“Good evening, Guv,” Mick said, bowing slightly to Brach.
“And who have we here?” Brach cocked his head. “It’s more of your friends, Mr. Solomon.”
“This lot,” Mick went on, “came into the Castle asking after the whereabouts of a certain prisoner. And the topper is when I told them to bugger off, this one”—he pointed at Chuey—“tried to nick my ledger.”
I looked at Chuey, who shrugged. “Guy wouldn’t deal.”
“That’s a Strata crime.” Brach tsked. “Your friend here is going to be extending his stay here below.”
I shot a look to Church, who shook his head. “I’m afraid he’s right, Jack. Of course, we could seek a trial?—”
“Where a dozen witnesses will testify against your man here,” Mick said with a grin.
“Rats, you mean,” Cassius added.
Brach turned to me. “We can be reasonable, Mr. Solomon, ifyoucan be reasonable.”
“Don’t do it, Jack.” Chuey took a step and was immediately restrained. “I can do time in a ghost prison like it’s nothing. He ain’t gonna use me to get to you. No way.”
Brach stepped closer to Chuey and bowed his lantern. Amber light cast my friend’s shadow down in crisp dark lines. Brach stroked his bow again, focusing the light on a scar near Chuey’s sternum. The occlusion began to throb with crimson light and memory . . .
. . . Chuey is fifteen. The cops come into his house with a warrant. They flip the place and find his mom’s smack in a false-bottom drawer in the basement beneath the record player where we listen to metal bands. Before they can cuff her, she tells them it’s Chuey’s smack. She’s been to lockup twice. She goes in again, she’s in for good. Her eyes plead with Chuey to eat this one. It would only be his first booking . . .He’d told me what happened. But now I was seeing it. Now I could feel the betrayal Chuey carried inside himself from that day in his basement.
My friend began to shake his head, jerking against the Shiguan who held him. “Leave that alone, you son of a bitch.”
But Brach didn’t leave it alone. He stroked his lantern again, sawing back and forth three times, his lamplight pulsing and pushing into Chuey’s scar, which opened wider, spilling more crimson light . . .
. . . Chuey doesn’t speak, just stares at his mom. “He listens to that awful evil heavy metal music,” his mom tells the police. “It’s no wonder he’s hiding drugs.
Who knows what else he’s up to.” Chuey waits, as if hoping she’ ll take it back. After all, she’s the one who put him in the at-risk program six years before. She was supposed to protecthim. But she just glares at him, like she’s willing him to admit to it. After a few moments, Chuey nods and hangs his head . . .
Chuey broke free from the Shiguan guards and launched himself at Brach, his eyes narrowed and wet. Brach slipped back a step, and with a quick hand brought his khopesh up, burying it in Chuey’s gut.
Chuey grabbed Brach’s arm, his eyes now impossibly wide, his mouth stretched open. A sick sliding sound came as Brach drew back his knife, and Chuey slumped to the portico floor.
“Attacks on a thanatist may be defended with mortal force,” Brach said matter-of-factly, and stepped back.
“Unfortunately, he’s right,” Lakshmi said.
Lady and I dove to our knees beside Chuey. Blood coated his Kamelot shirt and trickled from the corner of his mouth. He looked up at me, his eyes fluttering. “Ese?”
“Can you help him?” I asked Lady.
She shook her head. “His wound is beyond what a wize can do.”
Brach had goaded Chuey into the attack. I shot a look at him. “Undo this, or I swear to God I’ll kill you.”
“Be careful with your threats, Jack.” Brach wiped his blade clean. “And while I won’t do it myself, Iwillshowyouhow to help your impetuous friend.” He sheathed his knife. “You’ve studied the architecture of thanaturgy, yes?”
Three drycraefts—death, undeath, and life. A thanatist could give his life to life. “But I’ve never done this, and there’s no time!”
“Of course there’s time.” Brach leaned over, whispering in my ear. “But it will take a very powerful memory to stanch the ebb of your friend’s spirit. Arecentmemory, I think. I will watch your shadow to guide you, be sure you use the right memory the right way.”
My song. Of course he knew. His puppet Leinad Ke had been there. And his people had been casing me, studying me, all the way back to that first night, when Madam had looked into my shadow.
This was why he’d goaded Chuey. Had to be. To take from me the words and notes I’d found to begin forgiving Mama. A lifetime to get them. What would it do to my bond with the ward? To me? And could Brach use it somehow for his revolution?
Brach’s army stood silent under the bright stadium lights. My friends huddled nearby, waiting for me to choose a path.
