Chapter 4

Searcy stared out the window long enough to draw a sip of amber mezcal. He let out a noise like it stung on the way down.  Arran cradled his gut and watched the back of Searcy’s head. They had the streetlamp outside to see by.  ‘I go back across the street and half this station’s at my door. The district chief’s two days away. There’s going to be a full inquiry, so- I see you went by the church already.’ He meant the ashen line on Arran’s forehead, now smeared. ‘What the hell’s gotten into you?’  Arran used the chair’s backrest as a crutch and leaned into it. Flesh and bone knit themselves back together while he grit through the pain. ‘Must be my neurodivergence,’ he said.  Searcy rolled his eyes. ‘Arran, the bureau wants you sent walking. The Council’s thinking about pulling an emergency meeting tonight.’  ‘Won’t happen,’ Arran said, scratching at the wooden grain of the backrest with a fingernail.  Searcy turned his head an inch and an eye focused on him. With a grump he grabbed the bottle by its neck and poured a dram for Arran. The bottle went back on the cart with a glass tap. He picked the glass up and stubbed Arran’s chest with it. Liquid sloshed up the sides. ‘There’s going to be a panel, and lots of questions. You’re going to have to reassure a bunch of spooked chickens you won’t be coming for them.’  Arran took the glass. ‘What, have they got business too?’  ‘Brookes showed me the footage. Someone in accounts is reviewing it now, but we’ve had word. It’s clear as day. You forced him to draw. You put a slug right through his head like you hadn’t spent a day out of practice.’ Searcy held his glass out for Arran to regard it.  Arran met it with his. The glasses clinked.  Searcy finished his drink in a gulp, keeping a steady eye on Arran. Pain flicked through his expression.  ‘I’ve got a similar problem,’ he said, tipping his empty glass at Arran and his broken condition.  Arran took a sip and straightened off the backrest. The liquor went down, but he wasn’t sure where. It warmed him, so his gut must have been recovering. ‘Odelford called himself a pillar of the community, you know.’  Searcy sniggered. ‘Of course he did.’ He sighed. ‘They’re gonna try to stick me with a company peacekeeper, you know.’  ‘You think they’ll try send me walking?’  Searcy swilled his empty glass. ‘Sure. They’ve had their doubts since day one. But now, when the DC gets here, I’m on the line, because Odelford had ties over in Stilmont and they are extremely displeased. I wouldn’t be surprised if all Babylon hears about this one.’  ‘I was justified,’ Arran said. ‘The old edicts,’ he said, gesturing faintly. ‘I didn’t judge him outright, I did give him until sundown to leave,’ he followed, letting the words hang in Searcy’s silence. They fell flat. The old edicts were the reason for the Council’s doubt. They contravened that agreement which he’d promised to uphold.  ‘Finlowe has agreed to a service on the Graney widow’s behalf. You will be permitted to attend, but you must sacrifice your weapon beforehand.’  Arran forced himself to settle. ‘I can oblige,’ he said. ‘So long as it’s at the church.’ Only high-ranking members of the faith could hold his weapon, and then only for certain reasons.  Searcy’s expression calmed. The Mayor watched Arran. Old lines worn from experience formed, his features setting in firm patience. He nodded at Arran, expecting that response. They were standing next to Arran’s desk. The middle of it was clear so he could talk straight to people sitting across from him. There was a small screen on one side and a tidy collection of stationery on the other. Searcy put his glass down.  Now the way he stood was patriarchal. The small-talk was over. The Mayor had a job to do. ‘Come in,’ he said, at a shadow at the doorway.  A knock faltered and the doorknob turned.  ‘Deputy Lees,’ the Mayor said. ‘Just in time.’  Lees came in with a square black case in hand. ‘I was listenin,’ he said. He put the case on the desk and nodded at Arran. ‘Big hoss,’ the cool deputy said.  Lees looked like he’d dressed walking out the door, but he was always ready to get to work. Tonight he was wired, more cocky than usual.  Arran’s guts weren’t settled enough for this. He hadn’t noticed anyone else in the Hall as he’d entered, but he had taken a nasty shock upon arriving. He looked past the deputy and ignored the case he’d brought. ‘You got Lees?’ he said to the Mayor. ‘He’s up past his bedtime.’  Lees spoke with a drawl. ‘It’s just part of the formality,’ he said. ‘Plus, I volunteered.’ He looked at Arran like he would’ve even bought tickets. The deputy put his hand on the lid of the case and opened it up. The storage compartment was empty.  Searcy spoke. ‘Peacekeeper Arran, you are hereby relieved of your duty. A suspension is effective until further notice.’  ‘I acknowledge the suspension. Alright.’ Arran reached down and clipped the shiny badge off his belt and dropped it on the desk beside the Mayor’s glass. Lees’ quick fingers took the badge up and dropped it in the case. The sound was muffled by padding.  ‘Witness,’ Lees said.  Neither of them cared about the old silver shield in the case. Their eyes were on the gun showing under Arran’s coat. ‘But you’re not done,’ Arran said.  The Mayor gave a slight shake of the head. ‘Afraid not,’ he said, sighing. ‘The Council, the bureau, all the station, you must be aware, need to see constructive action on the matter of Odelford’s sudden and very brutal death.’  ‘It’s my command, Searcy. You know I don’t answer to them.’  ‘Such as it is, with the district chief on his way, and the Council arranging an urgent meeting, we all humbly request you part with your sidearm for the duration of what I am certain will be a brief suspension.’  Arran shook his head in return, adding a shrug. ‘Can’t do it,’ he said. He gestured a thumb over his shoulder, loosely indicating back the way he’d come. ‘The Council doesn’t have the concessions that he does.’  He meant Finlowe.  ‘We understand your position is absolute. This is your choice.’  They all knew Arran wouldn’t hand the gun over. Not to the bureaucracies of the bureau or the Council. The space between the three of them felt closer.  Searcy stood wider, taller, than before. ‘Give me your gun, Arran. It’s short term, just until I meet with the Council.’  This was turning into a mugging. Arran’s hackles rose. The edge of it came into his voice. ‘It is not to be given.’  ‘Give it to Lees.’  Lees awaited.  Arran ignored him. ‘I am built behind the gun and the law. There is no authority but justice itself who can retain me. You knew that when I signed on. The Council knew that.’  ‘We know the official rhetoric,’ Searcy said, exhaling. He would explain. ‘But you killed someone vital to the station. We don’t do that lightly out here. You know that.’  ‘Tell that to the Graney widow, who’s bereaved twice now since her husband-.’  Searcy stood firm. ‘That’s why you had to do it the right way. If you’d just waited.’  Lees relaxed. ‘Bein a peacekeeper is why you came here,’ he added. He was leaning on Arran’s desk, trying to keep things calm. ‘Isn’t that right?’  Searcy ignored him. The deputy was there to affirm the Mayor, not detain Arran. The deputy might end up some fine layer of paste on the wall if he tried. The Mayor was maybe the only one who could hope to handle the hardcoded ex-lawman, the armed killer of gods.  ‘Arran, you are not being detained, but you are not leaving this office with that weapon.’