By the time Hayes got to the lobby of the McNaughton Tower his stomach was still rumbling but his mind was something close to steady. He swallowed, smoothed down his hair, and pushed open the doors and walked in.
The silence of the place was crushing. The lobby of the Nail never felt as much like a business place as it did a tomb. Gray-black pillars marched away from the front doors, all of them smooth and shining in the ghostly light of the lamps, which hung from the columns’ sides like unearthly fruit. Suited figures paced in between the pillars, darting among the shadows to disappear down hidden halls. And high in the center of the lobby was the chandelier, a massive affair of dripping crystal and cruel, cold silver. It shone with a light so harsh and clean it was almost like starlight.
Hayes crossed the forest of pillars to the elevators on the far side and waited before the small bronzed doors. When they slid open the old black elevator man inside favored him with a wary eye and wordlessly motioned him in. Inside it was a tiny, shining coffin with buttons forming a wall of faintly glowing numerals. The old man mashed the one for the forty-seventh floor and they slowly began to rise, gathering speed as they slid through some unknown vein in the building’s skeleton. When they arrived the doors slid open and Hayes stepped out into a small, high marble room, about the size of a very large closet. An orbed lamp hung several feet up, suspended in the shadows of the ceiling. On the far side was a tall metal door with a thick lock set in the frame, and a tin sign at the top of the door read, DENIED. PLEASE PRESENT YOUR KEY.
Hayes turned around and said, “Goodbye.”
The word seemed to die as soon as he said it. The little old man just nodded. Then the elevator doors slid back together and he was gone.
Hayes sighed and walked to the closed door, then reached into his pocket and took out his key. It was not like many other keys: this one was about five inches long and had only one long tooth running along one side. On its surface were about two dozen minuscule dots arranged in a staggeringly complex pattern. A closer look would reveal that they were actually tiny lenses, each no bigger than a grain of sand, and that the end of the key was filled with a thick, clear glass. Hayes had never really been sure how the keys worked. Something about light having to shine through the end and then out through the tiny lenses in exactly the right way. Someone had probably explained it to him once or twice, but it was all math and gearhead talk and he usually tuned out pretty quick.
He walked up to the terminal and put the long key in the lock, fitting the single tooth into the provided slot. There was a whir from behind it and the door unlocked. The sign above flipped over to read, ACCEPTED!-47TH FLOOR and he pushed open the doors to reveal a much larger and grander hall, this one far more Old World than the lobby below, all floral carpeting and smooth dark wood. More suited emissaries paced from one office to another, slick and spotless, men of the moment. Hayes shambled out among them and some stared at him, curious as to why this shabby little man was here, but most of them looked away and went about their business.
It was the quiet that got to him, really. It was like being in church. The Nail was almost a temple, a cathedral dedicated to the sole task of amassing wealth and power. Men passed one another like wandering ghosts, bearing their burdens of paper and numbers, moving from little room to little room and redirecting the fortunes of the greater world outside. And among them stalked Hayes, their keeper and reaper, protector and predator. He was not one of them, he knew that. He was an Ishmael atop Olympus, his hand against every man and every man’s hand against him.
He walked to Evans’s office and opened the door and entered. The ancient secretary looked up and peered at him and said, “You.”
“Yes,” said Hayes as he walked over to her.
“You’re early. For once.”
“Well, yes. Broken clock, twice a day and all.”
“Hm,” she said, rechecking the book. “Well. Go sit down. Along the wall. As usual.”
“As usual,” Hayes echoed, and took a seat. After a while he leaned back. His eyelids became leaden and his head grew warm and stuffy. He shut his eyes and sleep took him, warm and comforting. Old dreams swam up in his mind: dark stone passageways and doors and ceilings made of bars, and a haggard voice in the darkness begging for a cigarette or a drink of water, whichever one they might have, just please, give it to me, please…
He awoke to the sound of someone coughing politely. He opened his eyes and returned to the waiting room, yet he saw that now there was a girl sitting in one of the chairs along the wall with him, young but not too young, thin and tall with brown-red hair. She was dressed severely, almost in a nun’s habit, and she was watching him curiously.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “Was I snoring?”
“Muttering, actually,” she said.
“I’m sorry, again. Doubt if many people sleep in waiting rooms.”
“Not many, I should think,” she said. She frowned at him. “Are you all right? You look very off-color. And you were sweating in your sleep.”
“Really?” Hayes said. He examined his hands.
“Also, you have something on your knee.”
Hayes pulled the leg of his trousers up and saw a chalky white residue on one of the knees. He guessed it was probably pigeon shit, no doubt collected when he had knelt in the middle of the street to retch up. He frowned and licked a finger and began to rub it off.
“Here,” said the girl, taking a handkerchief from her purse. “Use this.”
“That’s really not necessary, thanks.”
“No, take it. They gave me far too many when I first signed on.”
Hayes took the cloth and saw the company insignia in the corner, an imperial M. “Very nice,” he said. “I didn’t get any handkerchiefs when I joined on.”
“Oh,” she said. She thought and then reached for her purse. “Would you like some, then? As I said, I have enough.”
“No,” said Hayes. “I think I’m fine with just one.” He tried to gouge out what was left of the pigeon shit. Then he shook out the handkerchief and folded it and stuffed it into his front breast pocket. “Thank you,” he said again.
“No, it’s nothing,” she said. Then she smiled politely and turned away. Hayes noticed she had an English accent, not unlike his, and what little of her skin he could see was burned smoothly brown. A sculpted drape of brown-red ringlets flowed down from the brim of her hat and across her brow before marshalling itself into a stern bun in the back. She held herself alertly, head fixed in the direction of Evans’s door and the secretary beyond as though she was waiting for the next command, matronly and militant all at once. The pose was painfully overeager on a girl as young as she was.
“Did you just get in this week?” Hayes asked.
She turned to him, surprised. “Well, yes, actually. How did you know?”
“Just a hunch. That and Jim in there often interviews brand-new assistants for Security positions.” He began rolling a cigarette. “Would that be right?”
She crossed her legs and respectfully looked away. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe I’m at liberty to discuss that.”
Hayes smirked. “I see. Well, you’ve got our stock response down. You’ll be a natural at conversation, won’t you?”
“Perhaps. That would bring this one to a rather abrupt end, wouldn’t it?”
Hayes’s smirk grew to a grin. “You know, you sound like me,” he said, undeterred. “Like another wayward child of Her Majesty’s kingdom. Where are you from?”
She looked at him, sizing him up and considering all the little wrinkles and stains that decorated his shirt. She eventually sighed a little and said, “Devonshire. Originally. But all over, really.”
“Where would all over be, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Cairo, to be specific.”
“Really? I’ve been there once or twice, believe it or not.”
“Oh, really?” she asked, half-interested. “When?”
“Long ago. Long, long ago, when you were a mere babe, I’m sure. What’s the change like, coming from there to here? I can’t imagine the shock.”
“It’s quite something,” she said glibly.
“Quite something? Ah, there it is,” he said, smiling wider. “There’s that magnificent English talent for understatement. It’s been a while since I’ve heard it.” He began to laugh, but the first few chuckles were cut short as something caught in his lungs. He snapped forward, hacking and choking and trying to ride out the deep, rattling coughs that started in the roots of his lungs and then ran up through the whole of his body. For a moment he thought he might vomit again, but then to his surprise the young girl stood up, sat down beside him, and then grabbed the back of his collar and pulled him upright. Before he could slide out of his chair she steadied the small of his back with her other hand, holding him still until air finally found its way into his chest again. He turned to look at her, wheezing.
“Air wants to go up and out,” she said. “That is, if you don’t want to choke yourself. You’re a smoker, aren’t you? I’d know that cough anywhere.”
He nodded but could not speak, as he was still short of breath. She let go of him, then stood and smoothed down her skirt. “Well, it’s a dirty habit. I know no one else thinks so, but it is.” She gave him an appraising look. “You need to start taking better care of yourself.”
“I take damn fine care of myself,” he said. He readjusted his collar.
“Maybe so,” she said. “But the bags under your eyes and the tremor in your hands say otherwise.”
“What are you, a doctor?”
“Oh, no,” she said, retaking her seat. “Just an assistant. But remember, sir, for the future: up, and out.”
They both looked up as the doors opened and Evans came out of his office. He wandered over to the secretary to share a quiet word. As he turned he spotted Hayes and stopped where he was. Then he forced a smile onto his face and said, “Cyril. My boy, good to see you. So good to see you. Why don’t you go in and have a seat? I’ll be in shortly.”
“Fine,” said Hayes, and got up. As he left he glanced over his shoulder at the young girl. She was watching him, half-bemused, half-pitying. Then Evans closed the door behind him and he was alone.
Evans’s office was far too large for one man. He often joked he had purchased his desk just to fill up space. Indeed, the desk was by far the largest object in the room, a massive medieval thing with all sorts of stern engravings crawling along its corners. A bookcase faced it on either end, both pitifully small, with four small paintings desperately trying to fill the rest of the wall space of the office. A tiny potted plant drooped in the corner, perhaps sent there as punishment. Through the windows at the far end one could see the rooftops of Evesden fall away like ugly dominoes.
Hayes sat down in one of the chairs before Evans’s desk. The room was silent except for the click of the clock on the wall. The quiet seemed to stretch on forever.
He rolled and lit another cigarette to pass the time. The match trembled in his hands, its flame dancing around the end of the cigarette. He took a frantic drag and shook the match out and tried to calm his fingers. They would not obey, so he stuffed his hands under his legs and waited for the warmth to soak into them.
Hayes knew Garvey and that awful girl out front had been only partially right: the opium and exhaustion were definitely contributors to his shakes, but they weren’t the main cause. No, the strange quakes in his hands had started the moment he’d read the telegram early that morning and realized Evans might be calling him in to fire him for good.
He drooped in his chair as he thought about it, chest still crackling with breath. He had never exactly loved his job, but he had little else. He could not imagine what he would do, what could be done, if he had no work to fill his days.
The doors snapped open. Evans walked in, turned and carefully shut them, and then walked to his desk, never glancing at Hayes as he went. He was a plump little man, only slightly taller than Hayes, with wire-framed glasses and a graying mustache and a glaringly bald head. People often thought of him as an elderly uncle, forever confused by how this strange new world worked. Hayes was more fond of him than he’d ever admit, but he knew this wasn’t far off the mark. Evans had never really been cut out for this kind of work. He detested any hint of conflict, and often relegated any unpleasant duties to his small army of secretaries, whom he looked upon as his daughters regardless of their age. He was usually content to wander the upper floors, distributing duties with a vague, satisfied smile on his face before returning to the shelter of his enormous desk and evading meetings.
“You’re early,” said Evans as he sat.
Hayes nodded.
“That’s unusual,” said Evans.
“Well. Had to get up early.”
“Oh? Why was that, I wonder?”
“There was a body, actually,” said Hayes. “One of Garvey’s.”
“Why did he need you for that?” Evans asked.
“He thought it was one of ours.”
“And was it?”
Hayes shrugged.
“Hm,” said Evans, then cocked his head and thought.
“I’ve dried out,” Hayes said eagerly. “Haven’t had a drop. Not in a month or two.”
Evans raised his eyebrows. “A month? Really?”
“Thereabout, yeah.”
Evans studied Hayes’s face and clothes and watched him rock back and forth in his chair like a toy. “You don’t look well, though,” he said, concerned.
“I keep hearing that. It’s just the cold and the damp. It’s murdering me.”
“You aren’t sick from… from not drinking?”
“That couldn’t last. Not for a month. See?”
Evans sighed. “I suppose. I have been worried about you, Cyril. I admit it was a pretty curt way to end the affair.”
“Curt?” said Hayes. He laughed harshly. “I remember the telegram very clearly. ‘Abandon, stop. Return to your place of residence, stop. Await further orders, stop. Do not attempt contact, stop.’ Wasn’t quite poetry.”
“No,” Evans said. “But you had made a mess of it. A very big mess indeed.”
Hayes lowered his head a little. “I… I know.”
“Do you? The man’s suing us, you know. For his injuries.”
“Even though they were… self-inflicted?”
“Yes. Since now he knows how desperately we’d like to keep his dirty little trading a secret. That was the problem, you know. How public it was. We told you to look into him quietly.”
“Yes.”
“Very quietly,” he said sternly. “You’re supposed to be a scalpel, not a shotgun.”
“But we never know what they’ll do,” Hayes said. “When you lay out all their wrongs in front of them, you never know which way they’ll jump. I certainly didn’t think he’d… that he’d jump out a fucking window.”
“But we have you exactly because you’re supposed to know things like that,” said Evans, showing a rare flash of anger. “And we stressed beforehand, very clearly, use your kid gloves. This one is a public man, we said. He’s got family. He’s connected. Make sure this is all discreet. But you weren’t. You, drunk as a lord, grilled him like he was a war criminal. And he fell to pieces. And now you’ve cost us money and reputation. That was only the most recent in a string of sloppy jobs. So you understand that we’d be perfectly justified in dropping you. Correct?”
Hayes screwed up his mouth and kept his eyes fixed on the carpet at his feet. Then he nodded.
“Good,” said Evans. “But you’re not fired. I want you to know that.”
“I’m not?”
“No. You’re not. Not yet, at least. We’re keeping you, Hayes. We need you. Now, especially. We called you in to let you know there’s a way back. Back into the fold.” Evans pulled his coat off the back of his chair and settled it about his shoulders. He might have been the one person who detested the cold climate even more than Hayes. Then he pulled out a small pipe and suckled at it thoughtfully before saying, “Today, with Garvey. What did you talk about?”
“The murder he caught, mostly.”
“Besides that.”
“Well, the unions, of course. The Department’s been told to prioritize. He said he heard it was Brightly who gave the order. Any truth to that?”
Evans smiled wryly. “I’m sure you know I can’t say.”
“Can’t saying is often a yes.”
“Forget that. What did he have to say about the unions? Besides prioritizing?”
“Well. He mentioned a few cases. Three of them.”
“What sort of cases?” Evans asked quickly.
“Murder cases. Would that be it?”
“Yes. Yes, it’s about those. What did he say about them?”
“They were murders, like I said. Union murders. Two lefties and a buster. One at the docks. Another at the vagrants’ cemetery. He was junking them. Didn’t want them. They’d make the Department look bad, I’m sure.”
“And why was that?”
“Because there was no filing them. Solving them, I mean,” he added, seeing Evans’s confusion. “He was tossing them out.”
Evans let out a breath. “Good.”
“Good?”
“Yes, good.”
“And why’s that?”
Evans shifted awkwardly in his chair. “It would be best if the police left that particular matter alone.”
“Why? What’s going on with them? Why don’t you care?”
“Oh, quite the opposite. We care. We care a great deal. You see, Cyril, we’re all very worried about this… this union business.”
“Oh, are you,” said Hayes dryly.
“Yes. You may have heard that it’s going to be violent. Well, that’s wrong. It already is. We just wanted to be well informed. About the violence, at least.”
Hayes suddenly looked at Evans, studying his face. The old man took off his glasses and looked away, disturbed by the scrutiny. Then Hayes’s eyes lit up as if he’d been teasing at some hanging thread in his mind until the knot finally unraveled. “Which one was ours?” asked Hayes softly.
“I’m sorry?”
“Which one? Which of the union men was ours? The one at the docks or the one at Potter’s Field?”
Evans shuddered and kept his eyes averted from Hayes. He sucked on his lip for a moment and said, “The docks.”
“Right,” said Hayes, voice still soft. “Right.”
“Lord, I hate it when you do that.”
“This is pretty cloak-and-dagger stuff, Jim. Running turncoats? How bad is the union situation getting?”
“Very bad. At first it was just a rumor. Something minor we needed to weed out. Now it’s become… Well. It’s become something akin to war. One of our most important and productive factories is just south of here. It manufactures some of the most delicate parts necessary for creating the frame for the engines of our airships. Recently there was an altercation.”
“An altercation?”
“Yes. Specifically, someone tried to blow up one section of the manufacturing lines.”
Hayes whistled lowly.
“Yes,” said Evans. “Without that particular segment of manufacturing the entire factory would have been crippled. Do you know how much revenue that factory outputs a day?”
“I don’t know. Some absurd number.”
“Three million dollars.”
“All right.”
“It didn’t work, naturally. If it had, well, word would have gotten out. No, the saboteurs mishandled the dynamite and it wound up going off in one of the entryways. We think he tripped and fell and blew himself up, honestly.”
Hayes grinned. “How come this wasn’t in the papers?”
“Because we didn’t want it to be,” said Evans simply.
“So that’s when you decided to send some feelers into the union men.”
“Brightly did, yes. And it didn’t work well at all. I don’t know how they found our man out but, well. You get the idea.”
“And now you want me to work the unions for you.”
“Yes. Yes. They’ve wormed their way in, God knows how deep. I need you, Cyril,” he said. “Brightly needs you. We need your magic.”
Hayes looked at him darkly. “It’s not magic.”
“It is to me,” said Evans. “This is your way back, Cyril. All sins forgiven, after this. Everything forgotten. Are you willing?”
“You know I am, Jim.”
“You’re sure?”
Hayes nodded, eyes half-shut.
“Good.” Evans shuffled the papers around on his desk more. They never seemed to go anywhere specific. “We do think the heart of the movement is here. Here, in the city, probably to the south, where most of our local plants are. Do you know how many major facilities there are in this region?”
“Eleven, if memory serves,” said Hayes.
“Yes, that’s right. More than any other city or state or even country in the world, and we do our most delicate work here. So this is where we need to be protected. But again, this is all relatively new to us. You can spearhead this for us, Cyril. Find something to work with and we’ll put everything we’ve got behind you. And that’s a lot. We’re invested in you now.”
“I feel tremendously valuable, yes,” said Hayes. He stood and examined the bookcases. “All right. I’ll run the usual rounds throughout this week. See what I can dig up, see where we want me to head. Probably can find some bar or name or something. Poor, hungry boys banding together, it sounds like gangs or clans or such. They probably have a name they like to trumpet. It shouldn’t be hard.”
“Right, but, Cyril… we’re keeping you closer than that,” said Evans slowly.
Hayes turned around. “Closer?”
“Yes.”
“What’s closer? How close?”
“In-house,” said Evans. “You’re being restricted to interviews in-house.”
Hayes’s mouth dropped open. “What?”
“Yes.”
“You’re joking.”
“No. Interviews of lower-level men in the company.”
“Lower-level?” said Hayes, outraged.
“Yes. Foremen, managers, team leads. Working-class leaders. Suspicious subjects. We have a list of names here, scheduled interviews, and you’re going to interview them.”
Hayes came back over and sat. “That’s not… That won’t…”
“Listen, Cyril, you’re lucky they kept you on. They just want to start you out small and controlled. Build you up.”
“Build me up.”
“Yes. And we’ll need to keep you stabilized, too.”
“What’s stabilized? What does that mean?”
Evans nervously scratched the back of his neck. “It means supervision.”
Hayes’s face went dead. All the thought in his wide blue eyes faded until they could have been painted on.
“Nothing in the way of an obstruction,” said Evans hastily. “No interference. Merely someone to take note of your duties, schedule meetings and appointments, and report to me.”
“A secretary,” said Hayes.
“An assistant. An organizer.”
“A spy. You’re spying on the spy, is that it?”
“My God, Cyril, don’t be dramatic.”
“This is going to hamstring me. It’s going to fucking hamstring me until I can barely move. You know that.”
Evans sat forward. His voice dropped until it was dangerously soft. “I know this makes you mad,” he said. “I know it does. You’ve been out on your own for so long, running your game. You did good for a while. But you’ve forgotten that there’s a company behind you. That there’s money riding on everything you do. You’ve forgotten that. But we haven’t. So we need to watch you, and remind you when it’s needed. You can see why giving you an assistant is both reasonable and necessary.”
“I don’t need one,” Hayes said fiercely. “This meeting, almost being tossed out… That’s enough. I’ve learned my lesson. I’ll be a good boy. All right?”
“No. No, Cyril, it’s not enough. We want someone on the ground with you. Matching you step by step. You’ve always been difficult to handle. We’re just trying to curb you a bit.”
“Curb me. Like a naughty dog.”
“Cyril, you need this,” Evans said. “You need someone to keep an eye on you.”
“I have Garvey.”
“You and Garvey are addicts. Dependents. Every month you run yourselves ragged over something, egging each other along.”
Hayes pulled at his hair, bunching up the blond-white fronds and then teasing them out again. “What if I don’t want to come back?” he asked quietly.
“What?” said Evans.
“What if I don’t want to come back? What if I say no thanks, Jim, I prefer it the old way or no way at all? What about that?”
“Well. Then you don’t come back. Then we go our separate ways. And that’s the end of it. But there’s no choice in this. You either take her or you’re out.”
Hayes’s brow crinkled. “Her?”
“Yes, her,” said Evans. “I think you’ll quite like her. She’s top-rate, a former army nurse. And she’s well traveled, like you. Spent a lot of time looking after wounded British soldiers in Egypt before we scooped her up and brought her into the company.”
Hayes kept frowning for a moment longer. Then epiphany flooded his face and he put his chin in one hand. “Really,” he sighed.
“Yes, really.”
“Was she last working in Cairo?” he asked, defeated.
Evans blinked. “Yes. She was. That was fast of you.”
“That wasn’t exactly intuition.” He shook his head. “Well. Go on. Bring her in.”
“Why?”
“Why not? We might as well get it over with.”
Evans frowned, then stood and walked to the door. He opened it and stuck his head out and murmured something and then opened it fully. When the girl walked in Hayes was twisted around awkwardly in his chair, watching her through the fingers of one hand, his expression resigned and half-amused. She looked at him cautiously, as if she had just stumbled across a wounded dog and was not sure if it would bite.
“Cyril, this is Miss Samantha Fairbanks,” said Evans. “Miss Fairbanks, this is Mr. Hayes.”
She looked him up and down again. “Mr. Hayes?”
“Yes,” said Evans. He put his hands behind his back and bounced forward on the balls of his feet like he had just presented a marvelous surprise.
Hayes shut his eyes and stuck one hand out in the air. The girl looked at it for a moment before stepping forward and shaking it.
“Well. We’ve gotten off on the wrong foot, Mr. Hayes,” she said.
“Yes,” he said. “Would you like your handkerchief back now?”
“No. Feel free to keep it for as long as you’d like. As I told you, they gave me more than enough.”
“Handkerchief?” said Evans. “You’ve met?”
“In the waiting room,” said Hayes. He opened his eyes and peered at her. “So. You’re going to assist me. With all my inquiries and interviews and daily rounds. Is that it?”
“Yes,” she said. “That’s a simple way of putting it, but yes, it is.”
“Sounds like it should be fun. Should be a grand old time. So when does this start?” he asked Evans. “And exactly what the hell are we doing, anyway, if you all are calling all the shots?”
Evans cleared his throat. “Well, the first interview is the day after tomorrow at nine at Southern Regional, but I thought it would be best if we showed Miss Fairbanks your station and you two could get somewhat-”
“No,” said Hayes sharply. “No, it’s best to hit the ground running. Get along better with plenty of work going on. Don’t you agree, Miss Fairbanks?”
She surveyed him briefly, taking in his bone-white hands and haggard eyes. “I suppose I could, Mr. Hayes,” she said. “If you think you’re better in working circumstances then that’s certainly where I’d prefer us to be.”
“Fine,” said Hayes. “Beautiful. I’m sure things will go swimmingly. You’ve done interrogations before?”
“Interviews,” interjected Evans. “They’re interviews.”
“I’ve been present during them before,” she said. “But never done one, no. I’ve been in plenty of stressful situations, regardless.”
Hayes looked at her closely, leaning forward. She shifted slightly from one foot to the other, uneasy.
“Yes,” said Hayes quietly. “You know, I almost believe you have.”
“Excellent,” said Evans. “Splendid. I’m sure you’ll get along well.”
Hayes fought to his feet. He pitched forward slightly and grappled with the chair back for support. Then he swallowed and said, “Yes. We will. The day after tomorrow. But until then, I’m off. Not… Not feeling well, you see.”
“Off?” asked Evans. “Off to where? Will you be at your apartments?”
“No,” said Hayes, heading toward the door. “No, Mr. Evans, I will not be at my apartments.”
“So how will we reach you?”
“You won’t,” said Hayes. He opened the door. “Lovely meeting you, Miss Fairbanks.”
“And you, Mr. Hayes,” she said.
Then he shut the door and it clicked behind him.