Dragon Bone

by J. D. Cavalida

  Elstrin led the way into the network of back alleys and deserted passages behind buildings that he had been cornered in so many times by bullies. It was different, walking here under bright daylight while everyone was at school or at work, but he knew the way as if there was a map laid out under his feet, pointing him to one particular space between two old office buildings. He paused and took a large, tense breath, staring into the gloomy alleyway. "This is it."

  Snow nodded, eyes roving over the trash cans lined along one side (Elstrin didn't remember those being there a year ago), the cement walls and dirty ground, the back doors sealed shut by rust and filth. He pointed at a place next to the trash cans. "You were there, right?"

  Elstrin stepped into the shadow and moved to the spot, glancing at both ends of the alley. There was a clear view, and an easy path to follow if someone saw and he had to run. No sign of dried blood anywhere, no indication at all that a murder had ever taken place here. But it had, right where he was standing. He swallowed dryly. "How can you tell?"

  "There are traces." Snow's gaze flicked around him. "It's reacting. Stay there and try to relax. You might feel sick." He walked past and stood at the other end of the alley. It was far away enough for him to become a dim silhouette. The silence stretched on. The muted noises of traffic and conversation and footsteps outside seemed to belong to a different world altogether.

  A sudden image flashed before Elstrin's eyes—same place, no dustbins, dark apart from cold yellow streetlights spilling in from outside. He gasped and clamped a hand over his mouth, fear shooting through him, scared that people would hear, see, and beat him up. An uncomfortable sensation on his hips, thighs, icy fingers gripping his legs, alternating between sticky-hot and insubstantial and cold. He felt very suddenly dizzy and detached from himself, as if he was in two bodies at once—leaning against the wall, and kneeling in front of it. He knew what was going to happen, what had already happened and would happen again—and he couldn't stop it.

  He glanced at the silhouette again, terrified now, strange half-thoughts and alien emotions barrelling through him. The figure raised its arms and there was a small glimmer, a pistol, aimed steadily at him, at them. He didn't know what he was seeing now, vision blinking into memories that weren't his, changing angles dizzyingly. The hands scrabbled at his uniform, underneath his skin, leaving and coming back, hot, cold, wet with blood, dead, desperate. He thought he saw a second shadow crouched upon one of the broken fire escapes, watching silently, but it disappeared as his sight gave another stutter.

  There was a gunshot, deafening, roaring through the air, and with a last violent wrench, the hands disappeared. Muted sunlight rushed back in. A sketchy figure appeared for a split second in front of him, glassy, lifeless eyes above a smiling mouth. Elstrin bent over and vomited.

  He groaned, spat, light-headed. He shuffled away from his discarded breakfast and slid down to sit against the wall, taking small breaths through his mouth, trying to calm his racing heart. Snow's boots entered his sight. The lieutenant tucked his gun back into its holster and offered a hand. Elstrin gripped it, staggered unsteadily to his feet.

  "Oh god. That was fucking awful," he muttered, pressing his fingers to his clammy forehead until a second wave of nausea passed. "Was that you? The gun."

  "Yeah. I fired at the ground. We should go before anyone comes investigating." He guided Elstrin out of the alleyway. The sunshine was dazzling. He blindly let Snow lead him, taking a few turns until they arrived at an unfamiliar bar several blocks away. "There's a restroom at the back. Get cleaned up and I'll get you something to drink if you want."

  The door tinkled as they went in. A momentary hush fell upon the few diners there. The barmaid, a pretty woman with a bright smile, glanced up from wiping glasses. Pleasant surprise crossed her face. "Lieutenant Snow!"

  "Hello, Liz." Snow gave Elstrin a nudge, and he set off towards the bathrooms. He heard their voices fade away as he entered the small, well-lit men's room. He rinsed out his mouth, splashed water onto his face and peered at the mirror. He looked pale and shaken. The sickness was already mostly gone—it was just the shock of how abruptly it had happened that made him queasy now. He wondered if it really worked, if the ghost was gone just like that. He didn't feel any different. There was that one instant back in the alley, the sensation of something disconnecting with him, and then the pale wisp of a face. But other than that… he wasn't sure.

  He dried his face with a paper towel, patted the dust from his uniform and went back outside.

  Snow was seated at the bar, stirring a small iced drink slowly as the barmaid chatted enthusiastically. Her customers were all pretending to eat and talk while shooting them curious glances. The waitresses who walked past, though, seemed less taken aback by his arrival, and exchanged short greetings with him. Elstrin guessed Snow came here often enough to gain the staff's friendliness.

  The barmaid looked over when Elstrin came out, her smile widening. "Hi," she said cheerfully. "You must be the cadet."

  "Um, yeah," Elstrin said as he took a seat beside Snow. "Nice to meet you."

  "Liz, this is Elstrin White; he enlisted some weeks ago," Snow said. "Elstrin, this is Elizabeth— ah, I'm not allowed to say your last name. Colonel Stag's wife."

  "Oh!" Elstrin said, surprised. "I thought he was—" He stopped himself just in time, feeling his cheeks grow hot. He stared determinedly at the rich red wood of the bar table.

  "You thought he was…?" Liz said, brown eyes interested and just a tad bit knowing.

  "N-nothing." He tried to force his blush away.

  "He's a little out of it," Snow explained, clearly amused. "I brought him down here for a spirit dismissal."

  "A dismissal? Snow!" Liz hissed, frowning instantly. "Don't talk about that here! Are you trying to scare everyone away?"

  "My apologies," Snow said mildly, glancing behind him. "Elstrin, would you like anything to drink?"

  "Uh, I'm underage," Elstrin mumbled, fiddling with his nails.

  Liz smiled. "That's okay, darling. You look like you need it. Anyway, I won't treat you like a proper soldier unless you order something alcoholic."

  "Oh. I'll—I'll have a beer, then. Please. Thanks."

  "Ah, he's adorable," Liz said with a smirk, turning away to grab a glass. "Don't you think so, lieutenant?"

  Elstrin wanted to sink away through the floor. Snow sighed and drained his glass in one gulp. "Are we done with the small-talk?"

  "Yes, yes, fine." Liz handed Elstrin his beer and unlocked the part of the table that swung up to allow her through. She went to a small door beside the bar that presumably led to whatever was upstairs.

  "Wait here," Snow told him for the second time today, following her through the door. It clicked shut. Elstrin could all of a sudden feel the intensity of everyone's eyes on the back of his head, a mutter rising up amongst the people now that he was alone. He did his best to ignore them and sipped his drink.

  A pudgy man sat down on Snow's vacated seat. He looked to be in his fifties, hairline receding and gut bulging. He smelled of alcohol. "Lookin' smart in that uniform, kid," he grunted, taking a swig from a bottle of dark liquor that he clutched in a beefy hand. "You sure ya old enough to be drinkin'?"

  "Yeah," Elstrin said, keeping the wariness out of his voice.

  "Really. You got ID?"

  "If you doubt my word, you can talk to the lieutenant when he comes back. He's the one who bought me the drink."

  The man laughed, an unpleasant, nasally sound, holding up a hand. "Naw, kid, just askin'. No

  hard feelings. So tell me, how long you been a soldier for?" He sat forward and Elstrin fought not to lean back. "'Cause I got a nephew, he's been in there for twelve years. Twelve bloody years! Started when he was, what, seventeen? I 'member he looked just like ya, all tough and proud in that uniform—but he never visits. Do they let you outta that place at all, kid?"

  Elstrin raised his eyebrows. "I'm out now, aren't I?"

  "Yeah, for�
�what did that guy say? A dismissal? The hell does that mean?"

  "I don't appreciate you eavesdropping on our conversation," Elstrin said cagily.

  "Hey, I wasn't eavesdroppin' on nobody. He just said it so loud. And ol' Lizzy, she looked worried. Is it somethin' bad, the dismissal business?"

  "You've asked me like seven questions now and I haven't answered most of them. What exactly do you want?"

  The man's face darkened. "Just tryin' to make friendly conversation, kid! Don' be so fuckin' suspicious, will ya? I ain't a cop or anythin'. Are all you soldiers so fucking stuck-up? Too good for us civilians, eh?"

  "Maybe this is why your nephew never visits," Elstrin said. "Not that he's too good, but because—to be frank—your attitude stinks."

  Plump fingers tightened upon the neck of the bottle. "You fucking brat—" the man growled, but the door swung open and Snow and Liz stepped out. Liz scowled, her friendly expression morphing into something quite intimidating.

  "What's going on here?" she snapped, hands on her hips.

  "We were just talkin'," the man said defensively, backing off when Snow came nearer.

  "Oh, but I distinctly heard you call him a rather rude and incorrect term," Snow said coolly. He was holding a manila file under an arm, but his free hand rested beside his pistol. "It would be nice for you to apologise to him, and to the colonel's wife for causing trouble in her bar."

  The man seethed, gripping his bottle like he wanted nothing more than to smash it over Snow's head, but he grumbled, "Sorry, kid, ma'am."

  "Now get out," Snow said, turning away. He produced a wallet and began to count a sum of money indifferently, handing it to Liz. "Keep the change."

  The fat man opened his mouth, closed it again and stomped out of the door. The bar was silent.

  "Well, uh, thank you, lieutenant," Liz said crossly, clearing her throat. "And thanks for dropping by. Tell my dear husband that the kids miss him."

  "Will do. Let's go, Elstrin."

  Elstrin hurriedly drank the last of his beer. "Bye," he said to Liz, hastening after Snow.

  "Take care!" Liz replied, the smile back in her voice, though she still looked miffed. Outside, the man was already nowhere to be seen.

  Snow led the way along a street that Elstrin didn't recognise. There was less traffic, and after a while, no streetlights. "What did he say to you?" Snow asked.

  "Oh, all sorts of crap. Just tryin' to make friendly fuckin' conversation, kid," he imitated. Snow, to his credit, laughed slightly. "But he wanted to know about the dismissal."

  "You didn't tell him, did you?"

  "Course not. What's in that file?"

  "Just something Liz wants me to give to the colonel. Speaking of which, what did you think he was?"

  "Um. Where're we going?"

  Snow raised an eyebrow. "I don't have to answer your questions if you're not going to answer mine."

  "Okay, fine! I thought he was gay!" Elstrin squeaked and slapped a hand over his lips, mortified that he'd just blurted it out like that. Several passersby stared at him.

  "How'd you figure that?"

  "It doesn't even matter. It's not true."

  They rounded another corner. The roads were beginning to look sloppy and old, the shops around them small and seedy. The people here glared at them. Snow paid them no heed. "I know it doesn't matter. I'm just interested."

  "You two look close."

  "You think we're a couple?" This time Snow's laugh was much richer. "That's… fairly disturbing."

  "Hey, you're the one who said he tried to grope you," Elstrin argued.

  "Yes. He claimed his hands were cold." Snow shook his head with a wistful smile. "He and I have never been and will never be together like that. We're good friends; that's all. Stag is straight, happily married, and has two young children."

  "Aw. Cute."

  "Quite," Snow agreed. He dropped his voice. "Stay close to me."

  Elstrin glanced at the steadily deteriorating buildings, the increasingly suspicious citizens. The streets weren't all paved, and the road was barely wide enough for a car. "We're in the slums," he realised.

  "Not yet." Snow hid something in his palm and passed it to Elstrin. A folded switchblade, heavy and smooth. He put it in his pocket. "Don't use that unless absolutely necessary."

  "Is this another learning experience?" Elstrin muttered. "Did you have to bring me?"

  "Yes, and not really. But you're here anyway, so just pay attention and be careful."

  The houses became shacks, with slouching walls made of pieces of corrugated iron. The shops were just tables of items laid out inside crude tents and booths. Surprisingly, it wasn't overly dirty here, though the air smelled of sewerage. It was just… broken. Like something had collapsed from tiredness and found itself unable to get back up again, legs gradually decaying away into nothing.

  "Does Stag even know you're doing this?"

  "He has a clue. I visit this place whenever I have time in the city anyway."

  "Why?"

  "I have friends here, and obligations." There was a muffled shout from one of the shacks, a tinkle of breaking glass. "Don't look," he warned, just as Elstrin was about to glance at the direction of the noise. "When it's not your business, you ignore it."

  The shouting gave way to a woman's hysterical sobbing. "But we're soldiers," Elstrin whispered, unnerved. "Aren't we supposed to help?"

  "Not unless absolutely necessary," Snow repeated.

  They went deeper into what was now a maze, streets meandering between the crumbling structures without rules, splitting and ending as they wished. Nobody spoke to them. After a while, the unwelcome glowers seemed to lessen, and some people—more children than adults—looked at them with recognition. It was quiet, this deep into the slums, without the constant drone of transport. The only noises were sounds that should've been enclosed inside a house: babies crying, dogs yapping, flames hissing and pots clanging as women crouched outside and stirred bowls of what might be food, the slow drip of water into plastic tubs either for washing or drinking. Concrete and asphalt had disappeared altogether; they walked on pressed dirt, sometimes sheets of metal that shuddered and rang under their combat boots.

  After what felt like an eternity (they weren't very fast), Snow stopped outside one of the few actual buildings in here. It was a tiny, squat house with only a single window, walls painted a powder blue that was peeling heavily, but next to its neighbours it looked like a palace. There was no door, just a curtain of mismatched beads hanging over the entrance. Something unintentionally clumsy about the way the beads were strung made Elstrin imagine that a child had done it.

  There was a chain of light, fast footsteps, and a young girl burst out of the house with a delighted squeal, the beads whipping wildly behind her for a moment. She ran straight at Snow and collided with his midsection, flinging her arms around his waist. "SNOWY!" she yelled at the top of her lungs, giggling uncontrollably a second later. She looked no older than eight.

  Snow grunted, grimaced silently at the strength of her embrace and patted her dark brown hair. "Good morning, Keri. How—"

  "Gabe said you'd come visit today," she beamed, grabbing his wrist and beginning to tug him forward. She stopped abruptly when she caught sight of Elstrin. "Who're you?" she said blankly.

  "I'm the cadet that Lieutenant Snowy is training," Elstrin said with a smirk. Snow glared at him.

  "Oh. So… you're his friend?"

  "Yeah, sure. We're friends. Aren't we, Snowy?"

  "Or maybe we'll stop being friends after we leave and I ask Stag to sign me out of the training program," Snow muttered, allowing the girl to drag him indoors.

  "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Sir," Elstrin said quickly, brushing the curtain aside to follow them in. The room was dim and hot—there weren't any lights on the low ceiling. Worn floorboards creaked under his weight. The only furniture here was a ratty couch pushed against one wall, and a bent lamp next to it. There was a neat opening in the floor and a narrow
staircase that led down to some sort of basement.

  "You're always leaving," the girl complained, hopping down the stairs, her messy ponytail bobbing. "Why can't you stay with me and Gabe sometimes?"

  "I'm busy," Snow said, descending easily, obviously used to the ominous way the stairs groaned and protested. Elstrin was more careful, testing his footing on each small step, wincing as he felt the wood sink slightly. "And I'm sure your brother is busy too. He won't have time to take care of a guest."

  "You're a soldier," Keri said with the kind of exasperation that only a child could pull off, the duh voice. "You don't need to be taken care of."

  Snow smiled and didn't reply.

  The stairs led to a larger space with more old furniture and some attempts at decoration. The white plaster on the walls was graced with random patches of adornment, crayon scribbles on one corner and bits of wallpaper on another. A fan hummed steadily at the far end of the room, stirring the otherwise stagnant air. Elstrin guessed that this was the living room, dining room and kitchen all at once, judging by the jumble of armchairs and stools, the small table and the little refrigerator sitting by the wall. There were two other doorways, again barred by bead curtains in place of doors.