The Duty and the Gone (The Fertility Plague Book 1)

by Claire Vale

  “It’s okay,” I assured her.

  “I’m so sorry.” She slapped a hand to her side. “Angus!” When the dog paid her no heed, she gave me a pained smile. “I’m so sorry, he’s completely untrainable but adorable.” She wrinkled her nose at the dog. “Yes, you are adorable, aren’t you?”

  She stuck her hand out and Angus went in for a slobbering lick. “I got him from Piscotts,” she said conversationally. “Do you know it?”

  I shook my head, edging to move on now that Angus had freed me.

  “It’s a breeding shop just off Roulin Square in the Bohemian Quarter,” she said, half her attention on me, the other half on Angus. “They’ve got the most delightful litter of fresh pups in only yesterday. German Shepherds. You must pop in to take a look, they’ll steal your heart. But don’t wait too long or the darlings will all be gone.” She grinned at me. “My husband says Angus is the equivalent of ten dogs and that’s nine more than he signed on for, else I would already have reserved one.”

  I chuckled amiably and drifted off, not wanting to appear rude but conscious of the time.

  Flapper Pond wasn’t an ideal place to linger unless you were a birdwatcher. Reeds grew from the edges of the shallow, muddy water and the shade from overhanging trees chased away the warmth of the afternoon sun. There was only one bench, occupied by a white-haired man dressed in a sharp suit and tearing chunks from a loaf of bread. He sprayed a handful of crumbs over the water, attracting the immediate attention of a brown-speckled duck. I watched as more ducks sailed out from between the reeds to feast, stalling with indecision.

  My contact wasn’t the man, surely? I kept darting suspicious looks his way out the corner of my eye. It was the first time I’d ever considered that the Sisterhood might not be strictly female.

  The minutes marched on and no one else came or went.

  How long should I wait? Mom had warned I might be approached while I walked, at the pond, or not at all. But she’d said nothing about waiting around at the pond and I’d never thought to ask.

  When the old man started sending suspicious looks back at me, I decided that was long enough and spun about, retracing my footsteps down the trail. What a colossal waste of time. Honestly, this went way beyond caution. It bordered on the ridiculous. What was wrong with just passing me a name, time and address scribbled on a paper napkin that could be burnt to ash after reading…

  I slammed to a dead stop, my mind momentarily fried by the possibility of the woman with the bouncing brown curls. It couldn’t be, could it? I started walking again, playing with the idea while not taking myself too seriously.

  She’d given me a name. Piscotts.

  She’d given me an address. Roulin Square.

  She’d given me a time. Don’t wait too long.

  My heart gave an excited kick. So what if I were wrong? What was the worst that could happen? A small detour in my day that ended with a basketful of German Shepherd puppies.

  13

  The Bohemian Quarter was a sprawling warren of alleys and lanes that would either swallow you alive or eventually dump you out onto Roulin Square. Pavement cafes, fashion boutiques and trinket shops crowded around the cobbled pavilion. Rowdy noise spilled from the Blue Fish, one of the many drinking holes in the Quarter that collected workers as they came off their shifts. Young kids chased each other in circles, giggling and squealing. Women browsed, shopped, gathered in packs at the outside tables, sipping juices and teas, their lighthearted chatter settling over the Square like a low lying cloud.

  Today’s street performer was a tall man dressed in tails and a top hat, painted gold from head to toe, frozen like a statue. I watched him for a solid minute and he didn’t twitch, didn’t so much as blink, immune to the vibrant energy pulsing around him.

  I parked my bike on an official stand and punched in a four digit code to secure it. The Guard presence was low in this area and anything not bolted down tended to grow legs and walk away.

  I had to ask directions twice, and eventually found my way down a narrow spike off the Square. Apartments stacked upon apartments stacked upon storefronts squeezed from both sides, casting shadows inside shadows. There was no pedestrian traffic and I was just about to backtrack when I spotted the green canopy with Piscotts sprawled in fat, curly letters. A large tank filled the window display, filled with rocks and tangled branches and heated by a lamp. Nothing moved inside and I didn’t look too closely, not a fan of snakes or lizards or any of the other likely suspects.

  A bell tinkled as I pushed the door open.

  “I’ll be right there,” squawked at me, making my skin jump.

  I broke into a shaky laugh when I saw the bright yellow parakeet perched inside a gilded cage on the counter. I went over to peer closer. “That’s a neat trick. What else do you say?”

  The bird cocked his head, beady eyes staring at me.

  “I’ll be right there,” I mimicked, tapping lightly on the cage bars. “I’ll be right there.”

  “Don’t encourage him.” A tiny, scrawny man with wiry grey hair and a stingy moustache swung through a door behind the counter. “What can I help you with today?”

  “Hi.” I smiled to cover my hesitation, glancing around the shallow store front. One wall was floor-to-ceiling racks, the lower shelves packed with stuffed sawmill bags, then cages of all sizes, then nameless small boxes and drawstring bags. A wet blanket smell permeated the air, but there was no sign of living pets for sale. “Um, I heard you had a litter of German Shepherd puppies?”

  “Afraid the last one went two weeks ago,” he said, wiping his hands on the apron fastened at his waist as he spoke. “I do have a six month old Golden Retriever and a fresh litter of Field Spaniels.”

  “No,” I said hastily, my heartrate quickening. The woman could have confused the Field Spaniels with German Shepherds, but my gut said otherwise. And if she’d led me here, I had to continue following the clues. “It has to be a German Shepherd.”

  The man scratched his moustache. “I could put you on a waiting list.”

  “Thanks, no.” But the list gave me an idea. He would have had to take the new owner’s details for the town’s pet registry. “Could you let me know who bought the last puppy?”

  His gazed narrowed on me. “That doesn’t feel right.”

  “Please,” I wheedled. “It would mean so much to me.”

  “Why?” he said, his voice tightening with suspicion. “I won’t have you pestering loyal customers and I’ll tell you now, she won’t sell her pup to you.”

  She?

  “Of course not, that isn’t what I meant,” I said, scrambling to think on my feet. “It’s just, um, well you see, I actually have a German Shepherd, a young pup, and I was hoping to get her a companion. But if that’s not going to happen, I thought, well, perhaps that I could organize a play date?”

  The man looked at me as if I’d grown two heads.

  “It could be beneficial for both our pups,” I said. “And you have my word, I will not pester anyone. If she isn’t interested, I’ll walk away.”

  He spent a good long while thinking about it, looking at me through those narrowed eyes.

  “And in the meantime…” I smiled hard “…you can put me down on the waiting list. That way you’ll also know where to find me if I don’t keep my word.”

  At last he gave in with a reluctant sigh. He took my details, then read the address out to me from a thin, hard-covered notebook, “12 Rue Street.”

  When he didn’t offer a name, I decided not to press and, thanking him profusely, retreated from his store.

  12 Rue Street.

  This was starting to feel like a treasure hunt from an old pirate tale. X marks the spot.

  “I’m going to need a map,” I muttered to myself as I marched back to the Square. This time, I couldn’t ask for directions. If it turned out that X really did have anything to do with the Sisterhood, I couldn’t afford to leave a trail of breadcrumbs.

  Finding a map was a mini
-hunt in itself, but I finally got lucky at the Pot & Tumble, a quirky kiosk that sold random snatches of everything from hardboiled sweets to frying pans to fishing hooks. And I nearly choked on the price.

  “That’s ridiculous,” I told the man behind the counter.

  He waved the folded square of paper at me. “Our maps are hand printed with exceptionally fine precision.”

  “By leprechauns chained to the end of a rainbow?” I scoffed, reaching for the map. “Can I at least look it over first, make sure the street I need is there?”

  He lifted the map higher, his mouth drawn into a sneer.

  “Ok, fine,” I grumbled, offering my ringed finger. “Give me the damn map.”

  “Your husband should wash that mouth with mustard,” he said thinly, although his distaste didn’t stop him from scanning me to complete his sale.

  I plucked the map from his pincer grip with a sweet smile. “Before or after he rings my neck for spending a week’s worth of grocery credits on a slip of paper?”

  14

  Rue Street lay on the outskirts of the congested belly of the Quarter. The map was not quite the example of fine precision that the kiosk man had claimed, but after many wrong turns and dead ends I’d found my way here, so there was that.

  Number 12 was on a row of weather-battered townhouses where eggshell colored paint cracked between streaks of exposed brick and plaster. The front door was squashed right up to the curb. I knocked, and didn’t get a chance to second-guess myself.

  The door was opened by a woman in her mid to late twenties, blond hair scraped into a stern bun, wearing a loose t-shirt, silk blue harem pants and a baby cradled in one arm. “Yes?”

  “Oh, hi.” I wet my lips, my gaze stuck on the sleeping baby. Not what I’d expected. Suddenly this all felt wrong. A new mother had more important things to worry about than clandestine meetings with sister strangers. “I’m so sorry to interrupt. I can see you’re busy.”

  “This is my third one,” she said with an amused lilt. “I’m always busy.”

  My gaze flickered up to meet her eyes, warmed by the same amusement in her tone. I cleared my throat, wondering if I should make up some excuse and flee. Then again, maybe she wasn’t my contact, maybe she was just the next clue.

  “I’ve just come from Piscotts,” I told her. “Apparently you recently bought a German Shepherd puppy from there?”

  “What’s that to you?”

  “Well, this is going to sound crazy, but I also have a German Shephard puppy.”

  “Why would that sound crazy?” She shrugged with a smile. “They’re adorable.”

  “That’s not the crazy part,” I said. “I was thinking about organizing a play date for our pups.”

  “Oh.” She chuckled. “That’s certainly original. You want to invite Snowy over to play with…?”

  “Jacks,” I said, the name of my childhood stuffed giraffe jumping into my head, and immediately regretted it. I didn’t want a play date for my imaginary puppy, I needed to link my clues. “Angus. Jacks Angus.”

  Her brow lifted, but just then the baby niggled and any comment she might have made was lost. “I suppose you’d better come inside and meet Snowy,” she said, stepping back to give me space.

  “If it isn’t too much trouble.”

  “No trouble at all.”

  I followed through a narrow hallway dominated by the steep stairway cutting a straight path to the second landing and into a living room. The place was small and cluttered with baby things and toys, but the décor was homely and in far better shape than the exterior.

  “Let me just put this little one down,” the woman said, crossing to a cot set up in the corner. She jerked her chin at the bundle of fluff curled up in a spot of sunlight near the window. “Snowy.”

  I walked over to crouch and stroke the puppy. His pointy ears twitched, but he was too far gone to stir beyond that. He was adorable, and he was also pitch black from head to toe. “You have a sense of humor.”

  “They can’t take that from us, eh? Although, God knows, some days they do try.” She straightened from the cot to look at me. “Would you like something to drink? Tea or juice?”

  I pushed up from my knees, not thirsty but searching for my next lead. “Tea would be nice, thanks.”

  “Mind the hazards,” she said, beckoning me to join her as she stepped over a wooden trainset on her way to the adjoining kitchen. “My eldest is at school and the middle one is off fishing with his grandfather. We won’t be disturbed for a while.” She flapped a hand, inviting me to take a seat at the small table. “I’m Rose, by the way.”

  “Georga,” I offered.

  “I know.”

  My nose wrinkled as I watched her put the kettle on the stove. “Have we met?”

  “I recognize you from your description,” she said. “And I’ve been expecting you.”

  Excitement buzzed the hairs on my skin. Rose wasn’t just the next clue. She was the X. “You’re with the Sisterhood? You’re the one who wanted to meet with me?”

  “And you were doing so well,” she sighed, although her mouth ghosted a smile. She folded her arms, leaning back against the counter as she looked at me. “Yes, I’m with the Sisterhood. I set this whole thing up, my place, my time, my way. I had your name, description and pedigree. When someone else has all the advantages, let them do all the work. Force them to incriminate themselves first, and it might save you from a disastrous mistake. Remember that.”

  My head spun. “This was all a test?”

  “We don’t have Warden Training Facilities. We don’t have the Guard Enrollment Program. Our learning happens in the field. Consider every assignment a training exercise…without a safety net.” The kettle whistled and she turned from me to make the tea. “We are always cautious, but even for us the merry path we led you was obsessive to just arrange a simple meeting. Of course this was a test. We needed to know if you were ready.”

  “Ready for what?”

  Rose said nothing more until she brought our cups of tea over and took a seat across from me. “You’re a regular visitor at the Edgar residence and Councilman Julian Edgar is quite fond of you.”

  My frown dug skull deep. “How do you know that?”

  “That’s not important.”

  “It is to me.”

  “It shouldn’t be.” There were no more smiles, no hint of amusement warming her brown eyes. “What matters is that this puts you in a unique position for this assignment. It’s risky, dangerous, but today you showed great instinct and ingenuity. We feel you’re ready.”

  My mouth went bone dry.

  “We’re throwing you in the deep end, I’m afraid,” she went on. “But circumstances change, and you may not always have the access to Julian Edgar that you have now. We don’t want to stall too long and lose this opportunity.”

  “What do you need me to do?”

  “Hold that thought.” She stood and left the room, leaving me to sip my tea in a state of surreal fascination.

  An assignment?

  Me?

  Nervous energy thumped through me. I felt like I needed to pinch myself. I wasn’t sure I had Rose’s faith in my readiness, but I was sure as hell ready to try. This was a chance to prove myself, to prove my worth to the Sisterhood.

  Rose returned with a fat, leather-bound book. At least that’s what it looked like, until she placed it on the table and opened it where a narrow, woven bookmark ran down the middle seam, the tassels falling just over the lip. The bookmark both separated and connected the left and right halves, but they weren’t pages, they were two bulbous, transparent sacs containing some sort of pale blue gel substance.

  “This is a handprint kit,” Rose said, demonstrating by placing her palm flat on the one half. The gel compressed, allowing her to close the book with a neat seal around her wrist. With her free hand, she gripped the tassel of the bookmark but didn’t pull. “Give it a good, steady tug until it rips all the way out. That will release the silicone gel.�
� She looked me in the eye. “You need to give it a minimum of five minutes for the print to set. Then you take his hand out and close the book, and bring it back to me.”

  “His hand?” My eyes widened as the realization sank in. “You want me to take Julian Edgar’s handprint? How on earth do I trap his hand in this kit for five minutes without him noticing?”

  Rose removed her hand from the book and flapped open the front cover to reveal two glass vials attached. “Each vial is a strong sedative and should knock him out solid for at least thirty minutes, and then release into a deep sleep that’ll feel more natural. You only need the one dose, but there’s a backup in case your first try doesn’t go to plan. It can be mixed in a drink, hot or cold.”

  I thought of how Julian had welcomed me into his home and my enthusiasm for this assignment drained. Miriam was distant, even cold. It was Julian who brought the warmth to his family. Yes, I had issues with the council and the suppression of women, but Julian Edgar was a good father. He was a good man.

  “You want me to drug him?”

  “It’s not harmful,” Rose said. “And here’s the tricky part. He can’t know he’s been drugged. He can’t even suspect. So you’ll need to choose a time, a situation, where he might have naturally passed out. And, of course, where you’ll be able to get him alone for at least five minutes.”

  My skepticism must have shown on my face, because she added, “Time is a luxury we don’t have. Daniel is scheduled to move out around Christmas, and once your friend Brenda is no longer resident in the councilman’s home, your access to him will likely be more restricted. But, you can’t rush this either and we understand that. You wait, and watch, and you only proceed if and when the right opportunity presents itself.”

  I breathed a little easier, until the next insurmountable problem hit me. “What happens if I’m caught in the process? I mean, however I spin this, it’s going to look suspicious.”