Emily was leaning across me, her breasts smashed against my ribs. I tried to make a joke and coughed instead. It sounded like a rusty winch, that cough. She sat up suddenly and put her palm in the middle of my chest.
“You look horrible,” she said.
“Feel it.” My throat was sandy-dry. I put a hand to my mouth and felt sticky blood on my lips. “Nice friends you got.”
Emily shrugged. “Wilson does his things, and he does them well. You should feel lucky that he owes me. His services are expensive.”
“My debt.” I tried to sit up, but the pain in my chest was too much. “Where is he?”
“Out. Some things he needed. He wanted to wait until I was back. Didn’t want to leave you unattended.”
“And you? Where were you, while your expensive friend was stuffing bugs down my throat?”
“Some errands.” She leaned away from me and looked around the theater. The room looked brighter, but that might have just been my tired eyes. “Strange things going on, and I have interests to protect.”
I coughed. My throat was a little better, but not well. Felt like I was breathing glass. “You want to errand me up some water?”
Emily stood up and got me a glass, poured from a tap in the grimy wall. She sat next to me on the bed while I drank. The water was warm and cloudy. It tasted like blood. That might have just been me.
“Better?” Emily asked. She was standing by the bed with her hands on her hips.
“Some.” I tried to sit up again, and it went better. My chest felt like a stack of very precariously balanced plates, cracked and tottering. I put a hand on Emily’s shoulder. Her skin was cold. “What the hell’s wrong with me?”
“Wilson said something about the bug not reading right. And you’re mending fast, like nothing he’s seen.” She carefully shrugged off my hand, took the empty glass and set it on one of the work benches that circled the room. “The healing is taking up a lot of you, all at once. Here it is.”
She came back to the bed, holding a stoppered bottle. She presented it to me, turning it so the bug inside clinked against the glass. “Make any sense to you?”
I peered in at the bug. The beetle was dead, its legs curled up like burnt eyelashes, its back shiny and black. The pattern scrawled across its shell was complicated and unfamiliar.
“What do I know about engrams?” I peered at the pattern on its back. When you took foetal metal for an implant, the docs had you memorize a pattern for the living steel to imprint upon. That pattern should somehow be reflected on the beetle. It had been a while for me, but the bizarre scraping in my hand looked like nothing I’d seen before. It hurt to look at. “Mean anything to you?”
“Mm,” Emily said, her lips pursed. “Means you’re one complicated son of a bitch. Wilson thinks maybe the beetle was bad, or the massive damage in your body threw it off. He insists you couldn’t make anything with a pattern like that.”
“Well.” I slid the beetle back into the bottle from my cupped hand, put the stopper in and set it by the bed. “That’s a mystery for another mind. How’d your errands go?”
“Poorly. Lots of Badge out there. Most folks are just staying low. You’ve made a hell of a mess out there, Jacob Burn.”
“I have. Did you get in touch with Cacher?”
“No,” Emily said quickly. “I was… his business and mine don’t cross, right now.”
“Business.” I grimaced. “He seemed pretty worried about you, last I saw him.”
“Well. Maybe with good reason. Hanging out with you seems to be a world of trouble.”
She was leaning against the bed, her arms crossed, just a crack of a smile leaking across her face. I smiled and put a hand against her elbow. She didn’t move it.
“Hanging out with me has always been trouble. Why should now be any different?”
She smiled a little more, but didn’t move her arms. She turned away and walked to one of the tables nearby.
“I got you some new clothes. Took the sizing from the ones you ruined. I hope the cut’s not too modern.”
“I’m sure they’re fine. Emily, what happened in your apartment? What did you do with the Cog?”
She paused, rearranged the clothes on the table, folding and refolding the pants and vest.
“What’s the story with that Cog, Jacob? What’s the real story?”
“Like I said. Marcus gave it to me, but I think there’s a lot going on with it.” I didn’t want to tell her more than that, yet. I didn’t know what she had to do with all this. Didn’t know I could trust her.
“A lot going on with it.” She nodded and turned to me, leaning against the table, her hands behind her back. “That’s one way of putting it. There were some men, after you left. They must have been watching the place.”
“What men? How were they dressed?”
“Nondescriptly. Perfectly… unremarkable. It scared the hell out of me. They were asking about you, what my business was with you.”
“What’d you say?”
“That I didn’t know you. Never heard of you, or anyone fitting your description. They didn’t pretend to believe me.”
“Did they ask about the Cog?”
She turned back to the clothes. I could see that she had hidden the shotgun among them, and was now refolding the clothes and checking for grease. She set the shotgun aside. “They asked about any strange devices. If you’d tried to sell me anything, or seemed anxious to move any strange property.”
“How the fuck did they know?”
She shrugged and hefted the shotgun, then turned back to me. “Point is, they knew.”
“Who were they?”
“I told you, there was nothing remarkable about them.”
“Who do you think they were?” I asked. I realized I was leaning forward, gripping the bed. My chest wasn’t hurting anymore.
“They were Council. Had to be. One of them was really creepy.”
“Sloane.”
“You know the guy?” she asked.
“We’ve met. And I’ve seen his name around.” I flopped back onto the bed. I wanted to have a little talk with Mr. Sloane, one of these days.
“So where’s the Cog?” I asked.
“I hid it. As soon as they left I took it and went out the dumb waiter. It’s safe.”
“There’s another way out of that place? You could have told me, Em. I had to do some damage to your property getting out.”
She smiled. “Girl’s got to have some secrets, Jacob Burn.”
“Your secret almost got me killed.”
Again, she shrugged. She put the shotgun into a travel bag, along with some food and a knife she produced from her skirts.
“You got out, and then I came and rescued you, and took you to my very competent and expensive friend. So we’re even.”
“I’m going to leave that ledger open, Emily.”
“So what about you? Did the meeting with Prescott go okay?”
“Did it go… my god. No, Emily, it did not.” I was standing and didn’t remember doing it. “Everything about it went exactly not okay. I don’t even know where to begin.”
“Did you make the deal?”
“Yes.”
“So that went okay.”
“Except Prescott insisted that the meeting place was a requirement on our side. That Valentine or Cacher or you had required we meet at the party. Was that your requirement, Emily?”
“No, of course not. I just handed you the job.” She finished with the bag and folded it closed. “The details came from Valentine.”
“From Valentine, or from Cacher?”
“Well… Cacher. But he said-”
“Nevermind. Someone set up that meeting, and not for the cassiopia. Strange things happened, Em. Where’s my coat?” I stumbled across the room, the bedclothes clutched around my chest. Emily raised a hand and put it against my arm.
“Oh, no. You’re recovering fast, but you’re not going anywhere.”
“Not yet at least, but I don’t like staying still. Now where’s… here.” The coat was thrown across one of the tables, blood still spotting the chest and arms. I started to rummage through it. The revolver was still in the pocket. I took it out and turned.
Emily had that shotgun of hers out, braced against her hip, the dark little barrel staring at my belly. I held up my hands and let the pistol dangle from a finger.
“Jumpy?” I asked.
“You’re acting strange and pulling guns. I have every reason to be jumpy.”
“Just look at the pistol, Em.”
She grimaced and lowered the gun. “Sorry, Jacob. Strange days.”
“Strangest.” I reversed the grip and handed it to her.
“It’s seen some use, but it’s pretty clean,” she said as she turned it over in her hands. “What am I looking at?”
“Provenance.”
She peered at the inscription along the barrel. “ Glory of Day? Did Marcus give you this, too?”
I shook my head. “Nope. But someone did, up on the Heights. And if that were the strangest thing that happened, I’d thank the hidden cogs and become a holy Wright.”
She snorted and handed me the pistol. “The monk’s life doesn’t suit you, Jacob. It’d be such a waste.”
I realized I’d lost hold of the blanket, and that most of my chest and leg was exposed. I flushed, and Wilson barreled into the room.
“You’re up,” he said. He turned to Emily. “What’s he doing up?”
“Making a point,” I said, taking the pistol from Emily’s hand and covering myself with the sheet. “Where have you been?”
“Been? I’ve been down the street, trying to find a way in without getting caught. The whole iron-damned Badge is outside. Some kind of big metal carriage trundling around.” He rushed to his table and began throwing things into a belted pouch. “You should get your things together.”
“The Badge?” Emily asked. “I saw that patrols were up, but that’s no reason to go rushing out. Jacob’s still recovering and-”
“Jacob looks plenty recovered to me. Though really, Miss Emily, you should leave the medical examinations to the professionals.” Wilson smirked, then looped the satchel over his chest. Emily tinged crimson then stalked to her bag by the bed. The wiry anansi looked at me and smiled. “Get your things together, son. Badge man is coming.”
“You said a carriage? Iron?”
“Yeah,” Wilson said. “We can chat about it later.”
“How close did you get? Was it cold?”
Wilson paused and turned to me. “Could be. Thinking about it, yeah. There was frost on the iron, and the closest Badgemen wore heavy gloves. What about it?”
“I saw the same carriage, outside your apartment, Em.” I turned to her. “I think that’s how they’re finding us.”
“Some new trick?” she asked. I shrugged. Wilson stared thoughtfully up into the rafters.
“Well, it could be-”
“Figure it out later,” Emily snapped. She tossed me my new clothes and pushed Wilson back to his work bench. “Mystery later, kids.”
I caught the clothes and, doing my best to forget the lovely lady in the room, pulled them on. I shrugged into my jacket, slipped the revolver into the inside holster strap and turned. The others were waiting.
“Out the front?” I asked. “Or is there a back door?”
“There are many doors, but by now all of them will be watched. I barely got in.” Wilson looked uncomfortable, then shrugged in complicated ways. “Forgive me, but there’s only one way to do this.”
He stepped forward, his back lurching as he moved. He seemed to writhe in place, his shirt bunching and crawling around his shoulders. Eventually the shirt tore free and the rest of him, the spider part of him, came out. Rising like wings gutted of their feathers, eight thin legs fanned out from Wilson’s back. The legs were hard carapace, the color of bone, and about as thick as a naked arm bone as well. They clicked as he spread them, the hard talons at their tip scraping against the tile wall. Wilson sighed contentedly, stretching and flexing the legs.
“Hate tying them up,” he whispered. “Hate binding them down. But what’s to do, in people town, hm? What’s to do?”
“Well, enough reminiscing,” I said. “We getting out of here or what?”
Wilson looked at me sharply, his placid face suddenly hard and wild. I was reminded that the anansi were not all tame and kind. Wildness still surged in their blood. He grinned with his rows of pointed teeth. “Of course, of course. My apologies.” He made it sound like a curse, then sprang up onto the wall and scuttled out of sight, into the darkness high above.
“Well,” Emily said, craning her neck to look up. “That’s good for him. What are we supposed to do?”
“Oh, that’s nothing, Em,” I said. “We’ll just fly. Sprout wings and fly.”
She snorted, but her hands were still white on the gun.
“Wilson,” I yelled. “You got a ladder up there or something? A way up?”
There was silence, then the cycled whining of metal. The sound was coming from the door Wilson had entered moments earlier. Emily and I looked at each other, then took cover behind the bed.
The whining stopped, but seconds later came the thud-thud of boots in the hall. The door kicked in, and the iron masks of Badge in full storm gear peeked around the corner. We didn’t move.
“This is it,” the lead guy said. He didn’t sound too sure, more like a question than anything. He poked his shortrifle in then crept into the room. Others followed. He wasn’t ten feet away when Emily started shooting.
She had the shotgun low, braced on her shoulder as she lay under the bed. The shot went out through the metal framework of the bed, cutting a bright red line through the Badgemen. A couple fell, their knees pulpy red, screaming. Their mates fired back, grabbed the downed officers and dragged them out. The door closed again.
“What the hell was that?” I asked.
“It worked, right? They’re gone.”
“They’re going to come back, lady. They’re going to come back with more people.” I stood up and slid one of the tables so it blocked the short hallway to the door. “They’re not going to take any chances with sneaking in or clearing the building. They’re going to burn us out.”
“I think not,” Wilson said from high above. “They have enough people out here. They seem intent on taking us alive.”
A heavy rope fell in the center of the room, its end trailing up into the darkness. I grabbed my bag.
“Get up,” I said to Emily. “They’ll take a few minutes before they try again.”
“After you,” she said. “I won’t have you looking up as I go.”
“Godmercy. The daintiest whore in Veridon. I half think-”
She really stepped into the blow. She put the heel of her palm into my jaw, twisting my teeth into my tongue and spinning my head. I sat down on the floor.
“Watch the fucking door,” she spat, then hiked up the rope with her satchel across her back. I waited until she was good and clear of the floor before I followed. My mouth was leaking blood.
On the roof, Wilson seemed to have resumed his civilized demeanor. He still had his legs out, and his eyes were wild and free, but when he talked it was with a reasonable voice. He was perched at the top of a steeple, his legs pinched down on the windvane, his hands clutching a long rifle. The rope came out from a skylight that ringed the steeple, the panes blackened with pitch. The whole roof slanted precariously to the street. I held on to the rope and hunkered down.
This collection of buildings was on a narrow terrace between broader districts. All the stone had settled like tired soldiers at the end of a century of marching. The narrow, crooked streets were full of Badge. Wilson’s building fronted a tiny square, part of the old academic district, from before the Algorithm’s dominance. The walls were all close together, the streets shadowed by stone and mossy eaves. They weren’t built for the large automated carriages that dominated traffic in modern Veridon. The Badge had all the routes blocked. I could see two whole fists of the gray-coated officers standing in bunches or knocking on doors in the district. The sky above was slate, a low cloud cover that threatened rain.
“What the hell are we supposed to do? Fly?” Emily whispered.
“We’ll go by roof, until they see us. If the zeps get involved, we’ll just have to bite the bullet and find a way out by street.” Wilson checked the load on his rifle then scampered down the roof. We followed, but carefully.
Wilson led us to what looked like a warehouse. His building was part of an academic complex, the whole block seemingly abandoned. Getting to the warehouse was a trick, but it looked like Wilson had practiced this route before. He scuttled down the roof then pounced across the alley and rolled behind a chimney. Emily and I waited at the gutter, looking at each other nervously, until the thin man reappeared with a board. It wasn’t wide enough to make for a comfortable crossing, but we made it. He was pulling the board back when he stopped, his face pale.
“The beetle.” He turned to us. “You have it?”
“I don’t,” I said. “Emily? Where’d you put that little bottle?”
“Back on the table. You can always make another.”
“I need to go back,” Wilson said, scraping the board back into place. His spider legs were twitching spastically, their hard talons clicking against the brick of the warehouse walls. “I don’t know what that pattern means, but I don’t want to hand it to the Badge.”
“We’ll wait,” I said.
“No, you won’t. Go down the roof here. You’ll have trouble crossing to any other buildings without my help. There’s roof access from that little shack, a stairwell that leads into the building. From there-”
“We’ll wait,” I said. I crouched behind the tiny brick wall that ringed the roof and nodded to the domed building we had just abandoned. “Go get your bug.”
Wilson looked between us, then nodded and hurtled across the gap. His human limbs didn’t even touch the shingles as he scuttled up to the peak of the roof and disappeared into the skylight.
I glanced over at Emily. She had her head down, the shotgun peeking over the roof’s edge at the street below. She wouldn’t look at me.
“Where’d you say you found this guy?”
“An old friend. He fixed things for me, back when I was a kid.”
“He’s a little creepy,” I said.
“Hm,” she said. She turned her shoulder to me. I kept my eyes down on the square. The Badge seemed to be organizing. The word was spreading. They’d found the building, and reinforcements were on the way. I looked over at Emily again. Her back was stiff.
“Look, I’m sorry. You know I don’t mean shit like that.”
“What?” she asked.
“The whore thing. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“How did you mean it?” she asked. “The whore thing?”
“Just… I don’t know. I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”
“Sure.”
I pocketed my revolver, spun the cylinder then drew it again. Spun the cylinder and shifted on my heels. Emily still wasn’t looking at me.
“Anyway. I’m sorry.”
“Sure,” she said. It was quiet for a little while.
“Your creepy friend is taking his time,” I said. “You sure you left the bottle on the table?”
“I said so, right? I put it right back where-”
The building across from us exploded in gunfire. The blacked-out skylights were limned in red. Wilson burst from the open window, his back to us, the long rifle dipping into the building. He opened up a long line of fire. The Badge in the streets below looked up. I cracked a shot at them, enough to keep their heads down.
Wilson got to us in a flash. His face was black and thin lines of blood traced the path of shattered glass across his cheeks.
“I couldn’t find it. They came through the door with a storm engine. Didn’t think I would make it out.” He shot a look down at the street. The Badge was swarming. “We won’t be taking the stairs. Follow me.”
Behind us the dome of skylights wrinkled and a terrible roar tore up from the roof. Glass shattered in a long cascade, and a thin rope of wind twisted up from the building. Lightning flashed down its length, then the whole entity collapsed into dust. There was a lot of yelling in the streets.
“They’re not fucking around,” Emily said next to me. I shook my head and turned to Wilson. He was already gone, scuttling to the next building over, hopping to the roof with practiced ease.
“I don’t suppose any of us are, anymore. Whatever’s going on, Em, it’s big. And it’s dragging us along with it.”
She grimaced, and then the two of us crossed to the next roof. Wilson was waiting. We spent an hour hiding, running, looking for someplace in the city where we’d be safe from whatever forces pursued us. We didn’t talk much. It was grim work.
We found a hole and planted. Veridon is full of holes, burrows in the steep slopes or nooks under the built up terraces of the modern city. This one was a warehouse that had lost its floor to a cistern that had collapsed, one of the ancient rivers that ran under the city shaking off its domestic borders and cutting into the architecture.
We set up on the ledges around the lake. Stairs led down into the water, and under the old first floor there was a cave of brick and mud, just a sliver of space that couldn’t be seen from the street. It was cool down there. The bricks were mossy and slick, and the air smelled like dead fish.
I lay my coat out on the brick and tried to relax. Wilson was setting up in the corner, and Emily was crouched at the water’s edge, staring down into the cold.
“Don’t get too comfortable, Wilson,” I said. He was hanging his tool belt on the wall, holding it there with some kind of viscous gunk. “We’re not sticking around.”
“Was that some crude swipe at humor?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Was it funny?”
“Not particularly.” He kept his back to me. His shoulders were twitching.
“Well then. I guess not.”
“We’re going to need food,” Emily said. “And we can’t be hiding in empty buildings forever.” She craned her neck to look at us over her shoulder. “We need a plan.”
“We need to know what we’re dealing with, first,” I said, struggling up. “There’s a lot more going on than is apparent.”
“Every Badgeman in Veridon is hunting us, Valentine has banned you from the organization… there’s more than that?”
“Yes,” I said. “The gods are trying to kill us or something?” Emily asked.
“Something like that.”
Wilson snorted, but he didn’t say anything. I folded my coat open and fished out the list I had gotten from Calvin.
“The guy you talked to, after I left. A little shorter than me, neatly dressed. Could have been military at some point. Bald. Leather gloves?”
“Yes,” she said. “It’s the gloves I remember the most. And his hands were hard. Very strong.”
“That’s Mr. Malcolm Sloane.” I took the paper and spread it out on the ground, smoothing it down. “Right here at the top.”
Wilson and Emily gathered close, stooping to look at the list.
“What is this?” Emily asked. “Angela Tomb is on this list. Where did you get this?”
“A friend. It’s a list of deceased, all from a single military unit. Their date and cause of death was censured, by order of the Council. Angela’s name is here because she authorized it. Sloane was Coordinating Officer.”
“Then he’s not the guy who came by Emily’s place, is he?” Wilson looked at me. “I mean, if he’s been declared dead.”
“Two things,” I said. “Coordinating Officer is not a field rank. It’s administrative. These other names could be the deployed unit. Sloane was the guy they’d report to when they got back to the city. Secondly, recognize anyone else on the list?”
“Marcus?” Emily said. “I didn’t know he was military.”
“Neither did I. A man of surprises, our Marcus.”
“This guy, too,” Wilson said. “Gerrus. I know he wasn’t military. A very clever thief, but never military.”
“So maybe this isn’t a military list after all?” Emily asked. “Maybe it’s something else. A list of criminals?”
“I’ve seen the original. This is military, trust me.” I took the ID card out of my coat and set it next to the list, by Wellons’s name.
“You collect military records now, Jacob?” Emily asked.
“This I got off a body, up on the Heights. It was in the quarters of the Artificers, surrounded by dead Guildsmen.”
“A marine. You’re saying a marine killed a bunch of Artificers? Or someone killed them, and this guy tried to defend them, got himself popped?” Wilson grimaced. “Seems unlikely.”
“No. Our friend Wellons was long dead. At least a couple weeks.”
Emily and Wilson stared at me dully for a few breaths. Finally Emily nodded as though she understood.
“Huh,” she said.
“So.” Wilson murmured. He sat back on his heels. “So, we’ve got a list of people, with deceased dates two years old. Only we know two of them didn’t die two years ago. But both of those people are dead now. This is good.” He smiled. “This is meaty.”
“There’s more.” They both turned to look at me. “I think I know who Marcus was running from.”
“When he crashed the Glory?” Emily asked.
“Yeah. The guy I told you about, the one who jumped. I saw him again, up on the Heights.”
Emily got dead still. “You could have mentioned that.”
“Been busy getting shot. At least I think it was him. And he changed, he became some kind of… an angel.”
“Angel,” Emily said.
“Yeah. Wings of steel and cog, talons like knives. Angel.”
Wilson was staring at me. They both were. Didn’t blame them. Angels were part of the mythology of Veridon. The Church of the Algorithm claimed that the wreckage they strained from the river Reine was sent to them by angels of steel and wire. They claimed to have been visited by one specific angel, a girl named Camilla. She was sick, and they were able to help her. In exchange, she gifted them with the secrets of the river. No one believed it, not even me, and I had seen an angel. I had killed an angel.
“This is… unusual,” Wilson finally said. He was fiddling with his tool belt, worrying it between his thin fingers like a prayer chain. “What did he want?”
“The Cog. Everyone wants the Cog. I saw him with the Artificers, and again later after I did the deal with Prescott. Later that night, I thought to go talk to him, went to see the Artificers. There was Wellons’s body, dead Guildsmen, the Summer Girl missing. He killed Prescott, probably thought I’d given the Cog to him, then came after me. Nearly killed me.”
“You’re a hard man to kill,” Wilson said.
“We’ve covered that. And you’re right, I am. I put him down. Her, it turned out.”
“Her?”
“There was a performance that night. The Summer Girl. It was her, the angel was her. When she died, the bugs fell away, the angel dissolved. There was just her.”
“That’s awful,” Emily said. “Gods, you killed that girl?”
“No. I killed that monster,” I hunched over the list, gathered up my coat. “I didn’t know.”
“What is this Cog?” Wilson asked. I sat up and looked at him.
“Not sure. I picked it up off a dead friend. Marcus here,” I said, pointing to the list. “Things have been weird ever since.”
“I have that problem sometimes,” Wilson said. “Dead friends leave strange gifts. This friend of yours, he brought you this Cog?”
“It ended up in my hands.” I stood up. The ruined ceiling was close. “I gave it to Emily to look after. See if she could find anything out about it.”
Wilson looked to Emily. “You could have brought it to me.”
“Things got strange,” she said, not turning around. “I had to ditch it fast. Some people showed up at my place, then Jacob got shot. It got complicated.”
“So.” Wilson said. “Angels and Councilmen. This must be one hell of a Cog.” He turned to Emily. “Where is it?”
“Tomb has it. I gave it to the Family Tomb.”
I nodded and loosened the revolver in my holster. The hammer was smooth and warm under my thumb.
“Complicated,” I said.