The Fade

Keren tuts, sits back, starts massaging the silver spikes in his lip with one knuckle. Body language for this is a bad idea. 'You get tangled with Silverfish, you might never get out.'

'Oh, fuck that. It's all bluster and smokescreens. Nobody knows for sure if Silverfish even exists.'

'But we've all seen his fingerprints. Can't deny it.'

'I'm just saying, right now there's more fear than substance. If he's as good as they say, he can find my son. If not, well…'

Keren looks doubtful, but in the end he shrugs. 'Your call,' he says. 'You were warned. Hey, I ran into an old friend of yours a while back. You remember Ekan?'

'He's hardly a friend, Keren. I cut his hand off.'

'Yeah, well. Anyway, since Caracassa pushed him out of the legitimate trade, he's started selling poisons. Word is, he's discovered something of a talent for it. Some of the right people have started to visit him. Just thought you might want to know.'

'Appreciate it,' I say.

He leans forward. 'Listen, you come to me any time you need help, okay? I've got your back.'

I put my hands over his and grip them. Keren is a good friend. Sure, he'll want repayment in kind; he's always tallying up favours like that. But for now, when I need him, he's here.

At least there's one person on my side. I meet Nereith in a club in Coldwash, down among the alleys and lanes where the dockers work out their post-shift tensions in the bars and brothels. It's a shitty little dive, with peeling black walls and the air of an impending fight. Angry-looking men slouch in corners or sit hunched over drinks, conspiring with their companions. Everyone has blades, but nobody's showing them.

I'm wearing long sleeves to cover the emblem on my shoulder. Bond-marks don't attract too much attention, but announcing myself as Cadre would. When I arrive the Khaadu is already there, sitting at a table and watching the band play on the circular stage. Every man's eyes are on me as I walk across the half-empty room. It could be because they're all testosterone-swollen rapists-to-be and that anything with breasts would snare their attention in this dismal place, but I prefer to believe that I've still got it.

Nereith motions for me to sit and pushes a drink over. Naturally, he's picked my favourite. It's faintly worrying how much he seems to know about me.

The band are knocking out a bawdy version of an old work-song from my grandfather's generation, sung by two gravel-voiced women backed up by a calamity of percussion and a few strings. Nereith pays me no attention until they finish up. Making me wait. When they're done, he turns to me and gives me a fang-laden grin.

'Good, aren't they?'

'They're not bad,' I say.

'Do you play?'

'Used to. Gave it up. Bad memories.'

'That's a shame,' he commiserates unconvincingly.

'Yeah,' I reply with an equal lack of conviction.

'I assume the reason you're here is because your investigations haven't gone very well?'

'You made me an offer. I've come to take you up on it.'

'You want Silverfish to locate your son?'

'That's right.'

He looks me over casually. It's only been a few turns since I've seen him but he's a different person now. He has power. He's an operator. He knows I need him.

'There's a shipment going out in three turns' time,' Nereith says. 'Bonecane. Lots of it. Jerima Vem is leaking that he's got powder on the move, but it's a decoy to try and catch Silverfish.'

'Again?'

'Vem's never been particularly original. The real bonecane is being transported in secret on a Caracassa barge. A pre-nuptial favour from Ledo. Silverfish wants the name of that barge.'

'What's he going to do with it?'

'That's his business. Don't you concern yourself.'

I study him for a moment. 'A few turns isn't enough to get the name. They keep that information sewn tight. I'd need to dig.'

'We know that Vem sent instructions to Ledo. We think the letter still exists. It'll be among his personal correspondence, in his private quarters.'

'You want me break into my master's private quarters?'

'If anyone can, it's you. You're Cadre. Trusted. You can get in close.'

I drink my drink. This is betrayal. This is no going back. And it's awfully tempting.

If there's evidence to be found that my master is a traitor, it'll be in his private quarters. Before I can act on my suspicions, I need the proof. Until then, I can't be sure. And I can't make a move until the matter is beyond doubt.

In those rooms could be the answers I need to save Jai. If Ledo is the traitor, and I can take him out without anyone knowing, then Casta becomes Magnate and my son comes home.

If.

But what if he's not the traitor? What if I'm wrong? I'll be selling his secrets to an enemy. Breaking the oath of Bond.

This is a decision I don't want to face. Finding Jai is one thing, but to go directly against my master's interests is another thing entirely. I've been put to the question. Where do my loyalties lie?

And I find I'm not sure any more.

I sit back, drum my fingers on the table. The band is playing some awful swinging folk tune. Nereith just stares at me.

'This is about that Gurta Minister you mentioned to me, isn't it?' he says. 'Belek Aspa. You asked the wrong people the wrong questions.'

I don't answer that, but of course he's right. Ledo must have thought I had been threatening him with the name Belek Aspa, that I was implying there was something dangerous I could reveal about him. He must have thought I knew more than I did. But that reaction alone tells me there's something worth finding. 'You can speak for Silverfish? You can make deals on his behalf?'

'He trusts me implicitly.'

He's very confident. I get the impression that he was downplaying himself considerably when he made his little confession about being a mere information-gatherer. He's a lot more important than he let on.

'I want a guarantee.'

'No guarantees, except my word. If your son is alive, Silverfish will find him.' He looks down into his drink, contemplative. 'If he's dead, we'll still find him. But nothing will happen until you bring me the name of that barge. I'm sure you know that we'll have to verify that intelligence before we fulfil our end of the bargain.'

'Fair enough.'

'Then we have a deal?'

I don't say it for a long while, but I'm just delaying the inevitable. I'd made my decision before I even came here.

'Deal.' I walk back through the Ashenpark to get to the mansions. It's not the smartest thing to do while drunk. The place is thick with den-runners at this hour, dealing bonecane to the addicts of the city. The joy of bonecane is that progressive use warps your limbs and eventually you end up a cripple. Everyone knows this, but there's no shortage of takers who can't resist trying it. Thinking that maybe they will be one of the infinitesimal minority who don't get hooked immediately. Thinking they can deal with it. Makes me wonder about people, sometimes.

The Ashenpark is near Veya's pole-turnward shinehouse, the Larimus. Its flat light pushes down on the stubby cliffs and slopes of volcanic ash, mingling uneasily with the deep red glow shining up from fenced-off cracks in the earth. I walk along paths that skirt bubbling mud-pools thick with bright fungi, past sullenly fuming geysers.

Suddenly it all wells up inside me again. The fear, the helplessness, the torment of conflicting loyalties. My husband is dead. My son may already be lost, and nothing I can do seems like enough. I left someone on the surface and part of me wants to go back to them, to throw everything up in the air and run, run, run, to a place where none of this matters. And my master, the man to whom I gave everything, may be the man I have to kill to save my son.

I feel something splinter inside me, and I feel like I could collapse. To lie down and never get up. Wouldn't that be sweet?