Chapter 24. Carrots and Sticks

  “Okay, buddy, so I exaggerated a little about having a plan. Big deal.” Near dusk, Jeremiah had made his way up onto the rooftops near Prim’s. “Once I improvise this part, we’ll be set. Oh, and the part where I convince Pete to do what I tell him. But after that, we’re set.”

  Jeremiah peered down into Cutter’s lot. The winding alleys below concealed just how near they had been to Prim’s, and he had a great view of everybody. From here, the gang of junkies looked utterly small and unthreatening, but Jeremiah’s heart still raced when he recognized Cutter among them. “ We’re just gonna watch ,” he reminded himself. “ No need to go down there .”

  Pete was Jeremiah’s goal, but he needed a way to find him. Someone in Cutter’s gang was the key. Pete had known what had happened to Jeremiah, and had known where to find him just a few minutes after it had happened. Someone must have tipped him off, Jeremiah reasoned, someone who had a deal worked out with Pete to let him know when a poor, vulnerable soul was at their lowest. And that someone was likely among those thugs, drinking and lounging and gambling below.

  What would Pete’s informant look like? Jeremiah tried to imagine them. He would have to be relay information, so sober enough to be coherent. He may have a little extra coin from the deal compared to his associates, which meant he’d have to be that much smarter to hide it from Cutter.

  Jeremiah inspected the men arrayed before him. He could write off entire swaths of them, the ones too addled to even raise their heads. But among the others…He observed them carefully, noting who won the most games of dice and who did the least showboating. There was no clear candidate yet.

  As the night wore on, the temperature dropped. Jeremiah shivered on his rooftop, longing for the relative protection of the alleys and wishing Thurok had thought to line his armor shirt with something warmer. Then he got lucky.

  It was an older man this time, who was dragged into the lot. Jeremiah was too distant to hear what the voices were saying, but he recognized the script just fine. Anger, threats, excitement from the gang members. That same violent glee from Cutter.

  Jeremiah's breath froze in his chest as he watched the scene play out. The man screamed, his voice echoing futilely into the night. Jeremiah wanted to leap down and rescue him, be the savior he’d longed for. He also wanted to flee in the other direction, to run out of Elminia altogether, to hide where Cutter could never find him. Instead he stayed rooted in place, sick to his stomach.

  The gang members laughed and praised Cutter for his cruelty while the man sobbed. They cheered every cry of pain, took their opportunities to elicit their own, celebrated their own good fortune.

  Jeremiah hated himself for letting it happen. He was letting an innocent man undergo exactly what had been done to him, because he could learn from it. He was no hero. All those fantasies of adventure he’d had as a kid had come to this—watching an act of savagery from afar, one he could have prevented, or at least helped. But no. He was letting it happen. He was no better than all those people who had stood by while Cutter beat him in broad daylight.

  In fact, he was worse—he had magic and training and could actually fight these men, especially with surprise on his side. And still, he did nothing.

  The man was turned loose, and like Jeremiah had, he fled. The gang members jeered him briefly, then turned back to their game and drink. The gang settled back into the exact same state that Jeremiah had already watched for several hours.

  Almost. After a few minutes, one of the drinkers stood to stretch. He sauntered away from the lot, pissed against the wall they all used, but instead of returning to his friends, he carried on down another side street.

  Jeremiah slipped after him. The man was making no attempt to hide his progress, cutting a slightly wobbly path while he whistled to himself, and Jeremiah had time to make his way carefully down to street level without losing him.

  The man’s awareness was garbage, Jeremiah realized. He followed along at a distance, sticking to shadows as Bruno had taught him, but he was sure he could have tailed him simply by following him down the middle of street without drawing the man’s attention.

  As they drew nearer to a main street, Jeremiah worried he risked losing the man in the night crowd, and hurried to close the distance. Thankfully, though the man turned at a tavern on the corner, The Ample Room, and popped inside.

  Jeremiah hid himself among some trash piles and waited. Cutter’s man left after only a few minutes, a new bounce in his step. Jeremiah imagined he could hear the jingle of fresh coin in his pocket. A few minutes later, the tavern door opened again and Pete stepped out, still saying his goodbyes to someone inside.

  Jeremiah nearly emerged from his hiding spot right then and there, but something stopped him. The only reason Jeremiah still had use of his thumb was because Pete had been there. The only reason he hadn’t been defeated entirely by Elminia that night was because Pete had rescued him. He had already allowed a man to suffer grievously in the name of his mission—he couldn’t also rob him of the closest thing to salvation this city had to offer.

  Pete walked by, every bit as put together as Jeremiah remembered, and Jeremiah kept himself hidden. Now that he knew where to find Pete, he could enact the next stage of his plan whenever he was ready. In fact, he thought as he dusted himself off, he had accomplished something noteworthy and useful tonight. He should feel great!

  Too bad all he felt was a terrible knot of guilt twisting deep in his gut.

  Jeremiah followed a path that took him far from Cutter’s lot and found his favorite alley spot. It was at the end of the guard’s patrol, so he was only roused a couple of times each night, and often could skip the early morning one if the guards got lazy.

  He laid his head on a pile of dirty rags that he’d squirreled away as a pillow, and was annoyed when his head hit something hard. Unwrapping the pile layer by filthy layer, he soon discovered the source of his discomfort.

  A black book with gold bindings. Flesh.

  “Uh-oh,” said Jeremiah.

  ?

  ?

  ?

  Flesh proved impossible to be rid of. It might take minutes or hours, but no matter where he left it, eventually the book would reappear within arms reach. The only reprieve was when Jeremiah would place it somewhere with the intention of retrieving it. In those moments, the book seemed to understand and would wait patiently for him. However, if Jeremiah thought for a second he might finally be rid of it, it would immediately return to him.

  Jeremiah put the nuisance of the book from his mind and reminded himself to focus on the mission. He needed to learn about the cult so Empress Aubrianna would put a stop to the conspiracy working to undo his friends’ lives. The cult was recruiting from the lower classes, that’s what Delilah had said. That’s why he was out on the streets, to see what could be learned from here. Only it wasn’t like people were just handing out pamphlets about murder cults on street corners, he had to become one of them—someone valuable enough to be recruited. And to survive long enough to do that, to make enough of a name for himself to earn the right kind of attention, he needed a crew.

  That’s where Pete came in. Jeremiah knew Pete had the connections he needed, but what he didn’t know was how to convince Pete he was worth connecting. After spending all day wracking his brain to come up a strategy, he’d realized two things—first, Pete understood how this world worked far better than Jeremiah did, and second, Jeremiah had no leverage whatsoever.

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  But neither of those things was changing anytime soon, and Jeremiah couldn’t wait around for a better opportunity, so here he was waiting outside The Ample Room for Pete to arrive.

  He didn’t have to wait long. Pete turned up at suppertime, opened the doors like he owned the place, and disappeared inside. Jeremiah forced himself to wait ten minutes, then hurried after him.

  Jeremiah reminded himself he had as much right to be there as anyone as heads turned at his entrance. He spotted Pete alone in the far corner, with a liqueur in hand and meat pie untouched in front of him. He also spotted the barman heading towards his way with a familiar glint in his eye that suggested Jeremiah was about to find his way back out of the establishment.

  “Hello, Pete!” Jeremiah called, waving his hand enthusiastically, as though greeting a long-lost friend.

  To his relief, Pete’s confusion was quickly covered by a graceful smile, and he returned Jeremiah’s wave. The barkeep harrumphed but returned to his post.

  “Jay! Wonderful to see you, my lad, simply splendid,” said Pete. He stood to move Jeremiah’s chair as though he were buttling a fancy dinner. “What happened to your face? Oh, please excuse my impudence, you must be famished.”

  Pete placed the meat pie before Jeremiah as though it had been procured specially for him. The rich scents made Jeremiah’s mouth water, but he resisted—something told him giving in to the urge to devour the pie would lose any advantage over Pete he had.

  Instead he said, “I’m looking for work as a second-story man.”

  “Charming.” Pete sipped his liqueur, “go on.”

  “But I’m not looking for any old work,” said Jeremiah.

  “Oh, no?” said Pete.

  “Not picking pockets and snatching purses. Real work. Heists and the like. Proper second story work,” said Jeremiah.

  “I see,” said Pete.

  “And I uh…I want to work with an established gang,” said Jeremiah. Pete was starting to pay more attention to the liqueur than to him.

  “Naturally,” said Pete. “Well, lad, there’s a plethora of options for someone of your skill set. I’d be happy to make some introductions of course. If we’re on the understanding that I may request your services at a later time, regardless of circumstances.”

  This wasn’t going as Jeremiah had hoped. Pete had no reason to take a risk on him. All too easily, he saw himself being handed off to the lowest rung cutthroat gang to wallow in apartment break-ins and petty theft.

  He couldn’t just be another nobody in Pete’s pocket. He had to prove he mattered.

  “So show him who's boss,” said Allison.

  “No magic,” said Bruno.

  “No excuses,” thought Jeremiah.

  “I’m going to be honest with you, Pete,” said Jeremiah, making his voice as cold as he could. “I could kill you stone dead at this very table with a single word.”

  Pete’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyes hardened. “That’s quite the statement, lad.”

  “Shh, shh. Just watch now,” said Jeremiah. He set the tip of his dinner knife into the table. With a few quick drags, he carved the enchantment rune for And into the wood of the table. It was a simple rune that did nothing on its own, but it was all he needed. He placed his hand on the rune, murmured a few words, and the rune glowed a soft azure blue, nothing more.

  Pete’s facade of polite gentry fractured as he watched Jeremiah perform magic. “Bet you didn’t see this coming, you slippery bastard.” A lifetime of struggle against society’s ignorance of magic, and suddenly it was his greatest weapon.

  “I’m going to tell you what I want, and you’re going to help me get it,” said Jeremiah, in a low, even voice. “I’ll take no for an answer, but you won’t live to see the end of the O.”

  As quickly as Pete’s courteous demeanor had broken, it returned. “Perhaps you and I have had a misunderstanding, Jay.”

  “Perhaps we have. Allow me to clarify the situation. I’m a second story man from Shabad. I’m very good at my job. Here I am in Elminia, looking for a nice strong gang to put my skills to good use. With me so far?”

  “Yes, I understand completely,” said Pete.

  “Oh, it’s working!” thought Jeremiah. “I’m looking for a position of opportunity,” he said. “A chance to build my reputation and be noticed by the right kind of people. Do you understand?”

  “Dear lad, you must realize—”

  Delilah was in Jeremiah’s ear. “Maintain control of the conversation. You asked a question, he will answer it.”

  “Do. You. Understand,” Jeremiah said.

  “Yes,” said Pete. He swallowed hard.

  “Fantastic,” said Jeremiah. He finally turned his attention to the pie. Every time he thought Pete was going to talk, Jeremiah shot him a sharp look and he quieted. There was something delightful in watching Pete squirm.

  When he was finished eating, Jeremiah wiped his mouth on a napkin and enacted a stroke of genius that had come to him between bites. “Give me your hand, Peter,”

  Pete didn’t move. The blood drained from his face.

  “You can give it to me and keep it, or I can take it from you and leave with it,” said Jeremiah. He had no idea what that threat meant, but it did the job. Pete extended a quivering hand across the table. Jeremiah took Pete’s hand and dragged the tip of the knife across the back of it. He didn’t press hard enough to break the skin, but left a white trail, which became a rune. The rune was Pause, which was meaningless on its own, but Jeremiah bet that to Pete, it would be mysterious and frightening.

  “We’re going to take a little walk to the Pit, Peter. You’re going to introduce me to someone of importance. You’re going to recommend me highly. You’re not going to mention what you saw here. Peter, shall I tell you why you’re going to do all this?”

  Pete stared at him, wide-eyed and silent. “Good boy”, thought Jeremiah.

  “You’re going to do this because I’ve placed a rune on your hand. And if I find the opportunity you provide me lacking, then I will simply cast a little spell, and, no matter where you are, no matter what precautions you take, your hand will detach from your body and kill you. Maybe it’ll throttle you. Maybe it’ll stab you. That part is up to the hand. Look at your hand, Peter, what does that rune say?”

  Jeremiah raised his eyebrows, indicating Pete could answer. “I-I don’t know,” he said. His voice was a faint whisper.

  “Pure fear breeds contempt,” said Bruno. “Show him the carrot.”

  “I know you don’t, Peter. I know you don’t,” Jeremiah gave Pete’s hand a little pat and sat back in his chair. “But it’s not all bad news! My little skill is going to make me very useful to the person I work with, and they are going to be very grateful to you for introducing us. I think favors will be owed, Peter, I think I’ll insist that favors be owed to the kindly man who helped me,” said Jeremiah. “I still owe you a favor, too, isn’t that right? And the higher I rise, the more valuable my favor will become. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

  “That…sounds lovely,” said Pete.

  “Thanks for dinner, really,” said Jeremiah. “Now, whenever you’re feeling up to it, I say we should enjoy a nice evening stroll.”