james
Regulus Black didn’t need a reason. Those were the words whispered on the streets of Ketterdam, in the taverns and coffeehouses, in the dark and bleeding alleys of the pleasure district known as the Barrel. The boy they called Dirtyhands didn’t need a reason any more than he needed permission – to break a leg, sever an alliance, or change a man’s fortunes with the turn of a card.
Of course they were wrong, James considered as he crossed the bridge over the black waters of the Beurscanal to the deserted main square that fronted the Exchange. Every act of violence was deliberate, and every favour came with enough strings attached to stage a puppet show. Regulus always had his reasons. James could just never be sure they were good ones. Especially tonight.
James checked his knives, silently reciting their names as he always did when he thought there might be trouble. It was a practical habit, but a comfort, too. The blades were his companions. He liked knowing they were ready for whatever the night might bring.
He saw Regulus and the others gathered near the great stone arch that marked the eastern entrance to the Exchange. Three words had been carved into the rock above them: Enjent , Voorhent , Almhent .
Industry, Integrity, Prosperity.
He kept close to the shuttered shop fronts that lined the square, avoiding the pockets of flickering gaslight cast by the streetlamps. As he moved, he inventoried the crew had brought with him: Emmeline, Dorcas, Barty, Xeno, Pandora, and Evan, and his chosen seconds for tonight’s parley, Lily and Peter. They jostled and bumped each other, laughing, stamping their feet against the cold snap that had surprised the city this week, the last gasp of winter before spring began in earnest. They were all bruisers and brawlers, culled from the younger members of the Dregs, the people Regulus trusted most. James noted the glint of knives tucked into their belts, lead pipes, weighted chains, axe handles studded with rusty nails, and here and there, the oily gleam of a gun barrel. He slipped silently into their ranks, scanning the shadows near the Exchange for signs of Black Tip spies.
“Three ships!” Lily was saying. “The Shu sent them. They were just sitting in First Harbour, cannons out, red flags flying, stuffed to the sails with gold.”
Peter gave a low whistle. “Would have liked to see that.”
“Would have liked to steal that,” replied Lily. “Half the Merchant Council was down there agitated, moving up and down, trying to figure out what to do.”
“Don’t they want the Shu paying their debts?” Peter asked.
Regulus shook his head, dark hair glinting in the lamplight. He was a collection of hard lines and tailored edges – sharp jaw, lean build, wool coat snug across his shoulders. “Yes and no,” he said in his rocksalt rasp. “It’s always good to have a country in debt to you. Makes for friendlier negotiations.”
“Maybe the Shu are done being friendly,” said Lily. “They didn’t have to send all that treasure at once. You think they stuck that trade ambassador?”
Regulus’ eyes found James unerringly in the crowd. Ketterdam had been buzzing about the assassination of the ambassador for weeks. It had nearly destroyed Kerch-Zemeni relations and sent the Merchant Council into an uproar. The Zemeni blamed the Kerch. The Kerch suspected the Shu. Regulus didn’t care who was responsible; the murder fascinated him because he couldn’t figure out how it had been accomplished. In one of the busiest corridors of the Stadhall, in full view of more than a dozen government officials, the Zemeni trade ambassador had stepped into a washroom. No one else had entered or left, but when his aide knocked on the door a few minutes later, there had been no answer.
When they’d broken down the door, they’d found the ambassador facedown
on the white tiles, a knife in his back, the taps still running. Regulus had sent James to investigate the premises after hours. The washroom had no other entrance, no windows or vents, and even James hadn’t mastered the art of squeezing himself through the plumbing. Yet the Zemeni ambassador was dead. Regulus hated a puzzle he couldn’t solve, and he and James had concocted a hundred theories to account for the murder – none of which satisfied. But they had more pressing problems tonight.
James saw him signal to Lily and Peter to divest themselves of weapons. Street law dictated that for a parley of this kind each lieutenant be seconded by two of his foot soldiers and that they all be unarmed.
Parley. The word felt like a deception – strangely prim, an antique. No matter what street law decreed, this night smelled like violence.
Peter dropped a hatchet, a switchblade, and his preferred weapon – a thick chain
weighted with a heavy padlock – into Dorcas’ expectant hands.
Lily did not have to hand in any weapons. As a Heartrender, she was able to kill another Heartrender from afar, defeat an entire army single handedly, control hundreds of unconscious soldiers, and heal fatal shots, amongst many of her abilities. Weapons were simply useless to her.
“What about that?” Lily asked, gesturing to Regulus’ walking stick.
Regulus’ laugh was low and humourless. “Who’d deny a poor man of his cane?”
“If it is you, then any man with sense.”
“Then it’s a good thing we’re meeting Greyback.” Regulus drew a watch from his vest pocket. “It’s almost midnight.”
James turned his gaze to the Exchange. It was little more than a large rectangular courtyard surrounded by warehouses and shipping offices. But during the day, it was the heart of Ketterdam, bustling with wealthy merchants buying and selling shares in the trade voyages that passed through the city’s ports. Now it was nearly twelve bells, and the Exchange was deserted but for the guards who patrolled the perimeter and the rooftop. They’d been bribed to look the other way during tonight’s parley.
The Exchange was one of the few remaining parts of the city that hadn’t been divided up and claimed in the ceaseless skirmishes between Ketterdam’s rival gangs. It was supposed to be neutral territory. But it didn’t feel neutral to James. It felt like the hush of the woods before the snare yanks tight and the rabbit starts to scream. It felt like a trap.
He shook his head. “This is a mistake,” he said.
Peter started; he hadn’t known he was standing there. James heard the name the Order preferred for his whispered among their ranks – Prongs. “Greyback is up to something.”
“Of course he is,” said Regulus. His voice had the rough, abraded texture of stone against stone. James always wondered if he’d sounded that way as a little boy. Had he been careless, playing in the mud and making a mess of his clothes like James had done so many times as a child, or had he always been so reclusive and cold? He was afraid Regulus would never tell him.
“Then why come here tonight?”
“Because this is the way Snape wants it.”
Snape was utterly useless. The Order would do better without him, James thought but didn’t say, and he suspected the rest of the Order were thinking the same thing.
“He’s going to get us all killed,” James said.
Lily rolled her eyes. “Statistically, he’ll probably only get some of us killed.”
“Come on, Evans, it’s not something to joke about,” he replied.
The look Regulus cast him was amused. He knew how he sounded – stern, fussy, like an old crone making dire pronouncements from her porch. It was not like him. James was an enthusiast by nature, the bright sun warming up Regulus and Lily’s cold, cold hearts. He didn’t like saying it, but he also knew he was right.
Besides, old women must know something, or they wouldn’t live to gather wrinkles and yell from their front steps.
“Lily isn’t making a joke, James,” said Regulus. “She’s figuring the odds.”
Peter cracked his knuckles. “Well, I’ve got lager and a skillet of eggs waiting for me at the Kooperom, so I can’t be the one to die tonight.”
“Care to place a wager, Pettigrew?” Lily asked.
“I’m not going to bet on my own death.”
Regulus flipped his hat onto his head and ran his gloved fingers along the brim
in a quick salute. “Why not, Peter? We do it every day.”
He was right. James’ debt meant he gambled his life every time he took on a new job or assignment, every time he left his room at the Slat. Tonight was no different.
Regulus struck his walking stick against the cobblestones as the bells from the Church of Barter began to chime. The group fell silent. The time for talk was done. “Greyback isn’t smart, but he’s just bright enough to be trouble,” said Regulus. “No matter what you hear, you don’t join the fray unless I give the command. Stay sharp.” Then he gave James a brief nod. “And stay hidden.”
“No mourners,” Lily said.
“No funerals,” the rest of the Order murmured in reply. Among them, it passed for ‘good luck’.
Before James could melt into the shadows, Regulus tapped his arm with his crow’s head cane. “Keep a watch on the rooftop guards. Greyback may have them in his pocket.”
“Then—” James began, but Regulus was already gone.
James sighed and threw up his hands in frustration. He had a hundred questions, but as usual, Regulus was keeping a stranglehold on the answers. He jogged towards the canal-facing wall of the Exchange. Only the lieutenants and their seconds were allowed to enter during the parley. But just in case the Black Tips got any ideas, the other members of the Order would be waiting right outside the eastern arch with weapons at the ready. He knew Greyback would have his crew of heavily armed Black Tips gathered at the western entrance.
James would find his own way in. The rules of fair play among the gangs had been established for years now. Besides, he was Prongs – the only law that applied to him was gravity, and some days he defied that, too.
The lower level of the Exchange was dedicated to windowless warehouses, so James located a drainpipe to shin up. Something made him hesitate before he wrapped his hand around it. He drew a bonelight from his pocket and gave it a shake, casting a pale green glow over the pipe. It was slick with oil. He followed the wall, seeking another option, and found a stone cornice bearing a statue of Kerch’s three flying fishes within reach. He stood on his toes and tentatively felt along the top of the cornice. It had been covered in ground glass. I am expected , he thought with grim pleasure.
He’d joined up with the Order less than two years ago, just days after his eighteen birthday. It had been a matter of survival, but it gratified him to know that, in such a short time, he’d become someone to take precautions against. Though, if the Black Tips thought tricks like this would keep Prongs from his goal, they were sadly mistaken.
He drew two climbing spikes from the pockets of his quilted vest and wedged first one then the other between the bricks of the wall as he hoisted himself higher, his questing feet finding the smallest holds and ridges in the stone. As a child learning the highwire, he’d gone barefoot. But the streets of Ketterdam were too cold and wet for that. After a few bad spills, he’d paid a Grisha Fabrikator working in secret out of a gin shop on the Wijnstraat to make him a pair of leather shoes with nubbly rubber soles.
They were perfectly fitted to his feet and gripped any surface with surety. On the second story of the Exchange, he hoisted himself onto a window ledge just wide enough to perch on. Regulus had done his best to teach him, but he didn’t quite have his way with breaking and entering, at least not yet, and it took him a few tries to finesse the lock.
Finally he heard a satisfying click, and the window swung open on a deserted office, its walls covered in maps marked with trade routes, and chalkboards listing share prices and the names of ships. He ducked inside, refastened the latch, and picked his way past the empty desks with their neat stacks of orders and tallies.
He crossed to a slender set of doors and stepped onto a balcony that overlooked the central courtyard of the Exchange. Each of the shipping offices had one. From here, callers announced new voyages and arrivals of inventory, or hung the black flag that indicated that a ship had been lost at sea with all its cargo. The floor of the Exchange would erupt into a flurry of trades, runners would spread the word throughout the city, and the price of goods, futures, and shares in outgoing voyages would rise or fall.
But tonight all was silence.
A wind came in off the harbour, bringing the smell of the sea, ruffling the hairs at the nape of James’ neck.
Down in the square, he saw the sway of lamplight and heard the thump of Regulus’ cane on the stones as he and his seconds made their way across the square. On the opposite side, he glimpsed another set of lanterns heading towards them. The Black Tips had arrived.
James raised his hood. He pulled himself onto the railing and leaped soundlessly to the neighbouring balcony, then the next, tracking Regulus and the others around the square, staying as close as he could. His dark coat rippled in the salt breeze, his limp more pronounced tonight, as it always was when the weather turned cold. He could hear Lily keeping up a lively stream of conversation, and Peter’s low, rumbling chuckle.
As he drew nearer to the other side of the square, James saw that Greyback had chosen to bring Bellatrix and Rodolphus – exactly as Regulus had predicted.
Regulus knew the strengths and weaknesses of every member of the Black Tips, not to mention the Death Eaters and every other gang working the streets of Ketterdam. It was his job to know that Greyback trusted Bellatrix because they’d come up through the ranks of the Black Tips together, and because Bellatrix was an intensely sadistic woman with brutal, violent tendencies, who people were afraid of.
He was suddenly glad Peter was with Regulus. That Regulus had chosen Lily to be one of his seconds was no surprise. She was at her best in a fight, and James knew Lily would do anything for Regulus.
He’d been less sure when Regulus had insisted on Peter as well. Peter was a bouncer at the Crow Club, perfectly suited to tossing out drunks and wasters, but too heavy on his feet to be much use when it came to a real tussle. Still, at least he was tall enough to look Bellatrix in the eye.
James didn’t want to think too much about Grayback's other second. Rodolphus made him nervous. He wasn’t as intimidating as Bellatrix. In fact, Rodolphus was made like a scarecrow – not scrawny, but as if beneath his clothes, his body had been put together at wrong angles. Word was he’d once crushed a man’s skull with his bare hands, wiped his palms clean on his shirtfront, and kept right on drinking.
James tried to quiet the unease roiling through him, and listened as Grayback and
Regulus made small talk in the square while their seconds patted each of them down to make sure no one was carrying.
“Naughty,” Lily said as she removed a tiny knife from Bellatrix’s sleeve and tossed it across the square.
“Clear,” declared Peter as he finished patting down Grayback and moved on to Rodolphus.
Regulus and Grayback discussed the weather, the suspicion that the Kooperom was
serving watered-down drinks now that the rent had been raised – dancing around the real reason they’d come here tonight. In theory, they would chat, make their apologies, agree to respect the boundaries of Fifth Harbour, then all head out to find a
drink together – at least that’s what Severus Snape had insisted.
But what does Severus know? James thought as he looked for the guards patrolling the roof above, trying to pick out their shapes in the dark. Snape ran the Order, but these days, he preferred to sit in the warmth of his room, drinking lukewarm lager, building model ships, and telling long stories of his exploits to anyone who would listen. He seemed to think territory wars could be settled as they once had been: with a short scuffle and a friendly handshake. But every one of James’ senses told him that was not how this was going to play out.
His father would have said the shadows were about their own business tonight. Something bad was going to happen here.
Regulus stood with both gloved hands resting on the carved crow’s head of his cane. He looked totally at ease, his narrow face obscured by the brim of his hat. Most gang members in the Barrel loved flash: gaudy waistcoats, watch fobs studded with false gems, trousers in every print and pattern imaginable. Regulus was the exception – the picture of restraint, his dark vests and trousers simply cut and tailored along severe lines. At first, he’d thought it was a matter of taste, but James had come to understand that it was a joke he played on the upstanding merchers. He enjoyed looking like one of them.
“I’m a business man,” he’d told him. “No more, no less.”
“You’re a thief, Regulus.”
“Isn’t that what I just said?”
Now he looked like some kind of priest come to preach to a group of circus performers. A young priest, he thought with another pang of unease. Regulus had called Greyback old and washed up, but he certainly didn’t seem that way tonight. The Black Tips’ lieutenant might have wrinkles creasing the corners of his eyes and burgeoning jowls beneath his sideburns, but he looked confident, experienced. Next to him Regulus looked … well, nineteen.
“Let’s be fair, yeah? All we want is a bit more scrub,” Greyback said, tapping the mirrored buttons of his lime-green waistcoat. “It’s not fair for you to cull every spend-happy tourist stepping off a pleasure boat at Fifth Harbour.”
“Fifth Harbour is ours, Greyback,” Regulus replied. “The Order get first crack at the pigeons who come looking for a little fun.”
Greyback shook his head. “You’re a young one,” he said with an indulgent laugh. “Maybe you don’t understand how these things work. The harbours belong to the city, and we have as much right to them as anyone. We’ve all got a living to make.”
Technically, that was true. But Fifth Harbour had been useless and all but abandoned by the city when Regulus had taken it over. He’d had it dredged, and then built out the docks and the quay, and he’d had to mortgage the Crow Club to do it. Severus Snape had railed at him and called him a fool for the expense, but eventually he’d relented.
According to Regulus, the man’s exact words had been, “Take all that rope and hang yourself.” But the endeavour had paid for itself in less than a year. Now Fifth Harbour offered berths to mercher ships, as well as boats from all over the world carrying tourists and soldiers eager to see the sights and sample the pleasures of Ketterdam. The Order of the Phoenix got first try at all of them, steering them – and their wallets – into brothels, taverns, and gambling dens owned by the gang. Fifth Harbour had made the Order’s official leader very rich, and cemented the gang as real players in the Barrel in a way that not even the success of the Crow Club had.
But with profit came unwanted attention.
Greyback and the Black Tips had been making trouble for the Order all year, encroaching on Fifth Harbour, picking off pigeons that weren’t rightfully theirs.
“Fifth Harbour is ours,” Regulus repeated. “It isn’t up for negotiation. You’re cutting into our traffic from the docks, and you intercepted a shipment of jurda that should have docked two nights ago.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know it comes easy, Greyback, but try not to play dumb with me.”
Greyback took a step forward. Lily and Peter tensed.
“Quit flexing, boy,” Greyback said. “We all know Snape doesn’t have the stomach for a real brawl.”
Regulus’ laugh was dry as the rustle of dead leaves. “But I’m the one at your table, Greyback, and I’m not here for a taste. You want a war, I’ll make sure you eat your fill.”
“And what if you’re not around, Black? Everyone knows you’re the spine of Snape’s operation – snap it and the Order collapse.”
Lily snorted. “Stomach, spine. What’s next, spleen?”
“Shut it,” Rodolphus snarled. The rules of parley dictated that only the lieutenants could speak once negotiations had begun. Lily mouthed a mocking “sorry” and elaborately pantomimed locking her lips shut.
“I’m fairly sure you’re threatening me, Greyback,” Regulus said. “But I want to be certain before I decide what to do about it.”
“Sure of yourself, aren’t you, Black?”
“Myself and nothing else.”
Greyback burst out laughing and elbowed Bellatrix. “Listen to this cocky little piece of crap. Black, you don’t own these streets. Kids like you are fleas. A new crop of you turns up every few years to annoy your betters until a big dog decides to scratch. And let me tell you, I’m about tired of the itch.”
He crossed his arms, pleasure rolling off him in smug waves. “What if I told you there are two guards with city-issue rifles pointed at you and your gang right now?”
James’ stomach dropped. Was that what Regulus had meant when he said Grayback might have the guards in his pocket?
Regulus glanced up at the roof. “Hiring city guards to do your killing? I’d say that’s an expensive proposition for a gang like the Black Tips. I’m not sure I believe your coffers could support it.”
James climbed onto the railing and launched himself from the safety of the balcony, heading for the roof. If they survived the night, he was going to kill Regulus Black.
There were always two guards from the stadwatch posted on the roof of the Exchange. A few kruge from the Order and the Black Tips had ensured they wouldn’t interfere with the parley, a common enough transaction. But Greyback was implying something very different. Had he really managed to bribe city guards to play sniper for him? If so, the Order’s odds of surviving this night had just dwindled to a knife’s point.
Like most of the buildings in Ketterdam, the Exchange had a sharply gabled roof to keep off heavy rain, so the guards patrolled the rooftop via a narrow walkway that overlooked the courtyard. James ignored it. It was easier going but would leave him too exposed. Instead he scaled halfway up the slick roof tiles and started crawling, his body tilted at a precarious angle, moving like a spider as he kept one eye on the guards’ walkway and one ear on the conversation below. Maybe Greyback was bluffing. Or maybe two guards were hunched over the railing right now with Regulus or Lily or Peter in their sights.
“Took some doing,” Greyback admitted. “We’re a small operation right now, and city guards don’t come cheap. But it’ll be worth it for the prize.”
“That being me?”
“That being you.”
“I’m flattered.”
“The Order won’t last a week without you.”
“I’d give them a month on sheer momentum.”
The thought rattled noisily around in James’ head. If Regulus was gone, would I stay? Or would I skip out on my debt? Take my chances with Snape’s’ enforcers? If he didn’t move faster, he might well find out.
“Smug little slum rat.” Greyback laughed. “I can’t wait to wipe that look off your face.”
“So do it,” Regulus said. James risked a look down. His voice had changed, all humour gone.
“Should I have them put a bullet in your good leg, Black?”
Where are the guards? James thought, picking up his pace. He raced across the steep pitch of the gable. The Exchange stretched nearly the length of a city block. There was too much territory to cover.
“Stop talking, Greyback. Tell them to shoot.”
“Black—” said Lily nervously.
“Go on. Find your balls and give the order.”
What game was Regulus playing? Had he expected this? Had he just assumed James would find his way to the guards in time?
He glanced down again. Greyback radiated anticipation. He took a deep breath, puffing out his chest. James steps faltered, and he had to fight not to go sliding straight off the edge of the roof.
Greyback’s going to do it. I’m going to watch Regulus die.
“Fire!” Greyback shouted.
A gunshot split the air. Peter let loose a cry and crumpled to the ground.
“Damn it!” shouted Lily, dropping to one knee beside Peter and pressing his hand to the bullet wound as the big man moaned. “You worthless wanker!” she yelled at Greyback. “You just violated neutral territory.”
“Nothing to say you didn’t shoot first,” Greyback replied. “And who’s going to know? None of you are walking out of here.” Greyback’s voice sounded too high. He was trying to maintain his composure, but James could hear panic pulsing against his words, the startled wingbeat of a frightened bird. Why? Moments before he’d been all bluster.
That was when James saw Regulus still hadn’t moved. “You don’t look well, Grayback.”
“I’m just fine,” he said. But he wasn’t. He looked pale and shaky. His eyes were darting right and left as if searching the shadowed walkway of the roof.
“Are you?” Regulus asked conversationally. “Things aren’t going quite as planned, are they?”
“Black,” Lily said. “Peter’s bleeding bad—”
“Good,” Regulus said ignoring her.
“He needs a medik!”
Regulus spared the wounded man the barest glance. “What he needs to do is stop his bellyaching and be glad I didn’t have Holst take him down with a headshot.”
Even from above, James saw Greyback flinch.
“That’s the guard’s name, isn’t it?” Regulus asked. “Rabastan Lestrange and Mundungus Fletcher– the two city guards on duty tonight. The ones you emptied the Black Tips’ coffers to bribe?”
Greyback said nothing.
“Rabastan Lestrange,” Regulus said loudly, his voice floating up to the roof, “likes to
gamble, so your money held a lot of appeal. But Lestrange has much bigger problems – let’s call them urges. I won’t go into detail. A secret’s not like coin. It doesn’t keep its value in the spending. You’ll just have to trust me when I say this one would turn even your stomach. Isn’t that right, Lestrange?”
The response was another gunshot. It struck the cobblestones near Greyback’s feet. Greyback released a shocked bleat and sprang back.
This time James had a better chance to track the origin of the gunfire. The shot had come from somewhere near the west side of the building. If Lestrange was there, that meant the other guard – Mundungus Fletcher – would be on the east side. Had Regulus managed to neutralise him, too? Or was he counting on him? He sped over the gables.
“Just shoot him, Rabastan!” Greyback bellowed, desperation sawing at his voice. “Shoot him in the head!”
Regulus snorted in disgust. “Do you really think that secret would die with me? Go on, Lestrange,” he called. “Put a bullet in my skull. There will be messengers sprinting to your wife and your watch captain’s door before I hit the ground.”
No shot came.
“How?” Greyback said bitterly. “How did you even know who would be on duty tonight? I had to pay through the gills to get that roster. You couldn’t have outbid me.”
“Let’s say my currency carries more sway.”
“Money is money.”
“I trade in information, Greyback, the things men do when they think no one is looking. Shame holds more value than coin ever can.”
He was grandstanding, James saw that, buying him time as he leaped over the slate shingles.
“Are you worrying about the second guard? Good old Mundungus Fletcher?” Regulus asked. “Maybe he’s up there right now, wondering what he should do. Shoot me? Shoot Lestrange? Or maybe I got to him, too, and he’s getting ready to blow a hole in your chest, Grayback.”
He leaned in as if he and Grayback were sharing a great secret. “Why not give Fletcher the order and find out?”
Greyback opened and closed his mouth like a carp, then bellowed, “Fletcher!”
Just as Fletcher parted his lips to answer, James slipped up behind him and placed a blade to his throat. He’d barely had time to pick out his shadow and slide down the rooftiles. Saints, Regulus liked to cut it close.
“Shhhh,” he whispered in Fletcher’s ear. He gave him a tiny jab in the side so that he could feel the point of his second dagger pressed against his kidney.
“Please,” he moaned. “I—”
James grinned. “I like it when men beg,” he said. “But this isn’t the time for it.”
Below, he could see Grayback’ chest rising and falling with panicked breaths.
“Fletcher!” he shouted again. There was rage on his face when he turned back to Regulus. “Always one step ahead, aren’t you?”
“Grayback, when it comes to you, I’d say I have a running start.”
But Grayback just smiled – a tiny smile, tight and satisfied. A victor’s smile, James realised with fresh fear.
“The race isn’t over yet.” Grayback reached into his jacket and pulled out a heavy black pistol.
“Finally,” Regulus said. “The big reveal. Now Lily can stop keening over Peter.”
Lily stared at the gun with stunned, furious eyes. “Peter searched him. He … Oh, Peter, you moron,” she groaned.
James couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The guard in his arms released a tiny squeak. In his anger and surprise, he’d accidentally tightened his grip.
“Relax,” he said, easing his hold. But, all Saints, he wanted to put a knife through something. Peter had been the one to pat down Grayback. There was no way he could have missed the pistol. He’d betrayed them.
Was that why regulus had insisted on bringing Peter here tonight – so he’d have public confirmation that Peter had gone over to the Black Tips? It was certainly why he’d let Holst put a bullet in Peter’s gut. But so what? Now everyone knew Peter was a traitor. Regulus still had a gun pointed at his chest.
Grayback smirked. “R.A.B, the great escape artist. How are you going to wriggle your way out of this one?”
“Going out the same way I came in.” Regulus ignored the pistol, turning his attention to the big man lying on the ground. “Do you know what your problem is, Peter?” He jabbed at the wound in Pettigrew’s stomach with the tip of his cane. “That wasn’t a rhetorical question. Do you know what your biggest problem is?”
Pettigrew mewled. “No …”
“Give me a guess,” Regulus hissed.
Peter said nothing, just released another trembling whimper.
“All right, I’ll tell you. You’re lazy. I know it. Everyone knows it. So I had to ask myself why my laziest bouncer was getting up early twice a week to walk two extra miles to Cilla’s Fry for breakfast, especially when the eggs are so much better at the Kooperom. Peter becomes an early riser, the Black Tips start throwing their weight around Fifth Harbour and then intercept our biggest shipment of jurda . It wasn’t a tough connection to make.” He sighed and said to Grayback, “This is what happens when stupid people start making big plans, yeah?”
“Doesn’t matter much now, does it?” replied Grayback. “This gets ugly, I’m shooting from close range. Maybe your guards get me or my guys, but no way you’re going to dodge this bullet.”
Regulus stepped into the barrel of the gun so that it was pressed directly against his chest. “No way at all, Grayback.”
“You think I won’t do it?”
“Oh, I think you’d do it gladly, with a song in your black heart. But you won’t. Not tonight.”
Grayback’s finger twitched on the trigger.
“Reg,” Lily said quietly. “This whole ‘shoot me’ thing is starting to concern me.”
Rodolphus didn’t bother to object to Lily mouthing off this time. One man was down. Neutral territory had been violated. The sharp tang of gunpowder already hung in the air – and along with it a question, unspoken in the quiet, as if the Reaper himself awaited the answer: How much blood will be shed tonight?
In the distance a siren wailed.
“Nineteen Burstraat,” Regulus said.
Grayback had been shifting slightly from foot to foot; now he went very still.
“That’s your girl’s address, isn’t it, Grayback?”
He swallowed. “Don’t have a girl.”
“Oh yes, you do,” crooned Regulus. “She’s pretty, too. Well, pretty enough for a fink like you. Seems sweet. You love her, don’t you?”
Even from the rooftop, James could see the sheen of sweat on Grayback’s waxen face. “Of course you do. No one that fine should ever have looked twice at Barrel scum like you, but she’s different. She finds you charming. Sure sign of madness if you ask me, but love is strange that way. Does she like to rest her pretty head on your shoulder? Listen to you talk about your day?”
He looked at Regulus as if he was finally seeing him for the first time. The boy he’d been talking to had been cocky, reckless, easily amused, but not frightening – not really. Now the monster was here, dead-eyed and unafraid.
Regulus Black was gone, and Dirtyhands had come to see the rough work
done.
“She lives at Nineteen Burstraat,” Regulus said in his gravelly rasp. “Three floors up, geraniums in the windowboxes. There are two Order members waiting outside her door right now, and if I don’t walk out of here whole and feeling righteous, they will set that place alight from floor to rooftop. It will go up in seconds, burning from both ends with poor Elise trapped in the middle. Her blonde hair will catch first. Like the wick of a candle.”
“You’re bluffing,” said Greyback, but his pistol hand was trembling.
Regulus lifted his head and inhaled deeply. “Getting late now. You heard the siren. I smell the harbour on the wind, sea and salt, and maybe – is that smoke I smell, too?” There was pleasure in his voice.
Oh, Saints, Reg, James thought miserably. What have you done now?
Again, Grayback’ finger twitched on the trigger, and James tensed.
“I know, Grayback. I know,” Regulus said sympathetically. “All that planning and scheming and bribing for nothing. That’s what you’re thinking right now. How bad it will feel to walk home knowing what you’ve lost. How angry your boss is going to be when you show up empty-handed and that much poorer for it. How satisfying it would be to put a bullet in my heart. You can do it. Pull the trigger. We can all go down together. They can take our bodies out to the Reaper ’s Barge for burning, like all paupers go. Or you can take the blow to your pride, go back to Burstraat, lay your head in your girl’s lap, fall asleep still breathing, and dream of revenge. It’s up to you,Grayback. Do we get to go home tonight?”
Grayback searched Regulus’ gaze, and whatever he saw there made his shoulders sag. James was surprised to feel a pang of pity for him. He’d walked into this place buoyed on bravado, a survivor, a champion of the Barrel. He’d leave as another victim of Dirtyhands.
“You’ll get what’s coming to you some day, Black.”
“I will,” said Regulus, “if there’s any justice in the world. And we all know how likely that is.”
Grayback let his arm drop. The pistol hung uselessly by his side.
Regulus stepped back, brushing the front of his shirt where the gun barrel had rested. “Go and tell your general to keep the Black Tips out of Fifth Harbour and that we expect him to make amends for the shipment of jurda we lost, plus five per cent for drawing steel on neutral ground and five per cent more for being such a spectacular bunch of asses.”
Then Regulus’ cane swung in a sudden sharp arc. Grayback screamed as his wrist bones shattered. The gun clattered to the paving stones.
“I stood down!” cried Gtrayback, cradling his hand. “I stood down!”
“You draw on me again, I’ll break both your wrists, and you’ll have to hire
someone to help you take a piss.” Regulus tipped the brim of his hat up with the head of his cane. “Or maybe you can get the lovely Elise to do it for you.”
Regulus crouched down beside Peter Pettigrew. The big man whimpered. “Look at me, Pettigrew. Assuming you don’t bleed to death tonight, you have until sunset tomorrow to get out of Ketterdam. I hear you’re anywhere near the city limits, and they’ll find you stuffed in a keg at Cilla’s Fry.” Then he looked at Grayback. “You help Pettigrew, or I find out he’s running with the Black Tips, don’t think I won’t come after you.”
“Please, Black,” moaned Peter.
“You had a home, and you put a wrecking ball through the front door. Don’t look for sympathy from me.” He rose and checked his pocket watch. “I didn’t expect this to go on so long. I’d best be on my way or poor Elise will be getting a trifle warm.”
Greyback shook his head. “There’s something wrong with you, Black. I don’t know what you are, but you’re not made right.”
Regulus cocked his head to one side. “You’re from the suburbs, aren’t you, Greyback? Came to the city to try your luck?” He smoothed his lapel with one gloved hand. “Well, I’m the kind of bastard they only manufacture in the Barrel.”
Despite the loaded gun at the Black Tips’ feet, Regulus turned his back on them and limped across the cobblestones towards the eastern arch. Lily squatted down next to Peter and gave him a gentle pat on the cheek.
“Moron,” she said sadly, and followed Regulus out of the Exchange.
From the roof, James continued to watch as Rodolphus picked up and holstered
Greyback’s gun and the Black Tips said a few quiet words to each other.
“Don’t leave,” Peter begged. “Don’t leave me.” He tried to cling to the cuff of Greyback’s trousers.
Greyback shook him off. They left him curled on his side, leaking blood onto the cobblestones.
James plucked Fletcher’s rifle from his hands before he released him. “Go home,” he told the guard.
He cast a single terrified glance over his shoulder and sprinted off down the walkway. Far below, Pettigrew had started trying to drag himself across the floor of the Exchange. He might be stupid enough to cross Regulus Black, but he’d survived this long in the Barrel, and that took will. He might make it.
Help him, a voice inside him said.
Until a few moments ago, he’d been his brother in arms. It seemed wrong to leave him alone. He could go to him, offer to put him out of his misery quickly, hold his hand as he passed. He could fetch a medik to save him.
Instead, he spoke a quick prayer in the language of his Saints and began the steep climb down the outer wall. James pitied the boy who might die alone with no one to comfort him in his last hours or who might live and spend his life as an exile. But the night’s work wasn’t yet over, and Prongs didn’t have time for traitors.