Volume Two – Chapter 8

The Secretary’s Wife

When they encountered the fifth trap, Tye began to wonder if his fears hadn’t been misplaced. The wire was thin and taut, and placed at hip length, making it a bother both to hop over and crawl under. He chose the latter. What it connected to, he didn’t know. Nothing good, Paak had grunted. Now and then, the brute’s hand pushed Tye forward like a piece of cattle, but it wasn’t to speed him up. He can barely see you. He’s making sure you’re still there.

No, Tye concluded. His fears were in the proper place, alright.

According to Biko, the dealer’s house wasn’t much further, yet the darkness had swallowed his smile, a crucial asset of the man. Without it, the officer’s voice lost most of its soothing warmth and became what it had always been beneath the pretense. The voice of a killer. Paak was harder to read, as he rarely spoke anymore, but it was clear that he was being played, too. Who knew whether he’d survive the night. Perhaps he’d turn up next to Tye in that ditch he could see in his mind’s eye with more clarity each passing frag; the criminal and the corrupted watchman, killed in a scuffle over loot.

It pained Tye to accept how easily he had been fooled. Yet there also was that exhilaration, that intensity of his senses that he had not felt in a while. The thorny thickets could not harm him. The traps could not surprise him. His touch seemed to have returned to the acuteness of old, making up for his poor sight almost as well as when he had ascended the steep rock from the depths of Mount Taab, getting further and further away from the light of the glowing sea. Was it not a dream, after all? He couldn’t say. It didn’t matter.

All that mattered was to find a way out of the trap the officers had lured him into. Run, his senses told him at each step. You can make it. They likely won’t shoot. Yet if they caught him, all would be lost. They’d know he knew. They’d make sure he couldn’t run again.

Paak’s hand touched his back, but not to push him. He grabbed Tye’s shirt and made him stop. “There,” he said.

Tye looked around, seeing only the dark of the jungle, and the scattered starry sky beyond the foliage. It took a while until he spotted the star that didn’t fit.

It hung low, too low to belong to the vast blanket of lights drawn across the sky. It also wasn’t white, but yellow. When he looked at it longer, it flickered. It went out.

“Get down,” Biko said.

They hunkered down in the bushes, Paak’s hand still lying on Tye’s back. For a long time, they waited looking at the spot where the light had been, ignoring the bugs, the clammy air sticking to their skin. Just when Tye began to question whether it had been an illusion, the light reappeared much lower, barely above ground, swaying back and forth.

“There he is.” Biko had lowered his voice to a whisper. “You two go in the house, I’ll follow him. Wait for me inside.”

“What if there’s other traps?” Paak asked.

“Be careful,” Biko said, sharply, before disappearing into the bushes to follow the swaying light.

“You heard him.” Paak pushed Tye onward, and they closed in on the spot where the light had first appeared, passing two more traps on the way. As they moved, Tye could have sworn to have already reached the walls of the place. But all he found were bushes, and the thick trunk of an old, old telahiem. When he looked around for the light, it had disappeared.

“Ain’t nuthin’ here,” he said.

Paak’s voice was only a grumble. “Look up.”

Tye did, and realized what he had seen before. The scattered stars were blocked out by a large L-shaped block lodged in the telahiem’s limbs, its walls overgrown with vines and blood ivy. A treehouse. An ambitious treehouse. Careful to not step into another trap, Tye circled the tree followed by Paak, whose head kept getting tangled up in the vines hanging off the building. Only when they went in for a detailed inspection of the trunk did he find it.

“A ladder,” Tye said. “Planks nailed to the wood, seems like.”

“Good. Go up, then.”

He ain’t fallin’ for it. Tye had to pretend to climb the first rung before hesitating. Turning to Paak again. “This ain’t right.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Paak asked, sounding impatient.

“We passed how many traps to get here? Why have a tree house if it’s easy to get into? Nah, this ain’t right at all.”

“Houndshit. You’re just scared.”

Tye went back and forth around the ladder, looking upward, softly feeling out the rungs. There. “See that?” he said, pulling Paak in close. “There’s wires up there. Whatcha think’ll happen if we pull those?”

“… Now what?”

Tye shrugged. “Your guy got down—I figure he’s got a way up.”

And so, they went around the tree again, trying to discern a limb that would allow them to climb up. Yet this telahiem was unusually vertically daring, the lowest of its limbs hanging several ells above their heads. Finally, Tye stopped, and put his hands on his hip. Would he have to climb up there via another tree? No, there wasn’t a single one close enough. But then how?

He suddenly realized Paak had fallen back a bit, struggling with yet another vine, mumbling soft curses as he pulled it off his neck. Him you might be able to outrun. Yet there had spawned another idea in Tye’s mind. They weren’t used to this terrain, not any more than he was. If he played his cards right, he could lure them into an area ripe with traps, then slip away and let them run into their doom. There was risk there, but hardly more than in attempting an escape while Paak was still right there watching him. But Paak’s a bit distracted, ain’t he? He did have a knack for getting tangled up in—

Vines.

“Have you tried pulling on any of those?” Tye asked.

“No. Why?”

Tye started tugging at one after another. “Maybe that’s our way up.” Most of them seemed tightly attached to the tree. A few fell down, coiling up to spirals on the ground.

“Ain’t no way they’ll hold us,” Paak said. “You better keep loo—“

He silenced when Tye’s tugging earned a response. A squeak. He pulled, and it came down, bringing something with it. Rungs hanging in the air, connected to one another through synthetic cords. A rope ladder. When he let go of the vines, the rungs shot up two ells before he caught them again. A spring system, he reckoned. “You were sayin’?”

Paak grunted. Cautiously, Tye stepped onto the ladder, waited, hanging, rocking softly back and forth. Could be another trap. It always could. Something, however, told him they were on the right track. He took another step, then another, and climbed up to the long outer wall of the L. He fingered it. There were edges set into the wood, an ell-by-ell square. He pushed it inward to reveal a hatch leading inside.

Once through the hatch, Tye laid on his back scanning for more wires, but there weren’t any. As he stood up and tried to scan his surroundings, Paak came clambering up the ladder and heaved his body through the hatch with a sigh. “That fucking freak,” he panted.

Tye had lost all interest in him. Turning from here to there, his nose had taken over from his hands, smelling incense and a sweet lingering scent—sweewee. He must’ve smoked right before he left. Tye would have given the world for a thick rolled leaf filled to the brim with the sticky stuff, but it was neither the time nor the place. He needed his focus.

Besides, this dealer was too cautious. It would’ve surprised, almost disappointed Tye to find a batch of the merchandise just sitting around like it did in the apartments of Jaemeni’s low-level dealers. A cautious man meant a man that took danger seriously.

A potential ally.

At the long end of the L, Tye found a window. Paak did not seem too alarmed when he opened it, and rightly so; a drop from this height would easily break his legs. A hole in the tree crowns above blessed the window with a few bright stars. There was even a sliver of moon.

“Let’s have a looksie, eh?” said Tye.

“No lights,” Paak snarled at him. “We don’t know if Biko caught him already. He could see it, get spooked.”

‘Caught him’. Tye hoped that was what Biko actually meant to do. Finding a dead man’s stash was hard enough, and this one seemed particularly careful. “I was thinkin’ more like this.”

From a nail in the wail, he took a small oval mirror framed by black-and-white pearls and held it into the open window. The light he caught was faint, but enough. They could see.

For all the caution required to get here, Tye was disappointed to find the long room in the same disarray he had so often seen working as a carrier in Jaemeni. Potted plants in all stages of decay; a glass aquarium with no inhabitants but a single enormous catfish sucking at the algae-covered pebbles; mediocre paintings of animals covering the walls, some framed, some not, some painted directly onto the torn wallpaper; a total of five, no, six ash-trays standing on an abundance of small desks and shelves; dirty clothes lying on the ground; even dirtier dishes on the shelves; heaps of magazines and newspapers in the corner; beanbags; a radio. All that was missing were the drugs themselves. Tye let the beam of light wander further and spotted a door at the other end of the room, closed, leading around the L’s corner. “Wanna bet what the bedroom looks like?” Tye asked.

Paak chuckled. “Mattress on the floor, piss spots, some ash smears.”

“… I wouldn’t like my odds, then.” Tye turned to find a the wall beside him somewhat out-of-place, if only for that it was clean. No, he was wrong; something was covering it up. An big empty slate of cork mounted on wheels—a pinboard. He kicked away some of the clothes on the ground, rolled it away from the bird drawings on the walls, and turned it. Shone his light.

He saw cut-out news articles. He saw written notes.He saw photographs, dozens, hundreds of them, attached via needle to the cork. He saw twine connecting needle to needle, weaving a complex web all over the pinboard. And Tye knew the man that lived here. You’ve met his kind before. Aishi. He’s a—

“Anyone home?” Biko’s voice called from outside. “I brought company.”

Paak kicked open the hatch and yelled down, “Traps on the trunk. Here, I’ll let the ladder down.”

Tye heard a muffled curse from down there, a voice he did not know. He stepped closer and then back again when Paak drew his gun. Teeth glimmered in the dark. “Relax. Gotta make sure he doesn’t try anything.”

Stay calm. They don’t know you know. Tye simply shrugged, and let his body drop into a beanbag chair, whose filling had turned clumpy with age. As the rope ladder started clattering, he turned his head to gaze at the pinboard. Photographs shone darkly in the sparse moonlight like the scales of a giant snake. A seeker, this far out in the jungle… In a way, it did make sense. Aishi had often lamented his own lack of will to leave behind the ‘fake city’, move to where according to him, life was more fitting human nature. Was this what that would look like?

Next to the beanbag, Tye found a clay oil lamp shaped like a fish wearing a spheric diving helmet. He turned to Paak. “It’s safe, right? Got a match?”

The officer grunted, then threw him a matchbox. For a breath, Tye stared at it lying in his hand, transfixed. There’d been a time where this small box would have meant the world to him. Dreams, nothing but dreams. After lighting a match on his first try, he watched the flickering flame become a steady one over the fish’s mouth inside the helmet, and stood up.

The light was sparse, but enough to inspect his surroundings closer. Tye went around the room feigning boredom, letting his eyes do the hectic scans his hands could not. He had missed some things.

A. The piles of magazines of newspapers were separate, and partitioned respectively into years of publication. The oldest went back as far as thirteen years.

B. The catfish was not an actual catfish, but a terracotta figurine covered in algae; also, there was no water in the aquarium.

C. The paintings on the walls were drawn in the most vibrant, surreal colors, some seeming to jump out of their frames at him.

(A) fit what the board had already told him. All seekers were hoarders to an extent. Even Aishi kept his mail locked up in a safe. (B) was a hiding place, obviously, though hardly for anything important. It was (C) that worried Tye. He’d seen the verve this man painted with many times before. It wasn’t just sweewee. Powder. Guy snorts his own supply. That did make it harder to gauge his helpfulness. Paranoia was a common thing among seekers, yet also among those that became addicted to the powder. There was a significant difference in aptitude between the two groups. He wondered: Were those wires they had passed even connected to something?

Finally, a thin figure came crawling through the hatch, wearing a stained shirt and pants that had more holes than fabric. When the man attempted to stand up, Paak gave him a kick to the shoulder, throwing him back on the ground. The man stayed there and eyed the two of them. A mane of black hair framed bushy brows, a ragged beard. He wasn’t much older than Tye. Twitching, his eyes went back and forth between the two of them, making for a pathetic sight.

His eyes looked clear, though.

“Move aside, Mul,” Biko said. “Don’t make me ask twice again.”

“S-sure, officer,” the man replied, and pushed himself back until his back hit an old, scratched shelf with a thump.

Biko entered through the hatch, stood up, and whistled with the hay stalk still hanging in his mouth. “Never took you for the tidy type, Mul, but this… One might almost think you’re losing it, buddy!”

“No, officer, sir,” Mal said. “just didn’t know I was expecting guests.”

Biko put his backpack on a dresser and smiled that warm warm smile. “Oh, now I know you’re lying. Good officer Paak and I have asked around, y’see—doesn’t sound like there’s any type of day when you ain’t ready to… what did those kids call it, officer Paak?”

“ ‘Hang’,” said officer Paak, and grinned.

“You—you’re mistaken.” Mul shook his head decisively, looking down at the dirty carpet floor. He was lying And he ain’t good at it. “I don’t know any kids, officers. They parents forbid ‘em from going this far in the jungle, as they should. It’s dangerous out here.”

“Oh, you don’t have to tell me. Plenty of stuff that could kill a kid, even a grown man, ain’t there?” At that, Biko dropped his smile, and for the first time, his eyes matched the coldness of his voice. “Where is it, Mul?”

“I’ve got no idea what you—“

With a crunching stomp, officer Paak rammed his heel into Mul’s right ankle. The skinny man screamed into his hand, eyes rolling back, contracting his knee to protect the foot. Before he could rein in the other, Paak had placed his heel on that one, too.

“Oh I’m sorry, Mul,” Biko said, “officer Paak can be a bit clumsy. Wouldn’t wanna risk him losing his balance again, would you?”

Tye felt his senses go on alert as the dealer wailed in agony. Neither officer had hesitated for a second before using violence. They meant to do it from the start. This isn’t their first time. A thought dark and ill-boding pushed itself on him.

He, too, might not be the first prisoner they’d used.

Just when Tye realized both men had turned their backs to him and dared to glance at the closed hatch, officer Biko shot him a look that killed any hope in an easy escape. He knows. Within a couple steps down the ladder, Biko would have drawn his gun and shot him. From here to the ground, it was a good seven, eight ells. If he didn’t wanna end up like poor Mul, he had to improvise.

So Tye just shrugged. Biko winked at him, and turned to the whimpering dealer. “I’m waiting, Mul.”

Mul’s shoulders shot up and down as he tried to calm his breath. “It’s… hah… it’s behind the chest!”

He pointed at the box of splintering teak that held the aquarium. Just when Tye was about to lift the empty tank, Paak shoved him aside and kicked it to the ground. The aquarium burst into a thousand small pieces of glass. The fish bounced into a corner of the room. Water splashed and seeped into the cracks between the floor boards.

“Easy there,” Tye said, raising his palms.

Paak grunted before dragging the chest off the wall. Behind, there was only a few dustballs and a spider that sped away on sixteen panicked legs.

“Hm,” Biko said, and turned to Mul.

Mul’s eyes became wide. “In the wall!”

Looking closely, Tye did spot a dark, finger-stained piece among the uneven wooden planks making up said wall. Yet before he could crouch down and take it out, Paak had already kicked it in. He reached into the rummage to retrieve a plastic bag.

A rather light plastic bag. “Some sweewee, some pills, maybe half an ounce of powder…” Biko threw the bag into the corner like it was nothing. “I’m afraid we might have a misunderstanding on our hands here. Officer Paak?”

Paak grinned as he stepped up to the shivering dealer. “I can feel myself slipping already.”

“NO!” Mul screamed. “That’s all I keep in here for the day-to-day. I’m not lying!”

“Plenty enough to arrest him, ain’t it?” Tye asked, only to regret drawing attention to himself. Mul’s eyes returned quickly to Paak’s boot standing only a step away from his ankle.

“His ass’ll be out in a Tenin,” said Biko, smiling. “Besides, it’s hardly a good enough payoff for a sting, is it?”

In that moment, Tye realized he’d been right. The truth’d been there all along, he just hadn’t dared to consider it. Biko does suffer from hubris, only on a scale you didn’t expect. He still thinks you don’t get it. He thinks you’re a total moronic idiot. For what it was worth, it might give him a chance.

Paak stared emptily at the bag sitting in the corner with eyes often seen in rooms like this one. Tye put away his suspicions for later, and calmed his breath. It was time to lay it on thick, thicker than he’d dared before. Moron. You’re a moron. “Well,” he said, “as the one with the expurtees here, I’d reckon we gots ourselves a dirty lil’ digger.”

“Go on,” Biko said.

“We came in here, there was more sweewee in the air alone than is in ‘at bag.” Tye felt it in the moment to spit on the floor. It didn’t seem to put off the smiling officer; only Mul. “He’s a cautious one. Got his stash buried sumwhere around th’area. Might be you did y’self a disservice by cripplin’ ‘im.”

“Huh,” Biko said. He looked at Tye, at Mul, then shot Paak a glance. The muscular brute pulled Mul up by his collar and pressed him against the wall. Biko took the stalk out of his mouth. “Is that so? You buried it?”

Mul squirmed under their stares. Finally, he glanced over at Tye. And faintly, only allowing his desperation to show for a fraction of a breath as the other two weren’t looking, Tye nodded. “Y-yeah,” Mul said. “Got the wee sitting beneath a telahiem ‘bout a hundred steps west. The heavy merchandise, another fifty south from there.”

“Any traps that way?” Biko asked

“Not coming from here. I can take you!”

“… No.” Biko turned, walking around the apartment in deep thought. He went past the busted wall. Past Tye. At the pinboard, he stopped, only for a moment. Tye forced himself to stillness. The officer’s mind would produce the right outcome, it was inevitable. The dealer was hurt, and knew the terrain. Kill him, they might have to kill Tye, too, and it was too early for that. Someone, then, had to watch Mul. That left only one person to help Biko dig out the stash. An unsuspecting fool. A drughound.

“I’ll go see,” Biko said. “Alone.”

No. “Y’sure?” Tye blurted out.

Biko smiled. “You gotta help Paak give this place a thorough search. Might still be Mul here doesn’t know what’s good for him. If he lied, we better make sure we check everywhere.” With that, Biko went back to Mul, who still shivered in the firm hands of officer Paak, and whispered in his ear. What it was he whispered, Tye couldn’t tell; he only saw the effect it had on Mul. Tears streamed down the dealer’s face, and before long, a dark stain had formed where his pant legs met.

Biko turned to Paak with a stern look. “If he gets feisty, give him the juice. Only a drop, though. Got it?”

Paak nodded an eager nod. A bit overeager. Could still be he’s got his own plans. Tye hoped to god he did. Biko gave him a last smile, and Tye returned Oiji’s smirk, making it look just a tad dim-witted. Then, officer Biko knelt down, and disappeared ass-first through the hatch.

Paak didn’t speak until the ladder had ceased clattering. “Got rope?”

“What, officer?”

Paak kicked the dealer’s stomach. “Rope. Either that, or I gotta get clumsy on your hands, too.” Again, there was a grin at the mention of violence, but something about it was off. His teeth are grinding.

“In… the bedroom,” Mul croaked.

“Is that so.” Paak let him drop to the floor and opened the only door going off the room. “Aeri, you watch him.”

“Sure,” Tye said. The opportunity came too suddenly. Could he trust Mul? Could a dealer with a substance problem be trusted? A seeker, no less? Their kind loves nothin’ more than conspiracies—how did Aishi put it? ‘Loners and outsiders’. Let’s use that. Let’s draw Mul the dealer into your circle.

As they heard Paak rummage through the other room muttering curses, Tye made eye contact with Mul. He pointed at the open door, whose frame hid him from the officer’s sight.

Then, he pointed at Mul and himself, flattened his hand, and drew it across his neck like a knife’s edge. The message got through. With eyes full of fear and confusion, Mul nodded, and not a beat too late before Paak reentered the room carrying three loops of rope in his hand and a disgusted look on his face.

“Would’ve won that bet,” he said. “But the smell… Gods damn, Mul, the fuck did you do in there?”

Mul shrugged, raised his hands. “Ate some bad uguae a while back, won’t wash out.”

“… Do I even wanna know what the rope is for? Gimme your hands.”

Mul complied. Tye watched as the officer tied it around Mul’s wrists, once, twice, three times, then tightened the knot until the other man flinched in pain. He pushed him across the room and into the beanbag.

“Stay there,” Paak snarled. He turned to Tye. “Time to work. Keep watching him.”

“Y’sure you don’t need my help?” Tye asked.

“I got my own way.” A grin had returned to Paak’s face. He stormed into the corner of the room and picked up the plastic bag. You were right. Thank the gods, you were right. With the hectic, yet careful fingers of a trained user, officer Paak pulled out the small bag of powder, removed the strap of tape keeping it sealed, and put his finger inside. It rose in a straight horizontal line carrying a mountainous line of powder. “Want some?”

Yes. No. Not now. “… Nah, I’m good,” Tye said.

Paak looked displeased. “If you tell Biko—“

“I won’t.”

“Good.” Paak closed one nostril and, in one quick snort, made the massif of powder disappear up the other. He shook his head. Blinked. Grimaced. “Oh! OOOH!”

Like that, the broad-shouldered officer yanked out the drawers of the nearest dresser, scattering paper and brushes and bottles of paint all over the ground. He threw aside the piece of furniture and started tugging at the wall planks until they broke. Hectically, his hands searched the narrow space inside the wall, before he turned to the bookshelf beside it, and repeated the process of his methodic, yet ferocious search.

Tye meanwhile leaned against a small desk filled with pens and paper, and crossed his arms. “So… Mul, is it?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m Aerani. Friends call me Aeri. You’re a seeker, eh?”

Mul stared up at him with confusion. “Don’t appreciate that label, but… yeah, I guess.”

Tye chuckled. “Few people like the labels that fit ‘em.”

“Well…“ Mul halted, and lowered his voice. “Shouldn’t we make a plan or something? I’ll help you, together we may be able to—”

A book flew into Mul’s face, leaving a red mark where the top of the spine hit his forehead. Paak bellowed, “NO WHISPERING!”

“Got it,” Tye said loudly and clearly, before turning back to Mul. “So… what’s it you’re seekin’, in particular?”

Mul still winced from the impact. “What d’you think? The truth.”

“What truth?”

“There’s no different ones, is there? Only the one they’re keeping from us.”

“Who’s they?” Bite, godsdammit.

“The fucking Gralinn and their henchmen!” The frustration in Mul’s voice was real. And real’ll convince Paak. “They like to keep us colony folk chasing through shadows without a candle—meanwhile, they rob us blind and wage wars we never hear about. Do you even know about the sightings in Ryslin?”

“What sightings?”

“The icemen! And before you ask: no, I’m not talking about the natives of the north. There’s people living hundreds of kilobirks into the icy wastelands up there. The cold don’t touch ‘em. Some say they can even fly!”

“Really?” Tye was a bit disappointed. The icemen were a theory long out of style, a mere punchline to the truly informed, like Aishi. Guess that’s the drawback of life in the jungle. “Then how come they live in such a shitty place?”

“How should I know?” Suddenly, Mul seemed to get defensive. “Point is, there’s lots of things out there we’re in the dark about. Only thing you can do is listen closely to the lies they tell us. The truth is in the gaps, Aeri.”

“Huh.” Tye stepped away from the desk and took a closer look at the pinboard in the light of the fish lamp. “What other truths’ve you found? Anything recent?”

“Oh, lots and lots.” Mul sneered. “You haven’t even heard about Koeiji yet, have you?”

The photos before Tye showed many different people, most posing for social gatherings. He recognized more than a few of them. President Inako Yut was—unsurprisingly—featured more than any other. There were old press photos of the Gralinn Chancellor, Arsynen Korush, next to newer ones taken that were blurry, taken from a distance. He seemed to have grown a beard that could rival Mul’s. Ever more private, still. Some things don’t change. It wasn’t long before Tye found a photograph of an old friend. He pulled out the needle and took the photograph in his hand.

“That’s this guy’s playground, ain’t it?” Tye asked Mul, holding the photo up to his face.

“… The pale prefect, correct. But can you please not make a mess of my research?”

“What’s with Koeiji?”

“Well, first off, Lorne just went missing for about twenty days without informing the public. Wouldn’t be too odd—why, he might’ve needed a vacation. Got almost killed the day before he left. Only there’s more. Talk is, he went south near the mountains to deal with a crisis involving a facility of the Westgrale Mining Conglomerate.” Mul wetted his lips, suddenly oblivious to the havoc officer Paak was wreaking on his quarters. “A facility that just had an gigantic fire seen from leagues inland, and has now been put on lockdown by the military. Something big happened there. Won’t be too long until they’ll release a statement.” A bitter smile played around his lips. “Only you can bet your ass it’ll be anything but the truth.”

“… Except if you look in the gaps.”

“Exactly.”

“What’s this?” Paak asked suddenly, standing amidst the remains of a cocktail table. In his hand was a plastic bag much like the one he’d found the powder in.

“That’s… birdseed, officer,” Mul said. He dared not even meet the crazed man’s stare. “I use it to make the birds stay so I can paint ‘em.”

“Huh,” Paak said. He then broke a table leg over his knee, and went on to dismantle a large frame containing a picture of a southern diva.

Tye saw Mul flinch when the officer’s hand tore through the painting. Gotta keep him enganged. “D’you get the JDT out here?”

Mul’s head turned slowly. “The Telegraph? Yeah.”

“I read a story once about the treasury secretary of Andis and his wife. Know that one?”

“The one that murdered her husband and replaced him with an actor doppelganger? What about it?”

“How’d she do it again? I forget.”

“Oh, fascinating stuff. See, it turned out the secretary had been a twin separated at birth, and—“

“No, no, I remember that.” Tye stared at Mul, who ogled him with uncertainty. Get it, man! “I’m askin’ how she did it.”

Mul ogled longer, and longer, before sucking in a sharp breath. His eyes went wide. “Oh.”

“Did she shoot him in the face? Or the heart?”

“I…” This is it. Either he’s in on it, or you’re wasting your time. “I don’t think she shot him.” YES. “I think she put poison in his fish.”

Now it was Tye ogling. “You sure?”

“Yeah, I tend to remember things like that.”

“So—“ A thought hit Tye. Fish. You’ve got one right there. He raised the clay fish between them, inspected it and found nothing but the oil lamp that it was. He estimated its use as a weapon. It could hardly knock a numbskull like Paak out cold. Might set him on fire. A man on fire could still fire a gun, though.

Mul swallowed. “Article said she cut it into pieces with her knife for him, just as he liked. Only the knife ha-had poison on it.” He’s getting nervous. This ain’t good. Tye glanced to the side, where Paak smashed an already cracked vase against the wall. “Only thing is,” Mul said, “they had a c-cat who ate some of that fish afterward and died, too. That’s how she was found out.”

“O…kay.” What was he getting at? It didn’t make sense. This fish was useless. Did he mean to say that he should smash it first to cut Paak with the edges? Clay shards weren’t too sharp, though, not like a knife at all. And what was he on about with the cat?

Cat. Fish. Knife.

“Oh yeah, I think you’re right.” Tye acted like he was stepping up to the pinboard again as the noise from the other side of the room continued. Only this time, he stepped further left, hearing the shards of the aquarium crunch under his step. It’s gotta be around here somewhere. He scanned the ground, left, right, taking a step back. There. He saw the catfish’s tail stick out of a heap of dirty undershirts. He listened for the noise. The officer was distracted. He knelt down.

When Tye stood back up, now holding two inanimate fishes in his hand, every hair on his body stood up as well. The noise had stopped. He turned to find Paak standing among the wreckage he’d caused, staring at him.

“Whatcha got there,” Paak asked.

“Nuthin’,” Tye said. “Just a silly fish.”

“Catfish, you mean.” Paak grinned, tilted his head right, then left, both times with a crack. “You really think I’m that stupid?”

Fuck. “Whatever y’think, I don’t—“

Paak reached behind him into his belt, where his gun was holstered. This is it. Damn Mul and his long living room. Tye waited for the bang to sound, to end his life, hoping that the officer at least had good aim. He’s concentrated, that’s for sure. But Paak took his time. Why was he taking his time?

Then, Paak’s hand returned empty. His eyes scanned the ground around him. He’s lost it. He’s lost the gun. Tye couldn’t see it, either. He reached for the head of the catfish. Pulled it off. It revealed a quarter-ell blade sticking out of the tail.

Tye stormed at Paak until he was just outside his reach. He slipped the first punch, slashed at the arm lunging for him. Paak jumped aside. Tye ducked under the second punch, dropping the lamp, and drove his shoulder into the officer’s stomach. It felt hard, muscly. Paak let out a pained breath as they crashed into the wall. The planks cracked just before the third punch caught Tye on the chin.

He absorbed it well, readjusting his footing. When he looked back up, mania had twisted Paak’s face into a mask of pure instinct. Tye noticed his own outstretched hand. When had he stabbed him? No matter, you did. Only the knife had not gone straight into the other man’s abdomen. Instead, it was lodged in his side, between the ribs, impossible to pull out.

Paak needed only one hand to grab Tye by the neck and smash him through the wall, so far Tye’s eyes could see he outer planks of the treehouse and the stars above. His torso caught between in- and outside, he clutched the splintered wood trying to get back in. There, Paak looked at him with pupils blown wide.

“Don’t worry, you won’t fall.” The officer pulled him back inside and sent him reeling into half-consciousness with a blow behind his ear. “I wanna see you die.”

Unable to raise himself up, Tye rolled around on the ground with his vision blurry, his hearing distant. Paak said something else, but not to him; down the room, he kicked Mul back into the beanbag chair. “… or you die, too.”

Traitor, Tye wanted to scream, but could only whisper. He turned again, this time with just a little more success. Then, he saw the gun.

It lay only four ells away from him, under the last piece of furniture this side of the room that had not yet been destroyed. He crawled toward it with terrible slowness. Just three more pushes. Two. You almost have it.

Suddenly, Tye rose, pulled by his collar, and was pinned against the wall right next to the dresser. So close. It may just as well have sunk to the bottom of the ocean. Tye felt the thick fingers of officer Paak contract around his throat, cutting off all air. The man’s grin was wider than ever before. His eyes were pools of fury and euphoria.

“Almost over,” Paak said, grinding his teeth. “Just like going to sleep, ain’t it? Only when you wake up… you won’t.”

A wheezing laugh welled up from the officer’s mouth. As Tye’s vision slowly became narrower, he searched around him for some weapon to loosen the grip, but only found the mirror, a backpack, a few tiny splinters. It was futile. Paak was right. He would never return to Jaemeni, never see moms or Aishi again, never ever wake up.

Something stirred in him at the thought of an endless sleep—a memory of a voice so cold, he should have seen through it days ago. Biko. He’d said something before he left, something that made Tye think of berries, and an old man, and a boar.

Only a drop, though.

Tye’s hand shot into the backpack, finding the smooth plastic bottle within a breath. His fingers closed around the cap, unscrewed it. Ripped it up with the last strength that remained to him.

Paak was still laughing when the juice shot into his face. He closed his eyes. His fingers held on to Tye’s neck, but loosened, enough so he could suck in a little air, at least. Tye tried to push him away, and drew another breath. Paak slapped the bottle out of his hand, stared at him, tightened his grip. The laugh was gone. He hasn’t swallowed it. You lost.

Only somehow, Paak’s grip was not as tight as before. His eyes were not as wide as before, his strength not as overwhelming. Tye kept the ability to breathe, and within half a frag felt his feet reconnect with the floor. He saw the man in front of him stare back with disbelief. Paak suddenly lunged out to hit him, but Tye saw it coming, dropped down, reached underneath the dresser. Lunged to the side.

Lying on his back, he aimed the gun at Paak. The officer froze. Tye could not tell how much time passed with them only staring at each other, motionless, him taking long, liberating breaths as Paak began to struggle for air.

All of a sudden. Paak fell to one knee, panting. The juice. He must have swallowed it. A whole lot of it. Still, the officer’s eyes did not leave Tye for a breath, even as he stood up. Looking down at him, Tye suddenly felt terribly weary.

“You damn piece of…” Paak could not even finish the sentence.

“Just like fallin’ asleep,” Tye said.

The officer closed his eyes.

Tye waited another frag before looking up. The room was utterly destroyed. Splinters, clothes, drops of juice were sprayed about him. A hole of darkness glared at him from the wall. Only the pinboard was still intact, and the dresser, and the beanbag chair. In it, he found a distraught Mul, staring at him like at a savage monster.

“Thank… thank the gods,” Mul said.

Tye looked at the gun, then at the man. At his hurt ankle. His unhurt one. His hands, bound, but before, not behind his body. He said he would help you. He lied.

“Where is it, Mul?” Tye asked. “Where is it really?”

A chuckle overcame Tye as he stepped over his ninth trap of the night. What a sight he must have made to the unseen observer, exhausted and sweaty, spots of the officer’s blood all over his shirt, carrying a fire-breathing diver fish. What a story he would tell back home. A story much embellished, of course, robbed of its lumps and edges. Lumps. Another chuckle left his lips. Near death had raised his spirits, and he found himself riding a wave of exultation that was far from reaching its peak.

No, the peak would come about two frags after the powder. Calm, he told himself. He had to get back to the road first. The jungle, after all, was a treacherous place.

He shifted the beanbag from his left shoulder to the right one, feeling the bags inside, their weight. The tension of his muscles went away slowly, and his senses were firing on all cylinders still, scanning his surroundings. After the prison, the caves, the lockup, and now this, his luck was finally about to change. It better. No man deserves to be thrust through this much without compensation. He wondered whether he would find a buyer on the road to Jaemeni. The buyer would have to own a scale. He’d better get rid of the powder before reaching the Foen; thirty-six ounces, the dealer had said. Let’s see how much survives the night, Tye supposed, and without a care in the world he started whistling.

“Stop.”

He did. The cold voice had come from his side, not too close, but not too far either. He saw only darkness there, but his ears hadn’t failed him. That was Biko.Tye meanwhile was an easy target, standing stupidly in a patch of moonlight. Welcome back to the losing side.

“Where’s Paak?” asked Biko. Tye heard him take a few steps.

“… Either sleepin’ or comatose. Could’ve told me about his habits, y’know. Some can’t handle their powder.”

A warm chuckle. “Yeah. You know, maybe you and I should split the haul amongst ourselves.” More steps. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Yup. Wasn’t beans in there, after all.” Tye peered into the darkness trying to make out movement. Had Biko drawn his gun already? “I take it you didn’t find anything?”

“Only the sweewee. Small fish. Speaking of—“

“This? Yeah, nice souvenir, ain’t it? I—“ Tye saw something. But it wasn’t movement. It was thin, and straight, and only visible against the full dark beyond. Should be in the right place.

“What is it?” Biko asked. His voice was cold, but something told Tye that even in darkness, he was still smiling, just for himself.

“Nuthin’,” Tye said. He put the beanbag in front of his belly. “Fifty-fifty?”

“Fifty-fifty.” A tuft of hair appeared, silver in the moonlight. Beneath it grew shoulders, feet, knees, hips. A smile. One hand, then another. Neither was even holding a weapon.

Oh, Biko. Tye smiled, and said, “I like those odds.”

The officer’s smile lasted even as he looked down to investigate what had touched his shin. Then, the ground underneath him sent up a fountain of earth with a bang that left Tye’s ears ringing. A cloud of red unpleasantness evaporated in the air, spraying the leaves with a soft patter. The jungle calmed down quickly, but where there had been two men, there now was only one. He went about his way whistling a flat melody.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter