I fished out my tobacco pouch from my pocket. The heat had dried it out, and the tab I rolled was awkward because of it. ‘I used to give that speech better.’
‘How did people respond?’
‘Depended on who I gave it to.’
‘How are you going to respond?’
‘Say it goes easy.’ I lit my cigarette. ‘What would that look like?’
Guiscard opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out an ashtray, then set it in front of me. ‘We aren’t entirely without resources, nor are we unwilling to compensate associates for their assistance.’
‘What kind of assistance?’
‘Let’s begin with what you know.’
‘I know lots of things, Guiscard. We start in that direction and we’ll be here all day.’
‘Confine yourself to the recent goings-on of the Veterans’ Association.’
‘They’ve got a march coming up.’
‘So far I’m not blown out of my seat.’
‘And before fifty thousand men charge the palace, Pretories is gonna detail a few of them to burn out a syndicate.’
That didn’t quite blow him out of his seat either, but he leaned back in it at least, mulling things over before responding. ‘To what end?’
‘I’m not privy to his innermost thoughts. I suspect this thing with the Private’s Silver has him unsettled. Makes him look weak, like he can’t take care of his people. So while he’s got the numbers he figures he’ll use them, remind everybody that the Association isn’t to be taken lightly, and neither is their leader.’
‘Who’s the target?’
‘He wouldn’t tell me outright, but I suspect the Giroies. They’re big enough to win him some merit but small enough to swallow without choking. And there’s still a lot of bad blood between the two, after what happened last time.’
‘Last time,’ he repeated thoughtfully. ‘Going after a syndicate – that was more in his predecessor’s line, if I remember my history.’
‘I guess he’s feeling sentimental.’
Guiscard cleared his throat obtrusively. ‘This is all a bit . . . difficult to believe.’
‘That’s the nice thing about being omniscient – you can wait around for life to prove you right. Then you get to laugh at the people who didn’t believe you.’
‘What does Joachim want you for?’
‘I’m reasonably well informed as to underworld gossip. He hoped I’d spread the scuttlebutt one further.’
Guiscard cleared his throat again. It seemed to have replaced his sneer as the go-to in his arsenal of mannerisms. ‘Your suspicions aren’t exactly rock solid.’
‘I asked him to sign a confession, but for some reason he proved leery.’
‘So you got nothing.’
‘Today I got nothing.’ I leaned forward and pressed my tab out into the ashtray. ‘In a week I’ll be the smartest motherfucker alive, and you’ll marvel at my intuition.’
He shrugged affably, then gestured toward the door. ‘I guess I’ll see you next week then.’
I whistled walking home, though the sun parched my throat and my head buzzed for a shot of breath. The dominos were falling in line. Soon it would be time to tip another one over.
26
I spent the rest of the day looking after various aspects of my business that had gone to seed while I’d been sprinting about the city like some addled knight errant. It was a slow month, uncomfortably so. The weather had sapped the recreational instincts of my clients, and the bartenders and short dealers who copped from me were mostly still flush. Something about hundred-degree heat made people less interested in hopping themselves up on breath. Most of my top-end trade, the Kor’s Heights boys and budding merchant princes, were spending high summer on their country plantations, so that avenue had dried up as well. It was an unprofitable afternoon, and it left me in something of a mood.
The messenger came by while I was eating my way through the mutton stew Adeline had made for dinner. It was too fucking hot to be eating mutton stew, and frankly I was happy for the interruption.
Beneath that, as if suspecting that his promise alone would be insufficient to move me, he had written:
As it happened, so did I. All the same, I figured seeing what Iomhair had to tell me was worth the walk. I finished off my mutton, smoked a cigarette, and went upstairs to get twenty ochre. Actually giving it to him was, of course, a last resort, and not one I imagined I’d need. Most likely I’d lie or beat out whatever Gilchrist had or thought he had, but on the off-chance the man had grown a spine since last we spoke, I figured it couldn’t hurt to have a back-up.
The evening was the rare balmy dollop, still sticky as ball sweat but a fair improvement over the afternoon. I glided through streets empty of traffic, enjoying the constitutional and trying not to fixate on the destination. Iomhair’s house was as unprepossessing as ever. Someone had scratched ‘cunt’ across his run of new paint, presumably the same wag responsible for the original, though I imagined it was a popular sentiment.
Habit being what it was I didn’t bother to knock, but for once the door was locked. ‘Gilchrist,’ I yelled. ‘Open the fuck up.’
No answer – nothing spoken, at least. But from inside I heard a bustle of motion, and muted mutterings, and I wondered if perhaps Gilchrist hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d demanded my haste.
I sprinted around the side of the building in time to see a man climbing out of Iomhair’s side window. There wasn’t enough light to make out any detail, but I figured he was unlikely to be a clandestine lover so I upped my speed and launched myself at him. He still had one leg hanging from the frame, an awkward position to be in when someone sets their shoulder into your chest. I heard something pop on the way down, probably his ankle, but it didn’t slow him. We tumbled through the dust, nothing pretty or skillful about it. He got his hands around my throat but I broke free, reared up and hammered his chin into the dirt. A few more of those and he went limp, and I pulled him to his feet and set him up against the wall.
In the pause I recognized him, the white-haired mope I’d seen hanging around the last time I’d gone to visit Pretories. It took his mind a long moment to square itself from the beating he’d taken, then his eyes fixed on my face and gleamed with recognition. ‘What are you doing here?’
I hesitated in answering, trying to think up something smart. It’s a good thing I’m not all that clever because the silence was interrupted by a noise from the alley behind me, and I grabbed my man and swung him around. It was instinct – I can’t pretend I knew what the sound was, but on some dim level I realized it was better to have my captive between me and it.
There was another sound then, one I did recognize – the
At that distance there was a fair chance the bolt would have passed through its target with enough force to do me as well. I didn’t take time to enjoy my luck. Leaving the mug to drop where he was I dove back through the window, an awkward motion, desperate and ungainly, my shin banging against the frame. Once inside I ducked down below the window, taking care not to present a target. A taper on the desk provided the only light, and I searched for something to knock it over with. My hands settled on a heavy ledger, and I sent it spinning at the candle. Given the debris there was a better than average chance the falling spark would set the place off like a tinderbox.
But it didn’t, and I stayed crouched down in the dark, my trench blade in one hand, a throwing knife in the
