Blood & Baltazar

by Liam Inscoe-Jones

  When I woke up I was in a cell, there was no seat so I was just hunched up in the corner, my ragged uniform still hanging off my skin. I peered out the door through the tiniest of hatches and I saw where they’d brought me. A huge prison, stretching as far as the gap would allow me to see, the same iron doors row after row, running down every bare balcony, right down to the flat, grey floor.”

  “They’d taken you prisoner?” Lylith enquired, leaning back again.

  “Yes they had.” Josiah nodded.

  “And in an actual prison… I can see why they’d be empty: I doubt anyone was too upset over a bunch of convicts being sent out to fight, but that doesn’t explain why they’d keep you at all. You were the enemy, why not kill you?”

  “Oh well I’m touched.” Josiah grinned. “Like I said, in this war there were no allegiances, nobody was on one side, we just did what their Generals said. The Battle of Ripley Moor was famous not so much for its bloodshed but for its tactics – it wasn’t a fight, more an initiation test. The Revolutionist armies had taken a trouncing; they’re losses were innumerable; the soldiers they’d harvested just weren’t up to the task. They were preparing an attack on the Liberalists like no other, an ambush on a scale off the chart and so they needed the very best to fight it. The firepower they threw at Ripley Moor destroyed the weakest men and left only the best of the soldiers to be rounded up by their machines. I was one of those survivors – talent scouted for a much bigger war.

  Once they had us they locked us away in our cells then they told us we were Revolutionists now - we would fight and die for their cause. It was hardly like we cared, the Loyalist beliefs weren’t ours either, but still we were dying for them – all causes are meaningless when you have no say as to which side you’re on. We were just glad to be warm and alive.

  But don’t think it was anything like living. They gave us a single piece of bread a day – that was it. In the morning they’d leave it outside our door along with a glass of water and we wouldn’t see them again until the evening when the guard would come in, assign us an exercise drill to keep us fighting fit and leave us to get on with it - locking the door behind him.”

  “And how long did they keep you there?”

  “Oh, years – three of them infact. That was when their masterplan was initiated and the whole facility was drafted back to war, fighting the same fight, just dressed in a different uniform…”

  “And who won that time?”

  “The Loyalists. The masterplan wasn’t so masterful as it turned out; almost everybody in that prison was killed…”

  “Then how did you survive?”

  “By not going to war, by escaping a year before Operation Midnight Child was even put into action. I felt guilty for a long time but now I realise fleeing that day was the best thing ever to happen to me because that was how all this started…” He shuffled closer, a glimmer in his eye returning with his heightened voice and the new wave of intrigue crossing Lylith’s face. He paused just for a moment, long enough to make her frustrated through tension, and then he started again: “There was a certain tedium involved with being locked in the same grey cell, with the same routine for two long years. I started to notice things I never had before – when the guards came in I could tell which ones had been delivered new socks, or how they’d eaten their lunch. I could tell if they’d been doing exercise that day through the amount of sweat still around the collar when they changed back into their uniform – little things but when everything else was dull and grey it was hard not to become aware of the differences.

  Then the officers made a mistake. For the first year or so they had no order - the facility was newly evacuated of its original occupants and not much planning had gone into keeping a system. But after my second spring they began drawing a rota; the same guards would visit the same cell every day, every week. And so I started to learn all about mine. I knew his name was Cleveland, I knew his mother was Danish and I knew he had once broken his kneecap from the scuffs he left on the doorframe every time he walked into my cell.

  However there was something that still puzzled me. On his left leg, on the pocket just above his shin there was always a tiny white mark. It wasn’t spit because the layer was thin and dry, but it wasn’t food because the mark had been made from the inside out. Then one day, after a long sleep I worked it out. It must have been something he carried every day, no matter what the uniform or occasion and I stumbled upon the idea of an asthmatic inhaler. But he must have lost the cap because every time he raised his leg he pressed against the canister and let it off – the gas inside drying on the inside of his pocket and leaving the most persistent of stains. Cleveland was asthmatic, and that was good – because he was strong, too strong for me; but now he had a weakness.

  The next day I prepared, and plotted, and lingered – watching the sun sink across the sky through the bars in my window and waiting for it to disappear over the far off hills, knowing his visit would come at dusk. When he stepped through the door I stopped a moment, and watched as he turned the key in the lock. Then as he came to face me I struck his throat with the side of my hand. The years in the prison had whittled at my strength, the blow wouldn’t have knocked down any normal man but his asthmatic weakness told me where to strike. It hurt to watch him struggle on the floor, pleading to me, begging for help; yet I resisted the temptation to just hand the inhaler over. I taunted him with it; a puppeteer forcing poor Cleveland to hand over exactly what I wanted.

  I stripped him of his key and his uniform - he was so desperate to breath he did his best to help me. In moments I looked exactly like him and, making sure he was okay, I made for the door and slipped away, locking the door behind me. I walked down the corridor; calm and careful. All the guards looked so alike barely any of them blinked as I walked straight past them. You see, they’d kept us so weak they never thought any of the men in that prison could knock out even a child. Cleveland’s weakness was something to be kept hidden and contained in the depths of out of reach medical files. They never of thought any of the prisoners would discover his condition and use it against him. I worked it out just by looking.

  I realised that was the best way, the only way to see the world. I’d been intrigued by deduction before I was locked up there but the prison forced me to use it, to see the truth through noticing the facts. I taught myself the skill back then and I can use it now to find that dealer, to solve crimes out of reach of the best forensic advances.”

  “And what happened then, after you escaped?” Lylith White quizzed. “A fleeing soldier - how the hell did you end up here?”

  “When I escaped I spent a few weeks travelling across country, looking for the sleepy little villages so insignificant they could play no part in the war. I knew they existed and I found one here in Stonemoore. You were all so wrapped up in your mills and your harvests it was like there was no fighting at all. I found a little cave just a few hundred metres from here and slept there in the day while building this place at night…”

  “But you’re still here, all this time…” Lylith said. “The war ended years ago; you could have gone back, found your family, your home.”

  “Oh, so you want me gone?” Josiah Hartt smirked. It soon faded. “There’s a coward’s register Lylith. With their war they were tearing this nation apart, but somehow if you fled from either side you had betrayed your country. They’re still looking for us, even now.”

  “But you’re not a coward.” Lylith White murmured.

  “Then why did everyone captured in that prison go to fight and die and I sat here fiddling with test tubes? I did abandon them and it’s only a matter of time until they find out. That’s why I live here, in the sodding back yard of nowhere – to hide from them.”

  “And is that the only reason you hid?” Lylith asked. She didn’t know where her words came from; the question just slipped from her lips like the answer fell upon his face. Josiah sniffed.

  “It’s getting late Lylith.” He glanced towards the
walls, finding a clock amongst the heap of books and clutter. “Well… nine o’ clock - far past my bedtime. We have a network of drugs to trace and disperse tomorrow - that will fill a morning. Then we’ve got to work out who planted that message beneath the corpse...”

  “We?” Lylith asked standing and stretching.

  “You’re our prime witness.” Josiah shrugged.

  “I found the body. Of a person who is now sitting in the morgue drinking coffee and flicking through the paper so I hardly think my contribution was valid…”

  Josiah groaned impatiently. “Lylith White, do you, or do you not want to help me find the dealer?”

  She stood to attention. “God yes.”

  Josiah Hartt grinned and leapt forward, downing the whole glass of Splinddle and disappearing down one of the corridors. He called back to her. “Okay, then you had better take the sofa, and I will take… well, my bed.”

  Lylith grinned. “How kind…”

  Josiah’s head popped around the corner. “My pleasure Miss White…”

  A Matter of De Ja Vu

  C hief Detector Marcus Fraun marched up the steep banking. The mud from the recent storm sunk when he placed his boot on the ground. The air carried a fresh but bitter sting, like ice was drifting in the breeze. He kicked a heap of the moss out of the way as he walked, the furry heap dislodging itself from the mud and landing firmly upon the brittle wooden door of the tower he was steadily approaching.

  The stack of boxes looked almost peaceful through the silver mist, serenely shaped against the hill rather than carved into it. The way the grass curved around the base, the way the trees morphed into the panels: it looked like the valley was slowly ingesting the boxes to become part of the flora and fauna itself.

  The Detector stepped closer and suddenly a piece of the thick lodge wall burst open amidst a cloud of dust. Streams of firelight shot through the darkness, and a head fell clumsily out of the panel. Two feet stumbled onto the dirt, slipping on the layer of fine dust and slowly steadying themselves. The two feet were slowly followed by the legs, draping themselves over the doorway and bending down to the ground. Josiah Hartt seated himself on the tiny ridge of a doorframe, a position the Chief Detector could only imagine to be highly uncomfortable.

  “Do you mind?” The owner of the gangly body snarled above the gale. “Don’t kick moss at my box!”

  “Are you okay Mr Hartt?” Marcus asked, reluctantly stepping closer, breathing in as he hit the stench. He was referring to the bedraggled look Josiah had woken with, his long hair lying in a frizzy mop on the top of his sweat drenched head. He’d even fashioned his coat into a make shift scarf which lay like a cape around his neck.

  “I’m not quite myself no…” Josiah coughed, struggling to steady himself. “After we wrapped up our investigation last night me and my guest indulged our self with a delightful Splinddle - however now I think about it I mistaken one key ingredient for another…” He clasped his hands around the lodge and heaved himself up. “Ten part cinnamon, one part marijuana - I really must remember that.”

  Marcus stopped and sighed. “You're telling me took Marijuana last night Josiah? You do realise you are currently heading up a drugs investigation?”

  “Yes: I did and I do.” Hartt coughed, his head disappearing inside the wooden tower. The Chief Detector reluctantly followed, a hot heat washing over him as the simple wood pile inside the lodge was struck with a match and ignited into a crackling fire. “Watch the ditch!” Josiah called as Marcus stepped inside, his foot stopping on the brink of the deep, carpet coated cavern.

  The inside of the room was a mess. Fraun tilted his head sideways past the various spiralling rooms and onto the living space, constructed from a few sofas wedged between a heap of sprawling books and clutter. As his Detector training kicked in, Marcus pondered whether the chaos had been made after the events of the previous night; however judging by the dust and the musty smell, he concluded otherwise: the heaps of dust and mould had been undisturbed for a long time.

  Lying on one of the battered leather sofas was Lylith White, her long brunette locks spread across her sweaty cheeks. Josiah appeared from one of the sections beside her, clutching in his sweaty palm a murky glass of water. “You gave her some too?” The Detector asked; his voice more stern that ever. “So that’s dealing as well? Who vetted you again?”

  “They didn’t.” He muttered. “Oh come on! I hardly dished them out, it was a tiny little bit in a frankly marvellous drink. It was only a Splinddle.” Hartt beamed. “We Splinddled!”

  Suddenly Josiah stopped, his face dropping in embarrassment. He placed the water on the floor and there was a moment’s awkward silence as he lined his forehead with the nearest wall and slammed his fringe against it.

  “Okay!” Josiah exclaimed, repositioning himself beside the sofa. “That’s better, enzymes back in place, endorphins slipping away, I feel good. Normal again.”

  “Hardly.” Marcus murmured.

  Josiah ignored the remark and proceeded to pour the glass of water over the sleeping Lylith’s head. Her eyes snapped open and she woke, shaking her head and shivering away the bitterly cold liquid that was now soaking both her and the sofa. Hartt gently leant over her, acting as if he had woken her merely by patting her softly on the back. “Hey there White.” He smiled. “Good morning.”

  “What happened?” She spluttered; a spray of water bursting from her mouth as she picked herself up off the sofa.

  “He happened.” Marcus Fraun muttered. Josiah stood and turned to block the Detector from Lylith’s vision and slowly answered her question.

  “I may have accidentally put in your drink a tea bag full of marijuana.” He voice picked up. “But no matter, let it go; we’ve got work to do. Chief Detector Incompetence here got another body that needs checking out and I need our prime witness to be down there sharp, so…”

  “Hold on…” Marcus interrupted. “I never said we’ve found a body.”

  “But you have, yes?” Josiah asked.

  “As it happens, but there was no way you could have known…”

  Josiah Hartt stepped forward, hands dug deep inside his ragged overcoat. “Detector, yesterday afternoon a woman woke up in a morgue and told us this village was a drop off point for lethal spider-filled packets of Slide for people who haven’t managed to pay the dealer their tab. If he wants to sort those people out, no matter how many there is, three or a dozen then he won’t scatter these traps across the countryside; he’ll bring them all to one place at one, Stonemoore, here. That means there’ll be more bodies coming our way. So yes, I did already know.” He turned to Lylith White. “You’ll be feeling pretty dizzy for a few hours, so I suggest you take a shower.”

  Lylith stood, dropping the blanket she’d been using to keep her protected from the cold. “You mean a shower on top of the one you’ve just given me?”

  “Yes.”

  “And will it be as cold as that one?”

  “Probably colder.” Josiah shrugged.

  “Well you seem to have recovered pretty quickly.” Lylith noted.

  “Yes, but I I’ve been awake for nearly four hours now.”

  “Four hours?” Lylith exclaimed. “But it’s seven in the morning.”

  “I had Velvet Petals to water, did you really expect them to let them die Lylith?!” Josiah swivelled again, bored of the conversation and keen to start and new one, facing squarely with Detector Fraun. “So tell Detector; where’s the body?”

  “A worker found it on the southern border of the Mill Plain at first light this morning.” Marcus sighed; tired of giving the intruder information he'd trained years to be allowed access to.

  “Oooh, the Mill Plain.” Josiah beamed, looking to Lylith. “How exciting. Well I’d better get down there straight away, and Miss White: you ought to get in that shower; you work at the plain your territory; it’ll be good for you to be there. And quite frankly – you stink.” He pointed a random finger. “Follow the walls that way I think
, the shower is right at the back of the lodge. You’ll find it eventually.” He slipped his long coat over his shoulders and pushed Detector Fraun towards the simple wooden door and over the huge crevasse. “Then once you’re done Lylith, same as usual; I’ll see you at work!”

  As the mud beneath the feet of Josiah Hartt and Marcus Fraun slowly succumbed to the grassy fields of the vast Mill Plains, the wind began to bristle. The houses and fires slipped into the hillside, making way for the waving ocean of green. Long blades of grass shot up from the damp mud, their arched spines drizzled with fresh frost. Josiah hair swooped from side to side as his eyes glanced over the walls of the valley, examining every detail and making mental notes. “What are you doing?” Fraun asked impatiently.

  “I’m looking, and seeing.” Josiah muttered, continuing his examination.

  “But we’re nowhere near the body yet, it was found in the third sector and that’s miles from here – we haven’t even entered the plain yet.”

  “I know where the third sector is Detector but I’ve still got to look…”

  “For what?”

  “I’m not looking for anything, but I have to see everything…” Hartt sighed as he went to explain. “We are walking towards a body now, I don’t know anything about it; even whether it’s a man or a woman. But all these things around us may have been changed, altered somehow by whoever did whatever they did. Most of these things around us don’t matter in the slightest, but almost all of it might be significant later. You see?”

  “Absolutely I do. I also see that maybe you would be able to ‘look’ better if you hadn’t ingested a teabag full of marijuana last night.” Marcus quipped.

  “That is where you are wrong.” Josiah smiled. “Last night the case was closed, my work was done and I knew what to expect this morning so I needed to stop thinking for a while. Drugs such as marijuana release into your brain high levels of endorphins, resulting in a massive lapse of coherent thought and concentration. To be sharp for a case today that is exactly how it needed to be.”