I waited in the street, howling to reveal my location, focus the attention on me.
Fear all around, the streets stank of it. Faces in windows, curtains pulled tightly closed. The streets were as empty as if the hound were stalking them still.
In a way, a hound was.
Heavy footfalls, shouts, and cries of orders.
“Don’t let him escape!”
After running some more, now five streets away from the café, my chasers and I were a sufficient distance away.
Like moths to a flame.
For fearful soldiers such as these, chaos was the conduit for a serious screw up—not keeping their eyes on the ball being at the top of the screwing-things-up list.
Now I had to hope the others had played their parts and got themselves safely to Beech Street.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Even the damn kitchen was blue and gold, blue walls and gold cupboards and everything else—apart from the floor being white and glossy as fuck. I slipped a little bit on the mega polished ground a little.
There were more slaves with shaved heads and broke expressions busy preparing yet more food to decorate the king’s table with. He seemed like the kind of wanker who’d throw it all away, giving his slaves a piece of stale bread and water served in a dirty glass, preferring the grub to be dumped in a bin instead of a hungry mouth.
“Why so much polish?” I commented on the floor.
The soldier pushed me forward, not answering me. I slid across the floor like I was on an ice rink.
Proper dangerous floor for a kitchen!
The gold kitchen island in the middle of the room stopped my slide. I knocked a spoon off. It clattered, and the soldier grabbed me by the back of my shirt, spinning me around, so we were face to face.
“Clumsy,” he said. “Now, get to work.” He shoved, my back slamming into the edge of the island.
My mental bank vault of pain was getting fuller by the minute.
“Bake,” the soldier ordered. “You.” He grabbed a dark-skinned guy passing. “Show him where the stuff is.”
“Sir?”
“He’s making His Majesty a cake. Show him where the stuff is.”
The poor slave got shoved too.
“This way,” the broken creature said.
Still chained up to the soldier, I followed the guy to a pantry stocked with everything I needed.
Was this seriously happening? I mean, I loved a good old bake like all the time, but right now?
“What’s your name?” I whispered.
“He don’t have one!” the soldier boomed. He yanked my chains, pain flaring in my wrists.
The slave didn’t look at me. “There are mixing bowls in the cupboard above the oven, as well as cake tins. When you are ready, I will ready the oven for you.”
“Make sure you do that.” The soldier again.
Prick.
I was left with no other choice but to get on with it. No chats. These peeps were all under the hammer of terror. They worked for the king. Work wasn’t what I’d call it. What did you call slave labor other than slave labor? Abuse? Cruelty? All seemed like light descriptions for something so miserably shit.
I gathered everything up from the pantry in two trips, making myself a workspace on the island. After grabbing myself a mixing bowl, I got down to it.
Even if I was making this cake for the dickhead king, I’d make sure it was the best cake he’d ever tasted. The circumstances weren’t gonna have me repressing my skills. He’d be so blown away that these shackles would come off and he’d celebrate me for all my cakey magic and then when he’d got really complacent and believed we were buddies, I’d stab him in the back. Literally. With the sharpest knife in this kitchen, seeing as my katanas weren’t to hand right now.
Maybe it wouldn’t happen quite like that. But I had no idea what my next move was gonna be, and this would buy me some time to think. Baking a perfect cake and hatching a plan—double win.
Fingers crossed, at least.
I needed the shackles off. Nothing in this room would do that unless there were some bolt cutters stashed somewhere.
Plenty of knives…
Was that a flaw I saw in the design of the helmet hiding the soldier’s face? Yeah, it was. A small window of fun.
I hid a smile as bloody thoughts came one after the other.
Sure, I’d bake a cake.
* * *
It took five hours to make the cake, but what a cake it was. Iced in white with just a hint of blue to it, all the tiers perfectly circular and, well, perfect. Yeah, I’d blow my own trumpet over it.
It rocked.
I wiped my damp forehead with the sleeve of my shirt.
The soldier came over to have a look, scrutinizing every inch. “Wash up.”
“You what?”
He smacked me around the chops with the back of his hand. Thank the tenshi he’d taken his gauntlets off. Ouch!
“Wash the dishes up, messy bastard.”
Without a word, I went to the sink, the slaves retreating to allow me space.
“Make them shine,” the soldier added and laughed. He went back to his default position, leaning against the worktop near the fridge.
Only a few feet away.
I ran the water, fixed the sink plug in place, and poured the fruity washing-up liquid into the water. Nice and bubbly.
With a sponge, I got to work, scrubbing the bowls and utensils, washing away.
I let a teaspoon fly in the direction of the guard.
“Whoops!”
He pulled on my chains as I went to scoop it up. His red boots were wet and splattered with bubbles.
“You idiot!” He grabbed the spoon before I could, then got a fistful of my shirt collar and hefted me up onto tiptoes, getting in my face. “Surprised a clumsy git like you can so much as wipe his arse, let alone cook. Look at my boots. Wet. I should break your fucking nose.”
That window of fun in his armor was a join in the helmet that masked his face. Not many people would notice it, but I did. I kept both eyes on the lookout for these things, always hunting for a way in.
“Can’t wipe his own arse,” he said chuckling.
Apparently, that was the funniest thing in the world.
What the laughing wanker didn’t notice was the knife up my sleeve. Small and sharp, perfect for peeling potatoes and stabbing dickheads right through a little flaw in their armor.
He gasped as the blade went in, letting me go instantly. I yanked the knife out, letting the blood flow. I took hold of my leash, now the dog walking the dog.
Well, half-wolf.
The geezer fell to his knees, reaching up for me with one hand, while the other was pressed against his fatal wound. I’d hit him right in the sweet spot.
“You know what I find funny?” I said. “Those raspy struggles you’re making. Ah, so good. Comedy gold.”
None of the slaves in the kitchen moved or made a sound as the final breaths of the guard wheezed out of him. He slid to the ground. Dead.
“Got anything for these?” I asked them, holding up my hands.
No one answered me.
I tried calling my katanas mentally again.
Nope. Nothing.
“Come to me, swords,” I said aloud.
Nah. Not happening.
“Katanas? You there?”
Nope.
I needed these chains off. The shackles I could put up with, but the chains were constricting my movements. Couldn’t be having that shit.
“Check the door,” I whispered to Bob and Rose.
They manifested and ran out of the kitchen. There were two guards outside the door, oblivious to what was going on in here.
Playing it mega careful was key.
I turned to the guy who’d shown me the pantry. “There another way out of here, bruv?”
His wide brown eyes were too busy drinking in the dead guard laying in a pool of blood by the fridge.
“Hey. To me.” I w
aved. “Fuck him.”
He blinked, his attention moving to me. “Erm, I… Yes.”
In total, there were five people in the kitchen, including this guy. Three men, two women.
“Cool. He speaks. You got anything for these chains?”
“I, erm, think so.” He went to a cupboard and pulled out a toolbox. “Forbidden.”
“The tools?”
He nodded. “They’re for the maintenance crew.”
“Is it locked?”
“Yes.”
There was a numbered dial on the front of the red metal box. “You know the code?”
He nodded again. “I know I shouldn’t, but I’ve seen it.” He turned the dial, and a satisfying click followed, revealing a plethora of handy tools.
“Wicked,” I announced. “I reckon that saw will do it.”
One of the women, short with a grey buzz cut and a pale face that told a million painful stories, stepped forward. She’d been polishing the gold cutlery while I’d baked. She took the saw from the box and got to work in silence. I let her do her thing. She took out some pliers too, really working the parts of the chains that fixed to the shackles. Those joining bits were mega strong. Every minute was a painful wait as the vibrations thrummed inside my hands.
The woman got there, though. I’d watched the determination play out on her face.
Awesome stuff. The chains were gone. She took them and placed them on the worktop.
“Cheers for that.”
“The shackles I can’t break,” she said. “Sorry.”
“No worries. You’ve been a wicked help.” I turned to the dead soldier.
I didn’t go for guns generally, but there was a freebie sitting right there and I wasn’t gonna just leave it behind.
A heavy pistol thingy. Tenshi only knew the name of it. I knew the basics of firing one, and that was good enough for me.
“You killed him,” the woman said as I stuffed the gun into my back pocket. “You actually killed a soldier.”
“More than one.”
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Someone who wants to shaft the system. Can you help me? He,” I gestured to the pantry leader guy, “said yes to another way out. Can you show me?”
“The back way,” she said. “But they’ll notice. They always notice.”
“Then you’d better show me quick before someone sees our friend over there.”
She smiled, the lines around her mouth stretching. “I’m Nina.”
“Cool. Pleasure. Now, this way out.”
“See that door over by the pantry?” She pointed to a blue door tucked into an alcove.
“Yeah.”
“Takes you down to the boiler rooms. Turn left at the bottom of the stairs and keep going. You’ll find the way out.”
“Feel free to come with me, all of you,” I offered. “But I’m leaving now.”
Nina shook her head, and the others backed off like I’d just dropped the loudest fart ever.
“Why not?” I asked.
“My husband tried,” she answered, “and failed. His head was fixed on a spike in my bedroom for two weeks, rotting. The smell, the flies…”
How the hell was she still standing after that? “I’m sorry.”
“I just pray his second death is better. If there is even such a thing.” She waved a hand. “Never mind that. Get going.”
“You?” I said to the guy. “Fancy your chances?”
He shook his head.
“We need to take the body for you,” Nina said.
“What? No. I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“But—”
“Go. Please. If you really can bring down this place, then do. You killed him. That’s enough for us to know a possible revolution when we see one.”
“No, I—”
“It doesn’t matter if you fail in whatever you’ve got planned. This is the best thing to happen in our afterlives in a very long time. Now go.”
Talk about bravery. “Take the gun.”
She shook her head. “No. I don’t want to touch it. No one does.”
They all shook their heads as a unit.
“You sure?”
“Go. No more time-wasting.”
I nodded and headed for the door, sliding the bloody knife into a front pocket, sending Bob and Rose ahead to scope it out.
Dark. Creepy. You know—a boiler room.
There were people down there, further in, enough of a distance away for me to sneak inside first.
I opened the door gently and slid into the crack fit for a skinny git like me. Getting one last look at the slaves, I eased the door closed, waiting at the top of a stone stairwell under an anemic light. A couple of moths danced around the bulb, trying to suck as much joy out of it as they could.
Good luck with that.
The whirring of machinery, a cloud of steam up ahead. Pipes and grates and cylinders everywhere. From what I could see through my babies, this was one big mama of a place.
Okay. Time to go down and start the revolution.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Gabriel
I arrived at the thatched roof cottage in Beech Street, keeping to the shadows along this poorly lit part of the city.
There were five cottages and green space on each side of the road, both with empty playgrounds. On the side, I waited, under a broken streetlamp, were boarded up restaurants with faded signs and a line of overflowing trash cans lining up as an army of junk. A juxtaposition to the prettiness across the road.
Of the five cottages, the green one with the colorful flower boxes was Joji’s. There were no faces in any of the windows, all curtains drawn, apart from Joji’s, opened a crack with a face peering out. Jessie’s.
I sniffed the air, picking up the scents of Jessie, Gerald, Mrs. Wallace, and Mitesh.
They’d made it. Thank the tenshi.
I had to be careful to not stir up the neighbors, to draw any attention to this street. The Crimson Army soldiers had lost me, thrown into a complete panic now. I could hear them two streets away, back at the café.
Surprise!
I shifted back to human. Naked. Being a wolf, my nudity didn’t bother me. However, I respected the fact my friends would be taken aback by it, as humans tended to be, so I’d make sure to get myself a towel from this Joji guy.
Aki blushed sometimes when he was…staring.
He hadn’t blushed when he’d pounded your ass.
Not now.
I stepped out of the shadows, slightly revealing myself to Jessie. She caught sight of me and disappeared from the window. Rather than fling the front door wide, she opened it just a little, barely noticeable.
She was good at this stuff.
I sniffed the air, watched the windows. Something light on my chest stopped me moving.
The dreamcatcher pendant was still there. How was that possible?
I stored that in a filing cabinet of odd mysteries to solve.
With no one around or watching, I moved quickly across the street, slipping into the cottage and gently closing the door behind me.
The roof was low in the tiny entrance hall, so I had to crouch.
“Hi,” Jessie said, her back to me. “Here.”
Yes, she absolutely was good at this stuff. She handed me a white bath towel.
I wrapped it around my waist. “All good.”
She turned around. “We did it. I thought my heart was going to explode. I was so scared.” She kept her voice low. “But we did it. We really did it.”
“I’m glad.”
“Joji’s through here.” She pointed to a doorway on the right.
“Lead the way.” I admired a white orchid on a table in the hall. Jessie had said the orchids were impressive, and if this was anything to go by, I was looking forward to seeing the others.
I followed her the short distance to the right doorway, which opened into a tiny living room. Two sofas, an unlit firep
lace, lamps casting soft light, candles burning on the mantelpiece. There were shelves loaded with books, paintings of flowers hanging on the white walls, low beams close to my head (I couldn’t stand up to my full height in here at all), and a small TV in the corner.
Mrs. Wallace and Gerald were sat together on one of the green sofas, Mitesh sitting on the other. Standing beside the fireplace was a Japanese guy with long black hair tied into a braid that fell over his left shoulder, dressed in baggy gray trousers and a white jumper. He looked younger than I’d pictured him.
The man pushed his white-rimmed glasses up his small nose and folded his arms across his chest.
“Hello,” he said. “We’ve been expecting you, Gabriel.”
“Nice to meet you, Joji. Thanks for providing the shelter.”
“Anything to help in this small fight against the regime.” He gestured to the sofa.
“You sit,” I said to Jessie.
“I’ll take the arm next to Mitesh,” she replied. “Mr. Tall like you needs the seat more than me. Don’t want you to do your back in.”
“Okay.” I sat next to Mitesh, observing the warm, shy smiles exchanged between him and Jessie as she perched herself on the arm next to him.
Cute.
“I have always hoped, in my long years in the city, to bring about a resistance to the current regime,” Joji said, facing me. “But the great rebellion has never come, which is a shame, yet I fully grasp the severity of the iron fist that rules over us.” He rubbed his right eye under his glasses. “However, there is a chance to somewhat alter the trajectory of our fates with the bone key. I’m told the key was explained to you.”
“Yes.”
“It is the one piece of hope we have.” He sighed heavily, leaning on the mantelpiece. “I have searched for answers as to why the tenshi have forsaken us to this place, what we have done to deserve such pain in our afterlives. Walking the streets has revealed to me those who deserve to suffer here, and those who do not. This, I can only presume, is not the will of the tenshi. At least, I hope so.”
“I agree,” I said. “There is a wrongness over everything, a lack of control from our creators. Why is there a king in control, as well as that hound and the mayor and mayoress? And these people,” I swung my arm around the room, “are not bad people.”
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