A Latent Dark (8 page)

“Honor among thieves, eh?”

“Indeed. For a city of outlaws, their security is impeccable.”

The two men sat in silence for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts. Lyle looked out onto the streets at the beggars, the businessmen, the merchants. He looked at the distant factory smokestacks of the industrial wedge: black, tall, and dormant.

“Not much of a need for military these days,” Lyle said.

“Sadly, no.” Perlandine matched the Reverend’s gaze out the window. “I used to command some of those beggars you see down there.”

“Is that so?”

Perlandine nodded. “During the Crusades... unfortunately, many of them had difficulty finding work in a city no longer at war.”

“Begging seems unfitting for men of that caliber,” Lyle said.

“
Mmm
,” Perlandine muttered. “Well, some do find work as bodyguards,
hitmen
, assassins, that sort of thing. I wish we could get more of them on the police force but, well, you can only hire so many. I end up arresting a dozen men every year that, not a decade ago, I commanded. It’s a damn shame.” He snarled around his cigar.

“Good men, all of them, no doubt,” Lyle said as the two men looked out the window.

“The finest,” said Perlandine. “I know that it contradicts popular sentiment, but peace was the worst thing that ever happened to this city.”

“I understand you still make some fine armor here. One of your soldiers was wearing it. Excellent craftsmanship.”

“And weapons,” Perlandine said. “What we didn’t use, we sold to Arist or Rhinewall. The mayor we have now killed most of those deals.” He paused and muttered, “Idiot.”

Lyle shifted the conversation by taking a deliberate drag of his cigar.

“I’m sure you are aware that I lead a fairly successful branch of The Church, Chief Perlandine.”

“Yes, I’ve heard a great deal about it,” Perlandine said. “A little dramatic for my tastes, but then we’re all Catholics out here. You’re something of a celebrity.”

“Well, I just give the people what they want. To each his own. We both play for the same team either way.”

Perlandine nodded. He was looking at Lyle expectantly.

Lyle continued. “As you must have figured out by now, I have a business proposal for your city. I’m looking to make a substantial investment.”

“For the entire city?” Perlandine cigar drooped. “Why come to me with a business proposal if it’s for the city?”

“I understand you are considering a run for the
Mayorship
.”

Perlandine raised an eyebrow. “I guess it wasn’t as tight a secret as I had hoped. Yes, I was considering making a run in a year or two. It’s all a matter of timing, I suppose.”

“Well,” Lyle said. “You’ve certainly made plenty of progress in law enforcement.”

“About as far as I can go, I’m afraid.”

“It’s a logical next step. And a fine city too, I might add.” Lyle puffed. “They’d be lucky to have you.”

Perlandine looked out the window again. An old man wearing the top half of a uniform stood begging on the sidewalk, invisible to the passersby. The Chief constable’s face sagged.

“It was,” he said. “It has certainly seen better days.”

“What amount of money,” Lyle said, “would it take to… make an impact on your industry?”

Perlandine laughed. “My dear Reverend,” he said. “I appreciate your ambition, but I doubt even you have that sort of bankroll.”

“Try me.” The smoke seemed to speak for The Reverend.

Perlandine froze as if he were about to be run over by a cart full of gold bars. “It… It would be substantial… in the billions.”

The Reverend Lyle Summers didn’t flinch. Instead he calmly took the cigar out of his mouth and looked at it again, a stream of smoke leaking from the corner of his mouth. Perlandine sat back in his chair and stared at the Reverend.

“What is in it for you?” he asked. “I sincerely doubt that this is all being done in the name of charity.”

“Let’s call it an investment,” said Lyle.

Something in the conversation shifted. A shadow seemed to fall over the Reverend’s face as his cheeks caved in, puffing. When he finally released the cigar from his mouth, he looked directly at Perlandine. The Chief Constable felt something prickle at the base of his neck.

“I’m sure you are aware of the recent fire that occurred in what you call the ‘Industrial Wedge,’” Lyle said, his eyes, seeming colder somehow.

“I am,” Perlandine said, leaning back in his chair. It creaked. “The Gutter Wedge. A good place to go if you want a good whore, or an illegal substance. I hear you can get your palm read if you aren’t afraid to be arrested.”

“Then I am sure you are aware of the spiritual malaise that has plagued this city for a decade or so.”

“I’m not much of a religious man,” Perlandine said. “I leave that business to the archbishop. I deal with more… material transgressions.”

“The archbishop is well aware of that,” Lyle said. “My point is this: the presence that has lived like a cancer in your city has escaped, and unless it is stopped, this disease will get worse for everyone.” He scratched at his arm unconsciously.

Perlandine laughed. “Well, as I said, Reverend, I am not a religious man. But I think I know whom you are talking about. This ‘Lynn-witch’ woman is dead I take it?”

“Killed in the fire,” said Lyle. “I believe that her daughter may have fled to this Lassimir pirate colony.”

Perlandine raised an eyebrow. “What makes you so sure?”

“You tell me if you can think of another city that would let her in,” Lyle said. “Also, it’s closer than any city-states, the next one being Rhinewall.”

“
Ahh
,” Perlandine said. “Let me see if I understand what you are suggesting. So you believe that if you deliver Lassimir to me, I will in turn, deliver this girl to you. What if she escapes?”

“Flushing the game, so to speak,” Lyle said. The end of his cigar glowed red. “I suggest you take a closer look at the opportunity I am handing you.”

 “I suppose that next you will tell me exactly how you intend to invade an inaccessible and quite mobile city.”

“I’ll get to that,” Lyle said. “But first I want to make sure that I and The Church can count on your support. I assure you, this will reflect well on your run for Mayor should it succeed.”

Perlandine rolled forward and got up from his seat. The Chief Constable stood, backlit by the window, eclipsing it like a moon. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple. Lyle fought the urge to slap it away.

When he spoke at last, the Chief Constable was distant, as if trying to detach himself from his words. “The woman and her child used to attend a local parish, near the girl’s school up in the Millstone Wedge. The priest there is Father Thomas. I do have files on the woman, outbursts, disorderly conduct and that sort of thing, but he can probably give you more information if that’s what you’re looking for. He knew them, might know motives. She might even return and seek refuge with him.”

“Cavorting with witches.” Lyle raised an eyebrow. “That’s an interesting approach for a priest.”

“Father Thomas is… controversial,” said Perlandine. “Friends with the archbishop.” He looked at the end of his cigar with distaste.

Lyle got up from his seat. “We’ll be in touch.”

“Before you go,” Perlandine said, as if remembering something important. He waddled briskly to his desk and opened a drawer. He removed a large beige scroll and opened it. Satisfied by what he saw, he rolled it up again and handed it to The Reverend.

Lyle took the weathered scroll with a grin. “Thank you Chief Constable Perlandine. This will be very useful indeed. Or should I get used to saying, Mayor Perlandine?”

The two men chuckled and shook hands. Lyle walked from the police headquarters and into the noon heat.

Chapter 6

Skyla could feel herself getting lost almost immediately. For the first hundred yards or so, she would turn and look over her shoulder. The coppery wall of Bollingbrook became more and more obscured behind leaves, fog, and redwood. Behind her, the forest had closed in, leaving nothing but emerald leaves and rough bark. Leaves, wood, rocks, gravel. It was hard to believe there had ever been any city at all.

Days and nights seemed arbitrary, time itself just a formless tangle of branches, vines, and plants. She slept in the crooks of trees, underneath rock ledges and pine needles. In the mornings Orrin provided blackberries, wild strawberries, and grapes for her to eat.

Orrin rode on her shoulder, calling to birds that sang unseen in the treetops. He urged her forward, guiding her by pecking at her ear or squawking when she made a wrong turn. Occasionally he would soar off to an opening in a pair of branches she had never noticed before.

“How much further?” she asked, exhausted.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see him staring at her from her shoulder. When he blinked this closely, she noticed his eyelids were white, which seemed very odd to her.

In a moment of protest, Skyla turned sharply off of the path, heading down an open space between the branches. Almost immediately, Orrin squawked loudly and landed at her feet, blocking her, pecking at her shoe.

 “I don’t know where you are taking me!” she yelled. “Hell, we’ve been here for
days.”

“Hell,”
Orrin parroted.

“You know what I’m saying don’t you?” she asked, eyes narrowing.

“Rhee-ah.”

“Yes her. Why can’t you just tell me?”

“
Preeeecher
.
Daaaaanger
.”
His voice was hoarse.

“Yes, him and now I am following a giant crow down a stupid path that might not ever end. Where does this path even go?”

“Rhinewall,”
said Orrin. It sounded like a man’s voice played through a phonograph.

Skyla blinked.

“Rhinewall,”
said Orrin again, blinking.

“So you
do
know where you’re taking me,” she accused.

Rhinewall was supposedly where Rhia lived, out by the sea, beyond the vagrant tent city Lassimir. It was far, farther than she ever imagined she could travel.

A branch snapped, and Skyla saw a large hoof just beyond the branches. She traced its shape upward to see a horse-sized animal staring placidly at her. It moved and Skyla counted not two, but four willowy antlers sprouting from its long russet head. She got to her feet and took a tentative step. It stared at her with a huge brown eye framed by long lashes. She could see its outline from between the young trees and took it for some sort or deer, or maybe an elk.

Skyla reached out a hand and touched its muzzle.

The world changed. She was no longer looking at the woods. Shadows became living things that stared at her, as surprised to see her as she was in seeing them. They peered at her from behind the liquid trees, wonder on their faces. Tree trunks twisted. Leaves turned black.

The deer was covered in bright lavender scales, so thin they could have been short feathers. From beneath its scales the creature’s skin pulsed with pink, neon energy. Its huge eyes were no longer brown but bright electric blue.