Read Principles of Angels Online
Authors: Jaine Fenn
Principles of Angels (24 page)
‘“Nual”?’ She nearly missed his quiet interruption, but something in his tone of voice stopped her dead.
‘Yes, Nual. What is it?’
‘When a removal is to be performed, the Minister - he’s the man in charge of everything - he contacts you to notify you. He won’t tell you
how
your removal will proceed, of course, though it’s safe to assume that the next time you enter any sort of public space an Angel’s going to be taking a shot at you. But if you ask, he will tell you the name of the assassin assigned to kill you.’
how
your removal will proceed, of course, though it’s safe to assume that the next time you enter any sort of public space an Angel’s going to be taking a shot at you. But if you ask, he will tell you the name of the assassin assigned to kill you.’
‘Oh God!’ Elarn felt like she was about to faint. ‘It was her, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes . . . though I don’t feel any
personal
animosity towards her. She was, after all, acting purely as an agent of the Concord.’ But there was something in the even way he spoke that said this was Consul Vidoran the politician speaking, not Salik the man.
personal
animosity towards her. She was, after all, acting purely as an agent of the Concord.’ But there was something in the even way he spoke that said this was Consul Vidoran the politician speaking, not Salik the man.
The lump of cold fear was gone now, replaced by a lightheaded sensation. ‘I suppose that’s one way of looking at it. But’ - she wanted to raise her head, but if she looked him in the eyes she might never look away again - ‘I still need to know. Will you help me?’
He was silent for what felt like hours. Finally he said, simply, ‘Yes.’
The last of her strength left her and she collapsed against him. His arms were around her at once, supporting, protecting. For a while they stayed like that, but Elarn sensed, in the wake of the fear, something else, something as old and primal and powerful as terror, and right now, her only refuge from it.
She eased her head back, feeling his breath warm her cheek, and turned towards him, seeking his mouth.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Taro clenched his fists, let his head sink onto his chest and closed his eyes.
C’mon chemicals, take me away from this.
Colours swirled on the inside of his eyelids, but he could still hear the approach of the Screamer over the banging of his heart.
C’mon chemicals, take me away from this.
Colours swirled on the inside of his eyelids, but he could still hear the approach of the Screamer over the banging of his heart.
There was a touch - surprisingly light - on his chin, and breath - strangely sweet - on his face. He remembered how fussy Scarrion was, how clean he kept himself, how he’d made Taro clean himself inside and out before he’d touched him.
The Screamer made a faint ‘hmmm’ of disapproval and pulled back. Taro thought he heard him say, ‘How much did you give him?’
Taro released the breath he hadn’t known he was holding and drew in another with a shudder.
From the doorway, Limnel said, ‘Just enough t’keep ’im sweet fer ya, sirrah.’
Limnel was wrong there. If he was doomed - and it looked like he was - he wasn’t going out like a meatbaby under the knife. Without opening his eyes, without thinking, Taro mouthed the words he was too weak to voice - ‘I’ll kill you’ - and lashed out at Scarrion.
His nails raked flesh and someone yelped. He opened his eyes to see a blur of green and gold resolve itself into the Screamer, scurrying backwards. The other man got his balance back almost at once, leaving Taro to fall, slowly, inevitably, onto the cushions.
Surprised you though, didn’t I?
he thought as his face hit the floor.
You didn’t think I’d try to fight back.
Surprised you though, didn’t I?
he thought as his face hit the floor.
You didn’t think I’d try to fight back.
The effort had taken the last of his energy. He lay where he fell, tears leaking from his eyes, while Scarrion carried on talking to Limnel, somewhere in another world.
Someone grabbed his braids and pulled him up. He screamed at the sudden wrenching agony and tried to stand to relieve the pressure on his head. By the time he got his legs under him, sheer terror had driven any positive effects from the drug out of his system. He allowed himself to be dragged, bent double and with streaming eyes, to the room where he and Arel had slept last night.
The grip on his head was released. The mattress had been rolled out of the way and he fell forward onto the bare floor. He lay still for a moment, tensed for the next blow. Someone grabbed his arms and pulled him around until he was sitting against the wall. By the time he’d managed to focus, Resh had grabbed his hands and bound his wrists in front of him using plastic restraints. A cable ran from the restraints to an eye-bolt on the wall next to him. He gave Taro a gap-toothed smile and said, ‘He don’t want ya tryin’ that again.’
Taro started to look away, then realised he still had one small advantage. ‘He’s a Screamer,’ he croaked.
Resh stopped working and stared at Taro, his face falling into his usual dumb-but-ready-for-violence expression.
Taro spoke louder, though each word was an effort, ‘Yaziler . . . is . . . a . . . Screamer.’
For a moment Taro thought Resh hadn’t heard him. Then the lag looked confused. ‘What? A Yazil assassin? ’Im?’
‘Swear on the City,’ Taro managed. He tried to stop his head lolling forward.
Resh looked over his shoulder and Taro wondered if Scarrion was in the room with them. ‘What if ’e is?’
‘Ha—Hafta tell Limnel.’
‘Don’t hafta do nothin’ ya say, ya shite-rot little whore. And y’know what?’ Resh’s expression turned cunning. ‘Reckon the boss already knows. An’ I reckon ’e don’t care.’ With that, Resh stood up and left. A few seconds later the curtain was swept aside and Scarrion strode in. Taro felt a brief stab of satisfaction at the sight of the fresh scratch on the Screamer’s cheek.
Scarrion crouched down against the far wall, his hands resting on his lap. He gave Taro a look of cold appraisal. ‘It would appear that hate is stronger than chemistry. Interesting. That’s serious stuff, you know, not at all easy to fight. Extremely addictive too, although I expect you already know that.’
Taro stared at him. How come the Screamer knew about the dust? That didn’t make any sense.
Scarrion watched Taro’s eyes and barked a laugh. ‘How do you think a two-bit whoremonger like Limnel got hold of such quality merchandise? From me, of course, for services rendered.’ His tone said that in this case
services rendered
included delivering Taro to him.
services rendered
included delivering Taro to him.
If Scarrion was mixed up with the drug that meant . . . that meant a whole lot of even worse shit he was too mashed up to work out at the moment. One thing he did know was that as long as Scarrion was crowing over him he wouldn’t be hurting him. ‘Don’ understan’,’ he slurred, as much to postpone the inevitable as because he wanted to know.
‘Such naïveté. Quite charming, really. Limnel wasn’t part of the plan, but he has turned out to be a very useful ally. Shall I tell you how we met?’
Taro nodded, but didn’t speak. Scarrion carried on regardless, ‘It was when I followed you downside. You were easy to trail through the sidestreets, but once we got into the - what do you call them? Mazeways? - I lost you, but ran into Limnel instead, and he responded with the standard downsider welcome for trespassers from above. After I took out the boy he set on me I suggested he would find me a useful ally but a dangerous enemy. Limnel is a venal entrepreneur who likes to back winners. He understood at once. He agreed to tell me where to find your homespace in return for which I offered to make him sole supplier of a fine new drug, delicious and compulsive. And as I’d managed to drop my gun during the fight with his late associate, he even gave me a weapon in good faith. I understand that you use boltguns to fire support pins into the vanes of the Undertow? Up close, against flesh, they can be quite devastating.’
Despite himself, Taro whimpered.
‘Ah, Taro. Your pretty face is a picture, you know? Yes, yes, Limnel gave me the gun that killed your “line-mother”. Actually, I was rather disappointed. I’ve never killed an agent of another City before and I was hoping for a bit more of a challenge. And it was irritating to be interrupted before I could finish you - though as it turns out, you’ve been very useful. If you hadn’t made that little scene in Confederacy Square I’d be out of a job now. And Limnel tells me you still work for the Minister.’ Scarrion raised his hands and pressed his palms together. ‘But much as I enjoy messing with your head, we really should get down to business.’ He moved swiftly and smoothly across the floor.
Taro pressed his back into the wall, terror closing his throat. It looked like the Screamer’d had enough of taunting his prey. Now the pain would begin.
Scarrion leaned forward and said, ‘You’re going to tell me what you’ve been doing for the Minister. Specifically, you’re going to tell me everything you know about the Angel Nual.’
Taro was confused. Then he realised that the Screamer wasn’t just here for his own sick pleasure. The fucker needed something from him. The thought was enough to knock him out of his despair for a moment. To his amazement, he found himself laughing in the Screamer’s face. ‘No,’ he said, ‘’m not.’
The Screamer looked surprised. ‘Really?’ He sounded intrigued. ‘You think?’
Taro gathered what was left of his strength and whispered, ‘I hate you more ’n I’ve ever hated anyone. I’d kill you if I could. I sure-as-shit got nothin’ to say to you.’
Scarrion gave a theatrical sigh and backhanded Taro across the face. The impact of his head on the wall jarred his entire body. He coughed and tasted blood.
Scarrion continued, ‘You are alone, without friends, and without hope. You are only alive because you are useful to me. Continue to demonstrate your usefulness, or, failing that, your
entertainment value
, and you will continue to live. It really is that simple.’
entertainment value
, and you will continue to live. It really is that simple.’
Taro struggled to speak through the pain. ‘Won’t play.’
Scarrion picked up Taro’s bound wrists. ‘Don’t you want to live, Taro?’ he hissed. ‘Wouldn’t you do anything to survive? If you die, your hate dies with you. Your line-mother will never be avenged. Not that long ago you were willing to let me do whatever I wanted with that scrawny body of yours. Won’t you even talk to me now?’
‘Talk, aye,’ said Taro, the knowledge that he stood at the brink of his own destruction making him lightheaded, ‘I’ll talk to you . . . Fuck you, Screamer!’
‘Have it your own way,’ said Scarrion, his voice low and husky. Holding his hands to stop Taro pulling them back, he traced one well-manicured nail along the soft skin on the inside of Taro’s wrist. Taro flushed, the heat of panic driving off the mad momentary high of his defiance.
‘Now, where shall we start?’
Taro flinched, his skin crawling under Scarrion’s caress. When the Screamer raised a hand to Taro’s cheek he jerked away, banging his head again, sending stars shooting through his vision.
Scarrion grinned at Taro’s discomfort. Taro closed his eyes, unable to bear the cold gaze that said Taro’d had his chance to do this the easy way and now he’d turned it down things would get nasty. Just the way the Screamer liked it.
Scarrion stroked the back of one of Taro’s hands, then suddenly dug a thumbnail between the tendons. Taro yelped, as much from shock as from pain, and opened his eyes.
The Screamer shifted his weight to straddle Taro’s outstretched legs. Taro started to quiver, his breath coming in short gasps, as useless urges -
Fight! Flee!
- raced through him.
Fight! Flee!
- raced through him.
The Screamer began experimenting in earnest now: twisting the restraints that held Taro’s hands until they bit into his wrists, pressing his knuckles into points on Taro’s neck or arms to send numb shocks shooting through his body, drawing a nail along Taro’s forearm hard enough to leave a long red track. Taro clenched his teeth, but he didn’t resist; he knew from their first encounter how Scarrion wanted him to fight back, how resistance excited him. He forced himself to accept the pain, though sometimes a moan or gasp escaped round the edges of his willpower.
Then Scarrion bent the little finger of his left hand back until the tendons tore. Taro screamed.
Scarrion started to speak in a low, bored voice, asking Taro how often he had spoken to the Minister, what his orders were, whether he had ever met Nual.
Taro shook his head slowly in answer to the Screamer’s questions, holding on to the small satisfaction that Limnel was not the ally Scarrion hoped he was. He should’ve given the Screamer the dataspike, not copied it and returned it to Taro. Taro tensed at the thought. No matter what happened, no matter what else he ended up saying, he must keep the Minister’s dataspike from Scarrion.
Perhaps taking Taro’s reaction to mean he was ready to co-operate, Scarrion repeated the last question. ‘Do you know where Nual is now, Taro?’ He paused, waiting for an answer.
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