?’

  It had been pissing rain all day, and even in Kor’s Heights they hadn’t gotten around to laying down cobblestone. Back then there weren’t two paved miles of track in the whole city, just a few streets by the Palace maybe. My boots were thick with mud after a few steps, and the rain beat against my coat, but even so it was a distinct improvement over the atmosphere inside.

  I took up a spot across the street from the Duke’s main gate. I wanted his butler to have to tramp through the grime when he came to get me. It took a while to light my cigarette, what with the weather, but when I managed it, it tasted fucking incredible. I was savoring the thing, about halfway through it, when one of our official carriages rolled up next to me. The door swung open, and a man in ice gray slipped out.

  Maggins was not prone to overreaction – he wasn’t particularly bright, and he had something of a temper, but I accepted both because he stayed calm when others didn’t. It was what had earned him a position as something of my second-in-command, and it was why I was very concerned that he seemed distinctly out of sorts. ‘Chief needs to speak with you.’

  ‘Tell him I’ll swing by after I wrap this up. Shouldn’t be long.’

  Maggins shook his head, and now I noticed that he was in a very dark humor indeed. ‘Not later. Now. It’s about your woman.’

  Harribuld’s butler was sprinting over to meet us, petticoats raised above the mud. ‘Agent, please, if you’ll excuse me, the Duke would very much like to resume your conversation.’

  ‘One fucking minute,’ I said, then turned back to my colleague. ‘What about Albertine?’ I asked furiously.

  But Maggins didn’t answer, and that was answer enough.

  13

  Nothing happened for a couple of days.

  I mean, things happened. Babies were born, old folks died, lovers quarreled, addicts copped. Good men did evil and the occasional bad man stumbled his way into an act of virtue. The rich got a little bit richer, the poor scraped by as best they could, and the hoax took their end, as usual. It was as busy a week as it ever was in Rigus – but so far as things related to me, the Sons of Śakra and Black House, nothing happened for a couple of days. I made a point of enjoying the interim, knowing it wouldn’t last.

  Hume hesitated a moment in the doorway, a bruise against the afternoon sun. He wore the standard cut of his faction, a formless smock that made an extravagance of sobriety, a grim brown skullcap on top of it. The glare hid his face, but not his scowl.

  Inside the Staggering Earl a handful of patrons stared back warily. The fanatics weren’t much welcome in Low Town. It’s not that welcoming a place. On the other hand, that sadly oversized segment of our clientele for whom an evening’s entertainment meant getting blood on their knuckles wouldn’t come in till later. The daylight drunks sprinkled about my establishment weren’t in the mood to start trouble any more than they were to work an honest ten hours.

  It was mid-morning, and I was sipping a cup of coffee at a back table. Adolphus was up at the counter, discussing the qualifications of the new High Chancellor with a pair of alcoholics. No great debater, our Adolphus, but he could hold his own against the collected wit of two hardened winos. It didn’t hurt that his baritone bellowed out from a chest as broad as a bull’s, nor that slumped against the counter he was half-again the height of his patrons.

  ‘Hasn’t been head of the Admiralty for eight months, now they give him the scepter? Don’t make a copper’s worth of sense.’

  ‘He’s part of Alfred’s circle,’ the first answered, jaw flapping beneath a nose like a burst tomato. ‘Guess the King figures he’s sharp enough to snort breath at orgies, he must be sharp enough to run the Empire.’

  ‘Never would have happened when Good Queen Bess was alive,’ his companion said. The first took a worn hat off his head and held it against his chest.

  Good Queen Bess had been Old Queen Bess before she died. My countrymen are fools. So are everyone else’s, of course.

  Hume noticed me finally, walked over and took up a position at my table. ‘May I sit?’

  ‘I’ve got an eleven-thirty with the Patriach of Miradin, but if you think you can wrap this up before then …’

  It took him longer than it should have to
realize that was a yes. When he did sit he did so with the smallest possible modicum of grace, dropping uneasily on his stool, the long saber which completed his costume trailing awkwardly against the floor. He wore a brown coat over his gray tunic, and he was sweating through both, though it was mid-October, and the day far from hot. For some reason he seemed younger than he did during our first meeting, his forehead red with acne. Then again, everyone seems young at my age. I distrust the youth – there’s no one more fanatical. Fired by the ardor of ignorance, happy to throw away life untasted.

  ‘I confess, Brother Hume, it’s a surprise to see you again. I’d have thought our last encounter would have been enough to set you off Low Town for a while.’

  ‘You don’t have a man waiting with a crossbow this time.’

  ‘I didn’t last time either.’

  His eyes swelled up in his head, and to judge by his trouble speaking he might have swallowed something round, solid, and about the size of an egg. It took him about fifteen seconds or so to choke it down, and I was polite enough to let him do so in silence. ‘My superior wants a meeting,’ he said finally.

  ‘I’m having the most overwhelming sense of déjà vu.’

  ‘Do you think I like coming to see you?’ Hume asked.

  ‘Masochism is a surprisingly common feature of the human condition.’

  ‘Do you like seeing me?’

  ‘It’s never been a particular passion of mine, of course.’

  ‘If you find my company so unpleasant, then you ought do what you can to see yourself out of it. It’s not as if you can’t shave half an hour out of your busy schedule to come and hear what the Director has to say. You’d save yourself a lot of time and trouble if you’d stop acting clever and actually were so.’

  I’d been waiting for Hume to come up with some sort of an argument to convince me to drop my reticence, feigned as it was. ‘Fine,’ I said, standing. ‘Let me leak a puddle first.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m going to go piss,’ I said slowly. ‘And then I’ll come back, and we can leave.’

  ‘Oh. All right.’

  I strolled into the back, then up the stairs to my room. From beneath my bed I removed a black trunk, containing the small arsenal of weapons I’d kept from the war and added to occasionally thereafter. A throwing dagger went into a boot, a longer fighting dirk went into my belt. Thinking it over, I palmed one last blade, a tiny thing about the length of my middle finger, slipping it in place just above my wrist. If the Sons decided to search me I could give up the first two, but no one short of an engaged professional would find the third.

  Hume was as I’d left him, rigid against the back of his seat, overlooking the Earl with exaggerated distaste. ‘Dressed, primed and ready for the ball,’ I said, and followed him out.

  The main chapter house for the Sons of Śakra was a large building in the city center. In contrast to their usual aesthetic, it was actually quite lovely. White stone off a thriving thoroughfare, the facade an elaborate but far from garish depiction of the six daevas kneeling before Śakra the Firstborn. From the entrance, if you aimed your eyes right, you could make out the Palace, crystalline towers shooting above the skyline. A concrete reminder of how little there really was at stake in the current conflict, the fundamental similarities between the two sides. Which very rich person would control Rigus? It was of passing interest to most of the folk in my neighborhood, most of the folk in the Empire.

  A pretty young woman in a homely frock sitting at a desk smiled when we came in. It was her job, smiling at people, but I think she turned it on particularly hard for Simeon. ‘Hello Brother Hume,’ she said. ‘Is this your guest?’

  ‘Directory business,’ Hume said gruffly, stretching himself to his full height and trying to sound impressive. The girl blushed and stared at her feet. Hume blushed and stared at his. I kept my own eyes level – someone needed to keep a lookout for where we were going.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ the girl said after a moment. ‘It’s none of my concern, of course.’

  Hume made this sort of choking noise in the back of his throat. I got the sense that speaking to women was not his strong suit. At this point I was having trouble figuring out what was. Scowling and rigid self-denial, but that will only get you so far. ‘Stay here,’ Hume said. ‘I’ll make sure the Director is ready to see you.’ He disappeared into the back, and the receptionist watched every step with bright eyes and a sad smile.

  I leaned across the desk. ‘Don’t take it personal. He’s under a tremendous amount of stress at the moment.’

  ‘Of course,’ she agreed.

  ‘Really an extraordinary thing, a man so young tasked with such a grave enterprise.’

  ‘He’s an exceptional person,’ she said.

  ‘Most men wouldn’t be willing to make such a sacrifice.’

  ‘Brother Hume is very dedicated.’

  ‘Of course, of course. Still, leaving Sarah and the children back in the provinces to come here and support the cause …’ I clucked my tongue. ‘Truly inspirational.’

  She was so caught up with the tune it took her a moment to follow the lyrics. ‘Sarah?’

  ‘His wife, of course, and the mother of his five sons. Wait, no …’ I snapped my fingers. ‘Six sons. I forgot little Hieronymous. Born since he’s been here in the city, you know. I’m sure he’d like nothing better than to be back in his hovel making more. But duty calls you know, and our Simeon is not one to shirk it. Are you all right, dear? You seem to have gone pale all of a sudden.’

  ‘It’s … it’s nothing.’

  ‘Maybe grab a drink of water,’ I said. When she didn’t respond I took a seat in the waiting area, happy to have done my good deed for the day.

  After a moment the door opened and Harribuld walked out of it.

  He’d aged, and not well. Muscle had long ago swelled into fat, and he’d allowed his hair to revert to its natural color of cobweb. He was dressed badly, for a man of his means – his suit was stained and sufficiently far out of date that even I was able to recognize it as such. It had been a long time since we’d seen each other, but the deliberate lack of attention he gave me, and the slow fade of his skin tone from fevered red to pale green, let me know he hadn’t forgotten.

  I could have told him, ten years ago, not to take my deal. That it was better to go toe-to-toe, take the risk of getting knocked out straight, than it was to spend the rest of your life being bled of everything you were. Once Black House got its hooks into you, that was the end, you were theirs forever. And it’s an uncomfortable thralldom.

  He waddled out into the street, an old man, well broken.

  What was a Black House snitch doing talking to the head of security for the Sons? And more importantly, why had I seen him? One principle of running a covert operation is that you try and keep things – well, covert. Particularly for an organization like the Sons, for whom any slip would see them fall from legitimate political organization, secure under the King’s peace, to terrorist radicals hunted to the ends of the Empire. The Sons had no way of knowing that I was once again working for the Old Man, but they had equally no reason to trust me. Was it simple incompetence that had caused such an avoidable scheduling error? If so, I couldn’t figure out what the Old Man was so worried about.

  I marked it down as something to chew over later, and turned my focus to the immediate. Brother Hume gave me a wave from the door Harribuld had just come out of, and I got up to join him. Inside was a stairwell, and a very serious looking gentleman with more than theoretical musculature.

  ‘I’m afraid we’re gonna have to search you,’ Hume said, not sounding particularly fearful.

  ‘No need.’ I pulled the throwing knife from my boot and passed it over, then did the same with the dirk. Security put them in a nearby cubby, then looked over at Hume. He gave a quick nod, shortly after which I found myself up against the wall. It was a competent search, but I’m more than competent at hiding things. When it was through, the steel I�
��d secreted in my sleeve remained where it was. I didn’t think I’d need it, but it was nice to know I was better at this sort of business than the Steps.

  Hume nodded at a door at the top of the stairwell. ‘The Director will see you.’

  I climbed up, Hume following me close enough that I could smell the oatmeal he’d had for breakfast. By the Lost One, even his eating habits were boring.

  The room was the same color as the Steps’ outfits. The walls were brown and the floor was brown and the desk was brown and so was the man sitting behind it. He stood to greet me as I came in, which was uncommonly courteous, under the circumstances.

  ‘Cerial Egmont,’ he said, offering his hand.

  Cerial Egmont was dark, handsome and serious. His grip was strong, but the skin was soft – he might give the orders, but he wasn’t executing them. I pegged him for a noble, something small but distinguished, the family recently titled or old but sunk into genteel poverty. High enough to know which cocktail fork to use at banquet, but low enough to have aspirations beyond spending his inheritance. Contra Hume, he was not dressed in the traditional frock of the sect to which he belonged. No surprise there – don’t matter the organization, the top folk never need to follow the rules. He wore a set of bifocals that made his eyes seem larger than they were, pools of mahogany that urged you to trust him, that his interests were yours, and yours his, and whatever minor problems you had could be resolved amicably. He was doing everything he could to make himself seem older, but I’d have eaten dog droppings if he’d rung in his thirty-fifth year. That made him awful young to be in the position he held. Either the man up top was a fool, or he’d seen something special in Cerial. I’d have bet the latter, but then again I’m wrong a lot.

  ‘A distinct pleasure,’ I answered.