Toil and Trouble

It began over a cup of tea.

That, Chatoya Irkil considered, had been a sneaky move. Tea was not supposed to be used as a weapon in stealth warfare: it was a prelude to a comfortable conversation, not the first bullet of a battle.

“So,” Lisa said when she was in the middle of a mouthful and unable to answer, “tell me why you’re running Pursang.”

Chatoya swallowed the mouthful with an effort. The Furies had become something of a taboo among her friends – Jepar affectionately called them ‘the crazies’, but no one else (except Cougar in his moments of temper) would bring them up. “What do you mean?”

“Toya, I’ve known you for years. Last time I checked, assassinating people wasn’t one of your long-term career goals. Why do you want Pursang?”

“Some have Pursang thrust upon them,” she said wryly. “I didn’t want it – Blue wanted me to have it.”

“Which seems an even better reason for refusing it.”

“And then what?” she demanded. “Go back to being his prey? Let him hunt me down, leave the Furies to murder me when they’ve got a spare moment?”

“Why would they murder you? Blue doesn’t want you dead.” Lisa reconsidered. “Probably.”

“What he wanted,” she said with some asperity, “was to control me and Pursang in one neat move. If you honestly think he expected me to last more than a month or two before one of them decided I was surplus to requirements...well, you haven’t seen the look on his face every time he walks into my office and finds me still there.”

Lisa snorted. “Which look’s that?”

“The one that’s halfway between surprised and pissed-off.”

She laughed. “To be honest, if Blue Malefici has any discernible expression, he hides it well. Honestly, Toya, I’ve met cardboard cutouts that were more expressive.”

She thought of the handiwork that Pursang’s many enthused over so avidly, exclaiming on the artistry, the timing, the cleverness of it all that she simply did not see. To her, those pictures were gruesome and awful and nothing more.

“He can be quite expressive when he wants,” she said, loathing the fact that side by side with that vicious side of him were other more carnal moments of expression, conducted with less finesse, but perhaps equal passion. “And trust me, he isn’t happy that I’m managing to survive in Pursang.”

“Hmm.” Lisa had a thoughtful frown, and her fingernails tapped the side of her mug. “How are you managing to survive? No offence, Toya, but...but...” She seemed to muster herself and said stiffly, “As Blue informed you, I had some dealings with Nightfire once. I barely survived. I wouldn’t have, if they’d realised how much I know about them.”

Awkwardness descended: Chatoya didn’t want to pry but she didn’t know how Lisa could have had dealings with Nightfire in her thirty years of life. From what she knew, they’d been in decline until Blue came to lead them with his ghastly ideas, and any involvement Lisa had with them had to have been peripheral at best.

With that in mind, she decided to be honest, or as honest as she could. “There are ways. I’m lucky – that whole business with the Four had some unexpected benefits.”

“Such as?” Lisa held up a hand. “No...wait. I bet I can guess. Lance, Ross and Vaje all saw you beat Blue.”

“That,” she said, trying not to think too hard about that night. “And they understood just what exactly having dragon powers means. I could have squashed them – and they know it.”

Lisa gave a small, grim nod. “I’ll bet that galls them.”

She frowned. “Well, no, it doesn’t seem to. I think...I think they actually like me, you know.”

“Vaje does,” Lisa admitted. She looked a little embarrassed – there was that softness in her eyes, dreamy in her voice. “He thinks you’re good for Pursang.”

“His support means a lot there.” She didn’t have to think hard to recall all the times he had supported her – in meetings, dissembling opposition by means fair or foul, introducing her to the network of disgruntled mercenaries within its ranks, offering brief but useful advice on life within the Furies. “And I’ve met a lot of people through him.”

Lisa blinked. “Are there are lot of them like him?”

“I wish!” Chatoya laughed, and it was almost genuine. “Every last one of them has tried to kill me, and when that doesn’t work, sometimes I can make them listen to me. Half of them would put a knife in my back if they thought it would benefit them, and I’ve got the other half wrapped up so tight they can barely move.”

“Ouch. Isn’t there anyone there you can trust?”

She thought of Michael Keane, eager but flighty and headstrong. Of Nerine Devilliers, whose icy regard had become to change to something approaching mere frostiness. Of Vaje, who was regarded with amused tolerance by most of his fellows – and fear, fear she didn’t entirely comprehend.

“Vaje. He’s about it for now. Maybe in time...”

“What are you going to do with them, though?” There was a real urgency to the question and Lisa was leaning forward, her eyes intense and almost pleading. “That’s what I don’t get. I just can’t imagine you ordering them to kill people – letting them do it.”

She should be glad of that, she supposed. But Chatoya had signed some of those contracts, had thrown lives to the wind for the clink of coins and the stability of her own leadership. The game she played was precarious indeed, and none of them could know that she was changing the rules, slowly and grimly.

“I want to change them,” she said, and it felt like a release to say it to someone she could trust to hold her tongue. “I want them to be what the Furies were, back when they had honour.”

Lisa gave a strangled sound. “I think someone’s been spinning you tales, Toya.”

“No,” she insisted, unsurprised by the sentiment. What else would Lisa know of them? “They were about something more than death, once. They were...they were our law system. They solved disputes – they helped people.”

“They executed people,” Lisa said bluntly. “They controlled whole empires. Read the history books. Rome wasn’t built in a day, but it was built at their behest.”

She met her friend’s eyes, and the passion escaped her, the dream that she clung to so fiercely. It drove her back into that bleak society every day, it kept her fighting. “I will make them better than that. I don’t just want the killers, Lisa, I want the thinkers and the politicians. I want the ones who don’t see death as the answer to every problem. I want Pursang to be great again.”

Lisa stared at her. “Gods,” she muttered. “Talk about aiming high.”

“High as it’ll go,” she agreed.

“If they know, they’ll kill you,” the vampire said with absolute certainty.

“Yes.”

“Does he know?”

No need to say who ‘he’ was. The hate in Lisa’s voice gave it away.

“He thinks he does, but he doesn’t understand.” Chatoya smiled, and it felt good. “He can’t. If I told him I wanted to make the Furies great, he’d say they were already.”

“And aren’t they?” Lisa said, dubious. “They’ve got enough power. Everyone’s afraid of them. I am. Even Vaje is, sometimes.”

Chatoya shrugged. “That’s not great. That’s just terrifying.”

It amazed her that she could be flippant about it. I am changing, she thought. I’m so much better at camouflage now; he taught me that, and I wonder what other lessons I’ll learn from him.

“You’re serious,” Lisa breathed, and something between horror and astonishment hovered in her face, bringing a fragile beauty to her. “You’re really going to try and do it, aren’t you?”

“If it kills me,” she said and immediately regretted the words.

But Lisa’s eyes were narrowed, full of unreadable emotion. “Toya, walk away from them. You still can.”

She shook her head. “No. Not now.”

Not when I have already made so much progress. Not when to leave would be to abandon them – all the ones who have crept from the shadows to hope for something better.

“Please...Toya, do you think you’re the first one to try and change the Furies? They might play along for a while – they might even play along for years and years, but it will still be lies and they’ll destroy you. They’re monstrous, and that’s all they are. It’s all they know how to be.”

She thought of John Smith and his gruff Texan accent, talking about the family he could never contact. Of the Keane brothers living in their self-made prison, poring over map of Hades. Of Ross, starving for love amidst his wild and abysmal life, of all the monsters with humanity peering from them, dreaming of some change, however minute or momentous.

“Don’t be so sure,” she said.

But Lisa only slammed down her half-finished drink so it slopped over the table, her expression nothing more than a mask. “How can I be anything else?” she demanded, her voice thick with bitterness. “I loved a Fury, Toya, and he broke me into pieces and butchered everyone I ever loved so that I would have no other. So tell me, where’s the difference between my Fury and yours?”

With that, she was gone and Chatoya was left with no answer, with nothing but the silence.