Chapter Two: “Head Held High”

A warm breeze beat at nearby pennants, and Jaeger, Count of Sunset, adjusted his stance so that the wind would not carry off his top hat. It was bad enough that the prince had ordered him to meet with his newest sycophant as she entered the city, but he would be livid if he had to do it in a state of disarray.

He glanced down from the airship docks of the castle to the city below. From his vantage, he could see from the ocean to the factories, not to mention all four bridges across the Sygrid. From what he could tell, it looked cooler down there. What comfort the heights might have given were lost to the boilers placed along the three airship slips that drove various machines, from anchoring clamps to platforms that would allow repairmen to examine the entire envelope without deflating it. It was all quite showy, and Jaeger hated it.

The approaching ship exemplified all his reasons. It was ornate to the point of being simply gaudy, with scroll-work and molding. If it had not been for the recent war, he would have expected to see gold leaf lining the hull. Still, there was something off, a wrongness about the ship. A voice from behind brought Jaeger out of his thoughts.

“Well, I say old boy, a new guest important enough for Sunset to personally greet him?”

Jaeger turned to find a slender, younger man coming up behind him: Warwick Tonniger. “Duke Tonniger, if our guest has brought you here, it would be a faux pas to not be present myself.”

“Phaw,” Warwick said. “I haven’t the foggiest who this might be. I’m here out of sheer boredom. That and to see who has the gall to fly in on an Adervyn-built dirigible.”

So that was it. Now that Warwick had said it, Jaeger could clearly see the stylistic cues. “Hmm, a refitted warship, if I miss my guess. She is brazen indeed. I knew she was coming here from Adervyn, but not in one of their ships.”

Warwick lifted an eyebrow. “She? Ah, Jaeger, now I understand why you’re here.”

Jaeger shook his head. “Ah, if only this was strictly for game. Alas, the good prince requested that I meet the Lady and see that her arrival proceeds smoothly.”

“You cad!” Warwick put a hand to his chest in feigned disgust. “Mixing work and pleasure. So, please, you have tormented me enough, who is this Lady?”

Jaeger stroked his goatee and kept his eyes on the airship, which was starting to moor up. This close, one could see where Gatlin guns had been mounted. “She is the daughter of the Baroness of Kanadis. Supposedly, she is here to try and bolster the barony’s trade.”

“Kanadis needs trade bolstered?” Warwick laughed. “I don’t know ever what they would trade. Snow, perhaps? And it isn’t exactly like they were ravaged in the war. They’re on the other of the country as the Adervyn border.”

Jaeger gave Warwick a level stare. “She is here for her own plots, whatever they are, and she has already garnered the favor of Prince Dorian, thus why I am here. Although, I would want to meet her even without the prince’s orders. The last thing this city needs is another noble jockeying for power.”

Warwick smiled and looked past, towards the airship. Jaeger’s heart leapt into his throat, but he calmly turned back to see the passengers just now disembarking. For a moment, from Warwick’s look, he had thought the Lady had been standing over them.

A small group of house guards in Kanadis colors were the first off, and then the Lady. She was attractive enough, in a curvy way, and her deep red hair and pale complexion told the truth of her northern blood. Jaeger took a deep breath and walked down the platform.

“My Lady Kanadis, I presume?”

The woman looked him over with a calculating eye then smiled. “Please, my lord, Maaike.”

“Maaike, then. I am Jaeger, Count of Sunset.” He glanced behind him to see that Warwick had followed. “And this is Duke Warwick Tonniger.”

Maaike curtsied to both of them. “My lords. I had hardly expected such a lavish reception.”

“Prince Dorian sent me with his best wishes and regrets that he could not be here personally to great you,” Jaeger said.

“For my part, I was just curious,” Warwick said. “It isn’t everyday someone flies in such . . . style.”

Maaike glanced back to her ship. “Oh, that silly thing? It was a gift to me from the Duke of Gerra. I honestly tried to refuse, what with his having hosted me for five years, but he insisted.”

“You were in Adervyn during the war?” Jaeger gave Warwick a quick glance. “By hosted, surely you don’t mean . . . .”

“I most surely don’t,” Maaike said. “To this day, the good Duke thinks I was from Voxfeld. I don’t blame him, I had spent five years there prior to going to Adervyn. One could say I might very well had been.”

Warwick gave Jaeger a quick slap on the back. “And here I thought I’d been tricked into welcoming a returned captive. Ah, my Lady, I’m pleased to hear you managed to fool those snakes and escape with your hide. You’re amongst friends once more.”

“Yes, quite right,” Jaeger said. “But, my Lady, I’m sure you’re fatigued from your travels.” He signaled for a porter to come over. “Please, escort the Lady to north wing. The prince has made arrangements for her rooms there.”

“My Lord is too kind and too correct.” Maaike curtsied again. “My Lord Count, My Lord Duke, I bid take my leave.”

The two men bowed and watched in silence as the porter led Maaike to the far end of the docks. Jaeger could not help but notice the way she eyed the other airship in port, a fully armed combat vessel. The king liked to keep it there to remind the nobility that they were his guests, but the look on Maaike’s face said she saw it quite differently. It was almost as if she was eyeing something she intended to have for herself.

“Oh nobles,” Warwick said. “Must they all be the same?”

“It would seem so, my friend.”

“Join me for some iced punch?”

“I’m afraid not,” Jaeger said. “I have another engagement I must see to.”

“Personal, I’m sure?” Warwick elbowed Jaeger. “I doubt the Prince has actually left anything of a more professional nature for you to do.”

“Such things will have to wait for now.” Jaeger glanced back to the Adervynian ship. “Even if she is here from Adervyn and Voxfeld, the daughter of a duchess would not have so small an entourage. I have a feeling not all of them were on the ship, although it should have had room for many more.”

“Don’t tell me you see a conspiracy,” Warwick said. “You only just met the woman.”

“She’s hiding something.” Jaeger started after her, for no other reason than that there was only one way off the docks. The duke followed. “Warwick, I’d ask you a boon.”

“Of course, old friend,” he said. “Want me to have her silently killed?”

“No, I don’t think that will do, not with the prince involved, and with her the next in line for Duchess Kanadis.” Jaeger sighed. “And what does it say that I know you said that in jest, and yet I still seriously considered it.”

“You carry this city on your shoulders, even though you shouldn’t have to,” Warwick said. “It’s that simple. Now, what is it you need me to do?”

“Have your people keep their ears open for anything strange in the streets, particularly the slums. It is far too easy to hide people in there. I should know; I’ve done it myself. If she is sneaking someone into the city, that would be the place to do it.”

“Strange?” Warwick rubbed his chin. “Perhaps she has an Adervynian revenant in her employ and she wishes to hide it.” He paused and looked at Jaeger. “Oh, leave off, man. I’m not serious.”

“It would make sense,” Jaeger said. “But just keep an open ear for anything. I need to go let my people know to do the same.”

They came to a fork in the hallway, and Warwick stopped. “Here we part, my friend. How about joining me for brandy and cigars this evening.”

“I’m sorry, but I have yet another engagement.” Jaeger smiled. “And this one, finally, of a personal nature.”

Warwick laughed and said his goodbyes. Jaeger felt slightly reassured to know that the duke had so easily agreed, although he could not but wonder if Warwick was not taking the possibilities seriously. Tijervyn walked a knife’s edge, and it would not take much, even one noble with a trumped up view of themselves, to push it. Jaeger would make sure that did not happen.

As the Count of Sunset, he was technically the administrator of the city, there to leave the king to more national affairs. And while the crown prince had historically always rendered the count a powerless position, Jaeger still held his post with pride. Tijervyn would not fall on his watch, no matter the cost.

* * *

Kira walked out of Bryon’s office, or at least what passed for one in The Hole, and immediately stopped. It was that, or bump directly into the walking mountain that pretended to be a man named Gavrial Thrust.

“Evening there, Kira.” He fell into a lean against the hallway wall so quickly that the move had to have been practiced.

“I’m done,” she said. “Bryon’s all yours.”

“Oh, now why would I want to go talk to him when I have you right here?”

“Probably because you don’t have me,” she said. “Here or anywhere else.”

“What, am I just too real for you?” He leaned in and smiled. “I never took you for one to prefer wind-up toys.”

She reached for the small gun hidden in her coat, and Gavrial simply leaned back against the wall, although he did rather pointedly rest a hand on one of the revolvers that sat on his hips. She relaxed and brought her hand back to her side. Gavrial knew she would not shoot him, at least for something as trivial as that. Besides, if he had felt threatened, he likely had two other weapons that were concealed but easier to reach than his six-shooters.

She sighed and moved away from Bryon’s door. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

Gavrial gestured with his head down the tunnel, towards the urchins’ quarters where Markus’s room was. “I heard you talk to Bryon about him, that revenant you found on the street. Bryon may have all of Troena’s compassion, but I’m not exactly as trusting. What in Praedin’s name were you thinking, bringing that thing down here?”

Kira glowered and started walking down the hall, away from Gavrial. He scoffed and followed.

“No answer, eh? You don’t even know anything about him.”

“We take in the outcast,” she said. “He’s new in town and has no clue how to survive in the slums.”

“Or he could have taken you for a ride,” Gavrial said. “It wouldn’t be the first time you were fooled by a pretty set of eyes.”

She spun around and slapped him, for all the good it did. She was fairly sure her hand stung more than his cheek. “Next time, it’ll come with a knife, pig.”

“Rather a pig than a monster.”

“You’re calling him a monster?” She shook with rage. “You’re one to talk.”

“Oh, but you know I won’t shoot you in the back,” he said. “Do you know that about him?”

“Sometimes I wonder it about you!” She considered slapping him again, but instead turned on her heel and stormed off towards the exit. To her relief, Gavrial did not follow, although not for any fear of her threat to stab him. If he had followed, she likely would have tried, and ended up with a broken wrist because of it.

And as much as it pained her to admit it, Gavrial was right. She did know next to nothing about Markus. But, she had a feeling about him, and she knew, however illogically, that bringing him to The Hole was the right thing to do. Now, it was up to Markus to prove it. She only prayed that Bryon, let alone Gavrial, would give him the time to do so.

* * *

Markus followed the stout, red-headed woman who had introduced herself as Margot Pukini. Her tour of The Hole had been short. There were only three halls, one that housed the actual members of the Bryon’s gang and the other two for the “urchins”, as she had called them. Apparently, Bryon had a soft spot for the children of the streets and often let them have a warm meal and a place to sleep. Off of the third hall, the one that crossed the two from the front room, another large room was used as a kitchen and dinning area, and this was where Margot had now led Markus.

“How much of you did you say was metal?” Margot said.

“Enough.”

She turned around just inside the room and looked down at him. She barely reached his chest, but she made it feel like she was looking down on him all the same.

“We all have secrets,” Margot said. “But I think you might choose yours better. The Hole already knows you’re a revenant, there’s no reason to hide it.”

“I’d rather you all saw me as a man first,” he said.

“Well, that’s a man enough answer for me,” she said. “Anyway, it smells like Cook has made us another amazing dinner of cabbage stew and stale bread. I trust that’ll be nourishment enough for the man?”

“Honestly, that sounds more of a feast.” He glanced behind him, back into the hallway, and noticed something that he had somehow missed on first glance. Set into a recess was an oak door, stout enough that he doubted even he would be able to break it down. “What’s in there?”

Margot followed his gaze and smiled. “Oh, this and that. Hey, I know this is nosy, considering, but since we are in a nosy mood, what would happen if I yanked that silver spike out of your head?”

He turned around slowly. “I’d fall over dead, surely as if you jammed a stiletto into a man’s eye.”

“Oh, that’s it?” She shrugged. “I expected something more, I don’t know, flashy. After all, men don’t survive when you first plunge the dagger in, right?”

“I’m sorry that my death wouldn’t be spectacular enough for you.”

“I mean, you should at least jerk into the sky and glow or something.” She turned around and walked into the dinning hall. “Or maybe explode. Yeah, that’d be neat. Or, maybe your revenant parts could just go crazy on their own and drag your dead body along, like a chicken that just got its head cut off.”

“Don’t mind her.”

Markus turned to see Bryon walking into the dinning hall. “Don’t mind her? Seriously?”

“Margot has a dark humor,” Bryon said. “But, her heart is in the right place. Come along then, you have the look of someone who hasn’t eaten well, or recently.”

They collected bowls of soup and sat down across from each other at the end of a long table. The soup tasted just as it smelled, which a decade ago would have been horrendous to Markus, but now was, as he had honestly said, a feast.

“I wanted to thank you again,” he said between spoonfuls. “For letting me stay here while I get my bearings.”

“The Hole is a haven in these turbulent waters,” Bryon said. “I would be a poor excuse for a man to cast out one who fought to protect us, even if from afar.” He looked down at his soup then back up. “I am correct, I hope, in assuming that you fought for Sentat?”

“I’m not a turncoat, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“And yet, I had not heard that we had resorted to the same, ah, measures as Adervyn.”

“I was a rather special case,” Markus said. “Regardless, I wish there was some way that I could repay your hospitality.”

Bryon put his spoon down and steepled his fingers. “Am I to take it that you are offering to help us in our endeavors? I assure you, that such a pursuit would not endear you with any of the local authorities, more so than even having stayed with us.”

“I’d thought about trying to get a job as a strong-arm at a tavern, or maybe at a shop in the Scent District,” Markus said. “But the more I think about it, the more I don’t think that is the life for me. Staying in one place in the open like that, being what I am, well, I’d be a target. Kira figured me out in a matter of hours. I’m sure other people will, and the rumors will fly, and then I’ll become an unemployable liability. People would start fights or try to steal from me just to say they did.”

“It’s hard, being different,” Bryon said. “Circumstances, perhaps even Troena himself, force us down the paths we walk. All we can do is walk them with our heads held high. You have considered our line of work already, haven’t you?”

“Yes.” Markus pinched the bridge of his nose. “I admit it’s appealing, having a hidden away place to call home. I never presumed that I’d end up doing anything all that honest, not with this body of mine, so the work doesn’t exactly gall.”

“Yet, you were a soldier,” Bryon said. “A man of honor.”

“What I did in that war was hardly honorable.” Markus noticed the obvious look of curiosity on Bryon’s face, but he said no more.

“Honor is not a bad trait, old chap. You might actually find that it is more common here in the underworld than out in the light. So, you really want to help us? To possibly be one of us?”

Markus took a deep breath. He stood at a crossroad, he knew. Up to this point, he could still back out, try and find an honest living. But still, as he had filled his tank back up in his room, he had faced the grim truth. A cyborg, called halfman or revenant, would not have an easy lot. As Bryon said, the least he could do was face it with dignity.

“Yes.”

Bryon smiled and patted Markus’s shoulder from across the table. “I think you’ll like it here, Markus. I’ve a feel for people. And, as it happens, we have something you could do this very night. A test run, you might all it.” He looked over and gestured to a monstrously large man on the other side of the room. “Gavrial, come here for a moment.”

Gavrial lumbered over and adjusted his numerous gunbelts before he spoke. “Yeah?”

“Gavrial, I’d like you to meet Markus McGrigor. He’ll be assisting you in tonight’s operation. Markus, this is Gavrial Thrust. He is what you might call my second-in-command.”

Markus stood and tried to not make it so obvious that he had to still look up to the man. “A pleasure.”

Gavrial put his hand out, and Markus only hesitated for a moment before he clasped it. He was hardly surprised when Gavrial gave it a not inconsiderable squeeze. After a moment, the other man let go.

“I’ve heard you’re a revenant,” he said. “That there hand isn’t real, is it?”

“The thug’s face I punched in this afternoon seemed to think it was real enough.”

Gavrial stared at Markus for a long moment then laughed so loudly that entire dinner hall stopped what it was doing to look. “Oh.” Gavrial wiped away a tear. “Oh yes, I like him, Bryon. Has a wit about him.” He slapped Markus on the back then smiled. “Ah, that there’s real enough.”

Markus straightened himself and rolled his shoulder blades. “Alas, they never got around to replacing that.”

Gavrial laughed again, if not quite as hard, then grabbed a passing child. “You there, Gerrid. Take our new guest here to the supply room and help him find some clothes that don’t stick out so much. A tall collared coat or something, right?”

Gerrid, who could not have been more than ten, nodded and turned around, even though he had just come into the hall and had not yet eaten. “This way, sir.”

Markus glanced down at the dregs of his stew, but decided to not complain. He was a new recruit again, and that meant jumping when anyone said frog. He nodded a farewell to Bryon and Gavrial.

“I’ll see you in the front room once you’ve changed,” Gavrial said. “Don’t dally, we need to be moving soon.”

* * *

Gavrial watched in silence as Gerrid led the revenant away. Bryon remained seated and slurped his stew. Once they were gone, Gavrial grunted.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Bryon smiled. “It’s actually one of the better ones I’ve had of late. Oh, I’m sure Kira will be cross with me, but it’s been a while since I’ve had to put up with one of her temper tantrums. And this way, we have the revenant where we can keep an eye on him, and we get him out of The Hole while I go looking to see if we haven’t just welcomed a crazed monster into our home.”

“I thought you had a sense of people,” Gavrial said. “Could tell in a few moments if they were crazed killers or not.”

“I have a sense for people,” Bryon said. “I’m not so sure that the term applies to our new guest. But, anyway, who is to say I even really do have that sense. I did let you stay, after all.”

“You let me stay because I am a crazy killer.” Gavrial chuckled and snatched up the abandoned crust of bread from Markus’s plate. “I just don’t make any qualms about it.”

“Ah, then I guess my sense has yet to fail me,” Bryon said. “You had best gather up the others. You don’t want to be late.”

Gavrial finished the bread and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’re the boss, boss. What should I do if he does turn out to be crazed?”

“Yank out his spike,” Bryon said.

Gavrial narrowed his eyes. “Just like that, eh?”

“You don’t hesitate to put down a rabid dog.” Bryon gave his stew his full attention, and Gavrial simply shrugged and went to gather the crew. Depending on how the night went, Bryon might not be the only one having to put up with one of Kira’s tantrums.

* * *

“That is what you call inconspicuous?”

Markus turned around slowly and looked up at Gavrial with a smile. To his side, Gerrid squeaked and ran off. Markus could hardly blame him, with how Gavrial bellowed.

“This was the only coat you had with a high enough collar to hide my more conspicuous feature.” He gave the coat a tug and tried to not feel ridiculous. The coat had a high collar that reached just past the top of his neck, true, but the coat also reached down to his knees, cinched a bit at his waist, and had loose, deeply cuffed sleeves. A double row of buttons went down the front, and there was even a little embroidery down the sleeves.

“Well,” Gavrial said, suddenly stifling a laugh. Behind him, two other men right near cackled. “At least they’ll only mark you for someone without any fashion sense, as opposed to a bloody revenant.” He then pointed at Markus’s chest. “What’s that?”

Markus looked down at the black leather strap that crossed his brown waistcoat. “That is the strap holding my tank.”

“Your tank?” Gavrial said. “Bah, leave it in your room. No one will take it.”

“You don’t really know much about cyborgs, do you?” From Gavrial’s blank stare, Markus assumed he was right. “All cyborgs have an external tank. We need it to run our . . .  enhancements. In some cases, like mine, we’d die without it.”

“Phaw. Alright then. But it better not make any noise.” Gavrial then reached into his coat and pulled out a small revolver. “You’ll need this.”

Markus smiled but shook his head as he pulled out his own, heavier weapon. “Thank you, but I’m fine. Ex-soldier, if you’ll remember.”

Gavrial smirked and put his own weapon back in its hidden holster. “Right then, these here are Gust Rallyn and Jak Joraz. Don’t really speak the language, but they understand well enough.”

Markus nodded to the two men, who were both obviously from across the ocean by their dark complexions. “A pleasure.”

“Good then.” Gavrial moved to the exit. “Let’s get moving.”

* * *

Jaeger took a sip of his wine before he acknowledged the footman who came rushing in on dinner. “Yes?”

“My lord, a constable is here to see you, said you’d want to see him right away.”

“His name?”

“Wynfeld Black, my Lord.”

Jaeger checked himself before he could let his eyes grow wide. The footman might seem innocent enough, but he would gossip to the other servants about what he saw, and soon enough all of Castle Sentat would know if the Count of Sunset had been shocked or eager to receive a constable from the slums during dinner.

“Take him to my parlor,” Jaeger said. “Assure him he shan’t wait long.”

The footman bowed and left, and Jaeger smiled to the Lady Sistrine, whom he had been dining with. That she saw him uncaring was almost as important, although for different reasons. “I beg your indulgence, my Lady. This is a minor affair of the city, but one that I have taken upon myself for a friend. I will return shortly, and then perhaps you can read me a few of those poems by the fire.”

Sistrine demurred and assured him that she understood, and even urged him to not rush a favor for a friend on her account. He made a few more meaningless gestures, all part of the dance, and then stood and walked to his parlor, neither too fast nor too slow. Just the Count seeing about some trifling matter that interrupted his dinner.

Soon as the door was closed, he released a deep breath and moved to the sidebar. “Sherry, Constable?”

Wynfeld shook his head, displacing the few white hairs that graced it and were normally hidden under his cap. “Thank you, my Lord, no. Not while I’m in the uniform.”

“Good man.” Jaeger poured himself a nip anyway and turned. “So?”

“You asked to be informed immediately of any strange activity in the slums today,” Wynfeld said. “Well, this quite qualified, I’d say. A man had his face bashed in.”

“You have a talent for both under- and overstatement, old friend,” Jaeger said. “And why is this strange in the slums?”

“According to the witnesses,” Wynfeld said. “It was done by a man using only his fist and a single punch.”

Jaeger had raised the small glass to his lips, but left it there unmoving. “How reliable is this account?”

“It happened in the middle of a crowded avenue, my Lord,” Wynfeld said. “I have the same story from over a dozen witnesses. And when I say the man’s face is bashed in, my Lord, I do mean that I could fully fit my fist past the knuckles where this man’s nose should have been, at least if I had the depravity of mind to do it.”

Jaeger put the untouched liquor down on the sidebar. “Do you have any other information?”

“It was a single man wearing a cloak. Apparently he had passed by Constable Jerin earlier today at the gate and made a fuss about not wanting to lower his hood, quite successfully it seems. Another person was involved in the fight, as well, and we have identified her.”

Jaeger raised an eyebrow, and Wynfeld pulled a dossier out from under his arm and handed it over. “You may keep that, my Lord. I have a copy at the office.”

Jaeger nodded and flipped the folder open. Inside was a sketch of a younger woman, maybe in her mid twenties, and a smattering of other information.

“Kira Jons,” Jaeger read aloud. “Wanted for murder, theft, larceny, and arson. Whereabouts unknown, but presumed in league with Bryon Salteen.” He raised his voice in question on the last name.

“A self-styled crime-lord,” Wynfeld said. “Been giving us trouble off and on over the years, but never enough to warrant us truly digging after him in whatever hole it is he calls home.”

“Then it’s time that warrant is writ,” Jaeger said. “I’ll draw up the paperwork and send it down in the morning, but I want you to start on this tonight. There is a revenant in our city, Constable Black, and I want it taken alive.”

“Alive, my Lord?”

“I have a feeling this monster is not here of its own volition,” Jaeger said. “Find it and take it. Those are your orders.”

Wynfeld did not smile nor frown. He merely saluted then bowed. “My Lord.”

Story by Richard Fife | Art by April Herron