Needle Rain (5 page)

In the last of the daylight, he collected the things he needed and headed for the Monument to the Highest Gods. It would be a good, quiet place. On the way up the outer wall his fingers crushed and left impressions in the soft sandstone. Such power could be addictive.

At the top he rested, sitting among the guano and feathers on the broad ledge that went around the spire. He hugged his knees to his chest and wondered how you could be so close to being a god yourself and yet so close to despair.

A few more needles sliding in, a little more pain, and he would be a Full Immolator.

The wind slipped cool fingers through his hair, rearranging his curls. It harried a feather along the ledge until it flipped into the air and went spiraling earthward. He watched it fall. Yesterday he had been ecstatic at the prospect of marrying Pela and now he was wondering if they would die. The jade heart pendant that dangled on a thong from his neck gleamed in the last rays of light.

Orange leaked across the western horizon, between sea and sky. The day ended, perhaps so would his life.

Gheist Weapon
– a trinketton weapon that uses ghost energy, ectoplasm, to kill – the ammunition is the compressed ectoplasm of trapped ghosts.

Normal guns cannot handle ectoplasm.

*****

Uncle had sent a late messenger, calling her into the office. The building should have been dark by then, with only the watchmen and cleaners about, instead it bustled with activity. There was only one contract that Heloise could think of that would make this a sensible exercise. Drager. And she was right.

This time he was standing with hands clasped behind his back, at the opening to the balcony. The last light of sunset glowed in the sky beyond him.

“Uncle?”

“Ah. Heloise. We have a possible escapee situation. Thom Drager promised to pay the first instalment tomorrow and yet there are men at his premises who have links to a ship moored in the harbor.” He turned to her. “One that is ready to sail.”

She nodded. Her skin prickled. This was it.

“I need you and a team to keep the clinic under surveillance and be ready to descend upon Drager and take the appropriate action.”

She nodded again. “Where’s the ship from? Where did he get the money to pay for passage?”

“Good questions. It’s a ship that’s gone through several owners.” He held up a finger. “Suspicious. Payment?” He shrugged. “Men like Drager generally have valuable items, artworks they can sell.” He blinked and took her hands in his. “You’re to stay back and command from outside the clinic when, or if, they go in. Sonja is second-in-command.”

“What?” She pulled her hands away. “Then I may as well not be there. Uncle...”

“Next time. Next time you can go in. This is a little unusual and Drager could be dangerous.”

“Oh. Drager seemed harmless enough.”

“Somm addicts are dangerous when they’re deprived of the drug. I doubt he’s still getting a regular supply. I’ll be informing the enforcers just in case.”

Enforcers meant this was indeed unusual. Uncle never called in the law. A cool breeze blew aside the flimsy lace curtains. A feather swirled in through the opening and settled at her feet.

“Very well. I’ll stay back.”

“One last thing. You’ll be picking up the girl from his house on the way.”

“No.” She blinked and felt her face redden. The word had come out almost before she could think.

“Yes. Or you’re out of a job, niece or no niece. She’s insurance. Violence is less likely to be necessary if you can put her in front of Drager’s nose. Got that?”

“Yes. Sorry, sir.”

****

The city below Samos crept into the twilight hours and the mosaic of its rooftops and gardens, all those reds and greens and blues, melted into shades of gray.

From here he could see from one horizon to the other. This monument was the tallest building in the city barring the palace of the Imperator. To the west was the harbor with the orange glow of sunset dribbling from the sky across the rippling sea. The ships were made toys, the buildings the houses of dolls, and the people so insignificant they might as well not have been there at all. Unless he concentrated. Then he saw the warm red pulse of their hearts against the cooling ground as if they were tiny, living jewels.

Around him and below him was the district of the principal gods. To the east ran a major road, straight through the traders’ district and on into the precinct of the practitioners of magience, among them the Needle Masters like Drager.

If he could deliver Drager and Kengshee, as well as solid evidence of their crimes to the Imperator, he had a chance of a pardon. But he needed them to confess.

Of course the simplest thing would be to give them what they wanted. His other self had wanted that but now...now he found he couldn’t stomach the idea of being a traitor. Besides, that opened up all sorts of possibilities. The information on Immolator creation would be worth so much that mere human lives would be so much chaff on the wind. He’d wanted to be an ordinary human, to run away from it all with Pela. Instead he’d put her in terrible danger. All for his own selfish reasons.

No. If nothing else, he would try to rescue Pela, though it might cost him his own life.

He jammed his eyes shut and whispered a prayer so fervent it clawed lines across his heart.

You call me, Samos Goodkin?
The voice breathed in echoing whispers.

He looked about, whipping his head from side to side.

I will help you if I can, since you pray to me twice and thrice
.

Gossamer pieces detached from the stone around him, floating out in glowing specks to form the miasmic shape of a woman sitting beside him. A wreath of feathers and flower blossoms rested amongst her streaming locks.

“Who...” But he realized he knew who this was – Amora, the goddess of love. “Twice, thrice?”

Yes, I adore the number two, and you have prayed to me twice. Your love, Pela, has prayed once. Thus also thrice. Three is also nice.
She laughed.

“You will help me? How?” Instantly he wished to retrieve that word. Questioning a god seemed dangerous.

Perhaps. My powers are small and unfitted to this task. I must consider. Perhaps, I may help a little. There may be...consequences. Do you accept?

She asked him this? And then the many stories came to him of how man would inevitably pay a steep price when he dealt with the gods. “If you aid me...will I marry Pela and live a long life, safely, with my child?”

Her voice deepened, screwing deep into his ears,
As long and as safely as most! You will be a father, more than most, less than some. Perhaps. Perhaps.

He took his hands from his ears. There was no real choice. “Then, yes, I accept your aid. He bowed his head. “Thank you.”

The wind sighed, and when he looked up she was gone.

A
god
had come to talk to him. A god. A tale to tell down the generations, if he didn’t die today or tomorrow.

His thumping heartbeat quietened.

Maybe his task was not so futile. He smiled grimly. A little help would be welcome.

Laid out beside him was a row of long metal pieces, metal stock destined to become blades. He picked up the first, weighed it in his hand and pressed the tip against his wrist. Then he slid it in and along his arm between skin and muscle. Blood welled up and his flesh made a tearing sound as it parted. He gasped at the pain but kept his teeth clamped together and did not waver until the full fifteen inches had gone in. He pressed the small skin wound together until it closed over. And then he picked up the next piece and did it again. And again. And again.

By the time he was finished he breathed in ragged gasps and his forearms and lower legs were ridged and lumpy. Gingerly he bent his arms at the elbow to wipe his face. Sweat dribbled in rivulets between his fingers and down his wrists to mix with the blood. He wiped the mess away with the inside of his tunic.

This was Immolator garb – black hose, thin-soled boots, and a gray tunic edged with silver. Kengshee and Drager might like him to find less conspicuous garb, but if anything, that seemed a good reason to stay as he was.

He stood up on the ledge. Time to finish this. He weighed up everything that could affect the outcome. Amora, though, how much could she help? Make his enemies love him? He shook his head at such silliness. He slipped back on the coat then crawled down the side of the building into the darkest of the shadows and made his way to Drager’s clinic.

****

They gathered on a terrace rooftop that overlooked the clinic. No lights but still they were careful to stay mostly out of line-of-sight from Drager’s building and no one made excessive noise. One kept lookout while the others checked the distribution of weapons and armor – which mainly meant adjusting the position of a scabbard by a smidgen, tightening a cuirass strap, sliding a sword in and out a few times to check for sticking. Heloise noted it all, trying to stay calm and self-assured. She put a hand on the lookout’s arm.

“Finn. What’s happening?”

He turned. His eyes were utter dark due to the night-sight potion. They shared duties on using it, she knew. Once a year. More than that and you risked blindness.

“From the shadows on the glass – maybe two at the front door. You could get one, but the others would see. Upper-story windows there’s a lookout. No matter where we go in they’ll see us. It’s like they know we’re here.”

“How many?”

“Can’t be sure. Three, four?” He cocked an eyebrow.

“Plus Drager. Can we handle that?”

Sonja looked thoughtful then nodded. “Sure. Long as we’re fast and get them by surprise.”

“Then what about a wall entry?”

Sonja spoke again. “Too noisy, love.”

She went to comment on the ‘love’ but bit it back. Later. Besides, Sonja was right. The thumper could demolish a section of wall in seconds, but it was noisy. It would draw every guard down on them. No better than going through a door. Thumpers were meant for quick entry when customers barricaded themselves in. She rubbed her forehead, thinking hard and staring at the dark, squarish lump on the floor that was the thumper.

In a corner of the rooftop, hidden by a column, Tinman was quietly checking his gheist weapon. The Toad, he liked to call it, courtesy of its large throat and bumpy texture. Which trinketologist had made it or the thumper, Uncle had never said. They were living proof that Uncle didn’t stint on equipment. Like all trink creations, the Toad was unique. It was half as long as Tinman and it did its job well.

Heloise suppressed a shiver. The gheist ammunition across his shoulder glowed an eerie blue at night. Each cylinder contained the compressed ectoplasm of a ghost. Someone’s father or mother, maybe, definitely someone’s ghost. The explosive perforation of bodies with a thousand threads of blue ectoplasm didn’t bother most. It bothered her. Tinman’s gun was a last resort. It killed, always. She wrenched herself back to what Sonja had said.

“Okay, then we’ll wait and watch. When things change, we’ll reassess. There’s plenty of time.”

“Good.” Sonja nodded.

“Yes. If we go in, you and Bull first. Then  Finn, Marty, Rabbit. Tinman, at the back with me. We’re all in.” No one questioned her command. It was as she thought, Uncle had spoken only to her. She’d never get their respect if she held back. She flicked a glance toward the girl huddled in the corner. She’d not said a word since Sonja had told her that her father might get hurt if she chattered. When they’d picked her up from Drager’s house, she’d been alone sitting with only two packed valises. No nanny and she was packed for quick travel. Drager was planning to abscond, soon.

“Hey.”

The girl looked up, eyes wide with fear.

“Oh, my.” Heloise knelt beside her. “You scared?” The girl said nothing. “Look, everything’s going to be okay. Alright?” Heloise reached out and took her hand, feeling the tremble in her tiny fingers. “What’s your name?”

Still nothing but then in the quietest of voices: “Leonie. Is my dada going to be alright?”

“Sure he is. Okay?”
Please, let that be true.
Drager might be scum for leaving the girl alone at night like he had and for getting himself as screwed up as he was, but this girl loved him.

Leonie nodded. “Thank you.”

Why did that bring a tear to her eye? Heloise sniffed and hugged the child against her chest. For the first time she doubted, and she wondered if this was what she really wanted to do, because it was eating at her soul.

****

At the clinic, Samos made a not-so-surprising discovery. Nine hearts beat within its walls, five more than there should have been – assuming the servants had been sent away, and that was likely. Reinforcements. But, worst of all, he wasn’t sure if one of the hearts was Pela’s. He inhaled deeply and through the pungent stew of street grime – dog stink and feet and toilet wastes – he smelt a hint of her perfume mixed with the distinctive musk of her skin.