5-2
Gilead, being as he was a Christian of good standing, had little love for the concept of usury; for the value of a thing to increase over time, though no work be done on the thing, nor the need for that thing increasing, was theft and theft alone. At least, that was what he had learned in the pews. Apparently this was one of the precepts, similar to the admonition against women wearing the clothing of men, that had been found to no longer apply.
Qi Zhen, ever eager to make Gilead look like an idiot, had almost instantaneously launched into a lecture about interest rates and something called “fractional-reserve banking” and “fiat currency” and other such things which made Gilead’s head hurt as he contemplated the creation of something out of nothing. At least that put him on a similar footing to Vilena. Her head hurt as well, the influence of the sacred sun trying and failing to force her to flee.
So lengthy and droning was Qi Zhen’s economics lecture that Gilead did not notice that the group of them had stopped in front of what looked like an old pagan temple, of the kind whose ruins were strewn across any place in Europe that the Romans had touched. A temple to Mammon, perhaps.
“Are you sure that you have any money in here at all?” Sara said. “Ruthven has to know what you’ve done by now, and there’s definitely a telegraph line between here and Leeds.”
“Oh, he’s certainly tried to lock me out of the account,” Vilena said. As she spoke, she drew herself together, straightening her back up to her full height and then some, her whole body seeming to grow with occult power. “But I have a way around that. Hang back and watch.”
Vilena, looking almost healthy even under the sun’s rays, shoved through the doors of the bank, leaving the others to scramble to keep up with her.
“Teller! Lady Vilena Ruthven finds herself in need of spending money! I demand to be served at once!”
Vilena chose her prey at random, and moved in a straight line to reach him while others bent around her like water around a boat’s keel. The poor bastard in the brown tweed coat shrank back, but the glares of the other bank workers prevented him from abandoning his post.
“L-l-lady Ruthven, the telegram arrived just this morning, informing us that you were to be cut off from the government spending account.”
Vilena sneered, baring one fang. Gilead and the bank teller both shook at the sight of that needle-thin tooth, but for quite opposite reasons.
“I was afraid that I would be subjected to such blind absurdity. Idiot mortals, too concerned by their petty matters to tend to the needs of their betters! Do you really believe that I would be disrespected so casually? Have you heard anything at all to suggest that such a rift had fallen amongst the house of Ruthven?”
Gilead immediately understood the gamble Vilena was making. For all his refinement, Ruthven was a warlord, and warlords live and die upon the image of strength: the deaths of three of his wives and the defection of a fourth would send waves of discontent throughout his domain. He would have had to keep it a secret.
“I, I, m-my manager can show you the telegram, Lady Ruthven, it’s all properly signed, the message was genuine. If you want access to your money you’ll have to ask your husband…”
Vilena slammed her fist down hard enough to crack lumber. “I do not see my husband in building, sir! But I see you, right before my eyes! Five hundred pounds, and do not make me wait!”
Vilena’s accent thickened, and by the end of her rant her voice had become a bestial roar. Nobody in the building could escape the feeling of being stalked by a predator. The bank teller was deathly pale, and it must have been an exertion of herculean will for him to even mumble to Vilena that she would have her money soon. She walked out of the front of the bank with a satchel full of cash, then promptly rounded the corner into a nearby alleyway and vomited blood onto the compacted dirt. Gilead, frightened, grabbed her by the shoulders holding up her sagging frame while he massaged the back of her neck.
“Art thou hale? What sickness has come upon thee?”
“And what… What was that? You were a monster!” Sara added.
“Half willpower, half vampire tricks. Difficult to perform during the day.” She met Gilead’s fixed gaze, lips curling into a faint smile. “I will be alright in but a moment, my dear.”
Everyone’s eyes were on Gilead and his intimate embrace of Vilena. He relinquished his grip on her, taking a step back.
“There is no need for such sweetness,” he mumbled.
“Unless any of you are experts on vampiric anatomy,” said Qi Zhen, “I suggest we take the lady at face value. More importantly, we have money now!”
Vilena rustled the bag of bills. “Indeed. This should cover everything until we can… how do you lot make your living?”
“Mercenary work,” said Sara.
“Mercenary work,” Qi Zhen concurred. “At least, when I am cut off from sect allowance.”
“I rely upon the honest giving of god-fearing folk,” Gilead said. “But the acts through which I earn their gratitude could be described as ‘mercenary work’.”
“Ah. Regardless. This will cover expenses.”
“Do you suppose there will be anyone here who could fix my chestplate?” Qi Zhen asked.
The dents that the rifles of Ruthven’s house guard had left in their chassis were exactly where they had been left. Gilead couldn’t imagine that it was very comfortable.
Vilena shrugged. “I don’t know much of anything about metalworking, but repairing the robot would be a good place to start.”
“Zahra and I can start looking for the more basic things. Medicines, gear maintenance, basics. Twenty or thirty pounds should be enough.”
If the team was splitting up, then Gilead had no desire to be in the same side of the split as Qi Zhen. “Then, Sara, I shall go with you. Let my strong back carry the weight.”
“Oh, come now,” said Vilena. “Your strong back needs to be supplied with clothes that actually fit. I mean this with no offense, but Sara does not have experience with Leedsrealmer tailoring.”
“None taken.”
Gilead was caught, pulled in two directions at once. Being near Vilena made him feel ways that not even Dindrane had made him feel; but he and Sara were bound by oaths, not moods.
“Sara, do you have a comms unit?”
“I have a phone, if that’s what you mean.”
“Excellent. Turn it on; once I’ve picked up its protocols, my own transponder will be able to keep you updated.”
Sara pulled a small, dark object out of her pocket. Gilead knew she had the device, but had never seen it used. When she tapped on one side of it and it suddenly came alive with colors, he nearly jumped out of his skin, an act which made Qi Zhen chuckle.
“Right, I’m in,” Qi Zhen said. “I’ll be sure to—”
“Don’t hack my fucking phone, asshole!” Sara shoved the phone back into her pocket.
Qi Zhen looked off to the side, folding their arms across their chest. “What was that?” they said, voice shuddering with glee. “I was too busy looking at that very attractive lady in your photo folder…”
“You bitch! First P—”
“Joking!” Qi Zhen threw up their hands, drowning out Sara’s Pretension statement. “Joking. That was a joke! I’m not much of a hacker.”
“If that was a joke, how did you know I like women?”
Qi Zhen’s cheeky shrug stopped mid-gesture in a way completely unnatural for anything living. Their eyes, (really just LEDs to give their orb camera eyes a sense of personality), twitched from side to side, looking for an explanation.
“I… didn’t?”
Sara was panting as though she’d just run a substantial distance. She took Gilead by the arm and said, “Gilead, let’s go.”
Apparently Blackpool had once been a charming resort town, until being forced into the role of Leedsrealm’s primary port caused it to become overrun with industry. Everywhere Gilead, Sara, and Zahra went there were warehouses, huge cranes powered by steam engines that pissed toxic smoke into the sky, fleshy machines trundling around with huge loads of cargo lashed onto their backs. The only relent from the constant stench of coal ash and undead meat was the salt smell coming off of the sea, but that was a rare treat.
Greed was of immediate concern, Sara looking almost giddy thanks to her loose purse-strings. Gilead kept a careful eye on her, as her friend, while they went about their provisioning. In the end it turned out to be relatively little concern: the giddiness may have been a sign of money’s powers of corruption, but Sara’s will was strong, and the many, many, many arguments that ensued were entirely about practical matters. How many bullets for Sara’s pistol could they afford to carry around? Were mosquitoes truly a problem at sea, and enough of one to require repellant? Should they pack their own food, just in case something went wrong?
“Scurvy, the curse of the sea, the rot that comes from within, is cured by fruit? Art thou quite certain? Fruit? Ordinary fruit, from a tree?”
“Yes, Gilead, from a tree. It’s… there’s this substance called vitamin C, that’s found in fruit and vegetables and things, but not in meat or bread. You need it to live, and scurvy is what happens when you’re dying from not having any.”
“So many dead sailors…”
About the only thing which did not become a sight for some degree of debate was when they passed by an ice-cream seller. Zahra asked for some, and her wish was granted. She was a good child, even her disobedient streak coming mostly from knowledge of her own abilities. She deserved a treat. And while she sat down on a bench, in the shade—apparently the heat had been getting to her, even though Gilead felt quite cool—Sara took Gilead briefly aside and started asking questions.
“So… are you just going to let Vilena keep touching you like that?”
“I fail to understand,” Gilead replied, even as his cheeks rapidly warmed.
“You know, that I know, that you don’t like people touching you. And especially not women. Gilead, are you scared of her?”
Was he? When Gilead thought of Vilena, fear was far from the main emotion inspired… but it was not absent from the roiling stew of feelings. But he knew what Sara was gesturing at.
“No, Sara, she is not… molesting me.”
Sara recoiled. “I never meant to… that’s not what I…”
“But it is. Just because I was a virgin does not mean I am unfamiliar with that most heinous of crimes, Sara.”
“I’m sorry, I should not have…” Sara’s was interrupted by her own shock. “Was?!” she hissed.
A coldness settled around Gilead’s shoulders. “I… made an error. Temptation grew too strong. I know not if I shall repeat it, but… that act forges a bond betwixt her and I.”
Sara’s lips twitched as she carried out the calculations. “During the ball? You fucked her over to our side?”
“I would not put it so crudely. I think she had long yearned to escape her husband, and the revelation of his intentions for Zahra, combined with the oath I swore, were what it took to draw out her courage.” Some inkling of pride arose in Gilead’s guts, and he chose to justify himself. “As Troylus in the high tower, I sacrificed my private honor for public righteousness.”
“So this… thing you have with her… It’s all just part of the plan?”
“No! No, I do care for her. I think. It is inexplicable, but then what is love if not so?”
Sara’s expression faintly twisted into one which matched very well with Gilead’s own feelings: disgust, confusion, disappointment. She distracted herself with her phone. “Qi Zhen sent the text five minutes ago. Let’s head out.”
There was a crack in Gilead’s righteousness, and like a crack in a wooden roof-beam or a stone in a wall, such a crack could only grow with time. Not only had he violated his oldest vow, but now he sought to justify himself to others. The definition of pride. It was only a matter of time before he had lost everything that made him him; would he accept that degradation, or find death before it came?
Gilead’s turmoil was so great that he asked not a single question about the workings of Sara’s wondrous message-sending machine before reaching their destination. It was a structure of dark wood, a name stenciled onto its side with cracked white paint. EXCELSIOR BOILER REPAIR. After confirming that this was indeed the right place, they slipped carefully inside. The interior of Excelsior Boiler Repair was hot, loud, and dusty, the whole floor packed full of various sorts of machines, themselves all powered by a grand steam engine at the exact center, directly underneath the chimney.
“Do you suppose they can repair their own boiler,” Sara mused, “or do they have to call someone else for that because their machines have all powered down?”
It was easy to find Qi Zhen once they were inside; every worker in the factory was clustered in one corner. Even in the shadows, Qi Zhen’s chest gleamed, as though it could make soot and sweat flee its presence through sheer royal majesty.
“You don’t have to be afraid, nothing you have here is going to break that alloy,” Qi Zhen said. “Turn the machines as high as they’ll go, I’ll even pay for anything that breaks.”
“Be thankful for my magnanimity,” Vilena sighed.
“Qi Zhen? What art thou wearing?”
Being as they were an automaton, made of shaped polymer and titanium alloy, Qi Zhen was not in the habit of wearing clothes. The shell of their frame lacked the detail of a human form. At that moment, however, as they directed a group of burly metalworkers, Qi Zhen wore a lacy gown of lilac-colored silk, tied tightly around their waist, decorated at the hem and at both wrists with an embroidered pattern of flowers.
It looked like something Vilena would wear, if she wished to cause Gilead’s immediate death by overstimulation, and the worst part was that Qi Zhen didn’t wear it too poorly.
“You’ve been assuming I was a man this whole time because my voice sounds like this and I’m confident in my own capabilities, haven’t you, 你没教育的混蛋?”
“Forgive me, madam, I—”
“Not a woman, either! I am made of titanium and carbon fiber. And this,” they gestured at the nightgown, “Was the easiest to put on and take off, at least of the things I could see.”
“But why dost thou only come upon the need to clothe thyself now? Hast thou been in impudent nakedness afore?”
Qi Zhen’s fingers fluttered dismissively, clicking and clacking against one another. “I wasn’t naked, I had my armor plating on. And speaking of that! Move the hammer closer to me or you’re going to make it uneven!”
Sara lowered her voice, saying to Gilead, “I guess what’s underneath the,” she gestured at her shoulders in a way suggestive of Qi Zhen’s qi cycling plates, as they’d called them, “Doesn’t count?”
“I heard that, won’t be dignifying it with a response.”
Sara swore in Arabic, and Gilled shot her a dirty look.
Eventually, the boiler-men finally admitted that they weren’t going to get any more out of their machines, demanding payment in exchange for Qi Zhen getting their chest back. The metal had definitely been brought somewhat closer to form, but the contouring was lumpen and obviously flawed. Qi Zhen’s digital eyes narrowed as they examined both sides of the clamshell, inside and out.
“I suppose that’s about what you would expect out of the nineteenth century. If I take any more bullets, I’ll be in trouble.”
They did their hopping-flea trick over to the furthest possible corner of the factory, sending up plumes of dust as they did. Gilead was just beginning to ponder how the process must all have worked when they returned, back to their usual self and with the nightgown folded neatly under one arm.
“Right, let’s not waste any time on indecisiveness. Did you have any ideas for what was next on the itinerary, Vilena? If not, I had one.”
Gilead rolled his eyes. “Say what thou wilt, or say naught at all.”
Qi Zhen clapped their hands together. “Very well then.” They ushered the rest of the group quickly out of the factory, to where their voices would not echo. “I happen to have some contacts in this city who can supply us with illicit materials at low costs, such as weaponry and medical supplies.”
“Are these sect contacts?” asked Sara. “I doubt they’ll help the rest of us.”
“No, no, genuine smugglers. I learned of them through the sect but they take payment in money the same as anyone else.”
Vilena grimaced. “Then we may have to split up once again. My… commanding presence will likely only scare them.”
The word “smugglers” finally triggered recognition in Gilead’s mind. “You propose that we associate with criminals? Smugglers and brigands? Qi Zhen, I thought you were a m—robot of honor!”
Nobody seemed to like this objection, as Gilead was met with a chorus of disbelieving groans and exclamations.
“And yet you believe that honor is written in the book of laws, eh Gilead?”
Sara, her face buried deeply in her hands, said, “Gilead, we have murdered several government officials, all of us are wanted criminals.”
“I would hardly even consider smuggling a crime, not really,” said Vilena.
Every muscle in Gilead’s chest and arms were wound tight. His heart screamed that this was a test, that the crack would widen as soon as he allowed this break to take place, even as his mind reiterated that he was amongst friends.
“I shall not stop you,” he finally said, his mouth near-paralyzed with bi-directional anger. “But I shall have no part in this either.”
Vilena, like a stag wading through fast-moving waters, pushed right through the center of the scene, coming to rest against Gilead’s side. She stroked his shoulder, cold fingers sapping all the strength from every muscle they passed over.
“That works out perfectly, darling,” she said, her voice suddenly befitting a woman half a foot shorter. “You and I do need to go clothes shopping, after all!”
“Thou… and I?”
Vilena nodded. “Just the two of us. It’s been entirely too long since we had any time to ourselves, don’t you think?”
Gilead tried to blink the weakness from his eyes, to crush his melting legs back into stalwart power. Neither succeeded. “As you wish.”