Boots for the Gentleman (32 page)

The horrible memories the factory contained had exhausted Querry; he couldn’t imagine the toll they’d taken on the gentleman with his finer perception. It was no wonder he felt strained. With a great effort, Querry got to his feet and took the other’s man’s elbow, urging him to stand. “Let’s get out of here, sir. I’m sorry I ever asked you to come. Some fresh air will fix us right up.” He escorted the faerie out of the factory and into the night, troubled by the sluggish way he dragged his feet. Querry thought it wise to put some distance between them and the ghosts of the burned-out bottling plant, so he urged his companion through the alleys until they reached the great, rusted pipe that had once spewed the factory’s waste into the river. They continued to walk beside the water, away from the factory district and toward Neroche.

“This is wrong,” the gentleman said in a frightened whisper. “The stars are so dull.”

“Pollution, I’d wager,” Querry said.

“No. Where are the voices of the trees? The song of the ocean and the wind? What has happened here?”

“I don’t know,” Querry admitted. He couldn’t name the change he sensed in the world. He supposed everything felt washed-out, muted. He moved as fast as he could toward the nearest bridge, toward the west side of Halcyon. “Let’s get home.”

“Home,” the gentleman moaned. “This place is… sucking… the life… out of me. I don’t understand how this can be.”

“My people are poisoning the sea and sky,” Querry said. “I’m sure that’s what you’re feeling.” The faerie had slowed and taken hold of the bridge railing. They inched their way over the great expanse of fetid river water as Querry tried to reassure his companion.

“No,” the gentleman began, but a loud voice interrupted him.

“You there! Stop where you are.”

Querry looked to his left and saw three patrolmen headed their way. He swore under his breath. Then he forced a laughed, indicated the gentleman with his chin and said, “He’s had a few too many.”

“Bring out your papers,” one of them said, “both of you. Now!”

“This is a misunderstanding,” Querry began.

“Nonsense,” the gentleman said, reaching into his pocket. “The papers you require are right here.” He handed the burly officer a stack of yellow leaves.

“You think you’re funny, you faerie son of a bitch?” He unbuckled the club from his belt and lifted his arm to strike the gentleman.

The fey laughed and pointed his fingers toward the cudgel. Querry would never know his intention, because the thick wood smacked the side of his head with a hollow thud, and he sprawled on the ground. The other two officers joined their comrade, encircling the faerie, vicious grins beneath their moustaches.

Querry had no time to ponder what had just happened. He had to act. He pulled his pistol, took a few steps back, and fired three times, striking each of the constables once in the leg. As they crumpled, he holstered his gun and drew his sword, holding it to each of their throats as he removed their firearms and flung them into the water.

“You’ll hang for this,” one of them said.

“Treason!”

The third man reached for a whistle around his neck and gave it a deafening blow. Ears ringing, Querry knelt beside his gentleman and tried desperately to rouse him. When he failed, he scooped him into his arms. They had to escape before the rest of the city guards arrived. Luckily the gentleman was surprisingly light despite his stature. Querry couldn’t exactly run, but he made his way briskly toward Hawthorne Street. He heard shouts and more whistles behind him. They had to reach Neroche; Querry couldn’t hope to overcome the dozen or so men he heard gathering. He needed the gentleman’s magic, but his stamina waned with each step he took. Finally he resolved to rest in a sewer pipe down an embankment from the street.

Querry lay the gentleman against the semicircular wall of stone and crouched in the trickle of cold water, rubbing his biceps and thighs. He heard a groan and the gentleman’s eyes opened, glowing like a cat’s.

“Oh thank God,” Querry breathed. “Get us out of here. We’re in heaps of trouble.”

“I- I can’t,” the fey whimpered.

“What? Do what you did on the cliff! Swirl us back to your manor house, or we’re dead!” He could hear the guards shouting to one another as they searched for “the faerie-loving little bastard and the goddamned sprite.” They were maybe half a block away. Querry and the gentleman wouldn’t be able to emerge from the sewer pipe, or they’d be shot on sight. Querry wouldn’t have thought a bullet would harm the fey, but now he wasn’t so sure.

“Sir, please,” Querry said, taking his hand.

“My head,” he grumbled. “What a strange sensation….”

“Sir, we’ve got to go!”

“I’ve told you there’s nothing I can do,” he snarled, growing irritated.

“Then we crawl for it,” Querry said, pointing into the dark depths of the pipe. He expected strong protests from his companion, but none came, and Querry began to lead the way through the fetid tunnel. They made their way slowly. Querry’s knees cracked and bled under the combination of frigid water and coarse cement. Even through his armored gloves, his palms scraped raw and broke open. The gentleman would be hurting worse in nothing but his fancy suit, but he didn’t complain. Querry heard his labored breathing. He looked over his shoulders and found the chartreuse eyes markedly dimmed.

They reached a grate and Querry tried to estimate how far they’d come and in what direction. He felt fairly certain they’d come out only a block or two from Neroche. Unfortunately, if the guards had any sense, Neroche would be the first place they’d look. Querry cocked his head but didn’t hear anything. He turned to the faerie. “How are you feeling? Will you be able to run?”

“I’m going to make these plebeians pay for what they’ve done to me,” he hissed. “I’ll curse their families for seven generations!”

“Yes, sir,” Querry said. “Just as soon as we make it out of here. Is there anything you can do to help me?”

“Give me that sword. I know how to use it.”

“All right then.” Querry unsheathed his blade and handed it over. With a few kicks he dislodged the rusty grate from the stone, and he pushed it aside so that they could crawl out. He offered his hand to the gentleman as he scanned around. Ivy and moss covered the empty houses, a good sign. “We shouldn’t have far to go.”

“I don’t know,” the faerie said, a shiver in his voice. “I can’t feel it.”

“It’s just through here.” Querry held his wrist, and they sprinted down the street, turning left at the end. The two trees marking the entrance appeared, but leafless and dead. The gentleman said a word in his language that expressed so much anger and fear that Querry’s stomach clenched at the sound of it.

“We thought you rascals might come this way,” said a voice. Before Querry could even turn toward it, a shot rang out. The gentleman yelled as the bullet grazed his upper thigh, drawing a font of blood. Querry pulled his pistol and spun on his heel, firing indiscriminately at the source of the shot.

“Run!” he told the faerie.

“I’m bleeding,” he said, more taken by the peculiarity than the pain.

“Sir, just go!” Querry reloaded his weapon as he backed toward the trees and carpeted the area in front of him with bullets. He heard the faerie’s boots on the cobblestone as he frantically fed bullets into his gun, resolving to find some way to increase its ammunition capacity in the future. “Get behind something!” he instructed. “Get back to the Other World!”

“Querrilous—”

“Go!” A bullet whizzed by Querry’s waist, but he tucked and rolled to the side to avoid it. With another leap he made it to the shelter of one of the desiccated faerie trees. He crouched behind the trunk and yelled, “Come and get me, you sons of whores!” Predictably, the guards’ fear of Neroche held them at bay. Querry emptied his gun in the direction of the incoming shots, and looked at the handful of bullets he had remaining before reloading for the last time. Instead of firing haphazardly, he squinted into the darkness. He noticed a fleeting gleam of metal around the side of a crumbling wall and took the shot. He grinned when he heard a hollered curse, but he only had another four bullets. He looked over his shoulder, hoping to retreat deeper into Neroche, scanning around for something to cover his escape. Neroche was not only abandoned, though, it was
gone.
Where the streetlights and manor houses had once stood, only piles of dust and rubble remained, as if the quarter had been deserted for a thousand years. Winding between the piles of debris, Querry discerned a narrow path. It led up a hill and into an eerily familiar, gray wood. At the point where the trail disappeared into the trees, he saw a bright, white, circular gateway. If he could make it there, he knew he’d cross the veil, but it meant almost half a mile of running out in the open. Querry swore with uncertainty. While glad his dear gentleman had made it to safety, he missed the faerie’s reassuring presence.

A bullet struck the tree, showering Querry’s face with shards of bark. He shielded his head with his arms and looked again at the path. He fired at a movement in the shadows, though his shot bounced off the snowy ground. Three bullets left. Querry took a deep breath, sprinted a few paces, and knelt behind a pile of square stones. The guards shot, but their bullets pinged off the blocks. He ran to the next pile of rubble and made it unscathed. The way before him offered no shelter, but he decided to chance it. The patrolmen had been so liberal with their ammunition that he doubted they could have much left. He stood up and ran and for it. The lack of fire told him his guess had been spot on.

Nothing lined the rest of the trail but some brittle, frost-gilded grass. It sparkled in the moonlight as Querry pushed himself hard toward the shelter of the wood. To his shock, he heard heavy footsteps behind him.

“Come on, lads,” one of the guards called. “There ain’t no faeries here! Let’s make this son of a bitch pay!” The others, probably six or eight of them, yelled their agreement.

Energy fading, Querry summoned a last burst of speed, but it wasn’t enough. A large hand caught his shoulder and yanked him back. His heel slipped on a patch of ice as he tried to pull away, and his tailbone smacked the hard ground. The guard who’d caught him raised his baton and swung for Querry’s head, but the thief rolled to the side and avoided the blow. Scrambling to his feet, Querry reached for his sword and swore out loud when he remembered he’d given it to his gentleman. Without it, with only his bare hands, he’d have little chance against the six hulking figures that approached him, slapping their sticks against their palms and chuckling with anticipation. The one who’d grabbed him struck out again, toward Querry’s ribs. He dodged, but he wouldn’t be able to keep dodging once all seven of them surrounded him. Already they closed the circle. Querry looked for something to back up against, but there was nothing but shadow and cold air.

“You’re gonna answer for what you did to our mates, faerie-lover,” one of them snarled.

“Time to take your medicine, boy.” A club struck him between the shoulder blades. By the time he turned to try to defend himself, another hit his lower back and sent him down on his elbows. Blows rained down, and the best Querry could do was try to cover his head. When he attempted to crawl away, a boot blocked his way. He felt a rib crack, and he swore. After everything they’d done, after as close as they’d come, it was going to end like this. Querry couldn’t see any way to save himself.

But he had to try. Ignoring the pain, he punched at the kneecap nearest him. The man didn’t fall, and Querry brought his wrist up between his legs. This time he crumpled and collapsed. Querry grabbed the baton that fell from his hand and swung his arm out to the right, dropping another of his attackers. That gave him time to stagger to his feet, and at least now he had a weapon. Stumbling backward, almost tripping over the groaning patrolman, he widened his stance and prepared to fight. He was bruised and bloody, hurting all over, and he still faced five men. They approached Querry cautiously, and he raised his stick.

“Well, this will be a bit of sport,” said a voice to Querry’s left, that managed a derisive giggle in spite of the pain that tightened it.

“Sir?”

The faerie bounced the hilt of the sword in his hand, testing the weight. “This is a good blade,” he remarked. Without another word, he lunged forward, spun, and vanquished two of the guards with much more elaborate flourish and showmanship than necessary. The remaining man stood with his mouth hanging open before he turned and ran.

Catching his breath and holding his side, Querry took a second to look at his savior, now that he was safe. The faerie’s skin was pale and waxy, and his blood darkened his pant leg to the cuff. Still, a curious smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He offered Querry his arm, and they locked elbows before limping toward the portal and disappearing into it.

E
VERYTHING
went black and then exploded into blinding white. Querry pitched forward and would have somersaulted down the steep, snowy path if his gentleman hadn’t caught his arm. For many minutes he perceived only blurs of ivory and brown, accompanied by an intense pounding and humming between his ears. His stomach cartwheeled; his legs wouldn’t hold him. Querry reached across his chest and clung desperately to his gentleman’s lapel until his eyes started to focus and his nausea settled. When it did, he recognized the Eastern hillside that led to the wizard’s lodge. His spirits rose as soon as he realized Reg waited just down the path.

Querry felt a pang of guilt when he looked over and noticed the faerie’s pallor and the blood that streamed onto the snow with every step he took. “Let me help you,” Querry offered. He expected resistance, pride, but the other smiled weakly and offered his elbow. Together they carefully picked their way down the rocky trail to the little cabin. By the time they reached the front door, Querry’s gentleman put most of his weight on Querry. Querry knocked on the door as the fey slipped his arm over Querry’s shoulders and let his knees bend. His head drooped forward and his breath grew jagged and irregular. For the first time since the shooting, Querry worried. Certain metals did great harm to the Fair Folk. How much blood could one of them stand to lose? The gentleman’s skin and sinew felt the same under Querry’s hands as any other man. Maybe he wasn’t as omnipotent as the thief had always assumed. What if he died?