I stared her in the eye. “Yes.”
There was a creak of a hinge. I looked to see where a trapdoor had opened up near the lounge chair. Three little faces peeked out. “Can we come out, mum?” One voice was indigent. “Our food will get cold.”
“Get back down.” Ester didn’t look away from me. I wondered if she’d have what it took to kill me, if she thought I was enough of a threat.
One of the little faces scowled at me; a little girl with blonde pigtails. “Are you here to kill my daddy?”
I frowned. “I just want to talk with him.”
“Why?” Pigtails asked.
“He asked me to help him, but I don’t think he told me everything.” I looked at Ester, my words for her. “Because of that, someone I love has been badly hurt.”
“Caleb would have good reasons to do whatever he needs to do,” Ester said stiffly.
“Daddy said there was a bad man after us.” Pigtails told me solemnly.
“Shut up Ruby,” the teenage boy yelled. Pigtails face crumpled, tears streaking her cheeks. She pulled the trapdoor close, disappearing from view.
Shame poured through me. I took a deep breath. I’d been so full of anger, that I’d missed something obvious here. Why was this family so afraid? It was me, they were ready for something. I tried to find the right words. Ester’s eyes were hard and I knew there was no way she’d trust me, but I had to try.
“Who are you afraid of?” I asked. “What trouble is Caleb in?”
Ester’s mouth turned down. “Get out of this house, Lora Blackgoat. You’re not welcome here.”
“I can help you,” I said. “But you have to tell me who you are afraid of.”
Ester’s eyes glinted with anger. “Get out of my house. Never come back. And keep away from my husband.”
Chapter 34
It was still early morning by the time I got home. The fog had grown thicker, blanketing the lower city in a white haze, and the rickshaw I flagged down took two wrong turns before dropping me off outside my home.
Unbuckling my work-belt, I slung it over the couch and took off my coat, letting it fall to the ground. My fingers were numb from the cold and I heaped fresh wood into the fireplace. Striking a match, I blew on the lighter blocks until the small twigs were well lit and the logs above it had started to smoke. In the kitchen, I boiled a kettle and made some coffee.
Someone rapped on my door with a heavy fist. I threw back my coffee, burning my mouth, then walked to the front door.
“Who is it?” I called, but there was no answer.
I moved around to a window in the lounge, peering through the curtains. Two men stood on my doorstop. One was a stocky guy with a cloth hat tilted low over his face and a lantern jaw jutted out under a crooked nose. My eyebrows arched, recognizing the other guy as Spink, wearing a long woollen coat and a nervous expression. I watched grimly as the big guy curled one hand into a fist and pounded on the door again. I cursed quietly to myself, wishing I’d taken the time to reinstall my protection hexes.
“Lora, Lora, Lora.”
I gave a little scream. Turning, I spied Daleman standing in my kitchen archway. He wore a greatcoat of a rich navy colour and a freshly brushed bowler hat. His right hand held a wheellocked, aimed at me. “Remarkably easy to break into your house, darling. You really should do something about that.”
“Daleman.” I moved away from the window. “I thought I had a few days.”
“It has been a few days.”
“Look. I haven’t done it on purpose. I’ve had a lot on my mind.” I was interrupted by a second thump against the front door. Then there was a third, followed by a smashing sound as the door crashed inward. Spink and the big man passed over my threshold to stand in the sitting room. Spink was staring at me, looking nervous and twitchy. I wanted to leap across the room and choke the little fucker, but restrained myself.
“Come on, Daleman.” My eyes dropped to my work-belt lying over the couch, wondering if I could reach it before he shot me. “I thought we’d established that I was good for the money.”
“There are rules, Lora. If I let one little fish swim away, then everyone thinks they can get a free ride.” He walked over to the fireplace, staring down at the small crackling flames, lowering his gun hand. “And then there is the little matter of Arthur Roper, who seems to have disappeared.” Daleman shook his head sadly, then looked at the big guy. “Nathan, tie her to a chair.”
I threw the big guy some dimples and tried to bluff. “I wouldn’t do it if I were you, Nathan.”
“Resist and I will shoot you, Lora,” Daleman said mildly. His eyes dropped to Legara’s bite on my neck. “That’s some beauty mark. Your nose doesn’t look much better.”
I shook my head slowly. “Daleman, I’ve got problems you wouldn’t believe.”
He made a disgusted sound. “If your mother could see you now. See how pathetic you’ve become, she would just weep.”
I gave a start. “What do you know of my mother?”
Daleman didn’t answer, but his eyes blazed with sudden anger. Something heavy knocked against my head and I stumbled, disorientated. Nathan had moved faster than I thought possible. I clutched at my head and swayed. He loomed over me and I spied a billy-club in one of his hands. He raised the club and I held up an arm, trying to protect my head. The club swooshed down, slamming into my stomach. I dropped to my hands and knees, my breath kicking out of me. Gasping for breath, I realised Daleman was kneeling in front of me. He wrapped a gloved hand around my left pinkie and pulled it back painfully. I sucked in a breath, tears stinging my eyes. Fingers pulled at my chin, raising my face. I met Daleman’s eyes, wondering how far this as going to go. I’d never been so late with a payment before, but then, I’d never had hellspawn hunting me. First time for everything. I cursed my stupidity, cursed my weakness and then I just cursed for the hell of it.
“I know you killed Roper, Lora,” Daleman said, voice rough. “I’m starting to wonder if you have some sort of death wish.”
I didn’t know what to say. Sorry? I realised I kind of was. Roper had been scum, but killing him had made me feel like there was a black mark on my soul. Daleman yanked hard on my little finger. A bone broke and I gave a brittle scream as pain shot up my arm. Daleman let me go and I pulled back, breathing fast, hand throbbing.
“Ah, excuse me? We’re here for Lady Lora Blackgoat?”
I blinked through tears to see a motley crew of hobgoblins standing behind Spink and Nathan. The hobgoblins wore white tunics with the symbol of the Craft Aldermen stitched on their chest; a flaming torch inside a wreath of olive leaves. One hobgoblin, with ginger sideburns and a short rapier sheathed at his belt, stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Ah, we’re Enforcers for the Council of Craft Aldermen. If you don’t mind, we’d appreciate it if you’d hurry up. We have business with Lady Blackgoat.”
“What do you want with her?” Daleman looked annoyed play-time had been interrupted.
The hobgoblin threw a quick glance over his shoulders at the other. “She’s been summoned to attend a session of the Council, to answer for her crimes.”
Daleman stood, looking down at me like I was a big disappointment. I curled back my lips and sneered back. His reveal of knowing my mother and trying to use that against me worked better than the physical pain he’d caused, but I’d die before I’d let him know. Daleman pocketed his pistol and jerked his head at Spink and Nathan. “Let’s go, boys.”
The hobgoblins shuffled out of the way as Daleman moved towards them.
“See you later, Spink,” I called at the small man’s back. Spink’s head jerked around, eyes wide with panic that I’d singled him out, suggested we had a relationship. Daleman glanced back at Spink thoughtfully and then he was out the door.
I gave a tired laugh and pulled myself to my feet. Hopefully Daleman would be asking Spink all sorts of questions later.
The hobgoblin with the sideburns frowned at me; like he’d had a speech but wasn�
�t sure it fitted the moment. He cleared his throat and said, “Right. Erm, well, Lady Blackgoat, you are have been summoned to stand before the Council of Aldermen. We are to escort you there.”
I gave an exhausted laugh. I was in no condition to argue. “Alright boys, let’s get this over with.”
Chapter 35
We made the trip to Hickery Lane in a redwood wagon pulled by a black mare. Hickery Lane was considered the safest part of Applecross, where the full-bloods and higher born craft users lived. It was a long street that ran east of the centre of Applecross, like a slender vein of respectability.
The Craft Aldermen held council inside a big white-stone building on the nice end of Baker Street. Lean economic times in the past had forced the Aldermen to rent out the bottom floor of the building. It had been a bake-house for as long as I had been around and a good one at that.
Stepping into the bakery, I was swamped with the steamy rich smell of cinnamon and sweet bread. The buttery air made my mouth water and I nearly fell to my knees at the sight of the sour cream cakes, citrus tarts with gooey lemon syrup and fluffy pumpkin scones. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten and felt almost faint.
A scattering of customers lingered in the shop, dawdling over their selections and being waited on by a girl with a spray of pimples across her forehead. The bakery owner was a fawn with pinched features and splintered hooves. He stopped pacing when we entered, face sagging with relief. He hurried over, wringing his hands. “You’re so terribly late. Terribly, terribly late. They’ve already started.” His eyes suddenly registered my torn mourning clothes and he blanched. “Have you no respect?”
“Fresh out,” I said, feeling my little finger throb. I’d taped it up and swallowed some pain killers I’d found in the kitchen pantry, but it still hurt like hell.
“Let’s go.” Ginger sideburns pushed me in the back.
I sighed and started climbing the stairs. I had only attended two Aldermen meetings in my life and each time I had almost dozed off with the tedium. Weariness was making my feet clumsy. I stumbled a few times, my cane saving me from falling on my face, and couldn’t stop yawning. I’d rubbed some Bishop’s Balm into my little finger before we’d left, but it was still throbbing in pain. My nose wasn’t feeling too happy either and I wondered if my body had finally acclimatised to the balm like Orella had warned.
My toe came short on one of the steps and I tripped. With a curse, I glared up the steep staircase that looked too long considering the size of the building. My legs burned, my calves ached with weariness. Soon, I chanted to myself silently, soon I would reach the top, then I could rest. Maybe even doze off while I waited for council to get to the point. I ran through my head the various reasons I would be summoned before the council and had a nasty suspicion what the fuss was about.
Stupid Regulators. Stupid Roman. This was all his fault.
We got to the top of the stairs, where a short landing stopped at a heavy wooden door. Ginger Sideburns was standing in front it and arguing with another hobgoblin Enforcer. The little guy held a studded club in his hands and looked like he was itching to use it. His ruddy face looked angry, as he argued with Ginger Sideburns in a little rough voice. “I tell you, you can’t go in. They’re already started.”
I brightened at this. “You heard him, we’re not allowed in.”
“We’re expected,” Ginger Sideburns told the hobgoblin.
The little full-blood peered up at me, eyes catching on my hair. “This is Lora Blackgoat?”
“Who wants to know?” I asked.
He opened the door. “You’d better hurry.”
Inside opened up to a large and airy room with a massive tapestry covering the far wall. The room was larger than you’d think possible. Legend had it that the architect had bespelled the mortar, causing the building play tricks on the eye. An anomaly of geometry and architecture, word was there were rooms that could not be, doors that deceived, and tricky trapdoors. The tapestry was stitched in hues of gold and sand and told the story of the Great Burning. Long, thin windows sat high on the walls and late afternoon sun streamed in, casting golden shapes on the pews reserved for the public. There were a few citizens in attendance, all who had turned to stare at me.
A wooden table sat in front of the tapestry, with five tall-backed chairs. Two council members were in attendance, three chairs sitting empty. The attending Aldermen wore thin circlets of gold on their heads and white robes. One was a woman with dreadlocks, the other a rotund warlock.
The woman held up a hand, indicating I approach them. I limped down the central aisle, my nerves singing a high note. Murmuring rose up around me and the mood in the room turned thick with hostility. There were a few snickers, as people looked me up and down. My fingers nervously ran over the top of my cane as I stopped in front of the wooden table and two Aldermen.
“Lady Blackgoat,” the warlock spoke. “I am Alderman Walpole and this is Alderman Aria.” He fixed me with a stern look. “It has come to our attention that you have been keeping the company of Regulators. Do you have anything to say to that?”
The room fell quiet and I could hear the benches squeak as the seated people behind me leant forward. I leant on my cane. “Nope.”
Walpole frowned. “Nope? What do you mean?”
“Nope. As in; I have nothing to say.”
His face coloured. “Word has reached us that you assisted the Regulators in a witch hunt, resulting in the harm of your fellow citizens. You have nothing to say about that?”
Alderman Aria spoke, her dreadlocks shifting around her face. “Gideon Blackgoat and Orella Warbreeder have always denied you had Witch Hunters linage, despite all indications pointing otherwise.”
“Anything I’ve done over the last couple of days has been to find the Butcher of Applecross,” I said. “By any means necessary.”
“You?” Walpole barked a short laugh. “You’re hunting the serial killer? You think you can do a better job than the City Watch?”
“The Butcher attacked myself, and Orella Warbreeder.” My voice hitched and I had to swallow past something solid in my throat before continuing. “Orella was seriously wounded.”
“So you saw his face?” Aria asked. “You saw the identity of the Butcher?”
“Yeah. I saw their faces. There are two of them.” I half turned to the crowd behind me, raising my voice. “And they revealed themselves to be hellspawn.”
Murmurs of disbelief echoed around the chamber.
“Here, now, none of that.” The warlock laced his fingers over his stomach. “This here is a civilised council, so let’s act it. None of this kind of nonsense please.”
“Are you deaf?” I threw a hand in the air. “Did you hear what I just said? Hellspawn have breeched The Weald. Whoever called them over will be the one who disrupted the ley-lines.”
“Impossible,” Walpole blustered. “There are security measures in place, should such an event happen. The guardian of The Weald would have woken.”
“How would it be possible, Lady Blackgoat?” The thin woman’s face twisted and her dreadlocks began to writhe, whispering like a knot of hairy snakes. “Who would have the power? Can you tell me?”
I paused. My blood. The Key of Aldebaran. The Grigori priest, Fowler. There was no way I could explain in a way anyone would believe me, it sounded too crazy. Orella’s warnings about my true nature and the how the Alderman would react rang through my head. I chose my words carefully. “I suspect a rogue Grigori has done this, by use of darkcraft.”
Walpole looked at Aria and rolled his eyes. “Why, of course he has.”
“It’s true,” I said softly.
“Does he have a name?” Aria asked.
“Fowler,” I said the name clear and the room fell silent. “His name is Fowler,” I repeated, in case they didn’t hear me right.
Walpole’s expression became pained and he rubbed it stomach like he had indigestion. “One would think you have a death wish, making such accusa
tions about a high ranking Grigori priest. I would suggest you refrain from going any further with this line of investigation. In case your words reach the ears of the Grigori themselves. I can assure you, they would take your words very seriously.”
I shook my head. “This is a waste of my time. I’m leaving.”
“We are not finished with you yet,” Walpole snapped.
“Talk to the hand, fat boy.”
Walpole heaved himself to his feet, face flushing. “You are accused of a serious crime here today. You will not leave and you will be detained if necessary.”
“How?” I glanced over at the hobgoblin Enforcer. “Rumpelstiltskin over there?”
“Easy on,” the hobgoblin murmured, looking offended.
I fixed Walpole with sneer. “You’ve got nothing, fatty. Think you could cast faster than me? I’ll knock you out of your chair before you break a sweat.”
“Watch your tongue, Witch Hunter,” Walpole bellowed. “You push me too far and I will summon The Defiler. Then you will learn your place.” His jowls trembled as shook with anger. “If you leave now, I will have you dragged back here through the streets.”
“Alderman Walpole.” Aria was biting her lip. “I do not think this woman’s insolence problem warrants waking the guardian.”
“Shut up, Aria.” Walpole banged a fist on the table and bits of spit flecked his lips. “I am the ranking Alderman here and my authority will be recognised. This Witch Hunter claims hellspawn entered The Weald? So then perhaps she can convince him her fairy tale is true.” He fixed me with a glare. “If you knew anything about the magic of The Weald, you’d know if any of her rules were broken, The Defiler would be summoned to set things right.”
Thinking on how I seemed to break the rules of The Weald all the time, I gave a careless shrug. “Do as you please.”
I turned, giving the Aldermen my back and walked down the aisle, ignoring the stares and dirty looks of the audience.
“You’ll regret this, Lora Blackgoat.” Walpole shouted from behind me. “My authority will not be challenged. Not by you, not by anyone.”
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