Chaos Born

by Rebekah Turner

  “No rest for the wicked,” I told him.

  “And the wicked are so very weary.” Seth’s smile became suggestive and my cheeks heated. Giving a haughty sniff, I turned and elbowed my way past the ashen-faced blacksmith and out of the crowd. I stomped down the street, thoughts whirling through my mind, not paying attention to where I was going. The end of my cane skidded on a pile of horseshit and I stumbled to my knees, my hands grating against the slicked cobblestones. My shoulder hit the ground and I rolled quickly to my knees. My lame leg gave a mournful throb, pain shooting through my hips. I bent slowly to pick up my fallen satchel. Brushing my hands over my coat, I took a few delicate steps, feeling the damp soak through my knees and the muscles in my lame leg pull. My ears pricked up as footsteps and murmuring sounded behind me. A small crowd was approaching and I kept my head low. One of the voices cut clear through the morning air.

  “That’s one of ‘em.”

  I didn’t stop, but my ears sharpened.

  “She works with the elf-witch and the goat-man. She’d be a witch herself, I’m thinking.”

  Something hard smacked painfully against my calf. I looked down to see a stone clack and roll on the ground. Whirling, I spied a small gathering of men and women, their faces smudged with hostility. One woman clutched a grubby rock in her hand. She pointed at me and screeched, “We’ll stone the bitch!”

  “Calm yourself, Maureen.” A man standing beside her placed a consolatory hand on her shoulder. “Leave justice for the City Watch and Regulators.”

  The woman reeled back her hand with the rock. I stabbed a finger at her. “You throw that and I’ll make you eat it.”

  She hesitated and a voice echoed from behind them. “What goes on here?”

  Wild relief surged over me as the crowd quickly hurried off in different directions, the woman with the stone hustled away by her friends. Caleb jogged down the street, his cheeks pink with exertion, helmet tucked under one arm. “Lora, are you alright?”

  Resisting the desire to throw my arms around him, I straightened my back like I could take on anyone. “I’m fine. What are you doing here? This isn’t your usual stomping ground.”

  Caleb glanced back down the street, where I could still glimpse the crowd ogling the crime scene. “This case has no jurisdiction.” He gave me a hopeful look. “Have you managed to find any leads?”

  A nasty thought reared its ugly head in my mind. What if Caleb was relying on my relationship with Seth to find out what he knew? After all, our on-again, off-again relationship was no secret. Maybe Caleb was better at the game than I gave him credit for. “I’ve learnt nothing yet,” I told him. “But I have another avenue I was going to try tonight.”

  “Another avenue?”

  “Best if you don’t know too much.”

  “I see.” Caleb’s mouth turned down, as if he could guess my intentions and disapproved completely. Hating to see him look so disappointed in me, I opened my mouth to speak before my brain kicked in.

  “There is a theory that the killer’s methods resemble a demonic ritual. Something to do with eating souls.”

  Caleb’s eyes widened. “I thought you said such a thing would be impossible.”

  Cursing my big, fat mouth, I added lamely, “Well, I don’t have proof. Just that apparently the puncture wound in the forehead is a way of removing a human soul.”

  “But—”

  “I know what I told you. It isn’t possible.” I ran a hand through the curls that were escaping from my braid, wishing I’d kept my mouth shut. Now I had said it out loud, it sounded insane.

  Caleb asked, “How could I find out more about Calling Circles?”

  “Talk to Orella,” I suggested. “She knows more than me.”

  “Can you ask her?” Caleb looked uncomfortable.

  “Orella would spit fire if she knew I was working with the City Watch. Ask her yourself. Or for that matter, make an appointment with Gideon? He doesn’t like the City Watch either, but the killer needs to be found.”

  “I don’t need their assistance,” Caleb said stiffly. “I’ve asked you to help me.”

  Leaning forward on my cane, I frowned at him. I had an idea what his problem was, but wanted him to say it out loud. “I don’t understand.”

  “They’re otherkin,” Caleb said, then quickly corrected himself. “I mean, full-bloods. They aren’t recognised as a citizens of Harken.” He spread his hands with a shrug, as if to say: this is the way of the world, what can I do?

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” I straightened, letting the disgust I felt show in my face. “You grew up running around Applecross. It really bothers you?”

  Caleb shook his head. “Do you know what my superiors would think of me, if it were revealed I turned to full-bloods for assistance? I’d be a laughing stock. I’d never be taken seriously again. I only just got promoted to Captain. I’m still proving myself, Lora.”

  I tried not to feel insulted on behalf of my benefactor and adopted mother, and failed. “I’ve got to go.” I turned to leave, wondering why I was helping Caleb in the first place. Sure, I needed the money he had dangled in front of me, but was it worth it? Caleb stepped forward and caught one of my hands, squeezing it gently.

  “I want to thank you, Lora.” He pressed his lips to the back of my palm. “For agreeing to help me. I’m sorry for any offence I’ve caused.”

  Something in me melted a little, remembering the kid who had been my best friend. “Look. I’m hoping to track down my contact soon and get more information.”

  “Whatever you can do, I appreciate it. Just send me a bill for your time.”

  “You can count on it.”

  He gave me a smile, dropping my hand and turned to walk back to the murder scene. I watched him go, a wry smile on my lips. It vanished when I remembered how Spink was proving difficult to locate. I’d flush the little bastard out today, for sure.

  I set off at a quick pace, now sure I was going to be late for my appointment with Gideon at the Brown Bear. Passing a bakery, the smell of fresh bread almost made me forget the grotesque tableau of the murdered sailor. But time was pressing and I hurried on, taking a short cut through a small lane, willing to risk a mugging by the local desperados. Gideon hated tardiness.

  Halfway down the alley, I realised someone was following me. I stopped and turned to see a solid man with a handlebar moustache peel from the shadows. He twirled a dagger between his thick fingers like he knew how to use it. “Hello love. Nice and convenient for you to go this way. Less fuss, yeh?”

  “Hmmm.” I eyed the dancing dagger, wondering how far he could throw it. My fingers inched towards my salt pouch and the fat man’s eyes grew sharp.

  “Keep your lovely mitts where I can see them, love.” His eyes looked somewhere over my shoulder and my heart sank. Sidestepping, I looked behind me to see a thin man with greasy hair. He held a fancy looking wheellock pistol and it was aimed at my head. The contraption was all ivory handled with an elaborately sculptured barrel that formed the shape of a lion’s head, the barrel protruding from its mouth. I’d bet money that thing couldn’t fire straight.

  “You got her, brother John?” the thin man asked.

  “Under control, brother James,” the moustached man replied. I knew I had a pretty good chance against the wheellock, but the way the fat man made his dagger dance made me nervous. I was pretty sure he’d have a few more up his sleeve, and I didn’t like my chances of dodging flying knives.

  “Who are you?” I asked the moustached man. “What do you want?”

  “I’d be John,” he told me. “That’s me brother James. We’d be the Skuller brothers.”

  “Is this about the contract Benjamin the Bloody put up?”

  “Not a nice thing,” John said. “Killing a man’s brother.”

  “Though he was a dirty cut-throat,” James added.

  “It was self-defence,” I said crossly.

  John Skuller rolled one of his chubby shoulders. “Money is mon
ey. Don’t care much about right or wrong.”

  Feeling disturbed by how similar this was to my own sentiments, I made a show of looking afraid as both men began to advance on me. The thin man raised his gaudy pistol and squinted an eye. “Don’t worry love. Just a shot to the head and it’s done. You won’t feel a thing.”

  His shoulder tensed, finger moving against the trigger. The gun barked once and I fell to the ground, my hat tumbling off. Rolling, I sprung to my feet, my fingers pinching salt. But James Skuller wasn’t trying to reload. He was staring blankly over the smoking muzzle of his gun, past me. I followed his gaze, my eyes falling to his brother lying on the ground. John’s eyes were empty and a wisp of smoke coiled from the hole in his head. James Skuller gave a scream of anguish, shoved me aside and ran to his brother, falling to his knees. He glanced around for me, wild-eyed and desperate, but I’d taken the moment to pinch salt and cast a small concealment spell. I stepped back into the shadows, then turned down a branching alley and hurried on my way.

  Chapter 10

  Inside the Brown Bear Saloon was warm and welcoming compared to the cold day outside. I shut the door firmly behind me. Shrugging out of my dirty coat, I hung it on the coat rack and topped it with my hat. Checking my pants were dusted off, shirt was tucked in and the grime on my face cleaned up, I checked the room for Gideon.

  Eucalyptus logs crackled in the small fireplace, the room set out with pine benches and long tables. Stacked glasses lined a mirror behind a curved serving counter and a gramophone sat on a pile of books at one end. Its gears clunked loudly over the crackly orchestral music warbling from the speaker, a winder wrapped in tape on the side. Three men leant against the serving counter with beers. A couple of hobgoblins were at the back, squashed faces bent low as they slurped up bowls of stew. From the back kitchen I could hear snatches of someone singing along with the music, the sound mixing with the sweet odour of frying onions.

  Gideon sat at the end of an empty table, a teacup sitting by his left hand. A man with a short beard and oiled blond hair sat opposite. He was wearing an expensive looking short-buttoned coat, a silk waistcoat and neat white cravat. His knee-high boots were shined too bright for this part of town and a ruby, the colour of blood, glinted in one ear.

  His confident body language and lazy gaze suggested your average spoiled High Town man, one who had access to daddy’s purse strings. I’d also lay down money he was the client. I tried to figure why he’d be willing to pay so much for retrieval of a few items that appeared to be of no value. I limped over and Gideon fixed me with a glare. His pupils were angry pinpricks, which told me two things: he was sober and I was late.

  “It wasn’t my fault,” I told him.

  Shiny-boots shifted in his seat to see me better. His eyes were an ocean blue, framed by long lashes. His wide, easy smile made me think he knew someone I didn’t.

  Gideon picked up a small spoon and stirred some sugar into his teacup, expression bland. “I’m starting to hear that more and more these days. You were expected earlier.” The throaty growls and throat clicking were becoming more pronounced as he grew angry. He placed the spoon down with exaggerated care.

  “I had an incident along the way.” I turned to Shiny-boots. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

  The skin crinkled at the corner of his eyes as he offered me his hand. “Not at all. Well met.”

  “Well met.” I took his hand, shaking it. His grip was firm and rough calluses skimmed my palm, seemingly out of place with his clothes.

  “Relax Lora, and sit down.” Gideon indicated the seat next to Shiny-boots. “This isn’t the client. This is Reuben Crowhurst. He’s a new employee. The client will be along soon.”

  I looked back at Shiny-boots and tried to withdraw my hand. His fingers tightened briefly and he lowered his head to brush a light kiss on my fingers. I twisted my hand back, annoyed at the presumption I would be flattered. Since when did I care about recruits? I sat in the chair next to him, resting my cane between my knees.

  “Your nose is bleeding,” Gideon told me.

  I swiped at it, leaving a bloody smear on my sleeve. “I’m taking a guess you’ve still had no luck with Benjamin the Bloody?”

  “I’m working on it,” Gideon said. “You have to be more careful until then. Why do you think I’ve got you on curfew?”

  “Sounds like you’re a popular girl,” Crowhurst said. I pointedly ignored him, serving Gideon a withering look, one that silently asked what this idiot was doing here with us.

  “Crowhurst has recently returned to Harken after travelling abroad,” Gideon explained. “He was raised here and now has come to be with family.”

  “Where abroad?” I asked sourly.

  “Mainly the southern lands.” Crowhurst leant back in his chair, his expression somewhere between a smirk and boredom. “I worked as a tinker in the golden city of Ishtan, then a weapons developer in the Thesma. Took on some mercenary work in the Outlands for a while, some bodyguard work. Then came back to The Weald to sail around the Muland Islands and hunt pirates for a few years. Now I’m looking to settle down a bit.”

  “See, Lora?” Gideon said. “Well travelled and an unhealthy interest in the Outlands. You have plenty in common. So I want you to play nice and show him how we do things here.”

  “A tinker?” I laughed. “What did you make? Little rinky clockwork gadgets? Then working in the Outlands as a security guard? You call that experience?”

  “I wasn’t a security guard,” Crowhurst frowned.

  “A tinker,” I repeated. “And a security guard.”

  “One who’s single.” Gideon’s bushy eyebrows waggled at me. “In case you were curious.”

  Crowhurst’s eyes got a wild look. “Hey, hey now. I’m not looking for a wife.” His eyes swivelled up and down the length of me. “Even if I were, I’d be looking for a nice little virgin number and no offence sweetheart, but you look like you might have a few miles on you.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself, tinker.” I turned a stern eye to Gideon. “Why me?”

  “Don’t be a hater, baby,” Crowhurst murmured.

  “Why am I on toddler patrol?” I growled. “What did I do?”

  Gideon’s eyebrows shot high. “You have to ask?”

  “She’s got a point,” Crowhurst said to Gideon. “What can she show me? If anything—” he glanced pointedly at my cane “—she’ll slow me down. I have the necessary experience.”

  “Experience? What kind of experience?” I gave a nasty laugh.

  “I also worked for the Reaper Street Gang for three years,” Crowhurst said, voice dropping. “Working in a logistics team.”

  I tossed my hands in the air. “Working as a thief gives you experience?”

  “In every way possible, baby.” Crowhurst smirked, lacing his fingers behind his head.

  Gideon appeared entertained by the argument and sipped his drink with a smarmy smile. He said to me in measured tones that took some effort, “You will take Crowhurst with you on your next job.” I opened my mouth to argue, but he raised his voice, his words began to roll together. “And yes, he will be coming to the exorcism job. Orella will be supervising and you will perform it perfectly.”

  “It wasn’t my fault–” I started.

  Gideon continued. “You will show Crowhurst how we operate here.” His voice dropped to a quiet level, his gaze levelled at me, reminding me of his authority. “Do you understand?”

  My anger evaporated to a dull sullenness. Gideon was a good benefactor. He had never beaten me, never treated me as an inferior. If I had been banished to the Outlands, I would have been stuck in an orphanage. If I had been abandoned in Applecross, I would have been dead. I gave a reluctant nod. Gideon turned to Crowhurst, and the blonde man raised his hands in surrender.

  “You’re the boss, boss,” he said. “Whatever you say, goes.”

  Gideon humphed at this and sipped his drink some more. “The client will be along any minute now.” His brow
furrowed in my direction. “I want your best behaviour.”

  “I don’t know why you would think I wouldn’t,” I protested. “I’m a professional.”

  Crowhurst gave a snort. “Sure thing, Chopper.”

  I felt my eyes go really wide. “What’d you just call me?”

  “You heard me.” Crowhurst’s voice was lazy as he examined a fingernail.

  There was a snuffling noise and I realised Gideon was trying not to laugh. My hands gripped on my cane. I glared at the struggling satyr. “Did you start that nickname?”

  “Me?” Gideon assumed an innocent air, touching fingers lightly to his chest. “Why would you suspect a thing like that?”

  “You can’t fool me, you old goat,” I said. “Is it some kind of punishment?”

  Gideon looked exasperated. “No. A thousand times, no. I did not make up that nickname. Though I must say, it’s an improvement over your other one.”

  “What’s this? What other one?”

  “Limpy Lora.”

  “No one’s ever called me that!”

  Gideon patted one of my hands gently. “Not to your face.”

  “I think your actions showed a severe lack of restraint,” Crowhurst chimed in. “I mean, beheading a client. Honestly.”

  “You’ll get a first hand demonstration of my lack of restraint in a minute.” My fingers clenched around my cane.

  Gideon waggled his eyebrows suggestively again. “Here I had been thinking you two wouldn’t get along.”

  A plump woman appeared by our table, wearing a sunny look and a corset straining beyond its means. A rumpled apron was tied around her purple skirts and she smelt like fresh bread. Her eyes were twinkling as she watched Gideon. “They told me you were ‘ere, and I almost didn’t believe ‘em. Been a while since you’ve come to visit us here.”

  “Darla.” Gideon reached over, swatting her ample bottom. “Tell me, what gossip has passed over these tables lately?”