Darkwalker: A Tale of the Urban Shaman (20 page)

Morgan shook her head. “I didn’t say that,” she said.

Della stepped across to her, her walk a sinuous slide, and laid a gentle hand on Morgan’s arm. Even through the woolen tunic sleeve, it felt like a caress.

“
Darling,” said Della, her voice low and honeyed, “we all do receive the same training, if we’re part of the guild.” It was as if she’d become a different person, her accents those of the wealthy and powerful. “I can be as sophisticated and entertaining a companion as any man—or woman—could want.” She smiled, gave a shudder, and stepped away again. “I just don’t feel like goin’ there on my fuckin’ day off.”

“
Okay,” Morgan said, “fair enough. So the Marilyns…”

“
Got themselves a fuckin’ temple now,” Della told her. “Just a cathouse like any other, you ask me, never mind they call it a ‘tithe’ and do the whole communist thing, sharing the money out. But they applied for that, what-chacallit, tax exempt status, just like a church or temple.”

“
That’s when the Guild voted to throw them out,” said Sal.

“
The Harlot’s Guild expelled the Marilyns?”

“
Voted to toss ’em out on their prissy little asses,” said Della. “That was Hannah’s doing.”

“
Hannah Caine, the guildmadam?” said Morgan.

Della said, “Hannah said if they weren’t gonna pay taxes and be subject to the same rules and regulations as the rest of us, why should the guild look out for ’em? Suzi stood up to her, but it didn’t do no good—the whole guild knew Suzi was one herself.”

“
What made Suzi think she could sway the vote?”

Sal sighed, stubbed out her cigarette, and lit another. She offered the pack to Morgan, who declined. “Well, you must understand, not every Marilyn moved into that temple of theirs. Some of them, like Suzi, stayed working in the houses they were with. Suzi used to say it wasn’t about where the money went, it was about how you approached it.

“
So,” Morgan asked, “Suzi and some of the others wanted to stay in their regular jobs, and also stay in the Temple?”

“
Suzi wanted the other harlots in the guild to join their temple, too. She had that whole ‘we women should look out for each other’ thing going on. Thought all harlots were priestesses, whether they knew it or not.”

“
The other Marilyns—the ones at the temple—they didn’t see it that way?”

“
Them?” Della snorted. “Fuck, no. They pee rosewater and shit spun sugar. Some of ’em are worse toward the rest of us than some of the Witlesses or the Rollers. To them we’re blasphemers, ’cause we do it for money instead of for their goddess. You know what I think of that? They can kiss my sweet ass.”

“
Yeah.” Morgan smiled. “That’s what I figured. So where did the vote leave girls like Suzi?”

“
Oh, the Marilyns could stay in the guild,” said Sal, “long as they paid their dues and didn’t ever work at the Temple. Hannah would’ve had them all barred from the guild on principle, but Suzi and some of the others working the regular houses had enough friends, they carried that one. Hannah didn’t like it, but what could she do? A vote’s a vote, and anyway, she got the main thing she was after.”

“
You think Hannah was still pissed at Suzi?”

“
Well,” said Della, “Zee used to work up at the Gates of Hell…”

“
The Gates of Hell?” Morgan asked.

Both of the harlots laughed. “Hannah’s place is called ‘The Gate of Heaven,’” Sal explained. “Some of us call it…”

“
Yeah, I get it,” said Morgan. “Why? Hannah’s a devil?”

“
A bitch, anyway,” said Della.

“
Hannah’s very strict and proper,” Sal said.

“
Full of herself, almost as bad as the Marilyns.”

“
Anyway,” Sal said emphatically, “Suzi was Hannah’s right-hand gal until she joined the Marilyns. Hannah found a reason to fire her, but Suzi was already a guild steward, and she couldn’t do anything about that.”

“
Would Hannah have been angry enough to want her killed?”

“
Don’t you go saying things like that.” Sal punched her cigarette at Morgan, trailing smoke. “Hannah’s hard, but she’s fair, and she’s no murderer.”

“
Chill the fuck out, Sal,” said Della. “She didn’t mean it like that.”

“
Then what did she mean it like?”

“
Look,” said Morgan, “I don’t know this Hannah Caine. We have to look at all the possibilities.”

“
Suzi was killed by the Beast,” Sal said. “Even the guardos admit that. Worthless shits that they are, can’t even keep the streets safe these days.”

“
So how did Suzi come to be out on the street that night?”

Della and Sal looked at each other. Della shrugged and looked away. Sal turned back to Morgan.

“
She was going to the temple to report on how the vote went. It was a Monday night. Some of the houses are dark on Mondays, so that’s when these meetings usually happen. This one ran later than usual, what with all the arguing. I tried to talk her out of it, told her she could go in the morning or just call them, but she’d promised her Marilyn sisters she’d report in person on the way the vote went, and Suzi was a girl of her word. Tried to get her to call a cab, but she said it was only a few blocks. I don’t think she ever really thought it could happen to her.”

“
Yeah,” said Morgan. “A lot of people think that way.”

“
Anyway, she said she had to return Greta’s pin.”

“
Pin?” Morgan asked.

“
Her Marilyn pin. They all wear them. Suzi had lost hers a couple of days before, and she’d borrowed one from Greta. She felt she ought to be wearing one at the meeting.”

“
So the Marilyn pin she was wearing when she died wasn’t actually hers?”

“
I don’t think so,” said Sal. “Pretty sure it was Greta’s.”

Della laughed. “Surprised that bitch hasn’t been beating down the doors of the guards, trying to get it back,” she said.

“
Why?” Sal asked Morgan. “Is that important for some reason?”

“
I don’t know for sure,” said Morgan, “but I’ve got a feeling it could be.”

Don Whitehouse silently cursed Willa Devlin roundly once more and contemplated ordering another shot. Probably he shouldn’t. He sipped at his beer instead. It was one thing to seek a little relief in getting plowed yesterday... and the day before, come to think of it, and if he wasn’t careful, again today. It was another thing to develop a regular habit. Without his job to go to, he could far too easily end up spending all his days pickling himself in the Bar of Gold. In fact, wasn’t he doing just that even now? He realized abruptly he was already more than half in the bag. It was this damned waiting; it got to a man. And there was no telling when this limbo would end. Of course, he could say fuck the waiting and go look for another position. But not yet.

Don looked up as the front door opened, and was surprised to see the long coat, the eye tattoo, the headscarf that was now draped around the big man’s neck like a bandanna. He realized with a start that he was looking at a Railwalker.

The Railwalker’s eyes scanned the room and settled on Don. Well, Don thought, I guess I do stand out. The afternoon crowd was scant, mostly old retired guys and rummies, sodden-looking with their worn-out clothes and worn-out lives. Don was the only one there who looked hale and hearty and, if not prosperous, at least currently employed, for all his clothes showed the wear of regular work. Of course he wasn’t currently employed, but he’d only been out of work a couple of weeks and didn’t yet wear the hopeless look of the terminally unemployed.

The Railwalker nodded to the bartender, ordered a beer, and sat one space down from Don. They nodded to each other.

“
Twenty-three blessings,” said the Railwalker.

Don struggled to remember what the proper response was. He hadn’t seen an actual Railwalker since his teens. He settled for, “G’day, and same to ya, Railwalker.”

“
Rok,” the man said, holding out his hand.

It took Don a moment to realize he was introducing himself. “Oh.” Don hastily extended his own hand. “Don. Don Whitehouse.” They shook.

“
First mate of the
Bay Queen
?” Railwalker Rok asked as the bartender returned with his beer.

“
Formerly.” Don looked morosely into his nearly empty glass. He didn’t wonder how the fellow knew him. The murder of his captain, Arnie Hawthorne, had been all over the newsfeeds when it happened. It had been the first of the Beast’s killings, and was revisited every time the bastard offed another victim. Don himself had been interviewed a couple of times, though he took no pleasure from this brief celebrity. He hoped the Railwalker wasn’t going to ask him about the Cap’s death. The bartender hovered.

“
Buy you a round?” asked the Railwalker.

“
Be rude to say no.”

Rok nodded to the bartender, who refilled Don’s glass from the tap. “I noticed the
Queen
was tied up at the guard’s impound dock,” Rok said, as the fresh glass was placed before Don.

“
Yeah. Ought to be out running her nets. It’s a damned shame.”

“
Why isn’t she?”

“
Ah, don’t get me started. You don’t want to hear about my troubles.”

“
I was just wondering why she’s in impound. Guards must be through with her by now. They find evidence of smuggling or something?”

“
Hell, no. Cap was a straight arrow. Well, mostly. No, you want to know the truth, it’s the damned sister.”

“
What sister is that?”

“
Willa Devlin, sister to the Cap’n. She’s challenging the will.”

“
He willed the vessel to you?”

“
To his wife. She was to own and manage, and I’d captain for her. I’d have seen her well taken care of, and taken a share for my trouble. Then comes this fuckin’ bitch from Santa Brita, the Cap’s sister, contesting the will and suing for possession of the boat. As if she’d have any more idea what to do with her than a cabbage with a computer. Tied up in court it is, and the boat stuck in dock, impounded for the duration.” He raised his beer. “Willa Devlin, may she rot in Hell.”

“
Sorry to hear about your troubles,” Rok said. “And your captain’s death. I take it you liked him?”

Here it comes, Don thought. The Railwalker hadn’t acted like a guardsman, though. When the guard started investigating the Cap’s killing, Don had been a suspect at first, and he’d had more than enough experience of the guard investigators’ approaches to questioning. This Railwalker Rok seemed like a regular guy.

“
He was a good man. A little queer in the head sometimes, but harmless for a’ that. He was Core Charger for the local Huey Brasse.”

“
You’re not a Huey man yourself? Being a seaman, I mean?”

“
No, I don’t believe in that stuff. O’ course, I’d join in when the Cap raised a toast and gave an offering to the Huey whenever we’d set out. Don’t hurt nothin’, and you never know. Just ’cause I don’t believe it, don’t make it not true.”

Rok smiled. “I like a man with an open mind. How long were you with him?”

“
Oh, we went way back, the Cap and I. Good fifteen year or so. Easy-goin’ guy. Everybody liked him. You shoulda seen the funeral. There were more folks turned out... An’ not just ’cause of the way he died. No, it was the man himself brought them there. Y’know, even Micah Roth showed up.”

“
Did he? The city boss? He knew your Cap?”

“
Oh, not really, not that well, I guess. The Cap was with him in the Takeover, you see. Not that he was any big shot or nothin’, just another soldier fightin’ for freedom.”

“
Sounds like a splendid fella.”

“
Tell you somethin’ about the Cap,” Don said, drawing his stool closer to the newcomer and lowering his voice. “He told it me in confidence, one night when we got a bit drunk together, but it don’t reflect badly on him, by my lights, and he’s gone now anyway. It can’t hurt. I mean seein’ as how you’re a Railwalker and all, it’s practically like talkin’ to a priest, i’n’t it?” He swigged again at his beer, as Rok turned on his stool to face him. “I mean, I can trust you with a secret?”

Rok just looked at him steadily, saying nothing.

Don took Rok’s look as a rebuke, that he should ask such a question of a Railwalker. “My Cap,” he said, “was the man what killed Wendell Crichton. What do you think of that?”

“
Was he?”

“
Aye. And anybody else woulda been boastin’ and puffing themselves up about such a thing. Me, why I’d have been drinkin’ for free on a story like that the rest of my life. But not the Cap. No, he was actually ashamed of himself, that he shot first and didn’t try to capture the guy. Can you imagine? Kept it a secret all his life, until he told me. Just a few days before he died. Until then, nobody knew ’cept Cap himself. And then me. And now you, Railwalker. What d’ye think o’ that?”