Driftwood orphans, p.32
Driftwood Orphans, page 32
As I neared the crowd of salters, a few of them started for me. I was dressed like one of them, but I sure as shit didn’t feel like one of them. Not anymore. Without Binh to lead them, they’d lost sight of the real fight.
“Do any of you know who I am? ” I bellowed at the top of my lungs. I was tired and beat up, but I had breath enough for this. “I was the daughter of Nanay Benilda Lacanilao. I was the love of Pham Binh Cong. I was the Red Rose of the Thorn Orphans. I was a salter, just like you. My name is Tenny.” I gestured down to the Monster with my broken hand. “And I came here to kill this absolute motherfucker ”
Ripples of recognition fluttered through the assembled crowd of salters. I could taste their surprise, their shock, even the excitement of some. At Binh’s name in particular, something warm flitted through the crowd like an unseasonable summer breeze. But all I really cared about was the fact that none of them had taken another step toward me.
“Anyone who lays a hand on me, loses it!” I shouted for everyone to hear. “This is old business, a long time coming. It doesn’t need to be your business. But if you feel like getting involved”—I dropped my gaze to the salters directly in front of me, so they could look me in the eye and see how fucking serious I was. I met the gaze of one salter in particular: a young Samnati, with silver hair and a once-broken nose—“I will oblige you.”
Despite the groans and clanging of working machinery, the moment felt long and quiet.
And then, at last, the Samnati salter in front of me stepped aside.
When they did, so did everyone else around them. More and more salters cleared a path, freeing up floor space moments before I set foot on it, dragging the Monster behind me. I felt them closing in around me, but they kept their distance. I listened to them murmur, heard the fluttering of fear in their hearts. They didn’t know that I would never hurt them. On some level, that was painful; I’d thought my lifetime of service to their cause would be proof of what kind of woman I was. But on the other hand, the last thing I needed was for some idiot to try calling my bluff.
The temperature climbed as we reached the furnace. Beneath my hand, I felt the Monster groan and try to roll away from me, but I held fast. Without juiced-up muscles to hold his broken bones together, he couldn’t fight me anymore.
“You wanna wear ashes?” I said, gesturing with my broken hand. The loading hatch for the furnace sprang open on its own. “I’ll give you ashes. You wanna draw your power from the people? I’ll make sure you’re connected to the people every time they breathe deep.” I grimaced with effort as I lifted him up higher so I could look him right in the eye. “Roses every day .”
At the familiar declaration, he burst with laughter: a phlegmy, ugly gurgle from deep in his throat. Fear flashed through me. What did this bastard know that I didn’t? But I pushed it aside. I’d broken him with a snap of my fingers. I was a full-blown shaman again, and within these four boroughs I could do anything. There was nothing he could do to hurt me anymore.
“You’re wrong,” he rasped. He favored me with a broken smile. “You can’t do everything he can. You … can’t … build! ”
He surged with life and vitality. I could feel phantom impressions of his pain, even more searing than the open furnace. He mustered up all of his strength and hurled his full weight at me. I stood between him and the furnace’s gaping, fiery jaws—
—so I stepped out of his way, then gave him a sharp kick in the back.
He fell in with a final scream, and the flames rushed to devour him. A tattooed hand, already charring and scorching black, lunged back out. But before it could get a grip, I waved my hand and the hatch slammed shut again. It muffled his screams, but not by much.
Quick as a knife, the sound came back to me: hundreds more screams just like his, as the fire chewed through strong, proud salters. But as quickly as they returned to me, I shut them out. This was different, I told myself, even as my stomach turned.
I faced the huge crew of salters staring at me, horrified. Everything I saw on their faces, I felt doubly in the way the city’s spirit moved around them. I tried not to let it sting me. They just didn’t understand what was going on here. But they would soon enough.
A disturbance jolted through me. Bows and fingers playing across the strings of the city, their strokes getting smaller and tighter as the notes climbed higher.
A grin spread across my face like an egg in a pan as I recognized it.
You were here.
28
Twelve years ago
Age 18
Knife-Edge held up his long black boiled wool coat, inspecting it with a frown. “I don’t know why I thought you were joking when you told me we would be wearing these,” he sighed. “And yet, here I am.”
“It’s like we said at the time,” you replied patiently. “We’re fighting for the people. Until they can afford better, we don’t wear better.”
Knife-Edge’s nose wrinkled as he considered the coat in his hands. “Black, though. Such a dull color. Black is what you wear when the only statement you have to make is, ‘I have nothing to say.’ Although I’m sure it will look lovely on you ,” he added with a smirk toward Mhap, who didn’t stand in the corner so much as loom.
Mhap didn’t rise to the bait, but his annoyed grunt felt like a threat of its own.
“That there ethos of yours …” said Roulette Wu. I hadn’t allowed him to light up his cigarillos in our place, so it bobbed unlit in his teeth. “Reckon that’s why we skimped on having ourselves a cool hideout, too?”
“Hoy, asshole,” I said. “We lay our heads here. Show some respect for my home when you’re in it, neh?”
Roulette put up his hands apologetically.
I sighed. “You ain’t wrong, though.”
The Kelptown apartment had been spacious enough when I was the only one living in it. A big comedown from the Lacanilao estate, but what on the Slats wouldn’t be? When you’d moved in and taken up my couch, it’d become a bit tighter. Not that I minded. I liked living with you. Maybe you felt guilty about having servants your whole life, but you were always good about keeping the place clean. You were quiet. And it was good to have a friend sitting across the table from me every morning when I slapped some breakfast on a plate. So maybe snug was the wrong word; with you around, our Kelptown apartment had become cozy.
With all six of us, it was tight as a clamshell.
“Here’s what I don’t understand,” Anjali said, casting a critical eye around our sitting room. Instead of her armor, she wore a sea-colored dress that flowed even more beautifully. “Your unit is a one-bedroom.” She arched a mischievous eyebrow. “Some of my very favorite books revolve around this setup. So is this your way of telling us something about the two of you?”
“Of course not,” you said.
“Why’re you so stuck on that idea?” I added.
“I can’t help myself,” Anjali said. “You kids are so earnest. You have no idea how adorable you are together. If only the gangs knew who they were really up against …”
“The crooked game is full of bleeding hearts,” Knife-Edge said with a wry smile.
Roulette’s hand casually draped across his revolver handle. “There’ll be a lot more of those to go around once we get going.”
You leaned close to me. “I’m starting to have second thoughts,” you groaned under the chatter, soft enough that only I could hear.
I grinned and clapped you across the back. “At least they’re getting along, neh?” My eyes slid to the Monster, silent in his corner. “Most of ’em, anyway.”
“This was your idea,” you grumbled.
“That you’d already had without me.” My smile widened. I couldn’t help myself. The spirit’s song was exciting that evening: propulsive as a march, and growing richer with each measure. More and more instruments were chiming in, and leitmotifs I had in isolation were colliding in harmonies and counterpoints. There was no way I couldn’t smile with that in my ear.
That said, I was also smiling ’cause it was fun to fuck with you.
“I suppose we should discuss the matter at hand,” you said. “We only have a few hours.”
You’d only been speaking to me, but at your voice the Monster finally peeled himself off our wall and stepped forward. “What mission do you have for your Thorn Orphans?”
Knife-Edge was still inspecting his outfit with disdain, and Roulette had draped his across his lap. Only Mhap had immediately put his on. His was the biggest coat we’d been able to find, and even then his muscles still strained its seams. From within the shadow of his flatcap’s brim, his eyes glinted like bullets in a gun.
I shot you a look: Why’d we invite this guy again?
Your mouth twisted. You put up a hand, and the room fell silent.
“First of all,” you said, “I want to clear something up. We may have recruited you, but this organization”—you gestured between me and you—“is not ‘our’ Thorn Orphans.” You swept out a slender hand to indicate all six of us. “It’s our Thorn Orphans. We’re not some gang. We’re a collective, and we aim for something higher than personal enrichment.”
“The real fight going on right now is at the Plant,” I chimed in. “The Brethren of the Salt are facing off against the Rock. Things are broken in Driftwood City, and this is the first real shot we’ve had at fixing them all. But it’ll only happen if the Brethren win. So for us, until all this is over, the name of the game is this: make sure the Brethren win.”
“Benilda Lacanilao’s cooperation has allowed the Rock to keep things in motion so far, even with the widespread demonstrations.” You picked up smoothly where I left off, just like we’d practiced. “But the Paks are growing tired of the prolonged strike. We’ve received reliable word—”
The four Orphans all looked at each other. Through the spirit, I sensed their curiosity. They all knew we could do something weird and special, but they were still hazy on the details. That, I knew, was a conversation the six of us were gonna have to have at some point.
“—that they’ve recruited strike breakers,” you were saying. “Mercenaries from the Tsunese frontier, and the company is due to drop anchor at port tonight.”
“I served me a couple tours out that way,” Roulette drawled. “Place like that? It don’t spit out pushovers.”
“That’s what we’ve gathered,” I said grimly. “The salters out there … they’re fighters, but they ain’t warriors. These mercs could mow right through the picket lines. Maybe scare the survivors into taking their places back on the line. If that happens, the Brethren lose.” I shot a look at the collection of weirdos in my sitting room. “And what do the Thorn Orphans do?”
“Make sure they don’t,” Roulette said, then looked around at the others. “I thought we were supposed to say that all together …”
“So you want us to strike out at the dead of night to ambush a company of hardened professional killers?” said Anjali. “Hardened professional killers who will probably outnumber us?”
Knife-Edge laughed. “Definitely outnumber us.”
“If we let their numbers scare us,” Mhap growled, “then we never had a place on the battlefield to begin with. Send me in alone, Cole. I’ll paint the decks red with—”
“I didn’t say their numbers scared us,” Anjali said, annoyed. “I just wanted to make sure I understood exactly what we were going to be up against.”
“The Thorn Orphans are in possession of assets and abilities that would be the envy of any mercenary company, no matter how experienced or deadly,” you said smoothly. “But if I have to answer your original question directly: yes, Anjali, that’s about right.”
There was silence as they all considered this.
“Any other questions?” you said at last.
More silence.
Then Knife-Edge pointed at Anjali and said, “Why doesn’t she have to wear an ugly coat?”
“My wardrobe is my whole thing, fancy boy,” came Anjali’s amused reply.
Knife-Edge gestured to his immaculately tailored áo dài. “So is mine. ”
I caught myself grinning again. There was something about seeing them all together like this that filled me with hope. I didn’t totally like all of them. Didn’t totally trust all of them. One of them straight up gave me the fucking creeps. But I felt a growing certainty that Driftwood City had never seen anything like us before. And when we made our first strike tonight, no one would be ready.
“One more question, one more question,” Roulette said. “You said our whole thing was to make sure the Brethren win.” He leaned back, deep into the couch cushions. “What happens once we’ve done that?”
You and I exchanged a look. We’d talked about it. A whole lot. We had ideas, dreams. Scores we wanted to settle, scales we wanted to balance. But how much of it could we tell them? How much could we trust them with?
I gave you a nod. One I knew you’d understand: Whatever you say, I’m with you. It scared me, the thought of showing our hand to these strangers, even if the city’s spirit had given us a good feeling about them. But if there was one person I knew I could count on even more than the spirit of Driftwood City, it was you.
Gratefully, you nodded to me.
On the dining table was a box from the neighborhood florist. You went to the table and picked it up, then turned around and flipped it open to reveal six roses. Each one a different color, each one waiting to be claimed.
“Let’s worry about tomorrow,” you said, “after we win tonight.”
The papers wrote one story about what happened that night. Their account had searing reports of brave police and dutiful soldiers falling under cowardly ambush from a group of unknown terrorists. There wasn’t any evidence that could lay the attack at the feet of the Brethren, but fucking Kueiyang spent inch after column inch throwing the suspicion Binh’s way all the same.
But all across the Slats, the people told other stories: of the gunslinger who effortlessly shot out the tires of the strike breakers’ transport vehicles. The armored soldier who waded easily into their return fire, bullets pinging off her breastplate. The knife fighter who gracefully carved his way through strike breakers and badges without a scratch. The hulking brute who left a trail of snapped necks, gouged eyes, and far worse behind him. The way their combined ferocity drove the mercenaries and their police escorts back, circling up at the center of the Tsetsang Shedrap Bridge.
And the two people who, with matching gestures, made the bridge twist and splinter before it collapsed and dumped every strike breaker and badge into the canal to drown like rats.
Binh’s picket line that day was unbroken. The Rock reeled, all its plans in sudden disarray. The people of the Slats kept whispering, and the story their voices told was loud enough to drown out the headlines.
And in a small apartment in Kelptown, the six of us laid the plans to bring Driftwood City even closer to the dream of roses every day.
Part Six
The Fifth Revenge!
The Heart of the White Rose
29
Now
Age 30
You’d mustered the entire gods-damned police force, it looked like.
Their cars and wagons jammed every road leading to the Plant. Their officers were putting up barricades around the entire perimeter, while a tide of dark blue assembled behind them. They cradled wood-stocked rifles, but I was surprised to see they’d also brought heavier hardware. I saw the kind of machine-gun emplacements that would’ve looked at home in a war zone, bolted to the backs of police trucks. And the city told me I could expect a whole lot more. Clearly, the Armored had been busy while I was dead.
I watched your army fall in from the roof of the Plant, my arms folded tight over my narrow chest. My long black braid whipped and snapped in the wind, and the metal arms of my glasses were cold against my temples. I’d been tempted to go back and get my coat and hat from the bottom of that trash can. But I’d decided to stick with my grey salter’s coveralls for this. It felt like old times, going into battle dressed like the people I was fighting for.
My eyes scanned the ranks of blue below. Officers were hurrying to their positions, or already standing at attention. But I sifted through them for someone with a slow walk, the kind of person who didn’t hurry because the world moved to his tempo.
And just like that, there you were.
Even from this distance there was no mistaking you. The police force was full of silver-haired Samnati, but you were the only one who didn’t have a helmet on. And while your goons were all in blue, you were wearing your usual: something sleek and black, because you liked how it made your hair stand out. But even if you’d been dressed like one of them, you’d have been given away by the way they moved around you. Wherever you walked, folks got out of your way. I could see so clearly from up here what I’d never been able to when you were next to me: we were both idiots to have ever thought you could live without subjects.
Soon, though, you wouldn’t have to.
You froze. And even though I couldn’t really make out the details of your face from this distance and height, I knew you were staring right at me. I stood still for a moment and let you get a good, long look.
A familiar tune piped into my head as I stared down at you. And even though the melody was bittersweet, the fact that I was hearing music at all almost made me cry. I’d been so sure that if I’d tried to reach out, the city would’ve rejected me. The spirit knew me inside and out, and it knew I’d failed it before. Why would it help me now? I’d been so certain I’d never get to feel that connection again, and all the warmth and strength it brought me. So certain I didn’t deserve it.
So certain I’d have to face you with only the silence at my back.
But now, I felt like an idiot. The beautiful song winding through me now was as much a part of me as my arms and eyes. It had always been there. If only I’d trusted it.
