Chapter 43: Chapter 43: For the Boys

Chapter 43: For the Boys

It hadn’t been easy to get tickets, but Markus managed. What else did you do when you found out your one surviving best friend was going to be put to death in front of a crowd? Seeing Philus die in the arena was the last thing Markus wanted to do after losing Gregor, but he couldn’t not go. He owed it to Philus, and to Gregor, and even to himself, to see it through. To be the one person among thousands who gave a shit about the life of a prisoner.

Philus’ Auntie Eva hadn’t been surprised when she found out her nephew was arrested, nor was she surprised when the Watch came by the next day to inform her that Philus had been carted off to the Colosseum, sentenced to death for…Everything, really. When you racked up as many little charges as Philus and his boys had, all the Watch needed was an excuse to be rid of you.

Together, they sat up in the last row, barely able to make out the details of the fighters below. “Couldn’t you have stolen some better tickets?” Eva grumbled without any real venom.

“Probably,” said Markus. “But whoever had the tickets first would be more likely to raise a fuss and potentially get us caught.”

“Mmph.” Eva grunted.

That was what Philus, Gregor, and all the rest of the people they knew didn’t get. Philus was the dreamer, the planner, and the one to lead them through his crazy schemes. Gregor was as obstinate and tough as an ox, and he alone often carried them through fights. Markus though? Markus was the practical one. He was the one to keep a sharp eye out for the others during their plans. He was the one to try to rein in Gregor’s temper and Philus’ ambitions, and make sure he pocketed enough shards to make sure they were fed when plans went wrong and they walked away empty handed. Markus was the one to steal from people complaining about how bad their tickets were because they were there, ungrateful for what they had, and the opportunity was right.

“You can barely tell it’s him,” said Eva, pointing to one figure who Markus could make out as Philus if he squinted. Mostly, it was easier to tell who he was by seeing who he wasn’t. The Savant was short and moved through the maze like someone lit a fire under his ass. The whore kept to herself for the most part, and ran away from the action. The child rapist was already dead, which made things worse. The gore reminded Markus of Gregor’s guts on the street.

“Hush,” Markus chided, earning a hand upside his head. He rubbed the spot where Eva hit him and scowled at her. “I didn’t have to bring you, you know.”

Eva’s squat, tough face warped into something softer and pained, and Markus instantly regretted saying something. “They’re going to kill Phil,” she said softly. As much as Eva gave her nephew shit, she was the only family he had left. She was more or less an aunt to them all. Or just to Markus now.

“Yeah,” Markus sighed. They were there to show their respect, but watching his brother be executed was one of the hardest things Markus went through. Each cheer of the crowd was salt in the wound, every good blow by the Butcher made his heart skip a beat, but the real difficulty was just staying in the moment. Whenever he wasn’t consciously paying attention to the fight, Markus’ mind was prone to wandering off to the past.

Markus and Philus had known each other for nearly twenty years, ever since they met as kids. There was an endless amount of time between then and now; countless scams and robberies and schemes they tried. Most of them failed, but that never kept them down for long. They’d taken their lumps and paid their dues on the street. It was supposed to be their turn to be on top.

“Look look look,” Eva pointed, standing up. So did everyone else around them, forcing Markus on his feet as well, craning his head to see past a tangle of bodies.

Philus was fighting the Butcher now. Jab after jab of his spear drove the monster back. Blood pounded in Markus’ head, and he dared to dream of a good hit, one clean stab that would end it all. Instead, Philus overextended and the Butcher swung his mace into his chest. Philus dropped. Markus collapsed back into his seat right as the Colosseum’s voices rose as one. The applause was nearly as loud as his heart breaking.

Eva sank into her seat, hand coming up to her mouth, trembling. She blindly reached for Markus’ hand. He took it, letting her squeeze it as hard as she wanted. Tears welled up in her eyes, and in Markus’ as well. He didn’t let them fall. He didn’t give in and just break down. If he did that, everyone would’ve seen and no one wanted to be pegged as the loved ones of the executed. Not if they wanted to go unbothered.

“That’s it, then,” said Markus, swallowing a lump in his throat.

“No. Not yet.” Eva pointed a shaky finger down into the arena. Philus’ chest was all but broken, but the man was still moving on the ground, hand outstretched and reaching for the Butcher, who was fighting with the Savant and ignoring him.

“That son of a bitch,” Markus hissed. “Won’t even grant him a clean death. This is disgusting.” He had to watch Philus twitch and try to get up for another ten seconds before he finally settled down, all of the fight and life gone.

“Phil,” Eva croaked. Her breath was hitching in her chest now as she barely repressed her sob. She took a couple of heaving breaths and forced it down, standing. “Let’s go,” she said.

Markus didn’t argue. They pushed their way through a packed house, ignoring the curses and dirty muttering as they blocked others’ view on the way to the stairs. The stairs too were crowded, but it was easier to push a way past for Eva to follow him. Now that Phil was gone, it was on Markus to make sure she was taken care of. Unknown to him, she was having a similar thought about him.

They were out the doors of the Colosseum when the screams reached a fever pitch. Markus looked up, scoffing. He was a bastard, and in some ways he was proud of it. There weren’t too many people he wouldn’t screw over if it meant getting a few shards, a full belly, and a warm body to cuddle up to at night. That was the same, he thought, for most of Orchrisus. But the Colosseum? This was pure cruelty. Nothing Markus could ever bring himself to do to another person was half as bad as making people watch their loved ones be killed to the sounds of applause.

“Guess that pale fucker won,” Eva said, sighing and hugging her chest.

Markus put his hand on her shoulder gently. “Yeah,” he said, thinking of the moonkissed bastard who killed Gregor and apparently got off scott-free. Now it was just Markus left. It was a good day for pale fuckers everywhere. “Let’s get you home, Auntie. Before the crowds come out.”

Silently, they walked past the line of waiting beetle carts and crossed the brief expanse of desert on their own. It wasn’t far to Eva’s tavern, even from here. It gave Markus time to think about the future. It was something he’d avoided the past few days, but now he had no excuse. It was just him, which meant it was up to him to plot and scheme and do more than just pick a few pockets to make ends meet.

The problem was, what could he achieve on his own? He was short, not much of a fighter, and while he could see glaring holes in Philus’ plans, he wasn’t much good at coming up with stuff himself. His job was making the crazy plans work out, dammit. What would Philus and Gregor do, in his situation? Well, that was a little easier. Gregor would’ve gone home to Finsk and see his sister and new nibling. Now that would never happen.

Philus though? Philus wouldn’t given up. He was irritatingly stubborn that way when he thought he was right. He would demand vengeance, he would demand satisfaction and a good pay day, no matter what. That was easier said than done. Who would Markus even get vengeance on? He had as much chance of hurting the Butcher as he did making it to the Darkstar’s domain without atonement. The moonkissed? He’d killed Gregor even while high off his ass. There was no touching him. Not by Markus.

They arrived at Eva’s tavern, which was closed for the night. There was no shortage of places to eat and drink for the night, no matter how much the locals would grouse at having to walk a block or two out of their comfort zone. Well, fuck ‘em. “You going to be okay?” Markus asked.

Eva unlocked the building and ushered him in. “Francheska’s gonna hate me forever for failing her boy,” she said, sounding more resigned than crushed. “But after some atonement at least they’ll be together again.” She looked at Markus again and swatted at his arm.

“Hey, what’s that for?” Markus pulled away from her.

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“For always getting into trouble with Philus!” She said, as more tears fell. “You were always together, always causing trouble and getting your asses kicked for it. You were his best friend, you know. Even more than Gregor. When you two fought, he was always extra pissy and hard to be around. He loved you like a brother.”

“Why’d you have to say that?” Markus’ voice cracked as pent up tears finally fell. Eva pulled him into a hug and together they stood in the dark building, letting it out together wordlessly.

Eventually Eva pulled away, sighing and wiping at her face. Markus’ own was a teary, bleary mess that was trailing down into his short beard. She went around, lighting a couple of the oil lamps and made her way behind the bar. She grabbed a bottle of liquor and poured them both a cup. “To Philus,” she said. “And Gregor.”

Markus took his cup and looked at it. Everything felt so oddly empty now. Here in the biggest city in the world, he and Eva were completely alone and felt it. He raised his cup. “For the boys,” he said, and tossed it back. Eva poured them refills, but Markus didn’t drink it immediately. He slowly nursed the whiskey as he let his thoughts drift back to where they were before.

There was no getting back at the moonkissed and the whore for getting Philus killed. They lived in a ritzy place with security, and there was jack shit he could do on his own. If he knew exactly which of the big villas was the bastard’s home it would be easier. Maybe he could arrange to have beetle shit shipped to him and…That was it.

Not beetle shit, though Markus wasn’t ruling that one out. He didn’t know which house it was specifically, but he had a general idea. He didn’t have the resources to go after them, but he knew someone who did. Sort of. “I need to go, Auntie,” he said as he finished his drink.

Eva looked up from her own cup. She was exhausted and just wiped. “Oh. You sure you don’t want to stay and have a few drinks? Maybe keep me company? I could use it.” She licked her lips.

Ah. Well, Gregor would’ve been happy to take her up on her offer. She wasn’t exactly Markus’ type, and she never would be. He shook his head sadly. “Not tonight. I might be able to get the guy who got Philus sent to his death.”

That perked her right up. “Well, that’s different. Do you need anything?”

Maybe he should’ve been too proud to ask, but he wasn’t. “Some shards for bribes so I can get close.”

The way there wasn’t as scary this time around. Or maybe Markus just didn’t care about the danger. Upon reaching the south side of Orchrisus, he didn’t run immediately into men with bolters who wanted him to leave. No, now that the Blooming was here people were already out and celebrating. South Orchrisus was an explosion of colors and sound as people partied.

Any other time and Markus would’ve pushed for the boys to go party with everyone else, but that was the last thing on his mind tonight. Markus pushed his way past two half naked women, dancing very close to each other and past a vendor selling meat pastries. It had been nearly a month since he was down here last and he didn’t fully remember the way, but he remembered vaguely what direction they went.

For the better part of an hour he just let his feet guide him, moving deeper and deeper into slummier areas where people didn’t celebrate less so much as their celebration was subdued. Ramshackle houses and insulae had people playing music and dancing together, but they gave Markus a wary side-eye as he passed, going deeper and deeper into the heart of the city.

“Hey, I remember you,” a young preteen boy said. “Where’s your friends?”

Markus stopped and took a look at the kid. After a second, it came to him. “You’re the little shit who took our shards to bring us to Christophe. Who nearly beat the piss out of us.”

The kid shrugged. “I gave you what you paid for. What’re you doing back here?”

Markus reached into his purse and pulled out some qala pieces. “I want to see Christophe again. Take me there.”

For a second, the kid thought about it. Made a real show of stroking his chin and sizing Markus up. He looked past him, and then said, “Yeah, I could do that. But if he kills you it’s not my fault. I’m just a guide.”

“If he kills me he’ll be doing me a favor.”

It was only after the kid (Trevor, he reminded Markus) took the lead that Markus saw the signs of security. Shadows on the top of buildings, men who played cards together in an alley and looked up with murder in their eyes until they noticed Trevor was with him, a couple people following them for a short while before falling behind. It was scary the first time. This time, Markus just wanted to skip to the end.

The ruined building was exactly as Markus remembered it. It looked distinctly unsafe to enter, and that’s where Trevor pointed. “Here you are. A pleasure doing business with you again. Unless you get yourself killed, in which case I never saw you.” The kid turned around and walked away whistling. The reminder of Philus stung. Markus cautiously stepped up to the door.The guard stopped him, patted him down for weapons, and then motioned with his head to enter.

Markus slipped past him and the wall to see Christophe again, and once more was blown away by how huge the man was. He sat on two straining bar stools over a battered table. His hair and beard were shorter this time, if not kempt. He still had the glittering black eyes that seemed tiny in his large head. Said eyes flickered over to him. “You,” he rumbled. “You look familiar. What do you want?”

Markus cleared his throat. “I came in here about a month ago with some friends, about Razia.”

Christophe made a sound of recognition and motioned for him to continue speaking while he drank from a large tankard. So far, so good.

“We found her and were going to bring her to you in exchange for a bounty,” Markus started.

“Were, you say.” Christophe setting his tankard on the table. “Am I to assume that you are no longer going to do that and are, in fact, wasting my time?” His voice didn’t raise, but Markus wasn’t fooled by the image of civility. Christophe was a dangerous wild animal, and any sign of weakness or fear would be punished.

“Not wasting your time. My friends were killed trying to get her. I’m the only one left.”

“Oh,” said Christophe. “How sad.” He let out a house rumbling belch. “Get to the reason why you’re here.”

“I know where she lives now,” Markus said, fighting back the mix of anger and fear of the leader of the Warlords. “I can give you the neighborhood she lives in, but not the exact house.”

Christophe nodded along, interested now. He stroked his beard thoughtfully, leaning back on his stools until they groaned in protest. “That’s not nothing. Go on.”

“I want to trade the location of her neighborhood for shards. I want to help you get the bitch and kill the man protecting her. If you can promise me that, I’ll do whatever I can to help you get her.” Markus didn’t realize his voice had risen until he was finished talking and faced the silence after. The nearest guard had his hand on his sword, watching him closely.

The Warlord took his time in answering. His gaze dropped to the table and went far away. Markus said nothing and waited with bated breath. This was all he had. If Christophe said no, then what could Markus really do against the pair who got his brothers killed? Worse yet, Markus was here alone. There was nothing stopping Christophe from just beating on him until he gave him the information. Desperation was not a good look to bastards like this.

Christophe seemed to know it too. “What’s to stop you from giving me bad information and walking away laughing at me as I commit to sending men to go after her?”

“I swear on the memory of my brothers that the information I have is correct. I want nothing more than for you to get your vengeance.”

“Yeah, the memory of your brothers doesn’t mean dick to me.”

Markus took a deep breath, fighting back the surge of rage. What would this fat bastard know of brotherhood, or having to fight to make a living? If he wasn’t sure that walking out would get him jumped, Markus would’ve done just that. Instead, he said, “Then keep me here for all I care. I just want them to be hurt and to get a few shards to drink in my brothers’ memory.”

Christophe got to his feet. Markus fought the urge to back away from him. He was a good two feet shorter than the man. Christophe’s fists were the size of his head. “This is what I’m prepared to do,” said Christophe, spreading his hands and giving a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Give me this address, and you’ll stay with some of my men. They’ll feed and water you and give you a chance to cry your little eyes out and celebrate the Blooming.

“We’ll send someone to check on that information. If it’s good, I’ll pay you ten aquilos for it and give you a chance to work with me to get this done. If it’s not good, I will personally grab you by the skull and squeeze until your brains leak out your ears.” He opened and closed his hand in demonstration. “Sound good?”

It didn’t matter if it sounded good or not. It was the only shot he had. Markus’ thoughts went back to the Colosseum, and the sea of people shrieking for blood. He thought of Philus laying there helplessly as the Butcher ignored him and let him die on his own. He thought of that moonkissed bastard Quentin gutting Gregor. All because of one bald prostitute who couldn’t resist causing trouble. Ten aquilos was nothing compared to what bringing her in alive would’ve paid, but it was close to what his cut would’ve been.

Markus’ shoulders slumped. “North Orchrisus, just south of the Boulevard of Saint Trassius. A high end neighborhood called Argonza Villas.”

Christophe made a face. “Cicero’s territory. No doubt he’s been helping keep her safe. That complicates things, but it isn’t impossible. What did you say your name was?”

“Markus.”

He clasped a meaty hand on Markus’ shoulder and squeezed. It hurt, and the pain kept going but Markus refused to let it show. “If your information checks out you’ll be richer and I might have a place for you, and revenge on a silver platter. How does that sound?”

Markus smiled. “That suits me just fine. Anything for the boys.”