fields and brought south. Fifteen years earlier they’d have been called out to fight the Dren. They were the nephews and sons of the men they would soon be attacking, though it would have been too much to ask of them to realize it.
It was a vast host, too thick a chunk of humanity to comfortably force down. I hadn’t seen its like since the war itself. Reminded me of the war in a lot of ways, looking at the faces of men soon to die and knowing nothing can be done to stop it. At least during the war everyone was aware of the possibility of imminent demise. But the atmosphere at the march was anything but tense, self-righteous certainty buttressed by the joyous folly of the crowd. They’d have thought me mad if I’d tried to tell them what I knew, or taken me for a provocateur and lynched me from the nearest pole. Nobody likes being told they’re walking in the wrong direction, even if the trail ends at a cliff.
I struggled my way through the tightening mass, conscious of the hour’s steady beat. Closer to the front progress choked to a standstill, and I started throwing elbows and getting them back in return. The storm rumbled from a few blocks over, but from where I stood the sun was bright as it had been the last week. Too bright, you had to squint against it. Sometimes that’s how close it is, the line between the two.
There was a barrier separating the organizers from the mob. I saw Adolphus on the other side of it, not for the first time grateful that he was closer to two men than one. I hopped over the obstruction, ignoring the dirty looks of the unwashed. The press of people loosened enough that I could make out the face standing at Adolphus’s side. They were smiling to each other and talking, but they cut that shit short at my approach.
For a moment the ties that bound me to the giant, ties that were strong enough to have induced me to risk my life in getting him to safety, strained. I looked at Wren, then back at his guardian savagely. ‘Are you out of your fucking mind?’
Dimly Adolphus must have realized he’d overstepped, or perhaps our last interaction was still wearing on him, because he didn’t answer.
‘Not enough risking your own fool life, you gotta drag the boy in as well?’
‘I can take care of myself,’ Wren piped in, doing his best approximation of an adult. ‘I’m man enough.’
I cuffed him against the side of the head, hard enough to set him to his knees. ‘No, you ain’t. Not nearly. Get home, now.’
He peered up at me, then over at Adolphus, who seemed strangely apathetic, paralyzed by my arrival. After a moment he dragged himself off the ground, then slipped out from the crowd, shaken and pale.
I felt great about myself. Adolphus still refused to look straight at me, his one eye fluttering off at the margins. ‘We’d best follow his example. Right now.’
He ejected a thimble of spit from his square jaw. ‘I’m not talking about this with you again. I made my decision. It’s settled.’ A drop of rain splattered against his pockmarked nose.
‘Today ends badly.’
‘Never pegged you for a prophet.’
‘I got the inside line.’
‘From whom?’
‘The head of Black House.’
Adolphus shot a quick look around, concerned that my intemperate announcement might have made its way to the men surrounding us. ‘Keep your voice down.’
‘There’s no time for subtlety – the Old Man’s gonna make his move, and make it soon, and when he does blood’s gonna water the dust.’
He had enough respect for me not to call it a bluff, which I appreciated. But still it took him a while to process it, time we didn’t have, my heart beating near through my chest. Adolphus wasn’t stupid, but he was slow – sudden shifts of direction were not his strong suit. Finally he reached a decision. ‘Even if that’s the case – especially if that’s the case – I’m not going anywhere. These are my people. I’ll stand with them.’
‘Wren’s your people. Adeline’s your people.’ I set my palm against his chest and shoved him, playing the frantic, though it wasn’t hard to fake it. His bulk barely wavered, but at least it got his attention. ‘I’m your fucking people.’
He didn’t have anything to say to that, but then he didn’t have to. Stalemate would kill us both – I needed to shock him into movement.
‘Pretories is a Black House plant,’ I said, loud enough to make sure our neighbors heard it.
A thunderclap echoed in the distance, and not the distant distance either. Adolphus took a quick look around, checking the audience for signs of threat, then hissed under his breath. ‘Don’t be tossing that kind of shit around.’
‘He’s been working for the Throne since he let Roland Montgomery get killed.’
‘That’s bullshit. You got no cause to talk like that.’ But his voice fluttered.
‘Pretories bit the Old Man’s gold and didn’t taste the lead.’
‘How do you know this?’ Adolphus asked, though I bet he could have made a solid guess.
‘Because I was the one behind it – it was my way into Special Ops. I thought Roland was crazy, or maybe I didn’t – it doesn’t matter now. I did it, and Joachim was in on it, and he hasn’t gotten any better in the last twelve years. This . . .’ I waved my hand at the mob that was beginning to show signs of movement. ‘It’s a pageant, a way for the veterans to loose some fury off aimlessly. Except it isn’t – the Old Man thinks Pretories has got too big and plans to put him down, and when he does things are going to get bad, real bad, bad for everyone here, understand? It’s too late for these people, but it’s not too late for us.’
His mouth hung open, condemnation or confusion, I never did find out. There was an explosion from somewhere in the back, and an uninterrupted half hour of screaming began.
I’d been expecting its arrival. The Old Man hadn’t bothered to divulge specifics of his set-up, but the easiest way to do anything is backwards. Who was to say there wasn’t an extreme contingent of the Association discontent with Joachim’s policy of non-violence? Who was to say they hadn’t brought in explosives, set them off at the outskirts as an exercise in nihilistic radicalism? No one, not after today.
The crowd was as unprepared as a virgin, and in the immediate aftermath reacted with stunned confusion – but stampede was in the air as certain as the storm. The guards semi-circled ahead of us, however, were not surprised, not at all – if one had a grim turn of mind, one might even imagine they’d known about it beforehand. They didn’t march forward so much as surge, a coiled spring unwound, wading into the front ranks and swinging their big, knobbed clubs.
Pretories had filled the first rank with war heroes, men like Adolphus, thinking their status would be certain proof against violence. He’d reckoned without the Old Man’s savagery – a curious error given their history. Two men holding a banner aloft found themselves the first casualties, their message inked over with blood. An amputee stumbled backward over his crutches trying to escape, a line of medals pinned across his chest. Having lost a leg for his country, he had perhaps thought he’d earned the right not to be beaten to death by men in its employ. It never pays to underestimate ingratitude.
Truth was even the Association’s muscle, Rabbit and Hroudland, the men who’d taken care of Giroie, hadn’t come prepared for a fight. The switch between civilization and barbarism isn’t a finger snap, even the most savage of motherfuckers needs a few minutes to get going. The line of marchers stretched well back into the horizon. Most of them couldn’t see what was going on, but those who did started moving backwards.
Pretories did his best to rally them, grabbing up a standard and waving it in the breeze. Last-minute heroics weren’t really his line, but he did all right. More than that, if I’m being honest. He moved with courage, and certainty. Roland himself couldn’t have done any better.
One of his boys, one I hadn’t ever thought to pay attention to, one who looked pretty much like the rest, lifted his hand up to his commander’s neck. There was a bright line of scarlet. The colors dropped into the dust. Pretories followed.
It was a quick few seconds, easy to miss. I doubted many saw it. That was how the Old Man got to be so old, you see – he always has a piece behind you. I wondered who’d get me, when the time came. I wouldn’t see it coming, of that I was sure.
Considering the trouble I’d gone through to see it happen, the death of Joachim Pretories provided me little pleasure. Watching his men trample his corpse in the dirt trying to escape, it was hard to hate him. All things considered, I’d met worse men. But then again, I’d killed better ones, so there wasn’t no point in getting sentimental.
