Tomorrow, the Killing

31

I’d been waiting a solid hour when he came in, my back against the wall of a quiet cafe in the Old City, drinking wine by candlelight. I didn’t mind. Everyone had to wait to see the man. Not that his tardiness was meant as a slight – such vanity was beneath Roland Montgomery. But he was remaking the world, and that was a serious undertaking, one that left little time for social engagements.

He looked apologetic at least, flanked by men who would have died for him happily during the war, now – it didn’t make a difference. They eyed my ice gray unhappily, even threateningly. Black House had replaced the Dren in the affections of the men of the Association. What with my time in the ranks I was worse than the average freeze even, a turncoat, a traitor.

His bodyguards took seats at the counter, and Roland dropped himself across from me without affectation. ‘Lieutenant.’

‘Sir. I hope you don’t mind, I ordered a drink.’

‘Not at all.’ He took a moment to inspect me. ‘It’s been a long time. Longer than I’d have liked.’

The war had changed everyone. From the scatter-eyed, stammering beggars on the docks, pawning tarnished medals and rattling their alms cups, to the young-old men from Kor’s Heights sitting alone at garden parties, sleeves pinned over stumps, flinching when champagne was uncorked. Those unlucky enough to need to work for a living took what they could find of it, back-to-back shifts at the mills, trading one line for another. Or they joined the thick squads of bullyboys selling service to the syndicates, peddling their hard-won practice to organizations more grateful than the Crown, or at least more remunerative.

It had changed all of us, but it hadn’t changed Roland. His eyes were bright as they’d ever been, fever-bright, and he still spoke like he was trying to overawe artillery.

I didn’t like it. The war was the war – I’d spent five years trying to get the hell away from it, I didn’t need it being dragged back onto home soil. Not everyone felt like that, of course. It had given a lot of empty men a purpose, and hollowed out a lot of men for whatever purpose they might have had. Spend a few years bunk-mates with She Who Waits Behind All Things, you find it hard to forget her. Whatever else you do starts to seem awful silly, writing out receipts in a general store somewhere, planting lines of potatoes in neat little rows. Roland’s men were like that – there was nothing in their eyes except what he gave them.

‘I’m still not used to seeing you in your new uniform. Congratulations, once again. It’s quite an honor, being made an Agent of the Crown at such a young age.’

‘I’m not so sure your boys would agree.’

He flashed his entourage a quick smile. ‘They’re a mite protective.’

The serving girl came by to take an order. Roland asked for a glass of what I was drinking, and when she came back he gave her a smile that won a convert for life. The other patrons, quiet, well civilized, their lives bound up inextricably with the establishment, their interests as far from Roland’s as you could get, took sidelong glances and thought up kindnesses they could do him.

‘You’ve been making a lot of waves, over in my neck of the woods,’ I said.

‘Would that be Black House, or Low Town?’

‘It would be both.’

‘Those are two very different places.’ Roland was too gracious to crow, but you could see he thought he’d scored a point.

‘They are indeed.’

‘Does it ever get confusing?’

‘I could ask you the same question.’

‘Oh?’

‘Kor’s Heights is a lovely neighborhood. I’d think a fellow who grew up there wouldn’t be in such a hurry to burn it down.’

‘Not burn it down, Lieutenant, not at all. I only work to ensure its bounty is more equitably shared.’

‘And your father?’ The news had come out a few weeks back – General Edwin Montgomery had officially retired from public life, preferring a dignified solitude to the hustle and bustle of politics. A comfortable fiction cloaking the reality that it was quite impossible to put him in charge of the Empire while his son seemed to be doing his best to destroy it.

For a moment, though a very brief one, regret showed through Roland’s assurance. It left quickly, as I said. ‘Filial piety is an important virtue. But it pales beside loyalty to one’s nation, and countrymen.’ He waved his hand in front of his face, as if batting away a fly. ‘I’ve made my choice – I’ve got no regrets.’

‘What was that choice, exactly?’

He had an answer prepared for this very occasion, and was pleased to share it. ‘Shepherding tomorrow’s arrival.’

‘A morning Timory Half-hand won’t be around to see.’

‘Who?’

‘One of the vice-peddlers your boys strung up.’

‘There’s a saying about omelettes that I think would be appropriate here.’

‘About eggs, not skulls.’

He shrugged. There wasn’t much difference to him. ‘I would think you of all people would understand the importance of what we’re doing. Growing up where you did, coming from what you came from.’

‘You spend a lot of time in the slums?’

‘Haven’t had the pleasure.’

‘You ought to head down to the Isthmus one day, or take a stroll through the bleaker sections of Kirentown. They got these rows of tenements there, walls no thicker than the width of your hand, foundations held together with plaster that’s mostly rainwater. Thousands of people crammed in like rats. To look at them, you’d think they couldn’t stand. You’d think they’d have to collapse beneath their own weight.’

‘But?’

‘But they do stand, General – and do you know why?’

‘Enlighten me,’ he said, and he even seemed to mean it.

‘Because they lean against each other. Any one of them, alone, would collapse in a stiff wind. But together? Together they’re solid enough to live in.’

‘Who’d want to?’

‘It beats the alternatives. The thing is, the balance is precarious. If you were to knock out a wall, move around a strut or two – the whole structure might tumble.’

‘I hadn’t known you were such a poet, Lieutenant.’

‘Your shot at the Giroies is having consequences you don’t see. The Tarasaighns are getting antsy, figuring maybe they ought to make a move on what the Rouenders still hold. The heretics watch them squad up and start worrying where their hammer is gonna fall. Across the city, knives are being sharpened and targets staked out.’

‘The rest of the syndicates can enjoy their temporary good fortune – I assure you, it won’t last. The Old Man and his ilk might be content allowing half of Rigus to be run by racketeers, but I’m afraid I’m not.’

‘Wipe them all away, will you?’

‘They’ll make a decent start.’

‘What comes then? Revolution?’

‘The revolution came. It came when hundreds of thousands of men stirred themselves from their villages, from their boroughs and sleeping hamlets, and traveled across the Thirteen Lands to bring death to strangers. You say I’m shaking the foundations, but you’re wrong – they’re already broken. I’m just the first one willing to admit it.’

‘That’s very eloquent. And yet the crown still sits atop Bess’s head, and the guards still swear her fealty.’

‘For how long? Soldiers sick of fighting go back to the provinces and find every acre of their farm entailed and the rent past due. They move to the cities, pack whatever family they have into a room the size of a kitchen cabinet. They wake up before dawn and toil till dusk for two copper an hour, maybe lose a hand if they’re tired or careless, and on their way home they pass a plump tick in a velvet coat, growing fatter on their labor.’

‘One thing I’ve learned in my time – ain’t nothing so bad it can’t get worse.’

‘You aren’t one for easy answers. I respect that, but the situation is untenable. We bring it down ourselves, or we let it fall on our heads.’

‘Things have always been fucked – you just recently came round to noticing it. The poor have always been poor, and weak, and apt to get beat upon. The powerful have always aimed to get more so, and never cared much how it happens. Your line isn’t anything I haven’t heard before – I could find a dozen drunks at any Low Town dive who could spin it better.’

He laughed. He was the sort of person who could laugh at his own expense. It was one of the many things I liked about him. ‘I’m sure you could. But said drunk wouldn’t have a hundred thousand men at his command.’

‘And you do?’

‘I will.’

‘What comes afterward? When you’ve set fire to everything, when the Old Man swings from a scaffold and the crown is broke in two – what will you build in the ashes?’

He looked at me silently for a moment, the question so obvious it barely merited answer. ‘A better world.’

I had harbored vague hopes that this first part of our conversation would go differently. Perhaps hopes were too strong – delusions might be a better term. Roland Montgomery had never second-guessed himself on anything in his life, and wasn’t likely to start now.

‘You’ve set yourself quite a task,’ I said.

‘Like in the war – conquer, or die.’

‘Of course, you didn’t win the war all on your own.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘There are men in Black House less averse to change than its leader.’

‘Then why aren’t they sitting here?’

‘Because their lives are worth more to them than mine is.’

He weighed that for a moment, then nodded. ‘Go on.’

‘The men I’m talking about can’t let it be known that they’re talking.’

‘It wouldn’t play strongly to the affections of my constituency either,’ he said. ‘Of course, if they aren’t willing to show their faces, it seems unlikely we can reach effective union.’

‘They sent me out here to gauge your interest. Make sure that you’re committed to the task at hand, that you won’t flinch when the moment comes to strike.’

‘And?’

‘It’s clear that you’re prepared to do anything to reach your aims.’

There were depths to that, if Roland had cared to look. But he didn’t – his eyes were on the future, on his grand plans and grander ambitions.

‘I’ll contact you soon, with the details of a meet,’ I said.

‘Where?’

‘It can’t be your territory, because my people can’t be seen with you. And it can’t be ours for the same reason. I’m thinking Low Town. I’ll set up security, some of my old friends from the neighborhood, uninvolved with either side and not particularly interested in politics.’

He mulled that over for a while, then stood and smiled. ‘I’m glad to have you with us, Lieutenant.’ He put a firm hand on my shoulder. ‘A light awaits us at the end of the struggle.’

He nodded at his guard and they fell in behind him, sparing a second to toss final snarls of disapproval. I stayed a while afterward, finishing the wine, then calling for something stronger.