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“Carlos.” Pete’s voice came surprisingly calm given his face plating was shattered. Carlos’ chest heaved as he stared back at him. His clockwork automaton body was ticking and clunking and screeching as steam poured from him in an excruciating, persistent burst. That cavity in his chest had crumpled in on itself, metal bending and warping under the weight of arcane magic as that vortex grew. Pete was swaying in place but regarded Carlos was a strained sort of tranquillity. Acceptance. Carlos knew that look, had seen it before, but never on the face of someone he cared about this deeply. He drew a breath. “You lied to us but I think for the right reasons. The tea is destroyed. This fucker’s gonna die. I’m gonna die. Put me in the Flow. Run.”
Pete’s jaw was half-hanging off what remained of his face, mangled beyond repair, but it still lifted at the corner, just a little and Carlos exhaled in a rush. He was trying to smile.
He swallowed thickly, just barely managed to choke out an affirmative. “Sí.”
The manor was collapsing, rumbled and groaned as debris fell from the ceiling, landed in clouds of dust and glass as Carlos desperately looked through the wreckage to find Cheeky or Maureen, saw them being drawn towards that growing vortex inside Pete’s chest.
“No…”
It couldn’t just be him. He couldn’t leave without them. He couldn’t-
Cheeky wasn’t watching him. He was staring at Pete, smiling easily, eyes half-lidded and with some kind of grim determination written across his face that unnerved Carlos more than anything else he’d seen that night. Cheeky was done for. He had discarded one of his crossbows, traded it for that pocket fireball from the auction. He was going out but not quietly and he wasn’t letting the Krags go either.
Carlos felt a shout at the back of his throat, something anguished and desperate and buried within him. It wasn’t fair. Cheeky had saved him had been bleeding about and still scooped Carlos up, jumped from a moving carriage with Carlos in his arms. He didn’t have to do that but he did and now Carlos couldn’t even repay that kindness.
Carlos blinked away the stinging sensation in his eyes, blamed it on the clouds of dust around him. That vortex was pulling him stronger now, he felt his fur standing on end, had to dig his tiny claws into the hardwood floor to stay in place.
Carlos turned to Maureen. She was bruised and bleeding, her hair tussled as the pull of that magic tried to draw her closer. Her heels were slipping and she couldn’t find purchase on the floor, drew a knife and embedded it into the overturned auction plinth with both hands to hang on that little longer.
She was closer. Not by much but maybe of Carlos found some way to tether himself he might be able to pull her to-
Maureen looked up, caught Carlos’ eyes, seemed afraid, let a tear slip down her cheek. She didn’t wipe it away, knew the moment she took her hand off that grip she’d be pulled back. Instead, she watched Carlos closely, lower lip trembling as he took that little half-step towards her. She shook her head and Carlos halted in place, could only watch on helplessly as his friends were pulled towards that vortex and away from him.
Carlos choked. What had it all been for if he couldn’t save them? Not even one of them?
He wished he had been able to say goodbye. To thank them for being kind to him. To say that he’d never had friends before but hoped that if he did they would be exactly like them.
Perhaps in another life they could have that. Mudlarks didn’t believe in that sort of afterlife but Carlos hoped it all the same.
It was all so cruel. So painfully unfair.
Carlos’ feet slipped on the floor. He had to go. There was nothing he could do for them anymore. Pete giving him permission to leave lifted a weight inside of his chest Carlos didn’t realise he’d been carrying.
He stepped back, raised his hand one last time to launch a Guiding Bolt at the Krag twins. Carlos may not be able to save Cheeky but he could give him this kill, knew he needed it. The magic moved as an extension of Carlos’ hand, came at them as a blast of white-hot holy light that singed their skin, had the pair crying out and stumbling backwards.
A small part of Carlos had always wanted to do that. To deliver just a small amount of the cruelty to them that he and his kind had experienced growing up in the East End.
Then, Carlos turned tail and ran.
He pushed forwards against the pull of the vortex, shouldered his way through the hoard of screaming attendees. He felt shoes land on his tail in the commotion but pressed on through the pain, headed for that main entrance. He could feel the breeze on his fur as the chandelier above him came crashing down.
Carlos leapt out of the way, dove for the closest empty space he could as shards of glass washed over him. “¡Jesús Cristo!”
The crowd moved away with screams of terror and that was the window he needed. Carlos scrambled across the floor on all fours, as fast as he could, darted about the ankles of those also fleeing the scene. There was a bang from behind him, somewhere in the auction room and Carlos felt his stomach twist itself in knots, hoped that Cheeky had managed that shot. Hoped he had managed to kill the bastards. Carlos would never know and while he could live in that uncertainly, decided that Cheeky had.
Carlos’ next step felt lighter and he noticed his feet being lifted off the floor. No. No, no, no-
He clawed at the person next to him, sank his claws into their rumpled dress shirt to push his body past them, held on even as he felt their fist come down on his nose. Carlos clung until had gathered the strength to fight that pull on his own. The door was in front of him and it was open. Carlos leapt through.
The cold air of Donlon at night passed over him, burned Carlos’ lungs as he gasped. He heard the mansion coming down behind him. The screaming. The awful, horrible screaming of those who were pouring out around him and the painful fact that none of them were his friends. He needed to run, Carlos knew that. But he stayed in place for several long seconds just hoping that somehow – somehow – they had pulled it off. That they would emerge victorious and the sickness in Carlos’ heart would melt away and he wouldn’t be stood here in the wreckage on his own.
But they didn’t. Wouldn’t. Carlos knew that. Somewhere, deep down Carlos didn’t want to acknowledge, he already knew they weren’t making it.
The mansion crumbled, fell in on itself as well and Carlos couldn’t stay there any longer. He made to scurry away but his hands were shaking, felt achy and tender and Carlos knew they wouldn’t hold him. Without any other option he stumbled for the nearest manhole cover on his hindlegs.
He fell to his knees as he lifted it up. Was already crying as he ducked inside, let it fall shut overhead and he fell down the rungs of that ladder, landed in a heap on the Donlon Underground platform.
Above him the world was still rumbling. Dirt and grime and bits of cement fell over him but Carlos didn’t care. He couldn’t bring himself to move and drew his legs to his chest as he wailed, loud and anguished.
Carlos couldn’t remember the last time he had cried, let alone mourned. This was why he didn’t have friends. This pain that felt as though it was splitting him in two, pulling his ribs open to expose his raw, aching little heart. Resiliently beating even though it hurt.
Beside him the Flow moved in a collection of bright blue and purple and pink cords of colour, lit up the tunnel. Light reflected on the arched walls, turned into pictures as Carlos lay there, helpless. He saw Maureen and Pete and Cheeky. He saw them together on the Songbird docks. Having breakfast. In the stolen Mobgoblin carriage. On the barge. In that final battle, on the brink of death looking genuinely happy that Carlos would make it.
Carlos wrapped his arms around himself, turned his face to the cold stone beneath him so he wouldn’t have to look at those memories anymore. He shuddered as another wave of tears wracked his body. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe.
“What is- Carlos?”
Carlos whined at the sound of his name. He couldn’t do this anymore, couldn’t get up and pretend he knew how to go on like this. It was agony. It kept him on the floor. Shaking and sobbing and fighting for breath. He heard urgent, hurried footsteps and distant screams from above and behind it all, the dripping of Flow water mingling with echoes of his dead friend’s voices.
Carlos didn’t see the hand that reached out for him but he did feel it grip the back of his shirt and haul him up. He didn’t fight, just couldn’t bring himself to anymore.
Through tears he found himself looking into the amber eyes of Silt Saint Vulpin. He seemed surprised, slightly disgusted and Carlos figured that was fair. He sniffled, still couldn’t calm down enough to speak clearly. “I- I- hah- they- they’re gone.” He drew in an uneven breath. “They’re de-dead.”
Vulpin shook his head and then shook Carlos. He let out a surprised squeak but otherwise didn’t resist. “And the tea? What about the tea?”
“It’s- it’s gone. Pete destroyed it. H- he-“
“That is good.” Vulpin cut him off, lowered Carlos back down to the ground, regarded him strangely. “What are you doing here?”
“I-“ The surprise of the question cut through Carlos’ grief for only a moment and he scrubbed a hand over his eyes. The fur was still damp, would be for a while. “I’m sorry?”
Vulpin shook his head. “You weren’t meant to survive that mission.”
On some level Carlos figured he probably knew that. He wasn’t meant to get away. He wasn’t meant to run. He was meant to have tried to save his friends anyway even if it was futile. He was meant to fall into that vortex alongside the others, die like a hero.
“Well,” Vulpin shrugged, his tall, narrow frame rose and fell under the filthy velvet robe he wore. “I suppose it makes no difference to me. You can be a Silt Saint. If you still want to be.”
Hours ago Carlos would have wept at the sound of those words. He would have prostrated himself across the cobbles and begged. Now, though… he just felt numb. He nodded, didn’t say much else.
Above him Donlon descended into chaos but Carlos couldn’t find it in him to care. They had destroyed the tea, had stopped it from falling into the wrong hands and he should be glad of that but hearing the state the city was in and given the pain in Carlos’ heart, he couldn’t help but feel it too high of a price. Perhaps that was selfish of him. He didn’t care anymore, just sat there with his tail curled around his ankles, crying loud enough to drown out the memories that played out before him in a flurry of colour.
~*~
Carlos poked his nose out of the manhole cover, checked to make sure the streets were clear before climbing up.
It was weird looking at what remained of Sinkenton Palace. Most Donloners had descended on the place on the days following its destruction, plundered what precious artefacts had survived the building collapsing. Carlos had given it a week to be safe. Not that he really registered time passing him by anymore. He lived in a daze since that night, barely ate, barely slept, felt himself being driven insane the longer he stayed in the Underground watching those memories loop on the walls. It never got any easier, only made Carlos feel so much worse for standing there still breathing.
It was hard trying to think of the way forwards. Truthfully Carlos didn’t know what to do with himself. He could go back to the church, take that promotion and try to find his way back onto that path he had walked his whole life but something inside him had shifted, made him feel indifferent to the thought. There was only one thing Carlos wanted and that was something he could never have.
Well, there was one thing he had left to do. A promise he had to fulfil. He would just go step by step, one breath after the other and hope that eventually things would make sense.
He took a deep breath, couldn’t hold it. Moved forwards and began to slowly pick his way through the rubble of Sinkenton Palace.
Progress was slow and Carlos’ claws started to ace, the skin on the soft pads of his fingers split open, came away stained with blood and dust from the rubble. Still, Carlos persisted, moved each piece of debris out of the way one at a time until he found what he was looking for.
It was glinting white under the sunlight. Carlos picked it up with shaking fingers, used his furry forearm to brush away the dust until that blue swirling pattern was clear. He choked, held that shard of porcelain to his chest as his lungs aches and his eyes stung and he held back that wave of tears, had cried so much over the last week that he felt spent but somehow still had more to give. Tears ran over his cheeks and when Carlos bowed his head, tasted them salty on his lips as he heaved mouthfuls of air down his throat.
He rocked himself back and forth, tried to imagine which part of Pete he was holding. Strong, brave, stupid Pete who was too damn selfless for his own good. So willing to save a world that had kept him in chains. Pete had cared for Donlon more than it had cared for him. He wanted to walk those streets a free man. He didn’t even know what he wanted beyond that and Carlos thought that maybe he would have liked to have been there to see when Pete figured it out.
Carlos stayed there longer than he’d meant to. Managed to find one of Maureen’s bright emerald heels among the wreckage as well and yelled, pounded his fist on the floor until he hadn’t the strength anymore. He should have gone with them. He should have gone with them-
“Meow.”
Carlos stilled, tried to calm his squeezing, wrenching, pounding heart as he looked around. He couldn’t spot anything amongst the rubble. All those shapes and colours were hidden beneath a layer of grime.
“Meow.” The sound was strangled, pained. Carlos recognised it immediately.
He got to his feet, swayed but managed to right himself. “Gato? Er- John Nipples?”
“Meow!”
Carlos spun in place, couldn’t see anything. He did, however, feel two pinpricks of pain in the side of his left ankle. He leapt in place, swore under his breath and glanced down to see John Nipples licking his lips. He sat back, looked up at Carlos and meowed. Carlos didn’t know what he meant by that.
“He is gone. I am sorry.” It was the first time Carlos had been able to talk about his friends without breaking down.
John Nipples blinked with all three of his eyes.
“You understand me? Cheeky is dead. All of them are dead.”
With great effort John Nipples got up, stretched and then rubbed against Carlos’ legs.
“I don’t know what you want from me.” Carlos looked around. It was completely desolate. Just him and John Nipples. “I can’t bring him back. I- I can’t bring any of them back.”
Carlos’ voice broke on he words and he felt a sob tear at this throat. He brought his free hand to his eyes to scrub away the tears. He was so sick of crying. He was so sick of that nausea in his gut that wouldn’t go away.
John Nipples stayed rooted in place, let Carlos wail as long as he needed. For someone usually so used to staying quiet, it was new to want to be heard. For someone, anyone, to acknowledge his pain and take it away. Through blurry eyes, Carlos stared at that shard of porcelain. His heart thudded again and again, felt as though it was right there in the cage of his chest but Carlos knew it had abandoned him, gone wherever his friends were and left him empty and cavernous inside. He swallowed thickly, still had work to do, couldn’t rest yet.
He stepped around John Nipples, walked back through the wreckage and emerged onto the streets of Donlon or what remained of it. The city was destroyed but like Carlos’ resilient little heart, continued to live. Being out and about was dangerous but Carlos didn’t care. He wandered through the streets deliberately slow, didn’t want to spend another moment in the tunnels with those memories. At least out here he had-
“Meow.”
Carlos saw John Nipples trotting along behind him, tail raised, flicking from side to side.
“You’re following me.” He stopped, regarded the cat with a measure of discomfort. “I don’t have food for you. I don’t know where you should go.” Carlos looked about, he didn’t trust that the streets would stay quiet for long. He eyed John Nipples nervously. “But you should leave here. It isn’t safe.”
John Nipples didn’t even look as though he were paying attention and Carlos groaned, rubbed his temple, already felt a headache coming on.
“Shoo! Déjame en paz.”
John Nipples didn’t leave him alone, just stayed there in Carlos’ shadow as though he was Cheeky. Something lodged in Carlos’ throat and he gave in, continued on his way with the cat at his side.
It didn’t take long to reach the Flow. Even now Carlos felt a pull to it. His true North. He found a quiet spot on the riverbank where he’d notice if anyone was about to disturb him.
Carlos stood there, staring out at the swirling mix of water and magic and swallowed thickly. John Nipples bumped his head against Carlos’ leg and sat down at his side. The cat had his chin tilted upwards, was watching Carlos’ face as he held that piece of porcelain in both of his shaking hands.
Carlos cleared his throat. “I-“
He choked right away, felt the guilt of standing there hit him all over again, the fact that he was holding all that remained of Pete in both of his hands. He had been so tall, Carlos had to crane his neck to see his face properly under that flat cap. He glanced down, John Nipples was doing the same now and somehow, inexplicably, it made Carlos huff a bittersweet little laugh.
A cool breeze passed over him. Carlos shivered. John Nipples did as well.
Carlos felt the cat’s tail wrap around his ankle and it felt like reassurance. He steeled himself and began.
“This is, uh, not something I would usually be doing.” Carlos breathed, stared at the shard in his hands as he spoke. “In fact, throwing bodies in the Flow is a cardinal sin-“ he laughed humourlessly. “-But, I think this time I can make an exception, no? For an old friend.”
Carlos didn’t move. He didn’t let that last part of Pete go. He just stood there, holding it and doing his best not to break down all over again. From beside him John Nipples yowled and Carlos stumbled over his next few words, managed to find the rhythm again.
“I, um, er- right, sorry. Pete. This is what you wanted and it is my privilege too stand here right now and deliver you to the Flow. It was a honour knowing you. I wish I could have known you a lot longer. Gracias. Mucho gracias por todo. I… you are the bravest man I have known.”
Carlos swallowed, breathed deeply. From beside him John Nipples started to purr, it felt like a little motor against the side of his leg. All skin and bones and matted fur.
“To Maureen. I am glad you got your revenge, you have lived in pain for so long I hope it brought you some comfort. That you are able to rest now with your love.”
John Nipples pawed at Carlos’ leg.
“Yes, yes, I am getting to it- Cheeky Dustbins. Thank you for saving me and trusting me after everything I was, um, I was dishonest about. I wished I could have saved you.” Carlos drew a sharp breath. “Thank you for the cat. I… I will look after him.”
Then, Carlos reeled back and tossed that porcelain shard far into the middle of the Flow. The water reacted, became vibrant as it made impact and then settled again, sent little ripples across the water.
Carlos didn’t smile. Couldn’t smile. But he did feel lighter. He didn’t know where to go now. There were no more jobs left unfinished. He sat there on the riverbank, stared out at the Flow. John Nipples wasted no time in climbing ono his lap. He pushed his head up under Carlos’ chin to nuzzle him.
That was all it took for Carlos to give in, gently run a hand over the cat’s fur. It came away in clumps under his hand but he didn’t mind. Buried his own head against the John Nipples’ body and they took what solace they could in each other’s company.