"Think about death for a second, James," Mo said, his voice cutting through the sound of the lapping harbor water. "Real death. Not the kind we dish out with these Gears, but the end of the line. There was a woman back then, a literal reincarnation of a goddess. She could pull a soul back from the brink, stitch a shredded body back together before the blood even hit the floor. They called her a saint until the Queen decided she was a threat."
Mo leaned forward, his face shadowed and grim.
"The Queen couldn't have some girl running around undoing all the beautiful slaughter her Stormbeasts were causing. It ruined the fear. So she branded the woman a heathen. She gathered a mob, fueled them with lies about dark magic, and had them drag her to the center of the square. They tied her to a stake, piled the wood high, and lit the match."
He made a flickering motion with his fingers.
"The gore was in the irony. This woman had enough healing power to fix a city, but the rules of the gods are a bitch—she couldn't use a lick of it on herself. As the flames climbed, her skin blistered and popped. I've heard she didn't even scream. She just looked at the Queen, who was sitting on her balcony sipping wine, while her hair turned to ash and her eyes melted in their sockets. The crowd cheered while the woman's charred ribs finally gave way and she collapsed into a pile of black soot."
Mo spat into the oily dark.
"The Queen watched the life leave those eyes and probably felt a thrill. That's the problem with being a 'goddess' in a world run by a witch. If you're too good, you're a target. If you're too kind, you're kindling. The Queen doesn't want healers; she wants soldiers who break, and Gears that need her constant repair."
He looked toward the harbor, where the silhouette of a patrol boat cut the water.
"She burned the only thing that could save us from the rot."
The flashlight beam cut through the dark and hit Mo square in the chest.
"Freeze! Hands up, traitors!" a voice barked from the edge of the pier.
Six of them. Queen's Guard. They were wearing that polished silver plate that hadn't seen a day of real combat in the East. They looked like toys.
"Well, so much for the history lesson," Mo muttered, dropping his cigarette.
I pulled the Gear Six and fired. The first guard's visor turned into a red soup. He fell back, his boots splashing in the oily harbor water. Mo pulled a serrated combat knife and lunged at the second one before the guy unholstered his sidearm.
Mo drove the blade into the guard's neck, twisting it until the windpipe snapped. Blood sprayed Mo's face, hot and thick. He shoved the dying man into the third guard, tripping him up.
I moved in, slamming the butt of my gun into a guard's jaw. I heard the bone shatter. As he stumbled, I grabbed his arm and snapped it backward. The white bone tore through the skin of his elbow. He screamed, a high, pathetic sound that died when I shoved my blade under his chin and into his brain.
"Die, you royal lapdogs!" Mo yelled.
He had the fourth guard pinned against a crate. He used his bare hands, smashing the man's face against the rusted metal over and over. Teeth flew out like white seeds. The guard's head went soft, a shapeless mess of hair and cracked skull.
The last two tried to run. I shot one in the small of his back. The bullet traveled up, exiting through his collarbone and taking a chunk of his shoulder with it. He collapsed, dragging his paralyzed legs through the dirt, sobbing for his mother.
The final guard made it to the edge of the pier. Mo threw his knife with a grunt. The blade buried itself in the man's calf. He tripped and fell headfirst into a mooring cleat. His forehead split open like a dropped melon.
Mo walked over, ripped his knife out of the corpse's leg, and wiped it on the man's pristine white cape.
"Stupid shits," Mo panted, his chest heaving. "They thought a badge and some shiny tin would save them."
"They're just the scouts, Mo," I said, stepping over a pile of intestines that leaked out of the first guy. "Mabeth's veterans are going to be harder to kill."
I looked down at the dead men. Their blood mixed with the harbor oil, creating a shimmering, dark rainbow on the surface of the water.
"We need to get on that boat," I said. "Now."