As the ghost of an Immolator he might not even recognize them or remember loving them.
A chill had swept him at that thought.
And so, when a friend of Punka’s pulled him aside on the way to the commander’s office and told him about a certain Needle Master who had a desperate need for money, he listened very carefully and memorized the name.
C H A P T E R T H R E E
Trinketologist – a magience practitioner who makes magical objects
from wood, metal, or plant.
*****
“Oh Gods!” Heloise sat up and threw back the sheets. Sun streamed in the window. Nana’s rooster next door was crowing. She could smell the bacon frying upstairs, so Jana was up. It was late.
“Got to go! She shoved at Kane but he only grunted. His bare, muscled back looked tempting and she almost leaned over to give him a bite. Instead she shook her legs free of the sheet and began to clamber over him.
His arm snaked up and he wrestled her back to the bed with a grin then rested above her propped on both arms. The delicious press of his skin against hers and his deep black Hastino eyes reminded her of their love-making the night before.
“One kiss?” he murmured, his deep voice reverberating in the pit of her stomach.
“No!”
Kane stooped to lick at her nipple, circling it with his tongue.
“Mmm. Nice.” She wriggled. “One. One kiss.”
The melting sensation as they kissed made her wish she hadn’t work to go to, but it was the day of the Needle Master. She tried to get up and Kane held her tighter. With a quick push on his chin to bend his head back, a chop to the inside of his elbow, and a flip of her body, she sent him off balance and tumbling to the side.
“Hey!” From the look on his face she’d startled him.
Too bad. No time to explain where she’d learned the move.
As she tugged on her red leggings and a white shirt, and laced up her gray vest, he watched her lazily. She brushed her short, straight hair. The ends bounced up with that annoying wave. Disgusted, she tossed the comb onto the dressing table, scattering a hodgepodge collection of glass toys, coins, bead bracelets, a booklet on known-to-be-extant trinketton armaments, and a stuffed owl.
It being Sonday, this would be Kane’s day off. Legal clerks mightn’t work rest days but this was the best time to visit Uncle’s customers. It unsettled, made them realize they were up against the wall.
She strapped on a slim Sung steel knife then went to her strongbox, unlocked it, and took out Dogrose. Dogrose was a compact dartzinger she’d found at the dock markets a few months ago –a gorgeously detailed trinketton. The tiny embossed daisies snaking round the octagonal barrel and the butt spoke of a plant animus. Every few months the daisies went through their cycle and changed from buds to tiny blossoms. The perfume the weapon exuded was subtle and elegant.
Not many trinketologists played with the spirit energy of plants.
Some days she wondered about its history. Surely a master trinketologist had created Dogrose?
She’d never fired it in anger, and she hoped she never needed to. She weighed it in her hands, wondering if she should’ve applied fresh tincture to the darts last night.
“What’s that? Are you planning to use that?” Kane’s voice sharpened. “Where is it you’re going, Heloise?”
She slipped Dogrose back into the strongbox then clicked it shut. “Out. Don’t worry your pretty little head.” She took two strides and ruffled his thick brown hair, jumping back when he tried to grab her again. “Don’t forget to lock up!” Last of all, she knelt in the doorway to give her cat, Grunt, a pat. “Bye!”
One day she’d have to tell Kane what she did for a living. Collecting debts might not be glamorous but she made good money. Why she hadn’t told him already, she wasn’t sure. It wasn’t illegal. Maybe tonight. He’d ask her again about the dartzinger anyway.
Outside, the streets were freshly washed. Rainwater ran down the cobblestones of the sloping street toward the bay, pushing along leaves and the detritus of garbage thrown out windows. She skipped over one such slow-moving pile. Down one side street, a crowd gathered round a man in the distinctive half-white, half-black attire of a ghost trapper. He held high a silvery bottle. No doubt they were ogling his latest catch.
As she drew near Greeble Street, she saw that Sonja and Bull were already there. They were her back-up this time. Second visit Uncle wanted her to take more, a whole battalion just about. She wrinkled her forehead. He didn’t yet trust her to do the job by herself. Hells. Until she did it, she wasn’t sure either. She squared her shoulders and made sure to keep her tone of voice low and confident.
“Sonja. Bull.” They nodded to her. Both of them had on the Bruno uniform – black leggings, black leather cuirass and a black shirt with the company badge – a purple and very spiky echidna. Bull, the size of two men, relied on his fists and knives if he had to fight. Sonja had her two curved Sung swords at her waist. Full gear.
Heloise fought the urge to lick her lips or swallow. “Let’s go.”
“You’ve got the affidavit?” Sonja asked.
“Yes.” She tapped the scroll tube hanging at her waist.
Thom Drager’s clinic was a good three miles further round the bay, so they flagged down a carriage and hopped aboard. Heloise sat facing the driver. Past him were the long ears of his horses. It was difficult pretending to be calm and professional while sitting opposite Sonja and Bull.
Sonja patted her hair, checking the pins securing her intricately constructed bun of dark dreadlocks. She grinned. “Don’t worry, Heloise. We’ll take good care of you.”
“Sonja,” Bull rumbled. “Don’t tease her. She’ll be okay.”
“Yes, I will. This is the same job I’ve done before, just for a little more money.”
“A little!” Sonja hooted. “When I have this ‘leetle’ money I will be rich girl!” She leaned forward. “Look, I know you can be a devil cat, so does Bull, but I also know you’re only two years older than my nephew and he’s got the brains of a headless chicken. So. You listen to what we tell you. Yes?”
“Sonja. We’re friends, right?” She took care to keep her voice level, unhurried, smooth as honey.
“Sure are. That’s why I’m helping you.” Sonja’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
Heloise looked at her straight on. “Well, I’m glad of that, but Uncle said I’m the boss on this job. And I am. I’ll take your advice in, I’ll think about it a lot, but I have the final say.”
Bull grinned widely. “Now, I see Uncle in you!”
“Thanks, Bull. Sonja?”
She glared back at Heloise, her mouth a hard line then the corners twitched and spread to a smile. She guffawed and half rose from her seat to give Heloise a quick embrace, with her swords clattering against the timber. “Girl! It’s nice to see some guts around here, Bull being partial to petunias and all!”
He snorted.
“Shake?” Heloise held out her hand, knowing from sparring exercises that Sonja could probably break her hand off at the wrist if she wanted.
“Sure.” And they shook. It only hurt a bit afterward.
Now Uncle would know she meant business. This would be her responsibility and her success. If only the butterflies in her stomach would quit flying around so much.
The smoothest way to get to the Needle Master’s clinic was via Trader’s Road, even though it followed the curve of the bay. Soon they’d left behind Defatt’s Bakery, with its delicious aromas of warm, crunch-brown pastry and cooking meat, along with all the other small shops near her home. Heloise lay back against the hard seat. The sea was visible through gaps between waterfront warehouses and buildings. She squinted against the wind and concentrated on counting the seagulls and terns gliding on the breeze.
“Here.” Sonja shoved a paper bag toward her. “Breakfast. I can tell you ain’t had breakfast. Your stomach growling is deafening me.”
Inside was a half-eaten potat
o fritter.
“Bull! What you got? Give the girl some of that sandwich!”
Startled, he offered her a meat sandwich so squashed it was near impossible to see what the contents were.
Heloise eyed it. “No, thanks, Bull. You need it more.” Before he could offer again she took a bite from the fritter, chewed quickly, and gulped it down. “Thanks, both of you.”
“Nah, it’s nothing. Next time you starve.” She chuckled. “Remember to bring food.”
When they turned left onto Dedication Way, the air changed from the hurry-scurry urgency of the trading district to become gentler, calmer. Dominating the skyline was the Monument to the Highest Gods, its emerald spire reaching to the heavens. Priests in the tunics and robes of several religious disciplines walked along the roadside paths.
One priest stopped and stared up at them. His burgundy robe and his tonsure – half his scalp smooth, the other half with waist-length hair – marked him as a dedicate of Amora.
Heloise took a deep breath once they passed the monument. The district of Magience practitioners was up ahead.
This early, the doors to the clinic were closed. It was an immaculately clean, white-washed building, two-stories high, with a white stone wall around it. Wave-green stained glass adorned the front doors.
“I can see how it’s worth two and a half thou grints.” Heloise whistled in appreciation.
“Yeah, it’s nice. Now let’s get in there. Bull, why don’t we knock on the door.”
A young woman in a pastel blue dress, with a ribbon tie beneath the bodice, answered the door.
“Good morning.” Heloise put on her best friendly look. “We’re here to see Mister Drager on a business matter.”
The woman’s polite smile turned to an anxious frown but she didn’t move.
“An urgent business matter. Regarding the payment of some fees.”
“Oh.”
While she dithered, Heloise, Sonja, and Bull sidled through the door.
The first step: Get In The Door.
Check, thought Heloise.
The woman stared wide-eyed at them. “I’ll ask Mr. Drager if he will see you. Clinic starts soon so he may be unavailable until later.” She hurried off, past a desk and through a silver-and-glass beaded curtain. Her footsteps echoed down a long hallway.
Heloise nervously tapped her fingers against her thigh.
Soon, the young woman returned and took them through the curtain and down the hallway to a room furnished starkly with bright satin floor cushions and a centrally placed low square table. On it were a plethora of writing implements, notepaper, pens, plus an abacus and, displayed prominently, a hand-tinted photograph of a pretty young girl – the daughter, probably.
A man attired in a close-tailored suit rose from a cross-legged position on the floor. The suit was sea-blue cotton with an embroidered dark design but no other embellishments to its elegance. His hair was straight and fell like a black waterfall to his shoulders. Though Bull was heftier and slightly broader of shoulder, this man was the tallest in the room, a novelty for Heloise, she was used to being taller than most men.
She glanced downward. A small golden tattoo on the back of his left hand marked him as a Needle Master. This was Thom Drager.
The décor and clothing style were Sungese. Since the man was obviously not Sungese, she found herself wondering how he’d acquired his tastes.
For just the smallest of moments, pity and sorrow swept her. Some clients moved her not at all, but this man...what a waste.
“That will be all, Grace.” The young woman left the room. “Please, be seated.” His voice was warm and welcoming, and his eyes met Heloise’s for a long second before he broadened his invitation to include Sonja and Bull.
“I’ll stand,” rumbled Bull.
Heloise and Sonja settled as comfortably as they could on the cushions then made their introductions.
He knows why we’re here. Sonja and Bull could flatten him with their pinky finger. He’s a sucked-in-to-the-core somm addict. Yet he’s as smooth as those satin shoes. Controlled. How did he ever get himself into this pile of excrement?
Only the tightness of his smile spoke of tension.
“You seem young for this occupation, Miss Heloise.” He shifted focus and she was certain he studied the tattoo on her forearm.
Were those words meant as a slight? Or was he just curious? Both, she guessed.
“We all have to start somewhere.” Sitting cross-legged as she was, with her forearms on her knees, she kept her hands still and her face calm. “I was born into it, sir. But I’ve not come here to make small talk, Mr. Drager. You are seriously in debt to a client of ours.”
“Lila Harare. Yes.” He nodded as if it were nothing, took an orange from a bowl of fruit on the table and began to peel it. “Pardon me for eating in front of you but I have not yet broken my fast.”
He doesn’t offer us any. For the Sungese that was a definite insult. She looked at him. He smiled. Ah, and he knows I know it. The deliberate perversion of social etiquette fascinated her. Thrilled her a little even. She barely kept herself from smiling back.
Keep it professional. Stop admiring him.
“Sir, I am here to inform you that we require a payment from you, in full by the end of this week with an initial payment of half the day after tomorrow. I’m sorry to be so abrupt, but we have our instructions. Here is an affidavit signed by our client stating the full amount.”
“That’s a large sum to produce in such a short time.”
The orange spurted juice onto the table. Two of his fingers were sunken into the flesh up to the first knuckle. As though he had meant to do it, Thom Drager pulled the orange apart into several chunks. “And if I cannot do this?”
“Then you will sign over the deeds to this building.”
“I see. I will have to consult my accountant.”
“Of course.” Heloise rose to her feet. Sonja followed suit.
Second step: End the conversation when you wish to, not when they expect you to.
Thom Drager pushed the uneaten pile of orange into a neat heap, wiped his fingers with a cloth and stood.
“May I say what a pleasure this has been to meet you.” Despite everything, he actually looked as if he meant it. Now that was poise. He held out his hand – long yet thick fingers and neatly trimmed nails.
She could smell him. Her imagination perhaps. Damn. Stop breathing like you want to bed him.
There was one last thing she must say. She braced herself. Uncle had been adamant. “Mr. Drager, please bear in mind that you have a young daughter. I’m sure you don’t wish any harm to come to her.”
His eyes narrowed. Then he pushed his hand a little closer.
“I will remember you said that, Miss Heloise.”
Oh, dear. “Good.” When she clasped his hand, she felt a twinge that lasted after he let go. Her hand was numb and her fingers would not move. If she told Sonja or Bull, they would do something physical to Drager.
Rule twelve. Don’t hit clients at the first meeting.
She smiled and said nothing.
On the way out her hand was tingling and by the time they reached the door feeling was returning. The man had not liked her threatening his daughter and he had an intimate knowledge of the nerves of the hand. Unsurprising, considering his profession. She didn’t blame him, he didn’t know what she did, that Uncle Bruno never allowed anyone to hurt children. It wasn’t exactly a rule, but she knew it was so.
****
What a curious woman. Thom sat with his face in his hands. As he relaxed, the twitching started with his neck muscles. If he left it too long, his fingers would go the same way. He couldn’t work if he couldn’t control his fingers. After a few minutes he slid out a thin drawer that nested under the square table. He stared at the small blue box inside it. Scratching sounds came from within. He slammed the drawer shut. Calm. He must seek calmness. If he could stave off the need for long enough, he could do without it. It w
as eating him up, bit by bit, until he no longer was sure what was his doing and what was the somm.
There was the practice dummy in the outside yard.
The sun slanted in over the wall, casting deep shadows onto the grass. He surveyed the yard – a few elegantly pruned blood orange trees, a circular area of raked white pebbles, two garden benches near the wall and the chipped timber practice dummy.
The beautiful discipline of the Sung-tai fighting art had been his best refuge during the last few bleak months.
Breathe deep and slow. Exhale. Inhale. He stripped off the suit jacket and his undershirt, leaving just the long pants, felt the cool air on his skin, flexed his shoulders, the muscles moving smoothly. He fell into the ready position. Balance, clear the mind...ah, but the jitters came back and his hands moved. He shook his head, hard, making things blur.
Relax, balance, clear the mind. His hands trembled again. He half-bowed his head and felt the clench of muscles tightening.
He couldn’t do this.
“Yah!” He launched an attack. Hands shifting, spin on the leg. Kick. The dummy’s head bounced back. Spin to the other leg, and he tripped, not much, just enough to miss the second kick.
Rage boiled through him. Red-hot, it stripped away reason, rendered him almost blind. Vision narrow and white-fogged, he kicked and punched and stomped until, at last...at last, he wound down and stopped and found the dummy in several pieces strewn across the white pebbles.
Sweat dripping off him, hands throbbing, jaw aching from clenching his teeth, he crouched defeated, wondering where he was going, because nothing seemed worth doing anymore.
Nothing.
He mopped the sweat with a towel and pulled on the shirt and the jacket.
And somehow he found himself back inside, staring at the drawer.
He wouldn’t open it until he counted to ten. One... Two...
On ten he yanked it out, snatched up the box, opened it and plucked out the beetle, holding it between finger and thumb. Like most poisonous creatures it was brightly colored. Flame orange body, black legs and a swirling green splotch on its back. The mandibles were large and wickedly sharp, with a needle-like proboscis poking out between them.
Needle Rain Page 2