Low Town (40 page)

Adolphus and I were plotting in the corner when Adeline came in, plump and red cheeked, anticipating the Midwinter feast she was about to prepare. If it was just me I could probably have carried it, but you don’t share a man’s bed for a decade without gaining some ability to appraise his mood. Besides, Adolphus ain’t much for guile. “What’s wrong?”

Adolphus and I exchanged the kind of look that prefaces the arrival of bad news, but neither of us said anything.

She inspected me with a gaze that would be the envy of many a magistrate. “Where’s Wren?”

A hole opened up in the bottom of my stomach and I fell into it. I stumbled through a lie. “I left him at the Aerie.”

“You never mentioned anything about visiting the Crane today.”

“I don’t tell you every time I void my bowels, but the chamber pot still gets plenty of use.”

A burst of movement, faster than I would have credited her for, and she was in front of me. Her voice was louder than usual, but steady. “Stop lying—I’m not a fool. Where is he?”

I swallowed hard and nodded at Adolphus. He slipped the paper out of his back pocket and handed it to her.

I’m not sure what I expected, how I thought she would react. For all her low voice and sweet nature, for all that she allowed Adolphus his delusions of tyranny, Adeline was no weakling. But then I couldn’t imagine what the arrival of Wren to a woman long childless meant. She read over the missive, the grim set of her face unaltered. Then she looked back at me, her eyes incredulous. “How could this happen?” Not angry yet, just confused.

“He must have followed me out of the bar. He did it once before, but I thought I told him off. I’m not sure, I didn’t see him.”

She struck me once across the face, closed palm. “You stupid, stupid man.” She raised her hand again, then dropped it. “You stupid man.”

I swallowed that.

“Swear to me you’ll find him.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

She shook her head and grabbed the lapel of my coat, her eyes wide and furious. “No—swear to me, swear to me you’ll bring him back safe.”

My throat was so dry I stumbled over the words. “I swear.” As a rule I don’t promise anything I can’t deliver—I wished I could take it back as soon as I had said it.

She let go of me and collapsed into Adolphus, her composure broken, weeping softly. He patted her softly on the back. I moved to leave. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

“You aren’t …” Adolphus let the sentence trail off.

“Not yet. I’ve got something I need to do first.”

It wouldn’t do to murder a member of the peerage without notifying the authorities. I needed to see the Old Man.

I pushed open the doors into Black House like I was still the top agent in the place, instead of a low-rent pusher. I must have done a decent enough impression because the guard on duty let me by without any trouble. From there I made my way deeper into the labyrinth, unsurprised to discover I hadn’t forgotten my way.

The Old Man’s office is located in the dead center of the building, at the heart of a web of dull offices and unattractive carpeting. I entered without knocking, but somehow he knew I was coming and sat comfortably in his chair, owning absolutely the space he inhabited. The wooden desk in front of him was clean of paper, book, or bauble, the only adornment a small bowl of hard candy.

“A day early,” I said, taking the seat opposite his and tossing the packet onto the desk.

It landed with a thud. The Old Man looked up at me, then at the dossier, then back at me. He took hold of the folder and then settled into his seat, flipping through it with agonizing slowness. Finally he set the papers back on his desk. “This does make for interesting reading—unfortunately, it isn’t the information I tasked you to find. For your sake, I certainly hope this isn’t all you came here with.”

The razor sat in my satchel. All I needed to do was lay it down on
the table and walk out, free and clear, at least until the next time they wanted something from me—the razor pulsed with the void; it was as good as a signed confession. But with the boy gone that was out; one street urchin didn’t matter anything to the Old Man, didn’t matter an eyelash or a clipped toenail.

The Blade drew too much water for him to disappear into Black House and never come out again—if they went after him they’d have to uphold a pretense of legality, weeks of subpoenas and judicial wrangling, and I didn’t imagine Beaconfield would leave Wren alive through that. This of course assumed the Old Man would try to bring him down, which I doubted. More likely he’d use what I gave him to flip Beaconfield, put him back out on the street in Black House’s employ—the duke was worth more in his pocket than swinging on a rope.

The only chance I had of getting the boy back safe was if I was holding the reins, and that meant I needed to play this tight, pass out enough to get sanction on the duke without tipping my hand so far that the Old Man decided to steal my play.

I took a sweet from the dish, unwrapping the paper and popping the confection into my mouth. “That was just motive of course. I assume Guiscard already told you of the Blade’s connection to Operation Ingress.” The agent’s sudden willingness to help had never smelled right, but it wasn’t until I was sitting in front of his boss that I decided to voice my suspicions. It was something of a shot in the dark, and I was gratified to see surprise hiccup across the Old Man’s perfect composure. “After he failed to find any takers for his illicit services, the Blade moved on to plan B. Someone, probably Brightfellow, contracted out the abduction to the Kiren. When that didn’t work, they aced him and took the matter into their own hands. I can go on if you want—I know it’s been a long time since you did actual police work.”

The Old Man’s face returned to its friendly hollowness. Then he
shook his head, saddened by the bad news he was about to relay. “Not enough. Not nearly enough. Perhaps it’s my fault—perhaps I’ve failed to sufficiently motivate you. Perhaps I should send someone down to that bar you own, pay your friends a nice visit.”

I let that slide past without grabbing at it. “Not enough for a warrant maybe—but enough for the two of us to be sure.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“I’ll take care of it. Off the books.”

He tut-tutted disapprovingly. “So much blood, so much fuss. What will it look like?”

“You’re Special Operations—it’ll look like what you say it looks like. Don’t pretend you don’t relish the idea of taking out a noble, and an ally of the Crown Prince at that. I’m doing you a favor, and you know it.” I pushed across the desk, narrowing the air between us. “Unless you feel like waiting around for the Blade and his pet sorcerer to complete their ritual.”

The Old Man’s eyes were blue as a summer evening. “Are you offering to return to the Crown’s service?”

I knew he was baiting me but damn if I didn’t want to take it. “A singular proposition. Beaconfield and I have a discussion, and you wake up tomorrow with one less problem to deal with.”

“And why are you so keen to take responsibility for the good duke’s demise?”

“I bore easily—what do you care? It’ll get done.”

He clasped his hands in front of his face, giving the impression of serious contemplation. After fifteen seconds of uncomfortable silence he spread his palms faceup and leaned back in his chair. “Accidents happen,” he said.

I started to walk out, opening the door then turning back toward him. “There’ll be some cleanup required. It’ll be quick, but it’ll be noisy.”

“As you said, we’re Special Operations.”

“When I do you, it’ll be quiet as a chapel.”

He let out an embarrassed chuckle, chagrined at my misbehavior. “Such a temper! You’ll never make it to my age if you don’t learn to enjoy life a little.”

I didn’t respond, closing the door on the blank office and the evil man who lived there.

Then it was back to the Earl, half jogging through the knee-high snow. The constant cold was wearing on me. I could remember a time when the sky was light and the clouds didn’t spew ice, but only dimly.

I arrived to discover the bar had closed for the night—not that we’d see much business, the weather being what it was. The front room was deserted, Adolphus in the back looking after his wife. I didn’t have time to search for him. I wasn’t planning to move on the Blade till nightfall, but I’d need every minute of the interim to ready the setup.

Up in my room I noticed a small envelope on my dresser. Across it Adolphus had scrawled a quick note—
Grenwald’s messenger came while you were out
. Under different circumstances this would have warranted a good laugh. To think for once in his useless fucking existence my old major actually came through for me, and it was too damn late to do any good. I ignored it and turned to more pressing duties.

I removed the brown-wrapped parcel from the trunk beneath my bed, then sat at my table and began to unpack it. Two hours were lost in the haze of critical but menial tasks required to bring the equipment
into readiness. I grabbed a couple of throwing knives and a thin stretch of wire before slipping a tin of faceblack into my pocket and heading downstairs.

I was so fixed on my purpose that I nearly rebounded off Adolphus, who stood at the foot of the steps, rendered nearly invisible by the low light and his own uncanny stillness. Beneath his heavy overcoat a ragged suit of studded leather stretched taut against his chest, and he’d even dug up his old kettle helmet, the steel dented by five years of close calls. Apart from his dress he was also festooned with weapons, two short blades hanging at his side and a battle-ax strapped to his back.

“What the hell are you wearing?” I asked, astounded.

The savagery in his eyes left me with no doubt that my comrade was quite serious in his choice of attire. “You didn’t think you were going alone? This isn’t our first time over the top. I’ve got my eyes on your back, as always.”

Was he drunk? I sniffed at his breath—apparently not. “I don’t have time for this. Watch Adeline, I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Wren’s my son,” he said without affectation or aggrandizement. “I’ll not sit by the fire while his life is in danger.”

The Oathkeeper spare us from such pointless nobility. “Your offer is appreciated but unnecessary.”

I tried to squeeze by, but he put one hand against my collar and held me firm against the banister. “It wasn’t an offer.”

The streaks of gray outnumbered the black in his once charcoal hair. His pockmarked face was heavy. Was I that old? Did I look that foolish, my collar pulled up like a hoodlum, steel bulging from my pockets, a middle-aged man playing at the adventures of youth?

It didn’t do to think like that. Wren needed me—I could have a crisis of faith if I was still alive in six hours.

I brushed off Adolphus’s hand and took a step back up the stairs,
giving myself enough room to maneuver. “You’re fat—you were always big, but you’re fat now. You’re slow and you can’t sneak, and you don’t have it in you to kill a man anymore, not the way I’m going to do it. I’m not sure that you ever did. I’ve no time to flatter your vanity—every second you waste, the boy gets closer to death. Get the fuck out of my way.”

For a moment I thought I had overplayed my hand and he would knock my head off my shoulders. But then he turned his face to the ground and all the energy seemed to slump out of him, like I’d put a hole in the bottom of a jug. He turned away from the staircase, his collection of cutlery jangling.

“Look after Adeline,” I said. “I’ll be back in an hour or two.” That was far from certain, but there was no point in saying so. I slipped out into the night.