you are haunted like every other holy thing.
what tried to destroy you didn't have the strength.
still you stand,
sturdy and smelling of smoke.
- little bird, clementine von radics
༒
in which tommy shelby finds his asylum
in the ver...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Rain thundered against the rooftop of the Garrison, striking against the stained glass windows as though it could slice straight through to the anger which lay beyond. Tommy almost wished it would. Though he stared aside, his gaze fixed absently on the door to the smoke-filled snug, his fist was clenched beneath the table.
Eleven Blinders, seven Titanics, four Chinese and two Scots. All of them found dead in the Salford docks, peppered with bullet holes and stained with blood.
Across the table, Zhou shook his head, his nose wrinkled against the smoke of Tommy's exhale. "If he offers us a better deal, Shelby . . ."
"And he will," Chang finished quietly. Unlike his subordinate, he wore no expression, sitting as still as if he was carved from stone.
"Then you won't take it." Tommy glanced momentarily towards the two men who sat opposite him before leaning forward to tap his cigarette against the ashtray. "Because we'll offer you a better one still. Remember that the man who stole your opium is the very same one who fell straight into the trap of Wall Street in September."
"He certainly seemed cocksure since returning to England."
"Damn right he did," Arthur growled from the corner. He leaned against the wall, arms folded over his chest, his expression twisted into the foul grimace he reserved especially for those he wished to intimidate.
"Let us talk plainly." Stirring at last from his statuesque vigil, Chang leaned forward across the table and met Tommy's unflinching stare. "Unless you can offer us something better, Mr Shelby, any deal between us is off. So offer us something better." He lifted his hands in a hapless shrug, though his gaze was as flat and black as obsidian. "Otherwise, we'll have no choice but to accept what your young friend offers us as it comes."
From where he stood against the wall, Arthur growled his discontent. Tommy only took another slow drag from his cigarette, watching the irritated flicker of Zhou's expression before the man stood. A measured moment later, Chang followed.
"It was a pleasure working with you until now, Mr Shelby. And," he added, turning halfway as Tommy rose, "I thank you for the respect with which you treated our dead. They deserve to be returned to the motherland."
Extinguishing his cigarette in the ashtray, Tommy offered a short nod. It was enough. With a stiff bow, Zhou turned and left, Arthur following closely on his heels.
Despite the stormy darkness which reigned over Birmingham, it was still early morning: the interior of the pub was only just beginning to stir with life as the four men departed the snug. The thunder of rainfall rushed into the Garrison in force as Zhou led the way through the vestibule and opened the front door. For a second, Tommy almost mistook it for the fury of gunfire, the rage of the front lines.
Two Chinese men waited outside, extending two black umbrellas over the archway. Without glancing back, Zhou stepped beneath one and moved towards the waiting car. Implacable as ever, Chang turned in the vestibule, one hand outstretched.
