Her red skin glistened.
“You will assume Pig Heart’s duties.” He pointed to the hessian sack the Jeridian carried, the bottom of which was wetly stained. His lip curled. “Whaddaya gonna do with those heads anyway?”
“Remove the skull, scrape out the brains, pack the eyelids with seed, pin the mouth, boil the head in herbs, and rub it with ash to keep the spirits out. Then I string it from the top mast to warn the motherfuckers to leave us be.”
Herb tugged on his shirt collar. “Sorry I asked.”
His attention returned to Pig Heart. “One thing the Jeridian’s right about – Cyber Circus has gotta have blood.” He eyed the pitch crew. “Chop him to the breeze, fellas!”
The ringmaster stepped inside his cabin and slammed the door shut.
FIVE
The country of Humock was 3,268,601 square kilometres. Wherever there was a mine in need of burrower drivers and dust handlers, a well shaft to be maintained, or a ranch to be staffed, there were men. And wherever there were men, there was a whorehouse, and a bar stocked with smoke sticks and Jackogin, and a hamam with sweat rooms and soft hands to lather up and rinse the day away. The workers had other needs too – cobblers, general stores, haberdasheries, clothhod stables, armouries, banks, print presses, and apothecaries, alongside markets selling water, bio-toughened sage, soap flakes, and other bare necessities. And while the sun beat down like a curse, and it was difficult to know where the once fertile land began and the deserts ended, Humock was still a promised land in comparison to its neighbours.
To the east, the bedrock creased to form huge black mountains. Beyond lay the much smaller country of Jeridia, and Sirin, which was tinier still. When the civil war broke out in Humock, both countries had rallied to its aid, but both had endured the fallout in isolation. All that remained of the once fertile Jeridia was a scab of bedrock. Since few of its citizens were able to eek out a living, most became refugees in the dry expanse of Humock. It was a similar story for Sirin. The fists and plated skulls of the Sirinese were useless against the erasing gas wielded by Humock’s militia. Like the Jeridians, the Sirinese were forced to abandon their homes, schools, workshops, spirit huts and graveyards, and cross the border into the selfsame country which had bombed it.
Ten years on, Humock had become a melting pot for the disenchanted, a place where men were employed to shovel dust out of the mines in the certainty it would drift back in, where a respected flesh handler like D’Angelus would rather waste the breath of every employee he had if it meant victory over Cyber Circus, and where a Sirinese warrior like Jaxx would work for blood money in an alien land, all the while despising his employer.
“What’s the state of play, Jaxx?” D’Angelus straddled two squat limestone columns, hands on his hips, trekker’s hat shadowing his face.
“Das says we can board now. He’s got a handful of men to spare, harnesses for ten in the cargo hold. Machine was used as a dust carrier fairly recently, but we can stick the men in filter masks, tell them to rest their eyes until we come up for air. Supplies are loaded. Das is asking if you want to head north via the swallow hole or stick to the bore tunnels ‘til we reach Haven Springs?”
D’Angelus took a nip off his smoke stick. “Haven Springs. Swallow hole takes us through the old cave system and I’m not a man to trust in Mother Nature.” He exchanged the smoke in his nostrils for an invigorating breath. “Herb isn’t the sort to skip the dollar. He’ll want to haul up at one of the pitch sites close to Haven, else he’ll have no choice but to hit Zan City to refuel.”
“Shuck.” Jaxx produced the sound from the back of his throat. “I’m all about avoiding that shithole. And she’s worth it, this Desirious Nim? The whore weaves a pretty dance, but is she worth us spitting time and energy her way?”
“Oh, this isn’t about Nim anymore,” said D’Angelus, tugging the last dregs off the smoke stick. “Although I intend to reacquire that whore and put her to use. No, this is beyond that. Those circus freaks sliced my boys.” He smiled. His cannibalised teeth shone under the moonlight. “Bet you’d like a rematch with that two-faced pig too.”
“I’m in no hurry,” said the Sirinese without inflection. “My people have a saying. Walk simply. Find the light.”
D’Angelus grunted. He dropped the stub of the smoke stick between the limestone columns. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Means I’ll get my rematch with this Pig Heart maybe tomorrow, maybe half a lifetime from now. But I will get it.”
“I say screw the maybe. I say a man makes his own luck.”
“So we go after them now. But what about the HawkEye? He’s unnatural.” Jaxx scratched the scar matter edging the butt plate at his brow.
“None of us got a real look at that suckerloop. Sure, he comes in last thing to snatch the pig out. But why’d he act coy unless he’s a grifter with fake ink and a tin eyepiece?” D’Angelus shrugged. “Only thing that matters is the goon took out three of my men. Not a problem if our raid had been successful. A few dust handlers in exchange for a whore worth her weight in gold? It’s business. But we got our blood spilt and for nothing. What’s more, I missed out on the wolf bitch too and that is one lost opportunity too far.”
He stepped down off his limestone pedestal. Slinging his head left and right, he took in the men who milled at the entrance to the mine, a vast maw in the face of the blasted cliff. Dust handlers for the most part, he concluded, men whose spines had hooked from labouring under sacks filled with the stuff. There were also a few wheaters who’d exchanged that useless livelihood for thuggery. They carried their rock rifles under an arm like the farmers they once were.
The only figure who intrigued him was a solitary Zen monk, wearing a black robe secured with a belt full of relics – shrivelled dead things and blooded scraps of fabric alongside strings of bottle-tops, the clinking of which was designed to ward off the devil. A traditional sackcloth hood covered the man’s head, belted at the neck with twine. The mouth was partially buttoned to allow for breath. The eyeholes were gorged out.
D’Angelus squinted across at Jaxx. “I lost Earl this evening so I’m promoting you. There’s leaf wad, crates of Jackogin and whores aplenty for your trouble.” His mouth hardened. “Help me track the bitches and bring them in. And while you’re there, tear each of those circus freaks a new asshole.”
Jaxx nodded. “We navigate the bore tunnels and intercept them. But you should know I can’t use my tracker skills this side of Zan City. That blood nest leaves its crust in the air.” His nostrils flared.
“This side of the Zan we’re no worse off then. Should the hunt stretch out beyond that hole, we’ve got an extra trick up our sleeve.”
D’Angelus started for the mine entrance. Jaxx accompanied him.
“Want me to pick ten men?” Jaxx kicked up dust as he walked.
“Fill up the cargo space. There’s space for four up front: you, me, the driver, and one more.”
D’Angelus stopped.
“You religious, Jaxx? Your savage ways been tamed to those of the Saints?”
Jaxx shook his head, moonlight glancing off his bolt plate. “I’m a spirit man, boss. The Saints are too...” He considered his phrasing. “Stiff.”
“I should hope so. Saints wouldn’t be much use to us alive!” D’Angelus patted Jaxx’s shoulder. “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll keep religion on my side.” He showed his tic teeth.
“Father!” he shouted at the hooded figure. “The miners can live a day without your silent ministering. You and I, we’re going underground and, by the Saints, you’d better bring me luck.”
“I’d have preferred to grease up Old Billy there.” Das nodded across the cavern at a huge bore machine. The thing boasted five drill heads, each a quarter long again as the main cab. “But there’s still a hairline fracture in one of those pretty drills. Given the time scale, I went for the next best. Wanda-Sue.”
Jaxx eyed the smaller burrower. The cab was covered in titanium scales. A great sweep of the metal rose up off windshield, like a hopper’s bone crest. Out front, a giant corkscrew captured the glow of gaslight inside the cave, its surface moving liquidly.
