Devil-May-Care sipped away at his tea. Other than the ticking wooden clock, it was the only sound in the unbearably stuffy room.
“I was led to believe that homunculi do not retain any memories of their host bodies after they become a copy of Tibalt Kinderum,” Devil-May-Care said.
“It’s true,” Luck grunted.
He tried not to wince as he breathed. His body still ached after getting the shit beaten out of him by Shuteye and the stairs. He should’ve felt more at ease with Devil-May-Care shooing his muscle out of the conversation, but he knew better.
“That doesn’t explain why you know me, know us. None of your kind does.” Devil-May-Care had the gall to pour himself yet another cup of tea. Luck hadn’t touched his own at all.
“You think the Theater doesn’t know you exist?” Luck replied, distracted. One cup had still been unclaimed.
“The Theater dreams of knowing where we hide. Every week, they impale someone new in the street that they claim to be a Sugarman, declaring there is no fortune found in our company. They only get it right once every five times,” Devil-May-Care said. “If they could, the Theater would wipe Port Lavinia clean, burn the pests out, but our sea-oil is far too precious to the Protectorate. Ha ha. A fun little stalemate.”
Luck tried to sit straighter. “Then you underestimate us.”
“You underestimate me, Luck. This isn’t some precious classified information you homunculi are keeping among yourselves. If that was the case, this building along with all my other company homes would’ve been raided long ago with a spear through my arse. Ha! I’ll admit, I was ready to shit myself being told by a tenant there were two homunculi in here. Fighting over a girl, no less. Fighting over the Lady of Pomolin, even less!"
“Get to the point,” Luck growled.
Devil-May-Care flashed a wide grin full of crooked teeth. “You were one of us, weren’t you? You were a Sugarman before you became a Kinderum. Don’t deny it. A real magus would’ve found a mermaid’s summon poisonous to carry.”
“It’s not real magic. Mermaids don’t answer to witchcraft anymore.”
“Who said anything about witches?”
Luck wanted to punch Devil-May-Care Efrem. He had always wanted to, and there was no Lady to possibly seem uncouth in front of. He debated harder.
“Well, who were you, Luck Kinderum?” Devil-May-Care asked.
Luck felt his jaw grow stiff at the question. “Nobody.”
Devil-May-Care laughed. “Said just like a Sugarman.”
The laugh was a headache to Luck. He tried to focus on his compass instead, mapping out everyone’s position. All of Devil-May-Care’s thugs were scattered about on the floor, either playing cards, drinking or sleeping. The man at the radio station waved over to the thugs, two of them promptly approached the elevator. Even through the door, he could hear the faint rumble of the contraption.
“Can’t blame me for being curious, eh?” Devil-May-Care winked.
“Can you do it or not?”
“I can think of a couple of ways we can sneak her on a boat past your pesky homunculi’s compass.”
The elevator ascended. Luck’s compass fired off; a lone man rode it. He tried to focus back on the conversation.
“How?” he asked.
“Trade secret, it’ll ruin the surprise! But the boss will want to sort the details.”
The elevator shuddered to a stop, the creak preternaturally loud — or maybe that was just his nerves. The individual stepped out, towards them. Luck shot to his feet instinctively, his muscles twitching and his skin prickling. He realised a second too late that he’d given himself away.
Devil-May-Care’s smile betrayed nothing. “No need for alarm, friend. He just wants a face to face. He’s traditional, remember?”
The doors swung open quicker than Luck would have liked. No chance to calm down. The man who stepped through had to bend a little to get through the door. He was giant, a head taller than even Luck himself, with dark red hair, a long beard, his arms marked with dozens of cross-shaped scars and sailor tattoos. He had clear blue eyes that bore into Luck as if he was transparent, that even with space-time magic, Luck could hide nothing.
Devil-May-Care finally poured out the fourth cup of tea. “Welcome, boss.”
The giant man approached Luck, a little too close for his liking, especially considering that he towered over Luck. It forced him to crane his neck to look up.
Luck tried to keep his hands from shaking. He couldn’t mess up any more than he already had.
“This one graciously presents himself as Cherko Kindness,” was the giant man’s greeting.
“Luck Kinderum,” Luck said as clearly as he could.
Cherko circled Luck. “What are your thoughts, boy?”
“That Cuttlefish wasn’t shitting us,” Devil-May-Care laughed. “The Protector really does takes nobodies like your first generation runners, and put the able-bodied ones into good use. He knew the words of your beloved siren Cardea. He was definitely one of your lads.”
Cherko’s thick eyebrows raised. “One of Cherko’s, eh?”
Luck stopped himself from taking a step back from the giant. He instead turned away, glancing over at Devil-May-Care.
“Who is Cuttlefish?” he asked. He no longer wanted to punch him, since even that infuriating grin was better than looking at Cherko Kindness.
A hungry look gleamed in Devil-May-Care’s eyes. “Stick around long enough and you might find out.” He made a sweeping gesture to Cherko. “The homunculus wants us to quietly ferry our esteemed Lady Mahala Pesh all the way to Kalkoku without the Theater noticing. Perfectly doable, with the right motivation.”
Cherko stroked his beard, eyes scanning Luck. “Hmm. Our beautiful Lady is on the run with one of her soldiers?”
“Send your heart aflutter, doesn’t it?” Devil-May-Care swooned theatrically.
“All the way to Kalkoku… A homunculus cannot follow her there. Not a happy ending to the story,” sighed Cherko.
“It’s none of your business,” Luck snapped. “Just tell me what you want to get her on a boat.”
Cherko brushed past Luck to pick up his tea. “Cherko knows a homunculus’ worth; a homunculus can get into places no man can go, can swipe a desk or a throat before a man takes a breath…” he trailed off. “Does Luck Kinderum have a specific port to get the Lady onto?”
Luck thought for a second. “Hayang.”
“Hmm. To get the Lady onto a boat past the eyes of homunculi, carry her all the way to Kalkoku and safely onto a port, a tall order,” Cherko took a hard swig of the cup.
“I also want assurance that she made it there,” Luck quickly added.
“Then Cherko has a good deal for you. The Lady will be comfortable and protected. Will send her off with good sum of money. Can even give her phone number so she calls you after she’s settled — hear her voice and know it’s real; that is good, yes?” His voice rumbled deep with sharp gravel. “Cherko swears to Mistress Cardea that it will happen.”
Luck could feel his palms sweating. He balled them and tried to remain firm. “What do you want?”
Cherko’s face creased with laugh lines. “Devil, tell him about the Adalbern job.”
In contrast to Cherko, Devil-May-Care continued to daintily sip his tea, pinky finger in the air.
Luck braced himself. He knew what the Sugarmen did — they wanted him to kill a man, and Lady Mahala would never forgive him or herself if she heard that was what cost her freedom—
“We need you to rescue someone,” Devil-May-Care announced.
“What?”
Devil-May-Care laughed. “Got you there, didn’t I? It’s no joke, though! We need you to rescue a little girl for us.”
The Sugarmen had no use for little girls.
“Why?” Luck asked instead.
“It’s for a good cause, does it matter?” Devil-May-Care shrugged. “The little girl is being used as a hostage, forcing some sorry bastard to take the fall for a big fuck-up at the constabulary.”
Cherko nodded solemnly. “Cherko respects a man who would do anything for their child.”
Devil-May-Care snorted into his drink. “You’d trade your son for a mint!”
He rifled through his desk and produced a photograph of a 6-year-old girl. There were documents attached with it; he quickly scanned through it: Captain Rokan Fairfox. Beatrice Fairfox. Lord Thomas Adalbern. Lieutenant Vernon.
“I’ve no idea where she’s being kept, but I know who does know,” Devil-May-Care said, tapping a name. “Lieutenant Vernon. It’s our sorry bastard’s right hand. He’s doing a few chores that’ll lead to his downfall, paving the way for a promotion to an empty seat.”
“And why do you think he’d tell me where the girl is?”
Devil-May-Care smiled. “A homunculus has more tricks than the average man; you can get creative. After that, you just need to bring her here undetected.”
“And what happened to her afterwards?” Luck asked.
“We return her to her father. Happy ending.”
Luck knew this was not a random act of altruism, but he also knew better than to press the matter. He guessed it had more to do with the ‘sorry bastard’ than the girl. He felt less bad about that.
“Fine, deal,” he said. He regretted agreeing almost immediately.
He clung desperately to the thought of Lady Mahala’s order.
While Devil-May-Care applauded, Cherko stood stoic. He gestured to Luck to follow him to the altar.
“If we are dealing, we are giving our word, betting on our blood like men,” said Cherko. He held up his right arm over the bowl of water. “Remember how this works?”
Luck didn’t answer. He instead rolled up his sleeve and held out his right arm as well. He could see his own veins close to the surface of his ghostly pale skin. Was the connection between him and his brothers strong enough that they would feel what he was about to do?
Devil-May-Care handed Cherko a sharp knife which was dipped into the water.
“Cherko Kindness swears to Mistress Cardea to safely ferry Lady Mahala Pesh to the port of Hayang, Kalkoku, without the Theater or Protectorate’s detection, with a handsome sum of money to start anew,” vowed Cherko. “Does Luck Kinderum swear to rescue Beatrice Fairfox and bring her to us at your discretion?”
“I, Luck Kinderum, swear to Mistress Cardea I will,” Luck answered.
Cherko carved a cross out of both his own and Luck’s arm. Blood trickled out of the wound, dripping onto the water.
“Mistress Cardea has heard our vows. We have our deal,” said Cherko.
“Welcome back to the Sugarmen,” Devil-May-Care added.
The ritual was nothing. It was all faith and big words, yet Cherko Kindness treated it like gospel. Magic was taken from the ikka, so peasant witchcraft offered no connection to mermaids anymore, yet the cross cuts stung like acid and cold webbed fingers.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
Lieutenant Jack Vernon was an easy find.
Luck flickered across rooftops towards the constabulary headquarters. He tried keeping distance from other homunculi. Without Lady Mahala at his side, he was just like the rest of them. Too close and they would tell he was less than them.
He waited near the constabulary headquarters, crunching on somnleaf pills for the pain until he spotted Vernon leaving for the evening. He followed until his compass flagged no closeby civilians or homunculi and Vernon had turned into a quiet street.
Luck leaped from the roof, arm around Vernon’s throat.
The man gagged, hands clawing at the chokehold. Luck pinned him to the ground.
“Where is Beatrice Fairfox?” he demanded.
Vernon’s eyes rolled around his skull, trying to get a good look at Luck.
Luck’s chest grew heavy. He hated this spell. He pushed Vernon’s head through a portal. It went nowhere — Luck had no ability to connect it to a proper destination. It was, however, still access to ‘nowhere.’ A convenient Kinderum gate in which only the gods would know what was on the other side.
Vernon screamed into the void, his body thrashing violently, every sense lost.
Luck waited until Vernon’s fingernails were shredded against the pavement to pull him out.
Poor bastard sobbed. Still a better end than most encounters with Sugarmen.
“Again, where is Beatrice Fairfox?”
Comments