Chronicles of the Black Company

  “Yeah. I came out of the Buskin. A tough kid who got lucky and got on with the Custodians. My dad wasn’t lucky. Tried to buck a protection gang. He paid, and they didn’t protect him from another gang in the same racket. He said he wasn’t going to put out good money for something he wasn’t getting. They cut his throat. I was one of the Custodians who picked him up. They stood around laughing and cracking jokes. The ones responsible.”

  “Ever settle them up?” I asked, certain of the answer.

  “Yeah. Brought them into the Catacombs, too.” He glanced at the black castle, half obscured by mists drifting across the far slope. “If I’d heard the rumors about that place, maybe I’d have. … No, I wouldn’t.”

  I didn’t think so myself. Bullock was a fanatic of sorts. He’d never break the rules of the profession that had brought him out of the Buskin, unless he could advance its cause by so doing.

  “Think we’ll start right at the waterfront,” he told me. “Work our way up the hill. Tavern to tavern, whorehouse to whorehouse. Maybe hint that there’s a reward floating around.” He ground one fist into another, a man restraining anger. There was a lot of that bottled up inside him. Someday he would blow up good.

  We’d gotten an early start. I saw more taverns, cathouses, and reeking dives than I’d passed through in a dozen years. And in every one Bullock’s advent engendered a sudden, frightened hush and a promise of dutiful cooperation.

  But promises were all we got. We could find no trace of any old money, except a few coins that had been around too long to be the booty we sought.

  Bullock was not discouraged. “Something will turn up,” he said. “Times are tough. Just take a little patience.” He looked thoughtful. “Might just put some of your boys down here. They aren’t known, and they look tough enough to make it.”

  “They are.” I smiled, mentally assembling a team including Elmo, Goblin, Pawnbroker, Kingpin, and a few others. Be great if Raven were still with the Company and could go in with them. They would be running the Buskin inside six months. Which gave me an idea to take up with Whisper.

  If we wanted to know what was happening, we should take charge of the Buskin. We could bring in One-Eye. The little wizard was a gangster born. Stand out some, though. I hadn’t seen another black face since we’d crossed the Sea of Torments.

  “Had an idea?” Bullock asked, about to enter a place called the Iron Lily. “You look like your brain is smoking.”

  “Maybe. On something down the line. If it gets tougher than we expect.”

  The Iron Lily looked like every other place we’d been, only more so. The guy who ran it cringed. He didn’t know nothing, hadn’t heard nothing, and promised to scream for Bullock if anybody so much as spent a single gersh struck before the accession of the present Duke. Every word bullshit. I was glad to get out of there. I was afraid the place would collapse on me before he finished kissing Bullock’s ass.

  “Got an idea,” Bullock said. “Moneylenders.”

  Took me a second to catch it and to see where the idea had come from. The guy in the tavern, whining about his debts. “Good thinking.” A man in the snares of a moneylender would do anything to wriggle away.

  “This is Krage’s territory. He’s one of the nastiest. Let’s drop in.”

  No fear in the man. His confidence in the power of his office was so strong he dared walk into a den of cutthroats without blinking an eye. I faked it good, but I was scared. The villain had his own army, and it was jumpy.

  We found out why in a moment. Our man had come up on the short end of somebody in the last couple days. He was down on his back, mummified in bandages.

  Bullock chuckled. “Customers getting frisky, Krage? Or did one of your boys try to promote himself?”

  Krage eyed us from a face of stone. “I help you with something, Inquisitor?”

  “Probably not. You’d lie to me if the truth would save your soul, you bloodsucker.”

  “Flattery will get you nowhere. What do you want, you parasite?”

  Tough boy, this Krage. Struck from the same mold as Bullock, but he had drifted into a socially less honored profession. Not much to choose between them, I thought. Priest and moneylender. And that was what Krage was saying,

  “Cute. I’m looking for a guy.”

  “No shit.”

  “He’s got a lot of old money. Cajian period coinage.”

  “Am I supposed to know him?”

  Bullock shrugged. “Maybe he owes somebody.”

  “Money’s got no provenance down here, Bullock.”

  Bullock told me: “A proverb of the Buskin.” He faced Krage. “This money does. This money better, let’s say. This is a big one, Krage. Not a little let’s-look-around-and-make-a-show. Not some bump-and-run. We’re going the route. Anybody covers on it, they go down with this boy. You remember Bullock said it.”

  For a second Bullock made an impression. The message got through. Then Krage blank-faced us again. “You’re sniffing up the wrong tree, Inquisitor.”

  “Just telling you so you’d know.”

  “What did this guy do?”

  “Hit somebody who don’t take hitting.”

  Krage’s eyebrows rose. He looked puzzled. He could think of no one who fit that description. “Who?”

  “Uhn-uh. Just don’t let your boys take any old money without you checking the source and getting back to me. Hear?”

  “Said your piece, Inquisitor?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Shouldn’t you better be going, then?”

  We went. I didn’t know the rules of the game, so didn’t know how the locals would score the exchange. I rated it too close to call.

  Outside, I asked, “Would he have told us if he’d been paid in old coin?”

  “No. Not until he looked into it, at least. But he hasn’t seen any old money.”

  I wondered why he thought that. I didn’t ask. These were his people. “He might know something. Thought I saw a glint in his eye a couple times.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Let him stew.”

  “Maybe if you’d told him why. …”

  “No! That doesn’t get out. Not even a rumor. If people thought we couldn’t protect their dead or them after they kick off, all hell would break loose.” He made a downward gesture with one hand. “Juniper like that. Crunch.” We walked on. He muttered, “All hell would break loose.” And after another half-block: “That’s why we’ve got to get these guys. Not so much to punish them. To shut them up.”

  “I see.” We strolled back the direction we had come, planning to resume tavern-hopping and to see a moneylender named Gilbert when we reached his territory. “Hey?”

  Bullock stopped. “What?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing. Thought I saw a ghost. Guy down the street. … Walked like somebody I used to know.”

  “Maybe it was.”

  “Nah. Long ago and far away. Long dead now. Just because I was thinking about him a little bit ago.”

  “I figure we got time for half a dozen more visits. Then we head uphill. Don’t want to hang around here after dark.”

  I looked at him, one eyebrow raised.

  “Hell, man, it gets dangerous down here when the sun goes down.” He chuckled and gave me one of his rare smiles. It was the genuine article.

  For one moment then, I liked him.

  Juniper: Death of a Gangster

  Shed had long, violent arguments with his mother. She never accused him directly, but she left little doubt she suspected him of hideous crimes.

  He and Raven took turns nursing Asa.

  Then it was time to face Krage. He did not want to go. He was afraid Krage might have lumped him with Raven and Asa. But if he didn’t go, Krage would come to him. And Krage was looking for people to hurt. … Shaky, Shed trudged up the frozen street. Snow fell in lazy, fat flakes.

  One of Krage’s men ushered him into the presence. There was no sign of Count, but word was out that the big man was recovering. Too damned stupid t
o die, Shed thought.

  “Ah, Shed,” Krage said from the deeps of a huge chair. “How are you?”

  “Cold. How’re you keeping?” Krage worried him when he was affable.

  “Be all right.” Krage plucked at his bandages. “Close call. I was lucky. Come to make your payment?”

  “How much do I owe, all told? You buying up my debts, I couldn’t keep track.”

  “You can pay out?” Krage’s eyes narrowed.

  “I don’t know, I have ten leva.”

  Krage sighed dramatically. “You got enough. Didn’t think you had it in you, Shed. Well. You win some and you lose some. It’s eight and some change.”

  Shed counted out nine coins. Krage made change. “You’ve had a run of luck this winter, Shed.”

  “Sure have.”

  “You seen Asa?” Krage’s voice tautened.

  “Not since three days ago. Why?”

  “Nothing important. We’re even, Shed. But it’s time I collected that favor. Raven. I want him.”

  “Krage, I don’t want to tell you your business, but that’s one man you’d better leave alone. He’s crazy. He’s nasty and he’s tough. He’d as soon kill you as say hi. I don’t mean no disrespect, but he acts like you’re a big joke.”

  “The joke will be on him, Shed.” Krage dragged himself out of his chair, wincing. He grabbed his wound. “The joke will be on him.”

  “Maybe next time he won’t let you get away, Krage.”

  Fear crossed Krage’s features. “Shed, it’s him or me. If I don’t kill him, my business will fall apart.”

  “Where will it be if he kills you?”

  Again that flicker of fear. “I don’t have any choice. Be ready when I need you, Shed. Soon now.”

  Shed bobbed his head and retreated. He ought to get out of the Buskin, he thought. He could afford it. But where would he go? Krage could find him anywhere in Juniper. Running didn’t appeal, anyway. The Lily was home. He had to weather this. One or the other would die, and either way he would be off the hook.

  He was in the middle now. He hated Krage. Krage had humiliated him for years, keeping him in debt, stealing food from his mouth with ridiculous interest rates. On the other hand, Raven could connect him with the black castle and crimes in the Enclosure.

  The Custodians were on the hunt, looking for somebody spending a lot of old money. Little had been said publicly, but Bullock being on the case told Shed just how seriously they were taking the case up the hill. He’d nearly had a stroke when Bullock walked into the Lily.

  What had become of the passage money? Shed hadn’t seen any of it. He supposed Raven still had it. He and Raven were partners now. …

  “What did Krage say?” Raven asked when Shed reached the Lily.

  “Wants me to help kill you.”

  “I thought so. Shed, it’s late in the season. It’s time to send Krage up the hill. Which way are you leaning, partner? Him or me?”

  “I. … Uh. …”

  “In the long run you’re better off getting rid of Krage. He’d find a way to get the Lily eventually.”

  True, Shed reflected. “All right. What do we do?”

  “Tomorrow, go tell him you think I’ve been selling bodies. That you think Asa was my partner. That you think I did Asa in. Asa was your friend and you’re upset. It’ll all be just near enough reality to confuse him. … What’s the matter?”

  Always a trap. Raven was right. Krage would believe the story. But Shed had hoped for a less direct role. If Raven screwed up, Marron Shed would be found in a gutter with his throat cut.

  “Nothing.”

  “All right. Night after tomorrow night, I’ll go out. You run to tell Krage. I’ll let his men track me. Krage will want to be in at the kill. I’ll ambush him.”

  “You did that before, didn’t you?”

  “He’ll come anyway. He’s stupid.”

  Shed swallowed. “That isn’t a plan that does much for my nerves.”

  “Your nerves aren’t my problem, Shed. They’re yours. You lost them. Only you can find them again.”

  Krage bought Shed’s story. He was ecstatic because Raven was such a villain. “If I didn’t want him myself, I’d yell for the Custodians. You did good, Shed. I should have suspected Asa. He never brought no news worth hearing.”

  Shed whined, “Who would buy bodies, Krage?”

  Krage grinned. “Don’t worry your ugly head. Let me know next time he goes on one of his jaunts. We’ll rig up a little surprise.”

  Next night Shed reported according to plan. And suffered all the disappointment he expected of life. Krage insisted he join the hunt.

  “What good would I be, Krage? I’m not even armed. And he’s one tough nut. You won’t take him without a fight.”

  “I don’t expect to. You’re coming along just in case.”

  “In case?”

  “In case there’s a trap in this and I want to lay hands on you fast.”

  Shed shuddered, whined, “I done right by you. Don’t I always do right by you?”

  “You always do what a coward would. Which is why I don’t trust you. Anybody can scare you. And you had all that money. It occurs to me you might be in the racket with Raven.”

  Shed went cold. Krage donned his coat. “Let’s go, Shed. Stay right beside me. You try to wander off, I’ll kill you.”

  Shed started shaking. He was dead. All he had gone through to get Krage off his back. … It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair. Nothing ever worked for him. He stumbled into the street, wondering what he could do and knowing there was no escape. Tears froze on his cheeks.

  No exit. If he fled, Krage would be warned. If he did not, Krage would kill him when Raven sprang his ambush. What was his mother going to do?

  He had to do something. Had to find some guts, make a decision, act. He couldn’t surrender to fate and hope for luck. That meant the Catacombs or black castle before dawn.

  He had lied to Krage. He had a butcher knife up his left sleeve. He had put it there out of sheer bravado. Krage hadn’t searched him. Old Shed armed? Ha! Not likely. He might get himself hurt.

  Old Shed did go armed sometimes, but he never advertised the fact. The knife did wonders for his confidence. He could tell himself he would use it, and he’d believe the lie long enough to get by, but in any tight spot he would let fate run its course.

  His fate was sealed. … Unless he whipped it heads-up, no holds barred.

  How?

  Krage’s men were amused by his terror. There were six of them. … Then there were seven … and eight, as those tracking Raven reported in. Could he hope to beat those odds? Raven himself didn’t stand a chance.

  You are a dead man, a tiny voice whispered, over and over. Dead man. Dead man.

  “He’s working his way down Chandler’s,” a shadow reported. “Going into all the little alleyways.”

  Krage asked Shed, “Think he’ll find anything this late in the winter? The weaklings have all died.”

  Shed shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.” He rubbed his left arm against his side. The knife’s presence helped, but not much.

  His terror peaked and began to recede. His mind cooled to an unemotional numbness. Fear in abeyance, he tried to find the unseen exit.

  Again someone loomed out of the darkness, reported they were a hundred feet from Raven’s wagon. Raven had gone into an alley ten minutes ago. He hadn’t come out.

  “He spot you?” Krage growled.

  “I don’t think so. But you never know.”

  Krage eyed Shed. “Shed, would he abandon his team and wagon?”

  “How would I know?” Shed squeaked. “Maybe he found something.”

  “Let’s take a look.” They moved to the alley, one of countless dead-end breezeways opening off Chandler’s Lane. Krage stared into the darkness, head canted slightly. “Quiet as the Catacombs. Check it out, Luke.”

  “Boss?”

  “Take it easy, Luke. Old Shed is going to be right behind you. Won’t
you, Shed?”

  “Krage. …”

  “Move out!”

  Shed shambled forward. Luke advanced cautiously, wicked knife probing the darkness. Shed tried to talk to him. “Shut up!” he snarled. “Don’t you have a weapon?”

  “No,” Shed lied. He glanced back. It was just the two of them.

  They reached the dead end. No Raven. “I’ll be damned,” Luke said. “How did he get out?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s find out.” This might be his chance.

  “Here we go,” Luke said. “He climbed this downspout.”

  Shed’s guts knotted. His throat tightened. “Give it a try. Maybe we can follow him.”

  “Yeah.” Luke started up.

  Shed didn’t think about it. The butcher knife materialized in his hand. His hand slammed forward. Luke arched back, dropped. Shed jumped on him, jammed a palm against his mouth, held on for the minute it took him to die. He backed away, unable to believe he’d done it.

  “What’s going on back there?” Krage demanded.

  “Can’t find anything,” Shed yelled. He dragged Luke against a wall, buried him under trash and snow, ran to the downspout.

  Krage’s approach made a marvelous incentive. He grunted, strained, popped a muscle, reached the roof. It consisted of a skirt two feet wide set at a shallow angle, then twelve feet rising at forty-five degrees, above which the roof was flat. Shed leaned against the steep slate, panting, still unable to believe that he had killed a man. He heard voices below, began moving sideways.

  Someone snarled, “They’re gone, Krage. No Raven. No Luke and no Shed, either.”

  “That bastard. I knew he was setting me up.”

  “Why did Luke go with him, then?”

  “Hell, I don’t know. Don’t stand there. Look around. They got out of here somehow.”

  “Hey. Over here. Somebody went up this spout. Maybe they’re after Raven.”

  “Climb the damned thing. Find out. Luke! Shed!”

  “Over here,” a voice called. Shed froze. What the hell? Raven? Had to be Raven.

  He inched along, trying to fake himself into believing there wasn’t thirty-five feet of nothing behind his heels. He reached a ridged corner where he could clamber up to the flat top.