Day of the Damned (11 page)

Chapter 22

A KEY TURNS AND THE DOOR OPENS. THE MAN WHO ENTERS IS balding, middle-aged, and slightly thick about the waist. He wears small spectacles, a flowery shirt and carries a bottle of water and a glass.

Not my idea of a kidnapper.

‘My lady,’ he says. ‘I heard you moving around.’

Not sure what Paulo sees in Sef’s face, but his voice falters. Putting down his offering, he begins to back towards the door. He’s not doing this because he thinks Sef might attack. It’s embarrassment that keeps him bent double.

‘Try to get some sleep,’ he suggests.

‘What?’

‘It’s for the best.’

‘Paulo,’ Sef says. ‘You locked me in.’

‘Lady Isadora said—’

Shouts from General Luc’s house stop anyone finding out what Sef’s Aunt Isadora said. Scurrying to the window, Paulo slides it up and throws back its shutters. A street door opposite opens hard enough to hit the wall. The Wolf has returned to find us gone.

At a sound of feet on his stairs, Paulo freezes.

No chance it’s General Luc. He’s still busy issuing orders on the street below, his voice tight and angry. He sounds a bad man to have as a CO.

Had a few like that in my time.

‘Serafina . . . my dear.’

Treacle sliding down razor blades. Maybe Sef feels the same, because her face tightens. Although she forces a smile, and turns from watching the street to face her visitor.

‘You have no idea how hard it was to track you down.’ Both Serafina and the newcomer are young, both blonde, both blue-eyed. There the likeness ends. Although they’re obviously twins, the newcomer got the brains.

Behind Sef and her reflection stands a man, looking concerned.

‘You’ve come to take me home?’

‘Of course,’ she says. ‘We’ve been looking all day. Vijay must be worried sick. As for you . . .’ Her gaze hits Paulo. ‘You’ll be dealt with later.’

The man behind the newcomer interests me.

He’s U/Free, dressed in elegant robes.

Some kind of smart silk that swirls through carefully chosen colours. His hand on the newcomer’s hip says he’s already had her. And his smile as he examines Sef says he’ll be happy to have her as well.

‘So,’ he says. ‘This is your sister?’

The reflection nods.

‘Ladies Simone and Serafina Rivabella y Kama.’ Although he sweeps them a low bow, there is something predatory in his gesture. And his grin is mocking as he strips Sef with his eyes.

‘Sir,’ Leona whispers.

I’m gripping the door frame tight enough to crush wood.

*

Morgan Trefoil is married to Paper Osamu. We have history. He cost me a corporal who could skewer an abseiling spider across a crowded bar with a single throw. We were lovers, Franc and I. She still throws that knife some nights in my dreams.

I’ve killed Morgan once already.

Unfortunately, he’s U/Free. So he had a back-up.

You can tell he’s U/Free from his smug little face. The puffy cheeks, the arrogant sneer. His type might preach equality, but only because they can afford to. They control the richest civilization the galaxy has ever seen. We’re the ones still scrabbling our way out of ditches.

You’ve probably worked it out.

I want him dead.

Again.

‘Time to go home,’ he tells Lady Serafina.

As Sef nods, something strange happens. Although Paulo’s obviously terrified of Morgan, he thrusts himself between the U/Free and the open doorway. Men like Paulo don’t do well in Farlight. It’s probably only his ability to dress the high clans that keeps him safe. Now, he’s risking it all. And for what?

‘Please,’ he begs. ‘Lady Isadora said—’

Morgan’s face tightens. ‘Stay out of this,’ he snaps. ‘You’re meddling in matters far above you.’

That’s Morgan all over. Patronizing bastard.

‘My lord,’ Paulo says.

A scowl floods Morgan’s face.

‘The U/Free don’t recognize titles,’ he says. ‘We certainly don’t use them ourselves. All people are equal in our eyes.’

Self-righteous, as well as patronizing.

‘But Lady Isadora insists—’

‘I don’t give a fuck what Lady Isadora insists.’

‘My lord . . .’

One second the dressmaker is standing there, the next he’s against a wall and his feet dangle six inches above the floor. Morgan has him by the throat. The U/Free’s muscles are augmented. Nothing else explains the speed at which he reacts.

Never seen Morgan lose it before.

Pretty impressive, if you take it at face value. I don’t . . . Taking things at face value gets you killed, according to my old lieutenant. Mind you, he read meanings into the number of vultures at the water hole, how many flies swam in his brandy and what time of day he first farted. Took bets on it too.

U/Free aren’t supposed to lose it. That’s for barbarians like us. So if Morgan is going apeshit he’s pretending or he’s scared. And why would a man like Morgan be scared?

Paulo’s eyes are popping.

The way they do when pressure builds behind them. Much more of this, and it’ll be a dead tailor Morgan holds.

‘You’re nothing. Understand me? You’ll do as you’re told. All of you . . .’

‘All of us? Really?’

General Luc stands in the doorway.

Light glitters from a lamp in his hand, and the flash of purple behind his rank badges shows almost black in the shadows. He has a smile on his lips at odds with the barely restrained fury in his eyes.

‘We’ll do what we’re told?’ General Luc repeats the words softly. As if he can taste them.

‘You know the agreement.’

‘Do I? Really?’

The Wolf steps into the room. A captain and Sergeant Toro step into the room behind him. His immediate staff from the look of things.

‘You know,’ General Luc says, ‘I don’t remember agreeing anything at all.’ He nods stiffly to the women. ‘My ladies. It’s late to find you out. And in such strange company.’

General Luc glances at Paulo.

The little dressmaker is on his knees, holding his throat.

It’s obvious the Wolf knows Serafina and Simone Rivabella y Kama. Equally obvious that Sef’s sister is unhappy to be recognized.

‘This has nothing to do with you,’ Morgan says.

‘It has everything to do with me.’

‘Paulo locked me in,’ Sef complains. ‘I don’t know why. He said he had some special lace he’d been saving for a dress as beautiful as mine.’

Yes, that sounds stupid enough for her to believe.

‘It didn’t occur to me he’d . . .’

The Wolf shows his teeth. ‘No,’ he says. ‘Obviously not. So, he asked you to travel all the way across the city just to look at lace?’

‘No.’ Sef looks more puzzled than ever. ‘That was my aunt.’

‘Lady Isadora?’

Sef nods. ‘She said Paulo had mentioned the lace to her and . . .’

As Sef’s words trail away, I wonder if she’s ever finished a sentence in her life. And decide I don’t care and it doesn’t matter. What matters is the friction between General Luc and the U/Free.

‘We’re taking Sef home,’ Simone says.

The general ignores her. ‘Tell me,’ he says to Paulo. ‘Why did you lock her in?’

‘Lady Isadora said it would keep her safe.’

‘From what?’

‘I don’t know, sir.’

‘Maybe not. But that’s the question. Isn’t it?’

Morgan draws himself up, and I know the man’s an idiot. If you have to draw yourself up when facing someone like the Wolf, you’re in the wrong fight.

‘You should stay out of this.’

‘Should I?’

‘Yes,’ says Morgan, nodding. ‘You should.’

When General Luc grins, yellowing canines gleam in the half dark of the room. And it’s obvious how he got his nickname. ‘My dear,’ he says to Sef. ‘What do you think your little dressmaker is keeping you safe from?’

She doesn’t answer. She just looks wide-eyed and beautiful and stupid. When she realizes General Luc is waiting for an answer, she shrugs to show she’s waiting for him to tell her.

Instead he asks if her aunt is kind to her.

‘Always,’ Sef says, tears in her eyes. ‘Very kind.’ She says this as if the rest of the world has been nothing but cruel.

‘So you trust her?’

Sef nods.

‘Then perhaps you should stay here?’ Walking over to the open shutters, General Luc looks at the windows opposite and glances at the rusting girder, judging the drop from the window where we were trapped.

‘You opened this window yourself?’

‘Yes,’ Sef says.

‘When?’

‘When I heard the noise outside.’

The Wolf nods to himself. ‘What’s through there,’ he demands, pointing at the door we hide behind.

‘A bathroom,’ Sef says.

‘You don’t object if I take a look?’

‘Don’t . . .’ Her voice is a squeak.

‘Why not?’

‘Because . . .’ She’s now bright red. ‘I didn’t . . .’

‘Flush it,’ the Wolf tells her.

‘The power’s gone.’

‘I can wait while you close the lid.’

That’s the high clans for you. Perfect manners and strict propriety, mixed with vast sums of money, extended lifelines, and a certainty everyone else exists to keep them amused. Much like the U/Free really.

Chapter 23

SIX MONTHS AGO THE U/FREE WERE MYTHICAL BEASTS TO ME.

And I’d only ever met one member of the high clans, my lieutenant, Bonafont de Bonafont, and I didn’t even know that’s what he was. He was just a drunk who insisted his plates be piping hot, even in the middle of the day in the middle of summer in the middle of the desert.

‘Sir,’ Leona whispers.

Sef is walking towards our door.

I move aside to let her enter, and she shows me an anguished face as she walks to the pan and shuts its lid with a clatter. It’s not necessary, but she does it anyway.

‘I’d know,’ Morgan snaps, ‘if anyone was in there.’

The Wolf ignores him. The U/Free hate that more than anything.

‘My lord,’ Paulo is saying, ‘I only had orders to detain Lady Serafina. There’s no one else here. I swear it.’ His voice is honest, his embarrassment plain.

‘All the same.’

It’s Morgan’s anger that saves us from discovery.

I intend to thank him someday. Before killing him, obviously.

Drawing himself up again, he says, ‘It would be best for everybody, General, if you simply did your job. I’m sure you and your men have places to go, duties to perform. Perhaps you should go perform them?’

Self-righteous fuck.

Leona grins beside me.

Even the Wolf, seen through the door’s crack, looks as if he can’t believe what he just heard.

Stepping close, he halts a hand’s breadth from Morgan’s face. ‘Talk to me like that,’ he hisses, ‘and I’ll cut out your heart.’

‘I’m U/Free.’

‘Believe me,’ he says, ‘that’s the only thing keeping you alive.’

The Wolf has one hand on his dagger. Maybe he’s hoping to make good that promise. Morgan, however, refuses to back down.

‘Serafina,’ Simone calls.

Leona pushes her towards the door.

Anton puts his finger to his lips and smiles. Leona’s approach is more basic. She mimes cutting Sef’s throat.

‘I’ve shut the lid,’ Sef says, sounding close to tears.

‘We’re taking you home,’ Morgan says.

General Luc shakes his head.

It’s become a point of principle for both of them. As far as I’m concerned there’s nothing more stupid and nothing more dangerous. ‘She has rights,’ Morgan says.

The Wolf grins. ‘Such concern for those less fortunate.’

‘We make dangerous enemies.’

‘You speak for the whole U/Free?’

Morgan nods.

‘Good,’ says General Luc. ‘Because I speak for Clan Luc and the entire Wolf Brigade. And we don’t give a fuck if you think you’re dangerous or not.’

It’s the first time I’ve heard him swear.

‘But if you’re that concerned, why not ask? I’m sure Serafina can tell us her wishes.’

Everyone looks at Sef.

‘She’s coming with us,’ Simone says. ‘Aren’t you? We’re going to take her to find Vijay.’

‘I’m staying here,’ Sef says.

‘Serafina.’

‘I mean it. It’s only one night, right?’

She looks at Paulo, but it’s the general who nods. ‘Wise choice,’ he says. General Luc is so busy steering Morgan and Sef’s sister towards the attic door that he forgets to search our little alcove before he goes. Instead, we get the click of a lock, the grate of a bolt and then steps on the stairs outside.

When the Wolf hits the street, I’m at the window, stepped back so I can’t be seen. He growls something to Sergeant Toro and the waiting troop break into three groups. One group follows General Luc, one follows Sergeant Toro, and the last follows the captain we saw earlier.

All wear battle rattle.

Not dress uniform. The full kit. Eighty pounds of Kevlar flak jacket, combat boots, 1.5 litre camelback, carbon helmet, with flip-down visor. They’re carrying short-barrel 18s, adapted for urban combat.

‘Fuck,’ Leona says.

‘Yeah.’ Anton opens the door. ‘That was close.’

Don’t think she’s talking about our near miss with General Luc. This is Sergeant Leona’s city. You’d have to be blind and stupid not to know something very nasty is going down.

After a few minutes, the noise dies. Half an hour later, you wouldn’t know there had been a troop of Wolf Brigade on the street at all. And it is exactly half an hour, because the cathedral clock strikes.

I’m still in the attic, considering choices.

Sergeant Leona’s just finished washing herself in the bathroom.

And Anton’s telling Sef how brave she is for the fifth time, when a step squeaks at the top of the stairs and someone halts outside our door. When Sef grabs Anton, Leona rolls her eyes. Not good discipline. But Anton’s not a soldier and Sef’s an idiot.

So I guess it’s allowed.

‘Hide,’ I tell my two.

Running to the bed, Sef pretends to sleep.

At least, she curls up on the rancid mattress like a cat, rests her head on one arm and shuts her eyes. A second later her breathing steadies.

‘So brave,’ Anton says.

I think of pointing out she’s a brain-dead little idiot and he’s married to Debro. Then I remember he’s not. They’re divorced. For all they share exile.

Not my business anyway.

Although, what he sees in a vapid blonde with pneumatic breasts who clings like ivy . . . I kill that thought, knowing I’ve answered my own question. I expect Paulo to be our visitor, maybe with food. But it’s too silent out there.

Very slowly, a bolt slides back.

The figure in the doorway hesitates and then appears to nod.

Sliding into the room, it moves towards the bed. When it steps through a sliver of moonlight, I see blonde hair spilling from under a raised hood. Lady Simone Kama hesitates as her eyes adjust to the unexpected light.

She freezes when Anton shifts slightly, her head flicking towards where we hide. Stepping towards us, she changes her mind. Maybe the darkness unnerves her. Maybe she simply wants to get Sef out of there.

Turning back, she steps towards the bed . . .

And Leona hurtles past me.

Body-slamming Simone into a wall, she draws back her elbow and cracks it into the side of Simone’s skull, dropping her to the floor.

‘Sergeant . . .’ Anton sounds outraged.

Leona’s not listening. Crouching above her victim, she has one arm back to drive a straight-fingered blow into Simone’s throat.

‘Easy.’

For a second, it looks as if she’ll ignore my order. Instead, she drags air into her lungs and makes herself sit back.

‘Why did you do that?’

Sef’s wailing again. At least she’s got a reason this time. Anton kneels by Simone’s body, his fingers to her throat.

‘Well?’ I demand.

‘Still breathing.’

‘Put her on the bed. Let me know when she wakes.’

Nodding to the sergeant, I walk her to the window and open its shutters. The street is silent, the stars clear against a deep black sky. There’s a heat tonight and a humidity that clings. The whole city feels oppressive.

‘Sir,’ says Leona. ‘You all right?’

Not the kind of question she should be asking. ‘Leona,’ I say, ‘you want to tell me what that was about?’

She looks uncertain.

‘That’s an order.’

‘The woman had a knife.’

The sergeant looks sane. That’s good enough for me. Anton wants to know why we’re searching the floor. So does Sef. At least, she stops fussing over Simone long enough to ask why we’re on our knees.

I don’t answer either of them.

I don’t find a knife either.

What I do find is a puddle. At least, the remains of one.

Most of the liquid has disappeared down a gap in the boards. Dropping to a crouch, Leona wipes her fingers across the floor and tastes it.

‘Water,’ she says.

Leona’s right. I’m thinking about this when it occurs to me she’s still staring at me. ‘What?’ I demand.

‘Sir,’ she whispers. ‘I saw a blade.’

On the bed, Simone is groaning. She sits up, falls back and struggles up again. It’s a bravura performance. ‘What happened?’

‘You slipped,’ I tell her. ‘On a puddle of water.’

Something says she doesn’t believe me. Anton’s staring, and Sef has her mouth open to protest. Although she shuts it again when Leona glares.

‘Get your cloak,’ I say. ‘We’re taking you home.’

‘But I want to see Vijay.’

My sigh has Leona smiling.

All five of us make our way down the stairs. I’ve told Sef and Simone what will happen if either one makes a noise. It involves letting Sergeant Leona loose on them. This probably explains why we almost reach ground level before Paulo appears.

The sight of my knife freezes his protest.

‘Lock the front door after us,’ I tell him. ‘Raise an alarm and I’ll come back and burn your house to the ground. With you inside . . .’

He believes me. It shows in his eyes.

‘Paulo,’ says Sef. ‘It’s going to be all right.’

Although he keeps his mouth firmly shut, he shakes his head and slides his gaze between my face and my knife, his mouth twisting in anguish.

‘Please . . .’ he blurts.

Courage impresses me, whatever form it takes. When Paulo realizes he’s not going to get punched or stabbed, he relaxes slightly. ‘Let her stay here,’ he begs. ‘I promise to keep her safe.’

‘She’ll be safe with me,’ Simone says.

Paulo dares to disagree.

This makes me wonder what he knows.

And that makes me wonder why Simone is so keen her sister sleeps somewhere other than this. I might be slow. But I get there. Too many things about this that make no sense.

‘You know where Vijay lives?’

Sef nods. She doesn’t say where, of course. Or give me directions. She simply nods.

‘Sir,’ Paulo says.

‘Sef and her sister go with us. End of story. You want to protect her, find me a piece . . .’

The little man looks puzzled.

‘A gun,’ Sergeant Leona says, translating it into language he can understand. ‘Do you have anything resembling a gun?’

Paulo grins.

‘You take point,’ I tell Leona.

She nods.

‘I’ll bring up the rear.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Anton, you and the Kamas travel together. Anyone asks, you’re on your way back from a party. Didn’t realize it was curfew.’

We have one piece and a collection of kitchen knives. Paulo’s contribution to keeping Sef safe until she finds her fiancé. He’s also tacked my empty sleeve neatly across my jacket to stop it flapping.

Anton thinks this hysterically funny.

Not sure why I let Paulo do it. Except he wants to make the jacket look neater and obviously has Sef’s interests at heart. And he did give me his revolver.

It’s huge, uses a calibre I’ve never seen, and pivots open beyond the trigger, rather than having a cylinder that flips out to one side. The cylinder only takes five rounds, despite its size. But each one is fatter than my thumb.

Seems Paulo had a friend who worked in an abattoir.

This was what he used to kill oxen. All right, it’s rusting and we’ve only got twelve rounds in all. But even empty it’s going to make a good club. Pity it’s not AI, it would probably spit like a campesino and demand to be cleaned only with cooking alcohol.

‘Sven,’ Anton says. ‘You’re grinning.’

He’s in a better mood than he was a moment ago. Mind you, I was hammering crosses into the top of each round using a kitchen knife and a pestle borrowed from Paulo’s kitchen. Think he thought ammunition this old might explode.

‘Right,’ I say. ‘Let’s go.’

Between them, I’m hoping Anton, Sef and Simone can muster enough high clan outrage to cow the militia we’re likely to meet. If we meet Death’s Head, or anyone from General Luc’s own troop, then we’re fucked.

Anton knows that even if the others don’t.