Jack Read Free

you don't relish it, or it'll taint you. You do what has to be
done.
    Most of the time.
    This was different.
    This little fucker was
mine.
    It's a windowless room,
of course. He was in a chair, locked in place. His arms, his legs. He was
shaking so hard, I could hear the chair rattling, though it was bolted down. An
iron band filled his mouth, so all he could do was whine.
    I came in. I was
carrying tools. I made sure he saw them: the pliers, the solder, the blades. I
made him shake even more, without touching him. Tears came out of him so fast.
I waited.
    "Shhh," I
said at last, through his noise. "Shhh. I have to tell you
something."
    I was shaking my head:   No, hush.   I
felt cruelty in me.   Hush,   I
said,   hush.   And
when he quieted, I spoke again.
    "I made sure I got
to take care of you," I said. "In a minute my boss'll be coming in to
help us, and he knows what we're going to do. But I wanted you to know that   Imadesure   I got
this job, because...well, I think you know a friend of mine."
    When I said Jack's name
the traitor started mewling and making all this noise again, he was so scared,
so I had to wait another minute or two, before I whispered to him, "So   this.   ..is
for   Jack."
    The leader of my crew
came in then, and another couple of lads, and we looked at each other, and we
began. And it weren't pretty. And I ain't supposed to glory in that, but just
this once, just this once. This was the fucker sold out Jack.
     
    I knew it couldn't
last, Jack's reign (because that's what it was). I couldn't not know it, and it
made me sad. But you couldn't fight the inevitability.
    When I heard they'd
caught him, I had to fight, to work hard, not to let myself show sad. Like I
said, I was only a small part of the operation ― I'm not a big player,
and that's more than fine by me, I don't want to run this dangerous business.
I'd rather be told what to do. But I'd taken such pride in it, you know?
Hearing of what he was doing, and always knowing that I was connected. There
are always networks, behind every so-called loner, and being part of
one...well, it meant something. I'll always carry that.
    But I knew it would
end, so I tried to steel myself. And I never went to see him, when they
stretched him out in BilSantum Plaza, Remade again, his first Remaking gone,
knowing he'd be dead before the wound healed. I wonder how many in that crowd
were known to him. I heard that it went a bit wrong for the Mayor, that the
crowds never jeered or threw muck at the stocks. People loved Jack. Why would I
want to see him like that? I know how I want to remember him.
     
    So the snitch, the
tattletale, was in my hands, and I made sure he felt it. There are techniques
― you have to know ways to stop pain, and I know them, and I withheld
them.
    I left that fucker red
and dripping. He'll never be the fucking same.   For Jack,   I
thought. Try telling tales again. I did something to his tongue.
    As I did it, as I dug
my fingers in him, I kept thinking of when I met Half-a-Prayer.
    People need something,
you know, to escape. They do. They need something to make them feel free. It's
good for us, it's necessary. The city needs it. But there comes a time when it
has to end.
    Jack was going too far.
And there'll be others, I know that too.
     
    I knew it was
necessary. He really had gone too far. But I can't talk to my workmates about
this, like I say, because I don't think they think this stuff through. They
just always went on about what a bastard Half-a-Prayer was, and how he'd get
his, and blah blah. I don't think they realise that the city needs people like
him, that he's good for all of us.
    People have their
heroes, and gods know I don't grudge them that. It ain't a surprise. They
― the people I mean ― don't know how hard it is to keep a city, a
state like New Crobuzon going, why some of the things that get done get done.
It can be harsh. If Jack gives people a reason to keep going, they should have
it. So long as