“Pedr is a known quantity. He’s been a fink for the Council for years. I only let Pedr see the things I want the Council to see. He’s been a very useful tool, Jacob.”
I could hear muffled clawing upstairs, like heavy cloth being torn. I glanced up. Valentine followed my gaze.
“The Henri-Bearings. Owners of the house. By the time they get free or someone misses them, we should be well on our way. Unless the Badge is already on their way, Jacob. Say, if someone who came here was being followed. Or escorted.”
“Oh. Oh, you don’t think it’s me?” I leaned back in my chair, very careful to keep my hands on my knees. “You can’t think it’s me.”
“Tomb has been talking to me, but no one knows that. Not Emily, not Pedr. But you know it.”
“Emily told me. She said…”
“You have family on the Council, Jacob. You went to the Academy.”
“Which is why I’m good for you. That’s the very reason you hired me in the first place: the people I know, the places I can go without causing a stir. Valentine, seriously, you can’t think it’s me.”
Again, he was quiet, unmoving. Upstairs someone shifted, slid heavily across the floor.
“I don’t. It’s an interesting angle, but I don’t think it’s the right one. See, these Council goons who are tumbling my operations, they’re looking for some people. Specifically, they’re looking for you. And they’re looking for Emily.”
“That’s not good. Maybe I should duck down for a while, find a deep hole and bury. You have a place I could do that, Valentine?”
He shook his head. “I can’t have it, Jacob. I can’t have the Council tearing down the industry I’ve built. It’s a fragile thing, depends on trust as much as it depends on gold. People need to feel safe with me, Jacob. I can’t offer that with officers of the Badge kicking in my doors, can I?”
“You can’t… you aren’t going to turn me in, are you?”
He smiled. It looked like a theater mask, a wild grin playing to the back seats. “I’m not. That’s also bad for business. But look, I can’t have you around. I can’t help you. And I can’t help Emily. Whatever’s going on, you need to fix it.” He stood up and walked to the door. “Stay away from my outfit until things are cleaned up. It’s been good working with you. Cacher will leave your piece out back, behind the house.”
He walked out of the room, just like that.
“What am I supposed to do?”
He paused in the hallway. I could see his broad back, facing away from me.
“Survive. It’s what people do, Jacob. Or they don’t, and then it doesn’t really matter.”
And then he left.
Chapter Five
I cleared out of the house shortly after Valentine made his own exit. Cacher and his boys had abandoned their posts at the front, probably to escort Valentine back to some other safehouse until the Badge pressure eased. Rather than follow Valentine and maybe catch the eye of some curious passerby, I took the back door.
The pains in my chest were getting worse. This happened sometimes, some bit of the damaged machinery worked loose or missed a cycle and I was left with a heartache that pounded through my bones like thunder. It usually happened after a bit of traumatic repair to my meat, but worked itself out in a couple days. Just a very inconvenient time to have my secret machine grinding into my ribcage like a drill bit trying to work its way to fresh air. I kept a hand to my chest as I clambered down the porch stairs and into the close, wood-rot smell of the back alley. I could feel the thrum against my palm.
I took my time on the stairs, thinking about what had just happened. Valentine’s cashing me in, I thought. He’s had his use for me, and now I’m too much trouble. Maybe later, if the pressure eases and I can be of use to him again, maybe he’ll let me back in his little gang. Well. Fuck him.
I stepped off the porch and Cacher came from under the loose fencing of the staircase and tried to put a leather-wrapped baton into my skull. I caught sight of him just out of the corner of my eye, had time to curse myself for not expecting it and get a hand blindly into his swinging forearm. The baton skated off my shoulder, just glancing my head as it arced down. I stumbled, grabbing most of his collar and pulling his coat awkwardly over his shoulder and head. He struggled to pull free and get a good swing, but I kicked a heel into his knee and then we were both on the ground, swinging and grunting and rolling around in the puddles and muck.
It ended when I got my arm across his throat, fist on shoulder and elbow punching down. He looked up at me with such angry eyes, mad eyes, that I almost stumbled back at their fury. Instead I waited until his grip loosened on my arm, then I straddled him and punched him twice, fast, across the cheek. I got up and kicked the baton into a gutter, then frisked him. My service revolver was in his coat pocket.
“What’ve you gotten her doing, Burn?” He was on his side, and the words were wet and distant. I rolled him onto his back, made sure he knew I had the revolver.
“Nothing, Cach. Certainly nothing worse than what you had her doing.”
He sneered, his mouth an angry smear of black teeth and red gums. “Just cuz she made you pay like…”
I leaned down and casually put the brass inlaid butt of the service revolver into his temple, backhand, then dragged him under the stairs and left him.
Emily lived in Highmarche, pretty much the center of town. Half of Veridon above you, half of it spread out below you in broad, flat terraces. It was a place of neat houses with peaked roofs and lace drapes over windows that looked out onto clean streets laid out in squares and broad avenues. None of the narrow claustrophobia of the old city, or the decrepit apathy of the harbor districts. I had to walk for a while to get there, and by the time I navigated the market traffic and the press of carts moving from the harbors, an unnatural early spring heat had settled over the city like a fog. The stone glittered underfoot with warmth and the smooth shine of heavy wear.
I was sweating. I kept my coat on, my hand on the revolver in my pocket. When I took it away to wipe sweat from my brow, my fingers stank of hot metal and cordite. The misaligned gears of my heart had taken up a stabbing beat, lurch-wince, lurch-wince. I tasted oil in the back of my throat, thick like blood.
I hitched up to a doorway about a block shy of Emily’s place. Leaning against the railpost, I could see most of the street in front of her address. It was a quiet brickfront home, split and split again to house a number of young couples anxious for a good address but thin in the pocket. The crowd in the street moved steadily, no one lurking or doubling back to patrol. If Valentine had someone posted here, they were doing a fine job of it.
I walked down past her place, around the corner, spent a minute in a bakery then went back. No one seemed to notice me as I walked by the door; no one looked familiar or suspicious. I went around to the back and palmed the dropstone Emily and I had used to arrange meetings. There was a key inside. I put the ‘stone back in its notch, went around front and let myself into the building. The same key opened her door. Once I was inside I locked up and then jammed a chair under the door.
The key in my hand was new metal and smelled of oil, as if it had been freshly pressed. It didn’t look familiar, but I had never seen Emily handle a lot of keys. The ’stone downstairs usually held a coded message, with times and places. I pocketed the key and looked around.
Emily was neat, almost mechanically precise in her tidiness. The apartment reflected that precision. The desk where she and I had sat the day before was clean and empty, the chairs set at an angle. Maybe even the angle I had left it at when I stood up. Valentine said that Emily missed a meeting with Cacher, and I remembered her mentioning that he was on his way over. That’s a tight window of opportunity. Would Valentine have leaned on me harder if he’d known how tight?
I opened each of the drawers in turn, emptied them completely and checked for hidden compartments before I moved on. It took about ten minutes, and at the end of it I didn’t know anything new. There was no Cog. There were no secret instructions from shadowy agencies about my meeting on the Heights, or anything to indicate that
