As Darkness Fears the Sun

IV: Ashes of the Cross

IV

Ashes of the Cross

Despite the flippant attitude he had put on for Trisha, the encounter with Riddle had left Kit more than a little shaken. He hadn't smoked in years (it was a dirty habit, one that had helped him cope), but he could have killed for a cigarette as he left the Crow's Bones, turning the words of the Magician over in his head.

He wove his way through the UnderMarket, through the stalls selling hexes and charms that didn't hold up under the scrutiny of the government, cursed items and other illegal artifacts from the time before the Awakening. He had bought most of his weapons here; the only guns sold legally were the magically kind, guns that weren't meant to kill. The lethal kind were only available in the UnderMarket, and even then, they came at a very heavy price.

His analog watch blinked the time. 4:27 PM

He still had time to kill. And he needed more ammunition.

He shoved a hand inside his jacket, checking to make sure he had enough money. He didn't like carrying it on him; large sums of money on your person in the UnderMarket tended to get you killed.

The usual place he purchased from was a stall hidden in the heart of the Market, a secret kept close by the few customers who bought there. They had dubbed the man who ran it The General, as his name had never been spoken aloud in their presence. He was an enigma, wrapped in a hard exterior and a hidden past. But he was honest. The same could not be said for other arms dealers who made their living in the Market.

The General operated out of the back of a fortune teller's stall, a woman who claimed that she could read the future in the bones she cast, which was not strictly legal, seeing as she used the finger bones of a month-old infant. They had to be thrown out and replaced every month when they inevitably lost their power. Kit tried his hardest not to associate with her when he came to purchase new ammunition.

He managed to avoid being seen by the woman as he approached, as she was occupied by another client. He ducked down behind her stall, drawing up the curtain that hid The General from sight.

The arms stall was larger on the inside than it appeared on the outside. A few other customers milled around inside the place that appeared hardly big enough for two, let alone six with room for weapons. Guns lay in racks that littered the room, daggers and pistol spread across a large table in the back. Swords of all shapes and sizes hung from the canvas walls, though Kit was never quite sure how their weight was supported.

The General sat behind a small desk in the corner of the room, scribbling away in his ledger. He didn't look up as Kit walked in, or as he approached the desk. He held up a gnarled old hand, indicating for Kit to wait a moment.

A moment stretched into a minute, and a minute stretched into five as Kit stood and waited for the old man to finish his work. He didn't bother to question it; The General ran on his own time, and inside that tent, so did Kit. Finally, The General raised his head. His face was heavily scarred, the result of years spent serving in the military after the Awakening, during a time of political and social turmoil that had rocked the world to its foundations. It was rumored that he had lost his eye in the riots, and all that lay beneath the heavy patch on the left side of his face was scar tissue and rotten flesh.

Kit didn't put too much stock in the rumors. The Awakening had taken place a very long time ago, generations before The General would have even been born.

The old man's one working eye was filled with cataracts and questions as he prompted Kit to have as seat before him with a harsh gesture. Kit did as commanded, sinking in to the wooden chair The General kept in front of his desk.