CHAPTER 25

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t blow your god damned face off?!”

Familiar words. Almost too familiar, one could argue, but it felt a strange comfort all the same. Noble wasn’t unfamiliar with the phrase.

He wasn’t unfamiliar with the sight either; an angry man with a gun in his hand. He’d prefer the gun not be so close mind, but still.

This is how it always went back in the day. Noble-once-Knave would cheat enough to draw an eye, then slip an obvious pull. Anger would be riled, and his smooth-talking brother would wash it over with kind words and a promise to split the pot evenly and oh no sir, I’ll let him know not do so something so dastardly again.

All the while cheating twice as hard, of course.

Of course, the problem with always playing the fool in their little shows was that Noble was never really sure how to get out of messes himself. This usually wasn’t a problem- pretending to have your leg broken, wedged down between city-struts and needing help had an obvious solution if no one took the bait that day. It was harder to get out from a revolver aimed squarely between your eyes, silver glinting in the swaying orange glow of a backroom poker game.

The Joker was pressed flat against the wall, mumbling protestations of this unsportsmanlike behavior, but just about pulled within his beetle-like business suit out of fear. The old man was laughing a far-away sort of laugh, enjoying the show.

No brother here to bail him out. No, Knave was just watching.

That knowledge, and reflexes work in mysterious ways.

Maybe that’s why Noble said what he did.

Maybe it was the familiarity of the words, to ease at which they washed upon him. The smoothness with which he glided back into the old routines and methods. Knave-once-Noble wasn’t there to speak for him, but he could speak up for himself plenty well.

Maybe it was just his memory playing a funny trick. The poor Joker, knees knocking together, had tried similar earlier and it did seem to work, so why not?

Maybe he simply was spending too much time with that Saila girl.

Regardless of why, when the King of Diamonds’ hand twitched and he spat those words again, Noble’s response rolled out smooth and easy, only slightly muffled by the filter of his mask.

“Well, that’d be just ungentlemanly of you, wouldn’t it?”

The trigger clicked.

###

The man- the soldier- the unbelievably sharp threat marked with fangs in the eyes- quickly replaced his sunglasses with his left hand, his right lifted into a polite wave.

The fingers twitched faintly, fighting puppet strings.

If Saila hadn’t seen what she saw- been SURE of what she saw, twinkling with hunger in his eye- she wouldn’t have noticed the discordant shifts of movement. Fire started to flow through her veins and pour into her chest.

Suzette was quicker by half.

“Ah! Je suis désolé! Je suis vraiMENT désolé!” she sputtered, bowing in place and nudging Saila with her foot in a clear attempt at having her do the same. She didn’t.

The soldier muttered something in Felisian, to swift for Saila to catch, then switched to clumsy, accented Dulacean that even Saila could tell was rusty with disuse.

“Is no problem, no problem. Sorry, little girls, but you will watch where you are running, okay?”

His voice lilted upwards with the question, and he smiled wide and friendly.

It didn’t seem like a question. Saila felt the tingling of a threat at the base of her neck, working up her spine like fingers.

“Nou- er, we will, we will sir.”

“Good, good! Now run along to your mothers, childrens. They would be upset if you were to be harmed so foolishly.”

Saila couldn’t look away. The man’s right hand waved them off- fighting back the occasional twitch of what had puppet strings catching in the air.

She had to find out. He had to be after her. She had to-

“Saila. Shall we go?”

There was an insistence in Suzette’s voice that caught in her like hooks. Either Suzy’s noticed this guy’s wigging me out, or he’s bothering HER too…

“O- of course, yeah. Come on let’s go.”

Suzette squeezed her hand and they bolted for the door.

Like most bolts, the stop was as sudden as the start.

“Hold a moment, if it pleases.”

The man looked back at them, emerald eyes and fangs both concealed but Saila could feel that hungry glare all the same.

“Who, did you say you were again?”

He gestured to Saila.

Saila swallowed the lump in her throat and did her best to match the dress she wore.

“Eh- Saila, sir.”

The soldier’s smile shifted, faintly.

“Ah. Must be a common name. No worries, miss, no worries.”

He waved them off again. They left like a flash, thunder following lightning.

When the rumbling stopped, they were a full block away.

“What was that?” Saila caught her breath first, and had to know. She had every reason to be afraid of the guy, but Suzette?

“It, er,” Suzette started. She coughed, took a breath, and said, “Papa always told me, to be careful around men like that. Felisian army men like him are…”

Ah. Right.

Suzette’s familiarity of the streets made it clear she was a local. No fighting had reached Zarrhdad… but she remembered Al-Rimal, and the mechanical, probing gaze of the Felisian soldiers. She remembered the fields of wreckage.

Noble’s words echoed in her head; “bad things happen every day, we just happened to wander into it.”

“It’s okay, Suzy. To be honest he kinda creeped me out too- but we’re safe. We’re okay, see?”

Saila gave her her biggest smile. She remembered her own words back then too.

Suzette was a friend. For how long she didn’t know- she hoped a long while. However long it’d be however, she’d make sure this good thing she’d wandered into lasted

Suzy seemed to calm, then, and returned the smile. “Thank you, Saila. I really-”

Then, a rapid staccato. Like a sewing machine seeking blood.

###

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Revolvers are a thing of beauty. Felisian pistols are all closed in, such that you can barely see how the things work. Not so with revolvers- near every part of its mechanical working is exposed for all to see, like the blushing beauties Knave so enjoyed spending his money and time on. Noble never understood that behavior, but he did appreciate the beauty of a revolver.

With a single-action like his own, you had to pull the hammer back manually, then squeeze the trigger. The hammer swung, the bullet fired, simple as. Once that hammer was pulled back, a small bolt at the bottom would lock the cylinder in place to ensure it hit the bullet right and proper, but it wouldn’t go until you squeezed that trigger. It was slower, unless you truly had the gift for it, but it worked.

The new-fangled double-action shooters did it for you, hammer getting ready as you pulled the trigger back, the cylinder moving into position as it did. It’d click into place like a single-action, then fire just a second after. Then it’d reset back to normal without a second thought, ready to pull and move and click and fire again.

If you saw that cylinder move, it was already too late.

Noble saw the cylinder move.

He heard the inner-workings pull and slide against each other.

He heard the click of the bolt locked the cylinder into place.

As much as his time with Saila had reminded him what it meant to be human, the truth of the matter was from the neck down he just simply wasn’t anymore. Oil pumped through tube-like veins and electricity ran through wire-like nerves and his body moved, mechanically.

Which meant that when he heard that click, the machine side of him sent the instructions and moved, with the immediacy and disregard of mortal flesh as any machine would.

Noble felt a crack as his machine-reflexes forced his head to the side, just short of snapping his neck with the speed of it.

It worked though.

The bullet skimmed the cheek of Noble’s mask, barely sliding off the hard leather surface. The filters cut the gun-smoke, but at the back of his brain he smelt it all the same.

The King’s hand shot up from the recoil.

Noble’s shot up from beneath the table, black-silver beauty aimed and ready. The hammer was already set, and all he had to do was squeeze.

“God DAMAAAAARHG!!!”

King screamed as the bullet flew through his hand and revolver both. He fell back to the floor with a thud. The mechanisms of his revolver fell about Noble, mixing with the smoke and smolders of their sudden duel.

The Joker whimpered.

The old man laughed, and lunged.

For a moment- with his neck howling and his nerves rattling and his body threatening to throw itself apart from the speed at which he’d had to move- Noble thought it was just a simple move to gather up as much as the pot as he could before running away. Pure and simple greed.

It was Want that moved the old man, but not for money.

Shadowy strings made themselves clear, twisted round the old man’s arm, and slipped the flesh off like a glove. Bones discarded and twisted till it was a nice and sharpened forearm of a spear, he plunged it into Noble’s midsection, where his stomach would have been.

“Hehe, hahaha… how good to see you again, brother. It’s been a while.”

The old man’s voice echoed forth from a lopsided jaw- shadows alongside it, like unruly threads. Injury ignored Noble shoved his revolver in the old man’s mouth, shattering teeth. Thunder barked, loudly. His head collapsed in on itself, dark velvet splattering in place of blood.

The old man- the puppeteered corpse, collapsed in a heap, strings cut.

“Wh- wh- what’s going ON!” came a meek shout from the Joker.

Noble ignored him, palming the hole his brother had left him- it’d hit nothing vital, but it hurt like a son of a bitch. Intended to drag out the fun, Noble guessed.

“Knave! Show yourself- I can still feel you.”

In the dark of that barely lit room, the shadows started to dance.

Then the world exploded into light.

###

MOVE SALAMANDER, MOVE!

Saila’s inner voice screamed. Instinct and fear both overtook her.

Suzette held close, Saila barreled forward into the nearest building, as gunfire threaded itself through the world like a sewing needle. Saila saw the bullets whiz above her head, as the two compressed themselves down to the floor as much as they could.

Screams sounded, both near and far, as another staccato burst rang out above it all. Bullets tore through wooden shelves and pinged off metal hinges. A bolt of fabric thudded mournfully to the floor.

“What’s… happening?” Suzette asked, slowly, quietly.

Her face was stricken with a familiar fright, but that was all. She was unharmed and that was all that mattered.

“I- look, it’s… like you said, right?” Saila said, forcing on her best smile. “I’ve uh, lived a rider-story life. This is- is just, what happens, sometimes.”

Suzette looked at her, the worry faltering- not falling, no, that wouldn’t fall till the gunshots stopped, but faltering all the same.

“Ah… okay. Okay. Okay.”

She took a deep, shaking breath.

“Save me, rider with a pale horse. Save me.”

Saila almost snorted an awkward, sudden laugh. “Quoting ‘The Running Death’? Really?”

“I- I’m panicking! I need te- to calm down somehow! I- I- I mean…” Suzy’s cheeks went from a fearful blanche to a burning rose. “I just… I’m scared. Be safe. Please.”

The fear stitched into Suzy’s face stuck firmly in place, save for her eyes. There was a strength in them… and a reflection. Her own.

Damn. She must REALLY believe in me, huh?

What confidence Saila could muster bubbled like a pan of oil.

“I will, miss tailor. I’ll come, and death rides with me.”

Saila’s smile felt a degree less forced, bolstered by words long etched in her heart that had never felt as strong as they did now.

Now how the hell do I get us out of here…?

As though that was an easy question to answer.

Saila slinked to the nearest window, moving by inches. Another burst of that sewing-machine gun rang out- no impacts this time. She dared a glimpse out the window.

A crowd- small and screaming, running for their lives- rippled through the market streets like waves. The fang-eyed soldier was standing in the middle of it all, shouting in Felisian, right arm to the sky. A rectangle of black-silver held firmly in his hand, a metal-strut stock connected to the back end and nestled in the crook of his arm. It looked almost comical, such a tiny pistol and such a large brace, it hardly looked like a real gun at all. Or would have, if the bloody memory of its victims didn’t hang heavy in her heart.

He fired into the air again, six bullets flashing into the air with a single trigger pull. The crowd screamed and ran, men and women falling over each other. Fear permeated the air, carried by the stink of gunfire.

The stonework street was smeared with red- people injured in the rush to escape, or errant gunfire. No one dead at least, a small blessing.

A small blessing was all she was going to get, Saila reckoned. The soldier marched towards their hideaway with a knowing smile. His right hand lowered his weapon, fingers jittering.

Saila fell back, shrunk down to the ground, seconds before a blistering storm of bullets tore through the window. The curtain rod clattered to the floor- and onto Saila- the lovely satin window-shade needled through.

“Come out, childrens! I know you are there, and would like to have a little chat!”

His rusty accent did little to hide that it would be his gun that did the talking. It was almost insulting, to hear him mumble so.

But in that moment, Saila struck on an idea.

It was a stupid idea.

Saila grabbed the curtain rod. The heft was lighter than her staff, but it’d do. The bullet-marked curtain would help as well.

It was a stupid idea.

It was going to work, though. Saila felt it in her bones.

The fang-eyed soldier wanted her to come out and face the staccato-rhythm music?

Okay. She would.

###

The world was smoke and splinters, the ringing report of high-grade explosives as familiar as the gun in his face or the screaming that erupted unabated from the fallen King and the disheveled Joker.

Light shone through the wreckage of the blown-through wall, and on the other side was the Hidden Truth, revealed for all to see.

A den of drink and debauchery, now a churning mass of chaos and confusion. Gunfire and screams rang out in equal measure- some men glared with hungry eyes read to bite, some danced on the shadowy thread of puppet-strings. Some fought just to save themselves.

Above it all, standing on a table, was Knave.

Memories tumble, like stones down a mountain.

He stood there, alike yet unalike- wrapped in his black cloak, hat on his head- draped in the finest, feathery cloak Noble had ever seen, each pinion painted a starry sky black. His hat concealed his face- eyes glinting red, three sets of fangs smiling with such anger and- save for the ruby-red glow of his fang-ringed eyes, the dual-filters of his mask, and the far too real painting of teeth between them.

“Brotheeeer~” Knave said, voice- muffled by his mask, but him by intonation- echoing through the filter on his mask, a wheezing hiss with something churning beneath it. “What a pleasure, to meet in the, ehehe, hahaha, flesh once again.”

He gestured an exaggerated gentleman’s bow, one hand dipping towards his chest, the- black-steel metal sword, driven through a man’s back while he stood there and did NOTHI- the source of the backroom’s explosive reconnection to the main hall in his other.

It took everything Noble had to recognize it as a rocket-propelled grenade launcher, and to prepare for what came next.

Knave took a second rocket from the confines of his cloak, slotted it in- Noble fired, twice, revolver barking like a mad dog- and fired into the air. The bullets bit feathers, and the rocket exploded against the ceiling, scattering the scenery with debris and smoke.

“Impressive shooting, brother. But guns are dangerous toys… let’s take this outside.”

The twin glints of ruby- staring into his soul, the teeth of his mask cracking open to reveal such darkness that- still visible in the smoke vanished, as his brother leapt through the wound in the Hidden Truth.

The white-noise of violence swallowed Noble’s thoughts. He was here- and here, always here, forever on the precipice- and Knave was in his sights and he had to, he had to-

“Please, just- wait, what are you?”

“Goodnight, brother.”

Airborne. Weightless.

He tumbles, like-

“Me- muh- MISTER Wildcard!!”

The Joker’s screech of help clicked against his human instincts, and for a moment the past that was his present faded like a walker in the mist.

“Yeah?”

“Wuh- what’s going… on? What should I DO?!”

The poor man was trembling, covered in wood and stone detritus and enough sweat to douse a house fire. The joker mask was askew, and Noble swore he recognized him as the man in the automobile that cut them off earlier that day.

Imagine that. Small world.

“I’d suggest you best start running. And don’t stop till you’re back home.”

Noble hoped his tone was clear. If it didn’t, perhaps the gunfire from the Hidden Truth- and, he realized, elsewhere across the city- would make the message clear.

The man ran. Noble lingered a moment to reload his gun- four empty chambers, each now full with one of Kenji’s red-capped little friends.

Then, nerves trembling, Noble stepped out into the open air, his brother awaiting him.

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