GHOSTS IN THE GLASS Page 8

  “Mama’s boy,” one jeered. His companions all laughed.

  Zres barely heard them, however. His gaze had settled on the place Anaz’dalo had been cut down. Blood still stained the sand where the wind hadn’t yet blown it away. He hadn’t seen any of that fight, and no one spoke of it, but he’d seen the aftermath; six Scrappers buried, their funerals hasty affairs preceded over by Harper Moad. Anaz’dalo’s body had been tossed outside the gates for the crows and buzzards to pick at. Zres didn’t imagine there could be much left after three days, and he hoped the crows would go away soon. Their screeching had started to haunt his dreams.

  “Go on, Mama’s boy.”

  He hurried by the stained ground, stomping an urge to make the sign of Mary’s Lantern to ward off any ghosts that might be lingering. But that was stupid Harper bullshit—something his mother might do—and shame filled him at the notion.

  Anger bolstering his courage, Zres shoved the Bin door open and grimaced as it snapped back, pinching his shoulder. “My ma here?”

  Hubert glanced up from where he sat at an empty table reading a tattered magazine. No one else occupied the barroom, and his voice grated the silence like sandpaper. “In the back, as usual. Having coffee with that damned Soulmaker.

  “Where’s Moad?”

  “How the fuck should I know? In the latrine, probably. The man shits more than anyone I’ve ever met in my life.” Hubert tossed down the magazine. “I’ll be happy when your mother is gone, Zres. She’s taking up space and not bringing in any water since she’s retired. But I can’t very well kick a Harper’s fiancé’ out to the streets, can I?” He gave a sour grin.

  “Why don’t you hire one of those heads you got stuffed up there?” Zres motioned to the rows of dusty taxidermy lining the Bin’s grimy walls. “They got holes in the back, and most the turds in this shitbowl don’t know the difference between a goat head and a whore’s ass.”

  Hubert laughed. “I may have to if things keep up like this. It’ll be hard to get a new girl to work in Dogton now. Peaches isn’t the expert your mother is; she’ll never boast that much clientele.”

  “You included in that clientele?” His face ached as his mouth twisted up, every tooth showing. “I guess that means you can go fuck one of these heads, too.”

  Hubert’s smile fell. He picked up his magazine and gave it a hard shake to straighten the pages. “I’ll be glad when I don’t have to see you coming in here on Sundays, either. You’ve been a pain in the ass since the day your mother spread her legs and popped you out.”

  Heat crept into his cheeks, flushing his face so fiercely, Zres thought his head might catch fire. When he tried to speak, only a strangled laugh came out. Hubert didn’t bother to look up as Zres thumped past the table, his heavy tread making the floorboards shake beneath their coating of red dust. The odor of cheap perfume permeating the hallway grew thicker as he neared his mother’s suite.

  He paused in front of her room, tapping lightly. “Ma, I’m here.”

  A woman’s musical voice rang out behind the closed door. “Come on in, Zres honey. We’re havin’ coffee.”

  He hesitated, the irritation at Hubert dwindled at the sharp recollection of who his mother was supposedly having coffee with—Opert Reeth. Zres had not forgotten the way Reeth had smiled during Orin’s funeral, or how the Soulmaker had wrestled with the blowing sand as though the Bloom could only cease in wake of his implacable patience.

  “Zres?” Lucy Corrin called again, closer this time. The door swung open and she peered out, powdered face framed by golden hair. “Why are you just standin’ there, sweetheart?”

  “Nothin’ Mama.” Zres stepped inside.

  A man sat at a worn table covered with a pitifully faded cloth. His black garb gave Zres the impression that a nasty smudge had found its way onto the seedy, pastel décor his mother preferred. The revolver at his belt gleamed with a fresh coat of polish, the Harper’s cross inlay dazzlingly bright.

  Opert Reeth nodded a greeting. “Good afternoon, Zerestus.”

  Zres’s heart shriveled with dread, but he returned the nod.

  His mother flitted around like a cheerful, twittering bird. “You’ve met Mr. Reeth, haven’t you, Zres? He’s such a comforting presence.” She flashed the Soulmaker a pretty smile and slid her petite hands over Zres’s shoulders. “Sit down and let’s all have some coffee and corn cake.”

  “Yeah,” Zres muttered. “Fine.” He sank into the chair reluctantly, leaning away from Opert Reeth’s careful scrutiny, the initial fear giving way to irritation. “Why you lookin’ at me like that? You going to make a report to Moad about it?”

  “No,” Reeth replied evenly. “I am wondering how you’re holding up after the events of the past few weeks.”

  Lucy Corrin served two cups brimming with coffee and tucked a napkin into the front of Reeth’s high-collared jacket. “So you don’t take stain if it spills.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Corrin. That’s very thoughtful.”

  His mother smiled, but Zres didn’t fail to notice the nervous way her fingers trembled as she poured her own cup. Even the tar-thick coffee looked weak—almost translucent—compared to the black Reeth wore. Staring at his mug, Zres imagined himself swallowed by all the darkness. A ripple distorted the lines of his face as his mother bumped the table.

  “Your mother is getting married soon,” Reeth said. “How do you feel about that, Zerestus?”

  “He’s adjusting, of course,” Lucy said before Zres could find a retort. “He’s a fine young man. A little headstrong, like his father.”

  “I can speak for myself.”

  “I know that, Zres honey, though I don’t—”

  Reeth cut her off. “And now this problem with the Shyiine a few days ago. Do you recall what I said before the attack on Dogton, when Moad and I brought you supper at the watch tower?”

  The coffee cup hovered an inch from Zres’s mouth, forgotten. Fragrant steam bathed his cheeks, turning his lips damp. “I remember. Why are you askin’ about it? You want me to tell you what a tragedy that old man’s death was? That my heart is bleedin’ out my nose because Anaz’dalo attacked the Scrappers?”

  “I don’t expect any of that. I was hoping you’d tell me what you really thought of the matter, and if you’d given my words any consideration in light of all that has happened.”

  Lucy Corrin sipped her coffee delicately, but kept her eyes lowered. His mother had never made it a great secret she would not take Enetic customers to her rooms, but neither did she openly speak her prejudice. She had a strict rule about never making impolite comments, taken straight from the Good Book.

  Zres managed a big gulp. The liquid scalded his tongue, but Opert Reeth’s mild gaze burned more, somehow. He wiped his lips absently. “I don’t see what ‘Dalo goin’ crazy has anything to do with anything you ever said.”

  “I spoke of how Enetics could not be trusted in a Bloom, that they were often the worst part of it. They have a great capacity for violence and evil-doing, Zerestus. Even your co-workers have begun to realize that, despite your father’s unwillingness to give up the hope he could help Enetics.”

  “Shut up about my old man.”

  “I meant no disrespect. Orin had a great deal of sympathy for them. Pity for such creatures is, in theory, noble. He wanted to help them, but in practice it was a fine disaster. As we at the Citadel say, the road to darkness is mapped from the very best of intentions.”

  “Orin was a kind man,” Lucy interjected.

  “Yes, he was,” Reeth agreed. “But often misguided in who benefitted from that kindness.”

  Zres clutched at the end of the table cloth, fingers curling and uncurling in spasmodic jerks. “My old man is dead, so it don’t matter now, does it? Kind or not, he’s stuck in the ground. And it wasn’t any Enetic who did that, it was Niles and Karraetu and those assholes wearin’ around turds for uniforms.”

  “There were two Enetics who could have warned Neiro about the planned attack, an
d did not.” Reeth steepled his hands on the table. “The Druen fellow and that female Shyiine. Wasn’t she Anaz’dalo’s offspring?”

  Zres could say nothing to that. His mother patted his shoulder, but he shrugged the hand away.

  “And,” the Soulmaker went on. “The scout—Kaitar Besh? — left one of your own peers to navigate a Bloom. He went crazy, didn’t he? And it isn’t the first time. It isn’t uncommon knowledge that he’s done this before, after the Bywater trouble all those years ago. The half-breed fellow who murdered all those other slaves in the pit has gone after him, I understand.”

  “Yeah, Mi’et went after Kaitar, just like last time. So what?”

  “Zres, listen to Mr. Reeth,” Lucy said. “I think it’s an important lesson he’s trying to teach you.”

  Zres drained the cup and set it down too hard on the table, frowning. “The only lesson I’ve learned is Harpers got an agenda that usually includes findin’ a way to diddle someone. Literally, or in a more philosophical way. Spread your legs for them or spread your mind, either way, they’re gonna flood you with so much—”

  His mother slapped his cheek so hard the pain barely registered at all. Zres rubbed at the red spot, his skin prickling. He tongued the bitterness of coffee and betrayal lingering in his mouth. “Mama, I don’t think I’ll be comin’ here for Sunday lunch anymore.”

  “No, not until you can learn to be more respectful to your elders, I guess you won’t be.”

  Reeth’s leather glove squeaked as he held up a hand. “Please, no. It’s quite all right, Ms. Corrin. I’m not offended by his words or his outlook; I’m a Soulmaker, after all. It would dim the Light of Mary should we be so petty as to take personal offense. Zerestus has his reasons for feeling as he does. He’s lost a lot in the past few weeks, after all. His father, the stability of the town he grew up in. He’s even losing you, in a way, as you’re to be married. That’s a large change to adjust to.”

  Zres swiped his mug from the table. It crashed to the floor in a rain of broken porcelain. “Quit talkin’ about me like I can’t think for myself! I’m not some fly buzzin’ around without a thought in my head. You wanna know what I think?”

  Lucy reddened, stood, and said nothing as she began to pick up the pieces.

  “Yes, please,” Reeth said.

  Zres sucked in a breath and held it until his chest hurt. Then, he spoke blasphemy—words might get him arrested and make his mother hate him forever. But he could not stop them. “I think Moad is a lyin’ piece of shit who is only marryin’ Mama because he’s sick of payin’ water to wet his pud sinker. I think Enetics are all crazy as threk shit. I think Neiro is dead. I think Niles is gonna let this town starve out. I think Mary Soulmaker is a lie made up so you Harpers can have an easy life dupin’ people. That’s what I think.”

  “Zres!” Lucy stared at him, pretty mouth hanging open, trying to find a scolding hard enough to cut him to the quick.

  Zres only grinned helplessly. “He asked what I thought. I only told him.”

  She rose stiffly, her face losing some of its radiance, lips pressed together so hard they went white. For the first time Zres could remember, his mother looked worn—almost old. Remorse snapped through him like a broken wire.

  “Mama, I didn’t mean it.”

  “I think you should go,” she said in a soft, icy voice. “Phineas is going to be back from Niles’s office soon, and my poor nerves can’t handle any more arguing.”

  The Soulmaker’s face drew into a look of measured concern. “Ms. Corrin, I’m sorry this upset you. Please accept my apologies.”

  “Oh, no, don’t trouble yourself, Mr. Reeth.” Lucy’s polite smile looked strained. “I just don’t tolerate rudeness well. I’ve got delicate nerves.”

  “Of course.”

  “Your nerves are steel, Mama. You just don’t tolerate anyone gettin’ in the way. And I’ve always done that, haven’t I? I’ll go.” Zres’s knees wobbled as he pushed himself up. Even the smile wasn’t there to bolster him now; it had abandoned him—run right off his face and left him naked in the wake of shame and hurt.

  Reeth stood and extended a hand. “Let me escort you out, Zerestus. We can talk more, if you’d like. I think you have a spark of something very special in you. It can be hard to be different around people who prize normalcy and mediocrity. Perhaps, if we could have an hour’s time alone to discuss your feelings, you may understand the point I’d hoped to make.”

  “No.” His tone sounded strange as he spoke—not loose, wild words flying off his tongue, but a controlled snap reminiscent of his father’s voice. “I know my own way out, and I don’t want nothin’ you got to offer.”

  He left, feeling as though he were floating away instead of walking out of the dusty cantina and into the hot street. Alone in an unyielding, invisible circle, Zres drifted to the barracks, his mind swirling with thoughts blacker than a Soulmaker’s smile.

  PART TWO:

  THE ENFORCER

  Water Rights

  The Bloom chewed the sky apart with great teeth made of lightning. Electricity shredded the swirling, red clouds with tearing bites. The earth cracked, yawning into a thousand pieces, and Leigh fell screaming into the void. She felt no pain when she hit bottom, only heard the tinkling of broken glass. Shattered, black glass, where a tin cigarette case gleamed up at her, flashing once before a shadow fell. How a shadow could fall in a place already devoid of all light Leigh didn’t know, but the terror that rose in her belly burned all the way to her throat.

  Above, the ceiling dripped with gore where a stain had once been. Flies buzzed a chant: “Pork. Oink. Oink.”

  “No!”

  A figure materialized from the darkness, huge and bearded, wearing a pair of blazing red goggles that shielded his eyes. When he smiled, his teeth were ashes in a blackened mouth. A reek of sulfur and burning flesh rolled in a great plume, coiling upward into nothingness. The goggles fell from his face, and roots bunched in the empty holes where his eyes should have been. They slithered out and twined over Leigh like black, coiling snakes, rattling dry wood in dire warning, pulling her closer to him.

  “You ever been to Bywater?”

  “No, no!”

  Leigh smacked her head on the bunk post as she rolled, thrashing in the blankets, kicking them away in a fury of panic. Not caring that her head rang with pain, she tore at the sheets, screaming as a hand gripped her shoulder.

  “Let me go!”

  “Vore, help me. She’s havin’ one of those dreams again!” Garv’s strong hands pinned Leigh to the bunk, the low voice wedging a blade of sense into the fading dream. “Snap to, kid!”

  Vore appeared, speaking in a mellow, slow drawl. “Leigh, you’re havin’ a bad nightmare, that’s all.”

  “Everyone here’s fucking crazy,” a higher voice broke in somewhere from the left. “We might as well start chargin’ admission to this circus freak show.”

  “Shut up, Zres.” Garv loosened her grip. “Leigh, you with us?”

  No. Never. I’ll never really be here again.

  She closed her eyes, trying to collect her thoughts and scatter the awful images. “I’m. . . I’m all right. You can let me go. I’m awake now.”

  Garv stepped back, but Vore lingered a moment longer, gray eyes narrowed. He shook his head. “You need to talk to Sokepta about gettin’ some of that pepper bloom to calm your nerves. You been through a lot, and you need to sleep to get over it. And to deal with all the bullshit Niles is pilin’ on us, too.”

  Leigh sat upright, rubbing her head where she’d banged it against the bunk post. A small, tender lump had already formed just above her temple. She winced as her fingers pressed it. “I don’t need pepper bloom tea. But I would like a drink of water. Do either of you have a full canteen handy?”

  From his bunk, Zres grinned. “I do. But you never ask me, so fuck you.”

  “No one asks you because you’re an asshole.” Garv crossed her thick arms over her flat bosom. “We’re sorry
about Orin. Real damned sorry, and not just for your sake, but it don’t give you leave to be a twat to your own co-workers.”

  Zres shrugged. “You ain’t my co-workers. We ain’t Enforcers no more; we’re beans. Dog turds, stuck on Evrik Niles’s boot until he decides to scrape us off.” He reached for a boot lying nearby and jerked it on with a quick, angry motion. “I gotta feed the shark.”

  “We’re sorry about your ma gettin’ married to Moad, too. None of us like him much, but Garv’s right,” Vore said. “It’s not an excuse to spit on us. We’re all stuck in this together, and Leigh’s been through a hell like you ain’t never seen. Cut her some slack, Zres.”

  “I’m fine,” Leigh said. But it was too late; Zres’s green eyes had gone flat, his grin twisted askew on his freckled face.

  “You three stick together like flies on shit. It suits you.” He winked, pulled a faded yalei over his shoulders, and moved to the camp stove in the annex. Leigh sniffed, suddenly aware of a smell almost as foul as that in her nightmare—the scent of burning corn grits and goat cheese warming on the stove. Without a word, Zres dumped the noxious mixture into a dirty bowl and stomped out.

  “Zres,” Vore called after him. “You gotta ask permission before—”

  Leigh shook her head. “Let him go. Keeping him in here won’t make it any better.”

  “He’s a prick,” Garv muttered. “A spoiled little asshole. Always was.”

  “He’s hardly more than a boy,” Leigh said. “And he’s lost his father. His mother. . . we all know how it is between them. And now, she’ll be leaving him behind to go to the Citadel next spring.”

  Vore sighed and flopped onto his bunk. “I thought Harper Moad wanted a chapel here in Dogton?”

  “Not anymore.” Leigh stood, ribs aching, head throbbing along in sympathy. “I heard him speaking to Niles. He wants to leave as soon as the weather is safe for travel. And Frell is leaving as soon as we repair the water filter.”

  “They’re deserting. Running away like Mi’et and Kaitar.” Garv scowled as she rummaged through her small pile of gear the Scrappers hadn’t confiscated. She held up a canteen. “Here’s some water, Leigh. It’s stale, but it’s clean.”