“So who are those two?” I whispered to Walker as everyone moved toward the big table.

“The taller one’s Cwyr Smith, call him the second-in-command. The shorter one’s Boss Moses. As in the Boss.”

“Oh. Shit.” To be honest, Boss Moses didn’t look like much. He seemed to be in his forties, an inch or two taller than Walker, fit but not too muscular. His face was sculpted, oddly youthful beneath its lines, piercing blue eyes stood out from his golden-brown skin. The only unusual thing about him was his coat. It was cut like Walker’s leather one, but made of some glossy black material that seemed to subtly alter its shape and texture as he moved. Cwyr Smith, on the other hand, I would have assumed to be in charge had Walker not told me. He wore a well-cut khaki suit and looked a little younger than Boss Moses, the tanned skin of his face smooth and unlined. His dark hair was pulled back in a long tail, so straight and glossy I figured he must oil it. His bolo tie and cufflinks were of white gold, and the hands past them were high-end bionics made of bronze-colored metal inlaid with stained wood.

The two of them sat at one end of the table, and the other Runes took the cue to take their own seats. Much of the table was soon covered in glasses, bottles, ashtrays, pipes, and more exotic implements. As I took up station behind Walker’s chair, I noticed one person in the room who hadn’t moved inward. He sat slumped and very still in a chair against the wall, a cigarette dangling almost forgotten from his mouth. His suit was gray, rumpled like he’d slept in it. The face beneath his salt-and-pepper hair could best be described as aggressively normal, if a little tired and stubbly. His pale eyes scanned slowly across the room, reacting to nothing.

“What about him?” I muttered to Walker, flicking my eyes at the guy.

“Who? Oh. That’s Vincent. Do not fuck with Vincent.“ He seemed about to say more, but was interrupted by a call from the head of the table.

“Alright, alright, everyone.” It was Cwyr Smith, his voice sounding the way an unfiltered loosie from a gomi-stand tasted. I was kind of surprised he was talking and not Moses. He rapped metal fingers against the edge of the table. “Thanks fer showin’ up, and all that. We got a lot to talk about tonight, believe it or not.” There were a few sardonic laughs from around the table, though Walker stayed quiet. “Let’s get the routine shit outta the way ‘fore we discuss our hue-obsessed friends.” He tapped a finger under his eye, where a Blue Division tat would go, and there were more laughs. “Jim, you said you had somethin’ for us?”

The laughter stopped as all eyes turned to the bulky drunk, who half-heartedly wiped the sweat from his flushed forehead. He’d only brought one guard with him, a lanky woman whose face pinked at the sudden scrutiny.

“Uh, yeah. Thanks, Cwyr.” I raised an eyebrow. Yamanaga-Renfrew’s voice was deep, far smoother than I’d have thought he could manage after all that liquor. “Discipline. With this thing with the Blues, all the distraction-“

“Distraction? We’re at war, and you’re callin’ it a distraction?” said a surprisingly high and melliflous voice. It was Yera, interrupting from across the table. She leaned back in her chair, tattooed arms crossed and those heavy-lidded eyes fixed on Refrew like a Praetor’s gunsight. I glanced down at Walker and saw him roll his eyes.

“I…” Renfrew faltered, but only for a moment. “Yeah. I am. It’s keepin’ us from doin’ business, doin’ what we’re supposed to. So yes. It’s a distraction.”

“I ain’t surprised to hear that from you, Jim. Not a’tall. You really don’t-“

“Yera. In due time. Let the man finish.” Cwyr’s voice was calm but firm. Yera quieted down and sat back, face studiously neutral. Her crew shifted and murmured behind her. I was beginning to see why Walker thought she was such a piece of work.

“Right. Like I was saying…discipline. I’m gettin’ way more reports from crew bosses than usual. Soldiers gettin’ lazy, drinkin’ on the clock. Soldiers pushin’ drugs on their own time, guys skimmin’ off protection collections, underbosses runnin’ side-rackets with civvies. Mostly petty shit, but…not all. There in Eleventh, we had a guy who was extorting, ah, extra payments along with protection money. Not in cash. You mighta seen him hangin’ out on Edo Street.”

I remembered the mutilated body hanging from the overpass. Nobody laughed at the weak joke. It wasn’t the sort of thing you wanted to hear about your own gang. “And that ain’t even the worst of it. Venya- I’ll let Venya talk about that one. So, as much as nobody wants to think it of their guys, keep an eye out. This…this ain’t the time to get sloppy.” Renfrew slumped in his chair like someone let the air out of him. Going off of the level in his bottle, I was surprised he’d stayed coherent even that long.

“Thanks, Jim. And all y’all listen to what he said.” Cwyr looked around the whole table, not just at the runes. “It ain’t a pleasant thing to think about, but stay vigilant. Cardie-Lee?”

That was Venya’s real name, I remembered. This whole Rune thing was needlessly confusing. The blond woman cleared her throat, set her hands smoothly into her lap. She had barely a trace of an accent, hardly sounding like a quarryman at all. “Thank you, Cwyr. First of all, the issue Odal’s brought up: I’m sure many of you know- knew, I ought to say- Uligo Firenze.” Nods and mutters all around. I leaned down to Walker. “Mid-level boss in Quarryside,” he whispered. “I didn’t know he’d been promoted to the past tense, though.”

“Thanks.”

“Good,” said Cardie-Lee. “As I implied, Mr. Firenze is no longer with us due to his own poor judgement. He decided it was a good idea to cross the Entertainer’s Guild.” There was a greater tumult at this than at anything else so far, people making exclamations and muttering to their friends. Mustachioed Thurisaz pounded a fist on the table, swearing in rapid Quarryap. Raido shook his head, Yera gave a derisive snort, and Renfrew stared sadly down at the baize, blinking slowly. Walker, for his part, shifted in his chair and muttered, “Fuckin’ idiot.” Only Cwyr and Moses didn’t react- I guessed they already knew.

“How bad was it?” Raido asked, his voice so buttery-smooth I could hardly tell it was artificial.

“He was taking kickbacks from non-Guild procurers in exchange for allowing them to operate in his territory.” There were a few more groans. Venya herself had been impassive this whole time, almost bland. “The Guild had their suspicions, but my office found out before they did and contacted their people preemptively.”

“And?” said Yera.

“With our permission,” she nodded at Cwyr and Boss Moses, “they sent the Morrigan.” Sudden silence dropped when she said the last word- or name. Who or whatever the Morrigan was, it didn’t seem to be something you wanted to visit you. “Mr. Firenze is no longer anyone’s problem. So far as my people can tell, he acted alone, and one of his underbosses has been promoted.”

“They saved us the razorwire, at least,” Yera muttered. A few of her toughs snickered.

“How’d the Guilders take it, Cardie?” Silas Pitchblende- AKA Khevo- spoke this time, tugging down the sleeves of his fine suit jacket. “It’s always hard to tell with them. And who’d you talk to?”

“Very neutrally. I was told by their liaison- someone called Fayette, whom I’ve not familiar with- that they were thankful for the tip and for our sanction to act, but nothing more than that. I rather got the impression that her pay was docked per extraneous word.” Something about that name tickled my memory, but I couldn’t exactly place it.

“No surprise there. They’re shellin’ up like a borecrab larva. Probably don’t want shit to do with us ’til the big fuss is done with. Thanks, Cardie.” Silas settled back into his seat, looking thoughtful.

Cardie-Lee herself gave him a languid nod, then addressed the room again. “Other than the most pertinent issue, the only other information worth bringing up is the possibility of Administration sending Argent Fist back into the Pits.” This brought up as big of a reaction as her news about the unfortunately stupid Mr. Firenze, though this time it was angry rather than shocked. Yera leaned forward and Silas grimaced. The conversation that followed was tough for me to follow, both because I had no reference for what they were talking about and because at least half of it took place in Quarryap, which most present seemed to understand. Walker contributed little, and just shook his head when I asked what was going on. He evidently didn’t think it was important, though it annoyed me a little. Eventually, Cwyr raised a hand and people shut up. Afterward Thurisaz- Duirmach McGrath of the great mustache- went on forever about ore production rates and ammunition stocks and equipment fleet wear curves and other things that had Walker and I both walleyed with boredom. Finally he began to peter out into tangetial anecdotes.

“Alright, alright,” broke in Cwyr Smith. His manner reminded me of the schoolteachers I’d seen on the holo: calm, collected, and just slightly indulgent of his rowdy students. “Yera. Your mission was successful. Vedi Pit, right?”

“And Buki.” The woman glanced around the table. “They didn’t like their tithe rates, and got it into their heads to force a negotiation. By not payin’. We went and talked to them. Had a few duels, and a bit of a firefight in Vedi when the toothy bastards decided to be sore losers. They lost that too.” Her crew grinned and winked at each other, though the woman herself remained nonchalant. I’d never realized there were people in the quarries who might not like the Bones. They usually presented a united front. “Got Khevo and Thuri’s boys in there afterward to hammer out a compromise. That was that.”

When nothing more seemed to be forthcoming, Cwyr spoke once more. It was weird to me that Moses had been silent the whole time, but nobody’d remarked on it. Maybe it was always this way. “Good to hear, Yera. Silas?”

“Not much to report, thankfully.” He kept it short, reeling off a load of arcane accounting data I didn’t understand, though some of it was familiar from what Dezi told me last time we talked. I got the overall impression that finances were good, considering the situation.

“Again, good to hear,” said Cwyr Smith when he was done. “Raido? Got anything?”

The lithe cyborg shook his composite-plated head. “Nothing we aren’t about to talk about.”

“Right. Anything else? Anyone?”

“Yeah, I got a problem.” The voice came not from someone seated at the table, but from behind Silas’s chair. Silas himself didn’t react, but for a slight narrowing of the eyes. The SiKaHae optic was great for spying on people. I wondered if I could hustle poker with it.

A man stepped out of Silas’s entourage, leaning forward into the light with his hands on the table. Six foot one, maybe, thin but wiry, dressed like many others in a vest and jeans. He had a pleasant enough face, though it was doubly ruined by a weedy goatee and an expression of curdled anger.

“And what problem might that be, Mirabeau?” Cwyr’s tone was still indulgent, but I got the impression he thought this guy was out of line.

“My problem, Mr. Smith, is that up in Sixth Ward we ain’t moving a quarter the hush we used to. My problem is that someone scared all my customers away. My problem is that overgrown cretefoot bitch in the cheap suit!” And he pointed a finger right at me.

Amazing, I thought with a quiet sigh. It took me a second to even remember what the guy was talking about. Those two junkies that were mugging the money collectors, I finally remembered. The ones I’d very nearly killed just for talking back to me. Really not my finest moment, though part of me still said it would have been no great loss. A glance at Walker revealed only the hint of a smile on his face. Guess I was muddling out of this one on my own. Dick. And what the fuck was this guy on about with the suit comment? At my least my shirt has sleeves.

There were mutters around the table, a few laughs. Silas remained still, Duirmach narrowed his eyes at me, Venya and Yera watched with interest, and both Vincent and Boss Moses were looking- though I had no clue what they might be thinking. “An interestin’ claim. Got anything to say in your defense…Sawyer, ain’t it?” Cwyr Smith was talking to me now.

I took a deep breath and answered. “Sawyer’s fine, Mr. Smith. And yeah, I do. Those customers he’s talking about, the ones I scared? I scared ‘em because they were mugging our bagmen. The cash they were buying his hush with was already ours.” Not very formal, but then this wasn’t a courtroom. I figured Walker knew me well enough to have stopped me if this wasn’t what I was supposed to say.

“And what d’you think they did then, you raddy?” Mirabeau shouted before Cwyr Smith could say anything. I’d only pissed him off more. “They went and told all their junkie friends about the seven-foot slut that went fuckin’ nuts on ‘em, and they all fuckin’ bounced! Probably buyin’ their shit off the Blues, now. You shoulda just killed ‘em! Big fuckin’ shit-for-brains.” I just watched the guy. They were all insults I’d heard before. He was merely the latest in a long line. So I just looked back at him, real level. He was too pissed to notice.

Cwyr gave the guy a look. “Check yourself, Mirabeau. You know the rest of the saying, don’tcha? Try to remember who’s in charge here.” His voice was still pleasant, but there was an edge there now. Mirabeau set his jaw, but stayed quiet. “Anything more to say, Sawyer? Any reasoning?” He didn’t sound as pissed with me, but neither was he friendly. Curious, maybe.

After a moment’s thought, I answered. “Killing customers sends a message a lot like scaring them. Maybe even worse. And even if I’d smoked ‘em right there, Mr. Smith? People would’ve found out who did it. That’s how it is in D-block. Someone always knows.” Walker had said much the same to me at our first meeting. Then a jolt went through me as I remembered I’d never actually told him I’d let the muggers live. Kings damn it. If he wanted to he could throw me under the bus right now.

“For what it’s worth, Cwyr, I appove of young Sawyer’s actions. Did then, did now. And Khevo’s boy, in my humble opinion, is right the fuck outta line.” The man himself, rising to my defense. It was the first time he’d spoken aloud since the meeting began. I stole a glance down at him and he threw me a wink. What a confusing creature.

“Thanks, Sawyer, and thank you too, Naudis.” Cwyr turned to Silas’ side. “You want to clear this up, Khevo?” Mirabeau fumed but didn’t speak up.

“Naudis and Sawyer raise some valid points,” said Silas. His gold incisors flashed as he spoke, thoroughly ignoring the furious Mirabeau. “S’true Mirabeau’s numbers are down, but we expect some shortfalls during times like this. So far as I’m concerned, this is just a difference of opinion between my man and Naudis’s- and seein’ as we’re short on time, Clyde, why don’t we settle it old school?”

Old school? I had my suspicions about what that meant. Walker cleared his throat. “I find that agreeable, Khevo. Like you said, lots to do yet tonight. How ‘bout Eiran stand-down?”

The ghost of a smile flicked across Silas’s face. “I was thinkin’ the same thing. Let’s get it over with quick.”

More muttering and smiles around the table, some at me, some nasty. Yeah, this was definitely some kind of fight. A duel, even. “The fuck is iron stand-down, Walker?”

“Eiran stand-down. And it’s real simple. You take turns punching each other.”

“So a fistfight? Good.”

He grinned, the cruelty in the expression not aimed at me. “No. I mean literally. Throw a punch, then take a punch. No dodgin’, no blockin’, keep goin’ ’til someone’s out for the count.”

“Wait, seriously?” I was mystified. “Why would he agree to that?”

“Silas or Mirabeau?”

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

“Both.”

“Mirabeau ‘cause he’s a smoothbrained hothead. Silas might actually agree with us, but mostly it’s ‘cause he’s got a petty streak deeper’n Lugal Bore and his idiot pusher spoke out of turn. Now get ready. I’ll hold your stuff if you want.”

I shrugged off my jacket and handed it to him, then did the same with the saw and my guns. “One more thing. Why aren’t you pissed I didn’t kill them?”

He winked again. “I’ll tell you some other time. And Sharkie?”

“What?”

“We both know you could end this in about half a second, but you don’t have to. Put on a show if you like. I ain’t no social butterfly-“ I scoffed at that- “but events like this can do a wonder for your reputation.”

“…Sure.” Unsure what else to say to that, I rolled up my sleeves, made sure my hair was still caught in its tie, and walked over to the open bit of floor where people seemed to be gathering. Only two people remained separate, Moses having joined Vincent over by the wall. I pushed through the crowd and came face to face with Mirabeau. The circle of people was only a few feet across, just big enough for two people to wind up a punch. Mirabeau stood across it, fists clenched, still hopping mad. I just drew up to my full height and watched him with that same level stare. I thought I detected a catch in his breath when he realized just how big I was, but he didn’t step back or look away.

“Challengers, lemme see your hands.” Cwyr Smith pushed into the circle, somehow still perfectly turned-out. Mirabeau spread his fingers and turned his hands over, and I followed suit. “Good. Now. Eiran stand-down. The rules are real simple: one swing at a time, no evadin’, no blockin’, no eye pokes, no hits to the ear or the back of the head. You can lean or step back after you get hit, not before. Go ’til someone gives up, or their brain does.” He grinned like that was supposed to be funny, and a few people did laugh. “Mirabeau, you started this sideshow, so Sharkie gets the first hit. Go ahead.”

I sized my opponent up. A little over six feet, he was fit but in a stringy kind of way. Not a lot of weight to him. No cybernetics that I could see. And he definitely wasn’t thinking straight. I considered what Walker had said. Then I considered the way this guy talked, the things he’d called me, and made a decision.

“Hurry up, bitch,” he ground out through his teeth.

Ignoring him, I turned to Cwyr. “Can I give him the first swing? I’m new here, and seniority ought to count for something.” More laughter. Mirabeau’s face darkened even further, and Cwyr just shrugged. “Sure, if you like.”

“I would. Whenever you’re ready, my man,” I said to Mirabeau, facing him head on. Now to see if I’d fucked up. I hoped he wasn’t packing stealth-line prosthetics or anything. Even with my, ahem, secret advantage, a hard enough hit would definitely still knock me out.

I found out quickly enough. He wound up and sent a solid hook into my cheek. It was a better hit than I’d expected, the technique pretty good. It hurt, but he just didn’t have enough power behind it. Willy’d hit harder, let alone someone like Rossignol. I rocked back, farther than I needed to, so far it was obviously a joke, then shot back to straight like my back was full of springs. From all around me came more laughter, whispered comments, bets.

“…actin’ tough now, but one or two more…”

“…guy’s gotta be dain-bramaged to step into the ring with…”

“…who the fuck does she think she is…”

“…dunno man, you hear what she did to…”

Mirabeau was maybe getting an inkling of what he’d blundered into, but his face remained a mask of anger. I was pretty sure I knew his type. The type who never quite felt secure in himself. The type to remember every slight, big or small, real or imagined. The type for whom this kind of anger was never more than a step or two away from embarrassment and tears. Probably the type for which my gender made all that a thousand times worse. He wasn’t going to back down until, one way or another, I broke him. The result wasn’t in question, only the method.

I locked eyes with him, keeping my face calm. “You ready, man?”

“Quit fuckin’ with me, you stupid cunt.”

Bitch, cunt, slut? Yeah, he definitely had woman issues. ”Believe me, bud, I didn’t plan on starting.” Lame joke, but people still laughed at him. I wound my right hand back, back, like a drunk going for a wild haymaker- and popped a quick left straight into his nose, just hard enough to make it bleed. He made a strangled noise, and a few guffaws rang out from the surrounding crowd. Mirabeau’s hand’s twitched, but he managed not to reach for his face.

“Your turn,” I told him sweetly. He hawked a wad of bloody phlegm onto the carpet near my feet and took his second swing. It was better than the first, a right hook thrown from the hips that drove into my cheek and jaw with all the power he could muster. I took it like a statue this time, barely letting him turn my head. There was less amusement from the crowd, now. I reached up, rubbed my chin like I was deep in thought, and looked back down to see him trying very hard not to grab his bruised knuckles. Behind the bloody mask of anger, his eyes were wide and darting around. I imagined I could see it building up- the anticipation of shame, the fear. He was still more scared of humiliation than me, though. I’d fix that.

So I popped him in the nose again, no warning. This time he did grab his nose, bending over. “I said quit fuckin’ with me and take a swing!”

I widened my eyes in mock-surprise. “Sorry, man, I thought we were going easy on each other! It’s your turn anyway.” He whipped a wild, enraged haymaker into the side of my head, luckily missing my ear. the technique was poor enough I barely reacted.

“Take a swing, you said? Alright.” For the first time I bothered getting into a real stance. He stood and got as ready as he could, face a rictus grimace. Wasn’t lacking for stubbornness, at least. I let the moment draw out, agonizing. The crowd was silent now. Finally he couldn’t take it.

“Come-“

I pulled back and blasted a right hook into his cheek, punching from my legs, my hips, my shoulders, all my weight behind it. Bone cracked under my knuckles, and he went limp before he had a chance to fall. His body actually rotated in the air as my fist followed through, his feet higher than his head by the time he flew into the crowd.

I stood up straight and stuck my hands in my pockets. “You okay there, man?” The cruel words passed my lips before I could stop them. I had the sudden feeling of having made a mistake. This wasn’t like me, was it? That was a little too far, I thought. This whole thing was. Should have just knocked him out first swing. Marie was in the crowd, looking from me to Mirabeau’s body with her face very pale. Shit. I hadn’t meant it as a message for her. I felt like an asshole- but on another level?

Kings, it felt good to put him in his place.

“Holy fuckin’ Kingshit,” Cwyr Smith said deadpan beside me. “Bodine, I’m assumin’ he’s knocked out, but is he even alive?”

“He’s got a pulse, if that’s whatcher askin’,” came a twangy voice from Mirabeau’s vicinity. “Pupil response is outta whack, though. He needs a sawbones, one with real machines an’ shit. Ought to brace his neck ‘fore we move ‘im too, and mind that ‘e keeps breathin’.”

“Alrighty, then. Boukari, you’re a local, ain’t you? You and Bodine take a car and get ‘im to a clinic.” Cwyr paused, and everyone was quiet except for the two new paramedics rustling through a first-aid kit. “I’d say we have our winner. Back to it, then?” He clapped his metal hands and everyone returned to their seats. I felt eyes on me as I buttoned my sleeves and got my gear back on. They were giving me a different sort of look, now.

“Well, fun’s over. I think we can safely call that settled, eh?” Yera snorted at Cwyr’s pronouncement. “Right then. On to the main event. I’ll lead with the fact that we’re holdin’ just fine against the Blues. Everyone’s been workin’ hard, and not much has changed hands. But there’s more goin’ on here than you might think. Venya?”

The intel chief cleared her throat. “I’m sure many of you know this already, but there seems to be a rogue faction within Blue Division, often acting against their command’s wishes.” There weren’t too many surprised faces around the table. I guessed you wouldn’t get to this high a position without being able to draw your own conclusions. “The loyal faction is under General Mikey Oliva, and seems to be slightly smaller in number than the rogues, who are under General Paolo. The loyalists, however, appear to retain much of the command staff and their attendant connections to uptown.” She fielded several questions about that, but it wasn’t anything I hadn’t gotten from Walker or Dezi already.

“What d’you mean there, uptown connections?” asked Thurisaz after several minutes. “Jus’ contacts with the Fomorii ’n’ the other K-blockers?”

“That, yes. But there’s more.” She waved a languid hand at Walker. “Naudis, dear, could you elaborate?”

Dear? I thought. Walker just cleared his throat and pushed past it. “Right. Recently Sawyer and I hit a Blue Div hush lab after they sent their pushers onto Bones turf. When we got there, though, someone’d already filled ‘em full of holes. Not bullet holes, though. Real smooth ones, like from a medical drill or somethin. Sound familiar?” Thurisaz swore, Silas frowned deeply, Yera’s eyes widened as she moved forward.

Renfrew huffed out a wet sigh. “Lesuisse,” he said quietly.

“You’re damn right, Jim. A true-blue menschenjaeger, abroad in D-block.”

Yera’s reply was almost skeptical enough to be insulting. “You sure, Clyde? Really fuckin’ sure? ‘Cause that ain’t normal.”

He eyed her sidelong. “Damn sure. Remember that unlike a few of us, Yera, I actually ran into him once or twice beforehand.”

“But how could Blue Div swing that? I’m not sure if they got the clout.” Silas sounded thoughtful. “This got anything to do with that kerfuffle up by the Sump, Walker?”

“I’m thinkin’ so.” He went on to explain about Monta and I’s raid and the strange arm we’d recovered. He didn’t mention anything about me seeing the Admin samurai in the Park, though. Keeping that one close to the vest, aren’t you? I thought.

After a lot of talk about it which didn’t go much of anywhere, Yera slapped her palms down on the table. “It’s pretty obvious what we ought to do. We get in touch with the rogue Blues, sit down with Paolo. We make a deal to help out against the loyalists. Give however many concessions we gotta without makin’ it obvious. We give ‘im a hand gettin’ rid of Canra and Oliva and Lesuisse and the rest, then we fuck ‘im up ourselves. No more Blues at all, then, and us sittin’ pretty.” She leaned back, arms crossed.

“And it’s all gonna go just like that, huh?” said Walker into the silence that followed. “It’s gonna be that simple.”

Yera flashed him an unpleasant smile. “Them’s the broad strokes, Clyde. I’ll leave the fine details to the back line. That’s what you’re all about, right? Little details.”

“I really hope you ain’t serious, woman. D’you know the kind of ramifications that’d-“

“Ram’fications?” butted in Thurisaz gruffly. “Seems t’me, Kitty-boy, that the ram’fications are us on top and them in the dirt where they oughta be. Unless you got some reason for keepin’ the Blues around…”

“I’d be careful what you say next, McGrath. Real careful.” Walker’s voice was cold and deadly calm. Thurisaz didn’t say anything more, though he glowered at us across the table.

“Nice as that might be, Duirmach, I’m thinkin’ Clyde’s right.” Silas leaned in, fingers steepled. “First of all, recall the Spiders, and what happened to them after they became the only game on the block.”

“That wasn’t the only reason the Spiders got their asses kicked, though.” This from Raido of the smooth cyber-voice. “Yera’s got a point. This ain’t the kind of opportunity that pops up every day.”

“It won’t be easy as you think,” muttered Renfrew without lifting his head. “Lot of these new-made Bones, I wouldn’t trust ‘em to have the skills or the stomach for a campaign like that. Present company likely excepted, of course.” He weakly waved a hand in my direction.

Yera shrugged. “Fine. Separate the ore from the tailins’.”

Walker leaned forward. “Notwithstandin’ the fact that they’ll be expectin’ us to pull a double cross, I really don’t think y’all realize what you’re tryin’ to do.” I wasn’t surprised he was against Yera’s plan. The whole time I’d known him he’d done his best to keep things small-scale and surgical.

“Win, Clyde. That’s what we’re tryin’ to do.” Her tone was flat, borderline hostile.

“And what happens then, Yera? Admin sees a new group’s in charge down here, runnin’ everything with next to no competition- and it’s one they don’t have any kinda rapport with? One they actively fight out in the pits? They’ll send in Enforcement, an’ people that make Lesuisse look like a Valiant street hustler. They’ll shut the lights on the whole ward, fuck us up, knock us back fifty years or more.”

“So you’re scared, Naudis. Your problem, not ours.” Walker and I both locked eyes with Thurisaz.

Then Walker suddenly smiled. “Well, Duirmach m’boy, at least if we go through with it you ain’t gonna be around to see how bad it ends. War’s mighty cruel to the old.”

Thurisaz stood so quick his chair flew out behind him. “You watch yourself, boy! Watch it, or I’ll-“

“You’ll what? Call a duel?” Another one of those nasty smiles creased his face. “Remember we can’t do it ourselves. It’s in the bylaws, ‘member? D’you really want to hazard one of those dried-up ol’ relics behind you ‘gainst Miss Sawyer here? She’s been workin’ hard lately, but I don’t doubt she’s got enough left to bury your whole crew- so sit the fuck down, would ya?”

I froze, suddenly noticing all the eyes on me: Silas’s hooded, Thurisaz’s angry, Yera’s coolly appraising. I knew Walker was mostly playing a part. He was too cagey to be serious about throwing his weight around like this- but still, it felt weird being treated like a gun held to everyone’s head. Like a weapon.

Was he wrong, though?

Thurisaz backed down just like he had before, but the conversation soon devolved into shouting and insults too esoterically quarryish for me to understand. Then, for the first time tonight, Boss Moses got involved. All he had to do was raise a hand, palm out. His black jacket caught the light strangely as it moved. It didn’t take long for everyone to notice and finally shut the fuck up.

“I gave Commander Canra a call earlier.” He had a leader’s voice: calm, almost cultured, but firm as stone. “I asked her about her rogue problem, about Lesuisse. The old fox won’t cop to a word of it. She’s not backing down. Walker?”

“Yeah, Boss?” It was the first time I heard him speak with anything akin to deference.

“Venya’s got something for you. Correct?” He glanced at the blond woman and she nodded. “Get ready. It’s going to be a good one.”

“You got it, Boss.”

“Now, Yera?”

“Boss?” The woman leaned forward quickly, runes and stormclouds writhing on her arms.

“I’m letting you off the chain. Five days in the city. Fuck ‘em up for me, would you?”

Her smile was cruel, eager. “I can do that, boss.” In front of me, Walker scowled and angrily sparked up a burner.

Boss Moses doled out instructions to each of the Runes in turn. Nobody really seemed pleased, which I guess made it a good compromise. Then he addressed the room. “Just so y’all know? We’ve come through this thing well, so far.” Though his voice remained level, a bit of that quarry insanity I’d seen in Marie and Walker sparkled in his eyes. “So long as we don’t fuck up we’re going to come out on top- and you wouldn’t be sittin’ here if you were a fuckup, would you? Now go get some sleep.” He stood, and with that the meeting was over. I was impressed. He’d hardly done anything, but all these powerful gangsters hung on his every word.

Walker went over to speak to Venya. I stood back at a respectful distance, my mind whirling too fast to bother listening. This had been a more interesting night than I thought it’d be. Maybe not in a good way.

“Sistema-4, wasn’t it?” I spun around to see who’d spoken and blanched when I came face to face with Boss Moses himself. Shit. Was I supposed to salute or something? No, that’d be stupid.

I decided to just answer the quesiton. “Uh, yeah, Boss. It was.”

“That’s what I thought.” He nodded. Cwyr Smith stood behind him, face unreadable. “Somethin’ about the way you put your shoulders into it. I used to know a Sovman who did it just the same. It was a helluva punch.”

“T-thanks, Boss,” I managed, shifting nervously on my feet. What the hell did he want with me?

“Mirabeau’s always been a good one for pickin’ fights that didn’t need to happen. Some’d say he deserved it, gettin’ hit that hard.”

I swallowed. “Some.”

“Do you?” He watched me, a patient look on his face.

How the fuck am I supposed to know? My mind ground at it for a few seconds before I gave up and told him the truth. “…I don’t know. Boss.”

To my shock, he flashed a grin and winked. “Good. That’s step one. Stay safe, Sharkie.” He walked off back into the room he’d come from, Cwyr Smith and Vincent in tow. I was so mystified by his response that I didn’t realize it until later: despite not hearing it here, he’d called me by my real name.

I was still standing there like an idiot when Walker came over to collect me. “What’s up? If you ain’t careful you’re gonna get drool on that nice suit.” I told him about what Boss Moses said and he snorted. “I swear that man gets off on bein’ cryptic. He does usually know what he’s talkin’ about, though.” He eyed me speculatively. “I dunno. Think on it.” We left the building and got back to the car without incident- it even had all its windows intact.

“You said Boss Moses usually knows what he’s doing,” I said as Walker fired the vantablack two-door up. “Interesting choice of words.”

“Yera.” That one word contained a whole lot of bitter vitriol. “Usin’ her to scare back-pit yokels who don’t feel like payin’ dues is one thing. Lettin’ her run wild around D-block, though? That don’t help no one. You heard what she was talkin’ about in there.”

“Yeah.” I didn’t know if I was really knowledgable enough to judge gang war strategy, but my gut said that her plan was a bad one. “Why d’you and her hate each other so much?”

He paused as he pulled away from a light, then shook his head. “Don’t want to talk about it right now, if you please. I’m still too pissed.”

“That’s fine.” Whatever it was, it had him cut deep. The rest of the car ride passed quietly. I began to get claustrophobic, stuck in there with my own thoughts. In a bit we reached a part of Valiant that was borderline-abandoned. Maybe one window out of ten in the surrounding tenement blocks were lit. The lifelights were in bad shape, dull and flickering, one pole in three out completely.

“Walker, could you drop me off here?”

“We’re still half a mile out,” he said quizzically. “You sure?”

“Yeah. I wanna take a walk, clear my head.”

“Sure thing.” He stopped beside the curb and I hopped “I know it was a pain, but thanks for comin’. And seriously…” His eyes flicked at the ground. “I’m sorry for goin’ around and back-bitin’ you like that. I know I’m your boss, too, but still…not what a friend ought to do.”

I met his eyes. “I believe you, man. Just please don’t do it again.”

“Of course. Of course. Stay safe, Sharkie. I’ll be in touch.” He smiled awkwardly. “And, uh, good luck with your new man.”

I returned it. “Thanks, Walker. See you soon.” He gave me a mock-salute and pulled away. With a deep breath I started walking, the weight of my weapons pressing on my shoulders. The deeper I got into the Bones, into my work, the less sure I was feeling about myself. I thought about the way I’d mocked Mirabeau before I hurt him, about Yera and her eager, almost blind aggression. Was that how people saw me? Was it how I wanted to be seen? For a gangster, having a scary reputation almost seemed like a must, but I had to think- had to hope- that there was a place for trust and cooperation too. I remembered what my dad had told me when I’d finally come clean to him, about doing what I did in a way that would let me sleep at night. I’d fallen short of that goal tonight, however good it had felt in the moment. Mirabeau might have deserved what was coming to him- I still felt slimy when I remembered I technically worked for a drug cartel- but I hadn’t acted right. I needed to be better.

“Are you the one called Sawyer?” A woman’s voice shocked me out of my thoughts, and I instantly went on alert. She stood maybe ten yards away in the middle of the street, wearing an impeccably turned-out white suit. She was very tall, maybe six foot four, but the self-assured way she held herself made her seem even taller. Her face was shadowed in the dim surroundings. I couldn’t see a weapon, but her hands were in her pockets.

Well, if she’d found me here she probably knew the answer to that question. I got ready for a fight. “Yeah, I am. What of it?”

“Good.” I heard genuine happiness in her voice. Anticipation, too. “I am Arcadia, and I’m glad to have found you. It’s only right that I finally get acquainted with my sister.” Her shape blurred, and before I could even react her knife was swinging at my throat.