The Peaky Blinders and the Last Airbender

Tommy Shelby

Dammit, Auden, Tommy Shelby thought disparagingly. His younger sort-of brother was five minutes late to their rendezvous. Auden knew better than to waste Tommy's time, and Tommy imagined Auden didn't want to waste his own time, either. So where the hell was he?

Citizens tipped their hats to Tommy as he leaned against the pub's wall, smoking a cigarette. Regular folk, normal folk, people that didn't worry about guns and gambles and politicians. People who just lived in Small Heath, grateful for Tommy's protection. For Tommy, it was his family business. Their legacy, their responsibility, their reputation. Their legitimacy.

Tommy was stomping on his spent cigarette when he spotted Auden in the crowd. He was conspicuous, with his not-quite masculine face but not-quite feminine either. It was the prettiest face in the Shelby family by far, but it belonged to the worst-tempered Shelby. Auden was cross and bad-tempered at best, and cunning and cruel at worst. His fine-boned face, delicate lips, and arching brows contrasted sharply with the hard-edged look in his hooded eyes and the razor blade that adorned his hat. He looked like a spirit, come from beyond the mortal realm to ambush in dark corners and lurk in shadows. But with that razor blade glinting in his cap, no one dared question who he was. Only his older brothers could, and once he'd made himself known as a brother, not a sister, they'd forbid him from ever heading the family in exchange for letting him in on family meetings and not disowning him out of shame.

Auden was their ace in the hole, their thorn in the side, and yet somehow Tommy's most valuable source of information. He'd made friends in low and high places, contacts that wormed their way into the most important of meetings. And Auden knew everything that happened in this city.

His brother sauntered up to Tommy, quirking an eyebrow. "You look worried, Tommy," he said. Tommy glared at him, his fists curling with the urge to strangle him.

"Don't waste my time, Auden," Tommy said.

Auden took out a cigarette of his own and lit it. After a drag, he said, "You'll be interested in the reason I'm late." It was an assumption, not a question. The arrogance grated Tommy's teeth.

"Say your piece, little brother," he said gruffly. "I have plans tonight."

That bothersome smirk stayed on his brother's face, but Auden said, "I saw a boy on the street. A boy that was most peculiar indeed. He called himself an 'avatar', probably from Tibet, an' yet he knew e'ry word I spoke and responded with a certain intelligence that I found odd. He also hadn't heard o' England at all. Didn't know where it was. Didn't know where he was."

Tommy pursed his lips. "And your point?"

"I think he might be useful. I'll keep an eye on 'im, no skin off your back, an' I'll tell ya if I see anything. Jus' thought you would want ta know."

"Tell me about the meeting you had with the contact, Auden."

His brother stomped on his cigarette. "The Secretary is comin' in two weeks' time. Whole procession of ceremony, pomp, and circumstance. Almost like the King himself, eh?"

"Why the ceremony?"

"They wan' it to be a whole show of how 'cleaned up' the city is an' all that. But the real reason he's comin' is somethin' else entirely." Auden leaned against the pub's wall. "He's here for a secret meetin' with this branch's IRA head. After that, he'll tromp on over an' meet with the Russian minister 'ere in the city."

Tommy furrowed his brow. "The IRA? What business does he have with them? The communists I get, but the Irish?" He dropped his gaze from his brother's and chewed his cheek. "Could it be a negotiation? He cleaned up Belfast already. Why Birmingham?"

Auden shrugged. "Don't know. It is strange, though, innit? Seems like a security risk. Maybe it's a test. To see if the IRA will show up. Maybe it's a trap."

Tommy exhaled. Trouble was lurking on his city's horizon, trouble that didn't have to do with motorcycles or cigarettes or alcohol. Real, political strife, with the potential to turn Birmingham into a battleground. Tommy didn't care about the Irish. He didn't care for Secretary Churchill, either, considering he'd sent a mean old bastard of a police inspector to find the government's misplaced guns. But Tommy was an opportunist. What opportunities could be gained here?

"Any word from the Chinese?" Tommy asked, changing the subject.

"Since you've cemented their success at spells, their occult business is booming. No one has caught on that it's just smoke an' mirrors."

"Good. Soon they'll want to expand, though. Fixin' horses for matches won't stave off their greed forever. Keep an eye on them."

Auden saluted him. It brought back bad memories of the war, a war Auden had fought to be in. They hadn't let him in at first, but he'd snuck away, grabbed a solider's uniform, and joined a unit. Once he'd been discovered, they'd dishonorably discharged him and he'd been sent home after seeing only one fight. Tommy knew Auden's contacts were lowlives and servants, people no one paid attention to and people who hadn't been drafted. It's what made them so vulnerable. But part of Tommy wondered if he'd befriended those people because he'd felt like one himself, after being kicked out of the army.

"I'll leave you to it," Tommy said, turning heel and walking away. Auden didn't follow him, and not that he'd hoped he would, but he hadn't said goodbye either. Perhaps a goodbye wasn't warranted. Not with Auden.