Havoc

31 The Storydance

“Between 100 and 120 of Mungo’s left. You can’t be sure on Silence?” Dred paced, rubbing her temples. The headache had receded, but she didn’t like hearing that Silence had gone to ground.

Tam shook his head. “Her entire zone was deserted. I’ve spied on them before, but they’re definitely in hiding now.”

“Probably to stay away from the mercs,” Jael guessed.

Dred nodded at him. “But it’s bad for us not to know how many of them have survived the chaos.”

Jael said, “If I know anything about Silence, I’d say most of them. Her people are like cockroaches. They scuttle into the walls and skitter out when it’s dark and you least want to see them.”

“Good analogy.” She turned to Tam. “Did you stay for the fight between the mongrels and the mercs?”

He shook his head. “The mercs were still a ways out after we completed our survey of Munya. I thought you needed the intel as soon as possible.”

“I hate the fact that they were right upstairs, and we didn’t know it.” Dred balled her hand into a fist, but there was no outlet for the frustration. “They have drone cams, armor, rifles, kinetic grenades—”

“I could liberate some of their equipment while I know they’re busy in Munya.”

Dred stopped pacing. “If you can do it without being caught, then move. Take as much as you can carry.”

“I’ll see if Calypso and Martine feel up to some light burglary.”

“Thanks, Tam.”

The spymaster paused. “You might wish to consider letting the men cut loose as you did last night. Open up the still and let them celebrate.”

“Is that a good idea?” Jael asked.

“We have a little breathing room. Mungo should keep Vost busy for a bit.”

Tam’s opinion was enough for Dred. With a nod in parting, she beelined for Cook, who had taken over from Ike in terms of provisions. “Do you feel like throwing a party?”

The chef cocked his head in silent inquiry.

“The mercs have turned their attention to Munya, so we’re safe for now.”

Cook nodded at that. Some Queenslanders lived for moments of drunken forgetfulness, and as long as Dred doled them out regularly, she could keep them in check. If the liquor dried up permanently, however, she might have a riot on her hands.

At Dred’s signal, Jael vaulted up onto a table as Cook sent his assistant to retrieve bottles of rotgut. “Thank the Dread Queen, gentlemen, for tonight she’s hosting a party.”

“What’s the occasion?” someone shouted.

“In honor of dangerous bloody bastards who have the interlopers running scared.”

Not surprisingly, a cheer rang out as Jael jumped down, both at his words and the booze being wheeled into the common room. Queenslanders grabbed bottle after bottle. Dred hoped that the sentries realized they weren’t allowed to get shit-faced and that patrols needed to continue as usual, but what the hell, she’d deal with the fallout later. Since she disciplined offenders consistently, chances were good that Queensland could survive one more revel.

Personally, she’d love to withdraw, but part of the job required being a badass alongside the men, so she joined a table and knocked back several glasses. My liver may never forgive me for doing this two nights in a row. Then Dred remembered that she had Jael’s enhanced healing ability. Does that go for self-inflicted damage to organs, too?

For his part, Jael was quiet though he put away his share of alcohol. She noticed that he shook off the effects much faster than other men. That might be why her hangover had dissipated in a few hours instead of leaving her with a full day of misery. There were so many unanswered questions regarding his nature, but he was touchy on the subject. With anyone else, you wouldn’t care. You’d demand answers. The softness that existed in relation to him felt like a wound, one she had no hope of healing.

“I’d give a lot to know what put that expression on your face,” Jael said softly.

She slid him a layered glance. “Make me an offer.”

“But you already have everything.”

The words hit her like an armored fist in the sternum. Dred was actually grateful when the men started chanting, “Dread Queen, Dread Queen!” and made it impossible for her to reply.

With a smothered sigh, she pushed to her feet and strode to the center of the hall. “Music!” she demanded.

The Queenslanders responded with makeshift instruments: pipes of synth tubing, drums from cloth stretched over a metal frame, and their stomping boots made up the rest of the rhythm. This had been Tam’s idea, a ritual that belonged only to the Queenslanders, unique to her territory. Give a stupid man the pretext of power, Tam had said, and he will never question whether it’s the real thing. So in such moments of revelry, the citizens had the right to demand a storydance, which might be a real thing somewhere but sounded like bullshit to Dred. Jael was watching, brow furrowed in puzzlement, when she began to move.

She kept time to the pace the men set, twirling in a pantomime of the night she killed Artan. The storydance unfolded in silent verses with each lash of her chains, each stomp of her feet, each clockwise turn. Though it was simple choreography, it was important to keep an eye on how the ritual impacted her audience. A few looked bored, as they’d seen it before, but others seemed enthralled with the sway of her hips. Most knew they’d never make it past the door of her quarters without dying, so this was the piece of the Dread Queen they claimed.

Einar used to roar out a song as I danced. Not a very good one, but meant to evoke the glorious nature of the deed; the big man had written it himself. In comparison, the storydance seemed oddly somber, performed without his accompaniment. As if the men sensed that same lack, someone in the back started singing:

The queen in waiting, she bided her time,

Watching, plotting, and waiting to strike.

While the brute, he ranted and roared,

Never seeing the danger in her.

There were several verses, though nobody but Einar had memorized them. So the men got lost around the third stanza and started making up their own. She didn’t let the terrible poetry distract her from finishing the performance, so she spun into the last moments of the dance with increased intensity, stomping and whirling, chains flying over her head until she thought she might strangle herself. By the time she finished, her arms and shoulders were aching, and the common room rang with the chants of “Dread Queen.”

“Explain to me what that was about,” Jael said, as she sat down. Quietly, she filled in him in, and when she finished, he was frowning. “You’re not a performing pet, Dred.”

She shrugged. “Take it up with Tam. They don’t ask often enough for me to care, usually just at celebrations like this.”

“If you don’t mind, it’s not my business.”

As time wore on, the men got drunker, but the patrolmen abstained. The louder it got in the hall, however, the more she wanted to escape. Jael laced his fingers with hers and pulled her away from the table, where two men were arm wrestling. She let him because she’d given the public enough for one night. Time for peace and quiet.

“Do you mind if we check on the sentries?”

“That’s probably a good idea. Tam said this is safe enough, but if I was Vost, I’d think this was the perfect time to attack.”

“Presuming he knows.”

Jael nodded. “I’ve been busting his drone cams as fast as I spot them, and he can’t have an unlimited supply.”

As they headed for the north border, Dred spotted Tam, along with Martine and Calypso. They each carried an armload of miscellaneous articles, and Calypso had a crate. “Mission accomplished.”

“What did you get?” she asked.

“Ammo and replacement parts mostly. They didn’t leave much for us in the command post.” Tam didn’t seem surprised. “I wouldn’t either.”

“He probably moved their more valuable gear,” Jael said.

Dred offered a half smile at that. “If he’s started hiding his goods, creating caches, then he’s going native.”

“We barely made it out,” Calypso put in. “The assholes came back singing. Seems like it went well in Munya.”

“Is there a party on?” Martine cocked her head, listening to the racket coming from the common room.

Dred stepped aside and made a sweeping gesture. “Have at it. They’re gambling, too, so you should be able to hustle a bunch of suckers.”

“Come with me. You’re a genius at spotting tells.”

Jael didn’t move, but Dred knew he was expecting her to accept the invitation. She found that she wanted to surprise him—in a good way. It had been so long since she gave a damn about anyone else’s feelings. This was both liberating . . . and terrifying.

“I’ve got other plans,” she said quietly.

“Oh?” Martine grinned. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Fortunately, that gives me a lot of leeway.”

Martine grinned. “Seems like we’ve bonded, queenie. I approve.”

Dred put a hand on Jael’s arm. “Let’s finish our rounds, then retire.”

“Sounds good, love.” He wore a light expression, but she saw that he expected her to bitch about the endearment, used in front of people.

Instead, she waved at the others and went to make sure the sentries were sober.