GHOSTS IN THE GLASS Page 20

  Leigh nudged the door with her foot. Evrik Niles turned and blinked stupidly at her, the brass key dangling loosely between his fingers. The Shurin sat on his cot, naked and looking annoyed.

  “I hope you’ve come to put me out of my misery,” he said, thin lips pulling back into a sneer. “Mr. Niles has been telling me for the better part of an hour how he’s going to have me executed because he’s tired of waiting for the official word from Avaeliis. Oh, and you brought food.” Sairel’s mother-of-pearl eyes flicked toward the bowl. “It smells a little overdone.”

  The sight of him made Leigh shiver in disgust, but she did not let it show. She closed the door behind her. “It’s all we have to feed you right now.”

  “Pity.”

  “Leigh.” Niles swayed unsteadily, blinking as though trying to decide whether his brain was playing tricks on him. He reeked of Synth, and his lips had a blue tinge. His pupils—big, black pools against the bloodshot whites—were so large they reminded her of the way Kaitar Besh had looked when he scouted in the darkness, except Niles was hardly seeing anything at all.

  “Why are you here?” he asked.

  “I have to feed—”

  “We ain’t wastin’ no more food on this Enetic piece of shit.” Niles jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Sairel, who smiled, hideously pleasant. “We’re gonna execute him soon.”

  Holding herself rigid to avoid touching him, Leigh brushed past. “We cannot starve anyone. It’s against Dogton law.”

  “Fuck the policies and the laws!” Niles shoved her so roughly stew sloshed against the bars and spattered the floor. Warm liquid soaked Leigh’s pants. She wanted to kill him—he was so drunk he’d never be able to defend himself, and Niles was not a big man—but if she tried the Scrappers would bust into the jail and gun her down before he had taken a final breath.

  Leigh knuckled the murderous urge into submission and wiped soup from her jacket. “I will not starve a man just because Avaeliis is slow on sending a prison escort for him. I need the key to open his cell.”

  Niles scoffed. “If Avaeliis doesn’t send for him in a month, he’s done. I’m not feedin’ a useless Enetic.” He palmed the brass key before shoving it at her. “Feed him and get back to work, or you’ll end up in that cell next to him.” He patted the pistol at his belt, attempting a swagger—more a stagger now—as he strode out, slamming the door behind him.

  I should have killed him.

  She traced the key absently, feeling the smooth, warm metal with her fingertips.

  “Missed opportunity?” Sairel asked, as though he’d plucked that thought right from her brain. Goosebumps rose along her skin.

  “I’ve never heard of any Sulari being humanitarian,” he went on. “You are Sulari, aren’t you? A Shurin knows a royal bearing when he sees it. I’m descended from nobility, did you know?”

  “You have ten minutes to eat.” Leigh stabbed the key into the lock, shouldered the heavy hatch open, and placed the bowl on the floor, never taking her eyes from the Shurin. He could pounce at any second and have those jagged teeth tearing into her throat, killing her the same way she’d imagined killing Evrik Niles.

  “It’s probably best to wait,” Sairel said, disregarding the food. “He’ll do himself in before long. A man like that can’t swim in the sea when sharks are hunting, and Avaeliis has some very hungry sharks circling the waters right now. Nyia Preciaus first among them. There are others too, I think. Tell me, though, what’s the news around town? No one comes and talks to me, and I’m bored of staring at the walls and reading the same three books over and over.”

  “I’m not here to discuss town business with a prisoner; I’m here to feed you.” Leigh took the piss bucket from the corner, hiding her distaste of that task as much as she hid her fear of the Shurin. He knew, though—she felt sure of it.

  “He’s making you run the town, isn’t he?” Sairel smiled. “Or close to it, I suppose. If Orin was alive. . . ah, where’s his boy, anyway? I haven’t seen him since the fire.” He shrugged. “Well, regardless, Orin is dead. . . but if he weren’t, Niles would have had him keeping the town together. He’s finding out he can’t tread water for much longer, and those Syndicate sharks are just waiting to bite and pull him down deep.”

  “Cooperate and eat your food.” Leigh’s voice remained steady, but a chill wormed its way up her spine. “You don’t have much time, so you should eat instead of wasting it asking questions I can’t answer.”

  “Just talk to me for a moment, please. I’m not your enemy, no matter what you’ve heard.”

  Kaitar Besh said that to me once, too.

  Leigh shut the cell door, set the piss bucket aside, and pointed to the bowl. “You have seven minutes. If you want more books to read, you’ll have to wait until spring. No shipments are coming through the Grin until then.” With the iron bars between her and the Shurin, some of the uneasiness drained away.

  “I don’t want more books. I want news.” Sairel picked up the bowl and fished the crust of bread from beneath the thick stew, shredding it with his teeth. “Is Mi’et coming back, or did he finally go to the Belt? He’ll never be back if that’s where he’s run off to.” He tipped the bowl to his mouth and drank.

  “Mi’et isn’t here. That’s all you need to know.”

  Something like desperation wedged itself beneath the Shurin’s sly expression as he ate. Just as he’d scented her fear of him, Leigh recognized that anxious, needle-thin hope. What would it be like to sit in here, day after day, without anything to look at but a bucket and one’s own thoughts? Too much the same as she’d felt in Nal’ves, she decided. It had been a very different prison there, under Siat-rahl and his unpredictable temper—but it had been a prison of a sort.

  “I can’t do anything about where he went,” Sairel said. I’d just like to know. For two years, he was the one who brought me food. I’m curious about what happened to him.”

  She opened the cell door a crack and slid a clean bucket inside. “Mi’et went to find Kaitar Besh. He said neither of them would be back.”

  Sairel stopped chewing. “Ah, that poor fool. I thought that’s what might have happened. Tell me about the fire last week. I smelled it and heard the yelling,”

  “It is not your concern.”

  “It is, actually. What do I call you? I should call you something other than ‘Sulari’ or ‘Niles’s Pet’, I suppose.” He tapped his nails along the rim of the dish, then sucked gravy from his fingertips. “Don’t look offended. It could be worse. Most of the people here refer to me as a fish, after all. This stew is atrocious, by the way. I almost think Evrik Niles is right and it would be more fitting to starve.” But he took another sip from the bowl, chewing, food bulging out against his cheek.

  “You can call me Enforcer Enderi, if you have a mind to call me anything. Finish your food. I have work to do.”

  “Niles’s work.”

  “Work for Dogton. And that includes ensuring there’s enough food and water for everyone.”

  “Even someone like me?” Sairel ran his tongue over his teeth so it wiggled like a strange, red worm. “I thought Sulari enjoyed starving Enetics. I suppose there are always exceptions. And this town is full of them, Enforcer Enderi. You. Me. Everyone, really. It’s why the Avaeliis Syndicate is so interested in keeping tabs on it. Do you think they bother much with Glasstown or Wrent? Even the trouble with Bywater all those years ago was less than a sliver to them. A speck—but a useful one. Has anyone told you how the Bywater rebellion happened?”

  Leigh recoiled as he crept close to the bars, holding the empty bowl against his blue-gray chest. The light from the single window caught his shoulder-length hair, making it shine platinum. He showed his teeth in a grimace while his strange eyes flicked to and fro.

  “Dogton is just another one of their projects. Listen, please. I’m trying—”

  Leigh wished she had her Firebrand. Even touching the hilt of that weapon would have calmed her nerves. “Place the bowl on t
he ground, step back, and put your hands atop your head.”

  Sairel set the bowl on the floor, every movement laced with a terrible, feral grace. “There. All yours.” He straightened and crossed his hands over his head. “Neiro knows more. I tried to tell him, too. I tried to get to Viyr. If you can get me to Viyr, this may be over by tonight. All of it. The Scrappers. . . Niles. . . gone.”

  “No. Beyond the obvious danger you pose—”

  “What danger?”

  “—the Scrappers would have us both shot before we could make it across the street. More than that, Neiro had you locked up for a reason; you’re a Cursor, and Cursors are all outlawed under Avaeliis law for their crimes.”

  I don’t even know what any of that means. I’m just. . . spitting out excuses. Things I heard. Things Orin told me, and said it was all any of us needed to know.

  Sairel sighed. “Go then. Go run back to Niles and hide under his boot. He’s not the real enemy, though; he’s so far down on the food chain the Syndicate won’t even have to chew when they’re done with him.” He sank onto his cot, arms resting on his knees, head lowered dejectedly.

  How much of that mournful posture was show and how much was real, Leigh couldn’t guess. Though she had expected to find the bowl ice-cold from his clawed fingers, the bowl’s surface felt warm to the touch.

  “Do you need more water in your canteen before I go?”

  Sairel didn’t look up. “No.”

  Leigh locked the cell door, took the bowl and the bucket, then made her way outside. She took the key with her; even an Enetic prisoner did not deserve more visits from Evrik Niles.

  Two Scrappers stood waiting near the jailhouse—Markey and Tinn. Leigh hurried down the cracked steps, wanting to get to the latrine to dump the bucket before they decided to do more than stare at her backside.

  “Hey, you! Stop.”

  The heavy tread of their boots thumped with regular, quick beats on the packed road. Fingers tightening until her knuckles paled, Leigh stopped in her tracks. The bucket swayed, piss sloshing against the dented sides. A rifle barrel bumped her ass.

  “Bet she’d like you to stick it in a little further, Tinn.”

  The rank scent of tobacco and decay fogged against her neck as they laughed. Leigh squeezed her eyes shut, shoulders so tense it hurt. The barrel jabbed again, bruising. As the steel jammed into the small of her back and the pain spread, the laughter and mocking words ran together until only one voice remained, raspy, and low, as it always was in her dreams, bringing a rush of hot panic.

  “I see you there.”

  Lein Strauss—rising against the moon, a skinning knife in his huge hand. Grinning. Ash drifted around his head, haloing it.

  “You ever been to—”

  “No!” She swung the bucket. It crashed heavily into the bearded man, the yellow liquid inside erupting over his fatigues, his face, and down his pants.

  Tinn bellowed, staggering back and holding his head.

  Leigh swung it again, snarling in Pihranese. “You won’t have me! Never!”

  All the pent up fear of the past month welled, overflowed, and flooded her brain just as the piss had flooded Tinn’s face. The bucket whooshed through air, missing Markey by mere inches as he stumbled, warding off the blow. Tinn recovered his balance, and leveled the rifle at her face, and fingered the trigger.

  Leigh met his stare, still wielding the pail like a club, not caring if her hands were soaked with a Shurin’s waste, not caring if the Scrappers shot her. There would be no more jabbing or groping. There would be no more bullying in the streets. She would not let a dozen shades of Lein Strauss dressed in brown uniforms run Dogton into another Nal’ves.

  “Put the bucket down you Sulari bitch! You’re under arrest for assault!”

  “I am an Enforcer of Dogton. I am under the order of the mayor of Dogton—”

  Neiro Precaius.

  “—to keep the town safe and protect its prosperity. From all threats. You two are a threat. Lower your weapons or we will go to Niles and take this matter up with him. Having water run clean is more important than you wanting to rape a woman, especially a woman overseeing the water management.”

  “Shoot the cunt, Tinn,” Markey said, half-grinning. “She ain’t even that good lookin’. Just put one in her head.”

  The people of Dogton watched from their homes and shops, waiting for another disaster to fall, their faces masks of blank hostility. The town hung in the space between the Scrapper’s rifle and an empty bucket swaying in the hot, western breeze. Leigh waited, too, wondering if she’d just uttered her last words.

  “Shit,” Tinn muttered, lowering the gun and glancing around nervously. “Fuck it. Karraetu would have a fit and this bitch ain’t worth the trouble of going on latrine duty all month.” He pointed at her, finger still dripping with amber liquid. “But I’m reportin’ this to both Karraetu and Niles. Maybe you’ll end up in jail with that fish, and I’ll come fuck your ass while he watches.”

  “I’m not your enemy.”

  The words echoed through Leigh’s thoughts, louder than the dying rush of adrenaline. Both Scrappers backed away, ignoring the muffled laughter from some of the townsfolk as they stalked past. She stared after them as they retreated—for it was a retreat—and then dropping the empty bucket. The odor hit her then, but even that didn’t seem as important as the small victory she’d gained. Maybe Karraetu would order her jailed, but she didn’t think so; the Shurin had been right about that, too. Niles couldn’t run the town by himself—he needed the Enforcers to do that. He was drowning, slipping deeper into the water, being sucked away by an undertow while the Scrappers merely looked on, waiting for an excuse to pull out of town.

  “Get me to Viyr, and all of this may be over.”

  That thought ran over and over in her head for the rest of the day.

  Lost in the Fog

  When Kaitar woke, he saw nothing but soft whiteness. Shivering against the chill, he sat up. Dewdrops gathered along the smooth, red-brown leather duster, dripping from the collar and vanishing in the thick fog. He moved his feet, could feel his boots bumping against the sand, but couldn’t see anything below the knee. The surreal sensation grew as he searched for any landmark, any semblance of the solid world that had been there the night before.

  A muffled sshh-thud dragged through the mist. Fighting a vertigo so strong he nearly lost his balance, Kaitar got to his feet. He clutched the hilt of a yatreg—blind. Lost in a fog, with something big stalking near.

  Ssh-thud.

  A large, dark shape pushed through the mist and parted it like a pale, ethereal curtain. Red. Almost blood red. Skinned.

  Nah’gatt!

  Kaitar unsheathed his yatreg, coiling, ready to strike if the phantom took one more step.

  Then, the Nah’gatt nickered softly.

  “Molly.” He sank to the ground, dizzy with relief.

  The mule looked about, baffled, trying to make sense of what had happened to the world. From where he sat, the animal looked as though her legs had been severed just above her hooves.

  “Don’t like this either, do you? Not like the scanty fog we get back home, I—”

  Back home.

  Kaitar sighed. “Come here, Molly. Let’s get our bearings, hm? Where’s Mi’et?” He stood again, sheathed the knives at his belt, and reached for the mule’s bridle. Molly pressed her long muzzle against his shoulder, nibbling the duster collar.

  “I think you’d even prefer threk over this fog. You can run from them, but not this, I guess.” Kaitar stroked the mule’s wet neck. His pupils dilated against the pillowing whiteness, straining to focus so hard tears hung from his lashes. The anxious feeling began to quicken in his veins again; he could see in the black of night, but not in the mist covering the dunes now.

  “Mi’et? You awake?”

  No answer.

  Kaitar swore under his breath and led Molly forward, feeling his way with cautious, slow steps. Wet sand dragged at his feet, b
ootheels sinking where the fog had soaked the top layer. A silence lay over the dunes, so thick he wanted to scream to shatter it.

  “Mi’et? Say something. I can’t see shit right now, and—”

  His left foot struck something. Crouching, Kaitar touched the damp bedroll. The real world still existed after all; he’d not gotten trapped in some hellish limbo during the night. Mi’et’s silver hair clasp lay discarded next to the blankets. Nearby, the dented kettle shimmered with gray dew.

  Kaitar swung onto the mule’s bare back, hoping the high vantage point would allow him a clearer view. It did not. Letting Molly pick her own way, he peered into the fog. After a few wary steps, the mule stretched out her neck, her inquisitive nose bumping into something Kaitar had to squint to see.

  “Mi’et.”

  Mi’et’s black scalp-lock hung loose against his broad back, soaking his yalei. He remained hunched over a ring of coals that must have been dead for hours, and didn’t speak or look up as Molly nudged him again.

  “Didn’t you hear me?” Kaitar slid to the ground. “Called for you twice.”

  The other man kept his silence, eyes fixed on two cards in his good hand. Kaitar squatted next to him, looking at the printed pictures. Mi’et traced along his mother’s sad, printed smile. Then, his broad finger touched the second card. That woman’s smile was more aloof, almost haughty, and did not touch her eyes at all.

  Mariyah.

  Kaitar lowered his head. Looking at those pictures always made him queasy. “Is the whole Belt like this?”

  “Not all of it,” Mi’et replied quietly, tucking the cards into his back pocket.

  “How much of it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Kaitar watched him, trying to find any hint of emotion on the mottled face. “Guess we should break camp. Where’s the da’mel?”

  “Hobbled a few yards away.”

  “Where’s your canteen? We’ve got about two days’ worth of fodder left for Molly and the da’mel, but, shit, after that. . .” The burdens of their situation crowded close, making the fog and Mi’et’s silence seem foolish things to worry over. “Where’s the damned road you keep talking about? We have to find it soon, or we’ll need to turn back. You and I? We can go without food and water for a while. Molly and that da’mel can’t.”