Krieg wasn't at the grocery store I'd found him at last time.
He also wasn't at the beer garden he'd mentioned to Hookwolf.
Or at the location Coil's reports had had Hookwolf operating out of earlier this week.
Maybe I should have saved Coil for last: having access to his intelligence reports had been helpful.
Then again, I'd run down Bakuda and Lung on my own, and I could do the same for Krieg. Lacking a better place to start, I thought I'd get two birds with one stone and started my search by looking through the section of E88 territory that supposedly held one of Coil's bases.
This turned out to be harder than I'd expected.
The notes I had on Coil's smaller bases just weren't precise enough. Knowing about 'the Temple Street base' left a lot of Temple Street to search. Worse, I couldn't even be sure it wasn't already abandoned, meaning I couldn't just look for the place full of suspiciously fit men (and a few women) cleaning their guns.
I could have looked for a place with cameras and security doors… but that was just good sense, in Brockton Bay. They weren't universal — and certainly not in the poorer neighbourhoods, both because those kinds of security measures were expensive and there probably wasn't much to steal anyway — but they were common enough that it would take most of a day to check each such location in the area I thought that base might be in.
Most of Saturday night was wasted in just such a fashion, searching the city for Coil's Temple Street base.
I did find various Empire thugs, resuming street operations like they'd never gone to ground.
Krieg was working fast.
I took notes. Notes on where they were, notes on where they were coming from and going to, notes on what they were doing. Nothing that led to any of the capes, not yet, but perhaps a foundation to build on.
There was something about leaving Coil's bases unexamined that bothered the tidy housekeeping part of me, the one that insisted on rinsing out my mugs immediately after use, but at this rate I really couldn't afford to give them a once-over before turning to Krieg. A whole evening, spent searching for and not finding one of his bases?
While I rode back to my farm, tiny sliver of a moon low on the horizon, I thought about my search patterns.
Coil had claimed to have a 'dozen' satellite bases scattered across the city.
Some would surely have been fallback positions for his own use; others had likely been for his various puppet capes. I still had no idea how many he'd controlled: the Travellers had numbered four, from what I knew of them, and the Undersiders were another four. Did that mean that Coil had another team on his payroll, or had planned to acquire one? Or that he was instead rounding out the numbers by recruiting solo villains? Or, worse, that the planned lair-to-villain ratio was less than one?
He'd included E88 on his threat assessment list… but he'd included the Undersiders and Travellers on it too. And Faultline. And, well, everyone I'd ever heard of in the city, as well as a number I hadn't known much of before then. Paranoid? I didn't think so.
An Undersider had helped kill him, in the end.
Just before it all kicked off, Tattletale had done something to him, asked something of him. He'd described it as giving his 'support' to their raid on a jewelry store. His Thinker power? I still didn't know what it had been — still didn't know what Tattletale's was either. The Undersiders' threat assessment had only discussed it indirectly, mentioning that they could be expected to avoid contact or identify and exploit weaknesses, 'guided by Tattletale's Thinker power.'
Whatever that support had been that he'd given, it had focused his attention elsewhere just before the attack went in. Tattletale had known what I was doing, and had manipulated events to ensure that Coil died then and there.
I wasn't sure how I felt about that, yet. Glad she was out from under Coil, sure — the way he'd treated Dinah was enough to make my skin crawl. Killing him, though… I'd killed Bakuda, deliberately. I'd killed Oni Lee in self defense. I'd arranged Kaiser's death at the hands of Lung, and even helped it along. Cricket, and so many of Bakuda's victims were dead because of what I'd done, but not solely because of what I'd done, nor because I'd intended their deaths.
Cold comfort, that.
Had Coil needed to die?
Tattletale had thought so.
Brandish had thought so, too.
Was that enough for me to concur in their judgment? I would be surprised if those two agreed on much else in life. And while I wasn't sure, even now, if there hadn't been another way, I was sure that — without knowing his power — there was no way to hold him securely. Despite those doubts, I was also a little reassured that Lisa had asked me, instead of just playing me the way she'd played Coil.
At the back of my mind, though, I was more than a little worried about how she'd known what I was doing, known it in enough detail to seamlessly intervene.
I parked the Vespa, and a part of my mind turned to my swarms, assessing the day's work they'd done in my absence, rearranging them to fix small inefficiencies that had sprung up without my oversight.
Like the bugs I controlled, I was insignificant. Squishable. What I'd managed, I'd mostly managed by giving other, stronger, capes a target, and standing back. That had worked — so far — because the only one who knew enough to target me in return was Lung… and he'd been waiting for me to do something about Coil.
That grace period expired yesterday.
From what I knew of him, he wouldn't spread the word of who I was and what I'd done… he'd just hunt me down and kill me with his bare hands.
Which left me in… exactly the same position I'd been in two weeks ago.
Well, I'd just have to find him before he found me.
Krieg first, though. The Empire was a cancer on the city and Lung — as he was now — was just a personal problem, another bullying problem.
A larger bullying problem.
I settled in on the chaise longue I'd claimed as my bed, and reminded myself one more time that I ought to go shopping for furniture at some point when things settled down.
Later.
···---···
Coil had believed in being early to rise.
E88 thugs didn't.
Inconsiderate of them.
Four hours of riding around, stopping for breakfast, sitting in place and waiting… and nothing.
Eventually, the streets ceased being the exclusive province of honest folk, and I found some thugs to follow.
It was slow, painstaking work, following these idiots around, watching them do their damage… and not intervening.
But I wasn't hunting for footsoldiers, not today.
I wanted Krieg.
Two skinheads, done dealing for the day, gave me my first break. Apparently, after depositing the take, they intended to take their earnings and wager it on some dogfights.
I remembered Rachel's words about how the Empire ran dogfighting pits, and thought about what I knew of its capes. Street-level drug dealing wasn't the kind of operation that would command the personal supervision of a cape, let alone Krieg himself. Very little was, I suspected, and while I probably could trace the lines of responsibility up until I found someone who regularly reported to Krieg in person… that would take time.
On the other hand, I was pretty sure that Hookwolf and Stormtiger were big fans of pitfighting, whether for human gladiators or dogs… and Hookwolf couldn't possibly report to anyone but Krieg.
So I left off tracing the money and drugs — for now — and followed the thugs as they looked for bloodsport.
···---···
The dogfighting pits were a horror. Blood and death, whimpering cripples, and all of it to cheering. It did look to be a profitable horror, though, and it was certainly a popular one: the warehouse was crowded thick with people jostling for a view of the ring or access to the bar.
Money changed hands rapidly, with bets on everything: from which dog would win, how, how quickly, what kind of injuries would be sustained, to conditional bets based on elaborate combinations of the above. Ominously, there was another board, next to the one listing the dogfight matchups.
The only thing listed on it was 'Promotion test: Michael.'
I didn't have long to wait — Michael's match came after the first round of afternoon dogfights, and before the second.
He stepped into the hammered dirt ring, stripped to the waist, lean and corded with muscle, arms raised to the cheers of the crowd.
He couldn't have been that much older than I was.
He was walking around the ring, almost dancing really, soaking in the cheers of the crowd.
A man dropped from the rafters, landing in the center of the ring, and silence spread.
Hookwolf stood, greasy blond hair spilling around the edges of his metal mask.
"You all know we're expanding, taking new territory. Mike here thinks he's got what it takes to run some."
A pause, while Hookwolf slowly turned, surveying the crowd, ignoring the youth squaring up in a boxing stance.
At last the man came round to face the boy once more.
"One way to find out."
The initial clash was startlingly quick: the boy closed the distance with floating steps, opening with a lightning jab — slapped aside — followed by a harder jab — slapped aside — and a cross which missed cleanly as Hookwolf sidestepped.
Undeterred, he launched another all-out offensive.
This time, Hookwolf just stood there and absorbed the combo. One, two, three… jab, cross, hook. The thudding gut-punch impacts were audible above the crowd's noise.
Hookwolf held up his hands, then fisted them.
And waded in. He wasn't faster than the kid, if anything he looked slower. But he was never quite where the kid struck, and while not all of Hookwolf's punches landed, the ones that did were solid, forcing stumbles in the otherwise glass-smooth footwork the kid displayed, splitting lips, cutting his brow.
I thought one of the body blows might have cracked a rib.
Thirty seconds of Hookwolf bullying the fight around the ring, seeming to move half as much as his younger opponent, and he got tired of boxing. A quick jab, a spinning half step forward, and a roundhouse kick to the torso took the kid off his feet entirely, sending him skidding into the wooden railings.
"If you get up, I stop taking it easy on you."
The kid, one eye closed to keep the blood out, stood.
A many-jointed threshing machine nightmare of hooks and knives unfolded behind Hookwolf's right shoulder with startling speed, and swept the kid across the ring and through the barriers, before folding upon itself and vanishing beneath his skin once more.
"Kid, there's tough and there's stupid. Which are you?"
He got up anyway.
Silence, the crowd itself holding its breath.
Hookwolf looked him over, nodded. "See Othala later."
He turned to the crowd, arms up. "Mike drinks free tonight!"
The crowd cheered, swarming in to replace the barriers for the next set of dogfights. Two blonde girls settled in on either side of Mike, one sponging the blood away and the other holding beer for him.
But my focus was on Hookwolf, who walked untouched through the crowd to the exit, and then to his motorcycle beyond.
Hookwolf's new motorcycle was another loud Harley — less fancy than the last. Not enough time to get it customized since Squealer ran the old one over?
Even without all the extra chrome, it was anything but subtle. Was he really that hard to find? Or was the Protectorate just that overstretched?
Technically, he did take his mask off. Was that enough? Were the customs around unmasking strong enough to substitute for an actual disguise?
Either way, he wasn't doing anything to keep me from following him on my Vespa.
He went straight to an office building on the eastern edge of downtown, stepped through a fire exit door, and hit the stairs at a run.
Hookwolf was fit. Twelve stories up, and he took the stairs two at a time the whole way.
I don't think he was even breathing hard.
If it was his power doing that, it was subtle — metal beneath the skin?
Still, fast as he was, he wasn't faster than thought. By the time he'd reached the roof, I had gathered a small swarm there, able to watch and listen.
Hookwolf shouldered the door open with bang and echoing crash as it rebounded; the man already on the roof didn't twitch. He just stood there, ramrod straight, hands clasped behind his back, gazing out at a skyline painted orange by the setting sun.
Krieg.
"Looking out on your city?" Hookwolf's voice was a growl.
"Not mine. The cause's." One hand rose, waved forward. "Join me."
Hookwolf stalked forward to rest his forearms on the railing, long hair hanging down around his unmasked face.
"Still pretending that you're holding it for Kaiser's brat?"
A shrug lifted the black greatcoat. "I know my strengths, and their limits. I can lead an army, perhaps conquer the city… but rule it? No. One of the Kaiser's get may prove worthy, in time."
"If not?"
"If not, one of mine. Or one of yours."
A coughing laugh. "Like I'll ever have any."
"As if you'd know if you had." Krieg was facing away from my swarm on that roof, but the swarms on adjacent roofs let me see him smile all the same.
"Fucking's fun. Fighting's better. Fathering… wouldn't know how to start."
"Finding the right mother, perhaps. It's for the cause, you know. The next generation belongs to those who show up for it, and for those of us with powers…" he brought his right hand before him, and made a black-gloved fist. "… the obligation is redoubled."
"You trying to set me up on a date or something?"
"No. Something, as you would have it, better."
Hookwolf's smile was eager.
"ABB… is all but gone. The Merchants… are gone. Coil… is gone. The city — the whole city — is ours at last, if we but reach out and take it."
"Lung?"
"Is vulnerable at the start of a fight, and has no safe ground to which he might flee. If he engages, we'll give ground… and track him back to his hole. If he hides, we'll track him down all the same — have Stormtiger do nothing but sniff him out, yes? And then we will… experiment. Nothing showy, nothing risky… just the fastest ways to inflict the most damage. If one fails, withdraw. Try the next when he is weak again. We do not have to fight him — just kill him."
"Like last time?"
"The Merchants' ill-timed intervention saved him, to our cost and their greater cost. The strategy remains sound."
A grunt.
"There will also be probes from out of town. The Teeth are stirring. The Fallen. Others."
"Let them come."
"Let's be ready when they do, hmm? Firmly entrenched throughout the city. Reinforced — I've spoken to Gesellschaft; you put the word out among the pitfighters."
Hookwolf nodded.
"We'll leave no sliver of territory for them to claim as a foothold."
"The Protectorate?"
"Avoid. We'll still hit Alabaster's transport out — we do not leave our own behind — but in a straight fight? Even if we win the battle, we lose the war."
"Giving up?"
Krieg shook his head. "There are other ways to fight. Bribery. Blackmail. Election. I think, with time and care… the Protectorate might find itself transferring resources away from a peaceful city, and to more pressing trouble spots."
A snort.
"Oh, but it will be peaceful, my friend. We shall see to it. No violence but ours. First the city. From there…" His arms spread wide, then lowered to his sides.
"From there, it will be the task of our children, likely enough. For now… take what was Coil's."
Hookwolf stood and stretched, rolling his neck.
"You always did talk too much."
"And you too little. Good hunting."
A grunt, and Hookwolf was off, his long stride carrying him to the stairwell.
Krieg remained alone on the roof for a minute longer.
I thought about trying for him then and there, began thickening my swarm on the roof… but a bright light fell from the sky to land beside him.
Had Purity rejoined the Empire?
He turned to face her, and made a formal sort of half bow, one hand on his breast and the other still at the small of his back.
"Frau Purity."
"Krieg."
"I appreciate your willingness to meet, and your discretion earlier."
The woman-shaped blob of light shifted from one foot to another.
"No niceties then. Will you return with Crusader? For all that we are nearly the last force standing in this city, we have not achieved this without loss."
A pause, and then the light rippled in a headshake.
"Then if you will not help us, can we help you on your crusade against the filth of the city? Information, targets, healing…"
The pause was long.
"Why?"
"Why should any of us who seek to cleanse the world oppose each other? I chose my name with care, and would be the last to deny that a necessary evil remains… evil. You disagree about the path the Empire should take; do you think I did not have my own concerns?"
Krieg had extended his gloved hand to her during the speech. It hung there for a time before he let it fall.
"It was easier when the decisions were not mine. When I could simply trust the Kaiser."
Her glowing head bobbed in a nod.
"I did not build this Empire, and I can only hope to hold it in trust. Will you permit me to teach Theodore?"
"He's not part of this." Her voice was low, her right hand fisted.
"In time, it will be his choice whether or not to serve the cause. He has the power; the rest is in whether he grows to take up the legacy of his forefathers. All I ask is to arm him against that day."
Again, silence.
Krieg sighed, removing his gold-rimmed glasses to polish them with a handkerchief.
"Of all the Kaiser's talents, it is his charisma that is the gravest loss. He could have brought you round."
Purity shifted. Was that a nod?
"There is time yet to consider your reply. Will you answer the call if we find Lung?"
"Yes."
"Until then, I suppose."
He turned, walked halfway to the stairwell door, paused, spoke softly.
"You will always have a place with us."
The moment the stairwell door clanged shut, Purity launched herself into the sky once more.
Krieg was alone.
Could I capture him?
Given the right circumstances, I might be able to use the taser on him. Or try to suffocate him enough, but not too much. Or hit him over the head just right. Risky, all of those paths. Could I hold him long enough for pickup from the Protectorate? Contingencies… what if I tried and failed? Or if Krieg simply used part of his one phone call to get the word out?
I could stand having the Empire hunting for me, even killing me. What I couldn't stand was the possibility of failure, and leaving the Empire in undisputed possession of the city was failure. They were in a position where they might take over city, in significant part, because of what I'd done.
So I'd have to see it through.
At the moment, that meant finding a way to act tracelessly…
Should I kill him? That would be one way to answer the issue of what he might see. I had been willing to kill Coil; did Krieg somehow deserve less?
Did I have the right to make that choice?
This wouldn't be self-defense, this wouldn't be in defense of an innocent hostage on the scene. Just a man, killed from ambush. Wasn't lying in wait one of the things that made a killing murder in the first degree?
Did he deserve more consideration because his minions were harming innocents all across the city, rather than in his presence?
I still didn't have an answer when Krieg stepped out on the fourth floor, and from there over into the parking garage. I had to act swiftly to start my scooter and follow his SUV, paralleling its course a half-block back on another street.
Perhaps I could follow him, take him as he slept.
Easier to prevent him seeing anything he shouldn't, that way.
Just let him wake up trussed, foamed… in custody.
He drove to a good neighbourhood in a quiet suburb, and as the sun slipped below the horizon, he parked in the driveway of a house at the end of a cul-de-sac.
It had white picket fences.
He went in, hugged a woman, and sat down to dinner with her and three small children — two girls and a boy.
I could feel the insects in the area swirling, eager under my command… but no.
Not like this.
Tomorrow.