Midnight Metropolis: Chapter Twelve (2/5)

Truce

Caroline Barnard-Smith

Nov 22, 2024

A serialised novel of sunless planets, hallucinogenic mushrooms, daemons, and... pizza rats. 🍕🐀

New chapters posted every Friday! Scroll to the bottom for content warnings.

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“Wouldn’t it be easier to wear a mask, or a scarf, or something? Stop people staring.”

Ginx snarled at Tattie, forcing the edges of her curving mouth-splits apart until they gaped. Tattie suppressed a shudder.

“Fine,” she said. “Forget I mentioned it. You really didn’t need to come tonight, Ginx.”

“I’m here to keep an eye on you,” Ginx said. “I need to make sure you don’t grab the data behind my back and leave Toni high and dry.”

Tattie fingered the warm, sleek barrel of the captube in her pocket. “At least you didn’t bring Riven this time. This whole gig’s turning into a bloody circus.”

A dull, stricken look flickered across Ginx’s face. “I scared him good at the warehouse. I don’t think he wants to see me anymore.”

“His loss,” Brax said, ever the peacemaker.

Tattie turned away so he couldn’t see how it rankled. He couldn’t help being himself, she just wished it didn’t feel like a betrayal when he tried to placate people on her behalf. Part of her wanted him to agree with her always, to be ready to fight anyone she had a problem with with nails and teeth. The thought was stupid. She kicked at a jagged piece of rock lying in the street, aiming for the back half of a long-dead rat crushed against a wall. She hit it squarely in its blackened hindquarters, managing to snap off one malformed leg, shiny beneath a hard glaze of old blood. Brax’s mouth twisted with disgust.

“Shall we get this over with?” he said.

The doors of the Swinging Cat were black painted metal, covered with lewd stickers and rain-faded posters. They were dented by years of rough boots and hard fists, so grubby that Tattie was sure she’d catch some nefarious disease just by touching them. She pushed them open anyway, eager to get off the even cruddier street.

“They’d better have beer,” she said.

The inside surprised her by being halfway decent. Oversized golden-hued bulbs hanging in coloured glass shades made the place feel snug and inviting. It wasn’t a large space, but a decent collection of tables and chairs were grouped before a low stage in the corner. Tattie began walking towards what looked like a bar, then stopped when she realised they were only serving coffee.

“I thought this was a pub?”

“Everyone knows the Cat’s a coffee bar,” Ginx said.

She grinned, the effect like a fleshy snail curling in on itself. Everyone in her line of sight recoiled. When they made their way towards the stage, the crowd parted, clearing a path and leaving a table free.

“Looks like your broken mug is good for something,” Tattie said. She fell silent when Brax shot her a warning look.

“I’ll get us some coffee,” he said.

He went to queue at the bar and Tattie was left alone with Ginx. There was a large picture hanging on the wood-panelled wall behind their table, a portrait of a fox-faced woman sipping coffee on some off-world, sunlit street. Tattie pretended to find it fascinating.

“I know you never really liked me, but this is ridiculous,” Ginx said.

Tattie forced herself to look at her. “I liked you fine. You worked hard at the Bunker, and you never bothered me.”

“But I bother you now.”

Ginx leaned closer, thrusting the scarred crisscross ruin of her jaw into Tattie’s face as though daring her to move away. Tattie stared back, immobile and passive.

“I’m slightly bothered by the daemon you’ve tucked into your body.”

“Do you think I’ll lose control? Is that why you’re being such a bitch?”

Tattie screwed her hand into a tight fist beneath the table. She wanted to slap Ginx hard across that broken face, but they were here on a job. Reckless violence could come later.

“Were you in control when you went feral in that warehouse?” she hissed. “I can still hear the sound of their bones splintering.”

Ginx made a low snorting sound. She crossed her arms over her chest and sat back in her chair. “Are you talking about those mushroom butchers? They deserved everything they got, and more.”

Tattie allowed herself a calming breath. Daemon host or not, she was dealing with someone much younger than herself. Despite the scars and the loss, a thin sliver of idealism coated Ginx like a shivering gloss of embryonic fluid. She still thought people, or mushrooms, could be saved. Worse than that, she thought they were worth saving. When Tattie spoke again, her tone was gentler.

“I’m not arguing for them. Those people were sick. I’m arguing against your methods. We’re trying to do an impossible thing. Do you have any idea how fucked up it is just talking about breaking into the Noctarum? A thousand things could go wrong, and they probably will. If you’re in this, I have to be able to trust you. I have to know you won’t go off plan and start carving the place up. Not unless we need you to.”

Ginx was silent for several long moments. She cocked her head, eyes glittering as though she was listening to something Tattie couldn’t hear. Communing with something. Then her head snapped back up.

“You can trust me,” she said.

She spoke slowly and deliberately—an obvious attempt to prove she was sincere. Tattie almost believed her.

“I am in control. The daemon won’t show itself unless I give my full consent. I don’t think it can.” She stopped again, listened, continued. “No, it can’t. When I unleashed in the warehouse, it was because I wanted to. Because I could.”

Tattie nodded. She wanted to trust her. She needed to believe they could pull this off. The alternative was too large and bleak to contemplate.

“Okay,” she said. “We’ll call a truce. If you stop pulling tentacles out of your gob at a moment’s notice, I’ll stop being a bitch.”

Ginx attempted to smile. It looked more like a trembling facial spasm. “You can stop being a bitch?”

Tattie almost laughed. She was about to get up and see what was taking Brax so long when a small blur of motion drew her attention to the other side of the table. Traci-Lynn, dressed in swathes of black tunic rather than her customary smart dress and child’s shoes. She appeared panicked, slightly sweaty and out of breath.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” she said. She sat down without being invited. “The Bunker’s a shit show, have you been back? Caggotty’s a wreck. He’s been gibbering some nonsense about an octopus mutant stealing all his money.”

Tattie felt Ginx stiffen at her side.

Content Warnings

Swearing

Midnight Metropolis: Chapter Twelve (2/5)

Truce

Content Warnings

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