Chapter 19
Chain lifted her stump, testing the mobility of this... injury. It was the dozenth time she'd done so since the operation, and she would likely try it in every quiet moment until it felt like her: until the ghost of that shattered, wrecked lump of flesh Shovel had gifted her vanished.
Bracket had sewn her Contegon robes so her sleeve would not hang in a parody what she had given up for Sol's justice. Marsh had burned the flesh around the incision after the amputation, but she could still contract a blood-borne evil and require more flesh to be stripped. So perhaps she shouldn't get used to what remained of her arm, but she couldn't help testing it. Not when there were Heretics still at large.
There came a knock at her door. She was alone: Carmen was in school and Bracket ran some errands. Chain stood. Her missing hand throbbed.
Behind the door was Merchant Art, the senior remaining Merchant after what locals had called 'The Uprising.' A young man, he was ambitious in a mercantile way, eager to save money or make more to get himself noticed. She supposed he was getting what he wanted right now.
“Merchant, well met,” Chain said, gesturing for him to step inside. He was not the first to visit and report in, with Chain the only person authorised to run Buckle right now, and would not be the last.
“How are you faring, sire?” Art asked.
“I lost a lot of blood, and am in great pain. Too much pain to cope with formalities.” Chain sighed at herself. “What have you come here to report, Merchant?”
“Par has fled: his clothes and every scrap of food have disappeared, and a secret compartment in his home was left open. It didn't take a Contegon to put this together.”
Chain nodded. She wanted to lead these investigations herself, dig through Par's personal files for hints of who else was involved in the Heresy, but Marsh had ordered her to let the Merchants deal with it. She'd only agreed when Marsh noted how much Muster stood to lose from this Heresy - reputationally and financially - and how much of his favour the Merchant who turned this situation around would gain. Such motivation would inspire efficiency rivalling a Contegon’s. The Doctor also outranked her in medical matters, insisting she was in no condition to run Buckle and the investigations, but that hadn’t swayed her.
Anger burned in young Art's eyes. This drained Chain’s fear that the search for Heretics would be shoddy or sloppy. “You'll get him, I'm sure,” Chain said with a smile. “If not, you'll bring the evidence to light that'll make his life a misery.”
“Not if he goes north, sire.”
“If he manages to cross the Gravit Mountains and the Fronts, he's welcome to Moenian,” Chain said, moving back toward her front door. “Pass his description on to Aureu when you report in: let's make sure everyone on the Fronts knows to look for him.”
Art nodded. “I shall. Thank you, sire.”
“No, thank you. Keep at it.”
The Merchant left then. Chain went back to her seat and closed her eyes, tried to sort the swirling world around her into neat drawers and containers. A constant tugging interrupted her efforts, the envelope sitting on a table beside her. She was lucky Shovel hadn't robbed her of her writing hand, that she could pen such a missive. The envelope looked at her, her private seal – an unbroken chain – a bright red eye which challenged her to plunge herself even further into a world of madness.
She'd written it because another letter had been found amongst the strange tubing. It was meant for someone in Aureu, someone of power: it talked of influence over the people of Goes, on the expected price for some 'final delivery.' No one else knew the contents because it was written in a cypher. Chain took mere minutes to break this code because she and her friends had designed it when they were kids.
Someone else knocked at the door. Rather than get up, she shouted, “Enter.”
Bracket and Carmen came in. Chain stiffened, prepared herself for an awkward conversation with her daughter: this would be the first time they saw each other since the fight.
“Mum!” Carmen shouted, running into the room with a smile on her face. Then she saw where Chain's arm wasn't and lost her balance, fell to her knees. Carmen was used to falling, always tried to jump further than she could manage, so she did not cry. Instead, she stared, unable to process what she saw.
“Carmen, something has happened,” Chain said. She stood and knelt beside her daughter. “I had to have my arm taken off. Removed, by Doctor Marsh.”
“What?” she asked, tears appearing in the corners of her eyes. “Why did Marshy take your arm?”
“Well, you know about the Disciples, don't you?”
“The monsters?”
Chain nodded. “The monsters. We all thought they were hiding far away, in Moenian. Sadly, we were wrong. Some of them were in Buckle. I killed them, but they hurt my arm so badly it had to be removed.”
“How do you fight them, Mum?” Carmen asked. “How?”
“With strength, a weapon, and Sol.”
Carmen stood and reached out to her stump. It hurt when she gripped it, testing how much remained, but Chain did not stop her. “Why did Sol let this happen?”
“It was the price I paid, Carmen,” Chain said. “I don't expect you to fully understand, but... Sometimes, for good things to happen, or for bad things not to happen, you have to sacrifice. Sol didn't let me lose my arm: he let me save Buckle from these Disciples. He let me save you, Bracket, and all your friends. What is one stupid arm against all those people?”
Carmen, her eyes dewy, threw her arms around Chain. She went to grab her daughter with both arms, then remembered she could only do half that. That broke Chain's spirit: she joined her daughter in crying and her emotions seemed to drain from her, covering her poor daughter.
Bracket sat down nearby, wanting to be there for mother and daughter. When Chain eventually pulled herself together, she saw Bracket was holding the envelope. They would have to talk when Carmen was done asking about what had happened.
Her young daughter frowned, looked from Chain's face to her sewn-up sleeve. “Did it hurt?”
“Like you wouldn't believe,” Chain said with a laugh. “But I'll tell you what, it didn't hurt half as much as I hurt those Disciples.”
Carmen and The Mister's questions took the rest of the day. She had to break from their conversations when Merchant Art, Marsh, and Fair, the town's Resting former Cleric, came to see her. Chain was as quick as she could be, marshalling the search for evidence and more Disciple spiders. For one definitely remained in Buckle: the one that killed Tissue.
Between those meetings, she told Carmen everything: showed her scars; taught her a little Field Doctoring; explained how Disciples worked; and recounted how Side died to save her. Bracket weighed in, but there was a strange edge to her voice. Carmen wept often, did not understand what she heard, but she kept asking, wanting more than anything to understand. Chain did not speak down to her or hide the truth.
Eventually, Carmen was too tired to continue. Bracket carried her upstairs – another thing Chain may never do again – and tucked her in. Chain took a final meeting with Village whilst this happened. When she was done, Bracket was sitting on their sofa, the letter in her hands.
“What is this?” Bracket asked. Her voice was strained, harsh.
“It is a letter requesting a transfer back to Aureu.”
Bracket wiped her hand across her face. “Why, Chain? Why the fuck would you do that?”
She bridled at being talked to like that, especially by Bracket, but it was so odd for her friend to treat her like this that she asked, “What's wrong?”
“Apart from the fact that you're moving us?”
“Yes,” Chain said, sitting beside Bracket. “There's something else, isn't there?”
Bracket looked away. She took a deep breath, tried to start talking, but sorrowed instead. “I'm angry at you, Chain. Not for this, though I’m furious you haven't discussed this with me,” she said, gesturing with the letter. “Really, I'm angry at you when I shou
ldn't be. I have no right to be, considering.”
“What is it, Bracket? You can tell me.”
“You know that I've been seeing someone recently?”
Chain nodded. “I'd worked it out, yes.” Then two thoughts collided. “Bracket, don't tell me...”
Bracket swallowed. “He was a nice young Merchant. He was going places, someone rising in his Station: he'd only been made Par's subordinate recently, but he had plans. And he was kind, he was sweet, and he paid me attention. I couldn't help... help falling for him. For Twist.”
Twist. The Merchant who had been working with Grain and Shovel, who had died of his wounds. Bracket's lover had been a Heretic...
Chain took a breath. “I don't know what to say.”
“Me either, Chain,” Bracket whispered, suppressing her weeping as best she could. “Me either. You killed the man I loved. You killed a fucking Heretic, someone working for the Disciples. I can't help being angry at you for it, for being right to do it. But, what's more, I can't help but be angry that Twist might only have gotten close to me because he wanted to get at… at you.”
“I only know a little of what you're going through,” Chain said. “But I understand someone you love turning out to not be who they thought you were. I'm sorry that this has hurt you so.”
Bracket nodded, throwing her tears into the air. “I... I'm going to need some time to...”
“Of course, don't worry about it. Be as angry at me as you want.”
“When the fuck were you going to talk to me about moving?” Bracket asked, her fury finding a legitimate channel. “When were you going to give me the choice of leaving a life I've built or a family I love?”
“When you got home today,” Chain said. “It's why I left the envelope out.”
Bracket looked down at the letter, looked at who is was addressed to. “You must be serious if you're sending this to Acolyte Councillor Maya.”
“I have... evidence I need to follow up on. I thought about who to contact with something so... explosive, and Maya was the only viable candidate. The Clerics and Merchants have been compromised, so I feel like I can't trust anyone of Station. The only person in any position of power I can go to without causing a second Tangle is Maya. She was my best friend, and she betrayed me, but she is also the Councillor of the holiest Station. If I can trust anyone with my evidence, it will be her.”
“More Disciples? More Heretics? Are you doomed, Chain?”
Chain gave her a brief smile. “I'd prefer to think I was 'chosen.'”
Bracket looked at the letter for a while longer. “Send it. But you have to tell Carmen she's leaving her friends, and you have to arrange the move. Except for the actual moving itself: I know you can’t do that.”
“Hey!” Chain said, shocked. But it was a good shock, an angry amusement. “That's not fair. You're mocking the crippled.”
“I'm mocking my friend, a Contegon, who happens to not have an arm.”
Chain gave Bracket one of her new half-hugs, crying once more. They held each other for some time, as friends should after surviving a tragedy.