《What Lies in the Foundry - A Steampunk Detective Novel》


 Chapter 1: A case of missing engineers

    The city of Boravica was best seen at night, washed clean by early season rains that wiped the pollution off the copper and the glass; it seemed to glitter in the light of the oil lanterns hung along its many layers, a sparkling wrapper to hide its sordid interior. The streets were quiet, late enough for the workers to have gone home but early enough that the drunks were still inside. Jeremiah relished the cool air against his face as he walked.


    The Boiler Room was small but generally reputable. Nestled snugly below street level on one of the less affluent roads in the Kingsway district, it was far enough from any gang strongholds that it rarely saw violence. Its sign glowed with the newly discovered neon technology, green light glinting in puddles that dotted the sidewalk. The soft hum of jazz and the chatter of voices drifted from the entrance.


    Jeremiah stood at the top of the steps leading to the Boiler Room''s door, took a deep breath, and smiled. Tonight was going to be a good night. He could feel it.


    ¡°Evening,¡± called the bartender as Jeremiah hung up his hat and umbrella. ¡°The usual?¡± The bartender was wildling, some kind of cat, though not very pronounced; there wasn''t much of a tell besides the pointed ears and the whiskers that drooped almost to the collar of his crisply laundered shirt. He¡¯d worked every night Jeremiah had come for the past three years, and probably every night that Jeremiah hadn¡¯t. Jeremiah was moderately certain his name was Kaia, but far less confident that Kaia knew his name.


    A glance at the corner table told him Bill was already there, so he gestured for two drinks and made his way over. On the stage, the saxophonist was doing a call and response with his piano accompanist, where the pianist would play a sequence and the saxophonist played it back, but altered somehow. Jeremiah didn¡¯t know much about music, but it was enjoyable, and the musicians seemed to be having a good time.


    ¡°Nice night for it,¡± he said, sliding into his usual seat. Bill glanced at the stage, shrugged his shoulders and pretended to focus on his drink, but Jeremiah wasn¡¯t buying it for a second. Nothing could take the stress out of Bill like music, no matter the type. The drink in hand certainly helped, as did the second en route from their feline friend.


    ¡°I guess,¡± said Bill, leaning back. The seat screamed in complaint, but the steel reinforcements- installed after Bill had broken chair number four- held firm. ¡°Seems pretty similar to most nights these days.¡±


    Jeremiah frowned. Bill had that pensive look on his face, that he got when he thought too long and too hard about things that should have been in the past. Were best kept in the past. Jeremiah could recognise it because he saw it in the mirror himself, when old ghosts started rising and creeping their way through his thoughts.


    They were too young to be getting this old.


    ¡°Two lagers,¡± said the bartender, moving the foaming tankards from the tray to their table. ¡°And, um- a gentleman was asking about you, Jeremiah.¡± Jeremiah¡¯s eyebrows shot up.


    ¡°Asking about me? What for?¡±


    ¡°He wouldn¡¯t say- well, he asked me not to say- but he told me to tell you that he¡¯d make it worth your while.¡±


    ¡°That sounds like trouble,¡± groused Bill, draining the remainder of his whisky and passing the empty glass back to the bartender, who shrugged.


    ¡°Send him my way, I guess,¡± Jeremiah told him, casting around his mind for anything that had happened recently. Things had been quiet for more than a year now;. He¡¯d laid low, he¡¯d paid his dues, and he¡¯d kept his nose clean. Why would someone be looking for him?


    The bartender returned, trailed by a squat little man with a scrunched up, flattened nose like that of a bulldog. Closer inspection, however, suggested he wasn¡¯t a wilding and was, in fact, just ugly. His clothes were much nicer than those of anyone else at the Boiler Room that night, save perhaps the musicians, and three large gold rings glinted from sausage fingers that threatened to swallow them. When the newcomer saw the table''s occupants, he paused, tiny eyes widening as they darted between the pair.


    Jeremiah had to force down a smile.


    He was pretty noticeable, when out and about by himself. The scars from the fire were usually the first thing people noticed, though it would barely warrant a second glance in certain parts of town. While he wasn¡¯t overly tall, he liked to think his time with the Silvers had given him a certain presence, an ease of standing that conferred a stature that genetics hadn¡¯t. But what generally kept people¡¯s attention, if they saw it, were his wings. Neatly folded in for day usage, they could flare out to a span of two metres, spray bullets and act as a lightweight, impromptu shield if need be. Made of glinting copper, lovingly oiled, and crafted of the finest tech, they were his final upgrade before he left the Silvers for good.


    But Jeremiah knew he was nothing next to Bill.


    William ¡°Big Bad Bill¡± Bauble had a lot of things that people might notice first about him. Perhaps his size- at six foot nine and pushing 130kg, he easily dwarfed everyone else in the bar, and likely the whole block. Perhaps the mechanical rig strapped on over his left arm and shoulder- far older and less flashy than Jeremiah¡¯s gear, but no less lovingly maintained- that let him hit harder than a train. Perhaps the horn that protruded from just above his eyebrows and continued on until halfway back his head- wilding, and unlike many other¡¯s mutations, completely impossible to cover.


    Personally, Jeremiah thought it was the surly attitude that rolled off him in waves. Bill was a good guy, deep down, but he didn¡¯t like people, and he especially didn¡¯t like those that tried to talk to him. Most people, wisely enough, didn¡¯t try.


    The squat man gulped in a breath and stepped up to the table.


    ¡°Good evening; may I enquire as to which one of you is Jeremiah Brahms?¡± His accent was clipped, and spoke of the wealthier levels of the city, closer to clean air and sunlight. Jeremiah bit back his disdain and raised a hand. ¡°Pleasure to meet you, Mr Brahms. My name is Mr Wellington, and I have a¡­ business proposition to make. A solicitation, if you will.¡± The man paused, seeming to reconsider his choice of words. Bill smirked and shifted, preparing to move.


    ¡°Want me to leave you to it, Jeremiah?¡± He asked. Jeremiah shook his head.


    ¡°No, no, you stay. I¡¯m sure Mr Wellington won¡¯t mind- do you, Mr Wellington?¡± Wellington glanced up at the hulking mass of rhino, and once again seemed to swallow a breath in.


    ¡°No, no, of course not. I hear you¡¯re in the business of private investigating- is that true, Mr Brahms?¡±


    Jeremiah opened his mouth, paused, and closed it again. Perhaps. He¡¯d been making some money on the side the past few months, helping people with odd jobs- finding lost vehicles, unearthing illicit affairs, employee theft, that type of thing.


    ¡°Yeah. Yes. Of a sort.¡± Wellington grabbed a chair from a nearby table and pulled out a file.


    ¡°I need your help with a missing persons investigation. I am currently the lead engineer on a large, rather confidential project at the Foundry. I assume you know the-¡°


    ¡°Yes, we know the Foundry,¡± cut in Bill, irritation staining his tone. Jeremiah raised a warning eyebrow to Bill and turned back to Wellington, who- though shrunk back into his chair- didn¡¯t seem as cowed as he¡¯d expected.


    ¡°Yes, well, two of my employees have disappeared recently, one with a folder which contains a great deal of¡­ sensitive information. It can¡¯t fall into the wrong hands.¡±


    ¡°So, you need me to find it and get it back to you,¡± said Jeremiah. He sensed where this was going. To his surprise, though, Wellington shook his head.


    ¡°No, I¡¯ve gone to the Silvers about this already. All they care about is the folder- I¡¯m worried about my employees.¡± He opened the folder to reveal two photos. The first was a man, probably in his mid to late fifties, with a shock of white hair exploding around his face and a pair of welding goggles strapped to his forehead. A wide grin showed several missing teeth. The second photo was a young woman, mid-twenties at the oldest, with the sunken eyes and slender neck of someone who often didn¡¯t have enough to eat. She also wore welding goggles, strapped over two dark braids, and she stared out of the photo reproachfully. Underneath the photos were police reports and personal information.


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    Wellington slid the folder over.


    ¡°They¡¯re both good employees, and they¡¯ve never done anything like this before. Viola hasn¡¯t been seen for eight days now, Douglas for the past three. The Silvers can take care of the file, but if you find my employees I¡¯ll reward you handsomely. Three hundred clips if you can figure out where they are. Four hundred if you can bring them back to me.¡±


    Jeremiah glanced at Bill, who shrugged. He looked back down at the folder. The faces of the two engineers, so completely different, stared back at him. He scanned the missing persons reports: both had vanished without leaving any clue as to what might have happened.


    ¡°I understand that you¡¯re a former Silver, so I¡¯m hoping you¡¯ll have some familiarity with this sort of thing,¡± Wellington continued.


    A former Silver indeed. Jeremiah grimaced. Perhaps this could be a way to get some red off his ledger. Perhaps this way he could stop feeling so damn old. Most days he felt used up, drained and discarded to rot with the rest of the city.


    ¡°I¡¯ll do it,¡± he found himself saying. Bill looked surprised; Wellington, delighted.


    ¡°That¡¯s fantastic news,¡± said the small man, pumping his hand in an enthusiastic handshake. ¡°All my contact information is in that folder, so you can send word as soon as you know anything. I expect to hear from you in the next¡­ oh, will three days be enough? Yes? Three days then.¡± Climbing to his feet, he bobbed his head at Jeremiah and Bill, and scurried out. Jeremiah flicked through the pages of the police reports, frowning.


    ¡°Hey, um, Bill¡­ you wouldn¡¯t have happened to have heard of a bar called Cantankerous, have you?¡±


    Bill frowned, taking a long swig from his tankard.


    ¡°Cantankerous is basically a clubhouse for the Mattheses,¡± he growled, threatening aura offset only slightly by the foam clinging to his moustache. ¡°If they were going there, then those two were in over their heads.¡±


    ¡°Just the one,¡± Jeremiah murmured, glancing back at the photo of Viola Crest. ¡°She was apparently a regular. Last anyone saw of her, she was clocking off work and heading out for a drink.¡±


    ¡°Either the Matthases got her there, or the Props got her while she was walking over. Fog District is no place for a lady at night.¡± Their eyes met. Bill glared, and shifted to face away, as Jeremiah quickly raised his hands. ¡°You know I don¡¯t do that anymore.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not asking you to, Bill. I¡¯m not trying to pull you back in. But any information you have could be good. It¡¯s still early enough, I could go and check it out tonight.¡± At this, Bill swivelled back, the steel brackets screaming as he swung his massive weight around.


    ¡°Oh, hell no, Jeremiah, I am not letting you walk straight into that lion¡¯s den, asking questions they don¡¯t want asked and maybe getting yourself killed!¡±


    ¡°It won¡¯t be like that,¡± said Jeremiah, glancing around and dropping his voice. ¡°Besides, Bill, I¡¯m not exactly inexperienced in these matters-¡°


    ¡°I know-¡°


    ¡°-and I¡¯m not exactly unarmed-¡° he indicated the pair of pistols he wore strapped around his waist.


    ¡°-but you don¡¯t exactly have a team anymore,¡± Bill finished, and Jeremiah drooped. ¡°Or backup. Or any sort of official accreditation.¡± For the last two words Bill adopted a Hightown accent, clipping out each syllable separately.


    ¡°Yeah, I know. But I can figure something out. I could definitely use the money, and even if not...¡° He looked at the photo of the two engineers, then sighed. ¡°This feels important. I know I¡¯m not a Silver anymore, but I¡¯ve still got the Silver instincts, and I¡¯m telling you, something¡¯s not right about this.¡±


    ¡°All the more reason for you to stay out of it,¡± growled Bill, draining the last of his beer. He glared into the empty tankard, then slammed it back down hard enough that Jeremiah was sure there would be an indent in there. It was a good thing Bill bought a lot to drink, because he was a very expensive customer to maintain. ¡°Aw, hell. Mirabeth¡¯s going to kill me if she gets wind of this- I¡¯ll come. But I¡¯m not looking for any trouble, understood?¡±


    ¡°Understood,¡± said Jeremiah, smiling gratefully. ¡°And I¡¯m not looking for any trouble either- just some information for our new friend Wellington. I¡¯ll buy us another round, and then we can head over. Sound good?¡± Bill nodded, and Jeremiah brought their empty glasses to the bar; he hadn¡¯t even noticed Bill had drunk both beers, and he wasn¡¯t sure if Bill had noticed either. When the old rhino got annoyed- which was often- he tended to knock back anything in sight.


    ¡°How did your¡­ meeting go?¡± asked the bartender, polishing a whisky glass with a rag that looked like it needed a polish itself. He made no move to pour another round. A small smirk curled the whiskers of one side of his face upwards. Jeremiah shrugged.


    ¡°It went well enough. Asked me to look into some business for him, a sort of private investigator gig; I don¡¯t know if I¡¯m the guy for the job, but I¡¯ll give it a go.¡±


    ¡°Yes, he was talking my ear off about it before you arrived. I wanted to give you a chance to sit down before I sent him your way. For a man working on such a secretive project, he doesn¡¯t have the best sense of discretion... I¡¯d work with the assumption that he¡¯ll tell everyone he meets that he¡¯s hired you."


    Jeremiah¡¯s stomach flipped and he sighed. That was exactly what he didn¡¯t need. Still, he gave the bartender a grateful smile, feeling guilty at his earlier assumption that the man didn¡¯t know who he was. He was about to ask about another round when the bartender beckoned him closer.


    ¡°See the little guy at the end there?¡± His voice was hushed. Jeremiah glanced over.


    ¡°The saxophonist?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well, playing jazz saxophone doesn¡¯t earn him a whole lot of money, especially not around these parts. He does jobs on the side- has a very specific set of skills. They say he can get in anywhere and find out anything. If you¡¯re worried about the places you might find yourself, he could be good to know. But he¡¯s an odd one.¡±


    ¡°Odd how?¡± The bartender simply shrugged, one whisker drooping into the glass that he continued to polish. ¡°Well, I guess we¡¯re all a bit odd around here. Want to introduce me?¡±


    ¡°Sure thing- will that be three beers then?¡± Jeremiah nodded, and the barkeeper filled the glasses. ¡°Hey, Gliridae!¡± The musician looked up and over. ¡°My friend Jeremiah here would like to buy you a drink.¡±


    ¡°Mighty kind a yeh,¡± said Gliridae, sliding off the stool he was perched on and making his way over. Jeremiah hadn¡¯t realised just how small the man was- barely scraping four foot in his performance shoes, with a narrow frame and thin, dextrous fingers. He hopped onto the stool beside Jeremiah in a single, fluid motion, and Jeremiah could already imagine how this man would be helpful to have in certain situations. His accent was somewhere between Lowtown and Midtown- perhaps he was training the Lowtown out of it? - and up close Jeremiah could see that there was wilding in him. More than he''d realised at first glance, as the small man hid it well. Now though, he could see the elongated front teeth, thick mutton chops hiding a fuzzy layer of fur, and some odd looking ears tucked in under a snazzy purple hat. The hat matched his coat, matched his trousers, matched his shoes, the whole ensemble offset by an emerald green vest and a darker purple tie.


    An odd little man with a very specific set of skills. Jeremiah wondered what his story was, but figured there was plenty of time to find out.


    ¡°That was some great playing earlier,¡± said Jeremiah, raising his tankard. Gliridae raised his in return and they both drank deeply. ¡°You¡¯ve got a real talent.¡± The musician smiled, and yeah, that definitely wasn¡¯t human dentition.


    ¡°Yeh know what they say, do what yeh love and yeh¡¯ll never work a day in yehr life.¡±


    ¡°I hear it¡¯s not the only talent you¡¯ve got,¡± Jeremiah continued. Gliridae paused, glanced at the bartender, then set down his tankard as he turned back to Jeremiah. Suddenly his face was serious- all business. He raised an eyebrow, and motioned for Jeremiah to continue. ¡°I¡¯ve been asked to investigate the disappearance of two individuals. Engineers. Employees of the Foundry.¡±


    ¡°Missing persons sounds like Silver work to me,¡± said Gliridae.


    ¡°Well, the Silvers aren¡¯t working, at least not as fast as the head engineer would like. He¡¯s offered a¡­ more than adequate reward for their discovery. Help us out and we¡¯ll give you a share.¡±


    ¡°How much are we talking?¡±


    ¡°A hundred clips a piece for solving it, more if we bring them back.¡± Gliridae let out a low whistle: it was good money. ¡°He just gave us the job tonight, so we¡¯re heading out as soon as the drinks are done.¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s ¡®us¡¯? I only see one of you. You got a friend?¡±


    ¡°That would be me,¡± rumbled a voice from behind Jeremiah. Bill''s enormous hand reached past and grabbed one of the tankards. ¡°Figured since you were taking your damn time, I would come and join you over here.¡± He knocked back the beer in one go, two enormous swallows draining the glass, before placing it back on the counter. ¡°Who¡¯s the little guy?¡±


    Jeremiah could have sworn he saw Gliridae¡¯s fur physically bristle, and the musician reached over and attempted to drain his tankard too. He got perhaps halfway though before he re-emerged, gasping for air, foam coating most of his facial hair. Bill raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. Jeremiah fought back the urge to sigh. So he had a complex, great. Hopefully asking him along wasn¡¯t going to be a total disaster.


    ¡°Gliridae Welch, part time jazz saxophonist and part time master of espionage. At yeh service.¡± He tipped his violet hat and let out a small hiccup. Something about his manner- the friendly, easy, open way of talking to people- reminded Jeremiah of Doc Claude. His heart went sideways slightly, but he ignored the sensation. It had been two years. More than. He couldn¡¯t be getting emotional every single time¡­


    ¡°Jeremiah, I trust your judgement usually, but are you sure this is a good idea?¡± asked Bill, his voice low. Gliridae pretended to turn his attention back to his drink, but Jeremiah could see the ears twitching against the brim of his hat.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Jeremiah, hoping he sounded more certain than he felt. ¡°Yeah, this is a great idea. What could go wrong?¡±

 Chapter 2: A trip to Cantankerous

    The Fog District was a quiet area, a welcome relief for some and an unnerving aspect for others. Metaphorically, as most knew better than to loiter on the streets after dark; but literally too. The noises of the city, such as the huff of the tram-lines or the hum of the private airships used by the very wealthy to transport themselves around, were muffled by the thick waves of fog that rolled through the streets. The early evening rain had abated, leaving slick cobblestones and half melted posters advertising the unveiling of the city council¡¯s current project: an enormous rail system that would allow exploration into the thick wilderness on either side of the river. Dates on the posters had been crossed out and scribbled back in, reflecting months of delays. The project was still brand new, still unreleased even, yet most city residents were already tired of hearing about it.


    As they walked, all three read the file Wellington had left them in full. There wasn¡¯t much to read: it included the engineers¡¯ job titles, a physical description, and where they had disappeared from: Douglas Scapper from his apartment, Viola Crest after work. Besides that, nothing. No mention of the folder Viola was carrying, no suspects, no clues.


    It was as if they¡¯d both vanished into the fog.


    Jeremiah wore his holsters on his belt, and had switched coats to a specialised one with holes for his wings cut in the back, in case he needed to use them. Bill¡¯s mechanical arm was a formidable weapon in and of itself, but he knew the pugilist kept a handgun on his person somewhere and likely a knife or two too. Gliridae carried nothing but his saxophone case on his back, as far as Jeremiah could tell- and he¡¯d been eyeing him for hidden holsters most of the walk over. Perhaps, like some kind of noir fiction, he¡¯d swapped the instrument for a gun.


    ¡°Jeremiah,¡± said Bill, his voice low. ¡°Don¡¯t look now, but we have company.¡±


    ¡°I take it from your tone that they¡¯re¡­ not good company.¡±


    ¡°Thugs. From the Props. Guys I used to know: what they lack in brains they make up in meanness.¡± Jeremiah frowned, glancing around. He could see figures lurking on the street, three each side, keeping a steady, even pace with them. Gliridae¡¯s pace remained unchanged, but his stance shifted- he had clearly seen them too.


    ¡°What the hell are Props guys doing in the Fog District?¡± hissed Jeremiah.


    ¡°Beats me, but it can¡¯t be anything but trouble.¡±


    They continued until the end of the street, but as they moved to turn the corner the figures stepped forward into the dulled glow of one of the oil lamps.


    ¡°Well, well,¡± said the man at the front, his mouth twisted into an ugly smile. ¡°If it isn¡¯t Big. Bad. Bill. The fuck is you doing out this way?¡±


    ¡°I could ask the same of you, Lee Rickardson, but I won¡¯t. Our business is our own, and yours is yours, and neither of us is much for small talk,¡± Bill rumbled in reply. Muttering broke out amongst the other thugs, but Lee¡¯s smile just tightened.


    ¡°Now, Bill, is that any way to treat your old friends? Your old brothers?¡± The group stepped closer. Jeremiah reached into his coat, ready to draw his pistols if need be. Bill just glared.


    ¡°You were never a friend of mine. I¡¯d forget you in a heartbeat, if nature would be so kind.¡±


    ¡°And what about Mr Vandemeer?¡± asked Lee. ¡°Would you forget about him? About the debt you owe?¡±


    Jeremiah could hear the blood pounding through his ears. It had been a long while since he¡¯d felt adrenaline like this- felt danger like this. A small, obstinate part of him that had always seemed determined to go against his better judgement was exalting in it now.


    He¡¯d missed the thrill of it all.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t forgotten. I couldn¡¯t forget if I were dead. I¡¯m just in no position right now to repay him. When I can, I will- and you can tell that to Mr Vandemeer next time you see him. Now, we have business to be attending to¡­ unless there¡¯s anything else you wanted to discuss?¡±


    Lee Rickardson pretended to think it over, then shrugged.


    ¡°Nothing for now. But don¡¯t stay out too late. Word on the street is, things in the Fog District are set to get¡­ dicey, later tonight.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll keep that in mind,¡± growled Bill. They made their way past the group, Jeremiah ready to react at any moment if things went south. But the Props members let them go.


    A street down, Gliridae looked over, one bushy eyebrow raised.


    ¡°Anything I should know about?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± snapped Bill, voice rough. Gliridae shrugged.


    ¡°Sure, because that¡¯s certainly not the sort of thing that¡¯ll come back to haunt us,¡± the smaller man muttered to himself. Jeremiah shot him a warning look, and the musician rolled his eyes but didn¡¯t press it.


    They were silent the rest of the walk, but Bill¡¯s shoulders were drawn together tightly. Jeremiah could only imagine the memories that were being dredged; as far as he knew, the larger man hadn¡¯t spoken to any of the Props since the night he was first arrested. A lot had changed since then- most importantly, Bill himself.


    Unfortunately, they probably wouldn¡¯t accept that. Jeremiah hoped that this hadn¡¯t rekindled any thoughts in the minds of the gang members. He had the sinking feeling that Gliridae was right, and that this wouldn¡¯t be the last of it.


    Cantankerous was similar to the Boiler Room, in that it was situated in a basement with a flight of stairs leading down. The sign above the door was wrought iron and copper, however, and it was well lit inside and out with the warm glow of oil lanterns. Bill looked over.


    ¡°You got a plan, Jeremiah?¡±


    ¡°Yeah; let¡¯s just- go in and ask them what they know. That¡¯ll be fine, right?¡± Bill just shrugged in response, and they headed down. It wasn¡¯t until after the door swung shut behind them that Jeremiah realised Gliridae had hung back.


    The interior of the bar was far nicer than the Boiler Plate, with plush chairs, booths along the wall, and a large candle chandelier hanging from the centre of the room. It was also far quieter: there was no one there besides the bartender, a woman at the bar, and a man at the table next to her. The woman looked to be perhaps in her early 30s, and the man was possibly the only person Jeremiah had ever seen close to Bill in size. He had wilding in him, and very pronounced too, with all the proportions and muscles of a gorilla stuffed into an expensive looking suit. He sized Bill up and glared. The woman glanced over.


    ¡°That¡¯s Julie Matthes,¡± muttered Bill, voice low. Jeremiah tried not to let his surprise show: he had imagined the leader of the most feared gang in Boravica- save, perhaps, the Props- to be¡­ well, probably a fat, middle aged man with an equally fat cigar and too much jewellery. Not a slim blonde with a low ponytail and a cream button down.


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    He approached nervously.


    ¡°Evening. Mind if we come to sit with you?¡± The gorilla man made a move as though to stand up, but settled when she sent him a tiny shake of her head.


    ¡°I don¡¯t mind, but I¡¯m not so certain the barstools can manage the weight of your friend. Perhaps if we relocated to a table¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± said Bill, grabbing a chair between them and the other man, whose glare deepened. ¡°I¡¯m not planning on talking much anyway. You two go ahead.¡± Julie Matthes shrugged, and gestured for Jeremiah to take a seat. As he did so, he noticed Gliridae slip in and beckon over the barkeeper.


    ¡°So, to what do I owe this¡­ pleasure?¡± Asked Julie Matthes, stealing his attention back.


    ¡°I was wondering if you knew of a Miss Viola Crest?¡± he said, shifting on the uncomfortable barstool. Julie Matthes raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°Viola is one of my dearest friends. She also hasn¡¯t been here for, well, at least a week, nor has she been answering my notes. Is something going on?¡± Her accent was Midtown, but strange, slipping in Hightown clips and some Lowtown lilts on seemingly random words.


    ¡°She went missing eight days ago- vanished after work. She told her co-workers that she was coming here,¡± said Jeremiah. Julie nodded.


    ¡°Yes, we were planning to have drinks together, only she never arrived. I would have gone to find her myself, only I don¡¯t know where she lives- just that she works at the Foundry.¡±


    ¡°Did she have any problems with anyone, that you know of?¡± asked Jeremiah, and Julie frowned.


    ¡°Are you Silvers or something? Because Viola¡¯s a little rough around the edges, sure, but she¡¯s a good woman and she never had issue with anyone.¡± Jeremiah raised his hands, trying to appease her.


    ¡°No, no, we¡¯re not Silvers- we were hired by her employer, Braum Wellington, to look into her disappearance. He didn¡¯t feel like the Silvers were doing enough, so he brought us in to help.¡± He paused and Julie gestured for him to keep talking, though her frown remained. Jeremiah nervously continued. ¡°She was carrying a work file with her, when she went missing. It had sensitive information in it- did she mention anyone who might have been after this?¡±


    ¡°No, no; we don¡¯t discuss work in here. She worked at the Foundry, it¡¯s all work for the city; nothing she¡¯d want to bring home.¡±


    ¡°Any idea why you got boys from the Props hanging around outside?¡± Bill cut in, voice a low growl. Julie swivelled to face him, frown deepening into a glare.


    ¡°Because the Props are always looking to cause trouble, and seem to exist wherever they are wanted least. But-¡° she paused, eyeing the enormous man. ¡°I¡¯d say you¡¯ve probably had experience enough with that.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡±


    ¡°There aren¡¯t that many rhino men running around, you know; a distinctive gentleman such as yourself can¡¯t expect to go unnoticed.¡± She turned back to Jeremiah. ¡°So, what¡¯s the real reason you¡¯re here?¡±


    ¡°I told you the real reason,¡± said Jeremiah, alarmed. Julie looked back to him disdainfully.


    ¡°Forgive me for not trusting a pair of former Props. Mr Morrow?¡± The gorilla man got to his feet, but so did Bill.


    ¡°We¡¯re not finished here yet,¡± he rumbled. Mr Morrow stepped forward, but so did Bill. The two men sized each other up, Bill¡¯s mechanical arm whirring as it braced for a fight.


    ¡°You¡¯re finished when Miss Matthes says you¡¯re finished, and she say it¡¯s time for you to leave.¡± Mr Morrow wasn¡¯t phased by the arm- if anything, he looked excited.


    Jeremiah bit back a groan. Why was everyone always trying to pick a fight with Bill?


    ¡°You¡¯re going to make us, are you?¡± rumbled Bill. The two men began to circle one another. Jeremiah cursed Bill¡¯s temper, and how easy he was to goad into these altercations. The situation was rapidly devolving, and in a last attempt to save it he turned back to the lady at the bar.


    ¡°Miss Matthes, I swear, we¡¯re not with the Props and we¡¯re not with the Silvers. We¡¯re just trying to find out what happened to Viola and her colleague.¡±


    ¡°And when you find it out, I¡¯d appreciate it very much if you could come tell me. But I can¡¯t help you, and I want you gone before you and your Props friends outside cause any more trouble.¡± She fixed Jeremiah with an icy glare.


    Mr Morris and Bill were leant towards each other, both waiting for the other to give them an excuse.


    ¡°Bill,¡± the former Silver murmured, catching his friend¡¯s attention. ¡°Leave it, let¡¯s go.¡± He paused and looked around- Gliridae was nowhere to be seen, nor was the barkeeper. He could feel Mr Morrow¡¯s gaze driving deep into their backs as they left, and the door had barely closed behind them when Bill let out a stream of curses strong enough to make a sailor blush.


    ¡°Easy there,¡± chirped a voice, making them both jump and look up. Gliridae was leaned against the railing, holding a bottle of ginger ale and looking more than a little pleased with himself. Bill glared, and even Jeremiah had to fight the urge to roll his eyes- he was a patient guy, but Gliridae had a way of testing that.


    ¡°Where were you in there? You completely vanished on us,¡± said Jeremiah.


    Gliridae hopped up as they climbed the stairs and walked along the railing as they made their way down the street. Despite it being slick from the earlier rains, he never wobbled nor seemed as though he would fall. He grinned a toothy smile and offered the ginger ale to Jeremiah, who declined.


    ¡°I was making progress, which going by the pro-fa-ni-tee I just heard, is more than can be said for the two of yeh. Yeh notice the bartender?¡±


    ¡°Kind of?¡± said Jeremiah. ¡°Not really.¡±


    ¡°No, of course yeh didn¡¯t. People don¡¯t notice the little guys.¡±


    ¡°That bartender was at least six feet tall,¡± cut in Bill. Gliridae smiled again, but this one seemed forced- like he¡¯d accidentally bitten into a lemon. Perched on the railing as he was, he could look clear over Jeremiah¡¯s head to the Wilding beside him.


    ¡°Compared to Julie Matthes and what appeared to be a gorilla on steroids, yeah, the bartender was a little guy. I asked him if they had any musician gigs going- said I was out of work, and that my cousin Viola had recommended the place to me. He said sorry, no, and so I asked him if he could recommend me anywhere. That¡¯s when the four of yeh started getting noisy- I made out that I was horrified to learn Viola was missing, and when it looked like it would come to blows we both went to hide back in the kitchen.¡±


    Bill rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath that Jeremiah didn¡¯t catch but could certainly guess at. Personally, he was impressed- it was well handled, there was no arguing that. Still, he didn¡¯t love the smaller man taking matters into his own hands: it went against all Jeremiah¡¯s instincts, as well as his former training.


    ¡°I wish you would have told us that was your plan,¡± he told Gliridae, who frowned.


    ¡°And I wish yeh would have warned me that yehr plan was to just go up and ask Julie Matthes about a missing person. She literally runs a gang, odds were good that she was the one who up and made Viola disappear.¡±


    ¡°She definitely lied to us,¡± mused Jeremiah. ¡°Viola was headed to the bar when she vanished, the Silvers probably asked her the same round of questions days ago. I reckon she¡¯s feigning ignorance- she knew we weren¡¯t Silvers from the outset, and she wanted to see what we knew... Unless the Silvers really haven¡¯t been doing their job with this, but even if all they want is the file I¡¯m sure they were there.¡±


    Bill nodded his agreement, then paused, swivelling to face Gliridae.


    ¡°Odds ¡®were¡¯ good that she made Viola disappear?¡± he asked the smaller man.


    ¡°Yeah, well, after we went to hide in the kitchen, I offered the barman a dram of my whiskey and got a bit teary-eyed about ¡®my cousin¡¯ being missing. Asked if he had any idea what could have happened to her- promised I wouldn¡¯t tell anyone if he told me.¡±


    It was Jeremiah¡¯s turn to frown.


    ¡°So you lied to him?¡±


    ¡°I lied through my teeth the entire time,¡± Gliridae laughed. ¡°This is where yeh take issue?¡±


    ¡°You weren¡¯t making promises before then,¡± countered Jeremiah. ¡°Promises you had no intention of keeping. What¡¯s the difference between us and the barman- how do we know you aren¡¯t lying to us now?¡±


    ¡°The barman wasn¡¯t paying me,¡± said Gliridae flatly. Then he shrugged, and hopped down from the railing. ¡°And it would be no benefit to me to lie to yeh now- I found some stuff out, but the job is far from done. But,¡± he drew out the word, ¡°if yeh would rather not know what I learnt¡­¡±


    ¡°Just spit it out, damnit,¡± snapped Bill. Gliridae looked to Jeremiah, who gestured to him to continue.


    ¡°Miss Viola Crest was double crossing her employers at the Foundry: she was working on some top-secret project and has apparently been feeding information to the Mattheses for months. That file she was carrying when she went missing was destined for Julie Matthes- except she never showed up. Props have been hanging around the area since then, but no one¡¯s seen hide nor hair of Miss Crest herself. The project was something to do with the city¡¯s new rail system, but Eddie didn¡¯t know anything more than that.¡±


    Once again, Jeremiah couldn¡¯t help but be impressed in spite of his misgivings. He gave a low whistle.


    ¡°You got all that out of him in the time that we were out front?¡±


    Gliridae shrugged, but grinned- he was clearly pleased with himself.


    ¡°As I¡¯m sure our kitty-cat friend at Cantankerous told you, I have a very specific set of skills. They¡¯re more¡­ nuanced¡± this was said with a sideways glance at Bill, who pretended not to notice it, ¡°than others¡¯ in the trade, but they serve me just as well.¡± The mouselike man hesitated. ¡°Speaking of the trade¡­¡±


    Jeremiah looked ahead, and his heart sank. Emerging from the fog at the end of the street, Lee Rickardson met his gaze and gave a wolf-like smile.

 Chapter 3: A temper like a pissed rhino

    Like jackals from the gloom, Lee¡¯s cronies emerged from alleys on either side of the street, pressing forward in a ring. Lee himself stood in the centre, hands in his pockets with a forced air of nonchalance. Probably not far off in age to Jeremiah, he had his own set of scars along his arms and across his face. They might not be so different, the two of them, if it weren¡¯t for the cruel glint in his eye. Jeremiah had seen it before, in gangsters and in Silvers: bloodlust.


    ¡°Aw, hell,¡± muttered Bill, striding ahead to meet Lee head on. ¡°What do you want, Lee?¡±


    ¡°Well, we¡¯ve been giving it a bit of thought, and we reckon Mr Vandemeer would probably be damn pleased to see you, given the¡­ unstable and troubling state of the world at the moment.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve been thinking?¡± retorted Bill. ¡°I suggest you reconsider. I don¡¯t care about the state of shit, right now- we¡¯re heading home whether you like it or not.¡± Lee smiled again and Jeremiah grimaced- now that they were closer he could tell that the other man had filed his teeth into needle-like points. He¡¯d never seen someone try to make themselves look more wilding before.


    Jeremiah slipped his pistols out of their holsters, but kept them concealed under his coat for the time being: he wanted to be prepared, but not to invite anything if it wasn¡¯t going to happen otherwise.


    ¡°You should probably know,¡± Gliridae murmured, voice low, ¡°that I don¡¯t fight.¡±


    ¡°You what?¡± hissed Jeremiah back. ¡°Look, take one of my guns if you need, you can shoot from a distance.¡±


    ¡°No, I mean I won¡¯t fight. I don¡¯t believe in violence.¡±


    Jeremiah risked a glance to the smaller man at his side, and was dismayed to see that Gliridae was completely serious. Shaking his head in disbelief, he turned back to the situation unfolding ahead of them.


    Rather than respond to Bill, Lee Rickardson laughed and pulled out a crowbar. The rest of the Props followed suit with weapons of their own. Jeremiah whipped out his pistols and unfurled his wings, sending the fog swirling back away from him.


    ¡°I can assure you it exists,¡± he told the musician, before heading forward to help his friend.


    There were six of them- Lee and five others. Lee went straight for Bill, crowbar glinting, but was immediately knocked back with a blow from Bill¡¯s enormous fist. Blood began to stream down his face, from both his nose and his mouth.


    ¡°You¡¯ll regret that,¡± he managed, voice thick from the blocked sinuses. Bill laughed, dark and humourless.


    ¡°No. I don¡¯t think I will.¡±


    The other Props had pulled out weapons, and Jeremiah deflected two or three shots off his wings before taking aim himself- the arms and shoulders were his goals, if they were visible, but the legs were a close second. He was a fantastic shot- after all those years as a Silver, he damn well had to be- but he wasn¡¯t looking to kill anyone tonight. The last thing he wanted was trouble, be it with the Props or the Silvers. The money from this job could pay off his last few months of medical training- provided he wasn¡¯t killed or arrested.


    Then he got a whiff of gun smoke, and all his senses heightened.


    He¡¯d quit his job because of his principles, and he¡¯d never once regretted that; but he had been damn good at it, and it turned out- he¡¯d missed this part. Each ping of a bullet off his wings sent another rush of adrenaline through him. In spite of himself, he smiled as he sent 2 clean shots back. The man yelled in pain, dropping his gun and clutching the shoulder that Jeremiah had hit.


    Then one of the Props took aim and shot wide, and Jeremiah¡¯s smile disappeared as he realised they were shooting at Gliridae. He turned, ready to go back and help the smaller man, but was stopped short.


    Gliridae had shed his coat and hat, and was crouched low. Without the hat, his ears stuck out each side of his head, round fuzzy mouse ears that extended several inches. His lips were pulled back, displaying his strange teeth, and his nose was twitching furiously. He dodged one shot after another with nimble ease, as though they were gently thrown baseballs rather than lightning fast bullets. His eyes met Jeremiah¡¯s, and he gave a quick thumbs up, before ducking into a tuck and roll.


    Jeremiah turned back. Gliridae was doing fine.


    Up front, Bill had taken a blow or two from the crowbar, but if it had hurt him any then he didn¡¯t show it. He had Lee on the back foot, storming forward as the other scrambled to get away. One of the Props levelled his gun at him, but Jeremiah quickly shot the arm that was holding it. The man swore loudly and fell back, clutching the wounded limb to his chest.


    ¡°You¡¯re even dumber than I remembered, Lee,¡± Bill was saying, voice getting louder as his anger mounted. Jeremiah frowned; deflecting a few more bullets, he started towards his friend. Bill had a temper like a pissed rhino once he got riled up, and he didn¡¯t want his friend beating anyone to death in a rage- regardless of who had started the fight, that was not a good way to finish it.


    ¡°Idiots,¡± he heard Gliridae say to two of the Props, and he turned his head slightly to watch them out the corner of his eye. The tiny musician had managed to get behind them and was now on one of their backs, clinging on to the waistcoat. ¡°Did no one tell yeh or Lee- we¡¯re working for Mr Vandemeer.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not what we-¡°


    ¡°Yeah, probably because yeh¡¯re not important enough to know. He needed someone to get information from the Mattheses, and none of yeh have the brains needed to pull this off.¡±


    ¡°I may have my debt to Mr Vandemeer, but I don¡¯t owe you shit,¡± Bill continued up ahead. Lee¡¯s back was against the wall now, nowhere else to go, and Bill grabbed the front of his shirt and lifted him clean off the ground. Lee¡¯s legs were dangling as they looked eye to eye.


    ¡°Lee said we had to bring you in,¡± said the Prop that Gliridae was clinging onto, shifting back and forth. To Jeremiah¡¯s surprise, the man didn¡¯t seem to be trying to get Gliridae off- rather, it seemed as though he was trying to make eye contact. There was a tremor of uncertainty in his voice, and the other man had let his weapon drop to hang limply by his side, also staring at the tiny musician in confusion. Jeremiah hesitated, distracted by the smaller man¡¯s tricks.


    ¡°Rickardson is letting his bad blood with Bill take over- and oh man is Mr Vandemeer going to be pissed when he finds out what happened. If I were you, I¡¯d get out now; tell him you were patrolling like you were meant to be, and you had nothing to do with all this.¡±


    Bill drew back his fist and hit Lee in the face again- hard. Snapping back to the matter at hand, Jeremiah ran forward and grabbed Bill¡¯s arm as he readied a third blow.


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    ¡°Bill, stop! You¡¯ve won, it¡¯s finished- stop.¡± Bill paused and blinked, surprised to realise that Lee was dangling limply: the second blow had knocked him out cold. Stepping back, he let go and Rickardson dropped like a sack of bricks.


    ¡°I¡¯ll put in a good word for you next time I see him,¡± Gliridae said, and as Jeremiah looked over the two gangsters he¡¯d been speaking with took off down the road. Of the remaining four, Lee was unconscious and the others were nursing bullet wounds from Jeremiah¡¯s pistols. Bill wiped the blood from his knuckles down the front of Lee¡¯s shirt, which Jeremiah personally thought was going a bit far, but oh well.


    For a moment, there was silence, all of them catching their breath. Then, catching each others¡¯ gaze in tacit agreement, all three of them turned and began briskly heading away from the scene of the crime. With the amount of shooting that had occurred, the Silvers would be all over it in ten minutes, tops. The Props men evidently had a similar realisation, because as soon as Bill was a safe distance away they darted forward and began to drag Lee in the opposite direction.


    ¡°Gliridae,¡± said Bill finally, as they emerged out of the Fog District and into the cold, clear streets of Kingsway. ¡°What was that you were saying back there? You know Mr Vandemeer?¡±


    Gliridae grinned. His vibrant purple hat and jacket were back in place, ears neatly tucked beneath, and besides a bit of dust on one of the jacket sleeves from where it had laid on the road, he looked unruffled. You would never know he had been in a shootout. Jeremiah, on the other hand, could feel his clothes heavy with sweat, and Bill was still streaked with Rickardson¡¯s blood despite his best efforts.


    ¡°Never met him, haven¡¯t the faintest idea who he is. It was enough to put the fear of the gods into those two, though,¡± Gliridae chirped, chipper. Bill stopped short, swivelling to look at the tiny musician.


    ¡°You¡¯re gonna get yourself into a world of trouble, making claims like that. Why didn¡¯t you just keep your damn mouth shut- are you asking for the Props to come after you? God damn, Gliridae.¡±


    Gliridae shrugged, and his smile didn¡¯t waver though he was clearly irritated.


    ¡°It¡¯s no big thing. I¡¯m a quick talker, it¡¯s gotten me out of messier situations than that- and no one¡¯ll believe them. Anyone they admit it to will think they¡¯re just looking for an excuse as to why they ran away. They¡¯ll be branded cowards at best.¡±


    Bill glared.


    ¡°You think you know what you¡¯re talking about, but you don¡¯t know shit about the Props or how they work. Don¡¯t meddle in things you don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°How am I meant to know when yeh refused to tell me earlier? But I can take care of myself just fine, thank yeh very much,¡± snapped Gliridae. Jeremiah stepped between the two of them, worried that it would escalate further.


    ¡°Hey, hey, easy. Gliridae, Bill is right, the Props aren¡¯t people to be meddled with. Bill, they don¡¯t know who Gliridae is, and he¡¯s probably right that they won¡¯t believe them.¡± Jeremiah paused; Gliridae and Bill were still staring pointedly away from each other, but they seemed to accept that. ¡°Now, can we get back to the matter at hand? If Viola Crest was feeding information to the Mattheses, but went missing before they got her folder¡­ well, maybe whoever took her also took Douglas Scapper? Maybe she wouldn¡¯t give them the information they wanted, so they tried another engineer¡­in which case, she¡¯s probably dead.¡± He paused, thinking. ¡°Or, maybe, since Viola went missing¡­ the Mattheses took Scapper from his apartment, to try and get the information from him instead.¡±


    ¡°Sounds to me like there¡¯s a next logical step, and that¡¯s to go and see Douglas Scapper¡¯s apartment,¡± said Bill, turning back. His face was pensive. ¡°If it was the Mattheses that took Scappers, we¡¯ve tipped them off to the fact that we¡¯re looking into it and so they¡¯ll have time to prepare. They may even come after us.¡±


    ¡°But they don¡¯t know what we know,¡± countered Jeremiah. ¡°As far as Julie Matthes is concerned, we¡¯ve got no leads and no idea what¡¯s going on. She never saw Gliridae, and I doubt that barkeeper is going to admit what he told him.¡± He turned to Gliridae. ¡°I get it if you want out of this whole mess, what with the Props and the Mattheses involved; but Kari was right, you were really useful tonight- any chance you want to help us finish it.¡± Gliridae shrugged, then gave him a toothy grin.


    ¡°I never leave a job half-done, and I always earn my dues. You just need to know that I won¡¯t fight.¡±


    ¡°Under any circumstances?¡± asked Jeremiah. ¡°Even if there¡¯s no other choice?¡±


    Gliridae frowned.


    ¡°There¡¯s always another choice.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, getting the bigger guy to fight for you,¡± muttered Bill. Gliridae glared, but- sensing another argument- Jeremiah interjected before he could reply.


    ¡°If you¡¯re okay with that, then we¡¯re okay with that,¡± he told the musician, and Gliridae relaxed. ¡°It¡¯s- oh man, it¡¯s late. Let¡¯s meet at Scapper¡¯s apartment at maybe 3pm tomorrow- that¡¯ll give us time to get some sleep.¡± Bill checked his watch and groaned.


    ¡°Mirabeth¡¯s gonna give me hell for this,¡± he muttered, and Jeremiah chuckled. Bill¡¯s longtime girlfriend was, in his own words, ¡®far too good for him¡¯; she took general issue with drinking and being out late, and great issue with anything involving the gangs. Jeremiah didn¡¯t envy the earful his friend was due to get.


    ¡°You remember the address for Scapper¡¯s place?¡± checked Jeremiah. Bill nodded, and bade them goodnight. Jeremiah turned to Gliridae. ¡°I¡¯ll walk you home.¡± The tiny musician raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°You sure? You seem pretty tired, you could definitely use the rest too.¡± Jeremiah shook his head, and then shrugged, suddenly feeling awkward.


    ¡°It¡¯s been a rough night, and I know you say you can manage yourself, but you¡¯re unarmed and¡­ well, I want to see you home safe.¡± He was expecting an angry retort, but to his surprise, Gliridae smiled.


    ¡°Far be it for me to keep someone else from peace of mind. I live this way.¡± It was nearly five in the morning, and the sky was just beginning to lighten into nautical dawn. Even the drunks were asleep by now, and the city was still in a way that Jeremiah would have thought would be eerie, but instead was just peaceful. They began to amble down through the empty streets, out of the Fog District and into Lowtown Kingsway. Jeremiah shouldn''t have been surprised - most wildings lived in Lowtown, and Gliridae didn''t seem exactly flush with cash- but he was. Something about the musician, from his immaculate dress to his chipper demeanour, seemed too... kempt, for this part of town.


    ¡°So¡­ I don¡¯t really know much about you, Gliridae,¡± he said, and the smaller man shrugged.


    ¡°It¡¯s pretty straightforward. I use a life of petty crime to fund my true passion: playing smooth jazz on my saxophone to rooms of semi-conscious inebriates.¡± Gliridae grinned up at him and Jeremiah chuckled. ¡°I¡¯m much more curious about you- ex-Silver, by my reckoning. A doctor now? Or have I misjudged.¡±


    ¡°Working towards it,¡± replied Jeremiah, surprised. ¡°It¡¯s been three years since I left the Silvers, and I¡¯m nearly done my medical training- I would be done with it by now if I didn¡¯t keep getting sidetracked, but, well, money is a thing that I need for supplies, classes, and I guess staying alive.¡±


    ¡°And beer,¡± added Gliridae. ¡°You can¡¯t buy beer without money.¡± Jeremiah chuckled again.


    ¡°Very true. I didn¡¯t realise how hard it would be to leave the Silvers until I tried, and, well- it¡¯s a rough city. Unkind to the people who get on it¡¯s bad side.¡±


    ¡°So¡­ what made you leave the Silvers?¡±


    ¡°Bill.¡± Gliridae blinked, clearly surprised. They turned down another, smaller street, pools of light from the oil lamps now only just discernible against the rapidly lightening world. ¡°He¡­ well, I won¡¯t tell his story for him, but we met while he was in lockup. There were a few other things at the same time, but talking to Bill helped me set my head on straight. I realised the Silvers weren¡¯t what I thought they were. I stuck around just long enough to get Bill out, and then I got out myself.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing I respect more than a man who can admit he was wrong,¡± said Gliridae with a smile. They came to a small door, barely even noticeable against the brick wall it was set into. ¡°Thanks for the Silver- sorry, former-Silver ¨C escort. I appreciate the sentiment.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll see you later today,¡± said Jeremiah, and then suddenly he was alone. He stared at the door for a moment, unsure if Gliridae had actually gone through it or just slipped off somewhere else. It didn¡¯t matter. Unfurling his copper wings, he snorted and shook his head in disbelief.


    A whole walk home and Jeremiah hadn¡¯t learnt a single thing about their new colleague. The damn mouse had gotten him monologuing.


    He turned just in time to meet the sun as it crested the horizon, and allowed himself a deep breath. This night had unearthed a lot of memories and a lot of mixed emotions. Hopefully sleeping on it would help.


    Rising into the air, he smiled at the cool air against his skin. His smile dropped though, as his mind cast back. The night had felt familiar, in all the right and wrong ways. Dealing with the Mattheses and the Props- dealing with Bill and the Props- getting entangled in all of this- it brought back a lot. Reaching home, he shook his head again. Hopefully he wasn''t out of his depth. Unlocking the door, he paused only to kick his shoes off, before heading to bed and dropping into an uneasy slumber.

 Chapter 4: If at first you dont succeed...

    It had been two years since Jeremiah had left the Silvers, but sometimes he wondered if the dreams would ever end. They came by most nights, a parade behind his eyes of events and memories he¡¯d rather- well, if not forget entirely, then keep tucked in a drawer, only accessed when he needed them. These were accompanied by what-ifs, could-haves, dreams where he¡¯d left earlier, dreams where he¡¯d never left in the first place, and dreams where he¡¯d saved the day¡­


    Jeremiah hadn¡¯t wanted to do medical training. If he¡¯d any intention of being a doctor, he would have trained to be a doctor, and would never have joined the Silvers to start with. It wasn¡¯t something he¡¯d sought out nor was it something he¡¯d expected to need for at least a few more years.


    As a Silver, there was ongoing training programs, and you were expected to finish one, maybe two, each year; but Jeremiah was up for promotion again, and that required field medicine. If you got shot while fighting, you wanted a commander who could stitch the bullet wound closed before you bled out. It was the first time in fifteen years someone had been promoted that quickly, and that was the only reason Jeremiah didn¡¯t complain: he balanced his frustration at the requirement with his pride in himself and his accomplishments.


    And the medical people were interesting, in a weird sort of way.


    ¡°Big Bad Bill,¡± Doc Claude said, a sad half smile playing across his face as he looked at the file. Doc Claude had a range of emotions, but he seemed to default to sad, wistful or rueful. Behind his back, most of the team knew him as Doctor Cloud, always with his head in the clouds. Too busy dreaming about how he was going to change the world to focus on the matter at hand.


    ¡°Is Big Bad part of his given name?¡± asked Jeremiah. It wouldn¡¯t be the weirdest they¡¯d encountered. Doc Claude laughed.


    ¡°No, but it may well have been- we¡¯ve been after this man for a while and have never heard him referred to as anything else. I suppose when you¡¯re a six foot nine rhinoceros wilding, just Bill would be underwhelming.¡±


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s that one- I heard people talking about it at breakfast. Part of the Props raid?¡± Doc Claude nodded. ¡°He didn¡¯t go down easy, did he? Someone said he took twenty shots.¡±


    ¡°Twenty-four,¡± replied the doctor, assembling his medical bags, ¡°but they were small calibre: the agents were undercover, only pocket weapons on them. Still,¡± he got up to leave, ¡°Big Bad Bill is probably in a lot of big bad pain. Let¡¯s go ease his suffering.¡±


    The room was bright when he blinked awake, sun creeping in around the edges of the drawn blinds. Jeremiah checked his timepiece and groaned. There were just under two hours until he needed to be awake. He debated whether to have a shot of whisky, to help him get back to sleep, or to give up on the matter entirely and brew a pot of coffee. He didn¡¯t want any more dreams, but his body ached for respite: it still had more healing to do. Sighing, he took a double shot and went back to bed.


    He was only 28; he was too young to feel this damn old.


    *


    3pm came around far too quickly.


    Jeremiah was tired; the adrenaline had burnt out some hours previously, leaving him feeling flat and worn out. Residual jitters had plagued his sleep, leaving him tossing and turning through the dreams- or were they memories? He couldn¡¯t remember. Even after the whiskey, all he¡¯d managed was an uneasy doze. By the time the clock in the hall chimed 2, he was already awake and dressing.


    He took his time walking over, pausing to examine a row of posters for the train project. Cutting edge technology¡­ able to lay its own tracks¡­ volunteer operated! Graffiti was scribbled around and over the text, some of it idle tagging, some rebuttals to the posters themselves. Volunteers? People need jobs! Read one flowing script. This is why we have the river? Read another. Towards the bottom, in thick marker: DON¡¯T DISTURB THE FERALS This was accompanied by a crude drawing of a man with fangs and swirls instead of eyes.


    Jeremiah grimaced and continued on, bidding the afternoon sunshine to banish the image of feral wildings from his mind. This is what happened when he didn¡¯t get enough sleep- he got jumpy.


    Bill didn¡¯t look much better than Jeremiah felt; there were bruise purple bags under his eyes and actual bruises blooming across his neck and shoulders from Lee Rickardson¡¯s crowbar. His clothes were rumpled, and Jeremiah realised it was the same outfit as the previous night: he had probably slept in them. Perhaps he¡¯d been consigned to the couch for his behaviour.


    ¡°I brought coffee,¡± said the larger man, offering a large thermos that smelt mostly of coffee with a whiff of gin mixed in. Jeremiah hesitated, the alcohol from last night turning in his stomach; but the allure of caffeine won out and he took a sip. The bitterness of the two drinks sent a shiver down his back and his blood pushing. He managed a weak smile.


    ¡°Thanks. Rough sleep?¡± Bill barked out a laugh.


    ¡°Sleep? I wish. Mirabeth gave me a lashing and a half, chewing me out from when I walked in the door to when I left again.¡± His eyes took on the glazed, dreamy look they always got when he spoke of her. ¡°I don¡¯t know what I do to deserve that woman. She¡¯s too good for me.¡± Jeremiah shrugged, and took another swig from the thermos- honestly, the relationship was a source of constant wonder to him too. It was more than he¡¯d ever dared to hope for himself, but seeing how happy Bill was¡­ it was hard not to feel a little hopeful too.


    ¡°Hopefully we can wrap this up quickly, so she doesn¡¯t need to worry anything more about it. Where¡¯s Gliridae?¡±


    ¡°Present,¡± said a voice at his elbow, making both him and Bill jump and swivel. In addition to his suit and saxophone case, the tiny musician was carrying a broom. Unlike Bill and Jeremiah, Gliridae looked fully rested and alert. Jeremiah was tempted to say ¡®bright eyed and bushy tailed¡¯, but he wasn¡¯t sure if their mousey friend would take issue with that. Did Gliridae have a tail?


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    Bill offered him the ¡®coffee¡¯, but Gliridae smiled and shook his head.


    ¡°I don¡¯t respond well to caffeine- it gives me the jitters. Besides, I want to be clear headed for this part, and the gin won¡¯t do anything to help with that.¡± He laughed at Bill¡¯s expression. ¡°I can smell it from halfway down the block. Now, do either of yeh have a plan?¡±


    ¡°Go up to Scapper¡¯s apartment and take a look around; see if we can¡¯t find anything suspicious, or anything that would indicate the Props or the Matheses more directly,¡± said Jeremiah.


    ¡°And how precisely do yeh intend to get up to Scapper¡¯s apartment?¡± Asked Gliridae. Jeremiah frowned, and the smaller man rolled his eyes, gesturing to the apartment building.


    ¡°That right there is a swanky building- yeh can¡¯t just walk in and out as yeh please. There¡¯s going to be some degree of security.¡± He sighed and pinched his nose, then laughed it off with a grin. Jeremiah blinked in confusion. ¡°Luckily, the two of yeh have me here to help out. How about this time, yeh let me do the talking?¡±


    ¡°Depends- what are you going to say?¡± rumbled Bill.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know yet- I don¡¯t know what¡¯s on the other side of that door exactly. But I¡¯ve been here the past hour chatting with the people who¡¯re going into and out of the building, and I¡¯ve gotten some useful information. So: will yeh trust me to do the talking?¡± Bill didn¡¯t look convinced, but Jeremiah nodded to him.


    ¡°I think it¡¯s a good idea; he was able to talk to the bartender last night, while we kind of bungled it with Julie Matthes.¡± Gliridae opened his mouth, as though to vehemently agree; but then looked at Bill and wisely shut it again. Bill squinted.


    ¡°Who were you talking to, and how?¡±


    ¡°I paid the man sweeping the streets half a clip if he let me take over instead. Told him I was trying to figure out if my wife was cheating on me. Then I swept right in the path, and made friendly conversation with the people coming past. It¡¯s amazing what information people will volunteer up: nobody worries about the little guys.¡±


    Bill sighed, but finally seemed mollified.


    ¡°Fine then, Mr Mouse: lead the way.¡±


    The building was just as fancy inside as it was out, marble floors waxed so shiny that if Jeremiah was wearing a skirt he was sure bystanders would have been able to see up it. In the centre, a semi-circular desk was helmed by a cheery receptionist with a close-cropped afro and a dazzling array of rings. Gliridae removed his hat and hurried up, face suddenly anxious. This time, his ears didn¡¯t immediately spring out; Jeremiah realised that he¡¯d actually physically pinned them back.


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry to bother you, but my cousin has been-¡° he broke off suddenly, and looked to the ceiling. Jeremiah and Bill had caught up at this point, and Jeremiah realised he was pretending to blink back tears. ¡°Has been in a terrible accident; and he¡¯s in the hospital, but we¡¯ve been sent to fetch his medication. There¡¯s a chance he¡¯ll die without it, but¡­ I don¡¯t have his house key.¡± Gliridae turned his gaze back to the receptionist; his voice was thick with emotion; his eyes were imploring.


    Jeremiah was equal parts impressed and uncomfortable; the ease with which the smaller man lied was unnerving. If it was him behind the desk, he would have bought it hook, line and sinker.


    Which it appeared the receptionist did: she covered her mouth with one glittering hand as she made a soft, sympathetic sound.


    ¡°If you can tell me his name and his room number, that will be enough,¡± she told him, and Gliridae¡¯s shoulders sagged with relief- mock relief, Jeremiah corrected himself firmly.


    ¡°Douglas Scapper. He¡¯s my cousin on my mother¡¯s side, he lives in apartment 1225.¡± The receptionist checked through a book, and confirming this- that there was a man named Douglas Scapper in 1225- she passed over a large key. ¡°Thank you so much, you¡¯ve probably saved his life. I can¡¯t tell you how much this¡­ thank you. Truly.¡± Gliridae looked over at Jeremiah and Bill. ¡°Let¡¯s go quickly so we can get back to the hospital.¡± Dumbfounded at what had happened, not trusting themselves to speak, Bill and Jeremiah nodded mutely and followed the tiny musician into the elevator. Most of the ride up to the twelfth floor was silent; finally, Bill turned to Gliridae, brows low in a deep frown.


    ¡°One day, your web of lies is going to catch up to you, you know?¡± He rumbled. Gliridae grinned, and for the first time Jeremiah caught something mean-spirited in the smile.


    ¡°Lies are like children, Bill: yeh make as many as yeh can, forget about them quickly, and it never comes back to haunt you.¡± Bill rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to retort, but the elevator doors pinged open before the situation could escalate. Immediately, Gliridae took off down the corridor, listing from side to side. Jeremiah frowned in confusion, trailing close behind, with Bill in the rear.


    Turning the corner, Jeremiah¡¯s heart sank when he saw sat in a small chair beside apartment 1225 a very bored looking Silver, who raised an eyebrow as Gliridae approached.


    ¡°Morning, officer,¡± said Gliridae, words slurring together. ¡°What¡¯s the dealio? What¡¯re you doing here?¡± The officer smirked.


    ¡°It¡¯s mid-afternoon at earliest, young man, though I doubt you¡¯ve got enough sense to tell midnight from midday at this point. I¡¯m in charge of this apartment, to make sure nobody goes in or out.¡± Gliridae chuckled, leant against the wall, seemed to slip, but succeeded a second time. Jeremiah held out a hand to pause Bill, and the two of them hung back; he wasn¡¯t sure what Gliridae¡¯s plan was now, but so far everything else he had tried had worked.


    ¡°But officer,¡± ¡®managed¡¯ Gliridae. ¡°Why don¡¯t you want me going home?¡± At this, the officer frowned and rose from his chair.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how much sauce you¡¯ve had, but this isn¡¯t your house. There¡¯s an active investigation going on here: the gentleman who lives in this apartment has been missing for three days. I¡¯m here in case those involved come back to the scene of the crime.¡± At this, the officer looked past Gliridae to Bill and Jeremiah, and suspicion clouded his face. ¡°And who are you two?¡±


    Jeremiah couldn¡¯t believe it: Gliridae was the one literally trying to get into the apartment, but somehow he and Bill were the suspects? Gliridae, however, just laughed and staggered back to them.


    ¡°They¡¯re my- hic-- friends. They¡¯re helping make sure I get home safe. See!¡± he pulled out the key which the receptionist had given him and passed it to Jeremiah. Angled as he was, he was able to shoot Jeremiah a meaningful look without the Silver seeing. Jeremiah took the key and- heart in his mouth- tried to play along.


    ¡°Aw man, this is room 1325,¡± he said, trying to slur his words too. ¡°You told us the wrong floor.¡± At the sight of the key, the Silver had seemed to relax, and at this he laughed. Gliridae laughed too, tilting so far to one side that Jeremiah was compelled to ¡®catch¡¯ him.


    ¡°Heh, whoopsie-hic-daisy. Off we go again! Have a nice night, officer.¡±


    ¡°Get him home safe, boys,¡± said the Silver to Bill and Jeremiah, a fond smile on his face. Jeremiah had to fight to keep his expression neutral as they made their way back to the elevator. As soon as the doors slid shut behind them, he burst out laughing. Gliridae grinned, and even Bill couldn¡¯t suppress a smirk.


    ¡°My gods, Gliridae,¡± said Jeremiah. ¡°How do you do that? It¡¯s like anyone you talk to, they¡­ not only do they believe you, they end up liking you too. It¡¯s ridiculous! Do you¡­¡± He hesitated, looking between the two wildings. ¡°Do you have hypnosis or something? Is that a trait that wildings can get?¡±


    Bill huffed and rolled his eyes, but Gliridae just laughed and pretended to puff out his chest.


    ¡°It¡¯s not wilding to have an innate charisma,¡± The musician said. ¡°They believe me because they like me. I just blink my big, brown eyes at them and they fall head over heels for the sweet little mouse man. Few things will get you further in life than treating people like people.¡± He sighed, face growing serious. ¡°Unfortunately, we seem to have gotten as far as it¡¯s possible to get down that route. Is there a plan B?¡±


    Jeremiah grinned and pressed the elevator button for the sixth floor.


    ¡°You¡¯re not the only one who¡¯s been scheming.¡±

 Chapter 5: ...do your best to not to get shot

    Like many upscale Midtown buildings, Scapper¡¯s building complex had a tram stop right against it, allowing the inhabitants on the lower levels greater ease in their work commutes (above the 20<sup>th</sup> floor or so, most people had personal air balloons or didn¡¯t work at all). Jeremiah had noticed it when they arrived, and he¡¯d noted when Gliridae was first speaking to the Silver that Scapper¡¯s apartment would look out upon the same side. Gliridae may have had a set of specialised skills, but so did he, and it was time to put them to use.


    He hadn¡¯t spent eight years as a Silver for nothing, after all.


    ¡°You want to¡­ climb onto a speeding train and use it as a launch pad?¡± checked Bill; the three of them were stood on the platform, staring up at the window which Jeremiah had identified as the engineer¡¯s apartment- six floors up, and five from the left. Jeremiah shook his head.


    ¡°No, I want to climb onto a stationary train, and then use it as a launch pad once it¡¯s moving.¡± Gliridae took a swig from a small hip flask and grinned.


    ¡°Sounds damn near suicidal; I like it.¡±


    ¡°Jeremiah, are you sure about this? There¡¯s still the Silver in the corridor. And you¡¯ve never given anyone a lift before: I know he¡¯s tiny, but can you carry him?¡±


    ¡°How much do you weigh?¡± Jeremiah asked Gliridae.


    ¡°Roundabout 35 kilograms, depending on how much I ate and drank the day before.¡± Jeremiah nodded to Bill. He could carry that. His old friend, however, still looked worried.


    ¡°And what if there¡¯s an issue- what if a fight breaks out? What if you need backup?¡±


    ¡°Bill, it¡¯ll be okay: I¡¯ve got my guns, and I know how to handle myself. If there¡¯s any issue, we¡¯ll yell down for you.¡± Bill sighed, then shrugged and looked back up at the window.


    ¡°Aw, hell. If you think it¡¯s for the best, I can¡¯t argue with that. Look, here comes the train- just make sure no one sees you climbing on.¡±


    The train pulled up at the platform. A handful of commuters got off, but it was only just gone four and the rush wouldn¡¯t start for another hour at least. Jeremiah quickly scrambled up the maintenance ladder at the back, Gliridae keeping watch to make sure they weren¡¯t noticed before following easily up behind him. Being that small probably made climbing a lot easier, and he had the advantage of not having mechanical wings attached to his back. Jeremiah loved the things, could never bear to part with them, but they for sure weren¡¯t light.


    Despite the early hour, the sky was beginning to darken. As the train began to move, Jeremiah looked to the building clouds and frowned; hopefully they could get through everything that needed doing before the rain started.


    The plan was simple: the train gave them a height advantage, and a discretionary advantage that they wouldn¡¯t have had launching from the ground. Jeremiah wanted a good amount of distance from the building too: that way he could fly higher than the apartment, then glide down to the window at an angle and drive through with his heel. Most buildings of this kind were built with a special glass, designed to shatter into a sort of rubble rather than create shards, and bars against burglary were reserved for the poorest and the wealthiest. For some reason the Midtowners believed themselves immune from those problems.


    He hoped that was the case now, as the alternative was a very painful deceleration and a very mangled leg


    ¡°Ready?¡± he asked Gliridae, who nodded and climbed on. Jeremiah made sure that the smaller man wouldn¡¯t block the unfolding of his wings, and then carefully made his way to the edge of the train.


    ¡°Yeh¡¯re going to unfurl them now, right?¡± yelled Gliridae in his ear. They were picking up speed now, and the wind had turned into a whistle over which it was difficult to make out the words. Jeremiah shook his head- if he did that, they¡¯d both be blown straight off the edge of the train- but didn¡¯t bother trying to yell that back. Gliridae swore.


    Jeremiah watched the building rapidly recede. Not yet. Not yet.


    Now.


    He leapt into the air, and at the peak of his jump unfolded his wings and activated the boosters. Jumping back towards the building off the rear of the train helped mitigate their forward momentum somewhat, but the engines still whined as they kicked into gear. For a heart-rending moment, they dropped.


    Then the engines overcame the air resistance and they were shooting up, and Gliridae was screaming again but this time it was screams of excitement.


    Up they went, engines straining against the extra weight, until they were level with the sixteenth floor. Twenty stories below, Jeremiah could see Bill watching them- it was probably the first time his friend had ever looked small.


    ¡°Down we go,¡± he called, cutting the motors. They hung for a split second, weightless, looking out across a city which glittered in the late afternoon sun.


    Then they began to fall again. Jeremiah pointed his wings back, gaining momentum, and prayed that Gliridae was holding tight enough as he flipped over and drove his heel straight through the window.


    The good news: his leg did not shatter.


    The bad: neither did the window. It splintered inwards, shards of glass flying, and Jeremiah felt a burning pain as one dug a deep cut into his leg. They hit the carpet and rolled, needle sharp jabs of glass pricking him as he went. For a moment he lay sprawled, world spinning, blood pounding through his ears, trying to put together exactly what had just happened. Then he heard a soft groan from beneath him.


    ¡°Jeremiah- yeh¡¯re crushing me.¡± Swearing under his breath, Jeremiah quickly scrambled to his feet, ignoring the shooting pain in his leg as he did so. Gliridae rolled over and stared up at the ceiling, dazed, hat off to one side and shards of glass in his hair. There was a nick on one cheek that was starting to weep blood, but besides that the tiny musician seemed fine. Jeremiah felt a rush of relief: their hare-brained scheme had worked.


    ¡°Who¡¯s in there?¡± yelled the Silver outside, and that relief vanished like dew in the morning sun. Jeremiah and Gliridae shared panicked glances, and then Jeremiah dashed to the door and managed to bolt it just as the handle pressed down. There was a thunk and a curse as the Silver tried to force his way in.


    ¡°What do we do?¡± hissed Gliridae, upright but crouched low.


    ¡°Hide, I guess? Or fight him? You can¡¯t talk your way out of this one,¡± Jeremiah hissed back. There was another thump: the Silver was trying to force his way in.


    ¡°And you don¡¯t want to fight a Silver. Even if you win, all that earns you is more Silvers,¡± said Gliridae. Both cast their eyes around the room, and Jeremiah only now realised the state it was in.


    In the centre of the room was a chair, ropes draped over it in a horribly familiar way. Around the chair were smears of blood, the dull brown of days passing. All the cupboards and drawers had been opened, and their contents emptied onto the floor. There was a large crack in the table, most of the smaller furniture was smashed, and both the sofa and the bed had been split open, with the stuffing pulled out and discarded.


    The apartment was ransacked; whatever the ransackers thought Scapper had, they¡¯d overturned everything in their search for it. Gliridae picked up one of the ropes used to tie the man to the chair, his expression a mixture of revulsion and regret.


    ¡°What seems to be the problem officer?¡± Bill¡¯s voice, on the other side of the door, jolted Jeremiah back to the very immediate danger they were in. ¡°What? Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll help you get in.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s nowhere to hide,¡± whispered Gliridae, ¡°unless you want to try and bury yourself in the Scapper¡¯s clothes?¡± There was a much louder crash against the door, then Bill¡¯s voice again.


    ¡°No, officer, it seems they¡¯ve sealed the door.¡± Another crash, and the ex-Silver huffed a laugh in spite of himself. It looked like Gliridae¡¯s lies were rubbing off on Bill- his friend could have smashed the door off his hinges if he¡¯d half a desire to. ¡°I¡¯m sorry officer, but I¡¯m not sure if anything could get through this.¡±


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    ¡°We need to get out,¡± said Jeremiah, grabbing a broken chair leg and using it to knock back more of the glass from the window. ¡°We¡¯re not going to learn anything here, especially not in this time frame.¡± Suddenly there was a crack in the distance, and a sharp stinging pain in his right ear. Flinching and turning back in confusion, he found Gliridae staring wide eyed at a bullet lodged in the wall half a foot from where he stood.


    ¡°That¡¯s not good,¡± said the tiny musician, who then ducked for cover as the implication of it seemed to hit him. ¡°Who in the hell is shooting at us?¡± Jeremiah also ducked, peeking his head above the window just high enough to scan the rooftops.


    Another crash against the door. Jeremiah wasn¡¯t sure how much more time Bill could buy them.


    There. Two figures, hiding behind a rooftop generator, taking aim straight at the window. He ducked again as soon he spotted them, and the next second another bullet passed through the space where his head had been moments before.


    ¡°Pass me a plate,¡± Jeremiah told Gliridae, gesturing to a pile of dishware. Gliridae quickly complied, and Jeremiah carefully angled himself.


    ¡°Officer, are you sure you-¡° came Bill¡¯s voice, and then everything happened at once.


    There was a shot from the other side of the door that blew the lock into fragments. Jeremiah tossed the plate into the air, and the next second it shattered as a third bullet came flying through the window. The Silver charged in. Jeremiah fired both pistols straight for the centre of the generator. Bill rushed in after, and with one quick punch to the back of the head knocked the Silver out cold.


    On the other rooftop, the generator exploded in a volley of sparks.


    For a moment there was silence, as the three of them stared at each other in shock. The Silver lay unconscious in the middle of the floor, and across the street fire alarms began to ring.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on in there?¡± came a woman¡¯s voice from the corridor.


    ¡°We need to leave,¡± said Jeremiah. ¡°Gliridae and I can go back out the window- Bill, you need to cover for us.¡±


    ¡°And how in the hell am I meant to do that?¡± hissed Bill.


    ¡°Officer?¡± Called the voice. ¡°Officer Jones, are you alright?¡±


    ¡°The window where the gunmen were? Great,¡± said Gliridae. ¡°Bill, tell her we broke in, knocked the Silver unconscious, escaped, and that you¡¯re going to get help. We¡¯ll see you at the bottom of the building, if not at Cantankerous later?¡±


    ¡°Aw, hell,¡± muttered Bill, before raising his voice. ¡°Hey, come back- oh, oh no, they¡¯re getting away!¡± Jeremiah crouched low and Gliridae climbed onto his back. The tiny musician gave a thumbs up to Bill, who rolled his eyes. The larger man then grabbed the unconscious Silver and half carried, half dragged him back through the door.


    Satisfied, Jeremiah quickly climbed back onto the window sill, ignoring the burning pain from the gash in his leg; there was no time to deal with that now. Spying the train just pulling away from the station below, he allowed himself a small smile: at least it appeared something was going their way.


    ¡°Hold tight,¡± he told Gliridae, pushing off. As he did so, he could just hear Bill saying ¡®you look after the officer, I¡¯m going to get help.¡± Anything else was cut off by the howling wind and Gliridae¡¯s screams.


    The wings unfolded with a whine, and then they were gliding, the wings cutting through the plumes of smoke. Jeremiah frowned at the rapidly spreading fire on the adjacent building, guilt tearing through him. He knew only too well the fear the residents would be feeling.


    But it wasn¡¯t like he¡¯d had a choice.


    Then a bullet pinged off one of his wings and his attention shifted back to more pressing matters.


    Climbing onto the roof of the train were several figures- three men, sporting pistols and trench coats, a woman dual wielding two of the most expensive guns he¡¯d ever seen up close, and a very peeved looking Mr Morrow.


    It looked like the Matheses were onto them.


    Jeremiah¡¯s heart sank; for a split second he considered diverting to a different landing point, but at the velocity they were now going landing on anything but the speeding train would be incredibly painful at best.


    ¡°Brace!¡± He yelled to Gliridae, then pulled up and dropped down onto the middle of the train. The woman glared.


    ¡°The three of you have been meddling where you¡¯re not wanted. You had your chance.¡± She raised the guns, and grinned. ¡°Now it¡¯s time to deal with the consequences.¡± One of the other men snickered.


    ¡°Miss Sherwood being the consequences, if you catch her drift.¡±


    Great: they weren¡¯t just armed, they were armed idiots. Miss Sherwood rolled her eyes at her companion¡¯s comment, then took aim. Instinctively, Jeremiah flinched inwards, crouching down and wrapping his wings around himself like a mechatronic Kevlar vest. The bullets from one gun ricocheted off- only one?


    Gliridae.


    Jeremiah jumped to his feet, whipping out his pistols and pointing them back at her, frantically searching in his periphery for Gliridae. The tiny musician was crouched low, one hand flat against the roof of the train, the other extended for balance. A scattering of bullet holes punctured the metal around him, and Jeremiah could hear screams from within the carriage.


    ¡°Stop. Shooting at us. God damn!¡± Gliridae¡¯s voice was strangled, a mixture of frustration and fear that pushed his vocal range two octaves higher than normal. ¡°There are bystanders!¡± The woman blinked, then laughed, and took aim again.


    ¡°I¡¯ll deal with her, Gliridae,¡± Jeremiah called. ¡°You handle the others.¡± He shot, aiming to injure rather than kill, and while the first three bullets went wide, the fourth caught her in her hip. She grimaced, but fired back, and the two of them began to circle in a deadly dance.


    ¡°Sure,¡± he heard Gliridae grouse, almost to himself. ¡°Leave me to deal with the three henchmen and the gorilla, that¡¯ll go- wait a second, is that-¡° There was a crash and the entire train shook, knocking all those on the roof to their knees and sending one of the goons flying off the back, his yells echoing. ¡°Holy hell, Bill!¡±


    To Jeremiah¡¯s disbelief, his enormous friend pulled himself over the side, drenched in sweat and wheezing. When he got himself upright, however, there was murder in his eyes. Jeremiah fought down a smile.


    Bill really did have a temper like a pissed rhino.


    ¡°Mr Morrow,¡± rumbled the enormous man. Mr Morrow didn¡¯t bother to respond, tossing aside his hat and dropping into a fighting stance. Jeremiah took advantage of Ms Sherwood¡¯s shock, and quickly fired off a volley of shots; his aim was true, and she dropped like a sack of bricks, clutching her feet and swearing. That would have been enough to take out the average goon, but it seemed that she was made of sterner stuff. Rolling onto her stomach, she reached out and grabbed one of her guns. Jeremiah once again found himself staring down her barrel.


    He deflected the bullets using one wing, spinning with the momentum of the movement- just in time to see Gliridae trip one of the thugs. As the man was falling, the tiny musician deftly grabbed his belt off of him. The small voice in the back of Jeremiah¡¯s head which struggled to focus on the matter at hand and seemed resistant to adrenaline wondered if coffee gave Gliridae jitters because the tiny man was on something much stronger. His movements were like lightning, his reflexes unnatural.


    Then Jeremiah¡¯s foot planted back on the roof of the train and he was once again facing down Ms Sherwood. Concern and frustration warred within him.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to have to shoot you again,¡± he said, and she barked out a laugh.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have the spine to.¡± He yelped as the bullets whizzed past his feet, leaping into the air like a scalded cat. She fired again, but was greeted by the hollow click of an empty gun. Seizing his chance, he sprinted over to where she lay. Before she could react, he kicked the gun away from her and pulled her arms behind her back in a full Nelson. She swore and struggled, but injured as she was she couldn¡¯t break free.


    From this position, Jeremiah could also see how his friends were doing. Bill and Mr Morrow were trading blows powerful enough to shatter walls, each crack reverberating like a cinder block splitting. There was blood leaking out of one of Bill¡¯s ears, and one of Mr Morrow¡¯s arms hung limp at his side- had Bill gotten him in the shoulder?- but neither showed any signs of slowing.


    Gliridae, meanwhile, had hog tied one of the Props with his own belt and was now using him as a human shield while the other waved his pistol and swore.


    ¡°Yeh should just get out while yeh can,¡± the tiny musician yelled. His voice had dropped to heavy Lowtown, a lilt that blurred the words together into a continuous sing-song. Getoutwhileyehcan, it sounded like. ¡°We¡¯ve been working with the Silvers this whole time, and as soon as this train stops everyone up here is going to Lockup. Yeh don¡¯t wanna go to Lockup, it¡¯s not pretty in there. But I ain¡¯t no snitch, swear on me life, and if you leave with yehr friend right now I¡¯ll act like I never saw yeh in all my days.¡±


    To Jeremiah¡¯s simultaneous glee and consternation, the Prop hesitated, then lowered his gun.


    ¡°Don¡¯t-¡° started Ms Sherwood, but Jeremiah clamped his hand firmly over her mouth, curving his fingers to safety as she tried to bite him.


    ¡°No funny business?¡± asked the Prop, and Gliridae physically crossed his heart, before handing over the bound man like some kind of trussed up turkey. The next second, the Prop had disappeared with his friend into the depths of the train, which was starting to slow as it approached the next station.


    From his right came a sudden shout. Jeremiah¡¯s heart dropped as Bill stumbled to the edge of the train¡¯s roof, catching himself before he fell off with just his motorised hand. The gears screamed as he tried to cling on. Mr Morrow looked down and smiled cruelly, lifting a leg to stomp down; this was a mistake, as with his other hand Bill grabbed the leg and yanked the gorilla down beside him, using the forward momentum to wriggle somewhat back onto the train roof. Mr Morrow yelled in anger, but with his injured arm didn¡¯t seem to have the strength to pull himself back up. Gliridae ran over and tried to help Bill further onto the train: with the size difference it was like watching a child trying to move a car. Jeremiah repositioned himself, ready to go help his friend, but before he could do so an amplified voice cut through the air.


    ¡°Nobody move! Hands where I can see ¡®em!¡±


    He looked towards the next platform and sighed: it was swarming with Silvers. As the train slowly pulled up, he dropped Ms Sherwood from his hold and raised his hands into the air as instructed. Everyone else on board quickly followed suite.


    ¡°You¡¯re all under arrest,¡± said a furious Silver. ¡°I don¡¯t want to hear a word from you until we¡¯re at the station.¡±


    One by one, they allowed themselves to be shackled and meekly lead off the train. The two guys Gliridae had scared off were nowhere to be seen, but everyone else was brought in. Bill looked as though he were fighting the urge to throw up. Gliridae grinned as they handcuffed him, immediately sliding the cuffs over his tiny hands and giving Jeremiah a thumbs up. He then fixed his face to one of remorse, slipping the handcuffs back to their original position.


    Jeremiah couldn¡¯t bring himself to smile back. The ex-Silver had never imagined he¡¯d find himself on this side of an arrest, but there was no plan C. Grimacing, he held his arms behind himself for cuffs of his own: this wouldn¡¯t be pretty.

 Chapter 6: Decide how much your principals are worth

    Instead of Lockup, they were taken to the Silver headquarters in Kingsway, where Jeremiah and Gliridae were placed into a separate holding cell to Bill. Jeremiah fought to quell his nerves: it was unpleasant being back, especially being on the wrong side of the holding cell door. He¡¯d never wanted to set foot inside this building again.


    Gliridae was perched atop one of the benches with his legs crossed, leaning back against the cold stone wall with his eyes shut. He''d slipped the cuff off one of his wrists, so that it dangled from the other like some strange fashion statement. Besides the small cut across his cheek, his appearance was pristine: suit smoothed down and dusted off, all traces of broken glass vanished. If it wasn¡¯t for his nose twitching furiously, and the downward tug at the corners of his mouth, the tiny musician would look perfectly serene.


    Serene was the last thing Jeremiah felt. Everything- the smell of the building, the chill of the rooms, the noises coming from beyond the door- was digging up old memories he¡¯d figured were long since buried. He¡¯d thought they were only able to bother him in his dreams, but in the silence of the holding cell they came rushing forward, threatening to engulf him.


    *


    ¡®Bill Bad¡¯ Bill Bauble looked exhausted. The small pool of light spilling in from the corridor of Lockup was brighter than the entirety of his cell, and he flinched back against it. Thick iron manacles wrapped around his wrists and ankles, chaining his feet both to each other and to the floor and stringing his arms from either side of the ceiling so that he couldn¡¯t even touch his hands together. Another manacle wrapped around his neck, like a dog collar: this one attached him to the back wall.


    Jeremiah swallowed, suddenly a bit nervous. He¡¯d known the man was huge, and strong to boot, but he¡¯d never seen precautions like this before.


    ¡°Good morning, Mr Bauble,¡± said Doc Claude, seemingly unphased. He stepped forward to inspect the convict and Jeremiah fought down the urge to tug him back. Despite the Prop¡¯s chains, the proximity of the slim framed medic made him uncomfortable. But Doc Claude needed to do his job, and besides- no one could escape from that.


    ¡°Is it?¡± asked Bill, but when the doctor motioned for him to hold out his arm he complied as far as the chains would allow.


    ¡°Morning or good?¡±


    ¡°Either,¡± said Bill, but he huffed a small laugh at the question. ¡°Got no timepieces in here, no windows, nothing; they told me I¡¯m staring down the barrel of eight years, how am I meant to know if they¡¯re making good on that if I can¡¯t even tell one day from the next?¡±


    The doctor frowned, motioning for Bill¡¯s other arm.


    ¡°There are other ways of telling the time. You¡¯ll get meals here, you¡¯ll hear the guards changing; this cell isn¡¯t in a vacuum, nor is the building. You¡¯ll soon learn to take its pulse.¡± Doc Claude began unpacking items from his satchel, and Bill¡¯s eyes fell to Jeremiah. They narrowed with suspicion.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t the chains enough? You have to have security in with you too? I can¡¯t say much, doctor, but I¡¯ll have you know I never touched an innocent man.¡±


    ¡°Is anyone truly innocent?¡± asked the medic lightly. He turned and motioned Jeremiah closer. ¡°But no, Jeremiah is here as part of his medical training.¡± Bill snorted and turned his head away as Jeremiah took a look at the arm and what the doctor was applying to it. ¡°Okay, now that I¡¯ve cleaned it, I want you to try and wrap the bandages.¡±


    Jeremiah hesitated and looked up at the enormous figure, who glared back down at him from the corner of his eye. Honestly, even fully armed and with Bill in chains he felt vulnerable. His attention would be distracted, his hands full- who knew what Bill could do, if he had a mind to. The man¡¯s range of motion was limited but it was there; and what was rock bottom but a safety net against further consequences?


    Perhaps this was why doctors were such pleasant people: to pre-emptively combat violence from patients.


    But with the eyes of both Bill and Doc Claude on him, Jeremiah had no choice but to step forward and pick up the bandages.


    ¡°This will probably sting a little,¡± he warned Bill Bauble. ¡°Not as much as the disinfectant, but it won¡¯t be pleasant either.¡±


    ¡°Your men shot me twenty-four times,¡± the inmate snapped. ¡°I think I can handle some stinging.¡±


    ¡°No one said you couldn¡¯t,¡± Jeremiah shot back, before taking a deep breath- it was no good letting inmates rile him up. ¡°I just wanted you to know.¡±


    This said, he began wrapping the bandages, being careful to only apply as much pressure as needed. He¡¯d been shot in a similar spot before- he knew how much it hurt. At one point he paused and glanced up, and found Bill giving him a funny look that he couldn¡¯t quite place. On meeting his gaze, however, the enormous man immediately looked away. When Jeremiah was finished, Doc Claude checked the bandages and gave him a thumbs up.


    ¡°Unfortunately, Mr Bauble, that was the easy part. It¡¯s time to start digging the birdshot out of you. We¡¯ll apply anaesthetic ointment to each site before we go in with the scalpels, but do you by any chance have a rough idea of where the wounds are?¡±


    ¡°Mostly in my shoulders and upper back,¡± said Bill. Jeremiah was surprised he¡¯d answer so easily, though he wasn¡¯t sure why: what reason would someone have to lie to a doctor? But he¡¯d still expected it, expected the same stubborn obstinacy he encountered every day in the interrogation room. Even the innocent had an extreme reluctance to talk to the Silvers.


    This was usually taken as evidence that they weren¡¯t innocent.


    But perhaps it was different for medics: people trusted them to help. What that said about the rest of the organisation, well, Jeremiah could ponder over a nightcap.


    ¡°Something hurts like the blazes in my left side, though I don¡¯t know if that¡¯s from a shot or from a knife,¡± Bill continued, oblivious to Jeremiah''s musings.


    ¡°We¡¯ll take a look at it either way,¡± said Doc Claude, pulling scalpels and more bandages out of his seemingly bottomless bag.


    ¡°And don¡¯t¡­ don¡¯t call me Mr Bauble. I don¡¯t like that, no one calls me that.¡±


    ¡°What would you prefer I call you?¡± asked the doctor. Big Bad Bill Bauble hesitated; once again, he met Jeremiah¡¯s gaze, then quickly looked away.


    ¡°William,¡± he said, voice as quiet as Jeremiah had heard it. ¡°You can call me William.¡±


    *


    ¡°You change your accent,¡± Jeremiah told Gliridae, breaking the silence so abruptly that the tiny musician nearly startled right off the bench. He couldn¡¯t stand it anymore- wasn¡¯t sober enough to continue down the memory lane that his mind¡¯s eye was showing him- and had said the first thing that he could think of.


    The smaller man righted himself and raised a questioning eyebrow.


    ¡°You change your accent when you¡¯re talking to people," Jeremiah repeated. "With the receptionist earlier, you were full Midtown; but on the train, telling the Prop to get out, you were speaking the sort of Lowtown you only hear¡­ around the docks.¡± Or in Lockup. Jeremiah didn¡¯t voice this half of the thought, but from the look Gliridae gave him the wilding had guessed. The musician pondered it for a moment, then shrugged and gave a wry smile.


    ¡°Code switching,¡± he replied simply. ¡°People trust yeh more if they think you¡¯re like them, or that yeh belong. The receptionist would never have let us in if I was speaking Lowtown- y¡¯know it, I know it, why pretend it¡¯s not true? And the Prop wouldn¡¯t trust some Midtowner working for the Silvers.¡±


    ¡°So then what was it last night?¡± asked Jeremiah. Gliridae frowned.


    ¡°At Cantankerous?¡±


    ¡°No, at the Boiler Room. When you first met me- what persona were you trying to pull?¡±


    Gliridae¡¯s frown deepened.


    ¡°Nothing. I was having a great night, just me, my saxophone and the piano man. Yeh¡¯re the one that approached me, yeh¡¯re the one who asked for my services¡­¡± He paused for several drawn out seconds. His eyes raked over Jeremiah, up and down, considering him so intensely that Jeremiah had to fight the urge to shrink back. ¡°Would yeh¡¯ve been more comfortable if I¡¯d demanded the key from the receptionist at gunpoint?¡±


    ¡°No! No, I didn¡¯t mean it like that. It wasn¡¯t an accusation, I was just trying¡­ You have your weird skills, and I¡¯ve never seen someone do that before, and I¡­¡± Jeremiah trailed off and shifted uncomfortably. He dropped his gaze, unable to meet Gliridae¡¯s eyes.


    For a long moment there was silence; Jeremiah was suddenly embarrassed, and acutely aware of the smaller man¡¯s stare boring into him. He considered the question.


    ¡°Honestly¡­ I think I would have been more comfortable if you¡¯d pulled a gun on her; I wouldn¡¯t like it, but I would know what to do. Or at least how to handle it. It¡¯s familiar to me, and what you do, with the accent changes and the lies that just seem to come from nowhere but are so damn convincing¡­ that freaks me out.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s because yeh¡¯re not used to not having the upper hand.¡±


    Jeremiah looked back up, confused, and Gliridae shrugged.


    ¡°Yeh were a Silver: the response to near everything with them is brute force, escalating to outright violence. Even now that yeh¡¯ve left, yeh¡¯ve got your pistols, and yehr fancy wings. I haven¡¯t seen it yet but I bet yeh¡¯re a dab hand at close combat too. Plus yeh¡¯re friends with Bill, who¡¯s the walking, talking definition of ¡®don¡¯t fuck with me.¡¯ Even last night, walking me home- yeh did so because yeh were confident that any trouble we ran into, yeh could fight it off.¡±


    Gliridae hopped off the bench and began to pace the room.


    ¡°I wonder how comfortable yeh¡¯d be if you were on the receiving end of Bill¡¯s cursing and violence. I think the answer would be ¡®not at all¡¯. Fighting isn¡¯t more direct, more straightforward, or more honourable: yeh¡¯re only comfortable with violence because yeh¡¯re used to winning in violent situations. My lies, they make yeh nervous because you don¡¯t have defences against them; yeh feel that yeh wouldn¡¯t win if I turned them against yeh. Well, that¡¯s how it feels when someone points a gun at me. Difference is that lies tend to have far less deadly outcomes.¡±


    ¡°You could carry a gun, you know,¡± countered Jeremiah, suddenly defensive. Over what, he wasn¡¯t sure, but it had felt like there was an accusation in there. ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re small, but that isn¡¯t the be-all, end-all. You could still be a damn decent fighter: your reflexes are insane, and I¡¯ve seen how agile you are.¡±


    Gliridae stopped pacing and looked at Jeremiah for a long moment, before shaking his head.


    ¡°Yeh just don¡¯t get it, do yeh?¡±


    Before Jeremiah could answer, the door to their holding cell opened, and a Silver stuck his head in.


    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°Follow me,¡± he ordered, and without waiting for a response turned on his heel and headed back down the corridor, leaving the door open for them to follow. Gliridae and Jeremiah looked at each other, rolled their eyes, and fell into step behind him, the smaller man sliding the cuff back onto his wrist. Bill joined them as they walked, led by another Silver, with two more following closely: clearly, they weren¡¯t taking any chances with the enormous man.


    First, they were taken to a small medical room, where Jeremiah¡¯s leg and Bill¡¯s various wounds were patched up; Gliridae grimaced as he watched the treatment, and again when they were handed sanationis tablets.


    ¡°Yeh know they¡¯re made from wildings?¡± the musician hissed. Jeremiah didn¡¯t have the energy to ask what that meant, but clearly Gliridae couldn¡¯t feel too strongly, as Jeremiah watched him slip the tablet bottle into his pocket.


    Once the medics were done, they were led through too-familiar corridors to an office. The door was simple, with fogged glass labelled ¡®Avery Ward'' in square, no-nonsense lettering. The Silver leading them knocked sharply three times and a Midtown voice called for them to enter.


    The office was small, crammed to the ceiling with shelves and filing cabinets, and had only two chairs on their side of Avery Ward¡¯s desk. Bill motioned for Jeremiah and Gliridae to sit, which Jeremiah felt was probably for the best: the chairs didn¡¯t look strong enough to handle him anyway. Sliding into his seat, Jeremiah took a good look at Avery Ward.


    She was broad shouldered, emphasized by her Silver uniform, with a short cropped bob and dark, slanted eyes. He¡¯d definitely seen her before, when he was a Silver himself: there weren¡¯t a huge number of women in the job, and when she¡¯d been promoted to deputy a few years back it had been a moderately big deal. As her eyes fell on his wings, recognition dawned on her face too. She nodded to herself as she looked at Bill, whose reputation often preceded him, but then she looked to Gliridae- all four foot of him, in all his violet grandeur- and recognition was replaced with confusion. She turned back to Jeremiah.


    ¡°After all the brouhaha you made over leaving, I never thought I¡¯d see you back here. Him, on the other hand,¡± she nodded to Bill. ¡°Well, I¡¯m surprised it took so long. I¡¯ve heard all I care to hear from the Mattheses involved, so let¡¯s have your side of the events.¡±


    Jeremiah bit down his anger, and he prayed that Bill could do the same. It would be no help if they lost their tempers, even if the comments about Bill were nothing short of enraging. Instead, he took a deep breath, and looked to Gliridae, who stared back expectantly. He gave the musician a tiny, almost imperceptible nod, and Gliridae flashed back a quicksilver smile before turning to the police chief.


    ¡°Miss Ward,¡± he said, taking off his hat and rising to his feet- which added maybe three more inches to his height from seated. Avery Ward looked at him and raised an eyebrow. ¡°Last night we were approached by Braum Wellington, Douglas Scapper¡¯s employer, to look into his disappearance- not intending to tread on any toes, mind you, but because Mr Wellington felt that more eyes may be helpful, and because the man was understandably distressed about the disappearance of not one, but two of his employees.


    ¡°The natural starting point for our investigation was, obviously, the man¡¯s home. However, when we arrived there was a frightful commotion inside the apartment. Bill helped your agent enter the room, but your man- I believe he was called Officer Jones- was taken out by some Props, who escaped out the window. They tried to create a distraction for their getaway by causing a fire on a nearby roof. However, Jeremiah and I followed them out through said window while Bill ran to fetch help.


    ¡°Normally we wouldn¡¯t stoop so low as to fight atop public transport, but we didn¡¯t want them to escape with such an egregious crime as assaulting a Silver- not to mention the arson. Unfortunately, there was nothing we could do about the fire, or we would have focused on that and allowed the Silvers to do what they do best. We only wanted to help you bring them in, but I can understand the confusion- there was no way to explain that while we were on the train.¡±


    Jeremiah bit his lip, and resisted the urge to look at Bill and see his expression. Avery glanced between the three of them, and he tried to school his face into a neutral, but agreeing, expression.


    ¡°That¡¯s a very different story to the one I heard just ten minutes ago,¡± the Silver said finally. Gliridae nodded.


    ¡°That makes sense,¡± he said. ¡°Criminals like those are known for their dishonesty.¡±


    Jeremiah couldn¡¯t believe his fucking ears.


    ¡°And how did these Props escape out the window?¡± asked Avery. ¡°Unlike my former colleague, none of them have wings.¡±


    Gliridae looked at her so innocently, Jeremiah would have laughed under other circumstances. The musician¡¯s eyes were wide, his ears unclipped and sticking out in large, fuzzy circles. He almost looked like a lost child, asking a kind adult for help.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if you¡¯ve met Mr Morrow face to face, Ms Ward,¡± he said, ¡°but the man is wilding, and has some kind of ape in him. He¡¯s very agile- made it down the side of the building like you or I would a flight of stairs.¡±


    There was a long pause. Jeremiah barely dared to breathe- that was a bold one, even for Gliridae. Then Avery Ward leaned back in her seat and nodded.


    ¡°I see. So, you¡¯re helping Braum Wellington? I told him we had it under control, but I suppose you¡¯re right: he¡¯s very worried about his employees. What else did he tell you?


    ¡°Not much: that Viola Crest and Douglas Scapper were both engineers at the Foundry, that both had disappeared, and that Viola was carrying a file,¡± said Jeremiah, hoping that the relief didn¡¯t show in his voice. Avery¡¯s eyebrows shot up.


    ¡°And did he tell you the contents of that file?¡±


    ¡°No, ma¡¯am,¡± said Jeremiah. Avery Ward nodded again and ran her eyes over the three of them, expression thoughtful.


    ¡°Well, you can tell Braum Wellington that the case is solved and to give you your payment. Douglas Scapper is, unfortunately, dead: we found his body this morning. As for Viola Crest, well, we¡¯ve located her and she¡¯s safe. We weren¡¯t going to say, because sometimes it¡¯s more straightforward if a missing person remains missing, but since he¡¯s determined to know¡­¡± She trailed off and looked at them again, clearly considering something. For a long moment there was silence. Then she tilted her head to the other side. ¡°Unless you¡¯d like to earn a bit more?¡±


    ¡°You have a job for us?¡± asked Jeremiah. ¡°To do with this?¡±


    ¡°Yes. When did you tell Wellington you¡¯d get back to him?¡±


    ¡°Not until the day after tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°In that case, hold off on telling him until then.¡± She scribbled something down onto a notebook, paused, then scribbled something else. ¡°Our problem is that we have recovered Viola Crest but not the file: it was no longer on her person and she¡¯s turned out to be a tight-lipped individual. If you can speak to her, figure out where the file is, and return it to the Silvers I can pay you. Five times whatever Wellington offered. Only, of course, you¡¯re interested.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure if I can do that,¡± said Jeremiah, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. ¡°There¡¯s a reason I stopped working here, you know¡­ I don¡¯t think I can just, well, ignore that.¡±


    ¡°The day I work for the Silvers is the day I¡¯m no longer me,¡± rumbled Bill. Avery Ward frowned and looked to Gliridae.


    ¡°And you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d need a bit more information on what it is, exactly, that¡¯s going on,¡± replied the tiny musician. ¡°I don¡¯t just walk into things blind.¡±


    Avery sighed, and shook her head.


    ¡°More information is, unfortunately, something we cannot do. I-¡° she was cut off by a knock at the door, and irritation flashed across her face. ¡°What is it?¡±


    A young trainee darted in, passed her a note with a muttered ¡®I¡¯m sorry, they said it was urgent¡¯, and vanished out again. She glared after him, then unfolded the paper and scanned the writing. The glare deepened. She crumpled the note up and threw it over her shoulder before leaning her head against one finger, frustration clear.


    ¡°Braum Wellington is missing,¡± she told them, voice tight. ¡°Didn¡¯t come into work today, and signs of a struggle at his home. It seems that if you want to receive any compensation at all, you¡¯re going to have to help us. Solve this, and I¡¯ll pay you each a thousand clips- half upfront if you arrive for work tomorrow.¡±


    Jeremiah¡¯s jaw dropped, and from the soft plops coming from his left, so did his friends¡¯. A thousand clips was enough to live off for a year- more than. He could finally pay for the final few months of his medical training.


    Bill could finally marry Mirabeth. Maybe they could even leave Boravica completely.


    Gliridae¡­ Jeremiah wasn¡¯t sure what Gliridae would do. Perhaps he would become a full-time musician, and leave behind the life of crime he clearly wasn¡¯t comfortable with. Move someplace in Midtown, get a job at a high-end restaurant; buy himself a real suit, rather than his violent violet velvet monstrosity.


    But Avery Ward wasn¡¯t done. She leant forward, expression dark.


    ¡°It also seems that you three were the last ones to see him before he disappeared. Anyone else might find it suspicious that you¡¯ve been involved in both these disappearances. A good citizen would probably aid in the investigation to help dispel any notions.¡± Her meaning was clear. She pushed herself to her feet and opened the office door. ¡°Sleep on it,¡± she said, voice light. ¡°If you want to do it, meet me at 2631 Southwest, in Kingsway, tomorrow at 11.¡± Jeremiah frowned.


    ¡°2631? That¡¯s-¡°


    ¡°Lockup,¡± Bill growled. She nodded and waited for them to file out.


    ¡°Like I said, sleep on it. Decide how much your principles are worth. I hope to see you in the morning.¡±


    The door shut with a resolute click, and the three of them were left to make their way out the Silver headquarters. The sun was just kissing the horizon, so by Jeremiah¡¯s reckoning it was a little past eight. There was a long pause, as the three of them eyed each other.


    ¡°There¡¯s something bigger going on here,¡± said Jeremiah finally, shaking his head and shoving his hands deep into his pockets. ¡°Shoot, I don¡¯t want to work for the Silvers any more than you do, Bill, but three engineers missing? Something¡¯s up, and I get this feeling deep in my gut that it¡¯s important. I felt it when we first met Wellington last night, and I get it every time I think about this case.¡± Bill glared and spat onto the ground, then sighed.


    ¡°Hell, I hoped that was just me. You¡¯re right. I¡¯d rather work on this and figure out what¡¯s going on early than not and maybe be blindsided further down the road. Tomorrow at eleven?¡± Jeremiah nodded, and they both turned to Gliridae, who grinned.


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t give two shits about the train- a thousand clips is enough money to change a man¡¯s life, especially a man with such low living costs as myself. I¡¯ll see yeh there tomorrow too.¡±


    ¡°That cross-continental whatever that they¡¯ve been spamming us with for the past few months?¡± asked Bill. ¡°What¡¯s that got to do with anything?¡±


    ¡°Way I see it, it¡¯s got to be related somehow. Think about it: it¡¯s what all of them were working on, right? And after a whole load of delays it¡¯s meant to be unveiled next week. Now, I¡¯m not saying I know for sure, but if I was trying to stop a project from happening, kidnapping and murdering the people involved sounds like a good way to go about it. Extreme, sure, but also effective. Wellington and Scapper were even arguing about the delay a few days before Scapper disappeared.¡±


    ¡°How could you possibly know that?¡± Jeremiah had agreed with all his points until then, but that last one seemed like a reach. Gliridae grinned, wide and mirthful.


    ¡°Because I landed face first on the memo after we crashed through the window. Yeh took yehr sweet time getting off me.¡±


    Jeremiah paused, then shook his head with a laugh.


    ¡°You¡¯re something else, you know that? But I guess we¡¯re in agreement- tomorrow at 11. Gliridae, do you want me to walk you home?¡± The tiny musician thanked him, but declined the offer. ¡°Then I guess I¡¯ll be seeing you gentlemen in the morning.¡± Bidding each other goodnight, they turned and went their separate ways.


    Jeremiah decided to take the long way home; the sun was barely halfway past the horizon and the sky glowed red. His shoulders ached dully from the recoil of his pistols, and the wound on his leg still throbbed with each step, but he valued the time to think more than he disliked the discomfort.


    There was something going on, larger than he¡¯d realised when Wellington had approached him less than 24 hours earlier. Three engineers missing in the space of two weeks? With both the Props and the Mattheses involved? As much as he loathed working with the Silvers, he couldn¡¯t just sit back and do nothing. Douglas Scapper had been murdered for pity¡¯s sake- maybe in the very chair they¡¯d seen earlier. He had to help.


    Or was that just justification?


    If Avery Ward had found him last night instead of Wellington, and presented this exact case with this exact payment, would he take it? Probably not. If it had been laid out on the table at Cantankerous, he would have walked away.


    If Wellington had paid the commission before going missing, would he take this case? Jeremiah wasn¡¯t sure. Viola was a mole for the Mattheses, maybe she got Wellington caught up. With that in mind, Jeremiah probably would turn the information he had over to the Silvers and leave it.


    So why did he take it now? Because he was sure he would have taken it even without the thinly veiled threats.


    His conscious tumbled, freewheeling, uncertain how to reconcile the events of the past 24 hours and the decisions he¡¯d made going forward. Avery Ward¡¯s words rang in his ears: ¡®decide how much your principles are worth.¡¯


    He didn¡¯t want to think he was doing it for the money, but it was hard to argue otherwise. And was that justified? It had been nearly a year since he¡¯d had to pause his medical training, unable to afford the classes, the supplies, and the cost of living concurrently. Even if it involved working for the Silvers, in the long term he could surely negate any harm caused? Surely. Right?


    If Bill had come to him, with this exact case, and had told him ¡®I need your help¡¯, would he have taken it?


    Absolutely.


    Jeremiah sighed, driving his hands into his pockets. When it came to his friends, he¡¯d always been blinded: like tunnel vision, focussed on doing what was best for them, even if it came at others¡¯ expense. Even if it came at his own expense.


    If he told Bill that he was doing something for the Props and needed the larger man¡¯s help, would Bill do it? Probably not, honestly. Bill never wanted anything to do with them again- which was, in theory, how Jeremiah felt about the Silvers. In theory.


    If push came to shove, would Gliridae hurt someone to protect him? Again, Jeremiah doubted it. He hadn¡¯t known the man long at all, but he was reminded of the emergency oxygen instructions given on the airships: ¡®take care of yourself before helping others.¡¯ He suspected that Gliridae put himself first- and it wasn¡¯t like that was unreasonable.


    Jeremiah stopped; he¡¯d reached the shore, and the red of sunset was giving way to deep purple, inky blue following close behind. The river glinted with the lights of the boats and orange oil lanterns hung from various docks. It was cooler by the water, a breeze blowing creating small ripples which distorted the reflection. He took out a small coin and whispered a quiet wish to it before tossing it in.


    It looked like his principles were worth a thousand clips.


    He shook his head as though that would clear it, then spread his wings; the walk had done nothing to ease his mind and right now all he wanted was to be home and to get some damn sleep. Taking to the air, he pictured the coin sinking to the river¡¯s silty depths. It was silly, and Jeremiah normally wasn¡¯t a superstitious man; now, however, he repeated the wish to himself, his voice drowned out by the whistling air.


    ¡°I wish I was better.¡±

 Chapter 7: A conversation with Viola Crest

    Our Lady of Silver, Blessed Be, Holding Quarters For The Soon To Be Reformed was an ugly building, even in the bright morning sunlight. Referred to as Lockup by all except the extremely devout and government officials, there wasn¡¯t a single window in the entire structure. It emerged from the road around it, a dun-coloured pustule among the glass and copper of the rest of the city. Two fences encircled the compounds, with an inner and an outer gate.


    ¡°Go straight through,¡± the guard at the outer gate told them. ¡°Officer Ward will be waiting for you at the front.¡±


    Jeremiah hadn¡¯t been back to Lockup since the fire, and as they approached the front entrance his eyes scanned for any scars of that fateful night- collapsed sections, burnt walls, anything. The building, however, was scrubbed clean, and stood like new. Still, his heart hung low a second guard pulled back the door and ushered them inside.


    It was humid as always, filled with the decrepit, stuffy scent that no one could ever name, just describe as ¡®smelling like Lockup.¡¯ The poorly ventilated breath of a thousand inmates, perhaps, mixed with cafeteria food and a vermin problem that had long been swept under the rug. Gliridae physically recoiled from it as it hit them, and Jeremiah had to wonder just how sensitive the tiny musician¡¯s nose was.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad to see you¡¯re all here,¡± said Avery Ward, who had been stood to one side of the door waiting for them. Outside of her cramped office she seemed taller, commanding an outsize presence. Jeremiah could see why she¡¯d been promoted: she carried an air of authority, and the Silver training he¡¯d fought so hard to suppress told him to fall into line. ¡°The receptionist has already checked you in; follow me, please. And no funny business.¡±


    ¡°This entire matter is funny business,¡± growled Bill, low enough that Avery Ward could pretend not to hear. Jeremiah glanced to his friend: his hands were clenched into such tight fists that his arms may as well have been military flails. His shoulders were tense, and his face was caught in a half-formed snarl. It was clear that he was even less happy to be here than Jeremiah was.


    Not that Jeremiah could blame him. This was the first time Bill was here not in chains, and given the events of the day before it wasn¡¯t certain that he would remain that way.


    Avery Ward led them down endless tunnels, left, right, right, left, another left, Jeremiah keeping careful track in case they needed to run for it. He was certain the other two were doing the same. When he¡¯d been a Silver, he¡¯d needed to memorise the location of the prisoners he attended to, but knew nothing beyond that. At the time he¡¯d not given it much thought. Now he had to wonder: why so much secrecy from their own officers?


    The door numbers increased or decreased sequentially along a corridor, sometimes jumping randomly as they turned. He tried not to think of the implication of those numbers: almost every one had a soul on the other side, chained up, waiting for release; in some cases waiting for death. They passed door 1000. He felt nauseous.


    Finally, Avery Ward stopped, gesturing to a door.


    ¡°Viola Crest is in lockup?¡± asked Gliridae, aghast. As the only one who¡¯d never been to the building before- at least, as far as Jeremiah was aware- the implications didn¡¯t seem to have hit him until then. ¡°On what charges?¡±


    ¡°Stealing confidential information from the Foundry, for one,¡± said Avery Ward. Then she gave the tiny musician a thin-lipped smile. ¡°But mainly for her own protection. Miss Crest has made some dangerous enemies.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure she sees it that way,¡± muttered Bill, again low enough that Avery Ward could pretend she hadn¡¯t heard him; excepting a small flare of her nostrils, this was exactly what she did.


    ¡°See if you can find out who has the file; ideally we¡¯d also like to know exactly how much she told the Mattheses, but the file is the number one priority. Knock four times when you¡¯re finished and someone will let you out.¡± Pulling out a keyring filled with some four dozen keys, she easily grabbed the correct one and opened the door for them ¡°Remember: you¡¯re acting as Silvers.¡± This was said looking pointedly at Jeremiah, who swallowed hard.


    It was an old Silver dog whistle, one which new recruits picked up on early, and which meant different things to different people. It was a promise to anyone outside of the organisation: ¡°Don¡¯t worry, we¡¯re acting as Silvers.¡± ¡°Everything will be okay, he¡¯s acting as a Silver.¡± A promise of integrity, a promise that matters would be handled correctly and that justice would be served.


    To Silvers, however, the implication of what was left unsaid was far more important. The Silver oath was adapted from the scriptures of the Lady of Silver; the opening verse contained the lines ¡®We are disciples of the Lady of Silver, and we act in her name. We are the Silvers, and we are the law.¡¯ ''Acting as a Silver'' would be said to other Silvers as a reminder that there was an impunity in their role. Anything done could be excused by the mere fact that one was a Silver; Silver ends justified all means.


    Avery Ward was giving them permission to do whatever they needed to get Viola Crest to talk.


    From the way Bill¡¯s eyes tightened, he¡¯d picked up on it too. However, he didn¡¯t reply- just stalked through the open door into the dark cell. Jeremiah followed, and as he passed Avery Ward handed him a lantern. Gliridae came in last, and then the door shut behind them with a resolute click.


    It was dark in the cell, one small oil lamp in the top corner casting a dim glow that didn¡¯t reach more than half the room. Jeremiah lit the lantern, bathing the table and chair in a sudden light. Viola Crest flinched back.


    She was seated in- chained to- an old wooden chair, behind a rough-hewn table. Her short hair was greasy and matted, her skin wan, and bruise-coloured bags hung so deeply under her eyes they seemed to encircle them. Half healed scabs ran down her arms, one oozing something nasty, and there were partially healed scratches on her neck too. Why had a medic not tended to them? Her hands were cuffed together with a thick chain, which was in turn attached to another chain around her middle, binding her to the chair.


    Jeremiah recognised those chains: class 2, the second lowest level. For prisoners that weren¡¯t expected to make any escape attempts on their own, but who may have someone try to bust them out. There were five tiers in total, and every promotion you got as a Silver earned you keys to a subsequent class. Bill had been class 5. Jeremiah had to force himself not to think about the implications of that.


    Viola Crest looked like hell, but once she¡¯d recovered from the light she stared them down, raising a single dark eyebrow.


    ¡°I¡¯ve already told you people everything you want, so I don¡¯t know why you¡¯re here.¡±


    Her voice was soft and calm, with a sing-song Lowtown accent which reminded Jeremiah of the farmlands surrounding the city. He looked to Bill and Gliridae, uncertain how to begin.


    Gliridae, of course, stepped forward.


    ¡°We¡¯re not Silvers,¡± he said, hands up as though to show their emptiness. ¡°Look at us: you really think we¡¯d be recruited?¡± Viola¡¯s eyes flicked from him to Bill, and she shook her head, frowning in confusion.


    Everyone knew the Silvers didn¡¯t hire wildings.


    ¡°We were hired by Braum Wellington after you went missing,¡± Gliridae continued. ¡°The man was beside himself, thought that the Silvers weren¡¯t doing enough. He was worried that they only cared about the file and didn¡¯t care about making sure that you were safe. The Silvers weren¡¯t even planning on telling him that you¡¯d been found, let alone where they¡¯d stuck you.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± said Viola, and then more quietly ¡°oh.¡± She leaned back in her chair and her frown deepened: whatever she had been expecting, it wasn¡¯t this.


    Honestly, this wasn¡¯t what Jeremiah had been expecting either- he¡¯d half thought the mouse-man was going to weave some elaborate yarn involving multiple chase scenes and a dying bride. Not¡­ well, tell the truth.


    ¡°Truthfully, I¡¯m surprised; I didn¡¯t realise he cared.¡±


    ¡°Not everyone is good at verbally expressing those things; sometimes it involves paying several thousand clips to a trio of private investigators to show how much someone means to you,¡± Gliridae said with a shrug. Viola¡¯s eyebrows shot up.


    ¡°Several thousand! I¡­ wow.¡±


    Gliridae nodded and hopped up to sit on the edge of the table, letting his legs dangle several inches above the floor.


    ¡°The Silvers wanted nothing to do with us and we were stuck. Honestly, the trail should have gone cold. But now Scapper is dead and Braum Wellington has gone missing too. Since we¡¯re the last ones who saw Wellington before he disappeared, they- reluctantly- decided to enlist our help. Which answers your question of why we¡¯re here. So, do you think you could answer some questions of ours?¡± Viola looked at him in dismay, then down at her chained hands.


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    ¡°I- I¡¯m sorry, I can¡¯t. I want to, truly, but if I told you¡­¡± She trailed off, and Gliridae leaned down so that she was forced to meet his gaze.


    ¡°We know that you were passing on information from your project to the Mattheses. No, don¡¯t worry- we haven¡¯t told the Silvers that. We just want to help you, and to help Braum. We spoke to Julie Matthes last night, and she told us about the past few months. You were going to give the folder to her, but something happened, right?¡± Viola nodded. ¡°Someone jumped you on your way to Cantankerous- was it the Props?¡± Another nod, and Jeremiah internally cheered- that was one obstacle covered.


    ¡°They¡¯re not normally in the Fog District,¡± she said, her voice barely above a whisper. ¡°I wasn¡¯t expecting them, that¡¯s Mattheses territory.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯d heard what was going on; they knew you were going to have the file that night.¡± Jeremiah fought to keep his face neutral, unsure if Gliridae was fibbing or not. It wouldn¡¯t be too much of a stretch: there was plenty of money in being a mole if you didn¡¯t mind risking your life. ¡°How much had you told the Mattheses up until that point? Do you think they would have kidnapped Wellington to get the information?¡±


    Viola sat back, eyes tightening at the corners, and at that moment Jeremiah realised they¡¯d lost her. Gliridae had pushed too fast, too hard. Her expression reset to neutral, voice cold.


    ¡°Perhaps you should ask Julie Matthes about that, since the three of you are apparently so close with her.¡± Gliridae hesitated and slid from the table, wrongfooted by her sudden change in demeanour. ¡°Have the Silvers told you the contents of that file, Mr Mouse? Or are you just running around doing their dirty work without a thought to what you might be enabling.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean-¡° Gliridae began to back track, but she cut him off.


    ¡°You have very nice words, but it doesn¡¯t matter how much Mr Wellington cares for me: he¡¯s complicit in all this, as is everyone else in the Foundry, and this glorified gang we call a criminal justice system. You¡¯re playing right into their game.¡±


    ¡°And you were passing along Foundry secrets out of the good of your heart?¡± shot back Gliridae. ¡°I¡¯m sure there was no monetary aspect involved. Why steal the file- why not just read it yourself and give them the summary?¡±


    ¡°You call yourselves private investigators? Then try doing some investigating, rather than just hanging around at the Silvers¡¯ beck and call. But no: pot, meet kettle. The only reason you¡¯re here is because you¡¯re paid to be. How much have the Silvers offered you? What do you think has gotten them so scared.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve as good as confirmed it yourself,¡± said Jeremiah. He stepped forward, old instincts kicking in: interrogating hostile inmates was something he¡¯d been good at. ¡°The Mattheses took Wellington when you didn¡¯t come through. You didn¡¯t even try to deny it. Douglas Scapper was killed in his home, tied up and unable to fight back. Was Julie Matthes behind that too? You worked with him, didn¡¯t you? So in a way, his death is on your hands-¡±


    ¡°Go to hell!¡± Viola yelled, cutting him off. She was flushed with anger, straining forward against her chains as though she¡¯d have liked to leap across the table and fight Jeremiah herself. ¡°I hope you die, and this godforsaken building burns to the fucking ground!¡± He slammed his fists against the table.


    ¡°Too late, little girl, it already did! Can¡¯t you tell?¡± He turned his face so that she could get a good, up close, look at his scars.


    ¡°Then it¡¯s too bad it didn¡¯t finish the job,¡± she hissed. Before he could react, she drew back and spat right on the burn.


    ¡°That¡¯s enough!¡± roared Bill. Stepping past the table, he drew back his fist and served Viola Crest a right hook that resonated through the small cell with a sickening crack. Blood gushed down from her nose. ¡°Just answer our damn questions! How much information had you told the Mattheses beforehand?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not telling you anything.¡± Her voice was thick, and as she spoke more blood began to leak from her mouth. Jeremiah suddenly felt sick. ¡°Do what you want: you¡¯ll never make me talk.¡± Bill made a sudden move towards her and she flinched, but her face remained resolute. He dropped his fist and swore, before turning to look at Jeremiah.


    ¡°Well, we got half of it,¡± the larger man said. ¡°Any other thoughts?¡±


    Jeremiah wiped the spittle from his face and glanced around; it took a moment for him to find Gliridae, who was pressed back into the corner, sinking into the darkness besides the gleam of the oil lamp in his eyes. How was it possible that someone in a bright purple suit could fade into the background that easily?


    The tiny musician gave a near imperceptible shake of his head. Jeremiah sighed, and turned back to Bill and Viola.


    ¡°I think that¡¯s the end of useful time spent here.¡± He focused on Viola. ¡°I¡¯ll get them to send a medic in to patch you up- that wound on your arm could use some treatment too.¡± She spat a gob of blood at him and glared, but said nothing. This time it fell short, landing on the table between them. He could see it beginning to coagulate in the flickering lamplight, and fought down another wave of nausea. ¡°Let¡¯s go. Bill, I think it¡¯s time to pay a visit to Mr Vandemeer.¡±


    ¡°Aw hell,¡± muttered Bill. Without a second look at Viola, the enormous man went to the door and rapped smartly against it four times. It swung open immediately and he stormed out, nearly flattening the low-ranking Silver on the other side. Jeremiah followed him, but paused at the doorway when he realised that Gliridae wasn¡¯t moving.


    ¡°Silver or not¡­ I should have realised you assholes are all the same,¡± Viola said to the tiny musician. He winced, eyes shut, and shook his head; he looked like he was on the verge of tears.


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry. We never meant- I never expected anything like this to happen. Please let a medic fix you up.¡± She shrugged, and didn¡¯t answer. ¡°Please. And¡­ is there anything you want? I can¡¯t manage much, but I don¡¯t know, better food or anything? I¡¯ll do my best.¡± She sighed, causing another dribble of blood to slip from her nose, but her expression softened.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say no to some reading material. Time passes so dreadfully slowly in here; it would be nice to have something to do.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll do my best to get some books sent to you; and a proper lamp, so that you can actually read them.¡±


    ¡°Hurry up!¡± barked the Silver outside, annoyed after his encounter with Bill. Gliridae gave Viola a small wave and a tight smile, and then scurried out. Jeremiah hesitated, wondering if he should apologise too, but then the Silver slammed the door shut.


    They were led back a different way, to a side office where Avery Ward was waiting. Three cheques, each for 500 clips, were neatly written and laid out upon the table. Next to them were three Silver badges. Two were generic, but one read Jeremiah Brahms in flowing script. The last time he¡¯d seen that badge, it had been lying in a trashcan after he handed in his resignation.


    He¡¯d never wanted to see it again.


    Jeremiah and Bill quickly went through what they¡¯d found out, Gliridae oddly quiet to the side. Avery Ward frowned.


    ¡°We¡¯d suspected that it was the Props, but it¡¯s unpleasant to have it confirmed. Still, you have history with them: I¡¯d imagine it could be easier for you than it could be for any of our guys.¡± She pushed the cheques towards them. ¡°As promised, 500 clips up front. You¡¯ll get the rest once you bring me that file- unopened. If I have any suspicion at all that you¡¯ve taken so much as a single glance into it, all three of you will be spending the next eight years in Lockup. Do I make myself clear?¡±


    We are Silvers and we are the law.


    They nodded their assent. Avery Ward then slid them the badges.


    ¡°Keep these hidden on your person at all times. Use them to identify yourselves to any Silvers you encounter, but otherwise do not show them to anyone, mention them to anyone, or interact with them in any way- you are not Silvers, and I will not have you masquerading as such. Understood?¡± Again they nodded. ¡°Then we¡¯re done with that part. Gliridae, Bill: an agent will escort you off the premises. Jeremiah, a word please.¡±


    ¡°Now wait just a minute,¡± rumbled Bill. ¡°We¡¯re not leaving without him.¡± Avery Ward raised an eyebrow, then shrugged.


    ¡°Fine. Then you can wait outside. However, I¡¯d like to speak with Jeremiah privately.¡± Both looked to him, and Jeremiah motioned for them to leave. They got to their feet, but Gliridae paused.


    ¡°Miss Ward, before we go... I understand that this is a judicial system, and that there are rules and regulations in place which are your authority to enforce; but would it be possible to arrange for Viola Crest to be supplied with books or magazines, or something similar, for the duration of her confinement? And lighting with which to read it? Please?¡±


    Bill snorted; both he and Jeremiah knew well enough that a large part of the threat of lockup was the absence of anything at all: no light, no time, no entertainment. The threat of that kept the populace cowed: even a few weeks turned formerly hardened criminals meek, at least upon their initial release. There was no way.


    ¡°I don¡¯t see why not.¡± Avery Ward gave a wry smile, and Gliridae took his hat and held it tightly in his hands, giving her a small bow.


    ¡°Thank you so much, Miss Ward. Truly, I appreciate it.¡± This said, he left; Bill followed, staring after him in blatant disbelief. Jeremiah struggled to hide his own shock as he turned back to the Silver chief. Behind him, the door swung shut and Avery Ward laughed.


    ¡°I like your little mouse friend. I wonder if we can keep him around? He probably needs the money. We could put him in a Silver uniform and get him to do a funny dance - like a mascot. It would be good for morale, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    He met her smirk with a glare, fighting down the anger.


    ¡°No,¡± he said flatly.


    Avery Ward¡¯s smile dropped, and she sighed as she pulled out a small manilla envelope with his name on it


    ¡°Jeremiah, I was looking through your old records: training academy, case notes, the like. You were a great Silver: you were talented, you were efficient, according to your superiors you were a brilliant tactician. It says here that you were on track to become head of your department, once you finished your medical training.¡±


    Jeremiah met her gaze but stayed silent, waiting to see where she was going with this.


    ¡°After the fire¡­ Doctor Claude¡¯s death was regrettable-¡°


    ¡°Preventable,¡± he snapped


    ¡°-but you shouldn¡¯t throw your life away for a dead man. What would he think of this? Of you, running around playing PI with two wildings? Of you being friends with the Props member who cost him his life?¡±


    ¡°Bill had nothing to do with anything and you know it. You can¡¯t blame a victim for the shortcomings of the Silvers.¡± It took all of Jeremiah¡¯s self-control to keep his fury in check.


    ¡°Don¡¯t play stupid, Jeremiah. Bill is no victim- we all know the things he¡¯s done. Doctor Claude saved your life, and this is how you repay him?¡± She pushed the file towards him. He could see his academy reports, case notes, and further down he could see the corners of photos sticking out. Carefully, deliberately, Avery Ward slid one onto the table- it was a photo of him and Doc Claude at a bar with some other Silvers, just a few days before the fire. His heart dropped. Then he thought of the weeping wounds criss-crossing Viola¡¯s arms, and he glared.


    Manipulative bullshit.


    ¡°Doc Claude saved my life that day, in more ways than you could ever know.¡± He pushed himself to his feet and snatched his cheque and badge off the table. ¡°And when I¡¯m done with this case, I will never work with the Silvers again.¡± He moved to leave, then paused and plucked the photo of him with the doctor off the table. Avery Ward didn¡¯t say anything, just leant back in her chair and crossed her arms as she watched him leave.


    ¡°What did she want?¡± asked Bill, as the agent led them back through the winding passages of Lockup. Jeremiah scowled at the grimy tiled floor.


    ¡°Nothing,¡± he muttered. ¡°Nothing of value.¡±

 Chapter 8: When you grow up wilding

    ¡°You¡¯re an odd duck,¡± Jeremiah said, three pints in and looser-lipped than he generally tried to be. ¡°You have a funny way of talking. Have you heard the man?¡± he asked the rest of the table, who shook their heads with varying degrees of vehemence. ¡°A funny way of referring to people. He called you my ¡®compatriots¡¯ earlier this evening. And everyone in Lockup is a guest- like they just dropped by for a few days on a social visit. ¡®Have you met our newest guest?¡¯ he¡¯ll ask me in the mornings. What is this, a bed and breakfast?¡±


    Doc Claude didn¡¯t seem phased by the snickers- just smiled and raised his beer to his lips. Reece Orven, a junior who was also doing part time training with the doctor and who worked with Jeremiah one afternoon a week, jumped in.


    ¡°Everyone we meet, too: it¡¯s Mr This or Ms That. We met some kind of armadillo wilding the other day, the one that was cooking enough drugs in his kitchen to knock out Midtown, and this guy just walks in like ¡®Hello Mr Lawrence, I hear you¡¯re having chest problems.¡¯ Like, no shit he¡¯s having chest problems, that man¡¯s lungs have seen more chemicals than a damned glue factory.¡± The table swivelled to the doctor, to see how he¡¯d respond.


    ¡°Would you recommend a better way of greeting my patients, Mr Orven?¡± Doc Claude¡¯s smile was mild, his voice calm. Reece reddened and rolled his eyes.


    ¡°Their first name? I don¡¯t know, just go in and give them whatever medicine it is they need. You don¡¯t need to talk to them like they¡¯re-¡°


    ¡°People?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Reece blinked, wrongfooted. ¡°No, like they¡¯re Hightown or some shit. You act as though they¡¯re doing you a favour, rather than the other way round. You realise they¡¯re not the ones paying your wages, right?¡±


    ¡°Would you treat anyone outside lockup in the way you treat people within?¡± Doc Claude asked.


    ¡°Yeah- people who are going to end up there soon enough.¡± Reece laughed, and about half the table joined. Jeremiah didn¡¯t, nor did a few others: they were suddenly shifting, staring at their drinks in discomfort. They had an idea of where the conversation was going.


    ¡°And you know who those individuals are?¡±


    ¡°I know you don¡¯t get out much, doc, but you may have noticed: there¡¯s a type,¡± Reece smirked. ¡°Usually have funny teeth and too big ears- I don¡¯t know if you cover that stuff in your anatomy class though.¡±


    ¡°Ah, I see; so, for you there are good citizens worthy of respect, and then there are wildings?¡±


    Reece just about spat his drink.


    ¡°Fuck, Doc, don¡¯t say it like that. That sounds so¡­¡±


    ¡°Bigoted.¡± Doctor Claude set down his drink, all trace of a smile gone. ¡°Perhaps I should emulate you, and be more subtle in my discrimination.¡± He stared at each of them in turn; no one spoke. ¡°But I would prefer to remind you that though we work in the name of Our Lady of Silver, we are funded by the taxpayer, and should deign to treat them with the respect which that entails.¡±


    ¡°These freaks aren¡¯t fucking taxpayers, we all know that. I don¡¯t see why we have to pussyfoot around it- half of them are borderline feral!¡± Reece just didn¡¯t know when to shut his damn mouth. Part of that was the alcohol, but he would go off sober too. Usually he knew better than to do it in front of his superiors though.


    Doc Claude rose from the table, looking down haughtily.


    ¡°I am a medic. I am funded by the people, for the people, and as such I will continue to treat them like people- wilding or not. I would encourage all of you to do the same.¡± He spun on his heel and made his way out, leaving a very subdued table behind him.


    ¡°Way to go Reece,¡± muttered one of the other officers. Reece glared.


    ¡°Blame fucking Jeremiah, he¡¯s the one who invited him. What did you do that for? The man sucks the fun out of anything. Jeremiah? Hey, Jeremiah, you listening?¡±


    Jeremiah looked at him and frowned. He¡¯d liked Reece well enough before, but now the man was just grating on him. Without saying a word, he drained his drink and followed his mentor into the night.


    -


    They had barely cleared the gates when Gliridae whirled to glare Bill down. Well. To glare up at Bill. Still, it was enough to bring the two taller men up short, not least for how surprising it was.


    ¡°What the fuck was that?¡± When neither replied, Gliridae continued. ¡°Why would yeh do that? Faced with a woman perhaps a third of your size, chained in fucking place and unable to defend herself, yeh chose to punch her full force in the face- what. The fuck?¡± His lips were drawn back in a snarl, furry face bristling. Contrived or not, the tiny musician usually defaulted to nonchalance: now, all traces of that had vanished.


    ¡°That wasn¡¯t full force,¡± growled Bill, matching Gliridae¡¯s glare.


    ¡°It was certainly forceful enough to break her nose. Why would yeh do that? She was completely defenceless.¡±


    ¡°She wasn¡¯t answering!¡± snapped Bill.


    ¡°We were getting there,¡± Gliridae snapped back. ¡°We could have talked it out. But no- you,¡± he stepped forward, jabbing a finger into Bill¡¯s chest, ¡°had to have a fucking fight.¡±


    ¡°I was sick of your talking.¡± Bill swatted Gliridae¡¯s hand away; the movement alone was enough to make the smaller man stagger sideways. ¡°And I¡¯m sick of it now. I don¡¯t need to listen to pests like you.¡±


    ¡°Guys, I think-¡° started Jeremiah, but neither of them were paying him any attention.


    ¡°For someone who prides themselves on leaving a gang, yeh sure do talk an awful lot like a gang member. Don¡¯t like something? Just punch it into submission, it¡¯ll stop annoying yeh eventually.¡±


    ¡°Leave it, Gliridae.¡± Bill¡¯s voice was dangerous. Jeremiah¡¯s heart sank: his friend was well and truly pissed off now.


    ¡°Leave it? Shrug my shoulders and move on? Conveniently forget what yeh just did? If accountability bothers you so much then maybe you should go back to the Props. Clearly yeh¡¯re still one of them at heart.¡±


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    In a movement faster than Jeremiah had realised he was capable of, Bill swung around and grabbed the front of Gliridae¡¯s shirt, easily lifting him three feet up so that they were- for once- at eye level.


    ¡°I said, shut up!¡± Roared the enormous man, before turning again and slamming Gliridae against the wall. Jeremiah head him gasp at the impact. The tiny man¡¯s feet dangled and he stared at Bill, wide eyed. His face was a mixture of fear and something else, but still he kept pushing.


    ¡°Or what? Yeh¡¯re going to hit me too?¡±


    Vindication. Fear and vindication. As though he¡¯d known exactly what Bill would do


    ¡°I might. It¡¯s a mighty tempting prospect, let me tell you.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, fight yehr way through all your problems. How¡¯s that going for yeh?¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s find out.¡± Bill drew back his fist.


    ¡°Enough!¡± yelled Jeremiah, finally managing to force his way between them. ¡°Stop it the both of you. Gliridae, stop picking fights you won¡¯t win- no, shut it! If you actually wanted something productive you wouldn¡¯t have started the way you did. What, were you trying to goad Bill so that you could make a point?¡± He turned to look up at Bill. ¡°And you! You need to get that damn temper in check, because he¡¯s right: you didn¡¯t need to hit her, and doing so has probably made more problems for us further down the line. Now put him down so we can talk this out.¡±


    For a breath, there was silence. Then Bill threw Gliridae to the side; the smaller man rolled, but landed lightly and glared up.


    ¡°I never asked to be part of this,¡± Bill rumbled. ¡°I never wanted to be part of this. I was doing it to help you, Jeremiah, as a friend¡­ but I¡¯m done. I¡¯m done.¡± With that, he turned and marched down the street.


    Gliridae dusted himself off. He was trying to look unphased, but Jeremiah could see his legs were trembling. Stooping, Jeremiah picked his hat from the street and passed it back to him. He pulled it down tight and gave the ex-Silver a long look.


    ¡°Well¡­I think my point was made.¡± And he turned and headed in the opposite direction.


    Jeremiah hesitated, caught between the two of them. But at least for Bill he could guess where the larger man was headed. Making a split-second decision, he turned to catch up with Gliridae, who was somehow already nearly at the end of the street. The smaller man quirked an eyebrow.


    ¡°I would have thought yeh¡¯d go running after Bill.¡± His tone was biting.


    Even though his legs were significantly shorter than Jeremiah¡¯s, the musician set a ferocious pace, and Jeremiah found himself near jogging to keep up.


    ¡°I know where Bill is coming from,¡± said Jeremiah. Gliridae rolled his eyes but made no move to reply. ¡°But I- look, slow down, would you? You¡¯re killing me here.¡±


    They stopped under a shop awning; the store itself was boarded up, and- like everything this side of town- plastered over with posters for the new rail project. The afternoon was dim, the sun blocked by looming clouds that threatened to empty their contents at any moment; the air was damp and close, with no breeze to lessen its oppressive weight. Gliridae stared up at him, eyes dark, and Jeremiah was once again struck by how childlike he looked. By how close Bill had come to striking him.


    ¡°I want to know where you¡¯re coming from. You said I didn¡¯t get it, right? Well, explain it.¡±


    Gliridae then sighed and rammed his hands deep into his coat pockets, dropping his gaze. For a long moment there was silence; Jeremiah wasn¡¯t sure if he was going to say anything. Then he snatched one of the posters and began to methodically tear it to bits, voice soft as he spoke.


    ¡°When yeh¡¯re like Bill and I- when yeh¡¯re wilding, especially as much as we are- yeh only really have two choices. You can be part of the problem, or you can lose.¡±


    ¡°Lose what?¡±


    ¡°Everything; yeh lose at life. Good luck finding a good job, or a house in a safe neighbourhood, or a bank that will work with yeh. It¡¯s in the name itself: wild. People don¡¯t trust us, people don¡¯t want to know us, or want anything to do with us. God forbid yeh ever get angry. Show one bit of emotion and they¡¯ll scream that yeh¡¯re feral.¡± His accent slipped lower, distress clouding his words. ¡°Have yeh¡¯ver been to a Lowtown slum? Yeh¡¯re not gonna find any non-wilding there. So if yeh don¡¯t wanna lose, if yeh want a better life¡­well, instead yeh become part of the problem. Yeh know gangs are pretty much the only career path with any potential for growth? But I¡­¡± The tiny musician trailed off, staring into the middle distance. ¡°I don¡¯t even know why I¡¯m bothering, there¡¯s no point.¡±


    He threw down the poster and turned to walk away. Jeremiah grabbed his arm.


    ¡°Gliridae, please! Look, we need your help: we can¡¯t do this without you. And I want to understand; I¡¯ve never met anyone who can¡­ I don¡¯t know, articulate these things so well. Please.¡±


    The musician stopped but didn¡¯t turn back to face Jeremiah.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know why I¡¯m here! I¡­ I don¡¯t know why I¡¯m helping yeh. The reason I got out is because I don¡¯t help. It¡¯s Gliridae first, and everyone else at a distance.¡± Beyond the awning, the rain started to fall. ¡°I don¡¯t work for anyone, I don¡¯t work with anyone. No one knows anything about me, beyond the surface; and everyone knows that they can¡¯t rely on my loyalty.¡± He finally turned back to Jeremiah, flashing a hollow smile that didn¡¯t reach his eyes. ¡°That¡¯s how they get yeh; they¡¯ll start to do yeh dirty if they think yeh¡¯re loyal to them.¡±


    Jeremiah thought of his time at the Silvers; he didn¡¯t disagree.


    ¡°So¡­ are you a loser or part of the problem?¡± he asked. Gliridae shook his head and chuckled mirthlessly.


    ¡°I told yeh, I got out. I¡¯m neither. Gliridae Welch: do no harm but take no shit. A man with a very specific set of skills. The second I pick up a gun, a crowbar, or anything else, then I¡¯m part of the problem. Bill is part of the problem: every time he uses his physical size and strength against someone, he¡¯s part of the problem. Every time he confirms people¡¯s biases, he¡¯s part of the problem. Maybe I¡¯m just selfish¡­ I don¡¯t like that he makes me look bad.¡±


    ¡°His actions are no reflection on you,¡± snapped Jeremiah.


    ¡°Tell that to the rest of the city,¡± Gliridae shot back. Jeremiah hesitated.


    ¡°I mean¡­Still, you can¡¯t blame Bill. He got picked up young, and they trapped him in. They tricked him, they cheated him- he still has that damn debt hanging over him.¡± Jeremiah frowned. ¡°It¡¯s easy to say no to fighting when you don¡¯t have half the world trying to fight you. And besides, he¡¯s a changed man: these past years, he¡¯s been different. Working towards a better life. Who are you helping?¡±


    ¡°I never claimed to be helping anyone,¡± said Gliridae, ¡°only that I¡¯m not hurting anyone neither.¡±


    ¡°With your talents, you should be talking to people- raising awareness, running for office. If you hate how things are so much, why not try to change the system?¡±


    ¡°Yeh were part of that system and then yeh saw how fucked it was; did yeh try and change it?¡±


    There was a long pause as the ex-Silver looked out beyond the awning. He normally liked the rain, liked the way it washed the city clean. Now he could only picture the pollution, accumulating as the water flowed down and down and down, into Lowtown soup pots and water glasses, into Lowtown blood streams and across placentas. Into little babies, born with strange dentition and unnatural features.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t think so.¡± Gliridae said finally. ¡°Yeh can¡¯t fix something that broken.¡± He turned his back to Jeremiah, but this time made no move to leave; instead, he also seemed to be watching the rain. His stance softened, shoulder drooping. ¡°I don¡¯t know why I¡¯m here,¡± he repeated, almost to himself. ¡°I should have thrown Bill and yeh under as soon as we were in Silver headquarters and been done with it. I don¡¯t help people¡­ I do jobs.¡±


    ¡°You had money on the line.¡±


    ¡°Not enough for me to get entangled with the Silvers. They¡¯re the worst gang of all- at least the others will kill yeh quickly.¡± He sighed. ¡°I thought I¡¯d skate by without ever seeing Lockup. I¡¯m the only wilding I know who hasn¡¯t spent time there. But for some reason I¡¯m stuck on this damn job.¡±


    ¡°This feels important, doesn¡¯t it?¡± asked Jeremiah, stepping up besides Gliridae and placing a hand on his shoulder. The smaller man shrugged it off, then sighed again.


    ¡°Yeah. I can¡¯t shake it; the thought of walking away now makes me feel¡­ anxious. Like I¡¯m letting go of something that I have to see through.¡±


    ¡°Do you think you can put aside your differences with Bill long enough to end this?¡±


    Gliridae hesitated.


    ¡°I won¡¯t apologise to him¡­ but I will reconcile.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t ask for anything else.¡±


    Bracing themselves against the now-heavy rain, they made their way back into the city.

 Chapter 9: Youre both pretty

    Around two weeks after they first met Bill, Doc Claude told Jeremiah to take lead on his case.


    ¡°You can still come to me with any questions you might have,¡± the doctor said at Jeremiah¡¯s concerned look. ¡°But part of being a medic is learning to take charge and handle situations on your own; those skills will be invaluable after your promotion. William Bauble is compliant: that¡¯s a lot more than can be said for many of the guests in Lockup. He¡¯ll be a good first patient.¡±


    ¡°But don¡¯t you need me for other cases?¡± Doc Claude shook his head, expression rueful.


    ¡°We¡¯re dealing with an outbreak of Chills on the second and third floors; everyone with it is being moved to the infirmary on fifth and they want as much medical attention there as possible.¡± He frowned. ¡°Medical attention but not actual medicine,¡± he muttered almost under his breath.


    Jeremiah hesitated, but the doctor quickly gave him a smile when he caught his expression.


    ¡°Besides, Chills won¡¯t be useful for your field training and we don¡¯t to take a chance on you getting sick. For one, it¡¯s a nasty disease: the average time to recover is four to six months. For another, we can¡¯t risk you passing it on to anybody else, whether a colleague or a patient. That¡¯s how it¡¯s being transmitted currently: it gets on the wardens, and then it makes the rounds.¡± Doc Claude paused, thinking. ¡°In fact, it¡¯s probably for the best that we don¡¯t work together at all for the next few weeks. I¡¯ll give you Bill¡¯s case, as well as a few other straightforward ones, and you can return to active duty as a part-timer.¡±


    ¡°But what about my training?¡± Jeremiah hated the whine in his voice, thought he¡¯d trained himself out of it long ago, but the doctor either didn¡¯t notice or didn¡¯t mind.


    ¡°We¡¯ll get you your training, Jeremiah; it¡¯s just going to take a bit longer than planned. I¡¯m sorry, but that¡¯s the way life goes sometimes.¡±


    He considered protesting further, but at a warning glance from his mentor decided to keep his mouth shut. It wouldn¡¯t help. Doc Claude wouldn¡¯t have raised the matter at all if his decision hadn¡¯t been final. At least he would get to do some field work: he¡¯d missed it, these past weeks.


    Hopefully it would be enough to offset dealing with the surly lump of rhino on the first floor.


    **


    Bill was exactly where Jeremiah had expected him to be: at their usual table in the Boiler Room, clutching a drink and grumbling to himself. There was no one there besides him and the bartender- not Kaia, this time, but a different man Jeremiah didn¡¯t recognise. Jeremiah checked his pocket watch- it was just gone four. He¡¯d never set foot in here this early, and it appeared no one else did either.


    ¡°What¡¯s your plan?¡± he murmured to Gliridae, who took in the scene with a grimace. At a roar from Bill the bartender brought over another tumbler of whisky, which the enormous man knocked back in one go. ¡°He¡¯s not going to be easy to talk to.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen him here before, from the stage- he¡¯s an easy man to remember. It¡¯s not too uncommon for him to come in looking like he¡¯s ready to crack skulls. Usually, he settles down fast enough.¡±


    ¡°Usually, the thing he¡¯s mad hasn¡¯t followed him in. What are you planning to say?¡±


    ¡°Nothing,¡± Gliridae replied, flashing his quicksilver smile. ¡°When talking fails, music generally helps.¡±


    Before Jeremiah could fully process his meaning, the tiny man darted towards the back of the room. Bill looked up and gave another inarticulate roar, launching the now empty glass at Gliridae; the musician dodged it easily, and hopped up on the stage.


    ¡°Hey, if you could not destroy our property, that¡­ that would be great¡­¡± the barkeeper finished lamely, quailing under the glare that Bill levelled on him. This glare then swivelled to Jeremiah.


    ¡°Leave me be, Jeremiah. I don¡¯t want you here- not you, and not the rodent either. Leave. Me. Alone.¡± He punctuated each word with a finger wag, then pushed himself to his feet and staggered to the bar. The barkeeper nervously reached for the nearest glass to pour him another drink; instead, Bill leaned over the wooden counter and pulled the entire whisky bottle out of the man¡¯s hands, taking several large swigs before collapsing down onto a barstool. It creaked, but shockingly remained intact.


    On stage, Gliridae quickly assembled his saxophone, checked the keys, and brought the reed to his lips.


    The first note that came out was deeper than Jeremiah expected. He had heard Gliridae play many times before while drinking with Bill, and the music was generally upbeat- a quick tempo-ed jazz, designed to put the room in a good mood and get everyone drinking. Now, Gliridae glided between notes, soft and slow, a low enough register that Jeremiah could feel the vibrations in his chest.


    Bill continued to drink, staring at the ground with murderous intent; but as Gliridae played, Jeremiah could see the hunch in his shoulders start to loosen. The music continued and Bill¡¯s whole body seemed to shed tension, easing away a weight. Jeremiah felt it too: there was a calmness in the notes, wrapping him in a velvety embrace. If he¡¯d ever had an inner stillness, he¡¯d lost it long ago; but maybe if he sat and listened here all night, it could come back bit by bit.


    Suddenly Bill tensed again. Getting to his feet, he spun to face the stage.


    ¡°Shut up!¡± he roared, but the tiny musician paid him no mind. ¡°I¡¯m mad at you- let me be mad at you, damn it!¡± When Gliridae still didn¡¯t react, he picked up the barstool and smashed it against the counter.


    The bartender fell back with a shriek, then drew himself to full (not particularly impressive) height.


    ¡°That¡¯s it!¡± he yelled. ¡°I¡¯m getting the Silvers!¡±


    Gliridae continued to play, ignoring everything happening beyond the stage, and Bill collapsed onto another stool. Jeremiah frowned and looked around nervously: there was a lot of damage, with broken glass and wood splinters everywhere, and Bill was clearly drunk as a skunk. No good would come from the Silvers arriving.


    ¡°Maybe we should go?¡± he murmured to his friend, who turned and fixed him with a stink eye.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been wanting you to go since you walked in! Go! Get out, and take him¡± -he gestured furiously to Gliridae- ¡°with you!¡±


    ¡°No Bill, we both need to go: I really don¡¯t want to see the Silvers pick you up, especially when we¡¯re meant to be working for them at the moment.¡± Jeremiah tugged at his arm but Bill swatted him away. Just the glancing blow was enough to leave Jeremiah reeling, and he staggered back. Bill finished the bottle and smashed that too, before once again reaching behind the counter.


    As Gliridae played on, Jeremiah continued pleading with Bill; but any attempt to move the man was an exercise in futility. Finally, after what felt like a lifetime but was probably no more than five excruciating minutes, the door opened and the bartender walked back in with two Silvers in tow.


    ¡°That one,¡± he announced, pointing to Bill, ¡°that¡¯s the one.¡±


    From onstage, the music came to a screeching halt. Literally. Whatever note Gliridae played, Jeremiah was sure it had last been uttered by a demon. Forgetting Bill, everyone turned to the man on stage.


    Which was certainly his intention.


    ¡°Now hold on,¡± said the tiny musician. Despite his diminutive size, his words carried right through the room. ¡°Are you trying to blame these fine gentlemen for what happened last night?¡± His eyes were wide. His voice was scandalised. His accent was Midtown.


    The Silvers looked at the destruction around the room, then looked at Bill, and finally turned to the barkeeper, who gaped back. He made a few wild gestures, mumbling incoherently, and then swivelled to once again point at Bill.


    ¡°No? No! He did this! Look at the state of him!¡±


    Using what was likely every last iota of control, Bill frowned and raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°This is ridiculous,¡± said Gliridae, hopping off the stage. His tone had switched from outrage to mother in the middle of reprimanding her child. ¡°What is this, a con to claim insurance? That¡¯s fraud! It¡¯s one thing to let a party get out of hand, but it¡¯s another entirely to try and cast aspersions on innocent men because you¡¯re afraid of reprimand. And wasting these good Silvers¡¯ time? Honestly, you ought to be ashamed.¡±


    The Silvers looked at each other and nodded; one pulled out a pair of handcuffs.


    ¡°He¡¯s right,¡± said the other, ¡°false allegations are a serious offense. We¡¯re going to have to take you down to Silver headquarters.¡±


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± screeched the bartender. ¡°He¡¯s lying! Can¡¯t you tell- that man there is a menace with three bottles of whisky in him, you can¡¯t- hey, let me go! You¡¯re going to trust a wilding over me? Let me go!¡±


    ¡°Sorry for the trouble, gentlemen,¡± said one of the Silvers, as the other began to drag the barkeeper out. Gliridae shook his head sadly.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be sure to bring it up to his manager,¡± he said. ¡°It would be a shame for this to reflect badly upon the establishment. Have a good day, officer.¡±


    ¡°And you too, sir; take care now.¡±


    The Silvers led the barkeeper away, ignoring his fervent protests. The door swung shut and there was a long silence, the three remaining men looking between each other. Then Jeremiah grinned and Gliridae broke out in giggles. Even Bill managed a smile, before sighing and shaking his head.


    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    ¡°Okay. Fine. Maybe you¡¯re not so bad.¡± He leaned back in the barstool, eyes fluttering shut, but Jeremiah jabbed him in the side. ¡°What the-¡°


    ¡°We should get out of here before Kaia arrives and we get banned for life. Come on. There¡¯s a lot that needs to be done before we deal with the Props.¡±


    ¡°Ah shit,¡± muttered Bill, then pushed himself to his feet. ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re right. Let¡¯s go¡­ where are we going?¡± Jeremiah¡¯s grin widened.


    ¡°Follow me.¡± Turning on his heel, he headed out into the pouring rain.


    **


    Jeremiah stepped into the room. Big Bad Bill Bauble hesitated, then frowned, the frown morphing into a glare when he realised it was only going to be him.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± the enormous man snapped. Jeremiah winced, then raised his hands to show they were empty.


    ¡°I¡¯m just here to check your dressings. That¡¯s all, don¡¯t worry- no funny business.¡± Bill set his shoulders and turned away, but didn¡¯t argue; Jeremiah took this as tacit invitation and stepped forward. ¡°Have you been having any issues, William?¡±


    ¡°Stop.¡±


    Jeremiah froze, and the inmate swung back to face him. ¡°No. No, you don¡¯t get to call me that. Now, I¡¯ll put up with you doing the medical stuff, but you are not a doctor. You¡¯re just another Silver, so don¡¯t get any ideas about anything.¡±


    ¡°What would I get ideas about?¡± shot back Jeremiah. The rhino-man maintained silent eye contact, until eventually Jeremiah threw his hands up. ¡°Fine, okay, sure. Can I check your dressings now?¡± The inmate nodded, and Jeremiah once again stepped forward. ¡°You know Doc Claude is a Silver, though, right?¡±


    ¡°The two of you are not the same,¡± growled Big Bad Bill. Jeremiah rolled his eyes and continued to tend the wounds. For a few minutes, there was silence besides the crinkle of the medical gauze. Then Jeremiah paused.


    ¡°This- is this new?¡±


    Bill glanced at him, then turned away.


    ¡°Have you been picking at it or¡­¡± Jeremiah trailed off, staring at the manacled wrists. No, the inmate couldn¡¯t have managed that. He considered for a long moment, trying to make sense of it. Then the penny dropped.


    He looked up, maybe searching for confirmation, but Bill¡¯s expression had changed to something unreadable. Jeremiah found he couldn¡¯t meet the inmate¡¯s gaze; he returned to the injuries.


    ¡°Is there¡­ is there anything more I should know about?¡±


    ¡°Below my shoulders probably needs another look. It wasn¡¯t you or the doctor who bandaged them up, and I don¡¯t know that they did such a good job.¡± Bill¡¯s voice was rough, and Jeremiah was glad to duck out of sight behind the man. Sure enough, five clean, deep cuts criss-crossed below Bill¡¯s right scapula; they hadn¡¯t been there before. Jeremiah swallowed, unsure how to proceed.


    Well, he knew medically. For once, the medical side was the easy part.


    ¡°Do you want to talk about it?¡± He felt stupid as soon as the words left his mouth; Bill swivelled to face him, with an expression that told him that yeah, that was an idiotic thing to say.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what kind of good cop bullshit you¡¯re playing here, but I won¡¯t fall for it,¡± the inmate growled. ¡°You put some bandages on me and then you leave, understood?¡±


    Unable to think of what else to say, Jeremiah nodded, got through his work as quickly as he could, and made his way to the door. Before opening it, however, he stopped.


    ¡°Doc Claude isn¡¯t going to be able to come in to see you anymore- there¡¯s been an outbreak of Chills on a different floor and we can¡¯t risk transmission. I¡¯m going to be your primary attendant, now.¡± He paused, choosing his words carefully. ¡°I¡¯m not assigned to your case; I wasn¡¯t on the arresting team, and I haven¡¯t heard anything about it. When I¡¯m in here, I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m not a Silver. I¡¯m a medic.¡±


    **


    ¡°Before we head straight into the hornet¡¯s nest, we should pick up some supplies,¡± said Jeremiah. Bill nodded, still listing to one side. His veins were probably more alcohol than blood at this point, and Jeremiah frowned: he wasn¡¯t sure if his friend was ready for this. Hopefully by the time they¡¯d passed through Mac¡¯s, he¡¯d have sobered up some.


    Old Mac almost certainly wasn¡¯t Old Mac¡¯s true name: he dealt with far too many people on either side of the law to tell his given name to just about anyone. Jeremiah had first met him as a Silver, during a pseudo-raid that was more to gain information on the Vantases than due to anything Old Mac had done wrong. Old Mac was always on the right side of the law, his reputation impeccable. Everything he did was legal¡­ technically.


    ¡°Afternoon, Jeremiah,¡± the mechanic said, grinning as they walked in. ¡°You know the drill: wet hats and coats at the door, away from my machinery.¡± The trio acquiesced, hanging their sodden items on an old-fashioned coat rack.


    Old Mac¡¯s grin widened when he caught sight of Bill¡¯s apparatus.


    ¡°Bringing me presents, are we? It¡¯s not even my birthday.¡± The mechanic got up and came over to peer more closely; Bill leaned back, leering down at him suspiciously. ¡°That¡¯s quite a bit of kit your friend has - mechatronics like that don¡¯t come cheaply¡­nor legally, in most instances.¡±


    Jeremiah smiled tightly, not appreciating the insinuation.


    Even if it was correct.


    ¡°Bill¡¯s had his arm for a while,¡± he said, ¡°twice as long as I¡¯ve had my wings. We¡¯ve had... well, a rough few days. We both need a tune up, and I¡¯d like to pick up some medical supplies too.¡±


    Old Mac¡¯s brows knitted together.


    ¡°Medical supplies? Not getting into any trouble I hope, Jeremiah. Silver business? No, you left the Silvers¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m freelancing now,¡± muttered Jeremiah.


    Although the mechanic raised an eyebrow he didn¡¯t press the issue further, turning instead to Gliridae. Looking down, Old Mac gave the musician a benevolent smile.


    ¡°And what can I do for you, young man?¡±


    Bill snorted, and Jeremiah had to push down a laugh of his own. Just in his vest and a white button-down shirt, without the lurid purple hat and jacket, Gliridae looked like he¡¯d slipped out the side gate of a schoolyard. The large fuzzy ears sticking out either side of his face, combined with his diminutive stature, shaved years off; even the sideburns somehow blended into the rest of his hair to make him simply look like a scraggly child.


    Jeremiah expected the smaller man to bristle, but perhaps Gliridae had had enough confrontation for one day; he, too, just smiled tightly.


    ¡°No mechanics on me, sir, but I was wondering if yeh had anything that could cause a distraction?¡± The mechanic waved him to one of the shelves, where a variety of apparatuses sat with neat labels underneath. While Gliridae browsed, Old Mac turned his attention back to Jeremiah and Bill.


    It had been a while since Jeremiah had gotten his wings tuned up, and he had to grit his teeth as the mechanic went in with the pressure cleaner to. The vibrations seemed to reverberate through the rest of his spinal column, and were the physical equivalent of screeching metal, but at least it got the gunk out. While in there, Old Mac also replaced some of the springs and added lubricant to most of the hinges, muttering to himself about the poor upkeep.


    When Jeremiah finally hopped off the chair and stretched the wings out, he couldn¡¯t keep the grin off his face: it had been worth the discomfort, was always worth the discomfort. The machinery felt supple and sharp; barrel rolls and hairpin turns would be so much easier to execute, and even regular flying would be less taxing. The mechanic had also taken the dents out from the gun fight the other day (raising an eyebrow, but thankfully not commenting), and given the whole rig a polish. Jeremiah felt like a shiny, mechanical fairy.


    The price, though, wiped the smile away.


    ¡°That¡¯s a lot more than previous visits,¡± he argued, but Old Mac just shrugged.


    ¡°You needed a lot more than previous visits. Whatever you¡¯re getting up to, it certainly isn¡¯t putting the ¡®free¡¯ in freelance. I¡¯ll tell you what, though, I¡¯ll give your friend a discount if he lets me give his fancy arm a look over. Then he can buy your medical supplies for you. Sound like a plan?¡± Jeremiah glanced over to Bill, who- despite still looking very out of it- shrugged and nodded. The enormous man wriggled out of the apparatus and passed it over.


    It was unusual to see Bill without his kit. The man was ambidextrous, to a degree: his right arm was his strong arm, his punching arm; his left was more nimble, and used for shooting, writing, and anything else requiring fine motor skills. Bill wore the machinery on his right side, where it extended from his scapula, over the arm with a joint at the elbow, and wrapped around his hand and fingers. The setup added (arguably overkill) extra force, increased the speed of his reflexes, and functioned as a low-level armour.


    Jeremiah almost expected to see the arm muscle itself wasting away after years of reliance on the machinery, but if that were the case then it only served as testament to how large the muscles had been originally.


    Bill sat, frowning and glaring into the distance, as Old Mac worked. Jeremiah knew that he didn¡¯t enjoy being without his gear. Not so much due to increased vulnerability- Bill had at least two guns and three knives on him at all times- but more because of the negative associations. As far as Jeremiah was aware, Bill had worn that arm every day since he got it... except for his time in Lockup.


    ¡°Truly remarkable machinery,¡± commented Old Mac, snapping both of them out of their reveries. ¡°Where did you get it?¡±


    ¡°It was a gift,¡± muttered Bill. ¡°A consolation prize for some really shit circumstances.¡±


    The mechanic raised another eyebrow, but wisely didn¡¯t press further. Gliridae, apparently having concluded his perusal of Old Mac¡¯s wares, trotted over and passed Bill a white pill and a small hip flask. Bill raised an eyebrow at the items, then shrugged and knocked both back, shuddering as he did so.


    ¡°What in the hell?¡± he growled. Jeremiah half rose from his seat, ready to intervene if another fight broke out. ¡°What¡­ what was that?¡±


    ¡°Water,¡± said the small man primly, before breaking into giggles at Bill¡¯s furious glare. It was enough to set Jeremiah off to, and even Bill rolled his eyes and smiled.


    ¡°Ok, well warn me next time. I was hoping for coffee¡­ or whisky.¡±


    ¡°Whisky would be counterproductive, since that medication is meant to sober yeh up. I do appreciate yehr trust in me though, that yeh would just accept random pills I hand yeh without question.¡±


    Gliridae darted back away with a grin as Bill tried to process what he¡¯d said. The old rhino dragged a hand down his face, then blinked and shook his head.


    ¡°Well, I¡¯ll be damned,¡± he said to Jeremiah. ¡°I think whatever the mouse gave me is working.¡±


    With Bill sober, there was no need to dawdle at the chop shop. After the discount Old Mac gave Bill, Jeremiah was easily able to cover an emergency medical kit, as well as a few scalpels and a bottle of painkillers. He also bought some extra bullets, which Old Mac was only able to sell through a loophole in the zoning laws. Gliridae paid for the sobering medication, and bought himself two small contraptions with the intent of potentially creating a distraction. Jeremiah had his reservations- he and Bill weren¡¯t exactly known for sneaking, and were usually the most distracting things in the room- but since Gliridae had been on the money with nearly everything else so far, Jeremiah didn¡¯t comment.


    ¡°It¡¯s probably for the best that you don¡¯t put your suit back on,¡± the ex-Silver told the smaller man as they left. ¡°Where we¡¯re going, it¡¯s wisest if the two of us don¡¯t draw too much attention. Let Bill take the lead, you know?¡±


    ¡°Jeremiah, I¡¯ve been accused of many things in my life, but drawing attention is not one of them.¡± There was a bitterness under the joking tone. ¡°But you raise a good point. Bill, what¡¯s the plan?¡±


    They both looked to Bill.


    ¡°We¡¯re going to in and I¡¯m going to talk to Mr Vandemeer. See if he has the folder, see if we can get it from him, and hopefully get my debt squared off too.¡±


    If the situation wasn¡¯t so serious, Jeremiah would have had to laugh at the expression on Gliridae¡¯s face.


    ¡°Ah, yes," the musician said finally. "Because that worked so well with the Mattheses.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fairly certain your last plan was exactly the same- walk in and ask for what you want, just with a bit more bare-faced lying,¡± Bill snapped back.


    ¡°Knock it off, you¡¯re both pretty.¡± Jeremiah was starting to get real tired of their shit, and he made sure to let his irritation show. Then he took a deep breath and sighed. ¡°Look, let¡¯s try it Bill¡¯s way first- it¡¯s a lot safer and a lot more straightforward than sneaking around trying to find the file ourselves. But let¡¯s just¡­ have a backup plan in place. Bill?¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± muttered the old rhino. ¡°If it goes south, we get out safely and then Gliridae can slip back in tonight and retrieve the file. You¡¯ll get an idea of the layout of the place and where Mr Vandemeer¡¯s office is if we go in first. Although¡­¡± Bill stopped, bringing the other two up short. ¡°If they catch you, they won¡¯t just kill you. They¡¯ll torture you first. Or torture you just enough to break your spirits, and then make you do their dirty work. You¡¯ll either be dead, or you''ll never be free of them; not while you live in this city, at least.¡±


    Gliridae grimaced, and glanced at Bill¡¯s arm.


    ¡°Consolation prize for some really shit circumstances?¡±


    Bill didn¡¯t say anything, just strode forward again. Jeremiah and Gliridae followed close behind him, and for the rest of the walk there was silence.

 Chapter 10: Mr Vandemeer always collects his debts

    Over the next few weeks, Jeremiah found himself in an uneasy truce with Big Bad Bill. Every few days, he would stop by the inmate¡¯s cell to change his dressings and check on his injuries. If he didn¡¯t know better, he would say that the wilding had started to like him; if nothing else, the man certainly looked forward to the visits. Jeremiah would give him news of the outside world, or tell him jokes that had appeared in the morning¡¯s comics. Big Bad Bill didn¡¯t say much, but the curses eased off and his anger seemed to be dissipating.


    Jeremiah¡¯s own anger, however, grew with each check in. The bullet holes had long since healed, but fresh wounds kept appearing, and he was finding it harder and harder to bite his tongue. Whenever he discovered these new wounds, he found he couldn¡¯t meet the inmate¡¯s gaze- some combination of rage and shame keeping his eyes pinned to the floor. He started avoiding his coworkers, and most evenings after work found him home alone with a bottle of whisky.


    ¡°Hey, Jeremiah.¡±


    It was a month after Doc Claude had transferred the file, and Jeremiah was ruminating over lunch alone in the cafeteria. Well, he had been alone: Nate Thornson and Micky Bates slid onto the bench across from him.


    ¡°What¡¯s up?¡± asked Jeremiah, dropping his sandwich onto his plate. The two swapped a conspiratorial glance, before Micky leant forward.


    ¡°We know you¡¯re the medic on duty for that murderous rhino,¡± he said, voice low. ¡°We were wondering¡­well¡­¡±


    ¡°Big Bad Bill isn¡¯t talking,¡± Nate cut in. ¡°And the way we see it, it¡¯s probably because Big Bad Bill isn¡¯t hurting. So, we need you to just¡­ skip a few visits. Give him time to stew.¡±


    Jeremiah leaned back, looking between them. Nate seemed relaxed, but Micky was clearly nervous: he was picking at his nails as they spoke, and the movement caught Jeremiah¡¯s eye. On the back of one of Micky¡¯s hands was a small smear of blood, seeping into the cuff of his uniform.


    Jeremiah had to fight to control his breathing.


    ¡°So, what do you say?¡± asked Nate, flashing an easy-going smile. Jeremiah hadn¡¯t realised he was still speaking. ¡°Want to help your coworkers out?¡±


    Jeremiah climbed to his feet and stared down at his coworkers.


    ¡°Big Bad Bill is part of my medical training, and probably the biggest obstacle to my promotion.¡± He was proud that he managed to keep his voice even. ¡°Want to talk about helping your coworkers? Stop trying to break the man that I¡¯m in charge of keeping healthy.¡±


    Not trusting himself to say more, Jeremiah spun on his heel and stalked away. He was barely clear of the cafeteria before he broke into a jog, then a run.


    He had to check in on Bill.


    **


    In his days as a Silver, Jeremiah had done several investigative cases involving the Props; while finding and flushing out individual members tended to be easy enough, the organisation was like a termite mound: deep and many-tunnelled. Stamp out one prop and three more would pop up. They had never managed to find the organisation¡¯s headquarters, nor to put a face to a name that brought shudders to Silvers and criminals alike: Mr Vandemeer.


    So Jeremiah was heartened, if only slightly, to see that one of his hunches at least had been correct: the headquarters that Bill led them to was located near the river, in a cannery that for years had under-produced. Jeremiah had suspected it for most of his time as a Silver, but wouldn¡¯t have the authority to investigate fully until his promotion- the one which hinged on him completing his medical training.


    The one which was derailed.


    ¡°I fucking knew it,¡± he muttered, and Bill chuckled. The enormous man seemed to be in a good mood, despite what he was about to face. Maybe it was the adrenaline; maybe he was hoping to finally get closure. Whatever it was, Jeremiah couldn¡¯t share it: there was a not insignificant chance that they¡¯d all be caught and tortured- or dead- by daybreak.


    The gates were old and rusting save for the barbs at the top, which glinted in the late afternoon sun. Without saying much, the Props were making their priorities abundantly clear. Next to him, Gliridae audibly gulped. Beyond the gates, Jeremiah could see a few guards loitering at the entrance to the cannery; ostensibly dressed as employees, but a second glance was all that was needed to see their uniforms neither fit nor matched one another.


    Jeremiah frowned. While he hadn¡¯t had the authority to launch his own investigation, he¡¯d raised his hunches to the higher-ups on several occasions. Sure, the budget was always tight, but given the amount of resources dealing with violence from the Props lead to he had thought it would be seen as a priority. Not for the first time, he wondered if any of those higher-ups were being paid to look the other way. It was an idea he¡¯d rejected outright as a Silver, but which had grown ever more plausible since he¡¯d left.


    Bill pushed through the gate, and the employees stiffened, but to Jeremiah¡¯s surprise no move was made to block them. Recognition seemed to flash for one of them, and he said something to the other two before disappearing off to the side. The remaining men watched closely, but said nothing as the group passed.


    Jeremiah felt it safe to assume their arrival had been announced.


    The warehouse was mostly open plan, a huge room with a vaulted ceiling filled to nearly bursting with cannery equipment. Metal walkways ran in perpendicular lines at different levels, around copper pipes and old machinery. The whole place smelt musty and faintly of fish, but the few conveyor belts which doggedly chugged along ran empty, of no use beyond maintaining the fa?ade of this being a functioning operation. Jeremiah and Gliridae followed Bill up first one ladder, then another; the ladders screamed, but somehow did not buckle under Bill¡¯s weight. In the levels above, Jeremiah could see more guards- or perhaps just gang members interrupted in their business,  he couldn¡¯t really say- peering down at them. These men also watched silently as they passed.


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    Finally, on the third level they came to an unmarked door set into the far wall. Bill rapped sharply three times, and a voice beyond bade them to enter. The door swung open silently, and swallowing his nerves Jeremiah stepped through.


    The room was plush, a sharp contrast to the dingy warehouse beyond. Wall to wall cream carpet, and a small mat next to the door which Bill carefully wiped his feet on before progressing further into the room. Jeremiah and Gliridae dutifully followed suit. A red satin sofa was pressed against one wall, a dark wood table with more red satin chairs sat in the middle, and a crystal glass chandelier with gleaming gold arms hung from the middle of the room.


    Jeremiah felt a tug at his arm and glanced down.


    ¡°I think I¡¯m underdressed,¡± Gliridae murmured wryly, and it was all Jeremiah could do to suppress a smirk. The room had blitzed past ostentatious and landed firmly in the realm of tacky, but Jeremiah it was sure it was more than his life was worth to say so.


    Seated at the table were three men; Jeremiah recognised one from their altercation in the Fog District previously. From the glare he received, the man also recognised them. The second was a wiry framed man, clearly wilding with some kind of rat- his nose was pointed, his two front teeth long and sharp, and his eyes were two dark beads. He gave Gliridae a cruel smile, and the tiny musician glared back, sideburns fluffing out.


    The last figure was tall and deathly thin, bordering on skeletal. Everything about him was narrow, from the pinched bridge of his nose to his meagre, white blonde eyebrows. He didn¡¯t look human, but Jeremiah wasn¡¯t sure if he was wilding- if he was, it wasn¡¯t any animal that Jeremiah had ever encountered. Delicate finger curled around the narrow neck of a champagne flute, and the man¡¯s upper lip drew back in a vague approximation of a smile at the sight of them. Jeremiah had never seen him before, but the ex-Silver knew immediately.


    This was the dreaded Mr Vandemeer.


    ¡°Big Bad Bill. I won¡¯t do you the disservice of pretending to be surprised.¡± Mr Vandemeer¡¯s voice was soft, barely audible; combined with his appearance, he came across as a man on the brink of death. The words were carefully enunciated, with an accent Jeremiah couldn¡¯t place. Similar to Hightown, but the Hightown of a different city. There was a pause between each word, as though it were a sentence unto itself. ¡°I see you¡¯ve brought the rabble with you.¡±


    ¡°I know it¡¯s been a long time,¡± said Bill, voice heavy. ¡°But we need to talk about a couple of things.¡±


    ¡°Indeed, we do.¡± Mr Vandemeer got to his feet, and it was like watching a telescopic mast unfold: he just kept rising until he towered above Gliridae and then above Jeremiah, finishing a mere half inch below Bill. ¡°Come. Let us talk in my office; there will be privacy there.¡± He gestured to the back of the room, where a spiral staircase led up to a door inset halfway up the room. Like the chandelier, the staircase gleamed gold.


    Bill glanced back, gave a nod to Jeremiah and mouthed stay here before following the spectral man out the room.


    ¡°Feel free to take a seat,¡± sneered the thug from the other night, as the rat man pretended to take a bite in Gliridae¡¯s direction.


    ¡°Here, mousey mousey,¡± he said, and they both snickered. Gliridae¡¯s fists clenched but he spun on his heel and made his way to the sofa. They laughed again as he hopped up, feet dangling well above the floor. ¡°Hey mousey, what are you doing there?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a notebook, you ignoramus,¡± Gliridae snapped. ¡°Not that I expect you to be capable of anything so complex as basic literacy. You can try and read it if you desire?¡± The rat man rolled his eyes and turned back to his drink, already losing interest. Gliridae began to write, pen flying across the page. Frowning, Jeremiah followed to see what he was up to.


    Bill, you¡¯ve let me down. You¡¯ve disappointed me. I thought it couldn¡¯t get worse than when you left


    I¡¯m sorry, sir, I know


    ¡°You can hear them?¡± Jeremiah hissed. Gliridae nodded, not looking up from the page, ears twitching furiously underneath his hat. The ex-Silver leaned back on the sofa and adopted an air of nonchalance as he watched the conversation unfold.


    But to hear that you¡¯re working for the Silvers; it¡¯s more than my old heart can bear. And after all that I¡¯ve done for you


    I¡¯ll repay my debt sir, I will- I just need more time


    You were like a son to me, Bill, I poured my soul into you- and then you discard me, no, you betray me


    Sir, I will repay you. But I can¡¯t live this life anymore. I¡¯ve changed now, I¡¯ve grown. I can¡¯t come back.


    So then why did you come back? Why did you come back to the fighting and the subterfuge- don¡¯t think Lee didn¡¯t tell me about the other night. Do not presume that I don¡¯t know.


    I didn¡¯t presume- I didn¡¯t want to come back. Today is the last day of it. I¡¯m finishing this, and I¡¯m going to pay you back, and then I¡¯m leaving the city.


    Without settling your debt?


    The debt will be settled.


    I want to believe it Bill, but four years I don¡¯t hear from you. Four years I don¡¯t see you. And then you show up today with that Silver in tow, and you¡¯re not here to settle anything. You¡¯re not here to help your old mentor. All you¡¯re here for is


    Gliridae suddenly perked up.


    ¡°The folder,¡± he hissed to Jeremiah. ¡°He¡¯s holding the folder!¡± His ears twitched, and he went back to scribbling.


    From their table, the men glanced over, and Jeremiah and Gliridae both schooled their faces into carefully neutral expressions.


    If this is all you care about- fine. Go on, take it. Take it and get out, and don¡¯t come back until you¡¯re ready to do right by the man- by the people who did so much for you.


    Sir, are you sure?


    Just leave. Go. Before I change my mind.


    The door opened and Gliridae snapped the notebook shut. Bill emerged, looking faintly shellshocked, and held up a manilla envelope with CONFIDENTIAL stamped across it in thick red letters. Jeremiah and Gliridae scrambled to their feet as he made his way down the stairs and followed him to the door.


    ¡°Oh. Bill. One more thing,¡± called Mr Vandemeer as they reached the door. ¡®Called¡¯ was a subjective term: he seemed to regulate his voice to keep it barely audible to whichever distance a person was from him. Bill paused and looked back over his shoulder. ¡°I¡¯ve changed my mind.¡±


    The enormous man stiffened. Then his eyes slid to Jeremiah and Gliridae.


    ¡°Run,¡± was all Bill said, and then the three of them were sprinting as fast as they could down the metal walkway. In seconds, voices began to ring out behind them, above and below, and from the surrounding corridors. Sliding onto a central platform, they found themselves blocked off. The final ladder to the doorway out was to one side, with a Props member rapidly scaling it. The walkway leading to another, small platform was blocked by two men, as was the way behind them. All the props men carried either a sub-machine gun or a pump-action shotgun. Jermiah, Bill and Gliridae skidded to a stop, scanning the room. Gliridae¡¯s ears twitched in the direction they just came.


    ¡°Only five?¡± Bill mimed rolling up his sleeves. ¡°No problem.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be so certain,¡± muttered Gliridae. For the first time since Jeremiah had met him, the tiny musician looked scared. He could hear it now too: a distant thumping that grew louder with every second, and suddenly slammed down before them, snapping one of the cables and leaving the platform swaying dangerously. Rising from the dent he¡¯d left, Lee Rickardson gave them a sharp toothed grin. He was clad from head to toe in mechatronic armour, and towered a full seven feet once upright.


    ¡°I told you you¡¯d regret it.¡±

 Chapter 11: Robot Rumble

    Time seemed to slow down as Jeremiah tried to process what he was staring at.


    The armour Rickardson was wearing was elaborate and high quality, but familiar- the same type of machinery that Bill had wrapped around his arm. It encased Lee¡¯s entire body, extending his limbs and protecting the squishy middle in a mechanical carapace. Metal arched into a helmet around Lee¡¯s head, covering his cheeks, nose and forehead so that only his eyes and filed-down teeth were visible. For a moment, there was silence besides the echo of Lee¡¯s impact throughout the room.


    Then time ratcheted into high speed as Jeremiah¡¯s sympathetic nervous system dumped its entire reserves of adrenaline into his body. Making use of the momentum of the platform, he leapt onto the railing and then launched himself skywards.


    Hopefully Old Mac¡¯s upgrades would give Bill the upper hand, as Jeremiah knew that he and Gliridae stood no chance if they came within punching distance of that thing. Instead, he spread his wings and banked hard left, grinning at the rush in spite of himself. No matter what else was happening, there was always a joy to the movement. He pulled into a sharp climb and reached a decent height above the platform before drawing his guns and surveying the room.


    As he had gone upwards, Gliridae had gone down. The tiny musician threw himself off the platform with all the dexterity of a gymnast; as he somersaulted, he pulled out one of the devices that he¡¯d bought at the mechanics threw it away from himself.


    It detonated in mid-air with a sharp whine, putting out vast billows of thick white smoke. The lower level was quickly filled, and Gliridae and the man on the ladder were lost from view. The two men on the distant platform began firing in the direction Gliridae had been, and Jeremiah took aim while they were distracted.


    ¡°Fucking stop, I¡¯m down here too!¡± yelled a voice from the smoke. Whether it was truly the other Props member or Gliridae, Jeremiah didn¡¯t know, but as the two hesitated Jeremiah shot one cleanly in the hand. The man dropped his gun, clutching the injured appendage close to him and cursing, while the other swivelled and began firing upwards instead.


    ¡°Jeremiah,¡± Bill roared, ¡°they¡¯re fucking Props! Do more than just disarm!¡± There was blood streaming from the enormous man¡¯s nose, and small parts glittered where he¡¯d ripped them from Lee¡¯s suit. As he turned back, the mechatron brought in another blow, which Bill blocked with his mechanical arm; the screeching of metal rang through the warehouse, and then they fell apart again.


    Before Jeremiah could fire on Lee, he was forced to barrel-roll to avoid the onslaught of bullets brought his way by the two Props who had followed them out the of the corridor. He wasn¡¯t quite fast enough, however, and the searing burn of a bullet grazing his right arm had him swearing as he flew. Stabilising himself, he fired a rapid volley back, landing bullets in one man¡¯s knee and right shoulder, and getting the other¡¯s left arm. One dropped his gun and staggered back into the corridor, but the other continued to shoot. Jeremiah grimaced and shot again.


    Red blossomed against the man¡¯s shirt as he fell to his knees, clutching his chest.


    Not wanting to watch someone bleed out, Jeremiah turned his attention back to the men on the second platform. He paused though when he spotted Gliridae, crouched under the platform and clearly speaking with the non-injured man. The injured one had pulled out a handgun and was using his good hand to take aim on the tiny musician, who was nimbly dodging each shot as he talked.


    However, the smoke was beginning to clear, and Jeremiah could see a shape that must have been the final man- the one originally on the ladder- sneaking towards Gliridae. Jeremiah quickly fired three shots in his direction: he wasn¡¯t sure what they hit, but they certainly landed, as the figure crumpled back out of sight.


    That handled, Jeremiah focused on Lee, trying to line up a shot without risking hitting Bill. Distracted as he was, he didn¡¯t notice the movement above until another Prop member slammed into him, sending them both tumbling through the air. Jeremiah¡¯s wings whined as he struggled to right himself, but the man was clung to his back and restricting his range of motion. From the screaming coming over his shoulder, though, there hadn¡¯t been much of a plan, and so Jermiah was able to use the gang member¡¯s panic to his advantage.


    Twisting right shifted the weight of the assailant over enough that Jeremiah could extend his left wing, pulling them both into a hairpin turn that slid the man to the edge of his right wing, fingers scrabbling for grip against the smooth metal. Grimacing at the rapidly approaching ground, Jeremiah spun again, slamming the tip of the wing- and the gang member riding it- into one of the thick metal chains supporting the platforms. Below, Bill and Lee both let out a volley of swears in response to the sudden swinging of the platform; Jeremiah let out his own curses, as the force of the impact rang through his spinal column. All three, however, were drowned out by the yells of the man as he plummeted straight toward the concrete floor, followed by a sickening thud.


    The small part of Jeremiah¡¯s mind that fancied itself an objective bystander chose that moment to remind him just how much Old Mac had cost.


    Banishing the though, Jeremiah pulled up from the dive and turned his attention back to Bill. The man was hunched over, his non-mechanical arm draping strangely, and his mechanical one hissing steam with every movement. In addition to the bloody nose, deep gouges were scored into his bald head where Lee had dragged the mechanical fingers, the skin crumpled like crepe paper and pouring blood. Bill didn¡¯t look like he could last much longer.


    Jeremiah fired once, twice, three times at Lee, and each time the bullet pinged off. He hesitated, not wanting to fire again in case one of the bullets ricocheted into his friend. Glancing back at Gliridae, he saw the other two men take off running before the tiny musician climbed onto the platform, seemingly unscathed. On the ground below, the fog had cleared enough to reveal two motionless figures- Jeremiah¡¯s stomach somersaulted, and he turned away.


    The man he¡¯d shot in the chest was gone- probably dragged to safety by his friend. With urgent medical attention he¡¯d probably survive.


    Probably.


    Pushing the matter to the back of his mind, Jeremiah flew closer to try and spot a weak point in Lee¡¯s armour. For all the beatings Bill had taken, Rickardson looked nearly untouched, with nothing more than a small dent or two in the machinery of the exoskeleton. From the safety of the control pad, the man grinned manically. Close up, Jeremiah was able to hear what they were saying.


    ¡°You¡¯ve no idea how long I¡¯ve wanted to do this, Billy Boy,¡± said Lee, grabbing Bill¡¯s arms and starting to force him back. ¡°You always thought you were untouchable. Well guess what: I¡¯m bigger than you now; I¡¯m stronger than you now; and I¡¯m going to kill you now.¡±


    Unable to listen to any more, Jeremiah flew down and grabbed one of Lee¡¯s arms, trying to yank him back from Bill. With a roar of rage, the mechatron turned, flinging Jeremiah into the railings on the opposite side of the platform. While his wings absorbed most of the impact, it still knocked the air out of him, and hurt like hell to boot. Lying there, the only thing he could think was ouch.


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    The distraction gave Bill an opening, though, and he leapt forward, grabbing the same arm that Jeremiah had gone for. There was a scream of metal, and then Bill grinned triumphantly as he held up the amputated limb. Lee just laughed, however, and then the exoskeleton shifted, changing moving from bipedal to some kind of three legged, mechanical monster before tackling Bill to the ground.


    The two began to roll, trading half strength punches and kicks, neither able to stabilise enough to go with full force. Both were swearing profusely as they went, a litany of words and insults that could have made a sailor blush. Jeremiah pulled himself to his feet, ribs screaming, and spotted his guns a few metres away.


    If he could get close enough to Lee¡­


    Lee and Bill bumped against the far railing, and then suddenly Lee was on top, Bill pinned beneath him, drawing his arm back to deliver a devastating blow. Jeremiah snatched the gun and fired. It ricocheted. Running forward on the platform, he fired again. That ricocheted too. Lee smiled.


    ¡°This is going to be-¡°


    ¡°Hey, dumbass!¡±


    Lee looked up to find Gliridae dangling from the other side of the rails, jacket and bowler hat back in place, barely a foot away from the mechatron. The tiny musician grinned as Lee hesitated. Then quick as lightning, Gliridae snatched the manilla envelope from where Bill had been holding it to his chest and waved it in Lee¡¯s face.


    ¡°Come and get it.¡±


    That said, he dropped from the railings and sprinted towards the exit, one hand clutching the folder as the other held the bowler hat in place.


    Rickardson hesitated a split second, fear and desire warring on his face. Then with a yell he leapt off Bill and took off after Gliridae. As he went he snatched a shotgun from a fallen Prop, taking aim as he ran. The movement made his shot lousy, and Gliridae¡¯s giggles echoed as the smaller man vanished into a corridor.


    ¡°We gotta run,¡± said Jeremiah, darting forward and helping Bill to his feet. His enormous friend nodded, and they began after Lee and Gliridae. A sudden yelp from the latter gave them a final burst of resolve, and coming up behind Bill shoved Lee forward with all his weight. The mechatron fell face first, skidding a solid five metres before reaching a groaning halt. Jeremiah scooped up the shotgun and they continued running.


    Outside it was the dead of night, and the Props guards were gone- where, Jeremiah didn¡¯t care, so long as they weren¡¯t here to bother him. Emerging through the gate, they were re-joined by Gliridae, who had been hiding on the street waiting for them.


    ¡°That bastard shot me in the ass,¡± managed the tiny musician, between gasps for breath. In spite of himself, Jeremiah laughed.


    They ran as far as they could manage, before finding a clean-enough alley and collapsing, groaning and wheezing. As soon as they stopped, Gliridae tucked the manilla envelope into his saxophone case, swearing at the discovery of two more bullets lodged in the instruments metal. The other two couldn¡¯t help but smile at this, though the smiles soon dropped as they fought to catch their breath.


    Once his heartrate stabilised, Jeremiah dug out his medical supplies and began to patch up Bill as best as he could; in the end, he could only clean the wound and stem the bleeding. He¡¯d need proper facilities to manage anything more. Gliridae produced the sanationis tablets he¡¯d pilfered from the Silvers, offering water from his hip flask to help the enormous man wash them down.


    Gliridae¡¯s sole injury was easier to tend to, and his oscillation between outrage and horror at being shot were at least enough to put Bill in better spirits. As for Jeremiah himself, he sterilised his arm, but fortunately the wound wasn¡¯t deep and didn¡¯t require anything more than that. Jeremiah also took a tablet, but Gliridae refused, pulling the face again; the ex-Silver made a note to ask him about that later


    They lay there for a long while, overcome by exhaustion. Bill¡¯s breathing slowed as he slipped into an uneasy sleep, while Jeremiah and Gliridae leaned up against the brick wall and just tried to process what had happened. As the dawn crept across the sky, inky black to lilacs and pinks to dull pastel blue, Jeremiah realised how long he¡¯d been awake. 11am the previous day felt like a lifetime ago¡­


    Eventually, as the clouds snuck in to obscure the midmorning sun, Bill re-awoke and slowly pulled himself upright. Jeremiah passed him the water flask and he took a long drink. They sat there for a while longer, until Gliridae broke the silence.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Bill.¡±


    Both Bill and Jeremiah turned to him in confusion. The tiny man had his knees drawn to his chest, gaze far beyond the alley in which they were sat.


    ¡°There was no talking our way out of that situation. We tried to run but¡­ there was no choice but to fight. There was no other option.¡± He shut his eyes and let his head fall back against the brick. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have said what I said earlier. I didn¡¯t know where you were coming from.¡±


    Bill sighed, a rumbling deep within his chest, then reached out with his good arm and gently placed his hand on the smaller man¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad you said what you said.¡± Gliridae looked up, confusion evident. ¡°It gets to be so normal¡­I needed someone to call me out. To remind me that it¡¯s not.¡± Bill retracted the arm, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. ¡°I cross lines; I forget my own strength; I¡¯m¡­ glad you weren¡¯t afraid to stand up to me. I¡¯m sorry that I reacted how I did.¡±


    Gliridae gave a faint smile, which then broadened, a small giggle forcing its way out. Despite himself, Bill smiled too, shaking his head and leaning against the wall. Jeremiah snorted; he was sure it wouldn¡¯t be the last of their bickering, but hopefully it was the end of their fundamental differences.


    Climbing to their feet, the three of them began the weary trek back to Silver headquarters. Every muscle in Jeremiah ached, and he couldn¡¯t wait until they passed Avery Ward the file, collected their fee and were done with the matter. Forget the excitement: right now, a quiet life as a medic sounded fantastic.


    ¡°Aw, hell,¡± muttered Bill. Out of fog emerged Julie Matthes and two cronies, hands deep in their pockets, stances nonchalant. Jeremiah¡¯s heart dropped, and he forced himself not to look towards Gliridae or the saxophone case.


    ¡°Word on the street is you found Viola,¡± began Julie Matthes, voice light. ¡°How is she?¡± Jeremiah thought of the bloody nose they¡¯d left her with, and he caught Bill¡¯s wince.


    ¡°As well as she can be, given her circumstances,¡± the ex-Silver replied. ¡°But I get the feeling that¡¯s not what you¡¯re here to talk about.¡± He was too tired to be playing games. Julie Matthes smiled.


    ¡°Word on the street is also that you had a run in with the Props.¡±


    ¡°Word sure does travel fast,¡± growled Bill. Her smile widened.


    ¡°Only if you know the right people. It doesn¡¯t look like it went too well for you. I guess for all your big talk, you really are two wash outs and a nobody.¡±


    ¡°The Props didn¡¯t do this to us,¡± said Gliridae, stepping forward. ¡°The Silvers did. I¡¯m sure with all yehr contacts you know that Wellington disappeared and took our commission with him? Though- maybe yeh didn¡¯t need to be told as that was yehr doing.¡±


    Julie Matthes¡¯ smile twisted to a scowl, but Gliridae wasn¡¯t finished.


    ¡°The Silvers offered us double to retrieve the file from the Props, but reneged as soon we got it back to them. Doesn¡¯t matter that we did everything they asked, doesn¡¯t matter that we never so much as peeked: they got their file and they tried to get us sent to Lockup. We barely made it away, so yeah, we¡¯re pretty roughed up.¡±


    ¡°You gave them the file?¡± she repeated in disbelief. ¡°After all this? You just¡­ handed it over?¡±


    ¡°Yes ma¡¯am,¡± replied the man carrying the file.


    ¡°You absolute idiots.¡± Julie Matthes made a twisting motion with her hands, as though imagining wringing their necks. ¡°How? How, after everything¡­. You still have no idea what¡¯s going on, do you?¡±


    The three of them sheepishly shook their heads and she put her face in her hands. Even the men with her raised their eyebrows, incredulous.


    ¡°Fine.¡± She lifted her head again. ¡°Fine. The Silvers double crossed you, so you don¡¯t owe them shit now. Want to get back? The boys and I are planning a little¡­ mayhem tonight.¡± The smile returned: she was clearly excited. ¡°Meet us at Cantankerous at eleven and I can explain the whole thing. Participation in mischief not required¡­ though, once you know I imagine you¡¯ll probably want to join.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll consider it,¡± said Jeremiah flatly, moving to step around her. She stepped in front of him, held his gaze for a long moment, then let him pass.


    ¡°You really ought to know,¡± she called after them. ¡°All three of you really ought to know.¡±


    ¡°What is with these gangs and not leaving us the fuck alone,¡± muttered Gliridae. Bill gave a humourless chuckle.


    ¡°Now you know how I feel.¡±


    ¡°Being menaces is literally their business model,¡± grouched Jeremiah. ¡°Now come on, let¡¯s get the file to Inspector Ward. I want to be done with this whole mess.¡±

 Chapter 12: The fire

    ¡°Chills is nasty,¡± explained one of the other medics when Jeremiah asked. ¡°Pounding migraine, blocked sinuses, usually a cough- the usual physical stuff. But then there¡¯s the cold. For a mild case, patients experience fits of intermittent shivering; up to two hours at a time. Do you know how taxing that is for the body? But in bad cases, patients think they¡¯re experiencing all the worst parts of hypothermia.¡±


    ¡°Think?¡±


    ¡°Patients with Chills usually run a pretty high fever, which we think is what leads to the hallucinations. I had a guy once rip his toe off because he was convinced it was coming off from frostbite. People will do anything to try and get warm; that¡¯s why they¡¯ve got to be monitored. They¡¯re a hazard to themselves and others.¡±


    --


    Avery Ward arched an eyebrow as her gaze raked over the three of them.


    ¡°Well, aren¡¯t you a sight for sore eyes.¡± None of them smiled, and she waved over an underling. ¡°Fetch a medic to come see to them, especially¡­ Mr Bauble here.¡± She smirked at Jeremiah and he glowered back. ¡°Did you get the file?¡±


    Gliridae reached into his saxophone case and wordlessly tossed it onto the desk. Normally immaculate, his clothes were scuffed and his bushy facial hair was smeared with dirt. Dark bags hung under his eyes, and he sat awkwardly in his chair, trying not to put weight on the buttock that had been shot.


    Bill was listing dangerously to one side, skin sallow and clothes crusted with blood. He looked exhausted beyond words, and when the medic entered he shut his eyes and allowed himself to be tended to without so much as a grumble.


    Avery Ward inspected the file and, seeming to find the unbroken tape to her satisfaction, locked it away in a drawer in her desk. From the same keychain, she selected another key and made her way to a filing cabinet, from which she drew three large stacks of cash.


    ¡°As promised: 500 clips each. Now we can put this miserable business behind us.¡± She paused, and once again her eyes raked over them. ¡°I would have expected more jubilation from you. What is it? Is 500 clips no longer good enough?¡± When they didn¡¯t reply, she sighed and sat brusquely back down in her chair. ¡°Come on, have it out: how did you get the file back, start with that?¡±


    Sensing the others¡¯ reluctance, Jeremiah leaned forward.


    ¡°Well it was with the Props, like we thought. And getting it out was¡­ a messy business, but we anticipated that too. But¡­¡± he hesitated, wondering if he should say. But why not? He owed Julie Matthes nothing, and she¡¯d probably killed Wellington. ¡°We were accosted by the Mattheses on the way back. They didn¡¯t know we had the file, but they¡¯d heard we were working for you, and they wanted us¡­ basically, they wanted us to turn on you. Said that they¡¯re going to be out causing havoc tonight, and wanted our help.¡±


    Avery frowned, and nodded, jotting down a few quick notes.


    ¡°And did you agree?¡±


    Before Jeremiah could respond, Bill suddenly started to, brushing the medic off with a small gesture that was enough to send the woman staggering.


    ¡°I need you to arrest Mr Vandemeer.¡± Jeremiah and Gliridae both turned to him in confusion at the non-sequitur, but Avery Ward¡¯s expression remained unchanged. ¡°Surely you must have enough information on him to lock him up for the next fifty years. I know you know what he does. I know you know where he hides. They¡¯re stretched thin at the moment, trying to follow the Mattheses on top of everything else- now is the time to go in and get him.¡±


    The Silver considered him, twirling her pen. She didn¡¯t frown so much as exude an air of irritation at being addressed in this way.


    ¡°Well, yes; we could. However, the Silvers are going to be busy tonight.¡± She gave Jeremiah a sly smile, and he clenched his hands underneath the desk. ¡°We have it on good authority that the Mattheses are going to be¡­ wreaking havoc. Now, perhaps if the three of you could derail their plans, we¡¯d be able to turn our attention elsewhere.¡± She leant back in her seat. ¡°But since Jeremiah never plans on working with us again¡­¡±


    Bill swivelled, once again flinging the medic off him.


    ¡°Jeremiah, please. You and I both know Mr Vandemeer will never let me pay off my debt. My only chance at a good life- a life with Mirabeth- a life where I don¡¯t have to watch my damn back every damn minute of every damn day- is if that man is behind bars. Jeremiah.¡±


    Jeremiah hesitated, worrying his lower lip.


    ¡°Are we just trading one enemy for another? Mr Vandemeer will be locked up, but Julie Matthes will be after us instead. Is that better?¡± he asked his friend.


    ¡°The Mattheses kill those who get on their bad side,¡± murmured Avery Ward. ¡°While the Props will imprison, mutilate or torture you, and then kill you anyway. Personally, I would rather the devil I don¡¯t know in this case. And besides, we can see to Judy Matthes later on. We have enough information on them both for several lifetimes in Lockup.¡±


    Jeremiah looked between her and Bill; Bill stared back imploringly. The ex-Silver sighed and shut his eyes, weighing his options.


    He had the money. He could make good on what he¡¯d said before, walk away¡­ never help the Silvers again. Bury himself in his work, finish his medical training, and wash his hands of the whole matter. It was the smart choice. No more stress; no more threats; no more violence. His own practice: Dr Brahms will see you now.


    He opened his eyes again and looked into Bill¡¯s, and knew he couldn¡¯t do that. He¡¯d always had tunnel vision when it came to his friends; even when it came at others¡¯ expense. Even when it came at his own.


    He sighed and turned back to Avery Ward.


    ¡°And if we distract the Mattheses, you¡¯ll take care of the Props?¡± he asked. She nodded. ¡°Then we¡¯ll do it- I mean, Bill and I will do it. I can¡¯t speak for Gliridae.¡± They all looked to the tiny musician.


    Gliridae seemed to consider for a long moment, before shrugging.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t mind those guys being put away. Julie Matthes at least seems like she could be reasoned with, but I¡¯d rather the Props weren¡¯t out looking for me or anyone I like. They already shot me once,¡± he grinned at this, though the joke was at his own expense. ¡°I¡¯d like to avoid it happening again. I¡¯ll help if yeh want me to.¡±


    Bill smiled, hesitated, and then dragged Gliridae into a crushing hug. Muffled noises of protests emerged from deep within the enormous man¡¯s arms, and Jeremiah was fairly certain he heard several joints crunch. Finally, he let go, and Gliridae re-emerged looking equal parts shocked and outraged. It seemed to suddenly occur to Bill what he had done, because he cleared his throat and looked away.


    ¡°I appreciate that. Mightily. Um. Thanks, Gliridae.¡±


    Avery Ward rolled her eyes.


    ¡°Charming. I assume you have all the information you need to handle the Mattheses?¡± They nodded. ¡°In that case, don¡¯t bother coming back here afterwards. I¡¯d rather not see you again.¡±


    ¡°There is one thing, actually,¡± cut in Bill. ¡°My partner, Mirabeth- I¡¯m worried the Props are going to come looking for me, and that they¡¯re going to find her. Is there any way you can send someone to watch over her, just until Mr Vandemeer and the rest have been caught?¡±


    The Silver pursed her lips, and Jeremiah wondered if she was getting sick of being asked for favours by wildings. After a tense moment, she leaned back in her chair.


    ¡°Fine. We¡¯ll have her brought to the station overnight. She won¡¯t be locked up, don¡¯t worry: we¡¯ll put her in the waiting room. All this this should be done by morning. Is that good enough for you?¡±


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    Bill nodded.


    ¡°Some more ammunition would also be appreciated,¡± added Jeremiah as they rose to leave. She sighed, but called in a lower-level Silver to provide them with the necessary bullets. Conversation apparently over, they were then led back to the medical bay by the by-now very disgruntled medic, who finished tending to Bill¡¯s wounds and checked over Jeremiah¡¯s work on himself and Gliridae. While she was focussed on the enormous man, Jeremiah glanced to his smaller friend.


    ¡°What¡¯s your issue with the sanationis tablets?¡±


    Gliridae grimaced, pulling the bottle out of his pocket and turning it over.


    ¡°There was a wilding, around forty years ago- leporine. Had long ears and rabbit teeth, and was albino too. Well, he was sent to lockup and they found that he had these crazy healing abilities- some extra part of his mutation.¡± The musician paused, looking to Jeremiah. ¡°I¡¯m sure you can guess how they figured that out.¡±


    Jeremiah could.


    ¡°He vanished after that,¡± Gliridae continued. ¡°Just disappeared into the system. But a few years down the line, these little tablets hit the market. They help speed up healing through using two coenzymes that help with protein synthesis. A medical miracle, hey?¡± He offered Jeremiah the bottle. On the label, above the word Sanationis, was a logo of a white rabbit peering out of a magician¡¯s hat.


    ¡°How do you know about this?¡± asked Jeremiah. Gliridae slipped the bottle back into his pocket.


    ¡°I think he was my uncle. It¡¯s hard to say- my grandma wouldn¡¯t talk about it. I don¡¯t even know his name.¡±


    Jeremiah opened his mouth to say- what? Ideally something comforting, but his mind went blank. How do you respond to that?- but was interrupted by the door swinging open.


    ¡°Captain Ward says that you should sleep here, since you¡¯re leaving again tonight,¡± said the Silver at the door. He paused eyes landing on Jeremiah¡¯s wings. ¡°Are you-¡°


    ¡°No,¡± Jeremiah all but snarled, and the man fled. The es-Silver sagged backwards, running a hand down his face. He was exhausted.


    One look at Bill and Gliridae told him they were too, and in tacit agreement they began to shed their outer layers. The medic left soon after, and- too exhausted to talk much further- the group collapsed into the medical room cots.


    It had been two years since he left the Silvers, but at this point Jeremiah was sure the dreams would never end. As his eyes fluttered shut, he could already smell the smoke from the fire, feel the fear of the day creeping at the edge of the consciousness.


    I don¡¯t want he thought, and then sleep overwhelmed him.


    --


    In stories, bad events always took place in the dark of night, under a sheet of pouring rain. In reality, the worst day of Jeremiah¡¯s life began on a warm Thursday in late spring.


    The first sign Jeremiah had that something was wrong was the voices. He was writing notes in his office with the window open, enjoying the gentle breeze which cut through an otherwise humid day. He¡¯d wrapped up a fairly high-profile case the day before, and was putting together the report that would like be presented in his case for promotion. There was yelling in the courtyard, but there often was- the trainers liked to bring the new recruits out there, to train for others¡¯ entertainment. Sighing, Jeremiah closed the window and tried to focus.


    A few minutes later, the voices had intensified so that they could be heard even through the window- or was it down the hall? Climbing to his feet, Jeremiah opened his office door and staggered back as the acrid tang of smoke hit the back of his throat. The penny dropped and he raced from his office, following the voices out into the courtyard. Other Silvers milled, uncertain- had the fire services been notified? Were they coming? Where was the bell ringer?


    Finally, it seemed the bell ringer awoke, and the clanging reverberated through the compound. Run it sounded, runnnnnnnnn.


    Jeremiah stared back at the building he¡¯d just exited, coworkers streaming out. But there were more than just Silvers in that building. Hesitating for only a moment, he found his keys and dashed back in, through a door that led towards the inmates.


    Inside this wing, it was chaos: smoke clouded the air, and the heat made Jeremiah¡¯s skin prickle, sweat immediately beading along his brow. He made his way down the corridor, unlocking the doors he could to let the occupants out. Some fled immediately; others tugged at his arms and his clothes, trying to thank him.


    ¡°Get out,¡± he told them. ¡°You can thank me later.¡±


    One of the hands which grabbed at him turned out to be Reece Orven.


    ¡°What are you doing, man?¡± he yelled over the bell ringer and the rumble in the background. ¡°You¡¯ve got to get out, right now! Wait for the fire services they can help.¡±


    ¡°There are people in there, Reece. People. Chained in place, about to die.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re going to die with them,¡± was Reece¡¯s reply, and he disappeared into the haze.


    The smoke thickened, and the heat grew to be nearly unbearable. The locks were too hot to touch, so Jeremiah resorted to drawing his handgun and shooting his way in. He reached the end of the corridor and turned right, making his way indiscriminately through the maze that was Lockup. His only goal was to get as many people out their cells as possible- he could only hope they found their own way into the courtyard. There was a rumble in the distance, and the ground beneath him shuddered: somewhere a wall had collapsed. Jeremiah bit his lip and pressed on- if the building came down around him, so be it.


    A dozen doors later and he was out of ammo; he¡¯d used most of it in the raid yesterday, hadn¡¯t gotten around to refilling it. Cursing his own short sightedness, he turned to make his way back outside when he realised what section of the building he was in.


    Realised the Bill was chained up three doors down.


    Flipping his gun around in his hand, he used the handle to begin beating the doorknob- to no avail. Inside, he could hear Bill yelling and cursing as he fought to free himself from his chains. Casting the handgun aside, Jeremiah began to throw himself at the door. Again and again, until his shoulder was screaming, and then he changed angles and redoubled his efforts with the opposite shoulder.


    ¡°Jeremiah!¡± Like a spectre from the smoke, Doc Claude appeared. ¡°It¡¯s all collapsing- you need to get out.¡±


    ¡°Bill¡¯s in there!¡± Jeremiah yelled back desperately. Doc Claude stopped, then motioned for Jeremiah to step back; pulling out his own gun, he shot straight through the lock, and the door swung open.


    ¡°Get out, I¡¯ll get Bill.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not-¡°


    Doc Claude rounded on him.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have the keys and you don¡¯t have the strength- not for Bill¡¯s chains. Get out Jeremiah, and leave this to me.


    In the days and weeks which would follow, Jeremiah would replay this moment every time he closed his eyes. He would imagine shaking his head, insisting that the doctor allow him to help. Insisting that the doctor give him the keys and be the one to leave instead. Insisting on any alternative course of action.


    Instead, Jeremiah¡¯s Silver training kicked in.


    ¡°Yes, sir. I¡¯ll see you outside.¡±


    He began to fight his way back towards the exit. Even dropping to his knees, the smoke was choking and the heat unbearable. Struggling to breathe, Jeremiah realised the world was swimming.


    Then there was a rumble, and a crash, and everything went black.


    --


    Jeremiah came to a week later to four bits of news. The first was that he¡¯d received his promotion, not just to captain but to Special Ops. The second was that he¡¯d been approved for a set of bionic wings, in honour of his heroism. The third was that Big Bad Bill Bauble had been granted early release, for saving the life of a Silver.


    And the final was that Doc Claude was dead.


    ¡°You look terrible,¡± said Bill, when he came to visit later that week. ¡°And I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll look even worse when that bandage comes off your face.¡±


    Jeremiah huffed, but the laugh died on his lips. There was a long silence.


    ¡°I wish you¡¯d saved the doctor, instead,¡± he said finally. Bill rocked back on his heels, pink burns still visible on patches of his skin too.


    ¡°I carried you both out. Can¡¯t ask me to do more than that.¡±


    ¡°He shouldn¡¯t have been there,¡± muttered Jeremiah. ¡°It¡¯s my fault he was there.¡±


    ¡°And it¡¯s my fault you were there,¡± snapped Bill. ¡°Ain¡¯t no use in pointing fingers- what¡¯s done is done. It''s a damn shame, though, ''cause men like Doc Claude are rare. You¡¯re not going to find another one anytime soon, especially not one willing to work for the Silvers. But it''s done.¡±


    Jeremiah nodded, forcing back the tears. He¡¯d allowed himself to cry at home, in the dead hours of the night, with nothing but the dark for company; not in this makeshift medbay, where the nurses or the other patients might see.


    Somehow, he wouldn''t have minded if it was just Bill.


    ¡°I just wish I¡¯d had a chance to say goodbye,¡± he said finally, staring at the bedsheets, the walls, anything but meeting Bill¡¯s gaze. ¡°He had so much to teach me- so much to do- and I feel like, if he¡¯d known he was going to die, he could have made sure to tell it to me. At least the salient points. And he could have told me what he wanted me to do for him now that he can¡¯t do it himself.¡±


    There was a long silence, and he finally forced himself to make eye contact.


    ''Big Bad Bill'' Bauble was once again giving him a very strange look: half curious and half sad. Eventually, the enormous man shuffled


    ¡°I¡¯ve lost a lot of people in my time,¡± he said, voice quiet. ¡°Most of them unexpected. More often than not, I don¡¯t get to say goodbye. But most times, you know what they¡¯re going to say. If not in your head, then in your heart and your gut. Think about it; I¡¯m sure you can guess what his ¡®salient points¡¯ would be.¡±


    They didn''t talk much after that; a few minutes later, Bill left.


    That night, Jeremiah found himself unable to sleep, staring at the ceiling and thinking about Doc Claude. Unable to fight the tears, the least he could do was cry silently.


    Bill was right: he knew what the doctor would say to him if he could, had known it for months in everything but his head. But he¡¯d been ignoring that fact: it would change everything, and he liked things unchanged. He''d liked his life.


    Now, he couldn¡¯t push these thoughts back any longer. Like waking up and discovering that your clothes were made from skin, Jeremiah had an awareness now that he couldn¡¯t turn off and he couldn¡¯t ignore. Things that had used to seem routine, comfortable, were now jarring to him. Like the stiff cloth of his uniform, his whole life seemed to chafe. Everything would have to change.


    Jereimah was able to receive his wings while convalescing from the fire: the metal jointing went straight into his back between his shoulder blades, cutting away what would have been scar tissue anyway. It took four months to be released, and another three to receive the all-clear from the medical team. That day, he handed in his resignation and made his way down to the Boiler Room. In the centre table sat a familiar figure.


    ¡°First round is on me,¡± said Bill. ¡°But only because your face is a mess.¡±

 Chapter 13: The calm before the storm

    Jeremiah woke to a hard jab in the side, and in one rapid movement had Gliridae pinned to the ground with his arm behind his back.


    ¡°Get off, get off!¡± struggled the smaller man. Jeremiah winced when he realised what he¡¯d done and climbed to his feet, sheepish. ¡°Man, I thought Bill would be the dangerous one to rouse. Who hurt yeh, bud?¡± At Jeremiah¡¯s flat look, he grinned and jumped up. ¡°Anyway, clock¡¯s a ticking, and we should get moving soon. Bill¡¯s¡­ wife? Girlfriend? Lady person is here, one room over and ready to give him the tongue lashing of his life when he wakes up, so I vote we hustle him out of here as quickly as possible. If that¡¯s how you react to being woken up though, I¡¯m going to have to leave yeh to deal with the rhino.¡±


    This said, the tiny musician trotted away.


    Jeremiah realised, watching him, that somehow Gliridae had found fresh clothes- at least, his jacket and hat were back in place and his button down was clean. He frowned, trying to make sense of it, then shook his head and instead turned his attention to Bill.


    ¡°Aw heck,¡± said the larger man on hearing of Mirabeth¡¯s ire. ¡°I should go talk to her- it¡¯ll be okay, two minutes, tops. I swear.¡± He headed out the room, and within twenty seconds a verbal torrent erupted from the next room over, occasionally punctuated by Bill¡¯s deep rumblings. ¡°Please, I¡¯ll explain everything in the morning. Just stay here- will you do it for me?¡±


    Through the cracked door, Jeremiah saw Mirabeth embrace the enormous man; she was a towering woman, nearly as tall as him, but slender enough that she all but disappeared into his arms. Bill¡¯s face showed such anguish, Jeremiah had to look away; he felt ashamed for having seen it at all.


    He¡¯d never quite managed to wrap his head around Bill and Mirabeth¡¯s relationship- their intense love for each other seemingly barely balanced by frustration at the other¡¯s way of being- but it touched something deep within. He¡¯d never had someone to crawl home to in the early hours of the morning; never had someone to make coffee for, nor to exchange sleepy smiles with. Part of him envied Bill, longed for it as an extension of himself, while another part flinched away. Disgust? Fear?


    A deep-rooted conviction that nothing good could come of anyone having faith in him?


    ¡°Pros and cons,¡± said Gliridae softly. Jeremiah startled- he hadn¡¯t heard the tiny man approach. ¡°You and I don¡¯t have anyone to worry about; we also don¡¯t have anyone to lose.¡±


    ¡°Is that better?¡± asked Jeremiah. Gliridae shrugged.


    ¡°Pros and cons is all I¡¯m saying. Every silver lining has a cloud.¡±


    Bill left with a final hug, and then the three of them- kitted out with a combination of medical gauze, adrenaline tablets, and enough ammunition to take out half the city- stepped into the evening air. They were able to take the tram most of the way, packed in among the last of the commuters.


    Jeremiah hadn¡¯t been on the tram in years- not counting the fight on its roof just a few days before- and found it touched the same yearning within him that watching Bill with Mirabeth had. There was a stability to his old life that he had been missing- a routine, a reliable income, a solid place in the world¡­ but he shouldn¡¯t go down that rabbit hole. Not now; that was for once this was finished, with a tumbler of whisky and all the time in the world.


    Instead, he distracted himself studying the ads above the windows; like everywhere else in the city, they were mostly for the train project. These ones showed a map of the cities that lay close to Boravica, and diagrams of how the machinery was designed to fight through the dense jungle between them. Artistic renderings showed the eventual goal, of roads linking them all in a chain.


    ¡°I still don¡¯t understand why this is better than the river,¡± a woman in a pencil skirt said, nodding to the posters. The man with her- a coworker, perhaps- shrugged.


    ¡°It¡¯s meant to be good for the economy. I¡¯ve heard there might be iron deposits out there, maybe that¡¯s what they¡¯re looking for.¡±


    ¡°Well then why not say that?¡±


    ¡°This is us,¡± said Gliridae, breaking Jeremiah¡¯s focus and drowning the man¡¯s response. They squeezed out of the train, Bill only knocking two people down in the process.


    The walk to Cantankerous was brisk and silent, all lost in their own thoughts. Unlike before, the bar was dark, with only a single candle glinting through the window to show there was anyone inside at all. There was a small group inside, spread through the room, but in the centre sat the woman they were looking for. Julie Matthes smiled at the sight of them.


    ¡°I knew you would come.¡±


    Bill growled but managed to bite back whatever reply he¡¯d had waiting as the three of them slipped into the offered chairs. Julie was opposite them, a man stood at either shoulder; Jeremiah recognised the one on her left as the bartender they¡¯d encountered previously. Gliridae gave a sheepish half-grin.


    ¡°Hey, Eddie; sorry about the other night. No hurt feelings, right?¡±


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    ¡°Have we met?¡± asked Eddie.


    Jeremiah didn¡¯t miss the irritation that flashed across Gliridae¡¯s face, but before the conversation could go any further the young man at Julie Matthes¡¯s other shoulder leaned forward.


    ¡°You the guy that got my father put away?¡± he said, glaring at Bill.


    ¡°Easy now, Junior,¡± said Julie Matthes, voice low and dangerously saccharine. ¡°Mistakes were made by all parties. Isn¡¯t that right?¡± She levelled her gaze back at them.


    ¡°I can¡¯t think of any on our end,¡± bit back Gliridae, and Jeremiah fought the urge to kick him under the table. The musician¡¯s ego would be the death of them.


    ¡°You will once you¡¯ve read this.¡± Julie Matthes pulled out a manilla envelope, similar to the one they¡¯d given over to Avery Ward not five hours before, and slid it across the table to them. ¡°You must be curious. Well, you¡¯re in luck: I¡¯m giving you full permission to read it¡­ no threats of incarceration on our end. Unlike some groups, we have morals.¡±


    Jeremiah glanced to Gliridae, who crossed his arms and turned away. He glanced to Bill, who shrugged but didn¡¯t move. Someone had to play along. He swallowed down a sigh and met Julie Matthes¡¯ gaze.


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ll read it.¡±


    The folder was a jumble, half of it official documents and half of chicken scratch diagrams and scrawled explanations. The official documents were all from the past few months, and were mostly addressed to Viola Crest, though there were a few of Douglas Scapper¡¯s too. The other sheets were undated, but it was clearly written by different hands. The non-official pages were clearly written by different hands, and the information was out of order, haphazard, and- going by the presence of several large red question marks- incomplete.


    However, it still didn¡¯t compare to the worst of the new-recruit reports.


    ¡°Where¡¯d you get it?¡± asked Bill as Jeremiah leafed through pages.


    ¡°Braum Wellington is a tight-lipped little bitch, but we got him to squeal eventually.¡±


    Following communication with Mayor Cray on the low interest for volunteers for The Continental Rail project, Police Chief Grayson has suggested that inmates at Our Lady of Silver, Blessed Be, Holding Quarters For The Soon To Be Reformed should be incentivised with early release for this civic duty...


    ¡­tell the Police Chief that it¡¯ll be a cold day in hell before I let my train be run by a load of criminals. Millions of clips poured into this and what, there¡¯s no money for salaries? Plumb the depths of Lowtown, they¡¯d work for a clip a day if you offered it to them¡­


    ¡­the council believes that this project will dovetail with the renewed efforts by Mayor Cray to reduce dangerous overcrowding certain slum areas¡­


    Jeremiah frowned as Bill and Julie Matthes continued to snip back and forth at each other. Gliridae was stealing glances over and pretending not to, each glance lasting longer as his eyes scanned the words.


    ¡°Braum Wellington was our benefactor and owes us 300 clips; if you killed him, his debt passes along to you.¡±


    ¡­start with the Lowtown slums- debtors prison- prioritise wildings - they have special abilities which would make them better suited, ¨C official position is that they¡¯re all volunteers¡­


    ¡°Considering you¡¯re pocketing coin from the Silvers, I feel no obligation on that front.¡±


    ¡­naturally, there is concern that if the wilding population were to find to find out there would be widespread unrest, if not full blown riots¡­


    ¡­Grayson planned to agitate the gangs in the lead up to the unveiling, but then the unveiling kept getting pushed back¡­


    ¡°Bill, shut up and take a look at this,¡± muttered Jeremiah. The enormous man blinked but leaned over. Jeremiah started passing him choice sheets, scanning through them as fast as he could, trying to make sense of what he was reading.


    ¡°Those bastards,¡± breathed Gliridae, snatching a page from the pile. He looked as though he might throw up. ¡°They- they-¡°


    ¡°Yes,¡± said Julie Matthes. ¡°They¡¯re planning to kidnap wildings and force them into the wilderness.¡± She leaned back, watching them race through the pages in front of them. ¡°It¡¯s dangerous, pointless work; everybody knows it, that¡¯s why no other cities have tried for the past hundred years.¡±


    Jeremiah reached the end of the folder, sliding the rest to Bill and Gliridae and trying to understand what he¡¯d seen.


    ¡°But why?¡± he asked. Julie Matthes shook her head.


    ¡°Midtowners aren¡¯t happy in Midtown. They want more access to fresh air, to sunlight. So, the city needs to clear the space for more fresh air and sunlight. Roads and trade with other cities is just a bonus- a feather in the council¡¯s cap. Once the wildings have done the difficult part, they¡¯ll begin their colonisation inland- but how many will have to die in the process?¡± She stopped for a moment, staring down at the sheets strewn across the table. ¡°Not that it seems to matter to those in charge. Wildings are expendable as far as they¡¯re concerned.¡±


    ¡°According to this, we¡¯re more than expendable- doing this is a form of pest control.¡± Gliridae seemed to be using all his self-control not to tear the page in front of him into a million tiny pieces. Julie Matthes gave him a tight-lipped smile, which softened into a look of pity. She continued.


    ¡°We¡¯ve known about this for months, ever since Viola first got wind of what was going on. I did actually know her from when we were children- that part wasn¡¯t a lie. I was the only one she felt safe telling, as I already exist outside of the law. We had it all planned out: she was going to bring me the file, and we were going to make copies to distribute it right through the city of Boravica.¡± Her hands clenched into fists. ¡°But those idiots at the Props got wind of what we were up to and grabbed her before we ever got our chance. They didn¡¯t even know what they had in their hands, and then they gave it over to you, and you waltzed away and handed it right back to the Silvers.¡±


    She paused, tossing her hair back from her face and taking a moment to compose herself.


    ¡°But never mind. Because now¡¯s your chance to make amends. The train is being unveiled next week: Viola was getting it delayed as much as possible, interfering where she could, but without her we didn¡¯t have anyone on the inside. So me and the boys will be going to the Foundry, and one way or another creating as much havoc as possible. I want to buy time to warn people of what¡¯s coming.¡±


    She paused again, eyeing all three of them.


    ¡°If you¡¯re too queasy for this, fine- go home. Tuck yourself in and pray the big scary Silvers don¡¯t come for you in the night. But if you have so much as a single thought for your fellow citizens rattling around those empty skulls of yours, come with. It¡¯ll be dangerous, but it¡¯ll be worth it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m in,¡± said Jeremiah, without hesitation.


    ¡°Same,¡± followed Bill. ¡°I reckon I¡¯m top of their list for ¡®recruitment¡¯: it¡¯s fight now or fight later.¡± They both turned to Gliridae, who deliberately put the sheet back on the table before grinning. The flickering candlelight glinted off his strange teeth, making him look manic.


    ¡°Let¡¯s burn this city to the ground.¡±

 Chapter 14: The belly of the beast

    Julie Matthes lead them to a narrow alley on the far side of Sterling, the oldest portion of the city. The jewels and marvels of the modern world had yet to reach this area; or if they had, they¡¯d been rejected by the residents who favoured the traditional over the new. The buildings were squat, mostly reclaimed timber from the port, with small windows and narrow streets lit by gas lamps, if they were lit at all. She stopped them halfway down the alley, in front of an oak door deadbolted shut.


    ¡°Is there a reason we¡¯re about as far away from the Foundry as it¡¯s possible to be?¡± asked Bill.


    They formed a suspicious huddle and Jeremiah glanced around, nervous of any onlookers. It didn¡¯t matter that it was late: even if you couldn¡¯t see anyone, the City itself was always watching. In addition to him and his friends, there was Julie Matthes, Junior, Eddie, and two other props members: a tall, sallow faced man with limbs that looked like someone had been putting off eating their leftovers for the past six years; and a brunette woman with a round face and large, owlish eyes. The man had introduced himself as Gizmo, but everyone seemed to call him Giz. The woman was Fara.


    ¡°The Foundry has been expanded several times over the past few decades, as the city¡¯s hunger for technology grows,¡± said Julie Matthes, resting a hand against the worn brick. ¡°Part of this expansion led them into the ruins of Ewark.¡±


    Gliridae perked up, pushing forward to inspect the door.


    ¡°The city before the city. It¡¯s part of the reason there¡¯s a height limit on most buildings- the ground is as porous as cheese. They say the tunnels run right through the ground beneath Boravica.¡±


    ¡°They also say the tunnels form a level of Lowtown most people wouldn¡¯t want to see,¡± rumbled Bill, but the smaller man just rolled his eyes.


    ¡°Old wives tales- they don¡¯t want people getting lost down there. Apparently it¡¯s a maze- I assume you have a map?¡± He swivelled to peer up at Julie Matthes.


    ¡°A map would be necessary, yes¡­¡± she smirked. ¡°Unless you find the plan for the old high street, which ran a straight line from north to south.¡±


    Jeremiah turned his gaze to the horizon.


    ¡°South would be the Foundry. Due north from there would be¡­¡± he grinned. ¡°Right between our feet.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s smart,¡± said Gliridae, ¡°but how do we get in? This padlock is the size of my head, and I don¡¯t suppose yeh¡¯ve got a key.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± said Bill, pulling the tiny man back, ¡°but you do have a rhino.¡± Drawing his mechanical arm back, he punched through the door with one clean blow. It flew off its hinges and skidded several meters down the corridor behind it, the sound cracking through the air like a whip. For a long moment, there was nothing but the echoes of the impact and the settling of the dust. Then Bill bent down and stepped inside, looking exceptionally pleased with himself.


    Even Julie Matthes seemed impressed.


    One by one, they made their way into the tunnel. At first, only Gliridae could walk straight, but soon it grew so that even Bill could stand to full height, and then beyond, so their lamplight didn¡¯t reach the ceiling. After a few hundred meters it widened too, into maybe a room or some kind of cavern, and the brick gave way to smooth grey stone which glistened wetly in the candlelight.


    Though they had a half dozen candles, there were only two lamp holders: Bill at the front and Giz in the rear. Jeremiah found himself in the middle with Julie Matthes and took the chance to study her.


    She was probably the same age as he was- certainly not more than a few years older or younger- and about the same height, with two pink scars running lengthwise down one side of her neck. She¡¯d shed the business casual she was wearing last time they met for loose, athletic clothing; combined with the look of concentration on her face-


    ¡°I would have thought you¡¯d know how to stare discretely,¡± she murmured, not even bothering to look his way.


    ¡°I was thinking you could have been a Silver in another life,¡± he murmured back. Now she did look, eyes narrowing. ¡°You and Miss Ward would have been a formidable pair.


    ¡°I could never have been a Silver; I have principles.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re all gangs, right? Which one you want to work with is just a matter of what you grew up with. In another life you could have been a Prop.¡±


    She relaxed slightly, but the frown remained.


    ¡°My mother started the Mattheses twenty-some years back because for a lot of people there were no good options. The Props, the Silvers, the Vantases, they¡¯re all the same. They¡¯re all no good.¡±


    ¡°So, you¡¯d describe your organisation as an ethical gang?¡± asked Jeremiah. She shrugged.


    ¡°I¡¯d say we have a net positive effect on the city¡­ even if officials like to block the public from seeing it. All that¡¯s going to be in the newspapers tomorrow will be ¡®Foundry vandalised by gang members;¡¯ ¡®Gang delays intercontinental rail project¡¯; ¡®This is why we need to be tough on crime¡¯. But you know why we¡¯re doing this- hell, you¡¯re here to help.¡± She opened her mouth to continue, but paused. ¡°Do you hear that?¡±


    Every few seconds, from the darkness above, came a soft sound: like a hundred bored teenagers drumming their fingers against the desk at school; or maybe a hundred failed attempts to snap the fingers. It was a strange noise, and on either side of them the group was peering upwards trying to figure out where it was coming from.


    ¡°Nope, I don¡¯t like that,¡± Jeremiah heard Gliridae mutter. ¡°I don¡¯t like that one bit.¡±


    A rumble echoed ahead of them, and Bill started forward to investigate. Jeremiah followed, as did Julie Matthes, but the there was a yell from behind, and the back of the line was plunged into darkness. He raced back, Bill close behind, to find a shocked Gliridae, Eddie and Fara. Giz had vanished, the extinguished lantern laying in the middle of the path the only sign of him.


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    ¡°Get it going again,¡± ordered Jeremiah. Fara pulled out a new candle, lit it from Bills and put it in; the glimmering light didn¡¯t reach far, and Julie Matthes pulled out a lantern cover to focus the light into a narrow beam. Fara swivelled it around.


    Beyond the path they¡¯d been walking, squat ruins rose from the crumbled stone ground. Some were half collapsed, others teetered on the brink of it. In the doorway to one lay a body.


    ¡°Gizmo!¡± yelled Eddy, as Fara and Gliridae ran over. Gliridae pressed his head to the man¡¯s chest, then gave Jeremiah a thumbs up, before frowning and inspecting the body closer. His hands came away scarlet.


    The pattering started again, and they all looked to the ceiling nervously. Bill placed a beam focuser on his own lamp and swung it up and around, trying to spot whatever was stalking them. A few dozen meters ahead the path cracked, leaving a ravine maybe a dozen meters wide, but who knew how deep.


    There was a sudden flurry of movement, and Jeremiah just caught an enormous shape bursting from the dark when Bill yelled and his lantern went out. Fara aimed her beam of light back at them and Bill staggered back to Jeremiah and Julie Matthes, who frantically scrabbled to light another candle.


    ¡°What in the hell is that?¡± panted Bill. There was a deep scratch starting on his neck and tearing into the top of his shirt, and even in the dim light Jeremiah could see spots of blood blooming from his chests and sides. From the corner of his eye Jeremiah caught a flicker, and then a rush of flames illuminated the tunnel they were walking in.


    From its perch on the ceiling, the giant millipede screamed and scuttled, diving into the ravine.


    ¡°Holy hell,¡± breathed Bill, as Julie Matthes swore profusely. Jeremiah felt sick: he couldn¡¯t say for sure, but for a brief moment he¡¯d thought he¡¯d seen a face, an actual, human face, on the creature¡¯s underside.


    Gliridae jogged over, carrying three flaming planks; behind him, the hut where Gizmo and Fara remained was ablaze, Fara dragging Eddy to just beyond reach of the flames. The tiny musician grinned.


    ¡°Centuries old dry timber, hey- sure does go up a treat.¡± He passed them the planks, looking very pleased with himself. ¡°Gizmo¡¯s not looking great but it¡¯s also not life threatening. He¡¯s got a few punctures in him, nothing our good medic can¡¯t stitch up; and I figure that our leggy friend down there just really doesn¡¯t like light, so if we can get past his domain with all this fire then we should be in the clear.¡±


    ¡°We need to kill that sucker,¡± said Bill, and Gliridae¡¯s grin vanished. Julie Matthes nodded.


    ¡°I¡¯m not continuing on worrying that that¡­ thing could be following right behind us, waiting for the right moment to attack.¡±


    Gliridae looked between the two of them, then turned to Jeremiah.


    ¡°Yeh¡­ it¡¯s not a thing, it¡¯s a person. It¡¯s a wilding. Yeh know that right? Yeh saw that- we¡¯re talking about- about murdering someone.¡± Gliridae¡¯s voice was hollow, shaking at the end.


    ¡°Whatever it used to be, it¡¯s not human anymore,¡± Julie Matthes cut in before Jeremiah could respond. ¡°And it attacked us first- it tried to kill Gizmo.¡±


    ¡°Because we¡¯re trespassing! Because it¡¯s scared, and it doesn¡¯t like the light, and¡­¡± Gliridae trailed off, seeming to realise that he didn¡¯t have a chance of swaying them. Jeremiah placed a hand gently on his shoulder, then passed him a small first aid kit.


    ¡°You go take care of Eddy; send Fara back over here, and then wait until we¡¯re done. Okay?¡±


    Gliridae nodded, pressed the first aid kit close to his chest, and headed back to the flaming hut.


    ¡°Go keep an eye on him,¡± Julie Matthes told Junior. He hesitated and she arched an eyebrow. ¡°You heard me: someone needs to make sure the mouse isn¡¯t caught.¡± He followed after and Julie caught Jeremiah¡¯s questioning look. ¡°The kid is seventeen, okay, excuse me not wanting him dead while he¡¯s in my care.¡±


    A moment later, Fara jogged over, looking equal parts bemused and concerned.


    ¡°Where on Earth did you find that man?¡± she asked, looking back to Gliridae.


    Jeremiah didn¡¯t bother to respond, turning to face the ravine. He planted his flaming plank firmly in the ground, and then drew his handguns. Julie Matthes did the same, except instead of handguns she pulled out a small shotgun. Fara carried a rifle, Eddie also had handguns, and Bill¡¯s motorised arm whirred to life and clicked into place as he braced to punch.


    Taking a deep breath, Jeremiah stepped forward.


    Quick as a flash, the creature leapt out, wrapping itself around him and pulling him into the void. Every half dozen legs or so were pincers, which scrabbled for purchase against his wings. He managed to wrestle himself loose, catching only a scratch to one of his arms, and went into free fall. Activating his wings he twisted into a barrel-roll, shooting a volley of bullets in the general direction of the creature.


    From the high-pitched screech, at least one of them landed. The sound of his own shots mixed with those of the others, who had seized the opportunity as soon as he was away from it. Most distinctive was the shotgun, with a double shot followed by a few seconds silence that seemed to ring louder than the discharges themselves.


    Pulling up from his dive, he flew up above the line of the ravine, pivoting to look back to where the creature had been; it was gone. The others blinked up at him, confusion also clear in their faces, and then as their eyes widened something slammed into him from behind. This time they were in the light, and as he tumbled he found himself face to face with whatever¡­ or whoever¡­ the creature used to be.


    The face was awful: skin as dry and flaky as parchment, bleached to dull grey from who only knew how long below ground. The area around the eyes was shrivelled, leaving two black holes that could have been enormous pupils or empty space, Jeremiah couldn¡¯t tell. The mouth opened, and a piercing scream erupted.


    They hit the ground hard, and the creature scrambled off as the volley of gunshots began anew. For a long moment Jeremiah lay there winded, trying to catch his breath, his thoughts scrambled from the impact and the echoing of the guns; then suddenly there was a pair of hands on him, and Bill was hauling him upright.


    ¡°Jeremiah, are you okay?¡± asked his friend. Jeremiah nodded, wincing from the sudden movement.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to bruise, but nothing feels broken.¡±


    Bill passed him his guns, which he must have dropped at some point, and they turned to the writhing millipede. It looked maybe 5 metres long stretched out, but Julie Matthes was sprinting down the length of its back whacking it with the flaming torches as it twisted and curled beneath her. Her shotgun lay to one side, bent nearly double. On the other side, Fara and Eddy were still firing.


    The creature gave a final scream, and galloped back towards the ravine- right between the two of them. Fara managed to jump back, but Eddy was knocked by one of the shining black segments and stumbled. Losing his footing, he seemed to wobble in slow motion on the edge, before tumbling in.


    ¡°Shit!¡± Jeremiah sprinted to the spot, unfurling his wings as he did, and dived after. Within twenty or so metres, though, the light was ran out and he was surrounded by inky blackness. Swooping up, he snatched a candle, determined to try again. Bill grabbed him before he could do so.


    They waited for three, four, five long seconds; then from the depths of the ravine, he heard a faint thud.


    There was no surviving that. Jeremiah folded his wings away and tried to breathe.


    ¡°It¡¯s not your fault,¡± Bill said, voice low. ¡°There was nothing you could do.¡±


    A little way away, Fara was crying, and Julie Matthes wrapped her into a tight embrace. Gliridae and Junior rejoined the group, Junior carrying Gizmo¡¯s limp figure bridal style. The tiny musician looked shellshocked, staring at the ravine like it might swallow him too.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never seen someone die before,¡± he said, voice barely above a whisper. Bill shook his head and turned away.


    ¡°You never get used to it.¡±

 Chapter 15: Gliridae? Leave the saxophone

    ¡°I can¡¯t do this,¡± said Fara, voice shaky. ¡°I thought we were just going to do some damage, I didn¡¯t sign up for¡­ for caves and tunnels and evil giant bug creatures. And Eddy¡­¡± she trailed off, then moved to take Gizmo¡¯s limp form from Gliridae. ¡°I¡¯m heading back; carry on without me if you want but I can¡¯t do this.¡±


    Julie Matthes nodded and motioned for her to go. They stared into the blackness of the ravine, watching for any movement, as her footsteps echoed back up the passageway. Beyond that, it was silent, the dying embers of Gliridae¡¯s fires bathing the space in a golden glow.


    ¡°We should press on,¡± Jeremiah said finally. ¡°We need to move if we want to get there before morning, and if we want to get out of here before whatever it is comes back for round two. Let¡¯s figure out a way across, as I can¡¯t carry all of you.¡±


    After a few minutes of searching, they managed to find an ancient column of wood just long enough to lay over the ravine. Gliridae went first, dancing lightly across. Julie Matthes went next, careful with each step, followed by Junior, who dropped to all fours at the halfway mark and crawled the rest of the way. Jeremiah flew to the other side: he wasn¡¯t normally afraid of heights, but he refused to look down as crossed.


    Bill looked queasy at the sight.


    ¡°It¡¯s solid stuff, don¡¯t worry,¡± Julie Matthes tried to reassure him. ¡°You just need to move quickly¡­ and try not to slip¡­¡±


    Jeremiah didn¡¯t blame his friend for not looking convinced. Gliridae trotted to the edge of the ravine, carrying a length of rope- where did he get rope?- and tossed it to the other side.


    ¡°I¡¯ve tied this around a stone back there,¡± called the tiny musician. ¡°Knot it around your waist- it¡¯ll keep you safe if you fall.¡± Bill nodded and complied, and then carefully got onto the column. ¡°Remember- quickly, but also stable. There¡¯s no point rushing if it¡¯ll make you lose your footing.¡± Bill nodded again, and squared his shoulders before walking across, jaw clenched so tight Jeremiah could see the tendons straining in his neck. The wood creaked and groaned beneath him, but he made it to the other side and sagged in relief.


    ¡°Where did you get rope?¡± Julie Matthes quietly asked the smaller man as Bill quickly forged ahead, seemingly embarrassed at his earlier fear.


    ¡°I found it in one of the huts- it¡¯s probably a hundred years old and rotted through,¡± Gliridae murmured back, ¡°but it got the job done. Don¡¯t tell him though- I like my head on my shoulders.¡± Julie Matthes blinked at him and shook her head, but she was smiling.


    They continued in silence for what felt like another hour, or just over. In the gloom of the tunnel there was no way to tell. At first, they were on high alert for any sounds coming from behind; but as time went on, they dropped their guards. Jeremiah caught Gliridae rubbing at his eyes a few times, and though the tiny musician tried to shrug and turn away he was clearly still shaken- whether at Eddy¡¯s death or at the creature, he couldn¡¯t say.


    Jeremiah was shaken too: it had been years since he¡¯d seen someone die like that, and it left a hollow pit of nerves and remorse at the bottom of his stomach. His previous eagerness was seeping away; this no longer seemed like a fun excursion to cause some mayhem. This was real and dangerous and even if they survived the night, they might find themselves in Lockup come morning. He was regretting his jauntiness earlier that evening: perhaps they should have considered more seriously what they were signing up for.


    Then he looked again at Gliridae, and ahead to Bill, and sighed; there was no way he could have walked away from this.


    Finally, the tunnel started to slope up. The stone was replaced by red brick, and they could hear noises above them and in the distance. Boxes and barrels began to appear, as did heaps of junk: clearly this was used as overflow storage. Then they turned a corner and the tunnel ended abruptly; a small wooden door was embedded in the wall, light pooling out underneath. They stopped.


    ¡°We¡¯re on the lowest floor,¡± murmured Junior, pulling out a scrap of paper. The map on it was produced seemingly under great duress, drawn in blue and green crayon. Still, it was enough to get an idea of the layout of the place. ¡°Problem is, to get where we¡¯re going there are a couple of doors which require authentication to get through- either keys or employee ID.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re directly below Braum Wellington¡¯s office,¡± said Jeremiah, peering at the diagram. ¡°Perhaps we can find the necessary items in there?¡± The group paused, glancing at each other, then Julie Matthes nodded.


    ¡°It¡¯s worth a shot. This side of the building should be quiet until morning, but the forge itself will be busy; we might want to avoid it entirely. If we can destroy or pocket any of the documents in Wellington¡¯s office, that could be a big help. Gliridae?¡± The smaller man turned to her. ¡°Leave the saxophone.¡±


    He hesitated, then nodded and tucked it between two of the barrels. The dark case faded into the dim surroundings.


    Julie Matthes pressed her ear to the door: once satisfied the path was clear, she wrenched it open and beckoned them through.


    This time Jeremiah took lead. He slipped through the corridor to the stairwell, one hand opening doors and the other resting firmly on the handgun he¡¯d sequestered in his coat pocket. One by one the others followed, darting the 30 odd metres to the stairs; Gliridae came last, silently shutting the door behind him. Up the stairs they went, wincing as every last noise reverberated all the way to the top, from Basement 4 to Basement 2.


    The corridor Jeremiah emerged into was much nicer than the previous one, with deep red carpeting and dark wooden doors, each bearing a brass placard with the occupant¡¯s name. The space was barely lit, and no light shone underneath any doors. It was night: it was deserted.


    Quickly, quickly, they hurried down the corridor to Braum Wellington¡¯s office, where Junior picked the lock with an alacrity that Jeremiah found both impressive and alarming- had the teenager been raised for this job? Into the office, and then they locked the door behind them and sagged with relief.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get looking,¡± said Julie Matthes, and they fanned out.


    The office was large but sparsely decorated; only one photo hung on the wall, of a young Braum Wellington at his graduation, next to his degree. The desk was neatly organised, with trays of paper and a pot of pens but no personal items. The wallpaper was a dull yellow, and a single hanging lamp provided the only light.


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    Jeremiah started on a filing cabinet, the majority of which seemed to be memos between Braum and other engineers regarding deadlines¡­ or a lack thereof. He was just puzzling over a particularly nonsensical bit of engineering jargon when a voice echoed down the corridor.


    ¡°Well yes, I know that, but he didn¡¯t exactly warn us that he was going to disappear!¡± The voice was accompanied by footsteps, and they all froze.


    ¡°But Mallison, what about the release date?¡± Another voice replied.


    Hide! Jeremiah mouthed, and they scrambled. Junior crawled under the desk while Bill placed himself safely behind the door. Jeremiah and Julie Matthes climbed into the cupboard, and Gliridae stood on the other side of it. There was a sound of a key in the lock.


    ¡°The release date stays the same; no more delays, that¡¯s for sure. Look, I need to find these plans, I can¡¯t run this thing if I don¡¯t know what Braum¡¯s next step was.¡± The door cracked open, then paused. ¡°Yes, okay, I¡¯ll see you there. Yeah. Bye.¡±


    Into the room stepped a gangly, awkward looking man with shaggy brown hair and a face covered with the craters of past adolescent acne. He was carrying a briefcase and looked around the room with a frown, surveying the disorder.


    Jeremiah held his breath, trying to decide what to do. They couldn¡¯t let him go through the office: he¡¯d find them for sure. But if they showed themselves, he¡¯d raise the alarm¡­ unless Julie and Junior had their way. Jeremiah didn¡¯t want any more blood spilt over this. He hesitated, and next to him Julie Matthes tensed, as though readying herself to burst out.


    ¡°Well hello there, Mr Mallison.¡±


    Gliridae sauntered out from behind the cupboard, hands buried in his jacket pockets, nonchalant as could be. In a split-second Jeremiah made his decision, grabbing Julie¡¯s arm to hold her back as the engineer just about jumped out of his skin.


    ¡°Who the hell are you? And what are you doing here?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m here on official Silver business is what I¡¯m doing here,¡± said Gliridae, cocking his head. ¡°Namely, looking into the disappearance and assumed murder of your predecessor. Now I must ask, Mr Mallison, what¡¯s got you so defensive?¡±


    ¡°Murder?¡± The man¡¯s voice cracked. ¡°I¡¯ve got nothing to do with¡­ wait, you¡¯re a Silver?¡±


    From the depths of his pockets, Gliridae pulled out the Silver passes that Avery Ward had given them what felt like a lifetime ago. It was all Jeremiah could do not to laugh in delight.


    ¡°Discretion is the name of the game in this business,¡± Gliridae continued, tucking it back away. ¡°But we were hoping to find you here tonight.¡±


    ¡°We?¡±


    Bill shut the door, revealing himself, and the rest took it as their invitation to climb out of their respective hiding places, surrounding the young engineer. They were all covered from filth from the tunnel, and some also sported blood. Julie and Junior both had guns in plain sight, and Jeremiah and Bill had their mechatronics. Mallison looked around in fear, but Gliridae snapped his fingers in front of the man¡¯s face, drawing his attention back.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, you¡¯re not a suspect. But we believe one of the employees working in the forge tonight is. Will you help us in bringing justice to Mr Wellington?¡± He paused, then leaned in with a slight smile. ¡°I¡¯ll be sure to mention it to AnneMarie Parod.¡±


    ¡°You know Miss Parod?¡± gulped the engineer, before glancing around and recovering himself. ¡°I mean, of course, I¡¯d be glad to help you. Whoever did this needs to be taken in- they¡¯re a threat to everything this city holds dear.¡±


    Gliridae¡¯s smile widened.


    ¡°I knew you¡¯d agree. So, would you lead the way?¡±


    Jeremiah took some measure of glee in the expressions on the Julie and Junior¡¯s faces as they left the office. This was the first time they¡¯d seen Gliridae in his element, outside of being a gun-shy tagalong, and it was entertaining. In the short time he¡¯d known him, Jeremiah had come to feel protective of the tiny musician, with his odd sense of humour and his firmly held beliefs. It was fun watching others realise what he was capable of.


    Bill quirked an eyebrow to the tiny musician as they walked and Gliridae slipped him a sheet of paper. Jeremiah leaned back to see a memo from the previous week, telling everyone involved that if there was one more delay on the intercontinental rail project, the employees would all be strung up and their guts worn as garters. It was signed AnneMarie Parod.


    Bill passed it to Julie Matthes, who smothered a laugh and tucked it away.


    And so they found themselves being brought to the heart of the Intercontinental Railway Project by the head engineer of said project, who got them through every door and check with just a quick nod of his head. As they went, the sounds of machinery, clanging metal and shouting voices got louder and louder. Passing through a final gate, they turned a corner and entered the forge.


    ***


    The workshop was enormous: at least five stories tall and the size of several sports fields, with hundreds of workers scurrying to and fro even at this hour. At one end, there was an enormous set of gates facing the road- clearly the desired exit for when the project was done. There were boxes of equipment, large fires being used to pound and shape metal, hooks dangling from heavy chains carrying equipment up and down between stations, and in the centre of it all: the train.


    Train wasn¡¯t a grand enough title. Intercontinental Rail Project certainly wasn¡¯t right. Jeremiah desperately cast around for the words to encapsulate the magnitude and horror of what he saw before him, but found he couldn¡¯t.


    It was like a demon made from steel and brass; three stories tall, with flattened sheet metal that curved into a deadly point at the front, ready to slice through anything that stood in the way. Enormous metal arms, like those of a crab, lay on either side just waiting to be attached. Jeremiah remembered what he¡¯d read on the poster, about how it would be capable of laying its own tracks.


    He couldn¡¯t miss the iron bars on the few windows there were. He couldn¡¯t miss the two artillery towers that perched at the top, guns already fitted.


    ¡°Aw hell¡­¡± he heard Bill breath beside him. Junior blinked, rubbed his eyes, blinked again. Even Gliridae seemed momentarily speechless, staring up at the machine with dread.


    Jeremiah looked over to Julie Matthes and met her eyes. He could tell they were both thinking the same thing: of their friends, their companions, trapped within it. Something cold and furious tightened deep inside of him: he wanted it destroyed. He wanted it crushed, rent into a thousand tiny pieces, with no hope of ever being reassembled. He wanted the minds behind it to stare at the destruction and know to never try anything again.


    ¡°We¡¯ll need you to clear the area,¡± Jeremiah told Mallison. Impossibly, his voice stayed calm- pleasant even. Mallison¡¯s eyebrows quirked.


    ¡°There can¡¯t be any further delays- we¡¯re behind schedule as is, they¡¯ll have my head on a platter if I do anything that-¡°


    ¡°Mallison, trust us,¡± said Gliridae, holding up a hand. All traces of his earlier fear had vanished; Jeremiah wondered how deep he¡¯d had to shove it down. ¡°We¡¯re good at our job: there¡¯s a reason we were assigned to this case. All we need is 20 minutes, at most, and then you can let everyone back in.¡±


    ¡°But how do I explain it to them?¡±


    ¡°Tell them there¡¯s a gas leak,¡± said Jeremiah, dredging up his ¡®authority figure¡¯ voice from the deepest recesses of his mind. ¡°And that you have to clear the area. They can¡¯t argue with that. When we say it¡¯s all clear, you give them the all clear, and everyone gets back to work.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll have our culprit, and you¡¯ll have a nice letter of recommendation on its way to AnneMarie,¡± Gliridae finished. They looked to Mallison, who caved.


    ¡°Fine, okay, just- just give me a moment, the announcement rig is at the top.¡±


    Three ladders and four minutes later, Mallison¡¯s nasal voice rang across the room.


    ¡°All employees must evacuate the building. I repeat- all employees evacuate. There has been a gas leak detected. Once again- all employees must evacuate.¡± There was a loud chorus of complaints, and several employees threw down their tools.


    ¡°Call us in to work all night and then boot us out again,¡± Jeremiah heard one snarl to a friend. ¡°What a fucking joke.¡±


    Mallison appeared back at their side, and Gliridae raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°Well? You need to leave too; it would be suspicious otherwise.¡±


    ¡°No, no, I can¡¯t leave you unsupervised,¡± he protested, starting to look nervous. ¡°What if you change something? Or break something? I couldn¡¯t.¡±


    Bill stepped forward and clapped a hand on his shoulder, heavy enough that the smaller man nearly buckled from it, then leaned in close.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, sonny.¡± There was a dark humour in his voice. ¡°We¡¯re acting as Silvers.¡±

 Chapter 16: Junior found dynamite

    ¡°I¡¯m heading up to that tower bit he just came down- I want to get a lay of the land,¡± said Julie Matthes once he¡¯d left. Gliridae and Junior, seemingly bonded from the earlier encounter, decided to take a look through the supply boxes and see what they could get from there. In the meantime, Jeremiah and Bill agreed to check out the train itself.


    ¡°If we¡¯re lucky, we may be able to affect some of the actual machinery,¡± mused Jeremiah as they scaled the ladder. ¡°Depending on what we break¡­ the more delicate things could set the project back by a good few weeks at least.¡±


    ¡°That Mallison fellow, though¡­ he¡¯s seen us all now. If we do anything too obvious, he¡¯ll report us to the Silvers. Hell, if we don¡¯t do anything at all he¡¯ll report us to the Silvers too.¡± Bill grunted below, winded with the effort of pulling his enormous weight up the side of the train.


    ¡°Not necessarily; we can tell him that he¡¯ll be hearing from us in the next few days and then just disappear. I wouldn¡¯t put it past him to be too embarrassed to mention anything, especially when things begin to go wrong. He wouldn¡¯t want to take the fall.¡± Jeremiah knelt down and unscrewed the hatch, glancing between it and Bill.


    It was a tight squeeze, but they both managed to get through.


    ¡°And I wouldn¡¯t put it past Gliridae to fake arrest someone- do the same thing, pretend to be a Silver and tell them to play along with the arrest,¡± Jeremiah continued. Bill frowned.


    ¡°That mouse is going to catch himself in his own web of lies if he¡¯s not careful.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve been saying that this whole time. At this point I have to say he knows what he¡¯s doing.¡±


    The larger man fixed Jeremiah with a steely look.


    ¡°He knew what he was doing with whatever small fry he was working with before. How do you think he¡¯d fare in Lockup?¡±


    Jeremiah¡¯s stomach flipped; point taken.


    The train¡¯s corridors were narrow but straight, and they were soon in the control room. Looking out, he could see Gliridae unpacking something from the boxes lining one of the platforms, and Junior scurrying up the ladder to where Julie Matthes was. As he watched, the tiny man gave a little jig, waving a package above his head.


    ¡°See if you can get a window open somewhere to call out,¡± he murmured to Bill. ¡°I think they might have found something. I¡¯m going to check out the engine room.¡±


    The engine room was directly below, through a hole that was far too narrow for Bill, and down a short ladder. Carefully lighting a candle, Jeremiah found himself greeted by eight large furnaces, huge casks of coal, what looked to be some very smashable machinery, and several tanks of kerosene.


    ¡°Jeremiah, get up here!¡± Bill rumbled from above. ¡°Gliridae and Junior have found dynamite!¡±


    Jeremiah grinned widely.


    **


    They moved quickly. Gliridae climbed into the train to manage transfer of goods through the engine room: kerosene out, dynamite in. Jeremiah was the second leg of the operation, and flew the containers between the platform and the window Bill forced open- it was easier and faster than having someone running up and down the ladder. Junior moved to the front of the forge to lockpick and open the gates, while Bill and Julie Matthes poured a thick trail of the kerosene (intended for refilling lamps, as far as Jeremiah could tell) through the train and along the Foundry floor.


    ¡°We only have a few minutes before Mallison comes back,¡± warned Julie as she finished. Jeremiah scooped Gliridae from the top of the train and flew to join her, beckoning Junior and Bill over. His old instincts were kicking in, and it felt fantastic.


    ¡°We don¡¯t need a few minutes, we just need an exit plan: when that thing goes, it¡¯s going to go fast and it¡¯s going to go hard. We want to be out of the way. Get back into the corridor and head down as quickly as you can. Basement levels will be best for this. Does anyone remember the way back to the tunnels?¡± Jeremiah paused and they all shook their heads. ¡°Then let¡¯s see if we can¡¯t exit off a side street or similar. Bill and Junior, you take the lead. Get through obstacles fast, and smash them if you need to -there¡¯s no time for discretion. We¡¯ll follow behind. I¡¯ll take the rear in case anyone decides to open fire.¡±


    ¡°No offense, Jeremiah, but I¡¯m pretty sure I¡¯m faster than you: shouldn¡¯t I stay to light it, and then take the rear?¡± asked Gliridae. His hat and jacket were folded to one side, his white shirt streaked with dirt. Jeremiah pursed his lips and shook his head.


    ¡°If anything goes wrong, I can fly up and handle it a lot faster than you before getting away.¡±


    ¡°If you run too slow you could die,¡± pressed the smaller man.


    ¡°So could you,¡± Jeremiah snapped back, ¡°and I¡¯m not having any more deaths on my watch.¡± Bill reached a hand onto his shoulder but Jeremiah brushed him off. ¡°Now all of you: get moving.¡±


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    ¡°This won¡¯t bring the doctor back,¡± growled Bill. Jeremiah didn¡¯t say anything, just reached to the table and pulled the candle out of the lamp. ¡°Jeremiah?¡±


    ¡°Go, Bill,¡± was Jeremiah¡¯s only reply. After a moment¡¯s hesitation, Bill turned, and with Junior began to run. Gliridae and Julie Matthes were hot on their heels.


    Jeremiah waited until they reached the door, then waited a moment longer, before crouching and igniting the kerosene trail. It took immediately, the flame shooting across the floor of the foundry and up the drenched rope that they had dangled over the side of the train.


    He needed to go. It had taken, and he needed to go.


    But something compelled him to stay- he had to make sure this worked- what if it didn¡¯t work and he had to go back?


    The flames crackled, blue with heat, and a ghostly pain tugged at the burns across his face and back. The smell of smoke prickled his nose, and in the back of his mind he could hear the phantom clang of the fire bell.


    ¡°God damnit Jeremiah, run!¡± screamed Gliridae¡¯s shrill voice from the doorway, and that was enough to spur him into motion. Spinning on his heel, he began to sprint away. His mind¡¯s eye, however, was still focused on the train.


    The flame was racing across the top, down another rope into the corridor, through the corridor and into the control room.


    Jeremiah skidded around a corner.


    The flame was jumping to a third rope, dropping into the engine room where there lay five boxes of TNT in addition to the remaining kerosene, and three more barrels of oil that Junior had uncovered.


    Ahead, Bill ran straight through a door rather than attempt to open it. Jeremiah jumped the splintered wood as he followed.


    A single piece of TNT lay right beneath, and if all went right, the flame was moving from the rope to the wick. The flame was burning its way down. The flame was reaching the dynamite.


    There was silence as they ran. Dread settled into Jeremiah¡¯s stomach: it hadn¡¯t worked.


    Bill knocked down a second door, and Junior a third, but at the final door they paused, gasping for breath.


    ¡°Did it-¡° began Junior.


    The sonic blast which tore through the tunnel was enough to force them through the door and then some. Jeremiah had never felt such a thin line between his insides and his outsides. Sprawled on the ground, it was hard to tell up from down; everything seemed fuzzy, and any coherent thoughts were smothered by the ringing in his head.


    Suddenly Gliridae was by his side, lips moving. Jeremiah shook his head, dazed, but Gliridae¡¯s hands were grabbing at him, tugging him upwards. Behind him, Jeremiah could see Bill on his hands and knees, and Junior helping a shaky Julie Matthes to her feet.


    Run Gliridae was mouthing. Run? Jeremiah wasn¡¯t even sure if he could stand without puking, let alone move with any kind of speed. Blood was leaking from the tiny musician¡¯s ears; Jeremiah felt as though his own were filled with cotton wool. He tried to haul himself upright, and immediately staggered sideway into the wall. Shaking his head to Gliridae, he copied Bill, crawling on his hands and knees in the direction they had been running.


    Luckily, any doors that would have stood in their way seemed to have been blasted off their hinges.


    After a corridor or two, he managed to stagger upright, feeling for all the world as though he¡¯d gotten blackout drunk and fallen from a window. Something warm and wet sat against his neck and he realised that his ears were also bleeding. Next to him, Junior had Julie Matthes slung over his shoulders- she didn¡¯t seem to be capable of walking independently, and the spittle dangling from her lips suggested she¡¯d thrown up. Up ahead Gliridae was nearly buckling under the weight of Bill leaning on him, the musician using the wall as a counterweight.


    They made slow progress, following emergency exit signs until they spilled out of the Foundry and into the road. Around them, there was visual chaos- people screaming and crying and running in different directions, and the dull glow of a fire in the distance. The noise of it all was drowned out by an incessant whine, worse than any fire bells: Jeremiah looked for the source, only to realise that it was internal, a screaming echo of the blast reverberating through his being. Looking to his friends, he could see the same realisation dawning.


    The road ran adjacent to the side of the building that held the forge. At a gesture from Julie Matthes they headed into an apartment building- all the doors were flung open, so there was no issue getting in as the occupants streamed out- and made their unsteady way up to the roof. It was slow going, with each one of them stopping to puke at various points. Bill nearly tumbled over the railings at one point, and the rush of movement to catch him sent Jeremiah rolling back down half a flight. It was okay- there was nothing left for him to bruise.


    Finally they reached the top and staggered back into the night. They carefully crept to the edge, mindful of their lack of balance, and looked out over the city. It took a long moment for Jeremiah to comprehend what he was seeing.


    They¡¯d certainly wreaked havoc.


    It seemed that the force of the blast hadn¡¯t just destroyed the train or even the Foundry. The combined explosive potential of kerosene, oil and dynamite had effectively converted the train into a rocket. The explosion had channelled down the length of the machine, and launched it straight through the ceiling of the forge, rather than through the open gates. The train had been propelled halfway across the city before crashing into the warehouses of the industrial estate, where they could see it continuing to flame and sputter amongst the rubble. Meanwhile, another fire was slowly spreading through the Foundry, with the evacuated employees scrambling to put it out.


    Well thought Jeremiah at least Mallison can blame the gas leak. He sincerely hoped that no one had been working in the warehouses at that hour.


    They stood there for another few minutes, taking in the carnage. Jeremiah didn¡¯t need to be able to hear to know that Bill¡¯s lips were muttering a drawn-out Aw, hell as he watched one of the Foundry walls collapse inwards. Slowly the off-balance seasick feeling faded, though he still couldn¡¯t hear anything over the ringing in his ears. Gliridae passed over a red-stained pocket square; at Jeremiah¡¯s questioning look, he gestured to the blood running from all their ears. Jeremiah nodded his understanding, and gratefully wiped the now-flaking blood away.


    Finally, when she no longer seemed on the verge of being sick again, Julie Matthes pulled out a notepad and scribbled out a message.


    We need to get out and regroup. Silvers will be¡­ occupied. Cantankerous?


    Jeremiah shook his head and grabbed the pen.


    Boiler Room. Just in case. Also, Cantankerous is not too far from being on fire.


    She peered over the city again and frowned when she saw the truth of this statement. Chest rising in a sigh, she gestured for Jeremiah to lead the way.


    Taking one final look at the havoc below, they dispersed.

 Chapter 17: Get out and leave this to me

    The Boiler Room was deserted. When they arrived, they found the bar unlocked but empty; throughout the city, crowds alternated between milling and panic. Those with families rushed to go check on them; those without made their way towards or away from the havoc, trying to find answers on what was going on.  Nobody paid them any mind as they hurried through the streets, and there was no one to stop Bill as he reached behind the counter and snagged a bottle of whiskey.


    As far as Jeremiah could see, none of them were seriously injured by the blast; though only time would tell what would become of their hearing. The notebook was brought back out, slid back and forth across the table as the whiskey bottle made its rounds.


    We¡¯ll need to lie low¡­ probably for the next few years, Julie wrote, her handwriting as neat and precise as every other part of her. They read it, then Bill grabbed the pen and added underneath.


    Grabbing Mirabeth and getting out of town. Not sticking around to be forced onto whatever they build next. He looked to Jeremiah as he finished writing, eyes dark with emotion. ¡®Don¡¯t try to stop me and don¡¯t try to follow¡¯ is what his expression said. Jeremiah nodded, then reached out and grabbed the non-mechanical arm ¨C he was going to miss the old rhino.


    Gliridae took the pen next. His tongue poked out the corner of his mouth as he wrote, and somehow Jeremiah wasn¡¯t surprised at the smaller man¡¯s flowing cursive.


    Junior- time for a Lockup break in? Silvers are going to be anywhere but there. Too much going on everywhere else. Junior grinned and nodded, and Jeremiah leaned forward to signal that he¡¯d go join. Julie Matthes pursed her lips and shook her head, miming throwing up: out of all of them, she¡¯d had the worst reaction to the blast.


    Bill pushed himself to his feet, the recorked the whisky bottle. He moved to put it down on the table, then paused. Jeremiah saw his lips form the familiar what the heck, and then the entire bottle disappeared into a jacket pocket. He and Julie left out the front door; Gliridae led Jeremiah and Junior through the staff and performer areas behind the stage, and then back out into the night.


    -


    Gliridae had been right: Lockup was deserted. There was a solitary guard out front, who waved them in once Gliridae flashed the Silver badge. Jeremiah recognised him from the other day, and figured he probably recognised them. That was lucky: it lent an air of legitimacy.


    Once inside, Gliridae turned and gestured out a series of lefts and rights. Jeremiah blinked in confusion, but then he gestured out a number: Viola¡¯s cell number.


    The tiny musician had memorised the way.


    Exhausted and aching as he was, the memories were harder to fight back this time. The smoke wafting over the city stung the back of his nose, even in here, and the ringing in his ears reminded him of the deep resonance of the fire bell. Another life, another disaster, another fight to get people out; the scar tissue between his shoulder blades ached from the blast. He swallowed down a sudden wave of panic.


    It¡¯s different, it¡¯s different, it¡¯s different- no one¡¯s going to die this time he repeated to himself.


    The reached Viola¡¯s door.


    Junior got through the locks easily, finding an alarmed Viola Davies on the other side. There were bruises around her face, and she glanced between them all fearfully. Her lips were moving, but he was distracted by the nausea that rolled through him.


    What had the Silvers done to her?


    ¡°I heard an explosion,¡± he managed to make out as he stepped closer. The ringing in his ears was finally starting to subside, and the same seemed to be true for the others. ¡°What¡¯s going on? What are you doing here?¡±


    ¡°Leaving,¡± Gliridae replied, before pausing. For the first time in what felt like an age, he grinned. ¡°Don¡¯t forget these,¡± he said, scooping a pile of books off the ground as Junior made steady progress through her chains.


    She looked between the books and the tiny musician, before sagging with relief and returning the smile.


    ¡°Okay, leaving.¡± She climbed to her feet and rubbed her wrists where the chain had been. ¡°Leaving is good.¡±


    ¡°One more pit stop, though,¡± said Jeremiah, peering into the corridor to orient himself.


    Lockup didn¡¯t have a directory detailing where all the different inmates were kept- that information was on a strictly need to know basis. Even though Jeremiah had been a Silver for many years, they still should have had no idea where to start.


    However, Jeremiah had been assigned to Bill ¨C the only other wilding with that sort of size and strength. He had a good idea of where they needed to go.


    In Bill¡¯s former cell, Mr Morrow¡¯s glare at the sight of Jeremiah and Gliridae turned into unbridled joy as Junior barrelled past them and straight into his father¡¯s hairy arms.


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    ¡°We¡¯ve come to spring you, Pa,¡± Junior said, voice thick with emotion. Mr Morrow didn¡¯t say anything, just wrapped his arms tightly around his son. If he was crying, well, Jeremiah was happy to pretend he hadn¡¯t seen.


    They made a rag tag group, slipping out of Lockup. Even the lone guard was gone, perhaps drawn away from his post by the mounting chaos of the city. Seeming to sense their injury and exhaustion, Mr Morrow took the lead and showed them to a safe house in Lowtown. There, a freshly washed but still exhausted looking Julie Matthes was waiting for them.


    ¡°Took you long enough,¡± she said, but then passed them food and water. ¡°Beds are upstairs. No talking until we¡¯ve all had some rest.¡±


    There weren¡¯t enough beds, so Jeremiah slept on the couch. He could have slept on a stone floor at that point and not been disturbed. For the first time in years, no dreams came to bother him.


    ¡°Bill and Mirabeth are safe,¡± Julie Matthes told them over breakfast the next morning. ¡°I ended up going with and helped get her out. They left immediately. Headed into the countryside, but I said not to tell me where- it¡¯s better if none of us know. Although¡­I don¡¯t think even they knew where they were going.¡± She snickered. ¡°I got the impression that he¡¯s never going to hear the end of this.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m getting out too,¡± said Gliridae after a pause. He was sat cross-legged on his seat, apple in one hand and a slice of toast in the other. It was strange seeing him without his saxophone: in some way, it was almost like seeing him without his trousers. ¡°I¡¯m sick of this city and its constant attempts to murder me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll come with you,¡± said Viola immediately. ¡°There¡¯s no life for me here. Even if I¡¯m not sent back to Lockup, I have no job and apparently too many morals.¡±


    As one, the table swivelled to look at Jeremiah, who hesitated. He¡¯d have to hide from the law for the rest of his days if he stayed here: the Silvers wouldn¡¯t rest until they found him. They disliked criminals, but they abhorred traitors, and that was what they¡¯d see him as. Every hour of every day, he¡¯d have to watch his back. Even if he finished his medical training, he could never practice as a regular doctor. His life would be that of a fugitive.


    And yet.


    The city was collapsing from the inside out, its toxic tendrils wrapping around the throats of those who couldn¡¯t leave while those in power profited. He thought of Gliridae and of Bill: running like their lives depended on it, because they did. He thought of Viola, and the treatment she¡¯d received for trying to fight the injustice. He thought of Doc Claude¡¯s last words to him.


    You don¡¯t have the keys and you don¡¯t have the strength; get out and leave this to me.


    ¡°I¡¯m staying,¡± he said, sounding more confident than he felt. Gliridae looked aghast; Julie Matthes grinned. ¡°Boravica¡¯s not seen the last of me.¡±


    Epilogue:


    Jeremiah never managed to finish his medical training. After getting Gliridae and Viola onto the boat out of town, he snuck back to his apartment and grabbed what he could before moving into a safe house in Lowtown organised by Julie Matthes. He had enough money for more than a year of hiding- a thousand clips went even further when there was nothing to spend it on- but he couldn¡¯t seem to sit still. Instead, he started working with the Mattheses, doing odd jobs here and there; never under Julie¡¯s command, always as an equal.


    His reputation grew and he began his own private investigation company, the Silver Bullet. Rather than working on petty crime, he looked into the Silvers, the Foundry, and all the levels of corruption the city council was immersed in. Junior helped out when he wasn¡¯t studying or working with his dad, and they over time got to be friends.


    One day, Julie Matthes handed him a check for a few hundred clips.


    ¡°Someone needs to pay the vigilante,¡± she told him, her small smirk widening into a genuine smile. ¡°Besides, the people of this city are going to snap sooner or later. You¡¯re pretty much the only one I trust to lead the revolution.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to lead anything,¡± he replied. She shrugged, but the checks kept coming and he didn¡¯t bother arguing.


    Two years in, he received his first letter from Bill, delivered via Junior and addressed to a hopefully free man. The note wished him well, and talked about how Bill¡¯s new life: his friend had moved to a small cottage on the far side of the farmland and had finally married Mirabeth.


    After the first, his letters came every few weeks: about the wildflowers outside of the city, and how nice it finally was to have some damn peace and quiet. Mirabeth was expecting their first child. Everyone around them called him Sweet William. Life was good: Jeremiah should come visit sometime.


    I¡¯ve been giving it a lot of thought read one of the letters. Some days it seems like all I do is sit in the garden and think. Am I getting old? But the mouse was right: no more fighting. Not from me, not ever again. If they come for me, I¡¯ll go in and I¡¯ll serve my sentence, however long it is. I¡¯ve had enough fights to last me a lifetime.


    One evening, during a break in their set at a Midtown bar, the clarinet player for a lively swing band hopped off his barstool and made his way to Jeremiah. The man was wilding of some kind, but Jeremiah couldn¡¯t place what- just that the bright blue eyes and pointed teeth weren¡¯t human.


    ¡°Are you Jeremiah?¡± asked the musician. Jeremiah nodded, and he pulled out a small white envelope, devoid of any markings except for the wax seal. ¡°Gliridae sends his regards.¡±


    This letter was brief and to the point; the paddleboat had taken them three cities upriver before the captain got sick of his talking and left them ashore. There, Gliridae had met a well to do lady who turned out to be a headmistress of a prestigious ladies¡¯ finishing school. He presented himself and Viola as expert professors, and both were now gainfully employed. He taught 8- to 13-year-olds music and drama, while Viola Crest instructed the older ones in maths, physics, and basic engineering principles.


    It took us four days to get here, you know. Four days. The world is a lot closer than Boravica¡¯s government makes it seem, and I want to see it all.


    There was a return address at the bottom, and an invitation to come visit if Jeremiah ever had the inclination.


    He folded it up, and looked to the clarinet player on the stage, performing their second set. He wondered how many of these Gliridae had sent, to musicians across the city, to make sure he got it. Then he smiled, and bought the whole band a round of beers, and two for the clarinet.


    Save me a seat at the table and some whiskey, he replied to them both. There¡¯s some unfinished business in the city, but I¡¯ll come once it¡¯s done. You¡¯ll be seeing me soon.