Chaos Born

by Rebekah Turner

  Cloete appeared from checking the unconscious Runners outside, her lips pulled back into a ferocious expression. “What the fuck is going on here? Who is this guy? Why is he standing like that? Why isn’t he moving? Why didn’t he die? Will someone tell me what the fuck is going on?”

  “Help me with the fires, you dumb bitch!” Crowhurst yelled.

  Cloete’s expression blanked out. “Did he just call me a dumb bitch?”

  “Help him put out the fires,” I snapped at her. “You can castrate him later.”

  “Roger that.” She gave me a salute and hurried over to help Crowhurst pull a tapestry off the wall to beat the flames down.

  Gideon’s extinguisher had run dry. He came over, looking at Vivian with a question in his face. She waved for him to go. “We have enough time to appeal to the council before the spell wears thin. Go and get help to put the fires out.”

  “I’ll go to make an appeal, alright,” Gideon brayed as he trotted for the front door. “With my hoof up Alderman Robion’s arse.” He disappeared outside, the empty fire extinguisher clutched in his hands. I could hear shouting from outside and a warning bell had started to clang.

  “Lora.” Orella gestured to me. “Give the sword to Vivian and help with the fires.”

  I hesitated, then passed the hilt to Vivian. The woman I had thought my friend. She took the offered hilt, her sharp expression pinched with guilt.

  “Look, Lora, I’m sorry. I had no choice.” Vivian waited, like she was waiting for me to tell her everything was fine between us. Like I could forgive her, and we could go back to chatting casually about serial killers again. I didn’t say anything, just headed to where Cloete and Crowhurst were battling a line of fire licking up the wall. I passed Vivian, throwing her a frosty look. She had been my friend and had betrayed me in a cowardly act of self-preservation that had seen Morgan dead. I was clean out of forgiveness.

  Chapter 42

  Most of the fire was put out with blankets and water. Outside was a different matter, the alley descending into chaos. The smoke from Blackgoat had been spotted and seen as a signal by some to let loose. Some firebug had lit more fires and now people ran around with buckets of water, the alarm well and truly sounded.

  I slipped away, thoughts banged around inside my head, making my ears ring. Leaning on my cane, I came to the end of Abraham’s Alley and caught a rickshaw to Piccano Square. The driver dropped me off outside the office of the City Watch building of the east-west district. I knew if I could prove the hellspawn existed, and the identity of the warlock who’d called them, the Craft Aldermen would back off. All I needed was proof. Or a witness. My thoughts went over what Caleb had told me at Growlers, lining it up with what Lacrone had revealed to me. If the priest Lacrone had been telling the truth, then it all added up to one thing.

  Caleb was a liar.

  Paying my fare, I got out and stood in front of the tall brick wall that surrounded a courtyard and grey-stone offices. The square behind me was lined with shopfronts of bail bondsmen, pawn shops and a bleak looking coffee-house. It was several hours past the close of the working day, and there was hardly a soul around in the twilight.

  Walking through the open gates, I saw a line of tethered horses in the courtyard and three constables practising with wooden swords. They stopped to stare at my hair with open curiosity. I passed them with a determined step, my cane hitting the ground with an insistent sound.

  Inside the main building, a Watchman sat on duty behind a curved desk, swamped with papers and wearing a humourless expression. He was bent over a thick book, writing in a slow script, his attention completely engrossed in his task. I slipped past him and stopped a young Constable walking past, his arms full of folders.

  “Where’s Captain Haskett’s office?”

  He hesitated, doubt flickering through his eyes, but shrugged and pointed towards a corridor at the back. “He ‘ain’t in yet. If you wait out here, he’ll be back soon enough.”

  Giving him a dimpled smile, I paused until he had passed out of sight. Walking like I was meant to be there, I went down the corridor and found a room with Caleb’s rank and family name written on a wooden slate. Glancing over my shoulder to check I was unnoticed, I tried the handle and found it unlocked. Opening the door, I slipped into the room and closed it gently behind me.

  My eyes ran over Caleb’s office, assessing. A bookcase sat against the wall, a dark cherry wood desk towards the back and two tall-back chairs facing the desk. I wandered over to the bookcase, trying to just follow my instincts, trying to understand how Caleb had gotten mixed up in darkcraft and traitorous Grigori. The Caleb I knew had been a man of principles. While he wasn’t a frothing at the mouth follower of the Church of the One True God, he had always attended church regularly, sitting through those fire and brimstone sermons. I recalled how he’d tried for so long to get me to accompany him, pleading that my soul needed saving. But my soul felt just fine and I had no inclination to subject myself to the scrutiny of a congregation that liked to spend hours sitting on numb arses for fun.

  My eyes skimmed along the book’s spines. Titles of law and government stared back at me, looking like they’d be frowning if they could. I bit my lip, wondering what I should do. Wait for Caleb to return? I sat behind his desk with a sigh. My fingers ran over the papers on his desk, trying to see something that would be a clue. Something concrete to beat him over the head with. Not that it mattered. With or without evidence, I was getting the truth from Caleb this day. Yawning, I stretched in the chair and stared absently at the bookcase. Something moved in the corner of my eye and I got to my feet, limping over to the end of the shelving. I bent down on one knee, grimacing as pain shot up my leg. A small green curl of vine was squeezing out from under the base. It waved up at me, as if caught in a breeze. I felt gingerly behind the wooden structure before my fingers found what they hunted for; a latch. With a little prying and pushing, there was soon a satisfying click. I pulled the bookcase away from the wall and it moved silent on easy, well oiled hinges.

  Behind the door was a tunnel, big enough to fit a short man. The stretch of coiled green vine came from inside the darkness. I stepped closer and the sweet smell of clover breezed over me, as if trying to lure me further inside. My eyes trailed up, seeing the vine crept around the walls of the tunnel, twisting and coiling overhead. Instinct told me not to touch its glossy green leaves that rustled where there was no wind.

  Pulling the bookcase door close behind me, the tunnel was plunged into darkness. Shoulders hunched and head bowed, I shuffled forward, taking great pains to avoid touching the plant. Groping tentatively before me, my fingers finally brushed against a wooden door that swung open at my touch. I pinched salt and whispered a short spell. A tiny ball of blue light winked into existence, bobbing above my head. The ball’s light was dim, but it was enough for me to see.

  The room was stuffy, with the close smell of dampness and secrets. Darkcraft skittered along my skin, humming through the walls and the sweet cloying scent filling my nose. The ceiling to the hidden room was domed, the walls lined with makeshift bookshelves and workbenches.

  Walking over to a bench to my left, I saw it was cluttered with alchemist equipment and clear jars of liquids, powders and salt. Dried carcasses of birds and rats hung from hooks on the walls. Something that looked like a tall cage sat to one side of the room, its occupant hidden from view by a heavy brown drape. Something made a low, heavy noise inside and I swallowed. No way did I want to investigate that.

  I ran a hand over the desk, trying to understand what I was seeing. What was in this room would condemn Caleb to a Grigori prison for life. Why would he allow it? This room had to have been created when the building was built, so who knew about it? The warlock? I thought about Pigtails, telling me she was scared of a Bad Man. I knew Caleb loved his family, so was he protecting them?

  I circled the desk and sat in the chair behind it, the legs creaking. Drawers lined the side of the table and I opened the top
one. Inside was a tray of silver knives with elaborately carved handles. The second drawer held something wrapped in a soft mauve cloth. Pulling it out, my heart began to thump faster. I unwrapped the material and gave a low whistle. The book was leather-bound and small, fitting easily in my hand. Esoteric symbols were tooled on the front in gold. I could make out enough from my broken Sumerian to know this was The Key of Aldebaran.

  Opening the first page, I felt a hot kiss of heat drift over my hands. The heat brought with it a whisper that drifted through my mind like a tattered scarf. I flicked through the stiff yellowed pages, trying to read the cramped writing around complicated sketches and diagrams. The language was unfamiliar. It wasn’t Hellspeak, or Sanskrit.

  Closing the small book, I tucked it into one of my back jean pockets. A noise from the tunnel made me freeze. Clicking my fingers, the bobbing ball extinguished itself with a wet sound, leaving me in darkness. I moved quietly around the table to stand by the birdcage. My shoulder accidently hit the side of the cloaked bars and something shuffled and croaked from inside, sounding too large and heavy to be a bird. I backed away a few steps. The door opened and Caleb appeared, a lantern in one hand. He made his way to the desk, setting the lantern down, then turned, his eyes settling on me.

  “Hello, Caleb.” I stepped out and moved to block the entrance of the tunnel, in case he tried to run.

  “Lora.” Caleb’s eyes widened, but only for a moment. In the light I saw his eyes had dark circles under them. “How did you find this place?”

  I wanted to step back, craving the shadows behind me. I didn’t want to accuse Caleb of what I knew. His eyes, which I always remembered as so clear and pure, now looked murky, troubled and frightened. I ignored his question. “Want to tell me what this room is?”

  His shoulders slumped and he leant against the table. “Would you believe anything I had to I say at this point?”

  “Maybe you’re right, since you’ve fed me nothing but lies.” My mouth twisted sour, a bitter taste on my tongue. “See, I’ve been thinking about that night at Growlers. You know, when you asked me to help you. You said you saw a footprint burnt into the floor, outside of the circle.” I shook my head. “But the footprint had been removed before the Grigori came, taken by someone who thought they cash in on the crime. The only way you could have known about it, was if you’d been there, watching it all happen with your own eyes.” I leant against my cane, affecting nonchalance, hiding that my nerves were shredded. “Figured after that, this was all one big set-up.”

  “It’s not what you think.” Caleb gave me a tired smile. “Would you believe I had no choice?”

  Blinking back a traitorous tear, I gestured around the room. “Guess this is what you’d call a big, fat, fucking clue.” The disappointment I felt in Caleb made me feel drained and empty. “Who owns this room? Why is it here?”

  “Let me explain,” Caleb began, then stopped. A rustling noise came from behind me. I swore, realising for the second time this week I’d broken the cardinal Runner rule of not putting your back to the door. First had been with Spink at the Church of Kianna and now here, with the warlock responsible for the hellspawn.

  It was like I was a rookie all over again.

  Chapter 43

  “I’m glad you joined us, Lady Blackgoat.”

  Mentally kicking myself, I turned to see Ambrose, the old Head Librarian from The Order of Guides, standing behind me. His hands gripped a cumbersome looking triple-barrel flintlock, aimed at me. “Your sword-cane and belt, if you please.”

  With a snort of disgust, I threw my cane over and it skidded towards Ambrose along the floor. He swept a foot, knocking it further away. His eyes dropped to my belt. “And the belt.”

  I unbuckled the belt and tossed it on the ground near him. “Great act in the library. You’re got quite the gift for deception.”

  Ambrose gave a small bow. “Yes, the befuddled old man who just wants to help.”

  “You stole the Aldebaran in the first place,” I said. “Had me right fooled. I take it you’re the hellspawn’s daddy?”

  Ambrose gave me a leer. “If we’re going with that analogy, my dear, you could rightfully be called their mother.”

  “Then forget I said it.” My mind raced. I still had the quick-draw rig and knife down my spine. Not to mention a drop of the Apertor Elixir. I glanced over at Caleb. “You realise what’s going to happen to you when this room is found? You’ve got a family you’re responsible for, and you go and get involved in something like this.”

  “Hellfires, Lora.” Caleb ran a shaking hand through his soft hair. “I came to you for help.”

  “Don’t be too hard on the man,” Ambrose said. “Captain Caleb Haskett inherited his role of my assistant, when he received his promotion and new office. You see, the last Captain of the Watch killed himself rather unexpectedly.”

  “Not so unexpectedly for you, I gather?” I asked.

  Ambrose nodded. “The former Captain threatened to expose me. So he had a little accident with a kitchen knife.” He waved the gun around the room, face lit up with pride. “You see, this sanctuary was passed on to me by my father.” He lifted his hand towards me. On his pinkie sat a heavy silver ring with a skull wearing a crown. “I am a member of an exclusive organisation. We are the Brotherhood of the Red Hand and we have been in existence since the dawn of The Weald. This room should give you an indication of how integrated we are within society, the web we have in place.” He gestured around the room. “Over history, we have found pinpoints of power and created spell casting rooms for the Brotherhood, our magic fuelled by ley-line knots.”

  The symbol on the ring tickled at a memory. “I’ve seen that ring before.” My eyes dragged away from the ring, meeting Ambrose’s smug face. “Fowler has one just like it. Is he behind this?”

  Ambrose’s lined face slid into anger. “He is a member of the Brotherhood. But this was my idea. Not his. Not his! He was too afraid to do what was necessary, said it was a step too far, that we should simply try to tame you, rather than harness the power your blood offered.” The elderly librarian gave me a savage grin. “I showed him.”

  I rolled my eyes around the room, trying to look nonchalant. The more talking we did, the less shooting was happening. “Loved the creepy foliage on the way in.”

  The pistol in Ambrose’s hand wavered as he laughed; like we were sharing a joke. “My attempt at the blood casting, creating a life form from nothing. However, the plant has since become a little, unpredictable. Now I can’t get rid of the thing. Nothing kills it.”

  “So after the plant fiasco, you decided to step it up by unleashing hellspawn on the city? What was that supposed to prove?”

  Ambrose gave me a sly look, like he knew I was stalling. I turned on my best curious, wide-eyed face, though I figured I was fifteen years too old to pull it off. But Ambrose had a hard-on to brag and I watched as he stood a little straighter, voice sliding into an evangelical tone.

  “Do you believe in the One True God, Lady Blackgoat?”

  “Not really.” My instincts honed in on Ambrose, calculating how quickly I reach him, if I could risk his shot going wide. The glow from the lantern behind us cast deep shadows on the old monk’s face, exaggerating the craggy lines of age. “I am, and shall always be, faithful to the One True God.”

  I threw a hand around. “This room of yours indicates otherwise.”

  “The creed of the Brotherhood of the Red Hand is to do what others dare not. To put our souls in danger for greater good. A great General knows what it takes to win a battle. He understands his enemy.” Ambrose lifted a finger to the ceiling, voice as smooth as a snake charmer. “Have you noticed the faithless in the city? They wait until they are old and dying to plead to the One True God to save their souls. At this time, citizens have faith. At times of uncertainty, at times when faced with fear of one’s mortality, citizens turn to the church for her embrace.”

  “As is their right,” I said. “It is the right of a
nyone to believe what they chose to.”

  “It is not!” Ambrose snapped. “They should not receive forgiveness from the church, it should not be their right.”

  “So your plan was to terrorise the city, so citizens would go to church?” My eyebrows shot up as high as they could.

  “I am God’s right-hand.” Ambrose spoke with such calmness I knew he was afflicted with something worse than insanity: a cause. “I am the One True God’s mortal instrument.”

  “No.” I clenched my hands into fists. “You’re just some guy who’s pissed in the pool and now I’m going to clean it up.”

  Twin pink blossoms appeared on Ambrose’s cheeks. “I am the shepherd to herd the unbelievers back to the welcoming arms of God.” His voice lowered, his colour returned to normal. A shrewd look entered his eyes. “I can do this with your help, Lady Blackgoat. You are the one who changed possibility to certainty. When you appeared on my brother’s operating table, I knew the One True God had spoken to me, shown me the path to take.”

  Despite all the day’s surprises, I still felt shocked. “Grossel’s your brother?”

  “Yes,” Ambrose sighed. “That miserable excuse for a man is my blood. I was there that night you were brought in. The red moon had risen that night and I was unable to sleep. I took some air and was drawn to the commotion. A female Witch Hunter, they said. A rare find, but not entirely uncommon. When my brother confided in me what he saw with his Sight, how your identity was hidden so well, it was as if God himself had bent from the heavens to whisper in my ear. My duty was clear from that moment on. I told my fellow brothers, outlined my plan. They intrigued by the possibilities. The blood Grossel gave me was enough to put my plan into action. By then, Fowler had met you and told me not to proceed. That it would be too dangerous, even for the Brotherhood.”

  “But you did it anyway,” I said softly. “And something went wrong when the hellspawn passed over the Calling Circle.”