The rifle bucked in Maddy’s grip. The walls were heavily insulated and the gunshot did not echo. Even if it did, she only heard a soft thump through her earmuffs. Her firing range was small and lit with fluorescent bulbs, making the atmosphere a clear workspace but unpleasant. Work benches lined the wall behind her, covered in casings and tools. The concrete wall on the far end was concave so that ricochets went away from her—the concrete itself soft enough to absorb excess energy but firm enough so that misfired bullets redirected into the bullet trap that was hidden from view. There were no targets hanging on that wall. This was not a practice range, merely a place for her to make sure her guns did their jobs properly.
She fired again. A burst of black smoke popped from the barrel. She watched the motion of the barrel as it let the bullet fly, and kept an eye on the long tube that ran from the mouth back along the barrel to the receiver. The priming handle jerked back, ejecting the spent casing. The chamber locked closed again.
She pulled the trigger, and nothing happened. Maddy lifted her head and held the gun out. It worked, but it didn’t work as well as she’d hoped. The expanding gas from the fired bullet wasn’t pushing the piston in the tube back fast enough. It expelled the brass from the spent bullet with ease, but it didn’t travel back far enough to load in a new cartridge. So when she pulled the trigger, nothing happened. She primed the priming handle. Another brass cartridge slid into the chamber.
With a grumble, she removed the magazine and ejected the unshot bullet. She’d have to figure out how to apply more pressure to the gas piston effecting the speed and trajetory of the bullet, or think of a way for the piston to travel smoother without more force.
Thoughts of Therazine and her contract swirled around Maddy’s skull. She and that Javadoan had marched out into the night suddenly, seemingly without any plan, or at least without telling Maddy about it. Therazine certainly acted like she knew what she was doing, but Maddy wasn’t so sure. The woman had changed in the past ten years. She was still a violent, unrepentant creature, no doubt, but Therazine’s edges appeared to have been rounded. When she walked to the window and stared out into the street, seeking answers in the wastrels below. She seemed… less patient, somehow. Perhaps out of practice. Maddy wondered how long it had been since Therazine had taken a life. She cradled the gun, looking over the thing in her hands and briefly fantasizing about Therazine using this very weapon to kill the Emperor of the Real.
A light in the corner of the room flipped on. It was just a simple, colorless light, coming from a white box buried in the darkness of the ceiling. It was an alarm, telling her someone had just opened the front door of her shop.
It was well after midnight. Maddy set the rifle down on the reloading bench and picked up a revolver. She slinked out of her firing range and shut the door behind her, throwing the bolt and locking it. As she made her way to the stairs she popped open the cylinder of the revolver and checked itse contents. Seven loaded rounds. She reached the bottom step with the pistol raised in her right hand.
The shop’s lights were still off. Dozens of clocks ticked in silence. The front door was open. Three wide shouldered men were silhouetted in the doorway by pale streetlight.
“Miss Rhines,” said the man in front, his voice coated in a grimey accent that betrayed his noble birth.
Maddy ground her teeth, and drew the hammer of the revolver back.
“You’re trespassing on private property, Chestin.”
The man struck a match and lifted it to his face to light a pipe. The tiny flame cast shadows across young, craggy features, and yellow eyes that stared straight at Maddy.
“Can’t trespass on my own property, Miss Rhines.”
“I rent the place,” Maddy said through clenched teeth. “It’s my home. As long as that’s true then you are walking where you shouldn’t. You have five seconds to get out.”
She heard clothing ruffle, and in the darkness saw the suggestion of the other two men pulling guns from their coats. Chestin Kettle smiled, the pipe stuck between his square teeth.
“You’re falling behind on your payments, Miss Rhines. It’s not yours if you don’t pay for it. I’m here to discuss business with you. Nothing more. Might you turn on a light?”
“Might you get the fuck out before I kill you and your boys?”
She couldn’t see the movements of the other two, but her eyes were adjusting and she saw Chestin gesture for them to stand down.
“There’s no reason for any of that. You wouldn’t kill me, Miss Rhines. You wouldn’t dare.”
“You have no idea what I'm capable of.”
“We’re just here to discuss payment plans. Nothing more.”
The gun felt heavy in Maddy’s hand. But it was steady, and she didn’t drop it.
“No need for any of these hysterics,” Chestin said.
Maddy felt her gut tighten.
Chestin sighed. “Miss Rhines, I haven’t got all night. If you’re going to shoot me, just get it over with so we can all go about our lives, however short they may be.”
Maddy kept the bead of the gunsight on the glow from Chestin’s pipe. His face was stoic. She could almost see him through the gloom, unblinking and unafraid.
She lowered the gun, and hit the switch on the wall. A warm orange light came to life near her desk, illuminating everything in a soft glow. Chestin Kettle and his flunkies stood in her open doorway, broad-shouldered and wearing finely-tailored black suits. They were all immaculately groomed, with thin goatees and cropped hair underneath grey flat caps. Each had a button on their lapels—a red raven in flight.
Chestin’s stone-like features wrinkled in a grimace. He squinted his eyes, like he’d just stumbled in on his parents having sex.
“By all that’s Real—over that up, would you?”
Maddy was suddenly and painfully aware that she wasn’t wearing an eyepatch, and her empty left socket was gaping out into the now lit room. She reached up reflexively to cover it with her hand, and then stopped herself. She made no effort to pull her eyepatch out of her jacket pocket.
Chestin shook his head. He ground the pipe between his square teeth, and then straightened his jacket.
“You gonna invite us in?”
“You’re already in.”
“Only just. It’s cold out there, Miss Rhines. Don’t be improper.”
“Close my door.”
“I suppose being proper isn’t a habit for someone like you. You heard her, Neddy.”
One of the thugs turned and shut the door gently, and then came back. Maddy stared at them, still as a statue, gun in her hand. Chestin Kettle removed his hat and hung it on the hooked corner of a clock sitting on her shelves. Then he took off his jacket and laid it gently across her counter. He stepped closer to her, taking a big puff on his pipe and letting it out in a slow sigh. He was as broad in the chest as a bull, and paced across the room like a rooster in a henhouse. He stopped in front of her, leaning against the dusty, cluttered shelves. For a chilling moment, Maddy thought he was going to reach out with one of those meaty, calloused hands of his and grab her. It was certainly his style—and the style of the Corbie Club—to take everything he wanted in a straightforward manner. Chestin Kettle’s father had set the example years ago with his unabashed rape of Ventri Kardina the butcher when she’d failed to pay for his protection. Horror storeis surrounded Chestin himself—stories that he no doubt took pride in. Part of her hoped he’d grab her by the waist right then, just so she’d have the excuse to plug him in the gut.
But Chestin Kettle was smart. He knew who Madeline Rhines was, knew her reputation. He stopped just short of her and looked her up and down, twirling his pipe in his mouth.
“You are one ugly bitch. You know that, don’t you?”
Maddy felt heat behind her cheeks. Her hand twitched, wanting to go up to her empty socket again—and she hated her instincts for that. She hated that such simple words from a piece of shit like this made her feel so worthless. But she didn’t say anything. She wouldn’t let him have that, wouldn’t let him think that he could weaken her. She remained standing rigid, staring him in the eye and clutching the revolver in her shaking hand.
Chestin held her gaze and waited. When she didn’t relent he raised his eyebrows as if to say, ‘I tried.’
“How’s about the money you owe me?”
“I’ve never been late on a payment—”
“Until now.”
“I’ve never been late on a payment.” Maddy raised her voice just a touch. “But these last few weeks have been unusually slow. People are avoiding Ivy. The docks are… And the sewer-sickness is blooming. People aren’t coming in.”
“Isn’t changing the price of rent, Miss Rhines.”
“I’ll pay up what I owe as soon as I can,” Maddy said. “That’s all I can say. What else do you want?”
Chestin smiled. “There’s always… other forms of payment.”
Maddy frowned, and gripped the gun tighter.
“You know what I mean.” Chestin nodded upstairs. “You gotta have some of Old Man Rhines’ stock laying around.”
Maddy’s eyes went wide. This fucker wanted her guns.
She lifted the revolver and pointed it at his stomach. “Get out.”
The other two came up quick, hand reaching inside of their coats. Chestin’s hand waved them off.
“Come on,” he said. “Just one of your father’s antiques and we’ll be square for the next two months.”
“You don’t dare talk about him. Get out. I won’t repeat myself again.”
“Perhaps you don’t quite understand the position you’re in, Miss Rhines.” Chestin took another step up to her, pressing his belly against the barrel of her gun. “You owe money to Deputy Administrator Patrick Kettle. People pay him what they owe, or they accept whatever consequences come their way.”
The muscles in Maddy’s jaw twitched. Her nostrils stung as Chestin blew out a puff of rancid smoke. Patrick Kettle had significant sway in the politics of this district—and near legal immunity while he held the position of Deputy Administrator. He was also a land owner, a slumlord. The less fortunate suffered under his administration, and the wealthy prospered—mostly because the wealthy of Ivy Street consisted of his close friends and dear family. No matter what Maddy threatened, she knew that she couldn’t even so much as slap Chestin Kettle without his father bringing down her entire life.
She lowered the gun, and swallowed hard.
“I don’t have… Father didn’t leave me anything.”
Chestin frowned. “Bullshit. Man loved you. He left you everything.”
“No.” Maddy shook her head. “Not after what happened. The Bloodletters took everything.”
“The Society?” one of the thugs said. Neddy, Chestin had called him.
“Bullshit,” Chestin said again. “He left you his fortune, and his toys. That’s how you leased this place from my father in the first place. Don’t you lie to me, Miss Madeline Rhines. I got a Corbie nose. I can smell a lie before it’s even spoken.”
“They took it all,” Maddy said. “He didn’t expect to die when he did. He hadn’t had anything arranged. The Bloodletters claimed it.”
Chestin grabbed her by the wrist and pulled the gun up between them. Maddy winced at the violent motion—it was like being grabbed in the talons of a massive hawk. The dark steel of the revolver reflected the orange light minutely as Chestin twisted her wrist around, displaying it to her.
“Then where’d you get this piece?”
For an instant Maddy tried to pull her hand free, but it was no use against a brute like Chestin. “It was mine. Gave it to me before he passed. The Bloodletters took—”
“I said don’t lie to me!” Chestin shouted, squeezing her wrist.
“Those assassins are bad news, Ches,” said Neddy behind them. “Wouldn’t surprise me if they took it all when Rhines died.”
Chestin glanced back. He didn’t shout at or scold Neddy for speaking up—and in fact seemed to consider the point now that it had come from a fellow Corbie.
“Why do think I sell fucking clocks now?” Maddy said.
Chestin looked back to her. He twirled the pipe between his teeth. Ash spilled over its brim as it swayed back and forth.
“Maybe,” he said, nodding. “Which is just unfortunate for you, Miss Rhines. Because now you got nothing to pay us with.” He lifted her arm up, twisting so that she’d drop her gun. But Maddy held on. If there was one thing she learned from her father, it was to never let a man disarm you. Not in this horrid city. In Celedin, if a woman lost her ability to kill, then she was as good as dead.
She suddenly thought of Therazine. Chestin’s arm pulled back and his rope-like fingers curled into a fist.
“Wait!” Maddy shouted. It wasn’t a desperate word, but a demanding one. She held up her free hand in a gesture of placation. Chestin paused, his arm still cocked back.
“Wait,” she repeated. “Your father. Patrick. He’s up for reelection soon, isn’t he?”
“So what if he is?”
“Well. I’ve seen the numbers in the last few months.”
Chestin frowned.
Maddy swallowed again, and breathed in deep. “They aren’t getting any better soon, are they? Not with the exodus of West Celedin workers, I imagine. Not with businesses heading offworld.”
“So, what? You promising to vote for him if I don’t break your face? Don’t make me laugh.”
“No,” Maddy said. She looked him dead in his yellow eyes. “Therazine is back in town.”
Neddy gasped. The other thug looked around to make sure there was no one else hiding in the shadows, and drew his gun.
Chestin tilted his head. “The Stiletto?”
“The ex-Archblade herself.”
“You threatening me now?”
“Quite the contrary. I’m offering you a deal.” She grinned. “Tell me your father couldn’t use a little muscle in this race of his.”
Chestin was quiet for a long while, staring at her and moving his jaw in silent contemplation. Then he let go of her arm.
“If it’s true she’s back,” he said. “Why do you know?”
Maddy pulled her arm back and flexed her wrist, keeping the gun pointed at the Corbies.
“Because I’m the only person she trusts.”
No comments:
Post a Comment