Chapter Seven
The rest of Morgan’s gang scattered. Button and his minions didn’t seem to care about them, any more than he would care about roaches scurrying out from under a rock. The door behind Rae’s back clattered open as Morgan’s friends abandoned him to die. Rae didn’t have any friends here, so no one was really abandoning him. That didn’t make it feel any better when they disappeared.
“See that they don’t get far,” Button said casually. “Dwehlling will probably kill most of them, but better safe than sorry. I don’t want anyone to track this back to us.”
Button’s minions filtered out of the theater, in no apparent hurry, yet within moments he and Rae were alone. Button stood over Morgan’s body, staring down at it distastefully.
“Did you have to kill him?” Rae asked.
“A message needed to be sent. And my buyer is very particular in his dealings. No loose ends,” Button said. He tucked the pistol back into his cuff, then reached over and casually wrenched the glass sword out of Rae’s belt. Rae made a half-hearted grab for it, but Button thumped him hard in the chest with his cane. “For his sake, I hope you’re the one they’re looking for. Be a pity for young Morgan to die for no good reason.”
Button drew close, wrinkling his nose as he examined Rae, looking him up and down like a piece of meat.
“The description said to expect someone down on their luck. An outcast, possibly. Gods know we have enough of those. But you’re a bit too young . . . well, we’ll have to see. And this sword is the sort of trash an exiled spiritbinder on the run might carry,” Button said. He slipped the sword into a loop on his belt, then rested both hands on his cane. “They’ll pay, either way. If you have even a scrap of talent, these people will find something to do with you. The contract is for unlicensed spiritbinders in Hammerwall Steading. If you’re not the one they’re looking for, I can always find a use for you.”
Rae was only half-listening to the man ramble on. He couldn’t take his eyes off the soulslave. Now that it was closer, Rae could see that the hood was covered in the sigils and patterns that defined spirits and their binding. That creature had been a spiritbinder once. No longer. It was just a shell, holding the spirit it had once bound, the human soul eradicated in the process, and its will enslaved to the leash around its neck.
“Wraithbinder, isn’t it?” Rae stuttered. “The spirit, I mean?”
Mister Button arched a brow at him quizzically, then looked down the leash at the creature that followed him. “You know enough of binding to recognize a soulslave, then? Perhaps young Morgan didn’t lead me astray after all.” He jerked the leash. The slave drew closer, squatting at the man’s heel like a dog. “Yes, you surmise correctly. This is an enslaved wraith. Not of the recently dead, of course. Four hundred years in the grave, most likely, and every scrap of identity scraped clean by Oblivion. Better for our purposes.”
“Poltergeist,” Rae said quietly. “Banned by the Gregory Edicts. You could be sentenced to transport beyond the orderwall just for associating with it.”
“Well. We are criminals,” Mister Button said, his face splitting open in a humorless smile. “And frankly, the penalty for trading in soulslaves is considerably worse, and more practical.”
He was interrupted by the soulslave. Its head perked up, and with a leap it was on Rae, jerking the leash out of its master’s hand. One of those long, dirty hands reached out to cradle Rae’s skull, pulling him inches away from its hooded face. Its breath smelled like rot and tilled soil. The creature breathed in deeply, sucking air through pale, thin lips. Button grabbed the leash and jerked the creature back.
“What the hell was that?” Rae snapped. The slave’s dirty fingers had dug ruts in his arm. “I did what you asked!”
“Something set it off. A glimmer from the shadowlands, perhaps.” Button wrestled the creature back in place, then whirled on Rae. “What are you? Some kind of poltergeist yourself, or sworn to the dark arts already? If you came here hoping to join some demonic cabal, I have bad news for you, friend. I’ve seen people try to leash demons. It never ends well.”
“I’ve nothing to do with the shadow realms,” Rae spat. “My father raised me to be a stormbinder, as he was, and his mother before him. We don’t need to deal in darkness to find power.”
“Little enough power,” Button said with a smirk. “You couldn’t upset a bird nest with that puff of wind. Well, whoever you are, and whatever you’ve bound, there’s something of Oblivion in this place. Perhaps a leak from the wraithbinding I used to hide the gang.” Button jerked the leash again, though the slave hadn’t budged since Rae had stopped channeling his mote. “I don’t like it. We’re getting out of here.”
“Alone? Shouldn’t we . . . shouldn’t we wait for the rest of your gang?” Rae asked. He didn’t like being along with Button, but he liked being alone in the middle of Dwehlling even less.
“You have no reason to worry. People here know me. They’ll leave us alone. You’re as safe as you can be in my company. The rest of the team is rounding up Morgan’s former comrades.” He brushed an invisible fleck of dust off his lapel, then smiled at Rae. “Try to run, and the people who pick you up won’t be gentle.”
“You’re making a mistake,” Rae said. Button watched him with amusement.
“No, kid. I’m making a living.” He pulled the soulslave around and pointed toward the door. “I’ve seen enough of this dump. Let’s go.”
They left the amphitheater, Rae in front, Button’s hand heavy on his shoulder. Rae could hear the ’slave snuffling along behind them, and the stench of body odor filled his nostrils. They didn’t follow the roundabout way Morgan had taken to reach the amphitheater, instead marching directly to the main boulevard and straight toward the gates. The city was in a state of low-level chaos. Fires burned in the streets, and bands of roving scrubs lingered in the intersections, drinking from communal bottles and arguing among themselves. There was no sign of Morgan’s gang. To Rae’s shock, they passed a piece of field artillery, its barrel bristling with flowers and wheels decorated with streamers and ash. The crowd around the gun seemed deadly serious, despite the decorations on the cannon. But true to Button’s word, they left the three of them alone, though how much of that had to do with Mister Button and how much was because of the soulslave, Rae was uncertain.
“Where are you taking me?” Rae asked as they approached the gates to the city. “If we go to the Bastion, the guards are certain to say something.”
“I have my own doors into the city, friend,” Button said. “Though I appreciate your concern. I am not new to this business.”
That was his window, then. If this man could get into Hammerwall Bastion without alerting the guards, Rae could expect no help inside the city walls. And Button was right, Rae would be in more danger inside Dwehlling on his own than in their company. So if he was going to get out of this, it would have to be during the walk between Dwehlling and Hammerwall.
Rae looked around. Would Mahk have abandoned Morgan, like the rest of the gang, or would he be following the people who had killed his boss? Mahk had disappeared before they reached the amphitheater, to track down whoever or whatever was following them. He might not even know Morgan was dead. Maybe he was still around.
Button noticed Rae’s divided attention, and slowed down. He scanned the shadows, then gave Rae a knowing look.
“We’re being followed, aren’t we?” he asked. “One of your friends?”
“I don’t have any friends here,” Rae answered.
“Whoever it is, it won’t matter once we reach the carriage,” the man said. He jerked the soulslave forward.
At the mention of a carriage, Rae’s heart fell. It had been so long since he had ridden in a proper carriage that he had forgotten people didn’t just walk everywhere. A lot of his hope had depended on the long trip to Hammerwall. But if Button had a carriage, the ride wasn’t that long, and a great deal more secure than walking. He was running out of chances.
They turned aside before they reached the main gate, Button sliding through a ruined screen before motioning Rae past. They were in the remains of a smithy. The forge was still burning, but the heat was being used to keep a small group of drunks from freezing to death. Bleary eyes watched as Button escorted Rae, with the ’slave dragging along at the back. They seemed no more perturbed by the soulslave than they were by the cold. Beyond the smithy was a narrow courtyard with a dry fountain in the center, and a private gate that led beyond the wall. The double doors of the gate were cracked and covered with vines, and the surrounding wall was quickly succumbing to the forest beyond. Trees towered over the wall, hiding the courtyard from the night sky. Flickering oil lamps illuminated the courtyard. The whicker of horses led Rae’s eye to a team of two, and the small black carriage behind.
“That was fast,” Rae said, looking hopelessly around the courtyard. The carriage driver was an enormous man, huddling under a hooded cloak as he leaned casually against the carriage. As they entered the courtyard, the driver nodded to Button and opened the door. The driver clambered smoothly onto his seat and turned away from Rae. The big man pulled at the reins, as though he was anxious to be on his way.
A voice came out of the darkness of the carriage. It was high and thin, and wavered with the slightest tremor of fear.
“Just the boy,” it said.
Mister Button froze. The soulslave craned its hooded face toward the darkness and started to growl, a disturbingly human sound. A pistol appeared from the shadowed interior of the carriage, trembling slightly.
“I don’t know who you are, but you have no idea what you’re doing,” Button said.
“I know well enough,” came the answer. “You made the wrong enemies.”
“Did I?” the man with the leash said with amusement. “How terrible. Now, boy, stop screwing around and—”
“The boy!” the voice said again. The pistol waved in Button’s direction. “There’s been a change of plans. We’re taking him now.”
Button hesitated. “This wasn’t the arrangement. My contact assured me—”
A small bag flew out of the carriage and slid to Button’s feet. He fiddled with the leash, then carefully leaned down and picked it up, hefting it in his palm. “Feels heavy.”
“Bonus for early delivery,” the voice said. Whoever was inside the carriage sounded young and angry. Button shrugged.
“Go on,” he commanded, then pushed Rae toward the open carriage door. The pistol flicked in Rae’s direction. Rae froze, staring down the barrel of the flintlock.
“Is the rest of the contract canceled, then?” Button asked. He was working the knot that held the small bag shut. “Assuming this is the one you were looking for?”
“It . . . Yes, this is the one. It’s canceled.”
“Very well. These are your new masters, child,” He nodded at Rae. The strings on the bag came loose. “We’ll be along.”
“Get in the carriage, Rae!” the voice in the shadows said. The driver shifted uncomfortably on his seat. Button’s brow furrowed.
“How did you know his name?” he mused. “What’s going . . .” He loosened the string on the bag, then looked inside. With a sneer he dumped the contents on the ground. A pile of steel disks, scrap and rust and metal, tumbled out of the bag. Button went for his holster.
The pistol went off. It was loud, mundane black powder and lead shot, as effective as it was crude. The bullet whizzed off Button’s shoulder, spinning him to the ground. Rae hit the packed earth floor, his ears ringing.
Button went to one knee, pressing his hand against his shoulder. Blood leaked out between his fingers, but his face was drawn into a carnivorous grin.
“And that was your one shot,” Button said smugly. He gestured toward the carriage and spoke again in that mid-grating tongue. The soulslave writhed under Button’s will, then howled and ran forward. The air around it swirled with mists as the wraith trapped in the ’slave’s body drew the realm of Death into the material plane.
Someone screamed inside the carriage. The driver looked down from his seat and slipped a thick sap from his sleeve, ready to strike the soulslave or Button, whoever attacked first. It wasn’t necessary. The soulslave’s leash slipped from Button’s fingers, but as he released the creature, Button growled a command in a language that echoed through Rae’s mind. The words drew something out of Rae’s memory, like a nightmare breaching the waking world. Rae’s mind reeled.
This was his chance. The only one he would get. He didn’t know who was in the carriage, or why they were trying to help him, but he had to take the chance he was given. They were about to meet the angry end of a poltergeist. If he didn’t do something to help, they would be torn to pieces.
Rae lunged for the spiritblade at Button’s hip. As his fingers closed around the hilt, he summoned the zephyr in his soul.
The storm mote bound to Rae’s soul roared into the material plane, bringing wind and rumbling thunder with it. Harsh wind swirled through Rae’s cloak, catching his hair in a corkscrew of violent turbulence that threatened to lift him off the ground. His mouth filled with the static prickle of lightning, and his lungs billowed like a clipper’s sails. He stumbled backward, slicing Button’s thigh as he tore the blade free of its constraints. Button howled, then turned an angry fist in Rae’s direction. Rae dodged to the side, then swung the sword with both hands in a wide, desperate slash. The zephyr followed the arc of his swing, roaring into the material plane. A sheet of driving wind threw Button backward, sending him sprawling to the ground.
Rae turned back to the carriage and directed his will at the soulslave. Free of Button’s grip, the creature bounded toward the carriage, eyes burning bright behind the runed hood, hands curled into feral claws as it reached for the open door of the carriage. Rae threw the elemental at the twisted creature. The zephyr buffeted the once-human figure, pressing the runed hood flat against its face and sending the rags of its clothes snapping. The ’slave pushed through. Rae pulled more of the elemental into the world, grabbing onto the wheel of the carriage to brace himself, sweat beading on his forehead. His knuckles went white on the glass sword’s hilt. He became aware of the strangely flickering lightning of the orderwall, so far away, yet pressing against the back of his mind like a brand. His scream went from desperation to agony. The spirit inside him was slipping loose, tearing through his soul like a hook through flesh. Gray lightning crackled around his sword. The soulslave turned toward him. Its eyes flashed, and then . . .
And then, and then, and then. Everything tore apart.
A tornado of gray mist erupted from the ground under Rae’s feet. The soulslave screamed, and a light burned through it, outlining its skeleton through ashen flesh, even beneath the hood. The light swirled away, and the poltergeist ripped free from its shell of flesh. It looked like an angry storm of gray wind. Button’s face went blank. He turned toward the ’slave, reaching out as though to grab the leash. He bore the brunt of the spirit’s hatred. There was a moment of horror on his face, and then the poltergeist was on him. It pummeled his flesh and tore chunks out of his bones. Button fired indiscriminately, the fireshot burying into the ground of the courtyard, creating a geyser of sulfur-bright flame. The flames swept into the poltergeist’s storm, turning the courtyard into a flare of greenish flame and chattering skulls.
The storm didn’t end. The swirling mists took form, assuming the shapes of faces, grasping hands, empty skulls that chattered as they flew through the air. The storm’s wailing narrowed, becoming a voice.
“Run! Run! Run!” it howled. The sound of that voice cut through Rae’s heart and turned his blood to ice. He collapsed against the carriage, strength gone from his knees. His guts were liquid, and his heart turned to stone.
A hand grabbed him by the nape of the neck and dragged him into the open door of the carriage. They weren’t strong enough to lift him, though, and Rae had to clear his mind and pull himself forward. He slumped into the darkened cabin. Something warm and sticky was smeared across the floor.
“You heard the hell-voice,” someone close by yelled, banging on the top of the carriage. “Get going!”
Rae heard the crack of a whip. The carriage jerked forward. Rae rolled against the seat, staring up at the ceiling. The open door banged against the side of the carriage. Small hands grabbed it, pulling it shut. The whir of a hand lantern sounded, and then there was light.
“Tell me again about this brilliant plan of yours?” Lalette hissed at him. She was slick with blood, a streak of it running from her hairline across one eye and down her cheek.
“How did . . . what were you . . . ?” Rae mumbled helplessly.
“Later.” She turned her attention to the front of the carriage. “Mahk, get us out of here!”
“Yes, ma’am,” he rumbled.
They flew through the night, with gods knew what on their tail.