I tried to save them all. That's not how the world works through. As you know. It's certainly not part of The Dance or The Game and retreating into the Nothing limits your ability to reach out. Clearly. You can't vanish and still carry on as normal.
I got Slinks, his lady, and her mother out. He understood. He didn't ask questions. He took the ticket and ran. I had always been setting up an escape line for him and he did right by all.
Others rabbited as well, but clearly not all. My enemies weren't trying to find me through them and they chose to take their chances. Of course I couldn't be found. Unless I chose to come out. That's the reason they hunted down anyone they could find who was known to associate with me. To flush me out. To make me feel angry, or guilty, enough to strike back. To save others.
I don't think it ever works. It certainly didn't with me. My death wouldn't save anyone. Those marked were marked and would remain marked even after my death. The Game has no mercy and spares none. The message is sent. Step onto the playing field and you will die.
Kell should have run. He should have. He deserved more than this, but I'm not God. If I was he wouldn't have been ashamed to love. But I'm not God and the world turns. And I turn with it as I must.
Revenge is most effective when the danger seems to be gone. You forget why you should be afraid and when the nightmare returns it's worse than you'd once imagined.
.
Sometimes you forget just what a dangerous thing ruthless power is.
Arden Rauch knew what was happening. In regards to my circumstances. He had an extensive network. To help me, and thus himself, and to thwart my hunters, he bombed the Municipal Surveillance Headquarters. Yes. He did that. It wasn't revolutionaries or subversives. It was a billionaire with few scruples and dark connections. Not him personally. Fuck's sake. You surely know that.
Anyhow.
Anyone else would have attacked the place at night. The intention was to cripple the camera systems. Killing government employees and officials is something that most try to avoid. That is asking for the storm to strike. Most worry on that.
Not Arden Rauch.
It made sense. A cold-hearted and brutal sense, Arden Rauch has never shied away from either category. He knew the system could be quickly restored. As long as those who designed, ran, maintained, and understood it best were still alive.
The blast killed the architect of the system and the three responsible for upgrading and perfecting operations. It, coincidentally, killed a spymaster who was there to request new cameras, the vice-minister of security who had accompanied him, and sixty-seven others. Yes the official record claims fifteen dead. Clearly they can't tell the truth about this. To be that vulnerable, to not have foreseen something such as that, it didn't indicate a competent security apparatus.
Their blood is on my hands too, but I am not sorry about it. Nineteen longcoats were on the unofficial casualty list. Fuck those people. Nobody was innocent in that building. Just following orders and doing your job doesn't erase responsibility or make you innocent.
When someone finally sends me to the dark I doubt anyone will claim I was innocent either.
.
The bombing was a clear request. I honoured that request by meeting up with Arden Rauch. I chose the place and time. With the camera network down the police presence upon the streets was tripled, but that suited me fine. When you know where they're looking than you know what to show them.
"I'm not particularly happy with you burning down a city's block of property that I own." Arden said as I stepped into the dining room at his Fairingdon Square office. He was not surprised to see me. "Did you kill all thirteen of those men?"
"Just four." I said and sat down across from him. His bodyguard Jastus coiled back his anger with me at hearing that bit of information. "I took advantage of an ongoing kerfuffle."
"Kerfuffle? Right. Smoke if you wish." Arden said and set down his fork. "You know that they still aren't sure if you're alive? You left quite a bit of smoking rubble in your wake."
"It was over insured. You made money from it." I said and lit a cigarette as ordered. Well, suggested. "I wanted to make sure that the investigators would have plenty to do."
"Clever. Of course you're incapable of being anything else. Because you're clearly wickedly smart and a survivor." Arden said and he meant survivor in a different way. Figure that out for yourself. "Do not make contact with my brother. He is intellectually and emotionally incapable of dealing with these new parameters. He was wanting to send out forty men to find you and bring you safely in. He's losing his capacity for rational, logical reasoning. As if you need the help. I told him that they wouldn't find you. Nobody finds you unless you want to be found."
"That's particularly true now." I said and watched Arden take a sip of port. He knew exactly what I meant. I reached into my shirt and pulled out a bulky envelope. "I had some projects ongoing that I'll have to step away from for obvious reasons. In here there's enough information for you to finish setting the trap for the vizier McMellihound. If you extend the scope just a bit you can bring down more than just him."
"You think so? Hm. Well. You don't exaggerate." Arden set his glass down and leaned back. His eyes were flat and empty. Deliberately. "And what are the risks to me? Hm? What are you leaving out that will turn around and bite me?"
"Nothing. Read it. Check the facts. I can't finish this. You can." I said and smiled. Because I still could. "You're the one at the table with the good hand. I'm not in this to lose. I'm not giving up. I don't intend to vanish forever. I may as well be dead then. You? You I trust. Because you play The Game pure. We understand each other."
Jastus blinked and leaned away from his boss. Waiting for an explosion of anger over my presumptuousnesa. Or at least a sharp and bitter retort. But Arden smiled instead.
"We do indeed." He said and raised his glass in a toast. "To you. You're one of my kind."
You don't find the finest of humanity in the Nothing. Nobody disappears without bad reasons driving them to do so. People there are every monarch's worst nightmare. Violent, brutal, crafty, and intelligent. It's not just about connections. Knowing people isn't enough. You need to be clever, quick, and have the intellct to see every danger and recognize every threat.
It's not a place anyone actually wants to be. Those who find themselves there try to correct enough to be able to re-emerge into the normal world. It's a hard place to exist and a harder place to escape from though. That's why so many run their last leg there. In the Nothing your first mistake is one mistake too many.
That's why there's no pity there. No mercy. Brutality is a natural consequence. Those in the Nothing have everything to lose at every moment. Again. Good and nice people aren't there. Which, since I was there as well, tells you some truth. If you're listening.
.
"Khoja, you know much about the Downbreaks?" Asked a man (with far too many scars which all undoubtedly had horrific origin stories), of me on a cold winter evening. "You're wind and I got money looking to buy."
"I might know something. You talking hand or face?" I asked back and I will not describe, or even hint at, where we were. "How do they stand?"
"Vetted. A Tarzhik. They're past three hundred." The scarred man said and piqued my interest. Anybody lasting over three hundred days invisible was good and knew the play. "Face. It's solid. So you take it you better be too."
I nodded. It wasn't an insult. It was a reminder. "Set it up."
.
"They didn't tell me that you were a hobbler."
"They didn't tell me you were a woman." I replied back. I wasn't insulted by her slur. We were both improbable residents of the Nothing. "Now that we've exchanged pleasantries, money please."
She grinned without humor and tossed a roll of bills onto the table. I picked it up and peeled off the band and began counting. That was not optional. If I trusted her to not cheat me, I'd be too stupid to be trusted. Plus it gave me the opportunity to examine her. Anywhere else my target wouldn't have noticed, but she was good.
She was also full Tarzhik and it showed. Complexion pale as snow. Ash blonde hair. Hazel eyes. As tall as me and lithe and wiry with all the curves precise. She was beautiful like a diamond. Hard and cool and uncaring of what an observer thought of her.
She was more open in her examination of me. As though she was making a point to not play the game here where it was just the two of us. I didn't know if she liked what she saw and didn't ask. The money was right. I pocketed it and gave her the nod to pitch.
"I have a prospect who's blank. He claims to have connections in the Break." She said and then grinned a legitimate grin as I got out my cigarettes. She recognized my ploy. "I need to know how much of what's said cuts and how much is blind."
I looked at her through a veil of smoke. She wasn't sharing intent and that was fine. Best thing actually. Whomever she was investigating was a fade. Then again there are few names in the Downbreaks. If you have that you're a target. People there don't play. You're tight or you die.
"Float me the known." I said and wondered about her world. Not deeply though.
You never do that in the Nothing either. Know only what you need to. That's the only commandment there.
.
I never fail to deliver. Unless you're a fool and you're the target and not my custom. If I promise on money I perform. I don't make enemies out of customers.
.
"Khoja, you're wanted at the Nook." the blandest, most unremarkable teenager ever to exist said to me some four days later. I went because that's the only way to get paid. I tried to keep up with the kid but that was impossible. He moved like grease on a griddle and knew every shadow so I gave it up.
(That kid remains a mystery to this day. He was the only mystery I really wanted an answer to. How, at his age, was he in the Nothing? Clearly I didn't ask. That is not permitted. But I still wonder.)
The scarred man was waiting. This time he said nothing. Just handed me an envelope, which I took just as silently, I paid the fee and a bonus, and left. The envelope had an address and three hundred in cash in it. More important than the money was the marks imprinted into paper. Right near the crease of the fold. You would'nt notice it if you weren't looking for it.
There are seven "levels" of nothing. Each has a language. That's more than you need to know, but not enough to endanger me. The real message changed everything that an uneducated reader would see. Yes. It's cyphers. And they change and, again, that is enough said.
.
"Serviceable then?" I said to the Tarzhik after she locked the door behind me. She openly wore a pistol on her belt and clearly had a punch dagger on her belt. She also smelled very good. "Are we bypassing the mediators for this next one?"
"I already know you. Fuck them." She said, and from someone under a hundred that would have been suicidal. You don't cross the lines. Until you can. "My money to you. They don't deserve a fee. Their risk is done."
"How do you know I'm fit for the job?" I asked and let myself settle down and anchor into the situation. "I won't take what I can't do, but I also can't recommend another who can."
"Your information was precise and perfect." She said and went to a cooler. She took out two beers and handed me one. "Instead of wasting my time on relays I figure it would be easier to just ask you what part of this city you don't know."
"You already know the answer to that." I said and she did and took my hand to show me.
And for the rest of you, the answer was her bed.
Use your imagination if you expect more than that. Everything doesn't need to be in writing.
She was Kit and I was Khoja and we could be what we were because we were both singular and extraordinary. That isn't boasting. Very, very few women Dance. You know why. And think about it. She was almost a Mattaturian in a fashion. She stood out even more than I did. She had to be more than exceptionally good at what she did. She had to be absolutely magnificent. Which she was.
She and I both had mastered the arts of distraction and dissembling. Cause people to see one thing even as you did another right before their eyes. Here's what it means to be a master of The Dance. Neither of us had heard of the other even though we were both unique and veterans of the trade.
Again this isn't boasting. If you think it is, come look me up. Find me. I'm still in Hurstfield. If you doubt that, if you think I'm just a self aggrandizing liar spinning out tales strictly from my imagination, then go to the Central Junction Train Station. Ask the head porter for the dolphin key. Bring this book though. You will need it.
What does that really mean? Find out. Do as I said. You will see.
.
We were anonymously intimate, she and I. If that sounds absurd, it is. You see, we could appreciate each other, find union in our time together, without ever asking any of the usual questions. There is no personal history in the Nothing. You have a past but hide it. You hope for a future but you never really expect it. You have to be willing to accept only what is offered because all knowledge is dangerous if taught to the wrong mind.
I regained a level of humanity that I hadn't noticed myself losing. The act of being physically intimate, the touch and sensation, the pleasure both given and received, it brought me back into an awareness of life. Life and not just death looming. Life in the immediate, not just days falling from a calendar that you know is nearing its last page. I discovered that you could fall deeply in love with a person you didn't really know and whom you couldn't show yourself to.
Looking into her eyes as we reached mutual release I found a perfection not unlike a snowflake. The moment did not have to last to be absolutely beautiful. We saw that perfection together and what more can anyone really ask?
.
"I wish you weren't so beautiful in my life." I said in the small hours of our seventh night together. Or rather, my heart said. My mouth chose a smile over words because a smile cannot say things it shouldn't. I didn't look away or hide my face in the height of my vulnerability. She had earned more than denial.
"Your eyes are like water when sunshine pierces the clouds to strike the sea in the midst of a storm." She said as her body wove around me and pinned me in place within the moment. "Are you mine? Not forever. Not for the future. Just now. Are you mine now?"
"I am yours." I admitted and kissed her gently. Revelling in the warmth of her touch against me. "All I have is now. All I have is here. All that I am is yours."
"The rumors are truth." She said with a strange smile, leaving me confused as to what rumor she meant. "I hope I'm not disappointing. You certainly aren't."
"I'm utterly sated, pleasantly exhausted, and alive here with you." I said softly, incapable of looking away or feeling anything but her. "What more could a man want?"
"The world." She said but reached up to touch my cheek. Her skin was so pale against my darker that it was like snow in the south shadow of a building come spring. "I'm not going to ask you if there's anything that you aren't good at. If you answered I'd have to kill you as a liability. I wouldn't enjoy that at all."
"I suppose that I wouldn't either." I said and smiled at what her eyes told me. "I think I'd rather not find out otherwise."
"Oh gods, wouldn't that be a horrible thing to discover?" She said as her finger followed a scar along my hip. "Death to be enjoyable? Well, that would just make giving in to the end a temptation and make you wonder if you should fight against it so hard."
"There's nothing good in the dark." I said and felt her skin speaking to mine in a beautifully sensuous language. "No devils, no angels. Nothing waiting. Certainly nobody like you. Only in the light. There's nobody else like you. And you're here. So clearly the dark has nothing to offer. At all."
"For being as good a fuck as you are you still make your words dance quite nicely." She said and drew me more tightly to her. "Enough talk. Later isn't real. Only now is. Show me how much it means to you."
It was offer and order both and either way I'd have obeyed.
.
"How are you still making profits?" Arden Rauch asked me with a bemused smile. I had found time to infiltrate his lower east side staging warehouse and meet him. "The better question is why you're directing money into my FABR account."
"I burned down a block of your property. I'm offering appropriate compensation." I said and shrugged. I had actually accidentally hijacked a shipment from someone I really shouldn't have. I had a great deal of money I didn't want to have connected to me. "I make money like anyone else. Wherever and whenever I can."
"Perhaps you should be directing it towards reducing the price on your head." Arden said and seemed to just then notice that I wore dockman's gear. "Or do you get off on the danger? Are you enjoying this little escape?"
"Would you take pay to forego revenge? Could someone pay you enough to change a course of action you were determined to follow?" I replied, and recognized his curiosity. "I still need the cane but I don't use it where someone might connect it with information they have about me."
"It must hurt to walk then?" Arden said and his eyes took on that odd hunger that I hadn't seen in a long time. "My brother is moping and miserable without you. You, you accept pain as a price and don't complain. I would trade you for him in a heartbeat if it were possible."
"But then these thoughts you're having now would be incestuous." I said as he fixed his desire upon me.
"Indeed. These thoughts would be absolutely wicked, forbidden, and evil." Arden Rauch said and gave me a horrible smile. "And I would act out every one of them and every single fantasy. Each and every. Pity you aren't actually my brother."
"Boss, I think I'm in love but I don't have the right. How could she want me? How could she see anything in me?"
Those were words I didn't want to hear. From anyone. I was building my own tomb day by day. I was in an oubliette waiting for the final bricks to be placed. I didn't want to care about anyone or anything. So hearing this from Slinks was a knife drawn across my soul.
I kept my eyes upon the exquisitely forged custom form in my hands. It was a bitter winter morning that felt even worse down on Westing pier. I was matching tax stamps to those listed on my documents because everything had to be an exact match. If you're going to steal directly from the King you have no choice but to Dance flawlessly. I couldn't just remain silent though.
"What district is she from?" I asked and glanced up at my young companion. A mistake that. He had become a fine and handsome young man and his heart wasn't hidden at all. His eyes. "How, mm, how do you come to know her?"
"She's from Barksvale. She sells roast corn in Teller's Square." Slinks said and blushed. That hurt as well. He wasn't Dancing when he should have been. Because he trusted me. "Her mother is a seamstress but she inherited the stall from an uncle."
"Have you met her mother?" I said and set my clipboard down. There were no functioning security cameras in this area of the excise zone. "And your lady? Does she like tea or coffee?"
"Boss? What?" Slinks said and blinked in a clear display of confusion. "She likes coffee. I, uhm, I...what does that..."
"Have you met her mother?" I persisted and, as is my way, lit a cigarette to distract attention and veil my expressions in smoke. "I don't mean a formal dinner or some introduction of intent to court. Just, as I said, have you met the mother?"
"In Teller's Square. At the stall. Twice." Slinks said and no, you'll never get his legal name or proper description from me. "Boss, I don't understand."
"Not boss. We aren't discussing business here." I said and smiled even though I felt ancient and tired beyond belief. "We're two men talking. Discussing life. Call me Gideon."
"Okay." Slinks said and smiled back. Thank you. Gideon."
.
Just to save time and the awkward maneuvering for avoidance of providing personal information on my part, I could tell that yes, Slinks loved her, and that, because I could see it, his lady clearly could as well. Having met the mother with their relationship already in progress it was clear that she was leaving the moves open on his behalf. His awareness of small things such as her preference for coffee meant that he paid attention. All the time, not just when it might lead to sex.
Slinks was, despite what you may choose to see in him and believe, a good person. Thievery is only a sin when it is a choice and not your only means of survival. If you've never gone a week without food then you know nothing of desperation and have no idea what it's like to feel as though the world itself wants you dead.
.
"That was a masterful move. And yet you look grim and miserable." Aidan Mercieviesòn said to me as he handed me official government receipts. Not in my name, but still. "Your grace is unmatched. What is bothering you?"
"Oh nothing. My life is a room growing ever smaller. The blood is up to my knees, the windows bricked over, and the door cemented shut." I said and realized that I was out of cigarettes. Better that anyway. My chest felt thick and my head was throbbing with each heartbeat. "I should have taken the coffin instead of the offers. A good number of people would be better off if I had."
"I don't want to die but do you really think that what I want matters?" I said and tried not to feel guilty for feeling a bit sorry for myself. "I don't intend to offer my neck though. It's too late for that. I didn't Dance this long just to bow out."
"Wings my friend, fuck those other people. You think they wouldn't find a way to end up exactly as they have just because you didn't get in the game?" Aidan said and gave me a look that I chose not to decipher. "You sound like my brother. What you, and he used to seem to think, is that it's only your involvement, your actions, that lead these people to the mistakes and bad behaviors that they've chosen. Alain ended up dead because he thought that refusing to do what he had to would change things. Well it changed things for him. He's dead. This world is still a vile mess though. Greedy idiots still put their own heads in the noose chasing money they don't need. If you really intend to get yourself killed tell me now. I have enough dead friends already."
"Wings? Quit worrying about winning or losing." Aidan said and handed me one of his cigarettes. "Little victories. Win today. Then try to win tomorrow. One day at a time. Little victories."
.
It's called The Dance because you always have an audience. Even when you're the only one moving you still share the stage. The art of The Dance is the masking of moves. Be observed but never seen. Master the music and nobody remembers the steps, they just see the grace and the flow. You are there. You have to be. You Dance with intention but that doesn't mean your purpose is clear.
The loneliest part of The Dance is being the only one to understand that, no matter how real it may feel, none of it really is. Only the goal is real. There is no true rest until you've finished Dancing. One way or the other.
The beauty of a proper Dance is that only the Dancer sees the truth of each move, only the Dancer understands the pattern. The choreography. Even the most careful of observers will only see what is meant to be shown. It isn't a Dance if an outsider comprehends what is being done.
Sometimes it feels as though I've been waiting here for you my entire life. My story has written itself out across the years waiting for your eyes to see it.
Sometimes I wish I were reading this and not writing it. Then I could just close the book, walk away, and not know how it all went.
.
I am not a violent man. That said I have found a cane to be a handy thing to have when you do encounter a violent man yourself.
That's a lie. It isn't handy. It's a weapon and every single time I have to take a walk it comes back. It always comes back.
.
It was still winter. I had met both Rauch brothers in Goldberry Fields at their Dark Street offices. I had taken a tram there and back from my home because it was quicker than waiting on a car.
My stop was the Thistledown Avenue station. Because of the weather, and because it was evening, ny ethnicity was masked by clothing and shadow. I'm sure that many assumed me to be elderly. Some retired bachelor still trying to engage with the world. The cane. My limping, stiff gait. It didn't speak of youth.
I saw the man because I wasn't old and I was Dancing and he clearly had me targeted. Criminals don't work the streets of the Ups. Any who try don't escape the district and that tends to discourage others. So I understood my danger.
I know my realm. The lay of the land, the neighborhood, the environment I move through. The angle the man was taking would cause us to meet in full view of four different security cameras. My death was meant to be witnessed. Documented. And yes it was to be my death. At that level messages are delivered in blood.
I turned up Bistrossi Way, catching my hunter by surprise. He knew my routine and my pattern. My peripheral vision caught his hesitation. It was very brief. I gave away no sign of being alerted. I neither sped my pace nor slowed down.
Have you ever had a proper cane? Not a mere walking stick, a cane? If not just come along. You'll understand.
So I moved up the Way. That stretch had stationers and milliners and thus there was little foot traffic and obviously no vehicles. Thus no cameras. I, imperceptibly, began to slow. Slightly more than was necessary for a man with a bad leg moving up the gradual slope of the street. My hunter thus grew closer.
It wasn't a gamble on my part. My assumption that I was meant to die before cameras had been proven when my pursuer didn't rapidly close in when I entered the Way. That path offered the perfect opportunity for a quick kill and easy escape and when that wasn't attempted I knew for certain.
Bistrossi Way, like many shopping lanes in the Ups, funnels the wind through its narrow angles. There are enough gentle angles to make it scenic. Each angle creates an area of turbulence. When it is snowing that turbulence can bite at skin and blind eyes. Momentarily.
A moment is all any mistake takes.
I read the surging gusts of wind. Just within sight of Harrowbind Boulevard I saw the wind curling towards me, tracking it by the snow it lifted from pavement. I let it sweep over me, counted steps, timed movements. As it hit the angle behind me I spun and sprinted at my pursuer.
It hurt my leg almost unbearably but I had no intention of dying. I also had the benefit of running downhill. Which was a reason I'd chosen Bistrossi Way. The man had instinctively lowered his face against the wind and was clearly completely nonplussed when his eyes saw my charge. He had barely begun to raise his arm when the head of my cane struck the left side of his head. He hadn't reached for a weapon but I didn't hesitate.
My momentum made a collision unavoidable so I lowered a shoulder and bowled him over. I managed to keep my feet and immediately attacked. I beat the man until the wood splintered and the metal core of my cane broke. This man would not be identified by photo comparison. No next of kin would recognize him. There wasn't enough of a face left for that.
Death in combat is savage. Brutal. Fiercely ugly. Violence does not leave a peaceful corpse in its wake. I won't hide that or spare your sensibilities.
Regardless. It had been quick. There were no witnesses. I picked up the shattered pieces of my cane and moved to search the body. I needed documents if I was to discover who had sent him. He had a pistol in a shoulder holster, another on his belt, a boot knife, and a long dagger. He also had a wallet.
It had an identity card too uncreased and clear to be legitimate. A vendors multi-district permit. A small amount of cash.
And a single photograph.
It showed a stern, youngish man and a rather plain woman. Standing behind three young children seated upon a bench. A family. A family photograph.
A family that would never again welcome home it's husband and father. But that, that was on him. He had chosen that profession. He had taken the job. In that line of work the empty chair at the table is inevitable.
Still and so, I had killed him. It was survival. His life or mine and no other option open. But I had killed him.
Occasionally I wonder what Elessa told Dorion, Eberhard, and Winnifred when they asked why poppa never came home again.
Of course I know who they are. I used that photograph. I knew people who knew how to look into such things and that's how information works. What's become of them, what the world has done with them, it's neither my concern nor responsibility.
But still sometimes I wonder.
.
"I'm just saying that a bomb would be simpler and a clear message. But if you want to be precious about it still, it'll cost extra." K___ B___ said and, if he hadn't been as skilled as he was, I'd have been irritated. A price was a price. "Then again, since you've already killed two of his fods yourself, he might be watching for you to do the job yourself. That helps."
"The only message I want sent is that I kill those who try to kill me." I said and looked into the soulless eyes of this assassin. "Death. That's the message. The only one who needs to hear it delivered is the target. Others will hear after. And the silence of the act will send another message."
"That's actually devious as all fuck. A bit of evil brilliance." K___ said and nodded approval. It was approval I didn't need, but it was there. "It's outside the norm. It doesn't fit the mold. Almost like the kill is utterly impersonal and not important. That said and all, sniping is harder and more time consuming than rigging a bomb."
"Five thousand extra. Which is more than you fucking deserve because you gave me the cost without conditions." I said and he couldn't be angry about the insult because I was right. "In the future the deal is the deal. If you hsve exceptions I'll expect to hear them upfront."
"Fair enougb." K___ said and gave me a nasty grin. "At least you give me interesting jobs. Three days from now. That's guaranteed. On my blood or his."
If you were here would you stay? Would you care? Would you, even after all of these words, these actions, see me, the real me, the person, or would you just see all the things you've always been told about people like me? I don't think you can honestly answer and the answer doesn't really matter because you aren't here and never will be.
It's a lonely ride I'm upon, but it's all I have.
.
The King's men came for me again but I never make a mistake twice. When they set out in search of me I was already following them. I knew before they did that I was to be brought in. Although I am rather distinctive in appearance I know just how much is needed to change the impression I present.
You can't be attached to money in The Dance. You don't worry about the balance book until you're done. In two years I made and spent a fortune. Enough for a citizen to comfortably live on for five lifetimes. But I only made money by investing the money to create the opportunities and so the wheel turned.
I paid the driver of the packet courier enough to allow him to buy a new van. That's what it tookto hire someone that I could trust, so that's what I spent. If you're going to tail His Majestie's Security Service you'd better have someone exceptionally skilled and absolutely trustworthy.
I couldn't contact the Rauchs but that didn't matter. They were in no way obligated to even admit they associated with me. Not that it would have changed anything either.
One of the things that can happen when you have many enemies is that they're seldom aware of their mutual intent and can thus come into conflict.
Fuck's sake that sounds dry and cold.
What can happen is a full blown gunfight when one faction that is already lying in wait sees another faction moving into the target zone.
Operatives from Zaigres Information Experts which, in case you weren't aware, operate as mercenaries for less than legal operations requested by nobility, were in place. Hired by someone I knew about but won't name. The mercs saw the HMSS agents disembark and move in to surround my home.
ZIE are mercenaries. Remember that bit? Well, mercenaries are paid by the job, with success a contractual prerequisite to getting paid. If they let someone else take me their salary would be zero. So when they saw another crew stepping in, well. If I have to explain what happened you haven't been ready along at all.
"Stay here. Don't move." I told the driver, who only had half of a notion as to all that had transpired. "If you leave now people will notice and they will remember."
I stepped out the side door of the van wearing worker's coveralls and carrying an empty parcel. I very casually strolled to the alleyway that ran between backyards. Once in it and out of sight of the street I threw down the package and broke into a run, ignoring the pain because contrary to what the inexperienced might have thought, time was not on my side.
Having the two groups take each other out did not serve me at all, because it was almost a certainty that not all were dead. People, the one's responsible, would quickly figure out the confusion and see the mistakes. What I couldn't have were eyewitnesses to describe the actual encounter. Why? It's actually simple.
Myths are made of mystery. Two groups opening fire on each other without any involvement from me was just your standard level of miscommunication. Two groups coming after me and none survive to explain? That's how you build dread. That's how you weaponize a mistake.
I found a dead mercenary in the alley. He was carrying a sub-sonic low powered pistol. All involved would be similarly armed. Such weapons are quiet enough to not attract notice, particularly with windows and doors closed against the weather. They don't need to be high powered when used at close range.
I took the pistol. At my garden gate were two more fallen. I did what was necessary. As many times as was needed. Two HMSS agents had fallen in my kitchen, just inside the back door. It was perfect. I hurried into the basement, then went through the ground floor. I started the fire and left. Taking nothing but my life with me.
.
I went into the Nothing. That's the area, the part of city life, that you'll never see or know. It's where people who can't officially exist go. It's a network within which your life is the cost of entry. Betrayal, real or perceived, is instant death. Thoss of us in the Nothing call it something else but the name which you use for it doesn't matter. If you're allowed entry, you and everyone else know exactly where you are.
It was no great surprise to find myself there. I'd hoped to avoid it but I am not divorced from reality. I wasn't then and I'm not now. You can never accurately calculate the actions of others. I hadn't expected ZIE to be there. It was, to be honest, an overreaction. I could have gone to ground with the Rauchs, but that isn't The Dance and that's not how The Game goes.
I never rely on the protection of others. Inevitably that protection will be withdrawn. So when you hit me, I hit back.
The Ups are purveyors of perversity and their voyeurism runs towards being trauma tourists. If this is news in any way to you I'm going to assume that this is being read to you by a caretaker. You obviously lack the mental capacity for literacy, let alone meaningfully participate in the world.
That said I was at a late dinner with the Rauch brothers and cousin Mikal. I had just saved them a little over a million by offering information from my own private network. This, momentarily, made me 'people' in their eyes. In such company as that, being 'people' meant I was considered open to intrusive questions.
"I saw both at once." I said in reply to Mikal's inquiry as to when I had seen my first dead body and witnessed my first person killed. "I was eleven. I was the water and towel boy at the bordello my mother and her husband ran. I had just finished restocking the third floor when I heard Tiresia screaming. She hit the alarm as well. Jerzy, the afternoon bouncer, was up to the third in just seconds. The problem was in room 3a5. That was hers. So Jerzy opened the door and I was right there by him. So I saw it all."
"By all you mean?" Mikal said, with a morbid excitement clear in his eyes.
"The customer was a city councilman by the name of Nygard. He'd snuck in a straight razor. He was also on redwild and durycyclibine." I said as I hid my eyes behind a veil of cigarette smoke. "He'd cut her up very badly. She was unconscious on the bed by then. Jerzy told him to drop the razor. Nygard didn't. He lunged at Jerzy and so was shot. Twice in the chest. They both died there. Tiresia and Nygard."
"There in that very room?" Mikal said and locked his position in as the most unsettling Rauch that I knew. "Why would he do that? A respected councilman of all people! You do that in private! Not at a licensed bordello!"
"I didn't get the opportunity to ask him for his reasons." I said with a flawless diplomatic calm. "He was on so many different narcotics that not only was Jerzy not charged, the Nygard estate had to pay compensation."
"You were eleven." Arden said, and I knew him enough to hear the actual curiosity that he had. "What did you think? How did it make you feel?"
"I thought it was stupid. Being in a position like he had and dying like that in a bordello." I admitted. How I had felt about Tiresia was none of their business. "I was also aggravated. Knowing I'd have to clean that room. You can't get that much blood out of floorboards no matter what you use."
"What do you do then?" Mikal asked and I saw Nolan's irritation with his cousin's darker curiosity. "If you can't get the blood out what's the solution?"
"You scrub, use lots of bleach to make sure you don't get flies, then put down a rug." I said and watched cousin Rauch's dilated pupils. "Most deaths in a bordello are drug overdoses or heart failure. In those cases you just throw out the bedding and mattress."
"If you'd be so kind as to excuse us, I'm going to take Thrusher home." Nolan said unexpectedly and suprised all present. Including me. "I prefer my private celebrations to be private."
I went along. Not particularly happy but in no position to say no. I had saved them a million but it was their money. My information played a vital role but it was only information and yes information has value, but it was their money in play and so that's the Game. I saved them money but only because they had money in the mix.
He took me to one of his swank apartments up in Stargazer Meadows. I'd been there before. The view was spectacular. We took the private elevator up after Zane J. did a security check. We didn't talk. Hadn't spoken during the ride over either.
When we entered the apartment he went to pour us drinks. I lit a cigarette and stared at the window and my own reflection superimposed over the glittering cityscape spread out like some feat of magic created by a mad artisan.
"Are you afraid of dying?" Nolan asked quietly as he rejoined me and handed me my drink. "Not death itself. But dying."
"I don't know." I answered honestly. "If it's quick? No. I hate pain. But so far most of the deaths I've personally witnessed have been fairly quick."
"Do you know? The number?" Nolan said and made none of the moves that normally foreshadowed sex. "Can you remember how many lives you've watched end?"
"Seventy-eight." I said without hesitation. My head and heart hold tight to the count. I don't know why. "That includes people hit by buses. Heart attacks. Suicides. Murders. Death doesn't care about reasons or age. It takes what it's given."
"And the world just continues. For the living." Nolan said and I watched his reflection keeping mine company. "I want to live to be a hundred and twenty. That's my goal. Does that sound absurd to you?"
"It sounds like Hell." I admitted and took a deep drink of syterberry liqueur. It was a thick warm fire spreading through me. "With luck I might see forty. Once my looks are gone I'll be reduced to being nothing but a dealer. Those don't last long."
"So plan. Now. Invest. Use your money to create security." He said and I could hear that he was sincere. "Find a safe spot. Build a strategy that will reinforce that."
"I can't own property, Nolan. Not even by proxy. I have no rights. None." I said and smiled because that is what my version of futility finds necessary. "An enemy could seize it. My proxy could decide to seize it. Legally I am nobody. I will always be nobody. I never plan beyond the plan I have in play. If I do not please my patrons I have no protection. That's my reality. Every single day until my last."
"That is a bleak life you describe. Ninety more years of that would be Hell indeed." Nolan said as I watched slow curls of cigarette smoke distort the reflections in the window. "All because of something you had no say in. Because of the choices made by others."
"I suppose." Was the best I could manage.
"If your father had been Rauskeld or Dimmarian I could simply make you an associate in our corporation." Nolan said and I didn't contemplate that. Not even as a thought exercise. "But who you are, fundamentally, is a product of your parents. What you know, what you can do, the skills and abilities you have, are all an accumulation of your adaptations to the events and circumstances of your life. You are only you precisely because of every aspect of your life. From birth through to now."
"That is correct." I said and I don't recall feeling anything at all during that moment. "Are we going to the bedroom?"
"I think not. I just thought that you'd like to get away from my cousin and this was the simplest excuse to use." Nolan said and suprised me a bit. Then suprised me some more. "I would like it more if we could just talk. About anything. About nothing. About whatever might come up."
"We can do that." I said and set aside any thoughts about futures I might or might not see. "That would be nice. I'd like that."
I fucked Standish McMellihound, metaphorically in the street sense, to his very face, and did it with such style and subtlety that he thanked me. You don't have to believe me but it's on record. The Hurstfield Financial Gazette's third quarter issue of '45. The Grand Vizier lost not only a good deal of his own money but some of our Blessed and Beloved Royal Highness' personal funds as well.
Merely mentioning this would normally be a death sentence for me but power ebbs when one consistently makes missteps. That's the beauty of Dancing well. Nobody believes you tp be capable of exerting any true influence and so, despite being upon the stage, they credit the Dancer with nothing.
I don't travel but with telegrams and telephone calls it's not necessary. I had contacts in nine countries on four continents. I manipulated markets by shifting profit and its influence amongst competing factions with such meticulous timing that I gave McMellihound information that was valid in the moment but which became worthless before he could finish acting upon it.
I caused he and his associates, including the King, to lose nearly ten million. And I'm still here.
"The Astromirian's altered the export tariffs! Bastards!" Standish McMellihound growled as he read reports while we sat in the Meisner Coffee House on Cartel Way. People assumed that I was a foreign courier. "They're playing favorites to the Vitarrians! I should complain to their ambassador!"
"Would that make a difference?" I said as I watched the rich and powerful treat the world like a toy. "The Rauchs had just sent an introductory contract proposal and lost their presentation fee. They say nothing's to be done. The risk of another war is high."
"That's unfortunately true. That's the problem with multinational financial regulatory law." McMellihound said and scowled down at a detailed financial breakdown. "The bastards know it too! This is blatant by even their standards! They lured in foreign commitments while no doubt having their timing set to create just such losses. Your man had solid information but it's impossible to foresee such machinations! You did well, all things considered. Tell your man thanks on my behalf."
"I'll do that." I said and paused to sip my coffee. You have to hold your pose sometimes when the Dance is delicate. Particularly when you are surrounded by killers. "A question, if I may?"
"Of course of course!" The Grand Vizier said without looking up. It was perfect.
"If the Crown Prince Tiamaran of Vitarria is violating multinational treaties by bribing the chancellor of Astromiria to conceal profit reports so as to establish favorable investment conditions for himself and his uncle, wouldn't that be an actionable offense?"
McMellihound froze. He was taking the bait. That was absolutely clear. And, dear reader, it was indeed bait even though it was also true. What I wasn't mentioning was that our beloved King's brother was party to the arrangement. Not just party to it, but an instigator who was in collusion with high ranking officials from three countries that were "dedicated enemies of the crown".
"You have proof? Proof of this?" McMellihound said and looked up at me like someone just realizing that I was a person and not just a pet. "Such an accusation could result in dire consequences. You've proof?"
"I have copies of the financial activities of an account registered to a proxy company of Tiamaran's." I said and met the Grand Vizier's steely gaze calmly. "Multiple identical deposits are made monthly. They remain jusr below reportable levels. They originate from a common pool account used for ancillary expenses of the Astromirian government. "
"I know the reason that the chancellor is being bribed." I said and paused to light a smoke. To draw his attention even deeper. "And I know where she is."
"That is indicative of covert activities. But if it can be justified..." McMellihound said but saw in my eyes what I wished him to see. "You have more?"
"Hm. Well then." The Grand Vizier said and leaned back in his chair. "That's enough for here. We will continue this at my office."
I nodded and held my fears tightly inside. From that point forward every word had to be perfect. I needed him to hear everything exactly as I intended it. There could be no room for doubt and I couldn't say anything that would make him think beyond the limits I was creating.
Belief is both a tool and weapon. If you don't maintain control it can kill you. Make note of that.
My friend Harmon says that I never had a childhood, that I was born in a denial of what is proper and right. I don't know exactly what that means and so cannot say if he is right or wrong. All I can really know is the life that I have had and I don't think that I would be who I am if my life had been laid down within the common template.
I do not regret the things I have never known. It would not be honest regret anyhow. Envy born from a sense of self-pity is not the same. I don't dwell on harshness and bitter memories. The past never leaves you if you do that. I choose to remember those things that helped me to become who I have chosen to be.
That is what self-determination is. Not the allowances made for you by governments and religions and the culture you are within. Make your choices. Create yourself. There is no defeat until you surrender.
.
"You are making new enemies who do not yet know your name but who are asking."
Zane J. said that to me on a winter morning and I had not paid for that information, nor was a debt owed me. So it was surprising. I don't think that he told me that out of any sense of camaraderie or affection. I think he saw that his master enjoyed my company and was giving me fair warning so that I might exercise a proper prudence. He wouldn't eliminate those threats without being ordered to do so because that was not his job. His informing me of the coming danger was actually a great compliment. It meant that he considered me to be competent enough to handle the issue on my own in an appropriate fashion.
I thanked him and let my mind dwell instead upon the aches of a body that was feeling older than it should. I have never been fond of winters anyways. The cold aggravated my old injuries. I was sleeping poorly, eating poorly, drinking heavily, and smoking far too much. It was irresponsible but my moods matched the gray winter sky.
My mind had to be my weapon. I am not, and have never been, a brawler. My best defense had always been rapid flight. Roofrunning had been an almost guaranteed escape for me, but I could barely run at all now and I'd certainly never leap between buildings ever again. My bad leg was prone to buckling and I'm not telling you this for sympathy. I'm telling you this so that the shift in my thinking and tactics makes more sense.
I was less sardonic. I avoided drawing attention that might result in confrontation. My open sensuality had always been one of my best tools but I set that aside too. Pleasure was something I seldom considered. It felt too much like something that would betray me.
Arden Rauch understood me. We weren't allies or conspirators. I was a tool that provided proper service to profit him and could be no more than that. I protected him merely as an investment towards my own survival. Yes I gave names and the ones bearing those names died, but they were in The Game. A mistake is a mistake whether in Game or Dance and mistakes are never forgiven.
Nolan Rauch was another matter entirely. Very much so.
.
"You're ready to die." He said to me on the night that Zane J. had given me warning. We were in 'my house' having dinner as a heavy snowfall was blanketing the city. "What of the ones you love? What will become of them?"
"They'll live on. I suppose. I won't know, but I hope that this will be the case." I said as I ignored the roast pheasant in favor of wine and cigarettes. "I've done my best to see to their future needs. It's all I can do."
"Death has so little meaning to you?" Nolan said and frowned at my untouched plate. He had ordered a meal that he knew I liked but I wasn't partaking. "It doesn't concern you at all?"
"I'll die regardless of my personal feelings towards it. Death is inescapable and for my kind it's always imminent." I said and looked into the fire crackling merrily upon the hearth. Safety from a storm there. "I don't want to die but I will. I'd like to live to a ripe old age but I'm realistic. The longcoats could kill me tomorrow. That? That is always, always, a possibility. Personally I'd love to have ten thousand more nights just like this one. That choice isn't mine to make though."
"Nights like this?" He said and carefully set his silverware down. "I'm here. In this night. I don't think you mean nights just like this one now."
"You've become decent company. Now that you're willing to have actual honest and intellectual conversations with me." I said and brought my eyes back to his. "I am, at this moment, safe and warm. I hear the weather but it can't touch me. I understand my peril, but it can't reach me. Am I happy? No. But you shouldn't take that personally. I am satisfied and I would rather have that. Happiness is delicate. Satisfaction is calm and steady. I understand it and why I feel it and yes, I'd rather be like this and have nights such as these."
"But there are others that you'd rather were here instead of me." He said with no reproach nor any sense that he was expecting me to disagree. "It could be a better night for you."
"How long are you going to wait?" I said instead of chasing that line. "Why aren't you demanding the resumption of sex?"
"Because I don't wish it." He said and I couldn't tell if he was being honest. "I don't believe it would increase your sense of satisfaction if I made that a part of this night. Tell me I'm wrong."
"You aren't wrong." I said and felt as though I weren't quite entirely real. "If you want truth, I enjoy this more. This. Moments like this."
"Why? You certainly aren't enjoying the meal. You haven't touched it." He said and I saw a flash of what might actually be wistfulness in his eyes. "What about this do you enjoy?"
"What do I enjoy? Seeing you simply being yourself." I said and watched his face go blank. "There are no demands, there is no exchange or concessions or ulterior motives. There's just you. Talking to me. Like this is all that matters right now."
"You think that who you see here is who I am?" He said and I saw him trying to close himself back in. Seal the doors between himself and the outer world. "That's an arrogance unexpected from you."
"You are always who you are. Facade or laid bare with heart on display. We have no secret selves. We are what we are in each moment." I said and met his gaze without flinching. "This isn't pretense. I haven't earned that. You aren't playing a role. With me as your only audience why would you? Even if this is all deception that doesn't matter either. Right now. Here. You are yourself. You can't see yourself through my eyes and so who I see is who you are. To me. You refuse to allow yourself to trust me, which is wise. I am a tool. Tools break. Even blood can turn. Even so, well..."
"Well what?" He said and I saw the curiosity that he couldn't control.
"On this night I am satisfied. And you are part of that." I said and smiled without intending to. "So whatever you wish to make of that, how you choose to place yourself within that and define your role, in my mind you are here. And I am satisfied."
My beloved songbird married the man that she needed. I did not attend. That would have been inappropriate. I sent a card and gift and my sincere best wishes. I would have given them all the money I had, but they would have refused it.
Instead I used Slinks and Kell to find out what the man did for a living and who he did it for and then I pulled every rope I had and called in favors to get him the job of his dreams. I didn't worry about him finding out that I was responsible. There were about forty people on a half dozen layers who were involved between myself and the end result.
I'm not an altruist. My heart will never be whole again so I needed at least one concrete good act to tie on to it to make the pain feel justified.
.
I am unacceptably vain. My appearance betrays me, but it also is exotic and alluring and used to my benefit. I honestly haven't a clue as to how I could have survived if I wasn't attractive. I lack the physicality and fortitude to be muscle. My pain threshold is embarrassingly low. To be ugly and exotic is to continuously draw unwelcome attention. Charm is of no use if you aren't given the opportunity to employ it.
I'm not ruthless enough to be a pimp or bordello owner and nobody wants an ugly Mattaturian as a bartender. A bar or tavern owner wants their customers relaxed and spending freely. Not worried about whether that ugly barkeep is setting them up to be robbed once they're well drunk.
.
"Why aren't you walking normally by now?" Nolan Rauch asked me on an early winter day. Further into our association than I had ever expected. "What good is that damn physical therapist?"
"I don't see her anymore and they tore ligaments and damaged the tendons when they wrenched my leg out of its socket." I said as I, with grace and style, limped along with the help of my cane. "I apologize for being merely human and thus incapable of miraculous regenerative powers."
"I'm not faulting you!" Nolan said as Zane J. kept his distance and that one and I acted as though we'd never traded favors. "I thought that the therapy would be more helpful to you than this! They...they did WHAT to your leg?"
"They applied a physically directed coercive attitude adjustment in pursuit of instilling the desired respectful obedience." I said. Well, recited. That's how the act was described in my 'interrogation' transcript. Yes. I'd seen that. "Normally they break your body until they break your will, but it was a personal, not professional, encounter. I'm alive and am still capable of walking so I suppose a permanent limp is a rather reasonably small price to pay for my release."
"That's not right!" Nolan protested, and drew an involuntary snort of laughter from me. "What? How is this amusing? It was, and is wrong, and you know it!"
"If you didn't know me you wouldn't care about any of the horrible acts that the longcoats perpetrate!" I said as ahead of us westward up Arcbright Boulevard the Steillen Ridge disappeared behind an approaching snow. "Right and wrong are irrelevant. I have no rights. Well, very few. The right to not be seized and tortured without ever being charged with a crime? That isn't one of them. You could have Zane shoot me in the head right here and now and walk away without consequence. That's where I stand and have always stood and I know it."
"Everything you've just said is true. You're absolutely correct." He said and set my head slightly at ease. He wasn't delusional nor in a mood to lie. "Of course I don't control the secret police, nor can I, or will I, fret over every citizen taken in by them. You matter to me, whether you believe it or not, and so yes. I am angered by wrongs done to you."
"Courtesy of my father my life is a continuous parade of adapting to or accepting wrongs." I said as the far end of the boulevard grew hazy with falling snow. "If I were to feel outrage every time the world shit upon me I would be insane or dead by now. To be honest I'm already an anomaly."
"How so?" Nolan asked and I could feel him look my way. "In what way?"
"Most half-breed, unnamed Mattaturians don't make it to eighteen years of age." I said as I began watching the pavement for slick spots. The cane didn't care for those. "It's hard when you don't belong anywhere and everyone is against you. I was fortunate enough to have a resourceful mother who made sure I had some semblance of sanctuary."
"It's not that by half." Nolan said as he turned up his collar a bit higher. The wind was beginning to bite."You have a survivalists tool kit. Looks, personality, charm, intelligence, resourcefulness, good reflexes, and patience. Let me ask you this. Have you ever made a mistake without realizing it? That is to say, have you ever been caught completely unprepared by the actual consequences of something you've done?"
"No. I haven't." I said and that wasn't bragging, it was truth. A single mistake is almost always fatal for my kind. "I learned though courtesy of the grace of my mother. She didn't have to take care of me at all, let alone as well as she did."
Nolan nodded assent to that because he did know about we Mattaturians a bit. He knew, as you will now know, that if a husband dies in a foolish and dishonorable fashion, as my father did, the wife is not by custom liable for the raising on any sons not yet named. Under tradition I was no longer her child unless she chose to, not only look after me, but pledge responsibility each year upon my birthday until my sixteenth.
I'm quite serious when I say that Mattaturian culture is opaque and absurd. It doesn't require communing with spirits to qualify as ridiculous and incomprehensible.
Warsong Stormcrow sought me out. That's his name in the King's Tongue. It has five times as many syllables in Mattaturian. Also the name doesn't do him justice. He's far more imposing than even that makes him sound.
He found me in the Goldberry Fields district, at Syllana's Emporium. It's on Gallows Way and it sells oddities that bear no price tag. If you haven't the money to buy anything that you might wish on mere impulse you'll never have heard of the place. Myself I knew Syllana and I knew what few others did.
Beyond the eccentric inventory available to casual shoppers, she also sold sanctuary. I'm not going to explain what that is either. There's no point to that. It will always be beyond you, unless you already have it. In which case you already know and don't need explanations.
It was Syllana who took me into a hidden chamber behind the sample rooms. Wherin awaited Warsong Stormcrow.
"Gideon Thrusher. Sit. Talk." He said as I stood very still, caught absolutely unprepared. He had the Mattaturian accent that you imagine me having. It came from speaking King's very seldom. "I am hearing of you,. And I know it's you. The traveler with summer skies for eyes. That is you. There is no other."
"I'm not a traveler." I said, because I wasn't. Mattaturians refer to themselves as 'traveler' and I wasn't Mattaturian.
"I did not say that you were. That is what the bleaters refer to you as." He said and I was thoroughly intimidated by everything about him. He possesses every attribute the people, who are not my people but whom everyone thinks are my people, are said to possess. "There are no debts. This is negotiation. Because you reflect upon us in the eyes of the blind."
I will translate that. Because those last three sentences said far more than you probably understand.
Firstly. No debt. Because I wasn't named, and therefore not Blood, I wasn't covered by Code, clan, honor bindings, or nameright. The People owed me no consideration but I in return had no obligation to act in accordance with Code, elder dictate, or council decrees. I couldn't ask for anything but neither could anything be asked of me.
By calling for negotiation he was asking me whether I was willing to consider making certain adjustments to my behavior. It wasn't a demand because I had no duty to obey. By mentioning negotiations he was declaring that he would make no attempt to pressure or coerce me into acting in accordance to his wishes. He was willing to offer favor for favor.
All of this because of that last line. You, dear readers, are The Blind. You don't see the true world. You follow and worship kings. That's all the proof required to make that statement true. But I, although never laying claim to Blood or name, was being seen as representing The People. Not, mind you, in a dishonorable way. They don't talk to you if you've done that. They just kill you without a word of explanation because, well, that's how it works.
You ordinary citizens would say of him that he has 'the Devil's own charm' because Warsong Stormcrow was exactly what you want in a Mattaturian. Beautiful. Piercing dark eyes. A lilting singsong tone to his honey smooth baritone. Agile. Athletic. Poised. Properly endowed as you hope and as dangerous as your dreams.
We negotiated. The price was agreed. Do not mistakes any of this to be implying that our encounter was cordial. I, through the act of my living, was deserving of a tiny modicum of respect. Which is more than you could ever earn. The key was that I kept myself completely neutral. No defiance but also no desire for his approval.
I know where I stand. With everything and everyone.
.
"You're a circle. Both sides of one." Slinks said to me when I met him at the Merewind Industrial Docks. Kell was in the Fringe, so my young ally had made the trip. He was almost a man, and working for me had let him live proper. "Word across the Fetters is that you died and were replaced by a demon. People are saying nobody survives what you have. Can't happen."
"And what do you tell them?' I said as I gave him kaleidoscope to sell back in Farwood. He had his own solid customer base built up. "More importantly, do they believe you?"
"I trilll 'em you always been a demon. Ain't no Mattaturian got eyes like yours." Slinks said and shrugged. He had the dark eyes that I was supposed to have. "What they believe? Some think I'm truthful. You gots legend and nobody that can for real say they actually know ya. They include me and Kell. We say, ya know, we do jobs. We don't actually like talk and all that to ya."
"I'm a demon. I have always been a demon. I like that." I said and gave my young ally an honest smile. "I appreciate that. Thank you, Slinks."
"Naw. Thank YOU boss." Slinks replied and scratched at his wispy beard. He was truly becoming a man. "I'd be dead or in prison for sure by now if not for you. And Kells. Yeah. You know that was a righteous good thing ya done for him, right?"
"I helped him because I could." I said and looked away. I don't take praise well.
"Almost everybody could help somebody but almost nobody ever does." Slinks said and I heard in his voice what I was too uncomfortable to allow myself to see. "Kell was ready to die. Wanting to. So tired of being afraid. I understand that. I know that. The feeling that every single day might be the last and not caring because it never ends and never gets better."
"This world wasn't made for us." I said with tightness drawing my throat closed. Then I felt the hand on my arm.
"Boss. Don't matter what anyone ever says about you." He said as I tried to keep my breath steady. "Me and Kell know. We both have had more good days then we would even think we could have. Cause of you."
"When I'm gone, will you light a candle for me?" I said very softly. Because I couldn't honestly see myself lasting much longer. "At the Festival of Years Dawning?"
"Every year I'm still alive. Yes." The young man said and truth? That felt as important as any declaration of love ever pledged to me.
.
Before I mislead you into thinking that I'm overly sentimental or trying to portray myself as someone tragic I will point out something that very few people know.
I have no birthday. By which I mean there is no day legally listed for my birth and my own mother doesn't even recall. The month, yes. Day? No. Because a Mattaturian man is born on the day of his naming. All those born in a season have the ceremony together. Until that ceremony you aren't real yet. You aren't of The People. So by having a Mattaturian father my actual day of birth wasn't marked.
I don't believe in God. At least not a caring God. I see the world we have. I'm here. I don't need that candle lit to remind God to watch over my soul. I want that candle lit, or at least the promise of it, to give me an illusion of importance. To let me tell myself that I'm not alone and that someone will remember me.
It's not going to matter when I'm dead. But I'm not dead yet.
I don't sleep well in normal circumstances. I know. Quite sad. A tragedy, yes. Add stress, anxiety, and persistent nightmares, toss in a lovely mixture of aches, pain, and the start of a chronic digestive issue, and I spent far too many nights watching the shadows play across my ceiling.
I was seventeen months into the most intricate Dance of my life and I couldn't see how or when the music would end. That was one of the major impetus' to my insomnia. When I did actually sleep my first thought upon waking would be 'I wonder if this will be my last day.'
I will tell you, dear reader, what has never been told until now. I bought an inside source within the longcoats. A man with a terrible appetite. A monstrous man who deserved to be tortured far worse than I had been. A man who was nonetheless in a position that I could exploit to find out how and why my name might be mentioned in that dark ministry.
Yes I should have turned him in. A properly righteous and upright man would have sacrificed his safety, even his life, to save any future victims. But dear readers you know as well as I that this is a world built and run by monsters and I know that you aren't fool enough to believe that we are ever safe.
If this were a moral world we wouldn't permit something like the longcoats to even exist. But they do. And that's just how reality is.
.
Courtesy of my immoral pragmatism I knew much that kept me Dancing. I knew about the rats slinking about on the trail of the Rauchs. I knew that McMellihound was on a 'no eyes' list. Which reinforced my opinion of him as my most dangerous contact.
To be fair, his ability to deceive not just others but me myself, into believing that he was a charitable and good natured man, that spoke volumes. Even taking into account the acumen required to reach his position, his true nature was concealed by a flawlessly constructed and meticulously maintained facade. I couldn't say just how vicious and ruthless he might be because his persona dissembled any truth so thoroughly that I was forced to retroactively question every single encounter that I'd had with him.
That said he had given me quite the compliment by implying, even if it was disingenuous, that I was like him. He hadn't needed to say that at all. Or so I tell myself.
.
I restored Arden Rauch's conditional faith in me by playing a vital role in the Wittgenfeld-Mercer Incident. You should know of that. If you don't, look it up in the archives. There isn't room to exposit on that here. Suffice it to say that you will find my name mentioned in not one single public record. My skills are as singular as my appearance.
Speaking of which.
"How simple are these people?" Nolan Rauch groused to me at a reception following a performance by the Ryskâuf Imperial Ballet Company. "I've never presumed much active intelligence amongst the aristos, but please!"
"This pertains to what exactly?" I said as I covertly watched those around us. "Is it about the performance? Admittedly the dancers did seem less than inspired."
Nolan Rauch favored me with a flat look that rather clearly expressed his displeasure before replying. "Most people have seen you with me at some point over the last eighteen months. Yet they ask me who you are, where I found you, where it is that you come from! Imbeciles!"
"That's not a case of their being simple-minded." I said as I discreetly leaned onto the cane to ease the weight on my bad leg. "It's just an illustration of how little your kind truly notice me. I'm scenery. Set dressing, not an actor. Normally."
"And what do you mean by that? Normally?" Nolan asked me and I saw that he noticed my ploy with the cane but he didn't make mention of it. "When have you ever been treated as though you were normal?"
"Oh, never not once in the entirety of my life!" I said and employed my new tight-lipped smile. I no longer show my teeth since they're no longer mine. "Before this I was an oddity. A bit like a pet trained to perform tricks to delight. Now? Hm. I'm too young for this cane. I walk a bit strangely. For my kind, life is an uphill run. So how do I manage now? That's what they see. That's what they notice now."
"You are crediting them with an acuity I doubt they posess. Wait one." Rauch said and I stepped back a pace as Zane J. slipped forward to whisper in his ear. I kept my gaze unfocused and made no attempt to eavesdrop. Zane J. finished and slid away again, as smooth as bacon fat on a hot griddle. Nolan looked at me and seemed to imagine something before he said "Stay right here, please. I'm not going far and won't be long. Please watch though. If I signal come to me. If you would."
He stepped a short distance away and I was quite bemused. He was asking me not ordering me, and had said please twice. What was oddest was that it had not felt forced nor false. His courtesy had seemed sincere.
I assumed my new still and angular posture and watched him. I saw he who Zane J. had warned him of. Even with the crowd the individual path was clear and I knew the man. It was Dauphin Meisiĝneirè. A founding member of three major investment groups that were in a long standing rivalry with Rauch Worldwide.
Meisĝnierè had two guards flanking him. In a place like this that display did not declare strength. It denoted fear and uncertainty to any who understands. Nolan Rauch meeting him alone expressed the power dynamic better than a master's thesis on the psychology of economics ever could.
I observed. Noting body language and the shifting attention of the guards. I covertly swept the area with my eyes to see who might be paying more attention than was due. Which is far more complicated than you think, but it's not necessary to explain about that. I saw the sign beckoning me over, and I did as he bid, moving to his side with my new stiff and almost formal grace.
"This is my assistant Thrusher." Nolan announced as the guards focused on me and I in turn focused on Meisiĝnierè's pale green eyes. "I think he should hear as well what you just said. Well? No? You think he's undeserving perhaps? Then you're a fool. I trust him more than I trust my own sons. And know this. I'll hate you better. Come, Thrusher. He has nothing else to say that I need to hear."
"More than your sons?" I said as we moved away. Letting him know that I'd noticed.
"That's the truth. I know that you're working against me as well. That's a given." Nolan said as he guided us towards a side bar. "It's just about survival for you though. You do as you must. My sons though? My death, when it happens, will benefit them greatly. Knowing that, how great a fool would I be to trust them?"
He had a very valid point there. The rich are indeed like spiders. Given the opportunity the young will gladly devour the ones who gave them life.
But then you don't really have to be one if you are on fair terms with those who are. Even better than that is to know those who favor violence and have no faith in anything and no sense of purpose or meaning.
I'll say only this. It's nearly impossible to stop an assassin who has no intention of surviving the act.
It's not about revenge. It's about redress. Adjustment of the ethical tenor. The wrong is not corrected but further wrongs are prevented.
.
I have always been cautious about allowing myself to love. My tendency towards emotional reticence was reinforced in those times. Particularly because I had been developing something like a deep affection in regards to Standish McMellihound. Despite the words he had spoken to me.
'Like recognizes like.' He had said and I hadn't thought through what that truly meant. There was more to me than most saw in me. I was a subtle manipulator, an observer gathering carelessly dropped information. I used myself, in any way necessary, to use others. He did the same. That was meant by 'like'.
I tested that theory when I saw the man for the first time after my torture. It was, in fact, my first time back in the hunt. It was at a gathering at the Royal Westlake Yacht Club ostensibly celebrating the king's thirty-sixth wedding anniversary. I say ostensibly because none of the Royal Family were in attendance. What it actually was was an excuse for hedonism.
I drew little notice because my long absence was, as needs be, unexplained. For all any knew I had spent that time as the personal plaything of an unnamed noble. My absence had been noted being as I was the only Mattaturian working the Ups, but just what inspired that absence wasn't a concern to my betters.
I attended with Mikal Rauch, a first cousin of the brothers. He was a rather delicate and foppish man with a reputation for being a determined if undiscerning devoteé of pleasure. He was the perfect companion for me because he was readily distracted by any possibility for gratification.
Fortunately for me he was willing to humor his cousins and not proffer an obvious preference for my attention. Particularly since he was abnormally endowed and he intimidated me a fair bit. He stood far shorter than I and weighed perhaps half what I did, but his confidence and odd charisma made him rather imposing. Even though he seemed to lack the controlling and cruel nature of his cousins.
I espied McMellihound talking to several younger aristos. Mikal observed this and drifted away towards the hookah room without a word. I silently thanked him and made my way closer to my target.
McMellihound noticed me and his eyes did a quick and subtle scan. I would not have noticed it if I didn't know how he really was. He then excused himself from the others and approached me. He was dressed in silver-gray and emerald green formal wear and looked truly splendid.
"Thrusher! So good to see you!" He said cheerfully and grinned at my formal bow of greeting. "How is your night going? Where is your companion?"
"Looking for elevation, sir." I said and noticed that we were being noticed. I dipped my head again in deference to his rank. "I'm here at this event largely for appearance's sake."
"Aren't you always?" He said and then reached out to pat my shoulder. To lay claim in the eyes of watchers. "Understandable, really. Your appearance is quite pleasing after all."
He had never said such a thing to me before. The words kept my mind in its proper place. Because I knew, from that, that he was trying to draw me in even closer. He wanted to ensure that I was still on 'his' side, and that I was willing to be used by him.
We talked more and it also became clear that he had noticed my absence as well but, because no accusations or harsh words had been flung his way, he was sure I still not only held his confidence, but that I had confidence in him as well. My illusion of a friendship between us finished disentegrating as we spoke.
At one point I tested him. He had claimed past acquaintance with my people and also professed to have studied "our culture" enough to have some understanding of it. Thus the test.
"Moravazzona." I said to get his attention. "Aik gakkiönka niopsé iva nisisà loyakkré basbasnapa chu schiátićená!"
"That...I've heard that before!" He said and smiled broadly. "What does that mean?"
"It's an old proverb. About honoring the hearts of friends." I lied flawlessly. I lied because he was lying and didn't deserve the truth.
That's not Mattaturian. That phrase I spoke. I know absolutely no Mattaturian. I don't have a name. It's forbidden for me to learn or speak it. The language I used was Dvaćinaćva. That's the tongue of the Rivōrh people. I won't explain why I know it. But I will translate what I said. It was thus-
"Black hearted liar, you sell your best friends to the flame without hesitation because you have no honor."
And if he had actually heard this said before? Then he was dangerous and foolish and had no idea of what measures of each he possessed.
.
I walk with a cane. I have since my extended visit with the major. Fortunately it is largely perceived as a fashionable affectation. My days of roofrunning have ended as well. I think I resent that more than my inability to use my right hand for writing. Roofrunning was the one truly perilous act that I could take part in with confidence.
It doesn't matter, really. Does it? My pain. My price for Dancing. Unjust, unwarranted, excessively cruel. It doesn't really change this story. And truth told its not a ploy for sympathy or an attempt to humanize myself. I am revisiting memories and it's nearly impossible to do that without in turn revisiting regrets.
If I was the sort to never know regret I'd also be the sort to see you as being unworthy to hear my tale.
I had a physical therapist. Well, three actually. The first was demanding and overly harsh. He quite openly despised me. The second was a man who, well, he had...improper inclinations. The third was a woman who was very professional and who did her job properly.
The dislocation of my left hip had done damage that couldn't be erased but could be mitigated. The torn muscles in my back healed more quickly but made my physical rehabilitation a right proper hell at first. Aches I could gradually accustom myself to, but pain? I have never grown better in my tolerance to it.
That part of the reputation of the longcoats is true. On the rare occasions that they let you live, you will never be able to forget your time at their mercy.
.
"Wings, this is a beautiful product!" Herme ViDelausa told me as he weighed out powder on a scientific scale. "Analgesic with an equal amount of soporific and stimulant. Taken with a hallucinophrodesiac it turns sex into a sweet, delicious dream!"
"I know what it does. That's why I'm buying it." I said as I leaned upon my onyxwood cane with its silver falcon head. My reflection in his shop window cut a dashing figure, but it was a damp and chill morning and I had aches I hadn't yet learned to ignore. "We have an agreed upon price. If you're looking to rise it now..."
"My brother, no! Word is bond!" Herme said without looking up from his measure. "You're a good and fair customer, brother. What I'm saying is that you want some for yourself, I could give you a bit extra. At no charge."
"I don't partake." I said, my words as stiff as my hip. "What makes you think anything is different now?"
"Brother, I know where you go and who sees you now." Herme said as he carefully scraped powder into a cellophane baggie. "You dance among spiders. There's no shame in lessening the distasteful and repugnant parts of your job."
I couldn't feel anger or even irritation. It was a thoughtful and generous offer. Unlike my patrons the chemist saw me first and foremost as an actual human being. How can anyone take offense at consideration?
.
I am just now realizing that my revelation, this great truth I'm dispensing, might not be truth to you. This world may have not done you harsh. Or perhaps not harsh enough to cause you to question.
I know you aren't Ups. I know that. The fortunate only have no interests in hearing complaints about a world they find absolutely wonderful. They also waste no effort in looking back unless the act of doing so provides direction for a profitable act of revenge
I am also just now acknowledging a major shortcoming that afflicts my ability as a storyteller. I have been assuming that you are, to a fair degree, sympathetic to my tale. I don't expect you to find me likeable, or even relatable, but I've been assuming a position that expects you to feel some measure of my woe so as that you wish to know more. Perhaps my assumption is the opposite of the truth.
Perhaps you feel a disgust, a deep outrage, over the fact that I, a member of a reviled, restricted, and worthless minority, have lived a better life than you. Perhaps you believe the narrative that says that my being Mattaturian means that I am a liar, thief, and parasitic drain upon the society of good and proper people. Perhaps I am so thoroughly a villain in your eyes that you can barely restrain your rage. If so, why are you still reading?
Or perhaps you were initially, roughly speaking, on my side, until it became clear that this is not a tale of retribution in which the priveleged suffer mightily. Were you hoping to hear of the powerful being laid low and smote mightily? Did you expect me to be a ruthless avatar of Rukhözhka, restoring balance by bringing justice to the abusers of all mankind? Were you hoping for violence and pain to be dispensed by me, your humble narrator?
You know better than that. You know damn well better. You live here too. Look outside today and tell me that you truly expected more of me.
I may be an unreliable narrator, but this world, our world, is not fiction. If you need reassuring, if you need gentle platitudes, I can't help you. Not I nor any can save you from this world.
.
Since I am examining my own place within the ongoing story, let me make this very clear as well. I know how to exploit the Up within the parameters they are willing to be exploited in. The level that I operate at is determined by the company that I keep. Subtlety is my main contribution. I can use weaknesses that are obvious or only moderately masked.
I do not understand these people. How they think, what they truly feel, how they see the world. Their perception, like yours and like mine, are an accumulation of the entirety of a life experience. How do you explain terror to someone who has never felt fear? How do you communicate just how horrible helplessness can be to someone who has always known control?
Words are just words. Sounds to simplify communication. Think about the word 'love'. Does the definition fully encompass its complexity and the individual experience? A story is just a story. Unless you're in it and it's yours.
I have come to understand quite well the perils of memory in regards to telling a tale. Revisiting memories requires that you return to the self that you were as those memories took place. Perhaps there are those who can dispassionately re-inhabit misery and divorce themselves from all that those awful things did to them. I am not of that kind.
If that weren't already obvious.
.
"That look. That look. Hmm." The majordomo of the Marquis of Kettlesford said to me at a reception in the Dovestrait Center for some artist or other. The majordomo was prissily fashionable. "An archaic elegance that you somehow make seem appropriate. Well done, sir."
"Thank you kindly." I replied with a smile. I understood. I had a style of sorts now. The cane. A thigh length, slightly flared topcoat, to conceal the hip brace I wore when I had to spend any measurable amount of time on my feet. A hat with a brim to help shadow scars. All in a deep gray that blurred lines.
The cane and brace created the "look' though. They gave my movements a strangely deliberate appearance. Then again my movements were something that I was always now conscious of. If I wasn't careful about things the brace chafed me raw.
"May I ask a moderately personal questiom?" The majordomo continued as he carefully adjusted the precisely waxed curl of his mustachio. "Whether it's inappropriate is, I suppose, up to you."
"Ask what you wish." I said with a perfect smile and fractional nod. "I'll answer regardless but not necessarily truthfully."
"Fair enough. Fair enough indeed." He said and smiled back at me. His teeth were perfect and, unlike mine, real. "Well. A cousin who I am quite close to has some connections with a port brokerage company that is expanding facilities in the Windbent Islands. My cousin says it's an almost guaranteed investment, but what are the real risks in a multinational transoceanic brokerage? I asked a lawyer and he offered to assess the risks, but only if I contracted him for the life of the deal."
"Lawyers are like maggots. Happiest on the dead flesh of a deal." I said and felt not the least hint of resentment that the man wanted free advice. We at the bottom should always help each other. "There is no guaranteed investment unless you own the company as well as all of its customers. Do you have time? This may take a bit."
"I have time and will be deeply grateful if you're willing to spend your time on me." The man said and gave me a dazzlingly honest smile. "I know that you're learned and experienced in such matters. I trust your opinion and judgement."
I am a simple man. I really am, despite what I may present. Give me respect and I will not only make time for you, I will give you my best effort as well.
.
The Ups network, but only amongst those that they consider worthy. As in of equal or higher in wealth and status. As in those in a position to provide a clear benefit without posing a threat.
I network as well. Chemists, chauffeurs, smugglers, personal servants and majordomos. I know people who can get things done. I also know people who offer me no profit but who may, at the right moment in the future, provide me with information that might save my life.
That's the true difference between Up and Down. I don't know the future. I cannot trust my place in it. So at the bottom we make contingency plans for our contingency plans and never expect the best.
.
"Wings, comrade, keep your money. Knowing what I know now, I don't want it. And you're more likely to need it." Kieran O'Tiernan told me as he gave me a folded sheet of paper. "I know you already have at least three escape plans already. Make three more."
This reaction from my information broker was not unanticipated. Well, refusing my pay was, but not the rest. Because that paper held the information on just who Zane J. was and how the man had become what he was. That was information I considered vital. If Nolan Rauch's personal dog put fear into Arden Rauch then the man was not just dangerous, he was a living weapon, and I had to know how that weapon worked.
"Kier, I pay in kind." I said and tucked the paper into the inner pocket of my coat. "If I'm fortunate enough to survive I'll show you my true appreciation."
"Just survive." Kiernan said and couldn't quite manage a smile. "I'll be more than happy to celebrate that feat with you."
.
Again. Clearly I did survive. But at no point in this story prior to the last chapter did I consider the possibility to be even as good as improbable, let alone possible.
.
Enough about my existential dilemmas and moral quandaries. I know. You're here for sex, blood, and trauma. Better mine than yours. Yes yes, I know.
.
"They're done."
That's all Zane J. said to me, and that's all he had needed to say. I had cut a clean deal with him. I found out the fate of _____ and he had eliminated every assassin who had accepted a contract bearing my name.
We each played to our strengths. I know the people who know people who know how to find out about the people who don't want to be found. He knows how to kill people efficiently and without hesitation or mercy. I won't break confidence with him by saying more beyond that he heard enough of what he wanted.
If it seems an odd trade, lives, quite a few lives, ended in return for a bit of information, than you don't understand this world. Or human desire. Sometimes all we want is to know. To end a mystery. I did what he couldn't, and so he returned the favor.
I accept that blood upon my soul. An assassin is a murderer of the worst kind but I am not in any position to be deciding who deserves to live. It was self-preservation. If the results prevented further immoral and unjust acts that does not mitigate my responsibility. I didn't ask Zane J. to kill in order to help others. I asked him to do what he did to save me.
That's it. The foundation. The truth. I make no excuses. That blood is on me. One hundred percent. Now and forever.
I know enough things about enough people that I could get very rich very quickly. I wouldn't live long enough to enjoy much of that money though. The Dance is nullified if you create enemies of your own. There is no civilian organized crime for one simple reason. The powerful have the final say on how exactly the law applies.
Some days I still look around and see nothing worth staying for. Nothing to care about. It doesn't matter. I have no place to go and no possible way to get anywhere else. I don't get angry as often as I should but that's just wasted energy isn't it?
Fighting back against something you can't possibly defeat isn't resistance. It's suicide.
.
"You're still a virgin. You fuck but haven't been fucked." Arden Rauch declared some couple of weeks after my start of a 'physical' relationship with Standish McMellihound. The younger Rauch brother had increasingly assumed the role of lead. "If you suddenly develop a desire to experiment I want the opportunity to be your first."
We were in a canalside warehouse in the Boglinks district. The Rauchs had just taken in a shipment of stolen military grade weapons bought from Symeriosion smugglers. I didn't know the plans for those weapons and I was very comfortable with that ignorance. I didn't want to know anything more about anything at all. My coping skills were strained to their limits already.
The extent to which the powerful indulge in financial and social espionage is impossible for an outsider to comprehend. I still had four separate factions utilizing my talents and none of them was fully aware of all the others. The government knew the most but they didn't know that I was sabotaging them at every opportunity.
"Tell me. Are you developing a taste for men?" Arden said within listening range of a half score of others. "You're desire is clearly flexible enough to respond to the necessary, but you haven't had a female lover in weeks."
This wasn't true. Arabetha and I had sex four days a week. Every day that she worked. The fact that Arden didn't know about this was some small comfort. As was the fact that the Rauchs did not know of the Deuvalier cabal. They were behind the attempt upon McMellihound but were also responsible for several financial setbacks suffered by the Rauchs. As a point of fact my employers had put me in a position that gave me access to levels of information that I had never even dreamed of having.
"So you're working for others as well." Arden went on as I watched crates of rifles being loaded into a truck. "You haven't asked for a pay rise. Or bonus. You're well deserving of both."
"Maybe. But were I to ask I'd be rebuked, at the minimum, and insulted almost certainly." I said and kept my hands in my pockets. I wasn't in the mood to mentally joust. "If I were worth it, I shouldn't have to ask for it. But you tell yourself that if I don't ask for it that I either don't want it, or am too foolish and ignorant to recognize my value. However. If I did ask for those, you'd accuse me of being arrogant and ungrateful."
"You have not denied working for others." He said and he knew there was an audience.
"I work for myself. Using others as needed. I'm nothing to you people. So I look out for myself." I said and turned to look at Arden. "Even if you hadn't told me what you did, I still would not ask you to fuck me. If you want me, you need to make the move."
"Maybe I might do that." He lied. Because his ego is larger than his lust could ever be. "And what would you do if I did that?"
"I'd expect you to be the best I've ever had." I said and met his gaze squarely. "You want to be the first then it better be amazing."
.
I began spending a couple nights of the week with Standish. Because we weren't having sex I had some truly fascinating conversations with the man. He was not just highly educated, he was remarkably well read. We talked history, literature, poetry, economics and psychology. We discussed culture and tradition and their effect on not just society but also on the attitudes and perceptions of the average person. We talked about a lot of things but he never mentioned Kempekarian and I didn't ask.
He was an odd conglomeration of things to me. A professor of sorts, a fellow student, a scholar who shared my passion, an odd sort of father figure (I've had several of those) and almost a friend. He treated me with more respect and consideration than anybody since DuVall, the bordello bouncer I'd known when I was thirteen.
Surprisingly enough he hadn't studied philosophy, so in anything regarding that field he asked me astute questions and listened attentively to my replies. I almost told him of the longcoats' interest in him but demurred because I was fairly certain he was aware of it so that my mentioning it might seem insulting.
Even if one was on a friendly basis it was never wise to posit yourself as better informed than an Up. That's just common sense. If you're going to stay on good terms with the powerful you never imply that you might be smarter than them.
.
My beloved songbird became engaged. To the good man I've previously mentioned. I was happy for her. She needed someone who could be there for her. With her. Someone she could wake up next to each morning. He was kind and supportive and made her happy.
I hoped it could be all that she needed. The news killed a part of my heart that would only ever be a scarred and empty place for the rest of my life, but she had just been my angel. I couldn't be her husband. I could never be the one to make her world right.
Reality does not bend in mercy for any.
.
"I was lost at sea and never found. They rescued my body but I'm still out there and I'll never find my way back. Maybe when they let me die I can finally rest."
I listened to Aidan Falcross, the earl of Fainsford. Intently. Because nobody else did. He was a curiosity. A discomfitting oddity. He was gaunt with deeply set eyes that said nothing to those seeking shallow pleasantries. I found him fascinating. Mesmerizing. Because he too was an outsider. By circumstance not birth, but that mattered little to me.
"Do you believe in God, Thrush?" Aidan said in his strangely hollow voice. I handed him a cigarette as I lit my own. "The love, the mercy, the divine grace? Have you ever felt it?"
"God made the world and walked away." I said as I in turn lit his smoke. He had this strange ability to be absolutely still while seeming to quiver with energy. "All I've ever encountered are the acts of people claiming to do god's will."
"I don't hate God. Just those who pray to him." Aidan said as he exhaled smoke. "I believed. I went to church. And out there I prayed. For rain. For someone to find us. For God to save my fiancée. I offered myself in her stead and God did nothing. He let her die. He took her from me."
"God's answer to our prayers is always no." I said while behind Aidan exquisitely dressed couples danced a roulade. "I'm told that god despises my people. Curious then that we are allowed to live."
"The last thing my Madeleine said to me was that she'd be waiting for me and that we would be together in the glory of God's love." Aidan said and fixed his incredibly intense gaze upon me. "When I was finally rescued I asked a priest. About why God allowed his good amd faithful children to suffer and die. Do you know what he told me?"
"It's a terrible sin to ask such a question. Doubt is the Devil's touch upon your heart." I said without looking away.
"Yes! Exactly!" He replied and leaned towards me. As though making sure I was really there. "I was the only to survive out of nine hundred and twelve aboard. One hundred and ninety-seven children died! Why? How could God do that? Why would he do that?'
"You survive because god's will. He must have special plans for you." I said and saw, in Aidan's eyes, that this was what he'd been told. "God may have made us all but he seems to hate so many, and love so few."
It was sad, no, sorrowful, and a hard thing to see. Someone so lost, so very alone even in the midst of so many. It's a lonely ride, here on the outside. What was even sadder was the fact that others would take advantage of the earl's despair.
The moment you begin to bleed the sharks grin and gather.
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