Droplets of sweat were beading his forehead. Maggs didn’t feel good at all.
But he had a gun, and he wasn’t afraid to use it.
EIGHTEEN
Zolunder’s
Someone was knocking on the street door. The knocking was disturbing the cantor-finches, and they were banging and twittering around their delicate cages in dismay. Midnight had long passed. Elodie wasn’t sure if that made it ridiculously late or ridiculously early.
She checked the security monitor covering the red door, but whoever was knocking was standing just out of pict-view. And why were they knocking when there was a perfectly good bell?
Elodie yawned. The night after the raid, Urbano had decided not to open. This had surprised Elodie, because Cyrus Urbano was normally such a get back on the frigging steed kind of man. There had been something funny in the air that day, though, and it wasn’t just the sting of being taken for such a huge score, or the miserable snowstorm that had come in, out of season and unwelcome.
Urbano had told her to send everyone home for a day or two, and had then gone out to attend to some business.
Now someone was knocking on the street door.
Elodie had fallen asleep on the couch in her dress. Xomat, the member of parlour security who’d pulled premises watch that night, had long since drunk himself to sleep, and was snoring in the greeter lounge.
Elodie got up. The knocking came again. Then whoever it was found the bell-push at last, and started pressing it hard.
She took the las-snub out of the under-bar drawer, and tucked it into the back of her sash. She went to the street door and peered through the spyhole.
Outside, dawn was fighting a losing battle with the snowstorm. The court was a dim, lightless void, especially as the garmentfab had shut and no light was coming down from its windows. There was somebody out there. Elodie just couldn’t see who.
She opened the door. The new lock they’d been obliged to fit following the raid was stiff.
‘Oh, thank the Throne,’ said the girl on the doorstep. ‘I was starting to think no one was here.’
‘Banda?’
Banda looked pinched and tearful. She was still dressed in the red silk gown she’d been wearing when the Commissariat had carted her away, and not much else. She was shivering, and leaning on the gryphon’s beak of the black iron handrail for support.
‘What are you doing here?’ Elodie asked.
‘They let me go,’ Banda said. ‘Hey, can I come in?’
‘They let you go?’
‘Yeah, yeah. No charges. They questioned me. Fething Commissariat. Then they slammed me in a cell overnight. But they had nothing on me, so they let me go.’
‘What are you doing here?’ Elodie repeated.
Banda gazed at her, a hurt expression on her face.
‘Where else was I supposed to go?’
‘Not here,’ said Elodie. ‘Go away.’
‘What? Fething what? I took one for the team and you’re brushing me off?’
‘Not me,’ said Elodie. ‘I’m sorry, Tanith. Urbano doesn’t want you around. He told me to let you go. He doesn’t like hostesses who–’
‘Who what?’
‘Who get picked up. I know it wasn’t you, although you should have known better. You should have pulled your head in. It doesn’t matter. Urbano wants you gone. He’s superstitious. He doesn’t like the connection. Come back in a week or two, and maybe I’ll be able to find you an opening at one of the other parlours.’
‘I don’t believe this,’ Banda replied. Her voice sounded as if it had been crushed flat. She sat on the snow-crusted step and began to tear up.
‘Oh, come on. Go home,’ said Elodie.
‘I’ve got no home,’ Banda snivelled. ‘Tanith burned, remember?’
‘I didn’t mean. Oh, Throne, this really isn’t my problem. You must have friends in the city, family?’
Banda shrugged, and said, ‘I don’t know anybody.’ She looked at Elodie. ‘Maybe I can talk to Urbano? Make him see sense?’ she asked.
‘He’s out,’ Elodie replied. ‘I’m sorry, Tanith. I’ve got nothing for you. Go and find a hostel or something.’
Banda sighed and shrugged. She breathed hard to control her sobs. She rose to her feet.
‘Right. Fine. Thanks for feth all. I’ll be seeing you.’
She turned and started to walk up the steps to street level.
‘Tanith?’
‘Yeah?’
Elodie held the door open.
‘Come in,’ she said. ‘I can give you a drink and maybe some food, and some better clothes. But you’ve got to be gone before Urbano gets back. Understand?’
‘Throne, yes! You won’t regret this.’
Xomat was still snoring. Elodie went around behind the bar and fixed two stiff sacras.
‘Were you expecting trouble?’ Banda asked, gesturing at the las-snub tucked into Elodie’s sash. It was visible now that Elodie had turned and bent to fetch shot glasses.
‘This? No. I just like to be careful.’
Elodie pushed one of the brimming shots across the nalwood bar towards Banda.
‘You should get out of those wet clothes,’ she told the Tanith girl.
Banda knocked the sacra back and held the glass out for a refill.
‘It was a rough night, wasn’t it?’ Elodie said, smiling and pouring again.
‘Like you wouldn’t believe,’ Banda replied.
Elodie plonked a digital key on the bar-top. It was tied to a block of wood with a hank of twine.
‘There’s a box of cast-offs in the hallway behind the private rooms,’ she said. ‘It’s just stuff girls have left behind over the years. You might find something more weather-appropriate in there. Take what you want. And use the staff toilet to get changed.’
‘Thanks,’ said Banda.
‘I’ll see what food I can knock up,’ said Elodie, refilling their glasses.
Holding the digital key in one hand and her glass in the other, Banda wandered back into the hallway. The lights were off, but she found the box, a ratty-looking hamper stuffed with stale clothing. She helped herself to the best of what was on offer: a pair of baggies, a singlet, and a combat jacket. No shoes, apart from some strappy things that were no better than the ones she was wearing.
She used the digital key to let herself into the staff toilet. With the door locked behind her, she pulled the red silk dress up and off over her head. Naked, she crossed to the toilet’s small window and forced it open. Ancient overpainting had fused the seal shut, and she had to smack the frame with the heel of her hand.
Snow-cold air breathed into the dingy bathroom.
Elodie had found some eggs and some rashers of green-grox, and she’d slung them all in a pan while she sawed some thick slices off a loaf of spelt bread for frying.
‘Cooking me breakfast?’ asked Urbano.
Elodie turned, trapped. ‘No, I was, I mean, I was just hungry.’
‘What’s going on?’
‘Nothing, I swear.’
‘There’s enough in that pan for an army,’ Urbano said, peering down into the sizzling skillet.
‘Look, Banda came back, all right?’
‘Banda?’
‘The Tanith girl.’
‘Ah,’ Urbano said, nodding. ‘And you felt sorry for her?’
‘Yes, yes I did. She’ll be gone in an hour. Just some food and a drink and some fresh clothes.’
‘You’re such a soft touch, Elodie,’ Urbano chuckled.
‘Yeah, well, I had it all covered,’ she replied. ‘I even had the snub in case–’
She paused.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Urbano.
Elodie ran her hands back and forth across the top of her sash and the small of her back.