Ghosts of Koa, The First Book of Ezekiel

by Colby R Rice

  The Azures were trying to kill them, had to be. If they couldn't catch and crush Civilians with physical force, then the curfew would definitely choke off most families' living wages until they all just withered to dust from hunger and poverty. Didn't they realize that the working ghosts were just as important to Civilian survival as the working adults?

  Sal Morgan definitely did.

  Maybe the higher ups hadn't known until he'd told them. He was the tax collector, after all. Maybe this-- dealing a final blow to the economy of the Protecteds, to the capitol of the Civic Order-- was what the repeals were all about from the very beginning.

  The possibility struck fear in her, a fear that ran deeper than any she'd ever felt. Suddenly, Sal Morgan was no longer some pervy small-time extortionist, but ruthless and methodical, a consultant of death to the Alchemic Order. And he was pointing his scythe at her Demesne.

  Zeika grabbed their food, shoved it into her bag, and put Manja on her hip. Her urge to run from the Fifth Demesne had never been so powerful, not even on the heels of the Ninkashi attack. She had to do something, anything, before things got any worse. They had to get out of the Fifth... and they still had to find Mama and Baba.

  Where are you two? Where the hell are you?

  As she fought back tears of frustration, she pulled her hood over her head and left, wondering if they would ever survive this... and why their parents had left them to die.

  Demesne Five was a mess. The shit had hit the fan not even twelve hours after the repeals, and at the same time, Caleb had hit the streets, looking for Zeika and Manja. He'd been high on cocktails of codeine and antibiotics, but it hadn't stopped him from stumbling his way through the Fifth for four days straight, looking for even the barest sign of them. He checked his house account at the Lobon and saw that they'd been there on the day of the repeals. Zeika had ordered an ass load of food, right around the time the repeals had hit the news. All non-perishables.

  She was smart. He knew she'd stocked up for an indefinite hibernation, and that she and the kid would be AWOL for a while. They could have already skipped town, though it was unlikely, considering how little money they had and how bad things had gotten. Police activity was at an all time high; riots were erupting at the guarded borders of the Fifth. Civilians and APs clashed bloodily as people tried to muscle their ways out of the crumbling Protecteds.

  The more he thought about it, the more he was certain: they were at their underground hideout. He wouldn't dare go back to the fountain entrance, though. Not now. Someone might spot him, might wonder what an Azure was doing strolling through a park in Demesne Five. Plus, after the incident at the hollow...

  Hope you two are okay.

  He just wished that he could tell them their secret was safe with him. That shit happened, that the hollow had been a Koan trap and that he wasn't angry or suspicious of her. That he wouldn't be able to stop worrying until they were with him, where he could make sure they were safe.

  He walked back into the police station, winded from the day's search. He hadn't gotten much done in the way of his investigations lately, but maybe doing some work now would take his mind off the girls. It was worth a try. He reached for the knob with a slow and deliberate care, trying his best not to agitate the stitches at his chest. The doc had told him to take it easy. He wasn't supposed to be moving around so soon, but doing work from his hospital bed would be impossible.

  He walked in, immediately pleased by the breeze that slinked into the room through his window. Then he raised his brow. Three staggered stacks of thick manila envelopes crowded the top of his desk, piled about three feet high. Clearly, Palmer hadn't felt an iota of restraint when piling on the work.

  A flash of blue movement blinked between the stacks, and Caleb was already aiming his gun.

  "Ah, Proficient Rai," a smooth, clipped voice greeted. British. Outmoded. Old world. "I've been patiently awaiting your arrival."

  Behind the dossiers, the flash of color slowed into a crawl, solidifying into what looked like an expensive three-piece suit with groomed blonde hair. Someone who had been sitting behind the stacks was standing up. From his chair.

  Caleb pursed his lips. Another Alchemist. This dude definitely hadn't been sitting in his office a few seconds ago, and him being here now, no matter how he did it, meant that he was Azure.

  The newcomer took a long, measured look at the gun and then smiled. "I trust your recovery has gone well?"

  "Yeah. Who the hell are you?"

  He was still aiming squarely at the man's chest, and with the amused way in which the newcomer looked at him, one would think Caleb was offering him a chocolate bar. The man wasn't even flinching.

  "My apologies," the newcomer began again. "I am asking questions without proper introductions. I was sent here by the Alchemic Order."

  "The Order. Right."

  The man chuckled. "Please excuse my rudeness. I was under the impression that you knew we were supposed to be meeting."

  Another long look at the smiling Azure told Caleb that even though the guy needed a serious lesson on personal space, he wasn't dangerous. Slowly, he re-holstered his gun.

  "I didn't," Caleb said. "But I have time."

  "My name is Luke McKeller, a Proficient-level Theosophic Alchemist and a civil rights lawyer of Guild 40. I am also the apprentice of Vassal Micah Burke, and in that capacity, I am here to speak for him. I represent the Alchemic Order's Ethics Committee."

  "Heh. Yeah, okay. I didn't know the Order even had such a thing. Or that they even cared."

  "Have you checked the news recently, Detective? The citizens of the Civic Demesnes are causing quite an uproar in light of the repeals. They want justice."

  "And what does this have to do with you popping up like a bluebell from my goddamned chair?"

  He could see Luke stifling a smile. "Well, I guess the simplest answer is that this is my office too."

  "Your office? Here?" He wasn't sure if this guy was joking, but if he was, Caleb had already decided he wasn't in the mood.

  "Well I'm not much good as an Ethics Agent of the Fifth if I'm not actually here, now am I?" Luke jammed his hands into his slack pockets. "Can't plant the seeds of justice without examining the soil, so to speak."

  Caleb raised an eyebrow. "So you're Internal Affairs."

  Luke chuckled, the gesture smooth, calming. "I've been told to use the term 'Ethics Committee Representative'. We wouldn't want the natives getting restless."

  "The officials of the Orders actually signed this Ethics Committee into law?"

  "Into law and into the Treaty of Alliances itself. All alchemic law enforcement agencies are to have a representative from Guild 40 on staff to oversee practices, case filings, raids, hunter cells." Luke smiled, folded his arms, and leaned against Caleb's desk. "The Articles39 has now become the Articles40, save for the fact that they repealed them, of course."

  Caleb's jaw tightened. "Okay, but again, why my office?"

  Even as he asked, he wasn't sure why he was being such a jerk about it. Sharing office space certainly wasn't his biggest problem, and despite Luke's sudden appearance and ridiculously antiquated accent, he seemed like a decent guy. Just not one he wanted in his space. He didn't want anyone in his space, really. Maybe it was stress, maybe he was being territorial... or maybe his office was simply all he had left. The last thing he could control.

  Thankfully, Luke didn't seem interested in tree-marking. "You're the Special Forces Tactician, are you not?" He continued, all business and bow ties. "As I understand it, the officers at this precinct all have to defer to you. Captain Palmer thought it would be best if you and I worked together... mostly because your colleagues already hate me as much as they hate you."

  News traveled fast, apparently.

  "Yeah, I.A. doesn't exactly give cops the warm and fuzzy. I'm surprised you'd even sign up for such a shit job."

  "Yes, well, the Orders want to ensure that Civilians' basic hum
an rights are not violated during the transition. In light of recent reports on the missing children-- warm, fuzzy, or not-- I am inclined to agree. Even the shit jobs need shovels. You of all people would know that."

  Caleb felt his annoyance drain away, replaced by a growing respect for McKeller. That he'd maintained such a centered perspective in such a highly ranked position was admirable to say the least.

  "What do you need?" Caleb forced a smile, by way of apology. "Besides a chair, I mean."

  "To hell with the chair. A lovely bistro would be fantastic. It's going to be a long night."

  A lovely bistro? Jeez.

  Luke was blue-bred to the max, but a couple months in Demesne Five would definitely put some wrinkles in his collar. More importantly though, while Luke was around, Caleb could actually do some work. Honest-to-goodness-shit-shoveling work.

  "Let me show you around the place," Caleb said, feeling better already. "Our caf is killer."

  ****

  After a long lunch, Caleb left Luke to get settled into the station. He was feeling more than impressed with his new partner; he felt downright intimidated. Luke was a sharp guy. He'd been the first in his family to study alchemy and had trained as a Theosophist, making it to Proficient-level in just two years, which was unheard of. Then, he'd had a pang of conscience and decided to focus on international and civil rights law. He was a righteous choice for a partner, and as much as Palmer had stuck them together to punish them, Luke didn't seem to mind much. Caleb had a feeling that things were about to change around the precinct, big time.

  He stopped short at his own doorway, letting out an audible groan when he saw Vassal Persaud standing in his office behind his desk, his back turned to him. He was standing almost military-style and facing the window, his arms clasped behind his back. This appearing-in-his-office thing was really getting old, really fast.

  "I'm pleased to see you're on the mend," Persaud said. "Your family was worried."

  "I'm fine. I also have a hell of a lot of work to do, so if you don't mind--"

  "Tell me, Proficient. Are you seeing anyone?" Vassal Persaud turned around, and Caleb could see the thin watery smile condensing on his face. "Or, knowing your ways with women, 'visiting' anyone?"

  Caleb scowled. What was this, a dating show? "Why the hell is that any of your business?"

  "It's a simple question."

  "No."

  "I see. So then... if she isn't a lover, then who is the Demesne Five barterer to you? This... Ezekiel Anon?" Persaud flicked his wrist and glossy sheaves of color landed on Caleb's desk.

  Oh no. No, no, no.

  Photos. Of him and Zeika and the kid. At the Lobon Inn. In his car. Walking towards the old gardens, where Zeika's shop was located. Caleb felt himself fill with a rare rage, blinding and terrible and absolute--

  "Stay away from her, Persaud," he growled. "She's a ghost of war, and none of your fucking business."

  Persaud smiled, raising his eyebrows in interest. "Ghost of war. You say that as though it somehow means something."

  "What do you want? What is she to you?"

  "More important is what she is to you. You see, I've been hearing some disturbing rumors, Proficient. Rumors of a certain Azure Prince bestowing his favors on a teenaged Civilian girl. A girl who is thought to be a Koan sympathizer."

  Caleb stared at him, haunted. This was bullshit, pure and simple. "What the hell--"

  "Typically, these sorts of rumors don't concern me. Many Azure men would enjoy a Civilian woman's company in all the ways he can, and I've no complaint on the matter. But you, so selfish, so engorged by your own passions--" Persaud locked eyes with him, and Caleb could finally see the simmering anger in his Vassal's gaze, the hate. "You would pursue your own pleasure at the risk of destroying your House. You would sully the Kojira family name, sully the Order, by yoking yourself with a Koan insurgent--"

  "Zeika is not a terrorist."

  Persaud put his thumb and forefinger to his chin and looked at him. Really looked at him, as though examining a foolish schoolboy who couldn't see that two plus two equalled four. As though he refused to believe Caleb was that stupid.

  "Do you know who the Anons are?" Persaud asked, the question genuine. "I mean, truly?"

  Caleb felt a bolt of terror that he prayed didn't register on his face. Did he know Zeika and Manja were Civic Alchemists?

  Persaud was still looking at him and searching his face for an answer, leaving Caleb with two choices: reveal her secret or destroy his honor. The choice was easy.

  You're an Azure asshole banging a civvie chick. You're mad because Persaud's in your biz. That's all.

  "Zeika's just a civvie showing me some gratitude," he said casually. He felt the look of boredom come into his face, the same look he'd used on Persaud millions of times when he was a kid.

  "She's more than that. She and her father were the biggest suppliers of arms and weaponry to the Civic Order. They owned the majority of military contracts, and thus owned the Civilian military. The girl in particular-- the same one you're cavorting around town with-- is an incredibly talented metalsmith, to the point where most Civilians believe it was her genius, and not her father's, that kept the business going." As Persaud spoke, Caleb could actually hear animosity curling around the man's words, tightening like a weed.

  "Act 948 was built for the Anons! For them and for others like them, who would feed the Koan rebellion with weapons of destruction and terror. They were the biggest threat to world peace we've ever known, gun-runners and merchants of Azure death, stationed right here, in the heart of the Civic Order! The world was well rid of them until you floated the Anon prodigy back to the surface, all on the Kojira lifeboat! How do you think this makes your father look?! You couldn't just leave her to the likes of Sal Morgan or some other bottom-feeder, oh no. You, of course you, had to be the great fixer, gussying up Civilian trash under Lord Kojira's cloak!"

  Foam collected at the corner of Persaud's mouth as he fumed, and Caleb still wasn't moved. He actually smirked. "Kojira can go suck on the bitter thumb all he wants," he said. "So can Sal Morgan. No one tells me who I roll around with and when. Zeika Anon is mine."

  Welp, there it was. Honor had just packed its bags and left him a Dear John letter, leaving Caleb feeling inhumanly gross. He hated talking about Zeika that way, but this was the Azure currency. If he wanted Persaud to buy his story, he'd have to make it good.

  Persaud narrowed his eyes, suspicious. Was he buying it?

  "This is very unlike you, Proficient," he said, stepping forward, his eyes still narrowed. "Very unlike you indeed. What are you up to?"

  Caleb crossed his arms, standing his ground. "After spending two years in the jug, I'd hope I wouldn't have to spell it out for you. I don't kiss and tell."

  "You could have any woman you wanted, Azure and Civilian alike, and you choose her. Why?"

  He shrugged, as cavalier as he could fake it. "She gets me."

  Persaud looked unconvinced. "Gets you. A foul-mouthed, teenaged, gun-making Civilian street scamp 'gets you'."

  "You said yourself that passion was my saving grace. It's hers too. We've both been through hell. We understand each other. You'd be surprised how much traction you'd get out of that." He hesitated, wondering how much of that was actually true on some level--

  No time for self-reflection. Just keep Zeika breathing.

  Persaud considered this, seeming to come around-- then his acquiescence was gone, awash by a truth that only he seemed to see. "Whether she is your whore or not, in the eyes of the Alchemic Order, she is still a Koan conspirator. You are still an Azure Prince and heir to one of the highest Houses in the world. This... bestiality will not be countenanced by your House or by the Order, and I will not allow it either. You've had your fun. You will now leave her to Sal Morgan."

  "Vassal. That is my property--"

  "A poisoned fief if I've ever seen one!"

  "It checked out just f
ine on my end."

  "Did she check out when you found her, armed, in that Koan hollow too?"

  Caleb felt his heart skip a beat. How had he known that? Getting recon pictures in public was one thing, but no one had been in the Koan hollow except him, his team, and the girls. All that Caleb had retained from the hollow incident were his memories, and storing and locking those back was the first thing he'd done when he'd woken up in the infirmary. But then, there had been that grasping sensation he'd dreamt about... like fingers pulling at his thoughts...

  "No..."

  Persaud smiled. "The thoughts of a Druidic detective are never private, Proficient. Besides, withholding evidence is a crime-- and goodness knows you don't need any more blemishes on your record. So in the interest of protecting your reputation, I submitted your memories to this precinct and to the Halls of Pact. They served well in supporting the repeals of the Articles39."

  Caleb felt his entire façade shatter, hate filling him up. "You bastard."

  "I admire you, Proficient. You played the game very well. Very convincing. I might have believed your story about your tryst with the gunrunner. In the end, however, only a true Druidic Alchemist can hide his real thoughts and feelings. And that's something you've never been."

  Persaud sighed and picked up the pictures of him and Zeika. Real concern seeped into his gaze as he stared at them. "You will thank me one day," he said, his voice a murmur. "There will come a time where you are at the mercy of Koa and the Civilians, and you will see for yourself that these peasants do not embrace our sense of civility. We Azures owe nothing to Civilian life. So if sacrifices must be made at their expense to ensure the prosperity of both the Order and of our glorious House, it shall be done. Starting with that barterer."

  "I won't do it. You're going to have to get someone else."

  "Like Xakiah, you mean?"

  Caleb stiffened, and the chill crawled deeper as he watched a knowing smile spread across Persaud's face.

  "Choose to stay if you will, Proficient. Xakiah is already there."

  Horror crawled around Caleb's stomach as he grabbed his keys and bolted out of the office, leaving Persaud's sadistic smile behind him.