Needle Rain

by Cari Silverwood

  “Er-hm!” Yassmin spoke from behind her. Sitting at the long oak table, no doubt. “My dear, no matter what hot and sweaty escapades you’ve been up to. No matter how energetic your activities...I expect manners in my house.”

  Following Heloise through the dining room door with one guard at his elbow was Bull. Even he rolled his eyes at that thinly disguised insult.

  It was too much and at the wrong time. The woman was a hypocrite and also a fool, if she thought her infidelities were hidden.

  Heloise turned, sure that sparks must be spraying from her eyeballs. “Yassmin. I haven’t been fucking anyone. Leastways, not last night. You and Colonel Reicher, on the other hand –”

  “Oh!”

  That was all Yassmin managed before Heloise sailed over to the far door, travelling deliberately fast. Another snide remark and she’d slap or maybe kick that woman where it hurt the most. The corridor outside was empty apart from a soft strip of green carpet and a few side tables topped with expensive porcelain.

  “Second door down,” Heloise muttered. A messenger in the livery of some upper city house exited as she approached. She caught the swinging door.

  Inside the study, Uncle stood leaning over his desk, arms propped either side of an unfolded letter, head bowed. He still wore his riding clothes, dusty, creased, and she could smell the horse sweat.

  Demanding information right now wasn’t a good idea.

  “Uncle?”

  He spoke without lifting his head. “You were seen. A woman who is well known in aristo circles has written to me. She says you tried to kill her, but...that it wasn’t really you. And she says, that you were possessed by a ghost.” He raised his head and studied her, as if she’d sprouted horns. “Normally, that sort of comment, well, I’d say they were crazy. But this woman, she’s level headed, a business lady. Strangely, I think she wants to help you.”

  The door clicked shut behind her. No one in here but her and Uncle. What to do? Deny it? She was here to find out what the Needle Master’s Guild had told him. To get him to tell her what was going on, not the other way round.

  A night spent running around in pajamas doing the bidding of a malevolent, well, a slightly homicidal, ghost, and now this.

  She sagged. Damn. The energy that had carried her here had gone somewhere. Probably to bed. Her eyes felt as if they’d been boiled, and the aches in her muscles returned tenfold. And the holes in her feet... She refused to even think about them. Suddenly the green leather lounge against the wall looked heavenly. Weaving slightly, she tottered over and sat down. I feel like a potato.

  “Uncle, let’s swap stories.” She pressed a hand onto her eyes and massaged then opened them again. No. Still felt like a warmed-up corpse.

  He pulled up a chair and looked acutely interested. “Right. You start.”

  Glaring at him took too much energy. “Anisa. Is that the lady’s name?”

  “Yes. It is. Unfortunately.” He cleared his throat. “Is Yassmin still at breakfast?”

  “She’s not likely to barge in here soon, if that’s what you mean. You’ve been keeping things from me, Uncle, and I’m angry at you–”

  “I did it to protect you–”

  “From what? And for how long? Anyway...” She held out her palms. “Forget it. We’re even. Last night...last night, a ghost took over my body.”

  She waited a few seconds for the implications of that clanger of a statement to sink in.

  Uncle gave little away in his expression.

  She shut her eyes and swallowed before continuing. “Nothing I could do about it. He wanted to kill this woman and the only reason he didn’t was because she changed his mind for him. The weird thing was that she didn’t really see me. She saw him.”

  Uncle drew in a long breath. “In the eyes of the law, if he’d killed her, you would have been the murderer.”

  “I figured that. Did you tell Kane he couldn’t talk to me?”

  “What? No. The man’s scared witless. He told me about seeing the ghost, you know, but he was so incoherent I didn’t believe a word he said.”

  “Oh.” That was more than she wanted to hear. Best to deal with it later. She hunched forward. “Now it’s your turn. And I really want to know if this ghost possession thing is because of the needles. Is it?”

  He stood and went around the desk to a drawer. “They wrote a report on you. Here.” He tossed a folder, spinning, to her and she caught it. “In summary. They think the needles are bad but they don’t know exactly what they are doing to you.”

  Blinking away the bleariness, she opened the folder. The letterhead of the Burgla’le Zhenjui Needle Master’s Guild, headed the report. She flicked through the pages. “Twenty-three pages?” She whistled. “And they don’t know anything?”

  That made him smile. “Oh yes, but they know a very great deal about what they don’t know.”

  She guffawed. “Hope this report was cheap.”

  “Two hundred and thirty grints. Ten per page.” He sat on the desk’s corner.

  “Uncle! You’ve been done over like a newborn customer.” She laughed again but found tears leaking from her eyes.

  “Dear, it was worth every single grint.”

  His earnest yet anguished expression made her pause. Never had Uncle looked like this. Business was business. Debt-collecting was hazardous and everyone involved was well aware of those dangers. But not these dangers – ghosts weren’t in the company rulebook.

  Something felt askew. What was she missing here? Or what was she not admitting to herself?

  The ghost and the needles were linked. Not maybe. Had to be. And where there’s one, there’d eventually be two. How could she stop them? Why her?

  “Do you think this is the divine justice of the gods? Punishment? It was my mistake that caused the girl’s death.”

  “Divine justice? No.” He rubbed the bristles on his chin. “If it is then I’m being punished as much as you are.”

  She steepled her hands before her nose. Think, girl. “I have other questions. If I take the soporific potion, is it safe and can I lower the dose?”

  “No and no. It’s why I finally stopped it. Keep using it and you’ll get serious liver damage and, eventually, die. And really,” he said gently. “Do you want to live your life through the fog of a drug?

  Slowly, she ran through the options in her head. Take the drug anyway. Tell the world about her problem. Do nothing and make a mess of everything, most likely. Reluctantly, she decided on a course of action. If it didn’t work, she’d move out. Staying here could be as messy and dangerous for Uncle as it was for her. She might not get on with Yassmin, but Uncle was married to her. He had his own life and family. His business would take a nosedive if she badly assaulted the wrong person, or did worse...though she couldn’t right then and there put her finger on what could be worse than murder. That alone could get her hanged. Maybe Uncle too if they thought he was involved.

  “Tonight, you have to restrain me somehow. I’ll do that every night until another ghost comes to me. If another ghost comes. Use something I can’t undo or break. Metal, I suppose.”

  He blanched but she could see him thinking, going down the same logical paths she had traveled.

  “You’re thinking shackles, aren’t you, Heloise? Not needed. You can sleep in the cellar where I store the valuables, gold, contracts, and so on. There are no windows. The only way out is through a thick steel door with a voice-sensitive trinketton lock. Only I can unlock it.”

  That sent a chill prickling through her. Being chained down she could handle. A shut-tight room with no way out? No. “What if I need to leave and you’re upstairs asleep? Shackles seem a better idea.”

  He grimaced. “No, I’m not chaining you up. It’s a grotesque idea. I’ll sleep nearby. Besides, you may be wrong. There may never be another incident like last night. I’ve decided. That’s it.”

  She sank back against the leather. He’d decided. Hmm. For now, in spite of her misgivings, she’d d
o as he said. But if something went wrong...

  ****

  The cellar turned out to be a whitewashed room, three yards by three yards. The two, almost room-length, shelves holding the valuables were shunted together against one wall by Uncle and Bull to make way for a bed and a side table with a trink lamp – one made of a lovely silvery metal with long-necked green geese flying around the lampshade. But, no matter how lovely the furnishings, the room made Heloise wrap her arms about herself and shiver.

  “It’s almost sunset.” Uncle slipped his fob watch back into the pocket of his jacket. “We should close the door.” His expression was unreadable. Too much so, as if he deliberately held his emotions in check. Then he came forward and hugged her.

  “Thank you, Uncle. I’ll be safe in here. I’m sure.” A lie, she wasn’t sure, but the truth would unnerve him and what use was that?

  “Bull will sleep right outside the door. He’ll send for me if you want the door opened.”

  Bull nodded.

  She blinked. What had happened to the promise that he’d be sleeping nearby? It took only a few heartbeats before she figured it out. Yassmin. She must have demanded he sleep in their bedroom.

  “So...how loud do I have to yell? And, oh, we should have some sort of password, so you know it’s me. How about Grunt – my cat’s name. Oh Gods! Who’s been feeding him? How could I forget?” She clenched her fists. Scum. Scum-scum-scum-scum-scum. Put a cork in it. No hysterics.

  “What?” Bull frowned. “Grunt?”

  “He’s being looked after by Kane,” Uncle said hurriedly. “It’s her pet,” he told Bull.

  “Yes, he’s my cat. Sorry. I’m nervous.” And the thought that I’ve starved my cat... Damn. On top of everything else, it would just put the cream on the cake.

  “The door’s not soundproof. Bull will hear you. Grunt is the password? Right. Let’s be out of here.” Uncle chivvied Bull out the door. “Good night, my dear.”

  Her last sight was of Uncle’s blandly worried face and, above that, Bull, trying to smile but looking even more concerned. The door clacked shut, made small whirring and clicking sounds, then fell silent.

  The trink lamp shed a light strong enough to banish most of the shadows, except for behind the two shelves.

  She was alone in here. Probably a million grints worth of wealth on the shelves and she’d give it all away to be normal again. Not that it was hers anyway. She stuck a finger in her mouth and chewed a jagged nail. The report from the Needle Master’s Guild lay atop the yellow quilt on the bed. Reading might take her mind off the fact that she was trapped in a room for an entire night waiting for a visit from a ghost.

  She shuddered. This was a bad idea. Better to try to handle this by herself. One night to try this out and that was it. Home tomorrow. Snuggling up to Grunt, even without Kane, had to be better than this.

  The three pillows she’d been left were thick and smelled of fresh lemons. She piled them against the wall at the headboard and settled in. Comfy. And non-pink pajamas – satin gray this time. The room was just cool enough, the bed welcoming. Her eyelids felt heavy. If only the reading material was more exciting. Page after page of dry description of needle angles, depths, positions.

  Ugh. She pictured a whole gaggle of Needle Masters, men most likely, prodding her while she slept. Ick. This was her body. They should have waited, asked her permission. Drager had escaped anyway and no one seemed to know where he’d gone. Not a single trail that led anywhere, Uncle had said. They could have waited.

  The ugliness of imagining that invasion of her body brought other memories to the fore. Having a ghost inside your body, controlling you more rigidly than a slave master could control a slave, that was far more awful.

  On the last page a passage caught her eye.

  The needle combination used on this woman would never be considered by any sane Needle Master, however some anecdotal stories suggest that Rogi Vassbinder may have attempted similar combinations during the latter years of his Experimental Stage. If there were any documentation regarding such experiments they have been lost over the many decades since his death. None can be found in our archives.

  “Sane,” suggesting that Drager was insane when he attacked her. Did she believe that? Though sane or insane, what did it matter to her? She’d never find out unless they captured him. The words revived an echo in her memory. Had she said something similar about Leonie’s funeral? That he’d never turn up? She shuddered. The man had a habit of turning up when least wanted.

  And to think she’d liked him when she first saw him. That somehow made it worse – that a man she found physically attractive could have done this.

  What was that?

  It wasn’t much – just a shifting of the shadows, a sense that something had changed in the room. She looked up. Stared. Where the blackest, deepest shadow lurked, something twisted, wormed, its very presence distorting the space it occupied. She’d seen ghosts many times before, everyone had. They weren’t common but neither were they incredibly rare and this was definitely different. She heard whispers, not-quite-words, that overlapped each other and rendered the sounds incomprehensible.

  If this is a ghost, should I go over there and get this over with?

  The blackness grew until it was a bloated contorting shape.

  Her body prickled alert but she couldn’t make herself move. She gripped the report with cold fingers that might never let go.

  The black thing dragged itself forward, crunching and rustling, as if some deformed creature limped across a floor strewn with dead leaves. Dread blossomed inside her. Heloise put a hand to her middle, gasping and hunching over her stomach as she felt a jab of pain

  This was not simply a ghost, it was a wrongness. She scrambled backward, pushing against the headboard, pressing close to the wall, desperately scrabbling her heels amongst the bed clothes for purchase.

  “Bull! Open the door! Open the door! Please!” She knew she was screaming and that there was a word she should say but the thing was at the bottom of the bed and panic had taken her body and scoured her mind of any sensible thought. “Bull!”

  Beside her sibilant voices whispered and sighed, “You don’t want to talk to that. She’s not nice. Choose one of us.”

  She ripped her head round, feeling neck muscles burn. Two ghosts stood near the bed. Indistinct and luminescent. One small and one tall. Their arms stretched toward her. Choose? Taking a last fearful glance at the other thing – a tortured blackness seeping across the quilt – she decided.

  “You!” She pointed at the smaller ghost. Its mouth opened in a silent scream then it flash-shivered at her. The frozen numbness enveloped her, filling her body from top to toes. Slaving her to the ghost’s will.

  The door slammed open and Bull rushed in, panting, brandishing a club.

  “What is it?”

  In the doorway, Uncle slammed to a halt, dumbstruck.

  Come on, said the ghost inside her. Let’s go somewhere else.

  She half-fell off the bed, picked herself up and ran for the door, barreled into Bull, past Uncle, who tried to grab her but she ducked, side-stepped and was away. As if she were an old shoe with hollows in just the right places, the ghost had burrowed into her body.

  There were ways out of this labyrinthine house that avoided the guards if you waited and timed it. The ghost did just that – sneaking and running and skulking in the shadows. Avoiding the shouting and the running people searching for them. Within minutes they were out on the rain-washed streets. In pajamas, satin-gray ones, but still pajamas.

  Does this get easier for them each time? Heloise wondered, despairing at what the future might hold. What was that thing back there?

  An answer came. Something young and something old and all squished up together in a very nasty way. You wouldn’t have liked it.

  Heloise stilled. Had the ghost said that?

  Course I did, you silly cow.

  What! Even slaved to a ghost, she didn’t need this. Silly
cow? How old was this ghost?

  Eleven, came the reply.

  And...are you a girl, or a boy?

  Girl, if you really want to know.

  Ah. She thought a while. What is it you want to do? The silence stretched. Could a child ghost know what it wanted?

  Quietly, as only a body inhabited by a ghost could be, they drifted along the streets, past a vendor of oranges dragging his cart homeward, past a man and woman, arm-in-arm, staggering to some place of assignation for quick and profitable copulation.

  I...need to see my mother and my father.

  Oh. But first, child...tell me more about that thing. Gods, that seemed important – to know what that had been. The fear. She felt the echo of it judder through her. The fear had been all-consuming. I’ll help you, Heloise said in her mind to the ghost. If you tell me, I’ll help you.

  Promise?

  Promise.

  It was something made from two things.

  Two what?

  I don’t rightly know. There, that’s everything I know. Now, help me find my mom and dad.

  But, you’ve told me nothing!

  I told you what I know!

  Crud. What’s your name?

  Milly.

  Here she was arguing with a child ghost who inhabited her own body.

  So, Milly...you don’t want revenge on anyone, or...or to murder them?

  I want to see my parents! Last I saw them was, was...I used to help mum weave stuff, for the markets. I did. Long time ago.

  Onward they drifted, walking, walking, until the ache in Heloise’s legs and bare feet brought her to the surface of awareness.

  The street was dark and deserted. A light rain fell making the pajamas damp but not yet sodden. And somewhere someone was crying. Somewhere distant. Were they down a side street? Heloise patted her own body. She was back, had control. What time was it? They’d been wandering for quite a few hours. Going in circles even maybe. Eight, nine o’clock?