Thirteen Mercies, Three Kills Page 2

  I flinched, then shrugged and sipped some tea.

  The mercies weren’t something to discuss with officials. Slimeball that Verner was, he was still New Bayou’s resident alkemist and owner of the hovering platform on which it resided. He was our lord and ruler, as the saying went.

  He smiled and bent his head to the side. “Before you deny it, I’ve verified my information with a few sources. Natalia is most efficient at gathering information.”

  Oh yes, she was. Natalia Alexeevna was our well-known liquidator—the one who delivered official capital punishments in our hovering town. She was also Verner’s lapdog. I refused to contemplate exactly how she’d gathered that information, but I did trust she had learned all she wanted.

  I smiled tightly. “Very well, then. What about my mercies?”

  “The law doesn’t encourage the loss of souls and bodies, Miss Richards. You know that, I’m sure. But I’ve convinced my friend, the mayor, that what you do is a public service rather than a crime. Ill bodies are of no use to us as golems. The souls of withering victims never come out right, for some reason. Useless bodies, useless souls—you’re doing community service in getting rid of them, I say.”

  Uh-huh. Edgar Verner was going out of his way to offer help, all out of the goodness of his heart? It was only a matter of time before the other shoe dropped. His face remained perfectly still, or the part of it I could see did. He had no qualms about calling human beings, sick human beings, useless. Though I knew in my heart he had no humanity and indeed was a monster as he’d proven for years and years, it rattled me to see a face that looked human and yet feel the thing behind the face was such a monster. The fine hairs on my arms prickled under my dress sleeves. But I refused to look even a bit intimidated. Instead I squared my shoulders and kept my face carefully blank, synth-looking.

  “I see.” I spoke slowly.

  “Of course, if you’d be kind enough to share how it is you do your mercies, I’d be forever in your debt.”

  And there it was. That was why he called my mercies a service to our community.

  I plastered on my coldest smile, the one that advertised a dead heart. “A proper lady doesn’t discuss the gory details, sir.”

  “Perhaps you could tell me, though. I insist. See, people say you walk hand in hand with Death. That it comes calling whenever you summon.”

  “Death does no one’s bidding, Mr. Verner. I’m sure you know as much.”

  His lips stretched into a sickening grin. “Please, call me Edgar. I’d agree, but therein lies the mystery. You do seem to manage having it at your beck and call.”

  “Well, Edgar, it’s not my doing. Death strikes wherever it pleases. Sometimes I happen to be there and make the passing less painful.”

  I really hoped Death would strike him, but chances were nil. Alkemists didn’t die, and they didn’t age either. Edgar Verner looked just like he had ten years ago, and twenty years before that too, as far as I knew. Perhaps the goggles were a new addition, but outside of his getup, he was the same: a minion of nothingness that stood still in the face of time. A soul-eating alkemist.

  “I think there’s more to it than that. See, Cristina Mera, I have a theory. Your fascinating talent has to do with a beautiful possibility. I suspect you’re about to undergo the change. That you’ll soon start the process of becoming alkemist yourself. And I further suspect you’re a natural death bringer, a rarity among us. You have the gift of keeping Death itself at your service.”

  My stomach clenched tight and blood thrummed through my veins. Death wasn’t at anyone’s beck and call. It was a wild force with no allegiance. A venomous snake that could strike at anyone and at any time. To think it anything else was entirely stupid, and I wasn’t that.

  Being a changeling, though, was a curious possibility, one I’d been thinking about myself. I could see and feel Death’s presence. I could ease a dying person’s suffering and see their soul lift from their body. I could see all the ghosts peeking around corners, see how the reaper swallowed souls, how they were extracted with the alkemic device. Normal people couldn’t do or see any of that. I was different. I knew as much. But why would Verner approach me about it today of all days?

  Nibbling on the inside of my cheek, I regarded him. “Would that truly be possible?”

  “I see no other explanation. We’d have to further investigate the matter, but before that… I’d like to make a proposition. I know your father has promised your hand to Stanislaw Herveux, and breaking that commitment would be a crime of honor on your part.”

  A crime of honor his good friend, Natalia, would efficiently terminate me for. Like many other crimes, those of honor were capital. Our society wasn’t one built on forgiveness or second chances. The float fuel that kept the hovering platform engines moving, that helped the cupola filter out the contaminated air of the Outside, and that powered our alkemic lights, was made from alkemically processed souls with positive float factor. Our society ran on death. We relied on it in order to survive. I’d often thought about that fact and wished I’d never been born.

  I looked into those dark goggles of his. “What makes you think I wouldn’t like to marry the good senator Stanislaw Herveux?”

  “Mostly the way you flinch and avert your gaze from his general direction whenever you’re within sight of the man. Can’t blame you, really. He is dull as a plank.”

  I blinked hard a couple of times. The description did fit; that much was true.

  “What would my predicament have to do with your suspicions?”

  “If I were to declare you a changeling, all such arrangements would become null. You’d no longer be subject to human law. It would solve your problem most elegantly.”

  Yes, solve one and create many others. Settling back into my favorite chair, I crossed my hands in my lap—the picture of calm and composure. Inside, my heart ran a rapid pace.

  “And what would you require in exchange for such efforts?”

  Candlelight reflected eerily in his goggles as he grinned. “I’d like us to become friends, Cristina Mera.”

  That threw me off. I blinked a few times then squinted despite my best efforts to keep my face blank. “Friends? The two of us?”

  He nodded. “You’d also become my apprentice. I’d enjoy working with a death bringer, and you’d grow into a magnificent alkemist with my help. Of course, if you fail to agree, you’d be on your own through the change. And after its completion. Because no one besides me will assist you, attest to your changeling status or the fully developed one, for that matter. Not as long as you’re in my town. And considering the unfortunate events that followed your mother’s excursion outside of my hovering platform, I’d dare say you wouldn’t venture outside to seek another alkemist’s assistance. I’m offering you the only option you can take. So what say you?”

  I tightened my jaw as I tried to rein in what I truly desired to say. It would have involved notions and terms most unfit for a lady.

  Instead I inclined my head to the side and regarded him calmly. “I’ll think about it. Does the offer have an expiration date?”

  “Not yet. By all means, think about it. I’ve got all the time in the world.”

  With a chuckle, he got up and said his good-byes for the evening and then mercifully vacated the house.

  I nibbled on my lower lip and glanced up at mother’s portrait, pulling on my piercing hard enough to feel the sting. The sensation grounded me.

  The possibility of being closer to Verner meant better chances for killing him. I felt in my heart of hearts there had to be a way of killing him. All I had to do was investigate the matter. Anything and everything had a weakness. You just had to keep researching until you found it out. Being his apprentice would give me ample opportunity. And yet it would make me the only person in town capable of finding a way to kill him, thus painting me as the main suspect, if not the clear killer. Did it matter since I wouldn’t be subject to human law anymore? The easy way out of an engagement with Stan
islaw Herveux without meeting Natalia Alexeevna’s skills was also very tempting. Perhaps it was the best solution to all issues.

  Nana walked into the parlor, eyebrows scrunched and lips tight. “What did he want, then?”

  As I explained her face grew from shocked to disbelieving, and finally fixed on determined. “You would put yourself in a corner, Miss. Bad idea to say yes.”

  “Probably so. But getting rid of Herveux and getting such a rich chance at settling my score with that killer….”

  Dark-gray skirts swished as she paced, worrying her hands. “I may know of another way, if you’re so determined to see that plan through.”

  “Oh? Beatrice Herran, you’ve been keeping secrets. What other way would there be?”

  “Nikola Skazat, the Wanderer Alkemist. If you’re determined to see the reaper dead, I’ll work on getting you a meeting. She’ll tell you how to kill Verner if she thinks you’ll be able to pull it off. And you won’t have to become the reaper’s apprentice to do it.”

  I frowned. “And why on New Bayou’s burning engines would an alkemist advise me on how to kill another? Have you lost your wits, Nana?”

  She frowned. “She’d help us because she’s… special. Nikola Skazat is special.”

  “If by special you mean out of her mind, then I’d believe you. But I’m not at all sure her insanity would make me want to have something to do with her. No alkemist will give me pointers on how to kill another. Why would you even think about that?”

  She sighed. “Oh, ye of little faith!”

  I chuckled. “How do you even know this Wanderer Alkemist?”

  “Jean—he introduced us.”

  Hmm… Jean Jacques was one of Nana’s oldest friends and the head of the New Bayou marauders. If this Wanderer Alkemist knew Jean, then she was indeed special. The marauders were the only ones trying to stand in the way of harvesters kidnapping and killing defenseless citizens. When terminations didn’t provide enough float fuel, harvesters “procured” bodies so their souls would be extracted. No one had ever been convicted for being a harvester. Marauders, on the other hand, the only ones who opposed harvesters and their wretched kidnappings, were often caught and terminated for their crimes. Killing anyone, for any reason, was a capital crime in and of itself. It meant a waste of soul and body. By fighting to keep New Bayou residents safe, marauders risked their lives and often lost them.

  This Nikola Skazat sounded promising, all things considered. She also sounded like the only other option I had right now. Well, I supposed it couldn’t hurt. How much worse could things get, after all?

  I nodded. “Get us that meeting, then. Now please have Cannari get the carriage ready. We have one more task for the day. Richie Harrow will pass away tonight.”

  Chapter 3

  RICHIE’S CHEST still rose with breath, but it got slower and slower. Almost see-through waxy skin covered his gaunt frame. It wouldn’t take long now. His mother’s hands shook hard enough to make the chair beneath her scratch the hardwood floors.

  I gripped the book of poems Mrs. Harrow had given me. It was meant to help me pass the time as we stayed by Richie’s side. Poor woman had no way of knowing this wouldn’t take long.

  I sat at the foot of the boy’s bed, a book cradled in my lap. “You’re doing well, Mrs. Harrow,” I mumbled and patted her hands.

  She shivered at the contact, shook her head, and looked at me. “Is he in a lot of pain?”

  She sounded broken. I was quite sure she was. A mother should never watch her own child perish, much less at the merciless hands of the withering. A little girl should never have to watch her mother perish at the same merciless hands either, and yet ten years ago, I did just that. As it often happened with mercies, I saw Mother’s pale face over Richie’s. Her black-cherry-colored hair stuck to her head.

  My chest constricted and it had nothing to do with the tight corset. “They’re always in pain,” I whispered.

  Mrs. Harrow gasped once, a deep sort of soundless scream going into her body rather than coming out of it.

  The smell of cherry blossoms sprang from the corners of the room and covered us. It was accompanied by pink smoke visible only to me. When it touched Mrs. Harrow’s nose, the frown on her face smoothed out and she blew out a deep breath. Richie groaned on the bed, his body shook, and then he smiled as all lines of tension dissolved from his body.

  The pungent aroma of death swirled around us. I could taste it on the tip of my tongue as it wafted up from the little boy’s body and rose toward the ceiling. Within seconds all that was left was the fragrance of cherry blossoms, a still little body, and Mrs. Harrow’s soul-wrenching sobs.

  Death had been summoned again. It had arrived smiling, and her black skirts swished in its trail and dissolved into rivers of blood. Sometimes I watched it play with a parasol as it walked away, humming. Sometimes after waking up, I felt it by my side, veiled in thick smoke that danced and slithered like snakes at its feet.

  One tear emerged from the corner of my eye and slid down my face. One drop of shared sorrow and fear. When it plopped down on the black fabric of my dress, it was swallowed into oblivion.

  “Thank you, Cristina Mera. You’ve done a great mercy to my little Richie.”

  Mrs. Harrow reached out, but before we touched, I rushed away. The book, fallen from my lap in the hurry of escape, remained behind as proof of my presence—an open mess of stained pages and songs to the ruins of a heart.

  Richie’s passing was my eleventh mercy. The eleventh withering-riddled body I had liberated from pain. All mercies went the same. Just before the person died, the smell of cherry blossoms—my mother’s favorite—embraced the room, and they faded wearing a small smile. Withering bodies usually had twisted, tormented faces, yet the ones I assisted wore serene smiles. It was a strange thing to draw comfort from, and yet it was my way of gaining inner balance. With each mercy Death came to my calling easier and quicker. The shawl of silence and broken light around its shoulders was slowly wrapped around me in familiarity. No one truly knew how close a company Death and I kept. Nobody could ever find out. I was terrified of what it made me.

  I rushed down the stairs to meet Nana in the foyer.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I mumbled.

  Our two guards were waiting by the doors of the Harrow residence, their guns, swords, and sticks ominous. Those who could afford guards had them, though everyone needed them equally. Harvesters roamed the corners of the streets. Their eyes were shifty and greed clung to them like second skins. Their sole criteria for snatching people was how easily they could drag them away. They’d find out if the victim had golem or float fuel value at the Galleries—the lowest level of the hovering platform where the floating engines were. Either way they’d get paid for the unconscious body.

  I shivered and cast my gaze around as disgust and fear coiled in my heart. In the perpetual night of our world, alkemic streetlights cast odd shadows everywhere. I adjusted a thick lace parasol to cover my face better, the frills on the edges swishing in my ear. Every face on the street looked shady. A harvester could be lurking in any one of them. I slid the black lace gloves over my shaking hands with some difficulty.

  “Miss, are you all right?” Nana whispered.

  I parted my lips for an answer when a chilling scream exploded from across the street. In the distance two men dragged away a young woman. Her white apron and bonnet flopped around as she struggled and thrashed wildly. My guards ran their hands over one weapon or the other, ready to defend us if need arose. But it wouldn’t, I was sure. Harvesters didn’t want to fight. They just wanted to snatch easy pickings. The girl’s voice cracked as she screamed, asked, begged to be released.

  “Do something!” I screeched at my guards.

  One of them looked away while the newest one shrugged.

  “Not our job, Miss. We take care of you, not the whole damned hovertown.”

  I made to step in the harvesters’ direction, but the third guard stepped in fr
ont of me, scowling. “You’re not going anywhere,” he whispered darkly.

  “What’s wrong with you? You want me to just pretend she’s not being kidnapped?”

  “She’s being procured for the engines and the Galleries. What you should do is think hard and well on the fact that her being taken means you have a greater chance of being left alone.” He closed his hand hard around my wrist. “Let that girl worry about her own life. You should worry more about yours.”

  I squinted. “Are you threatening me?”

  He shrugged, but his eyes looked dark, dangerous. I could see him just as easily hurting me as defending me.

  “Take your mangy paw off of me,” I said in my most contemptuous tone.

  He fixed that dark gaze on mine and loosened his grip. With a shiver I pulled my hand free, then straightened my back. Cannari had hired these new guards, and I didn’t like or trust them. Not one bit. My old ones now guarded the residence. Since there was no longer a lord of the house, my butler thought security had to be supplemented. Why the new guards couldn’t secure the house, I had no idea. I did have a sinking suspicion Senator Herveux had something to do with it, though.

  I swallowed a couple of times, hoping the taste of bile would go away. Disgust and anger joined the piles of joy in the back of my mind. As they swirled through me, I saw a silhouette a few feet away. Time seemed to screech to a halt as an image came into focus. Tall and elegant, she was a powerful vision in her rich suit and shiny boots. A tilted hat covered most of her face. All that could be seen of her face were her lips and a dimpled chin. She gripped a gentleman’s cane in her hand through dark gloves. The tense line of her shoulders and arms said she didn’t like what she was witnessing. It endeared her to me.

  She was clearly a woman, her height and build spelled out as much, yet she dressed in a way no woman in New Bayou would even contemplate. Her crisp men’s suit in a gorgeous black spoke of a short time spent in New Bayou. The shiny crimson cuffs at her sleeves said she was well off, though she had no guards. Was she brave or foolish to think she’d do well on her own in our town of death? For that one moment, I forgot about the girl, Richie, and everything else. She radiated outrage, and the waves of it cradled my soul in a sweet embrace. I was aware of this strange woman’s presence in a way I’d never been aware of anything.