Gunlaw

Gunlaw 5

Chapter 2– Present Day - Foundations

In a dark room blind hands caressed a sphere of crystal, learning its smoothness. Fingertips traced and retraced old paths across the surface and an old mind retraced its memories. With the right rhythm a finger circled around the rim of a wine glass will make the glass sing - so with the right pattern and timing can a ball of crystal be made to yield its own song, a song of light and shadow, and of times past. The first glimmer woke at the crystal's heart, deep in the flawless depths of it, then another, fainter, then a sparkle, bright enough to reveal those moving hands, white and bloodless both. Light built upon light, shadow upon shadow, and the crystal ball became an eye through which she watched. And in an instant she was swallowed whole, back through the years, back once again in that dusty dirty street she thought she would never escape, back to being a child and of no account.

"Don't." Jenna pulled her brother away.

He glared at her. "She's askin' for it." He lowered his fist though. When it counted, Kyle would always forget the three years he had on her.

The new girl stood a head shorter than the smallest of the street children. Maybe six, maybe seven. Short, dirt-coloured hair and pale eyes.

"What did you say to my brother?" Jenna demanded.

"I told him to leave." The girl didn't come from the Oh-Seven. Jenna couldn't place her accent.

"This here's our alley," Jenna said. Kyle towered at her shoulder, other kids lining up to watch. "You don't tell us nothing."

"Run away." The girl pointed behind her, toward Main Street, to distant sunlight and wagons rolling past, to where men strode by in dusty boots.

She didn't sound like a kid. Too self-assured.

Kyle made to reach for the girl. "Leave her." Jenna stopped him. "She's older than she looks."

Something ran out of the day. Like water from a fallen bucket, whatever it was that made things good, spilled out and drained away. Jenna couldn't see the change, but it poured through her. The alley's shadows became cold threats; the common stink turned to pure corruption seeking her lungs.

"Hello Lilly." It came from behind her, a broken voice bubbling with dark glee.

Jenna managed to turn, staggering back until her shoulders pressed against the boarded wall. Kyle fell to his hands and knees, vomiting in the dirt. Other children lay in spasm or retching as they tried to crawl.

The figure hunched as if loaded with an unseen burden. It had crept up behind them, advancing from the end of the alley that led from the slaughter pens.

"Hello Bannon." The new girl looked up at the man, her face calm.

The man drew closer, one leg dragging. All strength left Jenna and without the wall at her back she would have fallen. Close up she saw what lay beneath the broad brim of his leather hat. A patchwork face, other men's skin sewn over old bones, black thread crossing back and forth in blanket stitch. A corpser. She knew the name too. Sykes Bannon, the child thief. If there were an older or more foul corpser still walking, then they had escaped the tales told to scare the young.

"You're looking good, Lilliana." The corpser smiled, dry lips stretching over tombstone teeth. "Fresh."

"I'm not here for games, Bannon," the girl said. "Say your piece."

"But I'm all about games." Sykes Bannon glanced around the alley, one blue eye, one a black pupil in a pool of blood. His gaze counted each of the half dozen writhing street kids. "Oh I know, I know." He slid an open hand from his dust-grey poncho. "You remember when I was a twinkle's twinkle in my grandfather's eye. You could whisper the secrets of my old life and I'd fall apart for you. Well maybe, Lilly, and maybe not. Those tricks don't work so well on me . . . but that ain't why I called you here."