GHOSTS IN THE GLASS Read online

  Unable to stop himself, Zres grinned back. Just when he was about to turn and run from the awful monster and his mother-of-pearl stare, Sairel spoke, breaking the spell. “That’s a rather interesting way of putting the situation.”

  Zres swallowed hard; he almost couldn’t remember what they’d been talking about, and didn’t know what to say.

  “But,” Sairel went on. “You and I. . . everyone. . . in this town were already prisoners. Even Neiro, though he’d like to forget that fact. I was on the run for years, but I sometimes wonder if I ever really escaped even for a moment, or if I’d gotten free from my cage only to find it penned inside a bigger one. Now, I’m in the smallest cage of all.”

  Disappointment finally peeled the smile from his face. “I already said we’re all prisoners, didn’t I? I’m sick of lookin’ at your willy and your face. I’m comin’ in to get that bowl.”

  “In a moment.” Sairel leaned forward. “Viyr was damaged, wasn’t he?”

  “They got Zippy locked up in the warehouse. He’s dead.”

  “He was already dead, technically. But his Shelfing, I mean. Did anyone inspect it?”

  The stink of piss and dust brought bile burning to his throat again. “No one tells me shit, and right now I don’t care. You done?”

  “Yes, take it. And the bucket, please. You’ve no idea how humiliating it is to have someone carry your waste out for you every day, do you? Or maybe you have an inkling. . . but only an inkling.” Sairel smirked. “Come and get the food, Zres. I’m hardly going to attack you. Do I look capable of such a thing?”

  You look capable of anything. You look like you could scrape the meat right off a bone faster than a vulture.

  He went into the cell anyway, unarmed except for his own teeth, which had no sharp edges at all. Sairel handed him the bowl with an almost prissy gesture; the Shurin’s fingers brushed Zres’s wrist, and the skin felt as warm and normal as his own. He stared at the place the clawed fingers had touched, looking for a glistening trail of slime, waiting for blisters or boils to pop up all over his arm. The only thing he saw were a few stubborn freckles leftover from boyhood.

  “With Mi’et gone, is this Garv person going to be cooking from now on?”

  Zres tucked the half-empty bowl under his arm and shrugged as he reached for the handle of the waste bucket. “Don’t know. Probably. And we’ll all die anyway, either from her cookin’ or because the Scrappers are eating everything we got stored. That’s if the water don’t run out first.”

  “So, a slow death for us all, just like in the Junk.” Sairel frowned. “Zres, if you help me, Dogton may yet get clear of this trouble. . .and the trouble goes deeper than you can know. Probably even deeper than I know, and I know a lot. The Harpers are here, aren’t they?”

  “They’re here.” Zres closed the cell door, set the bucket aside, and jammed the key into the lock. His skin prickled with cold anger at the thought of Harper Moad, but it ran cold in a different way when he remembered the Soulmaker—Opert Reeth—who trailed Moad like a shadow.

  Forcing that uneasiness aside, he said, “But all they do is walk around talkin’ about Mary Soulsucker while Moad fucks every whore in this town. Why? What do Harpers got to do with anything?”

  “If the Harpers are here, it means they have some specific goal in mind. Or did. . . and they’ll play to whatever side is winning. But, Zres, if you could get me to Viyr, I—”

  “If I took you out of this cell they’d shoot you dead. And me? I got a wedding to go in a few weeks. Can’t miss that, can I?” Zres turned, dizzy with hatred, ears closed to the Shurin’s protests as he conjured images of his mother—Lucy Corrin—dressed in white muslin, a wreath of desert flowers in her wheat-colored hair. Smiling at Moad. Kissing him. Moad turning to the gathered crowd, winking a twinkling blue eye.

  Maybe this town should starve out. Nothin’ good is here. Just s’rats in a latrine, fightin’ over the brightest turd.

  “Please!” Sairel’s voice rose a notch. “Listen. This goes beyond any petty differences between my people and yours. Those don’t matter now. What matters is—”

  “Fuck you and all Enetics and everyone in this shit town! I hope it burns to the ground.” Zres slammed the final barrier and locked it, closing the Shurin inside that stuffy, hot building to suffer his own madness in isolation.

  Monsters

  “Your ribs are mending well.” Sokepta prodded Leigh’s side with plump fingers. “Does that hurt?”

  She shook her head and pulled from the Drahgur’s gentle inspection. “No. It is a little tender, but it doesn’t hurt much now.” Leigh yanked on her jacket, zipped it, and caught a glimpse of the stain above her bunk. She hated that splotch now; it was a reminder of Gren Turren, of how things had been before all the world had turned to shit beneath her boots.

  Sokepta frowned. “Your ribs are mending well, as I said, but. . .” He tapped a finger against his knee. “It’s a hard lot we’ve been given here. Are you still having bad dreams?”

  “I haven’t mentioned anything about dreams.”

  Across the annex, Vore flipped a card at Garv without looking up, cool as a proverbial cucumber. A guilty flush crept up Garv’s thick neck, turning her face bright crimson.

  They told him. They told Sokepta I’ve been waking up with nightmares.

  Leigh wrestled that sense of betrayal. “The bad dreams will pass. I am more concerned about the state of Dogton than the. . . the situation that happened in Bywater Gully.”

  Sokepta tilted his head toward the heavy canvas flaps. There, just visible under the thick fabric, a murky shadow pressed close. Niles always had a Scrapper listening outside the barracks, waiting for the barest hint of mutiny or a whisper of hidden weapons. It was the same with every home in Dogton; the Scrappers had effectively draped the entire town under a blanket of fear.

  “Dogton will be fine,” the Drahgur said with mock cheer. “I think everything will be back to normal very soon.” He stood and offered a crooked smile. “I can give you some pepper bloom tea to help with your bad dreams. I gave most of it to Mi’et when he left, but Anaz’dalo has some he will sell me. It will help dull any pain left in your rib while it heals, too.”

  Leigh recoiled. The sharp, earthy scent of pepper bloom burned deeply into recollections of terror. That smell had clung to Kaitar Besh like perfume, trailing him just as the threk had.

  “Leigh, would you like me to get some from Anaz’dalo?”

  “Thank you, but I do not want any. I will be fine.” Leigh rose. “As soon as I’m able, I will get to the water shed and draw payment for everything you’ve done to help me recover during the past few weeks.”

  Sokepta shook his head. “Don’t rush yourself to draw a gallon. I’ve a feeling we’re in for a hard winter and a dry spring, and you may need that water more than I will.”

  “Half the reservoir’s filled up,” Vore drawled, tossing his cards aside. “The lid got damaged in the Bloom and sand blew into the cracks. Couple of s’rats drowned in there, too. Whole bottom is sludge. It’s gonna take a mess of work to clean it up, and even then, the water’s gotta be filtered. The water shed might not be able to handle all that at once. That pump is old.”

  “We’ve always had plenty in reserve,” Garv added. “But things got so messed up when—”

  Vore put a finger to his lips.

  “When the Bloom hit,” Garv finished lamely.

  Leigh fingered the canteen at her belt. “There are other ways of filtering water. Slower ways, yes, but we will manage it somehow.”

  “The Sulari used charcoal and sand. So did Dogton, before the water pump was installed.” Sokepta gathered up his black leather bag and hoisted it to his shoulder. “Come to me if the nightmares do not stop soon, Leigh. But now, I have another patient to tend.”

  Before the conversation could continue, a loud, authoritative voice filled the barracks. “Enough with that, Drahgur.”

  They all turned to look as Jess Karraetu—the ma
n who had taken N’jian Printz’s post as Scrapper Commander—stepped inside, pistol in hand. He lowered his sand mask, cold, blue eyes training on Sokepta. “You don’t need to discuss anything except how her ribs are doing, which you did. Out. Now.”

  Sokepta shuffled past without another word, but not before glancing pointedly at Leigh, his black eyes gleaming—a warning, perhaps, or a message he couldn’t put voice to without risking his life.

  “And you.” Karraetu’s voice smashed her thoughts apart like a crowbar. “Niles wants to talk to you.”

  “I am not one of your men to order around. You disarmed us. You have us penned in these barracks unless we beg permission to leave. Beyond keeping my promise to remain unarmed and inside, I’m not under your authority.”

  “Let me rephrase it, then. You go talk to Niles, or it will be the people in these barracks that go without water. If you don’t like that, you can go take another walk out there in the desert. Your choice.” Karraetu pulled the mask over his face, making his voice into a distorted rasp. “Where’s that dip-shit kid? We gave him ten minutes to feed the fish, not fifteen.”

  “I can go find him,” Vore said, rising from his bunk. “If I have permission to leave this glorified tent.”

  Karraetu motioned him back down. “No. You’re staying put.” He flicked a finger at Leigh. “Ten minutes. If that boy’s not back here then, everyone’s on half water rations all week. Report to Niles when you’re done.”

  Vore shot Leigh a sympathetic look. “Good luck.”

  She didn’t answer as she brushed past Karraetu, who smelled of gun oil, sweat, and chewing tobacco. The scent burned worse than pepper bloom, and she could feel the Commander’s stare drilling into her back.

  Outside, the dismal sight of the town made Leigh forget about Karraetu’s threats. Dogton resembled a squatter camp more than it did the well-ordered place she remembered. Beyond the town gates, the water-fields lay in ruin. Not many people in the border town knew what it meant to starve or go thirsty, but Leigh did. She would never forget drinking urine mixed with water, grandly dubbed “Sulari tea” by the Nal’ves squatters. The taste of bugs, too, lingered on her tongue and made her belly twist.

  The squat, mudbrick jailhouse at the northern end of town seemed a lonely, forlorn thing. Sand piled up against the western face, but the building remained otherwise undamaged. Two Scrappers patrolling the perimeter whistled as she drew near. Leigh stiffened against the urge to run from them—to pretend none of the events of the past month had ever happened. If she could just close her eyes, maybe they would vanish.

  “Where you goin’?”

  Hoping Zres Corrin would appear at the closed door, she slowed her pace.

  The second Scrapper, hazel-eyed and gap-toothed, patted his rifle. “You got permission to be out?”

  “Where you goin’?” The first man called again. “Hey, stop. That’s an order.”

  Leigh halted. Instinctively, her fingers brushed against an empty holster; they had taken her Firebrand at Pirahj.

  The bearded Scrapper laughed. “That’s right. You got nothin’ to draw except an answer. So, who gave you permission?”

  “She’s got my permission to hold my rifle,” the hazel-eyed man cut in, leering. “What you think, J.T.? Think she could handle it?”

  J.T. shrugged, visibly annoyed at the interruption. “Shit. Ain’t much to handle, Panezii.”

  Panezii jabbed him with an elbow. “Your sister didn’t complain last night.” He turned back to Leigh. “Answer J.T., sugar tits. Who gave you permission to be out?”

  A familiar, helpless rage twisted in her gut like a knife. “Karraetu sent me. I’m going to find Zres, who is feeding the prisoner. Then, I am going to have a meeting with Evrik Niles, as he requested.”

  “That’s Boss Niles,” Panezii corrected. “Say it again.”

  “Boss Niles.” The words tasted bitter.

  J.T. motioned with his rifle. “Go on, then. You wouldn’t want to waste your time with Panezii’s tiny pecker anyway.” He leered, showing brown-stained teeth. “But if you ever want to hold a real gun, you come see me. I like Pihranese girls. They ain’t prudes like some of these Estarian women.”

  If either of you tried to take me, you would regret it. I’d make sure of that.

  As Leigh climbed the cracked stone stairs, one of the men whistled at her as though she were a dog. The jailhouse door swung open and Zres stepped out, bowl in hand, strawberry-blond hair hanging in his freckled face. Though only a few years her junior, he’d always seemed too much a boy to be a peer.

  Zres regarded her with blank surprise. “They sent you out to fetch me?”

  “You’re late coming back. We don’t want to see you get into trouble.”

  Zres’s lips parted in a big, unhappy grin. “You make a pretty good lap dog, you know that? Niles or Karraetu snaps their fingers, and you come waggin’ your tail, ready to go chase a stick. What’s it matter if I get in trouble? They gonna string me up because it took the shark longer to eat his slop than it should have? Tell them to go bug him about it.”

  Some of Leigh’s sympathy evaporated. “I am not their lap dog. I am trying to—”

  “You can go fuck yourself.” Zres thudded past, nearly knocking her off the steps. He tossed the bowl into the dust, sent it flying across the empty road with a kick, and stalked toward the barracks. From down the street, Panezii and J.T. whistled at him. Leigh winced, waiting for Zres to call back an insult and get shot, but he didn’t seem to notice the Scrappers. For that small mercy, she was grateful.

  I can’t do anything about him right now. Maybe I can get Vore to talk to him later about calming down. Or maybe Erid will. He likes Erid. I’ll have to ask permission to do that soon.

  The sour realization of having to ask permission to help a grieving boy made her want to scream. The whole world had turned upside down, flipped right over by the Scrappers, Evrik Niles, and the Bloom. Neiro Precaius had not been a kind man to work for—he’d driven his Enforcers hard, pinched pints, demanded every citizen of Dogton pull their weight in some way or other, and even bargained lives for crates of Worm Glass— but the town had thrived under his iron rule. The people had been safe and the water clean.

  Most of the time.

  Paying no heed to the watching mercenaries, Leigh approached only two-story building in town—Neiro’s office. Or Niles’s office now, she supposed. Even that big structure looked run down and weather-beaten after the Bloom. She stared up at the blank windows, hoping for a glimpse of Neiro, but the faded curtains were still, and gave no hint of anyone inside. A camera hanging above the steel door hummed on and swiveled in her direction, the dark lens flashing like a strange eye.

  “It’s Leigh Enderi,” she said, aiming her words at the device. “Karraetu said you wanted to speak with me.”

  For a moment, nothing happened. Leigh rubbed her aching ribs, wondering if Evrik Niles was at his desk watching the monitor, or if he were still asleep. Then, the doorknob rattled violently and the door swung open. A pale Estarian with a ragged beard peeked between the crack, followed by a musty odor laced with ozone.

  Niles squinted and peered up at the sky, looking baffled. “It’s noon already?”

  He’s been drinking Synth.

  “Karraetu said you wanted to speak with me.”

  “Oh, yeah. You’re the Sulari bitch.” Niles frowned, glaring up at the bright sky one last time before pushing the door wide. “Get in here. You’re an Enforcer, aren’t you? The one that came in from the desert after I gave Neiro a zap and laid him out.” He grinned over his shoulder as Leigh followed him through the doorway. “Fat old fuck anyway. Sit right there, just like you used to with him. We’re gonna talk about the water problem. I got a headache and shit to get done, so we’ll make it fast.”

  A huge desk made from polished acacia dominated the room. Next to the desk, a stuffed threk stalked, motionless, as it had for as long as anyone could remember. But none of Neiro’s fastidiousnes
s remained; three empty bottles perched haphazardly on the edge of the desk and a sweat-stained jacket hung limply on a chair. The entire room reeked with Synth, filth, and urine. Leigh guessed Evrik Niles frequently opted to use a bucket to relieve himself instead of leaving for the latrines.

  Breathing through her nose, she sank into the chair furthest the dirty jacket. Niles slid around the big desk and plopped down. He looked small in Neiro’s place, as if the dreary office had swallowed him whole. The Veraleid transceiver blinked with an incoming message, but whatever transmission awaited Evrik Niles went ignored as he folded his hands and cleared his throat in a vain attempt to seem important.

  “Karraetu and I discussed you a few times. Brynn Aurlin mentioned you once, too, before I sent him off to Glasstown to hold the fort for me. You’re holdin’ yourself together better than the other Enforcers. Karraetu says you must have a good head on your shoulders to make it back alive from the desert, ‘specially after gettin’ caught by old Lein Strauss.”

  The thought of Karraetu and Evrik Niles discussing her merits made the noxious odor sweet by comparison. “If something is not done about the water and food problem here, you will be running a squatter camp in a year’s time.”

  “Hell of a way to start a conversation. Here I am, tryin’ to pay you a compliment and gettin’ ready to ask for your cooperation, and you insult my planning abilities. I heard you’re Sulari and not just some regular Pihranese cunt. Must be true, judgin’ from how high and mighty you talk. Now, listen. I got a lot on my plate. Dogton—”

  “Is a lot more difficult to run than Glasstown.” Leigh knew she should shut up, but could not. “Neiro took care of all the water mandates and rationing to the other towns. He kept track of the inventory Avaeliis sent to be distributed in the province. Neiro was the one who ensured there were no shortfalls when harvests went bad or bandits raided. Now, the Avaeliis Syndicate wants you to do that, and you don’t know how.”

  Niles’s face twisted into a mask of hatred, his rancor so thick Leigh imagined she could smell it reeking along with the dirty bucket. Men like Evrik Niles did not like to hear bitter truths laid bare; they wanted women to cower and men to agree, wanted smiles and lies to comfort their small intelligence and delicate egos.