Chapter Six

Spade had never seen so much destruction. He followed Silas along the crooked alleys of the Gate, amazed and horrified by the damage the storm had left behind. Water-logged trash had lodged itself into every nook, cranny, and corner of the Gate. Buildings slumped with cracked bricks and busted windows while the steady drip of rainwater leaked through caved-in roofs.  Wreckage spilled into the streets. The early afternoon sun illuminated the calamity the storm left behind.

People inspected the damage. Drunks and laborers lingered outside of their flooded homes and businesses, squinting against the sun's vicious rays as they sloshed through wide puddles of water and mud. Off in the distance, Spade could hear construction workers beginning repairs. He doubted they would accomplish much before the next storm rolled through. Spade had weathered many storms before, but this one might have been the worst.

It was a miracle that Spade had found shelter last night. If Ashe hadn't been at that bar… Spade grimaced, imagining his body under one of the piles of rubble. 

Did Coren and the other kids find shelter, too? His mind strayed back to the orphanage. The building wasn't particularly stable, but it provided some shelter–enough that it should have kept them safe if it wasn't for Belsey and the Black Hearts kicking them out. Guilt and anger twisted in his chest. He felt bad leaving the others to fend for themselves, but what was he supposed to do? He couldn’t save everyone. 

Spade lagged behind as the stale, arid weather beat down on him. Now that the storm had passed, there wasn't a cloud in the sky; if it weren't for the damage, it would be like the storm had never happened at all. The lack of wind turned the Gate into an oven. Sweat formed at Spade's brow. He ran a hand through his greasy hair, already missing the storm's wind.

They crossed a slanted road into the East Side of the Gate and Spade paused when he saw a half-torn flyer stuck to a pole. How this thing managed to survive the storm, he couldn't begin to guess.

"Knave Heart," Silas said, tearing the poster off with a laugh. A smug politician with a crooked nose and slicked-back hair stared up at them from an advertisement marked by bright red letters and patriotic gibberish. The royal seal of approval had been stamped in the corner: a crest with the royal crown upheld by two large fish. The paper was ripped halfway across the politician's face, making his features appear even sharper. What Spade paid attention to, though, was the politician's hooded red eyes. Silas caught him staring and nudged him. "You know him?"

"No," Spade said. "Why would I?"

"He's Senator or some shit. Comes from the Gate."

Spade believed it. Knave had an edge to him: too many teeth in his smile, a predator baring his fangs. Even though he was dressed like every other civil servant, Spade was reminded of Dral when he was rearing for a fight he knew he'd win.

"He has red eyes." Spade took the flyer and tossed it aside. He was sick of looking at it. The mark of Aroth was supposed to be rare, but he'd seen it twice now in less than a day. If he believed in the gods, maybe it would have worried him. Instead, Spade didn't know how to feel.

"Yeah, it's part of Knave's shtick," Silas said. He gestured for Spade to follow him down the street. "A guy who came from nothing, destined for a cursed life, but turned it all around. Real underdog story. If he can do it, why not us?" Silas snorted and shook his head. "It's all bullshit. I'll give it to you straight, kid: Knave Heart is a mean son of a bitch. He'll smile for the papers and act like he's Evonry's fucking blessing, but he's no less criminal than you or me. Aroth, the fucker used to work for X, but now look at him! Got some stuffed shirt to back him up, so he traded his weapons for votes and joined a different kind of criminal career. Got his record wiped clean and everything. He's a killer that knows how to cover his tracks, I'll tell you that."

Spade had spaced out somewhere during his speech. It took him a second to register that Silas had finished speaking. "You sure talk a lot." 

"Shut up and listen. You might learn something, idiot." Silas scowled and drew a cigarette from his shirt pocket. He flicked at his stubborn lighter. "As I was saying–"

Spade sighed, only half paying attention. He knew guys like Silas: the kind that talked for the sake of conversation without having much to say. Dral's gang was full of them. Spade wasn't much for conversation himself–he preferred to shut up and get the job done–but he couldn't tell Silas to shut up and fuck off. Spade needed him, especially if he wanted to move up in No. X.

He wouldn't screw up like last time. Whatever X asked of him, Spade would deliver.

"Look." Silas snapped his fingers in front of Spade's face, jostling him from his thoughts. "Notice anything?"

Silas held his open palms in front of Spade's face. His hands were rough with a patchwork of calluses and a scar that ran from the base of his hand to a point in between his ring and index finger. It crossed the lifeline on his palm, making it appear as an X in the center of his hand. 

"You're uh, really dedicated?" Spade guessed. Silas scowled.

"Up here, moron." He wiggled his strangely smooth fingers.

"You don't have fingerprints."

"Bingo!" Silas pretended to shoot Spade with his index finger and thumb. "You know what I did? I held my fingertips on a hot stove until I burned the skin off. It heals over and the prints are gone."

Spade's brow quirked in confusion. "Why would you do that?"

"So nobody's tagging me with any crimes!" Silas exclaimed, throwing his arm around Spade's shoulder. "If you want to be in this business for the long haul, you gotta use discretion. Be smart."

All Spade could imagine was the searing pain of burning his fingertips off. "...This is smart?"

Silas scoffed and gently shoved him aside. "Give it time. You'll do crazy things in this line of business. I've been doing this shit for twenty years. I remember my first kill. It was back in…"

Spade tuned him out again, his mind focused on more important things–like Ashe. His heart raced just thinking about her. Spade's thoughts often trailed back to her long legs and the way the fringe of her skirt brushed against them. The way her nose scrunched when she smiled. That red eye so much like his own, filled with resentment and mischief. Ashe was pretty, but pretty girls had never so much as looked at him before. Until now.

Of course, it had to be the one girl Charien the fucking Executioner had his eyes on. The memory of Charien's presence in Ashe's room was not forgotten; Spade got chills thinking about it. No matter what heroic fantasies Spade conjured for himself, he had not been able to help her, and he knew exactly what happened to her when she left that room.

I need to get stronger, he realized. There wasn't a chance he could protect Knight, much less Ashe, from someone like Charien as he was now. Something needed to change.

Silas was still talking when Spade bothered to pay attention. He was rambling about something of little importance: casinos? Blackjack? Spade didn't care. Gambling was never Spade's strong suit. 

"So, what's the deal with Charien and Ashe?" he interrupted.

Silas snorted. "What, it's not obvious? She's his little protégé. He trains her in every way… if you catch my drift."

Spade guessed as much, but phrasing it as training rubbed him the wrong way. The carefree smile she had flashed around him during their afternoon together had wilted immediately in Charien's presence. The way she'd hunched and flinched away, fearful of her mentor's touch. Spade had hardly recognized her.

"Don't touch her," Silas said suddenly. His earlier joviality vanished, replaced with a severity that made Spade's next step falter. "You don't want to know what happened to the last guy who thought he could."

"What happened to him?"

Silas shook his head. Whatever memory plagued him, for once, he didn't seem inclined to answer.

Spade shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged, annoyed by Silas's vague warning. "She doesn't even like the guy, so why does he get a say? It's not like–"

A finger jabbed into his chest, cutting his rant short. Silas glared down at Spade, his voice almost a growl. "Listen to me, idiot. I'm trying to keep you alive. Stay away from that girl."

The vehemence in Silas's voice gave Spade pause. This was personal, he realized. But why? What did Silas have to do with this?

Silas jabbed him in the chest once more for good measure before storming ahead, their casual conversation over. Spade lagged behind, for once regretting the silence between them. Nothing made sense and it pissed him off even more that even the most talkative wasn't willing to explain.

They stopped a few yards away from a modest building with a heavy scent of charcoal and smoked meat. Bodies packed  the building inside and out, cramming  the building beyond capacity while more spilled out onto the street, holding paper containers filled to the brim with pulled pork and ribs. The thin wooden planks along the walls had been painted in bright patterns  of red, green, and blue while a floral print stretched across the door underneath the restaurant's sign: Louis's BBQ. Woven tapestries hung from the tin porch roof, further wrapping the building in color. Another sign idled on the sidewalk: Tapestries and blankets for sale. See inside for details. 

"This is it," Silas said, easing back into his casual demeanor as if their earlier conversation hadn’t ended in stony silence. "You wouldn't believe how many kraks this bastard owes me. The man loves cards, but he's got no luck. I'm getting that money today, one way or another. I don't care what we have to do, you hear me? If nothing else, I want this restaurant, his house, everything."

"Hm." The restaurant was cute; definitely better taken care of than most of the Gate. Then again, a lot of places on the East Side were. The area ran on Lenore family money, so most of the businesses had an extra boost in revenue to decorate and bring some life to their property. The North Side–where No. X was located–ran similarly, but their funds weren't nearly as expansive in recent years.

Louis's BBQ was smaller on the inside than it had seemed from the outside. Less than a handful of round tables and metal chairs took up the majority of the room while a few bare lightbulbs hung from the ceiling over a sauce-smeared counter. The miniscule kitchen was visible from the other side: a fridge, a tiny sink, and a large grill blackened by the sooty residue of a thousand ribs cooked to perfection.

Spade and Silas squeezed past hungry patrons, ignoring the shouts and jabs thrown their way as they pushed to the front. Silas banged his hands against the countertop, startling the lanky cashier on the other side.

"Hey, Louis! It's me! Where are you? Come on out!"

A metal door beside the kitchen swung open, letting in a trickle of cold air from the outdated blast chiller as a sturdy man in a sauce-stained apron stepped out. His gaze narrowed at the sight of Silas, his lip curled in distaste. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah, you owe me money." Silas drummed his hands against the countertop, earning a few irritated glares from nearby patrons. 

Louis sighed, more out of frustration than defeat. He tossed a rag over his shoulder and got back to work turning ribs over on the grill. "I don't have it."

"That's not what business says." Silas gestured toward the crowd. "From here, it looks like you've got buckets of kraks floating around!"

"I said what I said," Louis replied. "If I had the kraks, don't you think I would've given them to you by now?" He muttered something else under his breath, but between the cooking food and cacophony of the crowd, Spade couldn't hear him.

"I think there's a few things you could give me," Silas pushed, raising his voice over the noise. "This restaurant, your house, all sorts of things." Louis ignored him. "But hey, I get it! Times are tough, so maybe this will give you some incentive. Introducing you to the deadliest man in the Gate, meet, uh…" Silas paused.

"Spade," Spade finished for him, a little bitter that Silas had forgotten his name.

Louis laughed, glancing over his shoulder to give Spade a once-over. "Who? Never heard of this kid."

"I know the kid don't look like much," Silas said. "But he's an up-and-coming killer. Better than Rath, even. You should see him in action. I saw him bite out a man's neck once with his teeth." Silas leaned over the counter excitedly, getting lost in his own story. "There isn't a job this kid won't do. He loves to kill, right, kid?"

Spade crossed his arms but didn't respond. He wasn't sure how he felt about murder. Did he love gutting people, or was it just because someone like Dral told him to? He had often wondered at the feelings that washed over him when he killed. Over time, the revulsion gave way to thrill which gave way to boredom; it had all become routine. He would see his hands carve up his victims as if he was watching through a screen while his mind was somewhere far away, the sounds of death remote and distant.

A rare, sickening feeling twisted in his gut. He was more of a killer than these men knew.

Louis finally turned back around to face them, scrutinizing Spade from head to toe. He shook his head with a smirk. "He's no Rath. Get out of here, Si, before you start trouble."

Silas slammed his hands against the countertop again as Louis returned to work. "I'm not finished here! You got a debt to pay, Louis!"

Amidst the hollering, Spade watched as a middle-aged man approached the counter with a paper basket of ribs in one hand and a few napkins in the other. He was wiry with curly red hair and the face of a bruiser–and the crooked nose to prove it. Freckles speckled his skin, intermingling with a collection of faded tattoos over his arms and shoulders. There was something familiar about a few of his tattoos, but Spade couldn't remember where he'd seen them.

The man pushed past Silas and rubbed a bit of sauce from his lip, directing his question to Louis, "This guy giving you trouble?"

Silas's expression dropped. "Toby? What are you doing here, you Lenore dog? This is X business!" 

Lenore–the tattoo made sense now. Spade recognized the small cardinal wreathed in ivy: the Lenore family's crest.

"In Lenore territory," the red-headed man,Toby,said between half-chewed bites of food. He waved a bone in Spade's direction. "Who's this? New partner?"

"Yeah! Like I told Louis, he's a real killer!" Silas tried to stand taller, puffing his chest up as he slapped Spade on the back, but it had as much effect as a pomeranian standing up to a doberman. Spade wasn't sure whether to feel more embarrassed for Silas or for himself for being associated with him.

Toby scoffed, not bothering to keep his mockery to himself as he grinned at Spade. "Then why does he look like he just got his ass kicked?"

Spade's cheeks flushed. "You should've seen the other guy," he said with as much nonchalance as he could muster. 

Toby continued as if he hadn't heard him, "Rath isn't with you, Silas. You can't bully your way into what you want anymore. I know what you are, all bark and no bite. Get out of here."

"Not until he gives me my kraks!" Silas pointed at Louis across the counter.

Toby shrugged. "Fat chance. He hired me."

Silas's face turned bright red in outrage. He turned back to Louis, seething. "You hired a Lenore! If you got the kraks to hire him, where's the kraks you owe me?"

"Enough, Silas." The click of a gun earned Spade's attention. Toby held a revolver to Silas's head, his other hand preoccupied with his food. "Get out. You're stalling business."

Silas gritted his teeth. His gaze flickered to Spade, somehow even more annoyed. "You're not going to do anything?"

"With what?" Spade held out his open palms. Silas hadn't bothered to equip him with any weapons yet; he thought it would be easy to intimidate a man who grilled ribs for a living. Clearly, he hadn’t expected Toby to be there.

Silas looked like he wanted to argue but couldn't find the right excuse. He slammed his hand on the counter again. "We're leaving, but don't think I won't come back for my money, Louis. You can't hide behind Toby forever."

Louis waved him off with his spatula. Silas gestured for Spade to follow. They left the store in shame, slamming the front door on their way out.