World Running Down

ANGRY ROBOT An imprint of Watkins Media Ltd Unit 11, Shepperton House 89 Shepperton Road London N1 3DF UK angryrobotbooks.com twitter.com/angryrobotbooks Love is Love An Angry Robot paperback original, 2023 Copyright © Al Hess 2023 Cover by Al Hess Edited by Celine Frohn and Gemma Creffield Set in Meridien All rights reserved. Al Hess asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. This novel is entirely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Sales of this book without a front cover may be unauthorized. If this book is coverless, it may have been reported to the publisher as “unsold and destroyed” and neither the author nor the publisher may have received payment for it. Angry Robot and the Angry Robot icon are registered trademarks of Watkins Media Ltd. ISBN 978 1 91520 223 9 Ebook ISBN 978 1 91520 224 6 Printed and bound in the United Kingdom by TJ Books Ltd. 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 To Jacob, who deserves every happy ending; and to my trans siblings – may you find euphoria at the end of the road Table of Contents 1. A Good Deed in a Weary World 2. Let Me Be That I Am 3. Love All, Trust a Few 4. In a Fine Frenzy Rolling 5. The Cloud-Capp’d Towers 6. Though This Be Madness 7. As the Night the Day 8. Better a Witty Fool 9. I Defy You, Stars 10. Such Sweet Sorrow 11. Winged Cupid Painted Blind 12. Two Blushing Pilgrims 13. Et Tu, Brute? 14. Cut Him Out in Little Stars 15. Do We Not Revenge? 16. Even to the Edge of Doom 17. To Thine Own Self 18. Doubt Thou the Stars Are Fire Acknowledgments 1 A Good Deed in a Weary World Valentine This was not a dignified place to die. Sepia hills sat beneath a chalky sky, salt flats and barren desert rolling away in all directions like a crappy abandoned landscape painting. Hexagonal ridges of salt crunched beneath Valentine’s boots as he stepped around the body, glittering grains rasping against his legs as the wind picked up. The otherworldliness of so much white sucked all the warmth from what would be this pirate’s final resting place. Valentine crouched in front of her, his likeness peering back at him from her tinted shades. Blood and dirt crusted the hole in her forehead, and whatever weapons or valuables she’d had were already gone. Feathers were woven into her ratty hair, and they fluttered against her mouth, still open in a silent scream. He tried to push her jaw closed, but it was stiff from rigor. Ugh. It didn’t matter how many bodies he encountered; he would never get used to dealing with them. Footsteps neared, but he didn’t look up. Ace nudged the woman’s temple with a steel-toed boot. “She probably deserved it. Put on some act about how she’s trying to feed her family. They do that, y’know.” She knit her brows in mock supplication, then clasped her hands beneath her chin and raised her pitch. “‘Please, mister. I got starving kids at home.’” Valentine scowled. Maybe it was spending practically every moment of the past year together that made Ace so adept at pressing his buttons. Or maybe it was natural talent. Either way, it was tiresome. The pirates were their enemies, sure, but whatever thoughts had gone through this woman’s brain before the bullet did were likely no different than what he or Ace would think so close to the end. “You need to pick up knitting or tarot card reading. Making fun of the dead is not a distinguished hobby.” “And burying random corpses is not a productive one!” “Just because it’s not–” “You can’t stand out here in the sun for hours and dig a four-foot-deep hole for some woman who would have lodged an arrow right through your eyeball without a second’s hesitation. There are too many people in the world to worry about. And salt pirates should be particularly low on that list.” Valentine picked up the shovel and jammed it into the ground, then hefted the dirt behind him. His concern didn’t work that way. “Jesus, Val.” Ace sighed. “Stop it, will you?” The shovel clanked against a rock, and he struggled to dislodge it. Ace pinched the bridge of her nose and blew out a slow breath. “I don’t want us to waste time when we have a delivery to make. Plus, it’s dangerous. I shouldn’t have stopped at all, but I thought she might have something good on her that we could grab quick.” It was his van, but Ace was always the one who ended up driving. He flung dirt over his shoulder, continuing to ignore her. “Val...” Ace stepped back toward the van. They were supposed to be a team, but the only time they got along was when they did things her way, and he didn’t have the energy to fight about every decision. “Val, c’mon!” she repeated. Sighing, he dropped the shovel. “Fine, then let’s go.” Hopefully the pirate’s kin would look for her when she didn’t come home. They could give her a proper pirate burial, whatever that entailed. Trying to keep his voice level was difficult. “We gotta be in Festerchapel by nightfall, anyway.” He pursed his lips. “Such a gross name. Sounds like a church full of zombies.” Ace squinted, sun-bleached hair fluttering in the wind. “Dog Teats is worse and always will be.” “Don’t make fun of Dog Teats. Only bar that sells the mead I like.” It was also the biggest queer community this side of Las Vegas. He knew everyone there; a couch, food, and friends were always available. Unfortunately, the