Low Town by Daniel Polansky Page A

scene, then he and Guiscard walked me inside. We moved deeper into the building, past the unmarked door that led to the underground rooms where the real interrogations take place, and I breathed a quick sigh of relief. That was one experience I wasn’t eager to repeat, neither as participant nor victim. When we reached the main hallway Crispin broke off, presumably to report to the higher-ups, leaving Guiscard to continue as my escort. I braced myself for further abuse, but the Rouender showed no desire to rekindle our conflict. He opened the door to the holding area, a featureless stone room, empty save for a cheap wood table and a trio of uncomfortable chairs. He set me down in one of them. “Crispin will be back soon,” he said.
    Dried blood was caked below my nose. “Not interested in taking your turn?”
    “The dead man—he was responsible for the girl?”
    I nodded.
    “How did you know?”
    “Everybody knew,” I said. “We just weren’t telling you about it.”
    He rolled his eyes and stomped out.
    I spent about an hour and a half in the chair, wincing from thepain in my skull and trying to figure out how many of my ribs were broken. Three was my best guess, but without the use of my hands it was tough to be sure. I thought about slipping my chains as a fuck you to Crispin and the rest of his crew, but it seemed a petty sort of revenge and one likely to earn another beating.
    Eventually the door opened and Crispin entered, a dark look on his face. He took the seat opposite me.
    “They won’t touch it,” he said.
    If I was a little slow on the uptake, it was understandable given the circumstances. “What the hell does that mean?”
    “It means that as far as Black House is concerned, this matter is closed. Zhange Jue, mill worker and occasional hired thug, was the murderer of Tara Potgieter and several other girls, identities to be determined. He was killed by person or persons unknown in a manner that has yet to be established. You came across the person or persons engaged in the murder but were knocked unconscious before you could ascertain their identity or identities.”
    “Person or persons unknown? Are you out of your fucking mind? You think the Kiren was stabbed to death? You know as well as I do this reeks of the Art.”
    “I know.”
    “Even the brass can’t be so stupid as to think otherwise.”
    “They aren’t.”
    “Then what are you talking about, ‘the matter is closed’?”
    Crispin rubbed at his temples as if to alleviate some hidden pain. “You worked here long enough—do I have to spell it out for you? No one’s looking to get himself involved in something this ugly, not on the say-so of a drug dealer. The Kiren killed Tara, and now he’s dead. End of story.”
    It had been a long time since I’d come across an outrage I was insufficiently jaded to accept. “I get it—no one cares about the deadchild. Why would they? She’s just another slum kid. But there’s something loose in Low Town that was spat out from the heart of the void. People need to know.”
    “No one’s ever going to know. They’ll burn the body and you’ll keep your mouth shut and after a while it’ll disappear.”
    “If you think this thing is done, then you’re as stupid as your superiors.”
    “You know so much?”
    “I knew enough to find Tara’s murderer while the rest of you were up here holding your dicks.”
    “And why don’t you tell me how exactly that happened—or am I to believe you were wandering through the back alleys of Kirentown and bumped into the man responsible for the body you found two days ago?”
    “No, Crispin, obviously I was tracking him down. I assumed that being a member of an elite investigative organization, you wouldn’t need the situation spelled out to you like a damn child.”
    His upper lip twitched below his beaked nose. “I told you not to go looking for him.”
    “I chose to ignore your suggestion.”
    “It wasn’t a suggestion, it was the command