Mutt

  13

  Complications

  His thoughts too were disjointed, formless. Is this death? he wondered, but in the same moment a part of him answered: No, you fool, I'm merely flying.

  His body was borne upon the wind, breaking against the branches of trees, flowing under and over and becoming whole again. At one point he perceived that the world beneath him had turned to fire, but this realization only remained for a moment: of greater interest were the trajectories of the birds who ventured through the dark, teeming mass that was himself. And then, suddenly, something on the ground below beckoned and he began his descent.

  Feet first, his body resumed its proper shape. After another moment he was Emery again, and then his consciousness and his nausea returned. Emery doubled over and vomited on the ground. Damnit, he thought, just when I was feeling better. The taste of ash lingered on his tongue.

  When he looked up, he was in a fiery autumn forest. It was late afternoon. To his utter amazement, Emery turned to see Lydia standing beside him; Timothy and Miren were climbing feebly to their feet just beyond. They were outside the city, Emery realized suddenly. All four of them were outside. This wasn't right.

  “Oh,” a gravelly voice remarked weakly from the ground behind them. “You brought stowaways.” Green inhaled sharply. “That explains a lot.”

  Emery reeled on the gateman, who was lying on his back on the forest floor. “You son of a bitch.”

  “Don't you start,” Green replied. “I just damn near bled out, helpin' you…” he winced, and Emery saw that his face was a ghastly yellow-white. “Go figure, not a word of thanks.”

  Emery's head was spinning. Panic. The word throbbed in his ears. “You told me the amulets were just to contact us,” he began. “If we had known—”

  “Exactly,” said the gateman, “if you had known. Contacting you was the original plan, but you're damn lucky we had a backup.” He rolled over and pushed himself into a sitting position. “If you had known, you would have said no, and you'd have missed the only bloody opportunity you're gonna get.”

  “I can't have spells like that going off in my house,” Emery said frantically. “There's a delicate situation there, in case you weren't aware. If something had happened—” It occurred to him that he had no way, for the time being, of knowing whether something had.

  Green raised a hand. “I'm going to need you to shut the hell up now. Your damn superstitions weren't going to get you where you needed to be, and I'm doin' just that.”

  “And how did they end up here?” Emery continued, motioning to the girls.

  “If I had to guess,” the gateman growled, “I'd say they were touching you two when I called you here. Trust me, it wasn't my idea.” He squinted in pain again. “Twice as many passengers means twice as much blood I don't got anymore.”

  Green held up his arm and drew back the sleeve of his wool coat. There was a vicious cut on his forearm, poorly bandaged, that Emery knew was self-inflicted. He gagged, swallowing back a second mouthful of vomit. “That's the price of doing business,” Green said. “I'm not complaining, and you should learn some respect for the art.”

  “Thank you,” Miren said.

  “Hmmph.” Green waved his good arm in her direction. “I like her. You could learn a thing or two from that one, pureblood.”

  Slightly abashed but still panicked, Emery fought to refrain from lashing out again. “You don't look too good,” he managed, looking from Green's bloodied arm to his sallow face. “Let's sit down for a while—”

  “No time.” Green dragged himself to his feet. “Why do you think I bothered to whisk you here like that? We have to hurry.” The gateman turned and strode away from the group. “Move it.” His resilience, Emery noted, was commendable.

  The truth was that Emery himself could have used a moment's pause; he was still nauseous and terribly disoriented. He and the others fell in behind Green, trying to match the tall man's brisk pace. Once he was moving, Green betrayed no sign of having lost so much blood.

  “What the hell just happened?” Miren whispered.

  “Those amulets we were wearing to let us know when it was time to go,” Emery said. “They did a lot more than that. They were made to help Green whisk us here.” He fought back another wave of apprehension, wondering whether the spell had upset anything at the estate. If it had, it would be a while before he knew: Juliet and the others had no way of reaching him here.

  “I certainly wasn't planning on this,” Emery continued, “but there's little we can do about it now. We were fortunate, at least, to have Juliet there when this happened; otherwise, Oliver and Geneva would be alone and no one would even know they were there.” He was aware that he was thinking aloud, trying to reassure himself as much as anyone else.

  “They'll be fine,” Lydia said. “Oliver really looks up to Juliet.”

  “He'll probably behave better for her than he does for me,” Emery replied. He looked back and forth between the girls. “I'm sorry you two got dragged into harm's way.”

  “Shut up,” Miren said helpfully, “it's not your fault.”

  Lydia nodded agreement. “And actually, I'm just…” She paused; looked at her feet. “I mean, don't worry about me.”

  Emery could guess what she had intended to say: she was glad to be out here with him, whatever the danger may be, rather than waiting restlessly at the mansion for his return.

  “I'm just glad we didn't have to go through the sewers,” Timothy said. “At least we're dry now, and we saved hours.”

  “And besides,” Miren added, “You're doing this to get medicine for me too, aren't you? It makes sense that I should be here.”

  It was the closest thing to gratitude the headstrong girl had given him yet. Emery smiled, but decided not to say anything overt for fear of ruining the moment. “I'm going to figure out what our course of action is,” he said, and he trotted a few paces forward to catch up with Green.

  “You want to know how I'm getting you in with Three Dogs,” Green predicted as Emery approached.

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, it turns out a tea party with the poppy king's general don't cost that much at all,” the gateman said. “I just let them chop my pecker off and throw it in a jar for preserving. But hey, I got this nice coat out of the bargain, so I guess I'm doing swell.”

  Emery weighed the risk of a bawdy reply and decided it was as likely to irritate Green as to please him. He said nothing, keeping pace with the gateman and waiting for an answer.

  “I'm not gonna tell you how we got this meeting set up,” Green said at last. “We've got some people that Three Dogs thinks are his people, and that the king thinks are his. Nobody has a damn clue whose beat they're actually marchin' to, but they're good for small jobs like passing a message along, and that's as much as you need to know about that. What I can tell you is what happens when we get where we're going.”

  “Please,” Emery said.

  Green spat over his shoulder. “We're heading west till we find the biggest gaggle of poppy chewers we can find, and if they're not the guys we're looking for, they'll slit our pretty throats and rob our carcasses. If they're the right ones, they'll take us underground.”

  Emery sighed. “I don't suppose we managed to avoid going through the sewers after all.”

  “Not the sewers this time,” Green said. “Old train tunnels. Our people didn't say much, so I don't know if Three Dogs' humble abode is in the tunnels itself, but you have to go through them to get to it. At least, that's the way they're taking us. It's a bloody good idea, too: anyone tryin' to get in there without help is more likely to make a midnight snack for the tunnel people than to find wherever Three Dogs is.”

  The plan was sounding worse by the moment. “Tunnel people?”

  Green flashed Emery's favorite smile. “I guess you pureblood types just tell your kids stories about us mutts if you want to scare them pissless. We tell scary stories about other things. Dogs, Washington Circle crazies,
and the tunnel people.”

  “Are they actual people,” Emery asked, “or some kind of animals?”

  “They're people, alright, for all the good it does. They've been down there for hundreds of years, maybe since before extinction. They don't speak Modern or even old English, supposedly they only click and chirp. Some rumors have it they're blind, others say their eyes got so used to the dark that they work better down there than in the light. One thing's the same in all the stories: if they find you down there, they carry you off, and don't nobody ever see you again.” He shrugged. “Three Dogs must be a smart bastard. You wanna prove you got balls, living down there's the best way I can think of.”

  “I want to find a place for the others to wait while we're down there,” Emery said. “You and I can go alone.”

  “What makes you think I'm going down there with you?” Green asked sharply.

  Emery was baffled; just a moment ago Green had said, we go underground. “Umm…aren't you?” he asked.

  The gateman rolled his eyes. “Of course,” he grumbled. “I serve at the pleasure of the king. Friendly bit of advice: don't ever sign up for anything, kid. It has a way of biting you in the ass.”

  “Tell me about it,” Emery said. “If you'll remember, I was roped into this too. I made a promise to the king almost three years ago, and I've been doing this ever since.”

  “Yeah,” Green replied. “I was gonna ask you about that. Why do you keep doing this? I know a promise is a promise an' all, but there's more to it at this point than keeping your word.”

  Emery shrugged. “Somebody has to do what I'm doing.”

  “Yeah, but that don't stop most people from not doing it. Is there some, how do you say, penance you're paying, or do you just get off on playing savior?”

  Neither option seemed very appreciative of Emery's efforts. “I've never really thought about it that way,” he said.

  “I mean, if I had to guess, I'd say some rough crap happened when you were a kid. Now you need this hero stuff to—”

  Emery's eyes narrowed. “That's not open for discussion.”

  “Geez, kid.” Green held up his hands in a gesture of defense, showing Emery the filthy palms of his fingerless gloves. “I was just tryin' to make conversation was all.”

  Emery rejoined the others. “It sounds like we're going underground,” he said. “The way to wherever we're meeting Three Dogs is through some old train tunnels.”

  “Aren't there tunnel people down there?” Timothy said immediately.

  Lydia's eyes widened. “What are tunnel people?”

  “Yes,” Emery said, “there are tunnel people, which are very similar to normal people except that they live underground and apparently eat their guests. But we're going down with Three Dogs' own guys, so we'll just have to hope and pray they know how to avoid getting us eaten. Green is coming with me. We talked, and we think it's best if the three of you break off before we meet our contacts. There's really no need for all of us to get trapped underground if things go badly.”

  “There's no way I'm letting you go down into a pit full of cannibals by yourself,” Lydia said.

  Emery smiled. “Lyd, if it weren't for this freak accident, you wouldn't have been with me in the first place.”

  “But now that I'm here,” she began.

  “No. The reason I took you into my home in the first place was to keep you safe,” Emery said. “If you get hurt trying to protect me, that defeats the purpose. Besides, this will either go perfectly well or it'll be disastrous, and if it's the latter, there won't be much anyone can do. You're staying back.”

  “I should come, at least,” Timothy said.

  “You don't want to leave Lydia and Miren to fend for themselves, do you?” Emery asked. “Lydia doesn't know the wastes very well, and while you and Miren are both sick, she's a lot weaker than you are.”

  “Alright,” Timothy said, clearly swayed by the mention of Miren's name. “I'll stay with them. But if you're not back after two hours, I'm going in after you.”

  “Make it at least three,” Emery said. “I have no idea how long the walk will be once I'm in the tunnel.”

  “Guys?” Miren interrupted. “Um, I hate to do this, but I don't think I can walk anymore.” The girl didn't appear to be exaggerating: she looked as though about to fall over. The lids of her bright eyes drooped with exhaustion.

  “What are you stopping for?” Green asked impatiently. “I thought I told you, we gotta move.”

  They paused for a minute, trying to figure out the best way to continue. In the end, Emery handed his backpack to Lydia and carried Miren on his back. Timothy looked jealous but said nothing; Emery knew the younger boy lacked the strength to carry Miren himself. Even Emery found Miren's small body a more troublesome burden than he had expected, and after a quarter mile, his thighs burned with the exertion. Miren drifted between fatigue and abashment, murmuring a weak “Thanks” or “Sorry” every now and again before dozing off with her head against his shoulder.

  “If you want your friends to hang back,” Green said, “they might wanna wait right here. We're still half a mile from where we're going, but it gets a lot more populated up ahead. We're in Three Dogs' territory already, and there's no telling what a poppy fiend will do if he comes across some fresh young meat.”

  The terrain was indeed becoming more developed by the minute; thick forest had given way to clusters of homes, and Emery saw them in greater numbers ahead. Apprehension mounted quickly: what if it wasn't safe even here? And if the mission to Three Dogs ended in Emery's death or capture, what would the others do? This thought so worried Emery that he had little worry to spare on the idea of death or capture itself. “Are you sure this area is a safe one?” he asked.

  Green chuckled. “Safe is for purebloods,” he said. “We mutts don't get the luxury of safe. Out here, there's dangerous and there's suicidal. This is dangerous, but that makes you're friends damn lucky. Where we're about to go is suicidal.”

  “Is there anything you can do?” Emery insisted, far less than pleased with this answer.

  “Do?” Now Green appeared genuinely perplexed. “If we're understanding each other, last time I did that kind of doing for you, I lost two pints of blood and had to listen to you whine about it. In fact, I don't think that was too long ago.”

  “Well,” Emery said, “I guess I'm a bit desperate.” He swallowed. “And thanks for earlier. It wasn't how I wanted things to happen, but you got us here, and I know it cost you.”

  “That's more like it.” The gateman rubbed his temples. “I tell you what. I can do a spell of foreboding on the place. It won't hide your friends from sight, but anyone who comes within a hundred feet will be scared pissless and feel a sudden need to run the other way. How's that sound?”

  “Perfect,” Emery said. “Thank you.”

  “I tell you what, though,” Green continued. “You said this coat was two payments, but I'm spillin' blood again for you. We're square after this, so next time you come looking for help, don't bring the coat up.”

  Emery nodded. “That's more than fair.”

  They found the ruin of a pre-extinction house, two of its walls still standing, that was at least a hundred yards away from the nearest habitation. “You three wait here,” Emery instructed as Miren dismounted his back, “and try to stay out of sight. I'll leave the backpack with you in case you get hungry or want anything; my flashlight and the package for Three Dogs are all I really need.”

  “Two hours,” Timothy said.

  “Three,” Emery repeated. “We wouldn't want you charging in there and destabilizing the situation; then we might both get hacked up and fed to the dogs.”

  He flashed a weak smile, but none of the others seemed amused. “Please,” Lydia said, “don't try to make any jokes when you're down there with Three Dogs.” She was on the verge of tears again. “No offense, Emery, but your jokes are really bad to people who don't know you.”

  “You've known me for years,
” Emery said, “and you still only pretend to think they're funny. The world isn't ready for my sense of humor.” No reply. “Don't worry,” he insisted, “I'm going to be careful.”

  A single drop escaped the lid of the deep brown eye and drew a glistening line down Lydia's cheek. “You'd better.”

  Emery took a step closer and brushed the tear away with one finger. “Don't worry,” he said again. “Everything will be fine. These two need you here; they're both very sick.”

  “They'll be okay,” she said. “You just have to promise you will.”

  Emery laughed softly. “I suppose if I break that promise, I won't be around to get in trouble.”

  “Just…” Lydia swallowed; the tears were flowing in earnest now. “Get back safe,” she managed.

  “I will.” He wanted to say something more substantial, but even the promise of his safe return was a fabrication: Emery could not imagine what he might encounter in the tunnels. “Offer a prayer for me,” he said. “Jehovah God has done me alright so far.”

  “Emery.” Timothy stepped forward. “I haven't thanked you enough times for everything you're doing. So thanks again. I hope you're okay down there.”

  “Yeah,” added Miren, who had risen to see him off. “I know I was sort of a bitch when we first met, so I'm sorry about that. And thanks.”

  Emery smiled. “Don't mention it,” he said. “I thought I was going to be fine down there, but you all are really freaking me out.”

  Green appeared from behind the brick wall of the house. “Well,” he said, “you all should be swell here. Anyone who comes sniffing around over here should start running the opposite direction like a pack of hungry dogs is after them.” He scratched his head. “On the other hand, if a pack of dogs comes after you all, I guess you're outta luck. You ready to go, kid?”

  “As skilled as you are at reassuring us all,” Emery said wryly, “why wouldn't I be?” He turned back to the others. “I'll be back in three hours at the most,” he told them.

  Lydia approached and wrapped her arms around Emery's neck, a bit too tightly for his comfort. “Be safe,” she whispered, kissing him on the cheek.

  “I will,” he gasped. “Try to think about something besides where I am; it'll make the time go by more quickly.” With that, he turned and followed the gateman into the sunlit maze of forest and slum.

  Emery had never seen this part of New Providence before; the domain of each of Zakarova's generals was a nexus of the crime lord's influence. Where Emery had traveled with the king years ago, centers of population had been small and spread among an endless expanse of forest. But as Emery and Green approached the place where they were to meet with Three Dogs' men, Emery saw hovels in greater and greater concentration, finally amounting to a small city shaded by the trees overhead. The plots of the pre-extinction houses here had been appropriated to form as many as four huts apiece, and these were stacked three and four stories high. Like the homes Emery had seen the night he and Timothy had been assailed, these buildings were constructed of plywood and sheet metal, patched with mud or old street signs; they also shared the appearance of being ready to collapse, an effect magnified by their height. Residents watched warily from the windows of the buildings: there was no glass in most of the windows, and they would be covered at night to abate the bitter cold. The windows of most homes' first stories were rimmed with rusted razor wire or long jagged shards of glass bottles to prevent intrusion. Hardened men and women in makeshift winter clothes stood outside some of the houses, glaring at the strangers who passed uncomfortably close to their homes, but they did not approach. Emery was glad he had chosen to retain Green's old coat: no one here would think he looked worth robbing. Green still wore the fine wool coat, but he could never be mistaken either for a pureblood or an easy target.

  “Do these people all work in the poppy fields?” Emery asked quietly.

  “There's a lot more to gum than the fields,” replied Green, eying a gaggle of rough men as they passed. “You have the people working in the fields, a million different methods of refining it, storage, transport, distribution, and a whole lot of muscle along the way. And that's just one part of Zakarova's business, kid; he has his grimy fingers in everything out here. But in Three Dogs' neighborhood, yeah, as many of these people are poppy workers as not.”

  “Ye' curious about the gum fields?” a voice hissed from behind them. Emery spun to find two women standing behind them, though these were not like any women he had encountered before: they were taller and broader than he, and their ready hands were callused. One held a splintered wood plank adorned with a single rusted spike protruding from its tip; the other brandished an old golf club, as if ready to strike.

  Green smiled. “Greetings, lovely dames,” he said theatrically, his voice grainier than usual. “We were just on our way to pay a visit to Three Dogs.”

  The women's harsh lips twisted into sneers. “If I don't know ye',” said the one who had previously spoken, “ain't no business ye' 'ave with the baron.”

  “Baron?” Emery whispered.

  “These thugs like takin' fancy names for themselves,” Green explained, loud enough that the two women could easily hear. They stepped forward to respond to the insult with force. “I tell you what,” he said, taking a piece of chew from his pocket and flicking it casually into his mouth. “Why don't you just walk with us to meet Blackroot? He can accompany us from there.”

  The women's eyes widened. “Ye' know,” said the one who had previously remained silent, “If ye's wasting 'is time, Blackroot'll waste ye'.”

  “I'm counting on it,” Green said merrily. Without waiting for the women's response, he turned and continued in the direction he and Emery had been walking, beckoning Emery to follow. “You want some 'baccy?” he offered.

  Emery didn't want to be impolite, especially given what a luxury like tobacco must cost in the wastes, but he had never tasted chew before and decided the greater travesty would be to waste it if he couldn't bear the flavor. “No thanks,” he said.

  The gateman shrugged. “Your loss,” he said. “It's good stuff, just the opposite of poppy gum. Keeps your senses sharp.”

  They made their way deeper into the ghetto, the two women following in resentful silence. Here, the pre-extinction foundations were those of row homes rather than individual houses, and dozens of makeshift residences occupied each cornerstone, bracing one another for support, leaning ominously forward over the street. Here and there a gutted truck or van, often as not missing its tires, formed the ground floor of one of the buildings. The neighborhood was more populous here, and Emery felt countless eyes on him as he stared straight ahead, doing his best to keep from provoking conflict. Despite their hostile demeanor, the women at his back conveyed a sense of added security: no one would assail them while they were being escorted by natives of this town.

  “In the king's back yard,” Green said, “even little villages, like that one whose owners' asses you kicked, have names. If you don't got more than three sticks to call your home, you still give it a name, 'cause you take pride in what you have. Even the Yankees do the same. Out here, they don't even bother naming a small city like this one. It's all named for guy running it. This ain't Rittenhouse or West Sink or even Stinking Hole-in-the-Wall, it's Blackroot's borough of Three Dogs' territory. Barbaric, ain't it?”

  Emery granted the gateman a noncommittal grunt; he was sure Green was speaking mostly to taunt the listening women.

  Finally they reached what Emery was sure must be their destination: the entrance to a pre-extinction subway tunnel, unremarkable but for the gaggle of armed guards standing before it. These, a half-dozen men and women clutching various clubs and other salvaged implements, moved to block the entrance to the tunnel as Emery and Green approached. “State ye' business,” said a man who must be their leader. A makeshift knife was sheathed at his waist, and he wore a helmet that had once been the cap of a fire hydrant.

  “These two say they's comin' to see Black
root,” said one of the women. “Claims they 'ave a meetin' with Three Dogs.”

  “I have a package to deliver,” added Emery, lifting the wood box in his hands.

  “Blackroot is down in the tunnels now,” said the man, “but the baron sent word ye'd be comin'. Ye' just 'and the box to me, and I'll see that it gets to 'im.” He stepped forward imposingly, putting a hand on the hilt of his knife.

  “That won't be happening,” Emery said, standing as straight as he could to glare at the taller man. “I'm on strict orders to give this package only to Three Dogs himself, and the person who sent me scares me a lot more than you do.”

  The man stared at him for a long moment, but Emery knew he hadn't the authority to prevent whatever was in the package from reaching its destination. “Aye,” he said, “then ye'll come into the tunnels with me.” The two women who had followed Emery and Green shambled quietly off, abashed.

  “Let's go,” Emery said. “I'm on a bit of a schedule.”

  “Wait.” It was not the man who had spoken but a willowy woman standing behind him. Her clothing hung loosely from her limbs, dancing in the light breeze. She stepped forward, gazing at Green; Emery saw that her pupils were bluish white with what looked like cataracts, though he was sure she was far too young. Her features were somewhat appealing, but Emery couldn't help being afraid of those eyes. “The tall one cannot go down,” she said. Her voice carried the slow assurance of water coursing over smooth rocks. “Ye' reek of magic, stranger, and the only magicians permitted in the baron's abode are 'is own. Ye' one of the king's men, I imagine.”

  Emery's heart gave such a violent jolt that it almost choked him: Green was to be his only guardian in the darkness. If the gateman were forced to stay behind, Emery would be completely alone, unprotected in an unknown place brimming with men of cruel intent. “He has to come,” Emery blurted.

  “If ye' want to give the box to me,” the man said, “ye's more than welcome. But if ye's going down there, ye go alone. The witch says this man don't come, so 'e don't come.” There was no space for further negotiation in his voice.

  “You'll be fine,” Green said with a note of pity that Emery might only be imagining. “Truth is, if things go to hell down there, I wouldn't really be able to do much good. I can't whisk us out of a cave that deep, and if it came to fighting, there'd be too many for even me to take. So how about I go back to check on your friends? You just hurry and try not to piss the baron off.”

  There was a discernible note of irony in the word “baron,” and Green's promise that he would look after Lydia and the others removed one burden from Emery's mind. It was only for his own safety that he would have to fear now. “Okay,” Emery said. “And don't let Timothy try to come after me if I'm gone a while; he wouldn't even get into the tunnel.”

  Green nodded. He gave Emery a brisk slap on the shoulder, a simple “Good luck, kid,” and then he turned and strode back in the direction they had come. Emery shivered as he watched the gateman's back shrink into the distance.

  “Ye' ready?” asked the man whose name Emery did not know.

  Emery glanced at the beckoning blackness looming at the throat of the tunnel. He forced himself to nod. “The sooner the better.”

  “Agreed,” the man said, and he turned to lead the way. “Stay close, if ye' don't want to be eaten.”

  As his feet carried him mechanically forward, Emery lifted his head and stared directly into the light of the sun. In this cold autumn, it already seemed far too distant. Emery wondered when he would lay eyes on it again.