Jade War

The man had a narrow, darkly tanned face, and his hair, with the sides shorn close to the skull and the center teased up with hair gel, made it seem even narrower. He appeared Kekonese but might have been of mixed blood, and he spoke with a foreign accent. He was perhaps thirty years old and he said his name was Soradiyo.

“What is that, some kind of shottie name?” Bero said.

“Some kind of shottie name,” Soradiyo agreed, without expression. He gave the boys an evaluative stare. “You’re not afraid to be wearing that much jade?”

Bero squinted. The man across from him had a jade aura, that much Bero could tell, but Soradiyo wore his green out of sight. Whoever he was, he didn’t want to draw any attention to himself, not even here in the Rat House. “It’s my jade, I’m going to wear it,” Bero declared. “If the Green Bones get me, they get me. Everyone’s got to die someday.”

“We’ve got more jade than some Fists,” Mudt added fiercely, his cheeks flushing. “I don’t care how long it takes, I’m going to train until I can take on any Green Bone.”

Fatalistic bravado was typical among the new green, but lately, words like that were spoken less often and in lower voices. Bero had heard that a couple years ago, many frequenters of the Rat House had been informers for the Mountain clan, granted their jade and kept in shine by Green Bones under Gont Asch who wanted to sow agents inside No Peak territory. Since Gont’s death, the Mountain had pulled back, and No Peak slaughtered the new green whenever they could find them. The Kauls offered amnesty to any of the Mountain’s agents who came forward, surrendered their jade, and provided the names of their accomplices. Many took the offer, figuring it better to lose one’s jade and keep one’s head than be hunted down by Maik Tar and his men.

Soradiyo raised his glass, giving them a thick-lipped smile that was somehow encouraging and condescending at the same time. “Belief is the first step toward making your dreams come true,” he said.

Bero snorted with impatience. For some reason, he felt the urge to impress this man, even though he disliked him. “So what do you want to talk to us about?”

Soradiyo moved his chair out of the way of the drip from an overhead pipe. The Rat House had no windows; the ceiling and walls were water stained, and by two or three o’clock in the morning, the air was thickly clogged with the stench of sweat and cigarette smoke. “I’m a recruiter,” said Soradiyo. “I look for people who have two things: jade, and something wrong with the part of the brain that’s supposed to make them fear death.”

“Way to sell the job,” Bero said.

Soradiyo gave a sharp laugh. “I’m asking if you want to be a rockfish.” A jade smuggler—the sort that moved gems out of the country. “The pay’s in money and shine, and eventually, in green. You’d make more than you ever could selling shine. A lot more.”

Bero asked, “You work for someone?”

“I’m a sworn man of Ti Pasuiga. You know what that means?” Soradiyo bared his teeth in a smile at their affirmative silence. The things he had said no longer seemed like exaggeration; association with the largest, most notorious jade trafficking ring could indeed deliver a daring man to fabulous wealth or an undignified death.

Soradiyo rapped misshapen knuckles idly against the tabletop. “Business is good; there’s more demand than ever and money to go around. But it’s too risky to keep relying on the Abukei.” Jade-immune aboriginals who didn’t give off an aura and didn’t suffer the dramatic and sometimes fatal effects of excessive jade exposure were the natural gem mules in the black market jade trade, but they were easy to identify and subject to suspicion at any border exit. Soradiyo opened his wallet and took out cash to cover their drinks. “Fortunately, these days, with enough shine, anyone can carry jade. You might even pass as Green Bones.” He stood up and picked up his jacket. “Think about it. I’ll be back here the same time next Fourthday, and you can tell me whether you want to get out of this shithole and play with the big dogs.”

After Soradiyo left, Mudt wiped his nose on the sleeve of his shoulder and said, “We don’t need that barukan asshole. We’ve got everything we need already. We got this jade ourselves.” He tapped the jade cuffs he wore cinched on his upper arms. “We can train here until we’re good enough to take on anyone. Good enough to take on the Maiks.”

“You talk too much,” Bero snapped, and got up to get another drink. He passed a table of people drawing knives across their forearms, practicing Steel. One of them cursed in pain and fell off his chair when the blade bit into flesh.

The problem with Mudt, Bero thought, was that he had too many opinions; he didn’t know when to shut up. The kid wouldn’t even have any jade or shine if it wasn’t for Bero. Bero had planned the night at the cemetery. He’d killed for his jade. Twice. Mudt hadn’t done that. At the end of the day, he was a hanger-on, not truly deserving of green.