by Abbey, Kit
However, the God of pinkie fingers must have been keeping a close eye on William that day, because Rowan abruptly released William’s hands and stepped away from him.
“There,” she snapped at the man, “satisfied?”
He merely raised his eyebrows slightly, then turned and sauntered out of the building.
Rowan stood and glared at the doors for a moment, then turned to William. William would have taken a step back, but he was already pressed up against the wall.
“I have a lot to do today,” she said, “and now we’re late. Come on.”
Several possible responses to this appeared in William’s head, but he was fairly sure that saying any of them would result in him being fired. Or, more likely, in Rowan cutting out his tongue. So he said nothing and, eyes on the carpet, followed Rowan out of the building.
Chapter 9.
William had spent his whole life watching Grey Corp employees doing as they pleased about the city, and looking so damn cool while they did. No one touched them. Not the police, or the mayor, and presumably there were even higher powers in other cities who also did nothing.
William’s classmates would whisper to each other about the vast and mysterious powers you would learn to wield, if Grey Corp decided you were good enough for a job. William wasn’t sure exactly when he’d decided to join Grey Corp, it had always just been this inevitable thing he’d been moving towards. To be in control, to have to answer to no one. One night he had sat beneath his bedroom window and wrote a list by the light of the moon. He had carefully outlined all the different horrors one might have to face in the employ of Grey Corp in an attempt to determine whether or not he felt able to face them.
This list had been long, and detailed. Werewolves were at the top, because he’d heard Grey Corp had a whole pack of them on a leash and it had seemed unlikely, but just in case he put it down. Elevators of blood, like on the Shining, were high up on the list, and also bottomless pits because something about falling and falling until you starved to death was seriously fucking terrifying. But one thing this list had not included was small, crying, girls. Which, after Rowan drove them deep into the belly of one of the City's posh suburbs, was exactly what he found himself faced with.
The house’s driveway was long. Crazy long. This was a sure sign that whoever owned the land was rich. The house, when it eventually came into view, sat fat and well pleased amid lush, green grass. It loomed like a spider over the small, crying, girl who cast a solitary figure on the front lawn.
It occurred to William that had he thought to place small, crying girls on his list of terror, he may well have never opened those black doors.
Rowan got out the car (it was a very nice red Mustang), and William scrambled after her. The small, crying girl regarded them both with round wet eyes but she did not, as had been Williams greatest fear, attempt any sort of bodily contact. Although she did take a step in his direction, which just wasn’t necessary.
“You’re here to save Mr. Gordan-Morgan.” She was small, and she was crying, but her voice held a note of authority that no small child had any business wielding.
“Yes,” said Rowan. “Again.”
The girl looked at William. “Come with me, now.”
Rowan made a shooing motion with her hand. “I’ll be inside. Come and find me when you’re done. Or when you realise you can’t do it.” Her tone left no doubt as to which outcome she predicted.
William followed the little girl around the side of the house. The back yard was surprisingly small, just a bit of lawn, and a really big tree. Judging by how old and massive the tree looked, William guessed it must pre-date the new looking house.
“Ok, you can save Mr. Gordan-Morgan now,” said the girl. William noticed she had stopped crying. Small, not crying girls were less frightening than the crying kind, but not by much.
“Well, ok. Where is he?”
The girl regarded William for a moment as though he was a very silly little bunny rabbit, (William started to suspect that Rowan and this kid were related), and then she pointed upwards, to the uppermost branches of the tree. William spotted a black shape that may or may not have been a very grumpy cat.
“Is Mr. Gordan-Morgan a cat?”
“Of course he is, dumb head.” Oh yeah, they were definitely related.
“Aren’t there people more suited to getting cats out of trees than Grey Corp?”
“But that’s a Grey Corp tree. It was gift for my Daddy.” Her lower lip wobbled slightly, and William feared that she was going to become small, crying, girl once again. “Mr. Gordan-Morgan is just a kitty, he doesn’t understand that the tree isn’t real.” And then she did start to cry, and William quickly walked over to the base of the tree. Any distance between himself and crying children was good distance.
Saving tree bound cats was not what William had pictured when he imagined working for Grey Corp, but he damn well wasn’t going to give Rowan any reasons to maim his person. He looked up, and decided that the esteemed Mr. Gordan-Morgan would not be all that hard to get to. Provided Rowan didn’t come outside start hurling darts at him as he climbed.
He reached to grip the gnarled bark, and managed not to exclaim in surprise when his hand passed straight through the trunk. The air inside it was slightly cooler than the air outside, but this was the only indication that the tree was not a figment of William’s imagination.
William stared, perplexed, at the tree that was not actually as tree-like as it would have the general public believe. He mentally combed through all the information he had learned thus far in his employment. It didn’t take long to get to his morning jaunt in the elevator, and the instructions of the scary man. He had basically said that the elevators needed to be thought into submission. Which was the kind of idea that had no place in a world of logic, but he was living in Grey Corp’s world now.
William stared very intently at the tree. You, he thought, slowly and carefully, are a tree.
The image of the tree did not change, nor did it become solid, and everything was quiet aside from the girl’s soft sobs. And yet, William suddenly felt a very strong sense of what he could only describe as, nuh uh.
William narrowed his eyes and thought, yes, you are. You’re a tree. A solid tree.
I’d rather be cheese.
William took a moment to appreciate the absurdity of that statement, and then thought as hard he could, too bad, you’re a tree. A tree!
He sensed no reply, but when he reached out his hand he met with tree like solidness.
He imagined what would happen to him if he got mid-way up and it decided it would rather not be a tree any more. He then imagined life without all his fingers.
He climbed the tree that would rather be cheese.
Chapter 10.
The inside of the house was every bit as posh as the outside. William felt very out of place, like he did in those fancy little boutique shops in the city. Rowan hadn’t said exactly where she would be, but William could hear clinking cutlery. He followed the sound.
He walked down a passageway towards the front of the house. He kept his hands stuffed in his pockets, so he couldn’t accidentally break anything. He could hear Rowan talking to a man, and as he approached an open doorway the voices grew louder. He hovered just out of view, listening. (Would Rowan cut off his ears if she caught him eavesdropping?)
“I can’t believe you’ve lost him again,” said Rowan, sounding annoyed, “Grey Corp has better things to do than chase down-”
There a very firm clinking noise, like someone had set down a glass harder then necessary.
“Do not lecture me on the things Grey Corp has to do young lady.” Any other person would have apologised when faced with that tone, but from Rowan came only silence. “I will deal with my son,” continued the man, “and I do agree that his... antics.... are getting to be a little much. But it’s my problem, do you understand?” There was no answer, Rowan must have nodded or rolled her
eyes in agreement. The man kept talking, his voice brighter. “But now, tell me about this new Employee the Man has assigned you.”
“He’s useless,” said Rowan. “But he didn’t see Albert in the training room, so the Boss is all atwitter.”
“He didn’t see Albert? That’s hardly what I would call useless.” A pause, then the chink of cutlery being settled back down. “When was the last time that happened?”
“Horace Watershed.” Her voice was grudging. “About six years ago.”
The man sighed. “I remember when every single person through those doors passed the testing room.”
“And you walked five miles barefoot in the pouring rain to get to school, right?” Cutlery scraped for a moment. “Those days are gone. The well is growing old, and Albert gets weaker every day. No one wants to talk about it, but it’s happening.”
“Are you any closer to finding the new Well?”
Rowan sighed. It was a sound of pure frustration. “No.”
“Well, maybe your new employee will be powerful enough-”
“Ha! And here I thought Percy got his sense of humour from his Mum.”
“Daddy! Auntie Ro!” The girl came barrelling down the passage, a very unimpressed cat clutched in her arms. “That boy saved Mr. Gordan-Morgan for me!”
She bounced into the room, and William followed, trying to look like someone who had not just been eavesdropping. It looked like the room’s occupants had been enjoying a light brunch. Finger sandwiches and glasses filled with something pale and cold were set out on the coffee table. On either side were comfy couches, one holding Rowan, the other holding a middle aged man. His auburn hair was going grey, but it was the distinguished kind of grey that only rich guy hair seemed to turn.
Rowan eyed the cat in her niece’s arms. “What, did he climb down a few branches on his own?”
“No.” She shook her head, red pig-tails flying this way and that. “He climbed up and got him.”
The greying man nodded. “Very impressive young man.”
“Thanks,” William said.
Rowan rolled her eyes, and then gestured to the sandwiches. “You can eat some. There’s only chutney and silverside left anyway.”
William happened to like chutney and silverside, but he was pretty sure if he told Rowan that she wouldn’t let him have any. He chewed slowly, like it was an effort not to spit the mouthful out. It tasted awesome.
“And how are you finding Grey Corp so far?” asked the man.
William swallowed. “Well it’s only been a day. I guess... Interesting?”
“I’m sure it will all seem boring and mundane before too long.” He smiled. “Rowan tells me you performed well in the testing room?”
“So everyone keeps saying.” William took another bite and spoke around the mouthful, “it’s all very confusing.”
The man laughed. It was a warm and rich laugh. “Yes, I remember that feeling. You’ll pick it all up before long I’m sure.”
Rowan obviously couldn’t stand someone being nice to him. She stood, dusting crumbs from her pants. “It’s time to go.”
He managed to grab a few more sandwiches on the way out the door.
Chapter 11.
A search of the medicine cabinet yielded some anti-septic cream, and William sat on the comfortable couch, dabbing it on the long scratches Mr. Gordan-Morgan had left in his arm. Through the windows he could see skyscrapers growing bright as the sky grew dark. It had been a long day, and he was deeply weary. Following their abrupt departure from the big house Rowan had driven all around the city. They visited top floor office buildings in the heart of the city. and falling apart houses in falling apart neighbourhoods. Then there was the back of a Chinese restaurant, a used car dealership, a group teens practising their mad parkour skills and a used book store. Everywhere they went it was the same thing. There was a woman, Gwendoline Shannon, and Grey Corp was looking for her. William go the impression they’d been looking for her for some time. None of the people Rowan questioned had anything to offer, although the cook at Chinese restaurant claimed he almost had news. Rowan told him to call when it was actual news.
William had no idea why they were searching for this woman, nor why it proving so hard to locate her. Rowan just rolled her eyes and glared whenever he tried to ask, which seemed to go against the spirit of the mentor/mentoree relationship, but William decided not to tell her that.
Mr. Grey and Nobody had been standing casually in the entry room when they’d finally returned to the Grey building.
“So, how did we do?” asked Mr. Grey.
Rowan shook her head. “No news. The book store lead is completely played out I think.”
Mr. Grey waved a hand through the air, clearing Rowan’s words away like they were smoke. “No, how did you do this morning? Is Mr. Gordan-Morgan back on solid ground?”
Rowan sighed and said “yes,” as though she were agreeing to eat nothing but rotted goat spleen for the rest of her life.
Nobody nodded, and Mr. Grey said “wonderful, wonderful. I knew you wouldn’t leave me regretting my decision to hire you, Mr. Black.”
Before William had a chance to reply the two men turned and left through one of the small doors. With one last disgusted look in his direction, Rowan followed them.
Eyes trained on the carpet, William had crossed to the eastern side of the room. Where the elevators were apparently less wilful. He pressed a hand against the surface and thought, take me to the rooms I’m staying in, please. The elevator had hummed softly, as though amused, and took him up the right floor as simply as that.
And now he sat on the couch, arms stinging, watching night fall on the city. It was, in William’s learned opinion, when the city looked her best. He liked the way the city lights were reflected by the water. He liked the way that the windows of the skyscrapers, opaque by day, became bright and clear and the way the cars were reduced to just glittering headlights and the way the inside of the buses glowed.
He had just begun to cast speculative looks in the direction of the bedroom when an impatient knock sounded at his door. It was Rowan. She grabbed his arm and yanked him out into the corridor. “Come on, we’ve got more work to do.”
Many sentences, all starting with ‘but,’ flitted through William’s brain. He decided it would be best if none of them actually reached his mouth. He followed Rowan down to the underground car park and climbed sleepily into her car, (which was still awesome, even when his eyes were barely open). He gazed blearily out the window as she navigated the night-time streets.
Time seemed to stretch and blur, in much the same way the lights of the shops they passed stretched and blurred, and William could not say how long they had been driving for. But it couldn’t have been for that long at all, because when Rowan parked the car he saw they were in one of the northern districts; home of restless night clubs and trendy restaurants. They weren’t even that far from the Grey Building. Its looming shape was probably visible if you were on one of the roofs.
They were parked behind a thumping, vibrating club; shielded from the bright light of the streets by its sweltering bulk. Rowan sat on the bonnet of the red Mustang, and William stood waiting for something to happen. He waited for what seemed to be a very long time.
“You met my uncle today,” she finally said. “Wesley Jameson-Smith.”
“He seemed nice,” said William.
“He works closely with Grey Corp. That’s why Grey Corp provided him with the tree, as a gift.”
“Alright. Does he own this club?”
That earned him a pointed stare. “No. Wesley Jameson-Smith does not own clubs.” Owning clubs, her tone suggested, was a very nasty thing to do and should not be spoken of in public.
“Then why are we here?”
“We are here, because Percy Jameson-Smith is here.”
“That would be his… Son?”
“Excellent deducing.” Rowan flicked her hair over he
r shoulder. “Go in there and fetch him out.”
“Fine, what’s he look li-“
“Now, William.”
She glared, and it took a great deal of William’s willpower not to flee in the face of it. He turned and walked as casually as he could over to the alley between this club and the next.
The walls were a riot of graffiti. Amid the usual tags and artistic penises there was a stencilled image of a busking artist. A suited Grey Corp employee was helping himself to the busker’s coins. Did William have an obligation to report anti-Grey Corp sentiments, now that was one of them? It was something to worry about later. For now he needed to figure out how he was going to find this Percy guy among the teeming masses that were sure to be inside the club. For that matter, how was going to get inside the club in the first place? He barely looked eighteen, and he had no ID.
He rounded the corner of the alley and was accosted with all of the district’s desperately bright glory. Crowds of people both young and just wishing they were young shoved and moved on the streets in loud, hyperactively happy clusters. William slipped through the gaps in the shifting mass of people and made his way to the door of the club. (‘Duex!’ screamed the flashing, neon sign above the door). A very tall, very thick, very mean looking bouncer lounged in the doorway. He looked relaxed in the way that only a man who knows there are few things on the planet he can not crush between his hands can.
William stepped up to him, trying to somehow project an air of eighteen-ness. A big, meaty palm planted itself in the middle of his chest. The palm was attached to an arm, and that arm was attached the bouncer.
“No,” he said. “Go home kid.”
“But-“
The bouncer shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and William decided that back on the pavement was a better place for him to be.
He stood amongst the laughing, shouting crowd and considered his next move. Should he go back to Rowan and ask just how, exactly, she expected him to get into the club? Or should he hang around out front until someone who looked like a Percy exited? See, if they had given him a badge he could flash it and say ‘Grey Corp!’ and this wouldn’t be a problem.