The Madness Project (The Madness Method) (46 page)

“She’s a canny lass,” Coins said.  “Like a little sister to
me.  I don’t like seeing her hurting, right?  So what’s your game?  Can’t you
see how she much she cares about you?”

A sudden warmth rushed through me; I forced it away. 
Steeled my heart.

“Hayli is quicksilver to me,” I said.  “A beautiful danger. 
I can’t afford…I can’t let her get close to me.”

“Why not?” Coins murmured, watching me curiously.

“Because,” I said, and closed my eyes.  “Because she makes
me forget.”

*  *  *  *

Joren agreed to meet us in an empty warehouse two streets
south of the Troyce & Fallon, in the middle of the day when we would have
no need for lamps or torches.  The daylight was the only thing about the meet
that I liked.  The warehouse stood deep in the abandoned sector of the city,
where no one ever visited—especially not the police—and the building itself was
far too big, far too cluttered inside for comfort.  I’d gone down to survey the
place the day before.  No one had to tell me how much danger we’d be in, but I
didn’t suppose we had any choice.

The morning of the meet, I called Coins, Jig, and Anuk
together up in the enclosure.  I think Jig was a bit surprised that I’d invited
him, but he had a code of honor I could respect, and I knew that he wouldn’t
compromise the lot of us because of some old injury to his pride.  He leaned
back against the wall with a rather frigid scowl, though, doing his best to
ignore Coins who yammered on about nothing in particular.

“All right, listen,” I said, silencing Coins.  “Coins and I
are going to meet with a fellow named Joren.  Thought I’d ask you two if you’d
like to come along.  He’s gotten a bit too tall for his hat, and he’s been
riding the Bricks down the rail ever since Alby Durb kicked.”

Jig snorted.  “You think we care what happens to the Bricks?”

“Rivano does,” I said, and left it at that.

“What’re you going to do about it, Shade?” Anuk asked. 
“We’re not exactly in a position to negotiate with anyone who’s got real power
in this town, so.”

I met his gaze coldly.  “I am.”

Coins cleared his throat.  “I wouldn’t question him, right?”

Jig and Anuk exchanged a glance.

“So you’re just ganna waltz in and tell him to leave them
alone?” Jig asked.  “You really think it’s that easy?”

“That’s right,” I said.  “Stay behind if you’re not man
enough to come along.  But I’m leaving now, so make up your mind fast.”

I turned before Jig’s anger could flare up.  If he couldn’t
lash out at me immediately, I knew it would just push him to follow me and
prove me wrong.  Coins sauntered along a step behind me, but I didn’t turn to
see if the other two were coming. 

After a moment Coins whistled a bit and murmured, “Well
aye.  Here they come.”

I smiled and led the way down to the warehouse.  My gut
gnawed at the frayed edges of my nerves, tying all my insides into knots. 
Tarik’s hands would be shaking, and I let them shake, but Shade kept his chin
up and his hands free at his sides, and stalked straight for the open door of
the warehouse.

Cold light spilled through the line of shattered
south-facing windows, pooling around pallets of supplies.  The warehouse wasn’t
as abandoned as it looked; the pallets hadn’t been there yesterday.  Joren
probably used the place to store and move his goods far from the prying eyes of
the authorities, which made the warehouse even less of a neutral meeting ground
than I’d thought before. 

As we wove our way through the maze of canvas-draped boxes,
I caught sight of Joren and a handful of toughs grouped together in an empty
patch of floor.  My heart hitched.  Kor had taught me enough to make me realize
how Joren would have us with our backs to the towering stacks of supplies,
which was as good as putting us up against a wall.  I gritted my teeth and
stepped out onto the floor in front of them.

Joren had five men with him, all armed with rifles.  I
didn’t look, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if a few others were hiding in
the shadows.  Joren alone carried no weapon.  That was the only way I guessed
his identity, since they all wore black coach hats and fine tweed suits cut in
the latest fashion.  Besides the rifles, the other men didn’t seem particularly
dangerous; Joren obviously hadn’t hired them for their muscle.  Oddly enough, I
rather thought he was the biggest man of the group.

“Is this a joke?” Joren snapped as we stepped clear of the
crates.  His close-set eyes latched onto me.  “You’re just a blithering kid.”

“What did you expect?” I asked, keeping my voice as cold and
level as I could.

“I expected I’d be meeting an equal.”

I grinned.  “Do I frighten you?  If you want to call in some
more reinforcements, I can wait.”

His cheeks paled, then flared bright red.  “That’s not—” he
started, but apparently thought better of letting me bait him.  He was too
late, though.  I’d already witnessed the damage.  “Don’t get cheeky with me,
kid.”

We still stood a good twenty paces from each other, close
enough that I could see the twisted look on his face, but not so close that we
could talk comfortably.  The way his men watched us, hands tight on their
rifles, I knew better than to walk forward uninvited.  But I wanted to smile,
because I could sense the other lads behind me, not hanging back by the
pallets, but knotting close around me.

“Can we talk, Joren?” I called.  “I’m not keen on wasting my
time here if you won’t listen.”

“Scram, kid,” he said.  “You’re in over your head.”

“Funny, I heard the same thing about you.”

The words had barely left my mouth when all of his men
shouldered their rifles, staring down the barrels of the guns straight at me. 
And before I could think what I was doing, my hand flashed out and clenched in
a fist, and the guns wrenched from the men’s grips to clatter on the floor. 

Pain stabbed through my head and all the world spun, but
somehow, barely, I managed to keep from staggering to my knees.  Through the
fog of my vision, I saw Joren’s face turn a perfect shade of white.  The men
stared at me, then at their guns.  I could tell they had half a mind to reach
for them again, so, ignoring the way the world was shattering around me, I
reached out and pulled the weapons across the floor, bringing them to our feet.

Moments dripped away in thunderous silence.  None of my lads
reached for the guns, but they didn’t need to.  A couple of Joren’s thugs
lifted their hands and took a step back, leaving Joren unprotected.

“Well?” Joren asked, hands twitching.  “You’ve made your
point.  So talk.”

I flicked a glance back at the others and held up a finger. 
They stayed put while I crossed the floor to stand in front of Joren, and
Joren’s men kept backing away until the two of us stood all alone.

Joren’s gaze fixed on my mark.  “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to leave the Bricks alone.”

He looked as if he had a mind to laugh, but to his credit,
he just met my gaze and said, “What does Rivano care about the Bricks?”

“I believe he’d say that’s his business.”

“Why should I do anything for him, for you?”

I smiled, faintly.  “I could make it painful for you if you
don’t.”

“Oh,” he said, forcing a spiteful laugh.  “I’m not afraid of
you mages.”

“You misunderstand me.”  I took a step closer to him, even
though it meant I had to look up at him a bit, and said, voice low, “You’re not
an honest man, are you?”

His face drained of color, slowly.  “What do you mean?”

“Do I have to spell it out?”  I flicked a pointed glance
over his shoulder at his thugs.  “Should I call them over here so they can
hear, too?”

“No,” he hissed, his hand flashing toward me.  “How could
you know about that?  How could you possibly?”

“Maybe I can read your mind,” I said, acidly.

“All right, look.”  He stepped right up to me, so close that
it took all my will not to take a pace away from him and regain my space. 
“What do you want from me?”

“I want you to forget any debts the Bricks owe you.  I want
you to forget they exist.  I want you to keep the buyers from harassing them. 
And I want you to stop this grafting operation you’ve got going on.  It isn’t
just.”

He gave me a pale kind of smile.  “You think anything that
happens down here is just?” he asked.  His pupils widened, his shoulder
twitched.  “And tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right now?  Would make things
a mite easier for me.”

“They’d kill
you
before I hit the ground,” I said,
staring him straight in the eye.  “I think you’re too much of a coward to risk
that.”

He studied me a long moment in silence, eyes narrowed up a
little, something like pity or fear in their depths.  Then, surprising me, he
shook his head faintly and murmured, “And you’re too young to be so hard.”

“I survive,” I said, not even sure myself what I meant.

“It’ll kill you one day, kid, or bring you to ruin.  Damn,
why am I telling you this?  You come in here, threaten my men, threaten me, and
I’m offering you advice.  How does that figure?”

I couldn’t answer.  My heart stung with a bitter ache like
grief, and I couldn’t say why.  Before I could stop myself, I looked away,
staring at the grey light pooling under the nearest window.

“You’re not from this city,” Joren went on.  “Don’t lose
yourself here, or this place will bury you.”  He hesitated, then added, almost
whispering, “If you’re lucky.”

It happened too fast.  One second I was staring at the patch
of daylight, the next I was staring at Joren, lying flat on his back with his
face bloodied by my fist.  My hand throbbed, the shadows darkened, and I just
stared and kept staring at him, because I couldn’t believe what I’d done.  I
had no notion why I’d struck him.  I should have held back; I had no cause.

“Don’t mock me,” I said, reaching down and pulling him to
his feet. 

I didn’t want to meet his gaze.  Shame burned through me. 
He’d shown me consideration, not mockery, and I…I’d proven that I deserved his
contempt.  I turned away, shaking out my fist, ignoring how he stood there
watching me, his hand pressed against his lip and nose to catch the blood. 
Even from across the room I could feel the lads gaping at me, but I wouldn’t
look at them either.

“Hold up a minute, kid,” Joren called. 

He didn’t even sound angry, so I risked a glance at him over
my shoulder.  When he just beckoned me with a finger, I steeled myself and
walked back to him, trying not to appear as ashamed of myself as I felt.

Don’t apologize,
I could hear Trabin telling me. 
We
don’t ever apologize, even if we’ve made fools of ourselves, or we will only
look weak.

“Listen,” Joren said, holding a handkerchief to his face.  “Did
Rivano tell you about me or did you find out about it on your own?  Does he
know?”

“Should he?” I asked, measuring him evenly, while everything
inside me cringed at myself and the horror that flickered in Joren’s eyes.

“If I give you some information that Rivano will appreciate,
will you keep it to yourself?” he asked.

“Depends on what kind of information, I suppose,” I said.

“I know a fellow who’s got some dirt on the royal family. 
Name’s Branigan.  Get a meet set up with him, and he’ll tell you more than you
could hope for.  If Rivano and that blockhead lackey of his—what’s his name? 
Kantian?  If they’ve got any hope for a revolution, they’ll want to hear what
Branigan has to say.”

I didn’t say a word.  But as soon as Joren fell silent, I
turned to go.

“Can I have your word?”

I didn’t fancy meeting a gunman in the alley some night, so
I shifted a half step back and met his gaze.  “Your secret’s safe,” I said, as
though he should have known better.  “Don’t ask me again.”

Before he could call me back and ask me for any weightier
promise I didn’t want to give, I stalked across the room, past the other lads,
and out into the dismal cold that matched the numbness in my heart.

Chapter 3 — Tarik

“You should have seen him, too,” Coins said, laughing around
a mouthful of sausage.  “Big old tough, flat on his bum.  His eyes were about
as big as this plate, too.”

I stifled a smile.  The story kept getting bigger with every
dinnertime retelling.  It’d been a few days since we’d met Joren, but somehow
none of the kids got tired of telling or hearing about it.  Sometimes I felt
that I needed to hear it, too, to remind myself that it had really happened,
and that I’d—somehow, miraculously—survived.   

I still couldn’t quite figure out how I’d disarmed his men. 
I knew I’d drawn on the same reserve of power that had moved the guard’s pike
on the palace steps, but beyond that, I knew nothing…only that the pain in my
head throbbed worse than ever, until I believed nothing short of a glass of
brandy would drive it away.  That hadn’t helped either; I’d tried, and it had
only made it worse.