The coach slowed and I peered out the window, seeing that we had already crossed the Harken River Bridge and arrived at the Order’s compound. Guards waved us inside and I tried to calm my suddenly jarred nerves.
‘Whatever you do,’ Fowler said as the coach rumbled to a stop, ‘do not admit you know anything about Roman. Not where he is, not what he is doing. There is unrest among the nephilim and Laeonder suspects you are at the root of it.’
I lowered my voice. ‘Is Roman still in Harken?’
‘He has not left yet,’ Fowler said. ‘Not to my knowledge.’
‘If this High Grigori is as dangerous as you say, then Roman needs to leave The Weald. It’s not safe.’
Before Fowler could reply, the doors swung open and we were escorted out. The Order’s entry courtyard was deserted, the surrounding grim buildings obscured by the rain.
We hurried into a nearby building and down a staircase to a sub-level. Fowler kept close by my side, silent and tense. When I’d been called into the Order before to stand against accusations of darkcraft, I’d always had someone on my side in the past, even if I didn’t know it. I’d also known Orella and Gideon would come for me if things went really bad. Orella was a powerful craftuser, though crippling arthritis and the debilitating smoker’s cough had robbed her of her usual toughness. It occurred to me that my allies were dwindling in contrast to my growing number of adversaries, and it was probably a good time to mind my manners. I’d never met a High Grigori before and wasn’t looking forward to the experience.
The staircase opened into a large room bustling with activity. Framed maps hung on the walls above multiple desks, and Harken Regulators mingled with their Thesma brethren, identified by their armour and crimson cloaks. Grigori sat with white-haired Witch Hunters, consulting the maps and arguing in hushed voices. A smaller room branched off and we were escorted inside. The walls were bare, save for splotches of green mould on the ceiling and a dust pile in the corner. Being deep underground, there weren’t even any windows to give a view of the dreary compound.
A Grigori sat behind a heavy desk, reading papers with a scowl. When we entered, he placed them down slowly and stood. He was a broad man with a square jaw, wearing black leather battle armour similar to the Thesma Regulators. His grey hair was cropped short and his skin was lined and weathered, as if he’d spent most of his time outdoors. His eyes cut to Fowler.
‘You brought her.’ He almost sounded surprised.
Fowler gave a stiff bow. ‘Of course, High Grigori Laeonder.’
‘Fine.’ Laeonder strode around the table to stand in front of me. ‘You are Lora Blackgoat, yes?’
‘I am,’ I replied. Stick to the facts and keep the lies simple, I chanted to myself.
‘I am High Grigori Laeonder,’ he said. ‘Well met, Lady Blackgoat. I’ve heard many interesting stories about you.’
‘Hope it was all good.’
‘Of course.’ His eyes were flat and unimpressed. ‘I’m very curious, Lady Blackgoat. Can you tell me what your lineage is? I heard some suspected you were a Witch Hunter, but I see your white hair is streaked black.’
‘I don’t know my parents,’ I said. ‘I was abandoned as a baby. And my hair is white because I used to dye it.’
Laeonder’s eyes lowered. ‘Is that so?’
‘Uh…yeah.’
‘I was also informed you have ingested the Witch Hunter elixir in the past.’
‘An accident,’ I said. ‘Back when it was thought I was a Witch Hunter.’
‘And it connected you to the ley-lines?’
‘Well, I’m not so sure —’ I started.
‘Search her.’ He interrupted me, as if what I had to say was suddenly irrelevant. The Regulators behind me surged forward, unbuckling my belt and patting me down. I didn’t resist, holding my arms out to the side. The Regulators who frisked me worked efficiently, like they knew who was in charge here. Unfortunately, I had a pretty good idea as well, and it sure as shit wasn’t me. The throwing knife from my boot was taken, as well as the one tucked in my bra. When a Regulator’s hand strayed around my inner thigh I jerked away.
‘No need to pat me down further, Muscles,’ I told him. ‘You have all my trinkets. Honest.’
Laeonder was given my belt and he looked through the pockets. ‘Salt, salt, salt,’ he said. ‘How predictable.’ He shifted a finger through the pocket that held some Sucker Punch Special and his lips curled. ‘Interesting. This must hurt when properly used.’ He pulled out a small bone charm I’d bought, which was supposed to protect against curse attacks. It hadn’t worked yet, but hey, it had been half price.
‘And what is this?’ Laeonder lifted up the small vial of elixir Fowler had given me. His eyes narrowed as he popped the lid and sniffed the contents, before closing it with a satisfied look. ‘It is an offence for a civilian to carry the Witch Hunter elixir.’
‘I gave it to her,’ Fowler said, and I marvelled at how calm he sounded. ‘In assistance for hunting witches.’
‘Most interesting,’ Laeonder said. ‘And this is the same individual who was contracted to the Order, then abruptly dismissed, due to unsuitability?’
‘Yes,’ Fowler said.
‘And while she was under contract here, she tried to burn down the sacred library.’ He held my belt out to me, the elixir still in his other hand. Clearly, I wasn’t getting it back. I stepped forward, reaching to take my belt. But Laeonder didn’t let go and I froze, staring at him. After a moment, he released it. But the message was clear: I had my work-belt back at his whim.
Laeonder folded his powerful arms and spoke in a quiet voice. ‘Lady Blackgoat, do you know where my nephilim is hiding? The one called Roman. There are reports he is in the city.’
‘Your nephilim?’ I frowned. ‘He’s not a dog, you know.’
‘Of course he’s not.’ Laeonder’s eyes turn glacial. ‘He is, however, nephilim. Which means, he belongs to the Order. And I am the Order.’ Laeonder’s voice dropped. ‘I ask again. Where is he?’
The threat was clear in his voice, of violence to those who didn’t toe his line. My fingers fumbled as I tried to buckle my belt back on. ‘I told you, I don’t know.’
‘I’ve heard you were quite close to him.’
‘You’ve got the wrong girl.’
‘Would you like some water, Lady Blackgoat?’ he asked. ‘You look distressed.’
‘Uh, no. This is my usual face.’
‘You just let me know if you need anything.’ His eyes narrowed and a prickling sensation crawled down my spine. Laeonder blinked a few times, as if he was clearing his vision. A humourless smile spread across his lips and his eyes shifted to the Regulators behind me. ‘I’ve seen enough. You are dismissed.’
Hands grabbed me and pulled. When Fowler went to follow, Laeonder stopped him. ‘I need you to stay here. I believe it is well past time for us to have a little chat.’
My eyes met Fowler’s, but his face was a blank mask. He was well practised at surviving within the Order and I found myself hoping he would survive Laeonder just as well.
After my weapons were returned to me, I was escorted through the large room. This time, I paid more attention to what was going on. Most of the maps on the walls were details of the city, from the sewerage system to the inside of the Mayor’s Palace. My escorts were silent as we made our way back to the courtyard and the waiting Regulator coach. I clambered in quickly. There was no one to accompany me this time, which somehow worried me more. The reins clicked and I slid open the window, peering out as we trundled back through the entrance and towards the Harken City Bridge. A group of Regulators were out the front of the compound, stripped to the waist and digging holes. A pile of long wooden stakes leaned against the wall and a chill gripped me as I wondered what Laeonder was planning.
Chapter 22
The sun had dipped low in the sky by the time I was walking down Abraham’s Alley back towards Blackgoat. My mind was cloaked in weary thoughts and I barely noticed the crowds around me
. I understood Fowler’s worry about Laeonder now. I’d faced enemies of all shapes and sizes, but I’d never faced an enemy who had offered me a glass of water while making my mouth go bone dry. Not to mention the prickling feeling I’d gotten when he’d been staring at me, like he was looking at something else. I remembered how Manika had sensed I was reading her aura and wondered if that’s what had just happened. If Laeonder had the rare ability to see and read auras like myself, we were all in big trouble. A Grigori with an inbuilt lie detector was very dangerous and I knew I needed to find Roman and warn him to leave the city.
I passed a laundry shop and came to a stop when I spied words chalked under the windows.
He is rising.
My feet started up again, and I scanned the buildings through the beckoning peddlers and bustling crowds. The slogan was scrawled everywhere. Sometimes in tiny writing in chalk or ink. Other times, especially in the tight, narrow alleys, it was painted in giant letters.
By the time I reached Blackgoat, I was well and truly creeped out, wondering just what Kalin and his crew were up to. My stomach gave a rumble, reminding me I’d skipped lunch, and I tried to remember if there was any food in the cold box at work. The front door was locked, and I figured it was one of those rare times Blackgoat was deserted. I unlocked the door and slipped inside, just as a downpour started up, sending pedestrians scurrying for cover.
The interrogation with Laeonder had been unnerving, but I had to stay focused. If I didn’t concentrate on Blackgoat’s problems, I was going to have bigger worries, like how I’d explain to Gideon that I’d destroyed the business that was his livelihood. Our livelihood. It occurred to me that maybe now was the time to send a letter to Gideon and Orella, asking them to return home. Telling them I needed their help. But the thought hit a wall of stubbornness that wouldn’t allow me to follow through. Limping to the kitchen, I realised I was determined to prove myself. My feet stopped when I heard a gasping sound from the kitchen. I tensed and easing the sword from my cane. Stepping forward swiftly into the kitchen, I copped an eyeful of Crowhurst and Cloete going at it on the kitchen table.
‘My eyes!’ I dropped my sword and stumbled back. Cloete shrieked and Crowhurst fumbled with his belt.
I slapped a hand over my face. ‘Aaaahhh! Anon’s great hairy balls!’
Pulling myself up the staircase, I tried to scrub the image from my mind. Inside Gideon’s office, I collapsed behind the desk and searched for any alcohol in his drawers. But Crowhurst had cleaned house and all I found was a box of old Turkish delights. I shoved two into my mouth and slumped back in the chair. A knock sounded at the door.
‘Lora? It’s Crowhurst. Can I come in?’
I tried to clear the sticky sweets to answer him, but found my teeth almost glued together.
Crowhurst heaved a sigh. ‘Lora? I know you’re in there. I’m sorry you saw that.’
I managed to swallow my mouthful. ‘You and me both. I’ll never be able to eat in there again.’
The door opened and Crowhurst peered inside. He hit the gas-lamp switch by the door and the office was flooded with light. He entered, my cane in one hand, and leant it against a bookcase before sitting down with a sigh.
‘Where’s Cloete?’ I asked.
‘She said she was going home. She’s embarrassed.’
‘Uh huh.’
He fixed me with a level look. ‘That won’t happen again, I promise you.’
‘Uh huh.’
‘Can you say something other than just grunts please?’
‘What do you expect? I’m traumatised.’
Crowhurst shifted uncomfortably, then asked, ‘What happened at the morgue?’
I filled him in on Poulter’s body, then on my strange visit to meet the Laeonder. By the time I finished, Crowhurst looked pissed off.
He struck a fist against the palm of his hand. ‘I knew I should have gone with you that time.’
‘I doubt they would have let you into the Order,’ I pointed out. ‘Plus, it seems you and your two-and-a-half inches were needed here.’
‘Seven and a half, thank you,’ Crowhurst replied absently. ‘You know, the name Laeonder is familiar. Did I tell you that I used to work in Thesma?’
‘You were a tinker, right?’
‘I was about fifteen then and was learning the business from a renowned weapon-smith,’ Crowhurst said. ‘You want to know the reason why I left the city?’
‘The suspense isn’t killing me, but do tell.’
‘There was an otherkin uprising within the city wanting equal rights. It got so bad that all trading suffered. People were afraid to go out into the streets. One day, the Council announced martial law. Next thing, the Grigori petitioned for control of the city. I’m sure Laeonder was one of them. He got flyers posted, warning all otherkin they had one week to leave the city. When the deadline hit, Regulators were given a kill-on-sight order. They swept through the streets. I heard that they even broke into houses, searching and killing those who hid.’
‘That’s insane,’ I breathed. ‘I’ve never heard that story.’
‘Thesma was a very different city back then. Very isolated and secretive. Everything was shut down for months. All communication going out was halted and no one was allowed to leave. Not until the Grigori thought the threat of unrest had been well and truly destroyed. As soon as the sanctions lifted, I got the hell out of there.’ He gave me a weak smile. ‘I don’t imagine such a thing could happen in a city like Harken. It’s too exposed. There’s no way they could hide those kind of strong-arm tactics here.’
I tapped a finger on the table, thinking hard. ‘Roman’s in the city and I need to find him. Any ideas on where an ex-Regulator might go to lay low? The Grigori are hunting him.’
‘He didn’t tell you where he’d be?’ Crowhurst asked lightly.
‘He did not.’
He shrugged. ‘Sorry boss, no idea. But if Laeonder discovers it was your blood that helped kick off his transformation, they’ll come for you next.’
My finger paused and I fixed Crowhurst with a steady look. ‘I’m not running. If there’s a threat, I’ll face it down, just like I always do.’
‘I know, I know,’ Crowhurst said wearily. ‘You can handle yourself. Your motto, right?’ He paused, then added, ‘Maybe it’s time to write to Gideon and ask him to return. We probably could do with his guidance on this.’
I didn’t tell Crowhurst I’d had the same fleeting thought. Despite his drinking, whoring and Turkish delight addiction, Gideon was a great strategist and Orella had the ear of craftusers in the city, as well as the respect of the Craft Aldermen who governed them.
‘It will take too long before they get it and even longer to get back,’ I argued. ‘There’s also the matter of Orella’s health. It’s no good for her to be too stressed, let alone caught up in this.’
Crowhurst shot me a sympathetic smile. ‘Orella’s a strong woman. If I know her, she’s probably heard already about this little drama.’
‘I still don’t think it’s wise for them to come back.’
‘And I do, Lora.’ Crowhurst levelled a hard look at me. ‘You need to write that letter.’
‘Fine.’ I gave a sigh, seeing he wasn’t going to give up on the matter. Bending, I started going through the drawers, trying to find a sheet of letterhead. ‘I’ll write it. Why don’t you go and find Cloete. Tell her everything is fine, as long as I never have to see you two naked again. It’s going to take a lot of vodka before I forget that little scene.’
Crowhurst made for the door. ‘Thanks, boss.’
‘Lock the front door behind you.’
‘No problem.’
‘And set fire to the kitchen on your way out.’
‘Very funny.’
I waited until I heard the front door close before putting the pen down. Crowhurst and I might be a good team, but that didn’t mean we had to agree on everything. And there was no way I was writing that letter, asking those I loved to return into a li
ne of enemy fire.
Chapter 23
After I left Blackgoat, I was at a momentary loss as to what to do. The idea of returning to my empty home didn’t appeal, because I knew I’d just sit in the kitchen and worry. A feeling of helplessness filled me and after a second pedestrian jostled me, I shoved back. Meeting their glare with my own nasty one, I suddenly decided I’d go and do what I did best: kick someone’s well-deserving arse.
I made my way to the neighbourhood I’d remembered Roosen saying he lived in, and pulled up a stool at a noodle stall halfway down the street. The stall was operated by a goblin husband and wife team, their oversized noses covered in warts, wearing hairnets that pinned back curly mops of hair. I ordered egg noodles in broth and sat back, checking out the neighbourhood.
When my bowl was set in front of me, I racked my memory for the name of Roosen’s overstaying friend. Gamber, Roosen had said.
‘Anything else?’ the male goblin grunted.
‘I’m looking for a man,’ I said.
His brows furrowed. ‘You ordered noodles, you get noodles. You want a man, go somewhere else.’
I ignored this. ‘He’s a writer by the name of Roosen.’
The goblin frowned. ‘Big fella, who dresses in them big, floppy hats?’
‘I guess.’
He pointed to a building nearby. ‘Top floor, end quarters.’
‘Do you know anything else about him?’ I asked.
At this the goblin’s bushy eyebrows rose and he tapped his wife’s shoulder, pulling her away from stirring a steaming pot of broth.
She looked at me, irritated. ‘No refunds.’
‘Woman wants to know about that writer,’ her husband said.
‘My name’s Lora Blackgoat,’ I said. ‘I’m a friend of Roosen’s. I’m worried about him.’
‘Humph. I’m Berta.’ The female goblin hobbled over. ‘This fool is Benny.’
‘Who you callin’ a fool?’ Benny mumbled.
‘Hush.’ Berta folded her stubby arms and glared at me. ‘You should be worried.’
‘Careful, Berta,’ Benny growled. ‘Don’t get too involved. She’s a Witch Hunter, you know.’
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