The Vagrant (10 page)

Suns lower, starting their downward arc.

Then their swords flinch from a distant sound. The Malice has resurfaced. Brazen, the commander marches through the streets, intent on the trail, gathering knights as it goes.

From a side street, a strange voice calls out: ‘Hold!’

The commander pauses as robed figures move between them and their trail. Something about them is wrong. Broken essence hangs from the humans, woven to them in bags of dead flesh. What madness has the Uncivil wrought? What are these non-things?

‘You are in violation of the treaty,’ says a Half-alive man. ‘This is the Uncivil’s domain. Return to your lair until Darktime immediately! Do it now and all we will demand is compensation. Disobey and Patchwork will have you ended!’

The knights await their commander. The master’s orders are clear but surely war must be avoided? This twisted non-thing speaks truth, they are in the wrong, they should go back. But the commander does not retreat.

‘I give you one last warning.’

The commander knows they should pull back, wishes it even, but the Malice is too close. The first wound burns and memories surface, of greatness, of coherence, lost.

The Uncivil’s creature is talking still; words float by the commander. It does not hear them, raising its lance.

The knights understand, closing around the non-things, who begin to wail.

In panic the Uncivil’s Half-alive men shrug off their robes, revealing bodies ravaged by extreme surgery, grafted dead limbs reanimated, original parts reworked, joints altered, muscles rewired, augmentations gifted by the Uncivil in exchange for service.

The commander squeezes the lance, spraying them all with liquid fire.

The Half-alive howl with pain, violently waving limbs that burn, trying to put them out, trying to fight their way towards the commander. Before they can reach their target, the knights step forward, tightening the circle, hacking at the flailing appendages. When the knights step back, gouts of fire pour from the commander’s lance. Between each burst the knights close again, cutting away another layer of the enemy like skin from an onion. All the while their swords lament, twisting through bodies that burn, silenced.

When the last of the Uncivil’s Half-alive men have fallen the knights move about the corpses ensuring every part of them is truly lifeless.

Then the knights pause, shocked into contemplation until the Malice whispers again from the north, agitating, setting them into motion.

Soon Patchwork will discover the carnage and war will follow. Despite its instincts, the commander doesn’t mind.

Within Verdigris’ underground, two men travel. One has green eyes and carries a grumbling baby; the other has a gun and pulls a goat behind him.

‘Joe?’ says the first, quiet.

‘Yeah?’

‘Something’s wrong.’

‘Yeah, it’s a sign of our times.’ Joe snorts. ‘Or are you talking about something in particular?’

‘We should be at the north passage by now.’

‘Nah, I’m just being extra careful, we’re taking a different route.’

The green-eyed man frowns and the baby chuckles like an old man, distracting, drawing his attention down. ‘You like that don’t you, little one.’

‘Harm, you know it can’t understand a word you’re saying? It’s a baby.’

The green-eyed man stops. ‘You’re not going to the north passage.’

Joe looks over his shoulder, biting back angry words. ‘I told you, we’re just going a different route, it’s a bit out of the way but safer.’

‘You did, but that was a lie.’

There is a moment, awkward, tense. Joe fingers the handle of his gun. ‘Is that going to be a problem, Harm-less?’

‘That depends,’ Harm replies softly. ‘Where are we going?’

‘We’re going to go and make a fortune!’ Teeth glint in the torchlight. ‘We’re off to market. It’s all worked out.’

‘Really?’

‘Yep, I’ve got a contact waiting, old friend of mine. He’s going to sell the brat on for us, make us all rich. He’s even throwing in a few extras for “the beast”.’ Joe tugs at the leash for emphasis. ‘Which is why I haven’t turned it loose yet, bloody thing keeps trying to go the wrong way.’

Harm whispers words that fall like feathers, light, just beyond hearing. The baby stretches, reaching for the source of the sound.

‘What was that?’

‘Nothing, but why take me?’

‘To be honest,’ Joe replies. ‘Tough Call told me to take you, that’s why.’

‘She won’t like this.’

‘Yeah, which is why we aren’t going to tell her.’

‘I’m not sure I like this.’

‘It’s a bit late to grow a conscience now. There was that lad you scammed, what was his name, Ness? Nate? What did happen to him anyway, nobody’s seen him in ages?’

Harm looks away, swallowing, the soft light of his eyes eclipsed. The baby struggles, frustrated by its lack of freedom.

‘I’m pretty sure Tough Call wouldn’t like to know about that or some of the other services you’ve been offering on the quiet …’

‘Okay,’ comes the reply, broken.

‘Okay?’

‘I’ll help you. I’ll say nothing.’

‘That’s smart. And don’t worry, there’s plenty of money to go round. You’ll get your share, and money is the best antidote to guilt I know.’

They walk on until their lights reveal a sagging ceiling, cutting the passage in half. Joe wraps the leash around his wrist, pulling the goat’s head low as he stoops to continue.

On impulse, Harm throws his torch at Joe’s head and runs. Behind him he hears a clunk and a curse. The baby squirms in his arms, unimpressed.

Harm risks a backwards glance.

Joe swings the gun round for a clear shot but his other hand still holds the leash, linking him to the goat. The goat has no interest in turning; she pulls hard, arresting Joe’s turn. He tries to hold his balance, tries to pull his captive with him. The goat pulls a second time and the small man falls, cursing again as he hits the ground, legs bent behind him.

The gun fires, loud and impotent.

The goat bolts.

Joe and the baby scream.

Harm runs.

Green eyes glow softly, twin moons too weak to penetrate the dark. He fights to hold the baby, unable to stop its noise in his haste while, unseen, uneven walls beat at his arms and shoulders, bouncing him from one side of the passage to the other. Distantly he hears struggling and swearing, and the sound of pursuit.

The chase is slow, both men struggling to find their way, both desperate to be faster.

Harm reaches a familiar door. He puts the baby down fast, and wrestles to open it. Little hands and feet rage against Harm’s stomach as he lifts the unwilling bundle. Pale light issues from the doorway, glistening on the baby’s back. He looks down, sees blood on the floor, the door, smearing its lower quarter. His hands begin to shake. The baby’s cries stutter, transforming, becoming laughter, juddering.

His comrades wait in the chamber, tense, clustering around something, voices low and frantic. His arrival startles them but panicked looks turn swiftly accusatory, freezing him.

‘What’s happened?’ he asks, throat dry.

They move aside, allowing him to see Tina. The ratbred looks pale, injured, angry. Fresh bandages cover her leg, red-stained from the inside.

‘What happened to you?’

Tears of pain roll down her cheeks. ‘Him! When he saw his baby wasn’t there, he tried to kill me. I only just escaped.’

He avoids the glare of pink eyes. ‘You didn’t escape.’

‘He was faster but I lost him once we got underground.’

Harm readjusts his grip on the baby, waits for Tina’s thoughts to form.

‘You think he’s still coming? You think he followed me?’

He nods sadly.

‘Oh shit!’

‘I just hope Tough Call returns before he does.’

‘Wait!’ says Tina, small face crinkling with discomfort. ‘Where were you and where’s Joe?’

‘Joe betrayed us.’

Amazement seizes the ratbred’s features, contempt follows. ‘Crap! I’ve known Joe years, I trust him. I don’t trust you.’ Mutters of agreement come from the assembled armed rebels. Harm has always been on the outside, Joe is known to all. ‘What have you done to Joe?’

Hard faces and weapons converge, demanding answers. Harm sways under the pressure. ‘I …’

‘Ssh!’ interrupts Tina, tensing with effort. ‘Something’s coming.’

The rebels take up positions covering the door. In the darkness of the tunnel there is a distant flash of fire, of amber, and a hiss, inhuman.

Essence lamps flicker, green-tinting the chamber. Rebel faces stare into the tunnel, trying to understand what comes. A couple flank the doorway while others form a line, barbed poles and repurposed tools held forth, aggressive.

Harm stands among them, unarmed save for a bundle of squirming irritation.

Humming, ominous, the point of a sword penetrates the room. The Vagrant follows.

As the lamps sketch him, Tina screams, dragging her injured leg towards the far wall. ‘Don’t let him touch me!’

‘He’s not here for you,’ Harm murmurs, but none attend to the words.

‘Get out of here,’ says one of the rebels to the intruder, his pole indicating the exit. ‘And we’ll not hurt you.’

The Vagrant shakes his head, eyes intent on the baby. He takes a step forward.

The rebels exchange hurried looks. Poles quiver, uncertain. There are no weak rebels, Verdigris does not permit such to survive, but the strongest of the group have left, aiding their leader, seeking precious artillery. Courage has gone with them.

The Vagrant takes another step, raising the sword. A low note resonates from the motion, sending forth a ripple of sound. Teeth set on edge, essence lamps stutter; their unnatural flames dance away, bent by the sound, then cough straight again. The rebels retreat, leaving only space between Harm and the advancing Vagrant.

‘Here,’ says the green-eyed man, holding out the baby. ‘I’m sorry.’ There are more words, explanations, but they die in his throat when he meets the Vagrant’s eyes.

The Vagrant reaches for the baby with his free hand.

The baby reaches for the Vagrant.

Fingers nearly touch.

A click sounds sharp from the doorway. ‘Nah, I don’t think so.’ Joe spits. ‘I’ll be taking that baby.’

‘It’s over, Joe,’ Harm replies softly.

The gunman rubs at the new swelling on his temple. ‘Shut up!’

The Vagrant starts to turn.

‘Don’t move!’ Joe shouts. ‘And keep that sword where I can see it. If the bloody thing so much as waves I’ll put you down.’ He glares at Harm. ‘And as for you, you freak, I’m going to put a hole right between those weird eyes of yours, you two-faced, double crossing c—’

The sword comes down in a swift cut. Air sings, Harm jumps back, Tina hides her face, rebels tense.

‘What?’ Joe says, incredulous, his hair lifting as the sound wave passes. ‘You think I’m joking? I’ll …’

With a chorus of gasps, the essence lamps go out.

‘… kill you?’

Cries of alarm mingle with muffled footsteps.

Harm stands, shock-still, waiting for the first gunshot. The baby wails, its cry distinct in the dark. He curls his body round the baby as the second shot grazes his shoulder, pushing him down on his side, hard. The third bullet passes overhead. Cold stone slaps one cheek, a tiny fist the other.

One of the rebels rekindles a lamp, making sense of the soundscape.

People cower in corners, bodies scrunched small.

The Vagrant rises from his crouched advance, moving to strike.

Joe’s surprise curves into a smile. More than a sword length separates them. He fires as the Vagrant swings.

Blade and bullet meet, sparks flare and the shot ricochets harmlessly upwards.

Still too far away, the Vagrant stands, sword stretched high, body exposed.

Joe levels the pistol but his smile falters at a sound behind him. Before he can understand its nature, an unknown force collides, charging hard against his legs, knocking him forwards. At speed, the goat emerges from the tunnel.

The Vagrant’s eyebrows shoot up. The sword comes down, Joe follows a moment after. There are no sparks, no fire and this blood does not burn. It stains the blade, running along its edge, forming drops, falling.

The Vagrant nods to the goat but she doesn’t respond, running past, head twitching left and right, searching for an exit. The Vagrant frowns, looks the way the goat has come, peering into the dark.

Faintly, something moves.

The sword’s attention fixes on the motion, thrumming a warning against the Vagrant’s hand. Its sound is caught by the approaching menace, sent back, distorted, a strangled cry of metal.

The Vagrant sighs, his shoulders droop, then he forces in a deep breath and straightens.

‘The Usurper’s knights are here!’ Tina screeches. ‘Shut the door, shut it now!’

Stunned rebels begin to move, unsure of which enemy to face first. Some watch the intruder in the room, others move to the door.

Harm pushes onto his knees. ‘There’s another way out of here.’

The Vagrant crosses to the green-eyed man, towering over him.

‘I could show you.’ Again, Harm offers the baby.

Sheathing his sword, the Vagrant takes the baby and holds it. His eyes close. Little fingers worm into his hair, turning circles.

Harm waits while rebels struggle with the door. It closes, a brief denial of what comes.

Reluctantly, amber eyes open. Harm swallows, meets them. ‘We have to go.’

The Vagrant nods, retrieves the goat.

Tina has hobbled to the shadows of the opposite wall. At her touch one deepens, opens. Rebels race for the new door, friendships forgotten in the rush to live. The ratbred is knocked aside, crushed against the wall. Fatigue buckles knees, frustration drives her down. She draws a breath, ‘Help me, please.’

The Vagrant walks past without looking down.

‘Please!’

Harm closes the way behind them. The door pushes her back into the chamber, muffling the baby’s cries on the other side.

Hands shaking, Tina reaches for the wall, pulls, begins to stand.

Behind her the essence lamps grow brighter.

Her injured leg fails and she clings to the wall until fingernails fracture.