'What did you see?' he asked.
I told him, as best I could. It was the feeling of being rooted out and cast aside that was the hardest to communicate. I felt like a tree, torn out at the root and thrown on a fire of absolute heat. The brightest fire ever imagined. Just talking about it made me sweat.
'Well. That's not completely different from what I saw. Just more,' Wilson paused, considering his next words, trying not to look me in the face. Finally he raised his eyes. 'More personal. Like it was written for you, and not me.'
'Written for me? That's good to know. Should we go around the city showing it to people, to see how they react? Maybe we could figure out what it means by triangulating how terrified different people are of it. We could start with my dad, couldn't we? He's been a bit mad in the head ever since…' I stumbled. Ever since I had lost Emily, ever since he had finally, utterly thrown me out of the family. Ever since he swore he would never see me again, and shut himself up in the house, and refused to acknowledge he even had a son. Ever since then. 'Yeah. Maybe that extra bit of madness would do him some good. Do you think?'
Wilson wasn't listening to me. He was absolutely still, the coffee cup gripped firmly in his fingers, staring out the window.
'Wilson? Are you even hearing me?'
'Jacob. The young lady out there, the one talking to the Badge. Does she look familiar?'
I looked. All smiles and bust.
'No wonder no one's refilled my cup,' I spat. As we watched, the girl turned and pointed back to the bar. The Badge turned with her, then set off towards us at a trot.
'Time we were going,' Wilson said. We stood and took two steps toward the iron corkscrew stairs that led to the main floor, and the exit. There was someone standing at the top of the stairs, looking at us. Waiting for us.
She was young, or at least had the body of a young woman. Dressed scandalously in pants and a vest, all cinched closely to her form. It reminded me of how factory workers secure every flap of clothing, to keep it from the hungry machines. An odd contrast. The vest was covered in button-flap pockets, and her belt was wide and black. Many weapons hung at her hips. She wore bulky gloves that contrasted sharply with the grace and cut of her form.
Her face was bound in an iron mask, fitted with brass around the eyes and along the jaw. Eyes hidden by matte black goggles that flexed and whirred as we stood there, staring at each other. A single thick braid of dark hair coiled down her back. She reached toward me, and put a hand to her belt.
'Back door,' Wilson barked, and we jumped across the floor, toppling narrow tables in our wake. She followed us through the broken glassware, the jangling forks, and the yells of the Badge who were just now reaching the iron stairs.
Chapter Five
Bars like thiS have a lot of back doors. It's sensible. The sort of place where, if the Badge comes in the front door, there are going to be a lot of people who might want out of the building. Quickly. Wilson and I fit this description exactly, with maybe double emphasis on the quickly. The girl was of a like mind, though possibly of opposite intent. I assumed Wilson would just head to one of these many doors. Incorrectly.
Wilson just ran to the window, snatching up a chair for protection as he went, and plunged straight through. No time to adjust, once I knew what he was doing, so I stuttered to a halt and fell through the open window. Of course, the next window over was a fire escape. Nice, reliable ladder, just out of reach. Wilson snagged it with his spindly spider arms and swung away. I fell.
Just far enough that it hurt when I got a hand around the iron filigree that lined the second floor. Hurt a lot. The skin of my hand opened up, my shoulder wrenched, and then I swung like a battering ram into the wall. Winded, my grip slick with my own blood, I was sliding down before I could get a better handle. Hit the floor with both boots and my knees crumpled. I curled onto the ground and gasped until my lungs opened up. Wilson landed next to me and started pulling at my elbow.
'Get up, man. Get to your feet,' he hissed without looking at me. I tried to convey the seriousness of my wounds, and how a lot of it was his damn fault for leading me through a window, but all I could get out was a squeaking wheeze. Finally he looked down at me. 'Stop screwing around, Jacob. We're very interesting to all the wrong people.'
I looked up and saw the girl, leaning out over the blood-spattered railing. She had her strange eyes on the street below. I followed her eyes. A second group of the Badge were nearly on us. I could hear the ones who had rushed inside still yelling. Our waitress was nowhere to be seen. Typical. The girl looked down at us, almost curiously, then disappeared.
'Come on,' I croaked. 'We should be going.'
'I've been saying that,' Wilson said. We went in opposite directions, then I stumbled to a halt and ran after him.
'Remember next time,' I yelled after him. 'Walls. Windows. Open pits.' I spat a wad of blood onto the cobbles. 'I need ladders for that sort of thing.'
'You need to learn to adapt, Jacob. Take some risks.'
I muttered nonsensically, because that's all I could think of. We scrambled around a corner and lit off down an alley. The Badge was behind us, clumsily pushing past the stacked crates and rubbish bins. Those jackets of theirs were not made for pursuit. They needed to rethink their uniforms.
'So who do you think that was?' Wilson asked me as we came out into a wider avenue and I caught up with him. I looked over at him with wide eyes. Still trying to catch my breath after that fall.
'Talk about it. Later. Now is running,' I gasped.
'Fair enough. But it's an interesting question. I mean, was our waitress trying to get the Badge because of her, or because of us? Or did she send the waitress to get the Badge, to help capture us?'
'Fascinating,' I puffed. 'Run.'
'Yes, yes. This way,' he said, then darted into a side alley. Again I stumbled to a stop, had to double back to follow. We were going to have a talk when this was over.
The alley went about ten feet, turned sharply twice, then ended in a high, brick canyon. No ladder.
'Oh, for the love of gods, Wilson,' I was bent over, hand on my knees, trying to find some oxygen that could do the job of completely filling my lungs. 'We talked about this. Walls. I can't just…' I fluttered my fingers. 'I'm not a damn butterfly.'
'I would never have mistaken you for one. You know, you're really out of practice with this stuff. Like you've forgotten your buddy Wilson here plans for this sort of thing.'
He bounded up the wall, spider arms clattering against the bricks. He disappeared over the lip of the building. A second later a knotted rope coiled down the wall, landing at my feet. Wilson's narrow face and sharp smile reappeared.
'Up, up,' he said, then was gone.
I put a hand around the rope and gave it a tug. It wasn't too far up, but farther than I'd climbed in a while.
'Not much better, buddy,' I whispered. Didn't want him to hear me. Cutting the rope wasn't out of the question, if he got in one of his moods. Arm over arm, feet pressed against the bricks like a mountain climber, I went up. Halfway there, the Badge arrived.
'You!' they yelled, because there were so many other people they could be talking to. 'On the rope! Come down from there!'
Wilson reappeared, counted heads, and drew his knife. He jerked his head, indicating that I should hurry, because clearly I had been taking my time. This was like a vacation for me. Words, Wilson. We were going to have words.
