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Chapter 21: Death Toll

Chapter 21: Death Toll

Mara kept her voice low as they passed beneath the broken gate of the Eighty-Sixth Bastion.

"What’s so dangerous about Reapers?"

Rook continued along the ruined road, his lantern held beside one leg. Its pale blue glow passed over shattered paving stones, collapsed walls and the remains of buildings that had been dead for longer than he had. Other lanterns burned throughout the ruins, some hanging from hooks driven into the stone while others rested within doorways or beneath half-standing arches.

None of them appeared abandoned.

"Abominations want what’s inside you," Rook said. "Reapers understand how to make you surrender it willingly."

"Memories?"

"Among other things."

Three blue lights moved ahead of them.

They emerged from different sides of the street almost simultaneously. One Reaper stepped through the remains of a collapsed building while the other two descended from a broken platform overlooking the road. All three carried lanterns similar to Rook’s, though theirs had been fitted to long iron handles that could double as clubs.

The men spread across the street.

They wore no common uniform, but each carried the same symbol somewhere upon his clothing: an eye crossed out by a single white line. One had painted it across the chest of his leather coat. Another wore it upon an armband. The last had carved it into the iron plate protecting his shoulder.

Two of them looked immediately at Mara.

Their attention passed over the tears in her clothes, the smoothness of her skin and the lack of old wounds covering her body. Whatever they saw made their expressions sharpen. Mara had been dead for only a matter of days, and even without knowing what signs they searched for, she understood what they had recognized.

She was fresh.

Full of memories.

The third man barely looked at her.

His gaze settled upon the coffin rising behind Rook’s shoulders. He frowned at the iron hooks driven through the wood, the thick chains securing it to Rook’s back and the stains left by weapons being dragged in and out over centuries. Something about it troubled him, but recognition had not yet found its way through whatever memories remained inside his head.

The Reaper standing in the center lifted his lantern.

"One memory each," he said. "That’s the toll."

Rook continued walking.

Mara hesitated.

"Keep moving," he told her.

She followed, forcing herself not to look at the two men watching her. The pale chain between her and Rook swayed near the ground, visible enough that none of them could mistake what she was.

"Coffin," the Reaper called. "I’m speaking to you."

"I heard you."

"Then pay."

Rook walked another three steps before stopping.

He turned, though his attention did not settle upon the man who had demanded the toll. Instead, he looked at the older Reaper who had been staring at the coffin from the beginning.

"Is he new?"

The man’s frown deepened.

His gaze moved over the battered wood once more. The iron hooks. The heavy chains. The collection of sheaths, pouches and sealed cases secured around its sides. Finally, he looked beyond the coffin and studied the broad man carrying it.

Recognition came slowly.

Then all at once.

The color drained from his face.

"Let them pass," he said.

The Reaper in the center glanced toward him. "What?"

"I said let them fucking pass." The older man tightened his grip upon his lantern. "Do you not see the fucking coffin?"

Both of his companions looked at it properly for the first time.

The man with the armband studied Rook, then gave a disbelieving laugh. "You mean that’s Rook?"

"Yes."

"That guy?"

"Yes, that guy. Now move."

The central Reaper remained where he was. "You’re scared of someone who doesn’t have an ability?"

"I’m more worried about the man who lived three hundred years without one."

"He can’t even Cull Abominations."

"Good thing you aren’t one," Rook said.

He unfastened the chains across his chest.

The coffin struck the ruined road hard enough to shake dust from the surrounding walls.

The two younger Reapers flinched at the impact. The older one closed his eyes briefly, as if watching a particularly avoidable disaster become inevitable.

Rook opened one of the narrow side compartments pulled out his flachion.

The central Reaper smiled, though some of his earlier confidence had left him. "What are you going to do with that?"

"Depends on how stupid you are."

"We’re the Last Watch. Everyone passing through the Eighty-Sixth pays."

"Then find someone else."

"That fresh one should cover both of you."

His eyes returned to Mara.

The other young Reaper did the same, grinning as he lifted his lantern toward her face.

"If you don’t have anything worth taking," he said, "we’ll collect from her. She has enough memories to spare."

The Brand around Mara’s wrist constricted.

Heat travelled beneath her skin, and the pale chain connecting her to Rook brightened. Something unseen pulled her backwards, urging her toward the shelter of the coffin while the contract’s command drove itself into Rook.

Protect her.

Rook did not look at the Brand.

He did not look at Mara.

"Try."

The Reaper’s grin widened. "The contract won’t let you abandon her."

"No," Rook said.

He lowered the falchion.

For one moment, the man mistook the movement for surrender.

Then Rook leaned the blade against the coffin and began rolling the sleeve of his coat farther up his forearm.

"The contract isn’t compelling me."

The grin weakened.

Rook took the falchion again.

"That’s the part you should be worried about."

The older Reaper stepped away.

Both of his companions noticed.

"You’re really sitting this out?" the central man asked.

"I told you to let them pass."

"It’s two against one."

"It could be ten against one. The number only determines how long it takes him to cripple everyone."

The younger man spat upon the ground. "Pussy, don’t come begging for memories once we’re done."

He shifted his lantern into his left hand and drew something from inside his coat.