There were suddenly a dozen sweaty men listening to our exchange. “Let’s just say I’ve got friends who need help,” I told him.
Mick laughed his buzzsaw laugh. “Haven’t we all. Well, my new friend, you’ll go away empty-handed. I wouldn’t sell you Orcus thread even if I had some to spare. Not for a boatload of coins.”
“Because Orcus thread is illegal,” came a voice from behind us. Cassius and I whipped around to find Brach standing just inside the door.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The real master of history has entered a new field, the field of art, and done so to begin a new era.
—Rhetoric of Revolution: Communication, Culture, and Thought,
a required Shiguan reader
Brach tooktwo long steps into Rats Castle, allowing a retinue of two attendant thanatists and two vestiges to file in behind him, blocking the entrance. The denizens of Mick’s little supper house and pop shop all turned in their seats to face him, some calling out his name, others pumping fists as if welcoming a conquering hero. Mick’s gregarious, yellow-toothed grin got even wider.
Brach waved once, then tamped the air with his hands, signaling for his adoring fans to ease back on the adulation.
“Master Brach, to what do we owe the pleasure?” Mick called from behind his table.
“I’ve come to welcome our newest visitor to the Strata.” Brach smiled. “Mr. Solomon, we’ve got to stop meeting like this.”
I remembered the guy Mick had whispered to when we were introduced, and shot Mick a glare. “Yes, quite the coincidence.”
“Oh, fresh fish,” said Mick, hobbling from behind his table, “I already told you you’re a marked man. A’course I put a runner on you as soon as I knew you from Adam. You’re a walking reward.”
Cassius inclined his head toward Mick. “It does not speak well of our friendship, however, nor of your broker’s oath.”
Mick cocked an eye at the centurion. “One of the few regrets this old cheater may ever have. But I’ll offer a dozen Hail Marys for it the next time I find a pew.”
Brach chuckled. “Let’s make a quick accounting, shall we, Mr. Solomon, of your diligence, since last we met, to honor our mutual friend.” He pointed at the lantern in my hands. “You’ve managed to secure some secondhand catalysts, I see. Progress, of a sort.”
I lowered the lantern. “And I signed the transfer of ownership on the Iron Horse that Henry left me in his will, since that seems to have been the object of your concern in visiting him at the morgue.”
The rats in the Castle muttered, a few scooting their chairs back. Cassius whispered, “It is unwise to provoke him, Jack. Especially here.”
Brach strolled into the center of the room, sniffing at the stench of pork stew and sour dishrags. “Topside dealings are of no interest to me, Mr. Solomon. You, on the other hand, seem to have taken a keen interest in the dealings of our world below.”
“Uh, Mr. Brach, sir,” said Mick, “before things get . . . messy, wasn’t there a bounty?—”
“We’re all men of good will, Uncle,” said Brach. “Have a seat and we’ll get you paid soon enough.” Then he continued his stroll, rat eyes following him like front-row fans do Jagger on a stage walk. “Sir Bazalgette told me of your interest in ourrepurposing of his sewage systems. Sir Swan likewise had much to say about your interest in Tin Pan Alley as well as your rejection of our offer to help you avoid your trial.”
“If I’m guilty of anything,” I said, eyeing the rear hall, “it’s trying to do the very thing you keep asking me to do—protect the Iron Horse.”
Brach waved a dismissive hand. “Please don’t misunderstand me, Mr. Solomon. You and your friends’ dismissal of a few of our vestiges, or even engaging in open combat against members of Shiguan leadership, these are hardly more than Henry and I did on more occasions than I can count.”
“Because you were such good friends,” I said.
“Jack,” whispered Cassius again, “more bees with honey than vinegar.” It was just my default talk-back when I thought hands were about to get thrown. “Sorry,” I whispered back, then repeated louder to
Brach, “Sorry.”
Brach waved that off, too. “I speak of when Henry and I were young at our craft and striving to understand our new reality. It’s as I’ve said, we did not always agree. I like to think, however, that on matters of utmost importance, we were of the same mind.”
Mick settled himself again at his table. “I told him no, Master Brach.
No Orcus thread. You heard me say it.”
Brach stopped strolling. “New as you are, Mr. Solomon, you may not be aware that it is practically illegal to even utter the words ‘Orcus thread’ in the Strata.”
