City of Ruin - Mark Charan Newton [197]
‘My things, mostly.’
‘Come on . . .’
‘The hell does anything I own got to do with you?’ Eventually he had to face her, a black hood revealing only the outer angles of her face. The rest of her clothing was dark-coloured and tight-fitting, and something about its condition suggested that she’d seen some action in the war. He didn’t know quite what to make of that.
Behind her, in the doorway, stood several of his men, but he motioned for them to go.
‘You’ve every right to hate me,’ Beami said.
He did and didn’t. Most of all he just didn’t care any more, and he told her so.
‘Well, that’s fine – and I don’t feel any anger towards you. I want you to know that.’
‘I’m surprised you didn’t leave the city.’
‘I’ve been doing my bit for the Empire,’ Beami replied. ‘I took out several hundred Okun at the moment of invasion.’ Then, ‘That seems like forever ago now.’
‘Impressive,’ he mumbled, more jealous of that achievement than he was of her other man.
‘Look, Malum, I need a relic that I had to leave behind. Can you tell me where I’ll find it? I’ll understand if you don’t want to cooperate—’
‘Probably in the underground vault, where we keep all the gang’s hauls.’
‘So you didn’t destroy it then?’
Silence was all he offered. There was nothing to say other than of course he had fucking loved her, so wouldn’t simply get rid of her belongings just like that. But he couldn’t bring himself to actually let her know such things, preferring to leave the constructs of his ego intact. His mask . . . what was left of his sanity, intact.
‘Can you show me where that vault is?’ Beami asked. ‘I need to know, Malum. It’s urgent.’
‘No,’ he replied, and heard her gasp. ‘But someone else can show you.’
‘Thank you, Malum. Thank you so much.’
Such a pathetic tone now. ‘Whatever. Just don’t steal anything that’s not yours.’ His attempt at a joke.
She ran up to him and hugged him and whispered, ‘I’m so sorry for everything.’ Then she stepped away, but he could still feel her intense gaze.
‘You’re a different man now,’ she observed. ‘You don’t care even if you die, do you?’
‘Look after yourself, Beami.’ Malum chucked the remains of his roll-up out of the broken window. And as she left, she took all that was left of his being human. There was no need to hide from it any more. Embrace what you are.
*
The kid couldn’t have been more than thirteen or fourteen, with blond hair slicked down in a modern style, his mask a parody of anger. Beami followed him through part of the underground over which Malum had ruled, cast-iron structures that she could barely see. Beami guessed that they now propped up the roof. Nothing human had designed these passageways, she suspected. Walking though elaborate designs, they kept veering off at odd angles, till she thought they must be heading back the way she came. Now and then they’d come to some subterranean settlement, a nexus of decayed shopfronts and bars, broken chairs littering the open spaces, though a few seemed just recently used. Given the war, they became, like the other quarters, mere ghosts of settlement.
This was how Malum genuinely existed. They had always been a spurious cover, his trading contracts, his networking, these important business operations that he couldn’t talk about. He had always consorted with devious men, but she’d never fully grasped the extent of his underlife existence.
The boy said little, just grunting occasionally to indicate a change of direction. He held up a torch, forcing shadows across her path. She asked him questions, to get a better understanding of Malum’s other life. ‘Who are you?’ ‘Where are you from?’ ‘How old are you?’
To the one ‘Where are your family?’ the kid eventually spoke: ‘Bloods is my family, woman.’
He carried a short blade in his other hand, clearly afraid at accompanying this cultist. With shifty glances, nervous steps, the boy led her towards the vault.
‘What are all these crates?’ Wooden boxes were piled haphazardly in the