Blood & Baltazar

by Liam Inscoe-Jones

  “Drugs.” Lylith answered.

  “Exactly. I don’t know if his wife found out, obviously something went wrong when she left him and filed for a divorce. The papers arrived the yesterday morning. Mr Acrimony must have been desperate for another hit to lift his spirits, so he contacted our infamous Iceman and arranged a meeting. His piggy bank was dry though, his wife had taken everything. He’d missed the payments too many times and so here we are, with him lying in a hospital bed in a very deep sleep.”

  “Well the connection is obvious.” Rosin commented as Josiah finished. “One’s a Local Representative and another worked in a governmental office; whatever this is it must be political.”

  “Yes… but what about the numbers, what is their plan?” Josiah teased.

  “Four and three, like you said, if this is a countdown then they must be following a pattern…” Albert mused aloud. He raised an excited hand as he came to his conclusion. “Ranks!” He exclaimed. “They’re rising up the ranks, from Representatives to Members of the Reform, moving one by one up the system. That must be it.”

  “Exactly.” Josiah Hartt beamed. “You’re in the wrong profession Mr Myrian. You should be a… well… me.”

  “But if those two men were numbers four and three, then who are two and one?” Lylith asked. Suddenly her hand snapped out, clutching Hartts arm. “Josiah! The Patriarch! These killings are rising up the ranks then there can only be one number one. He’s the Head of Affairs, he has control over the valleys military, he can change laws. We need to warn Cedric Baltazar!”

  Before she could finish her sentence they were running, tripping over their feet and toes, racing through the dusty reception. Lylith heaved the door open, dragging Hartt behind her. She led the way as they tumbled down the hill; rocks slipping away beneath their feet and sending them tearing up the mosses. In seconds they slammed breathless into the floor of the valley.

  “Hold on…” Josiah panted as they stopped for a moment to catch their breath. “Who’s Cedric Baltazar?”

  Lucy Baltazar tossed a ball to her expectant daughter and removed the kettle from its rack above the fire. She could feel the metal casing shake as she lifted it, water bubbling and frothing and surging inside. She winced slightly as her finger caught the rim of the container and she dropped it sharply onto the cabinet.

  “Are you okay Mummy?” Jessica Baltazar asked urgently.

  “Yes, fine.” Lucy muttered, sucking her finger gently. “Just a little bit sore Poppet. Mummy’s always alright though isn’t she?” The Patriarch’s wife leant over again and poured inside a handful of tiny brown beans and a great scoop of sugar. Then she walked proudly across to the bookcase and opened up a copy of Wuthering Heights; the dust inside sprinkling like castor sugar across the tired carpet.

  Jessica sighed impatiently, placing the small rubber ball aside and picking up her paper pad and small, leaking pen. The figures were rough and the features wonky, but the little girl etched her strokes as if the forming work were a masterpiece.

  Lucy shook the book gently against her palm. A tiny square fell from the pages, the size of a tea bag and the shape of a sweet wrapper. She attached the square to the base of the mug and pressed against it until it was stuck fast. She then found a slip of paper the exact same size as the base of the cup and stuck it over the top of the little brown square. As if she’d done nothing out of the ordinary at all, the valley’s First Lady proceeded to fill up the mug with thick, boiling water and briskly stirred it with a spoon. Lucy cast her daughter a slight smile, then picked up the drink and headed into the room next door.

  Her husband, Cedric, sat waiting on the desk a few dozen metres ahead of her. His eyes glanced towards her as he heard the door creak but then flickered away again, as if annoyed the drink had taken his wife quite as long as it had.

  The room Lucy trotted so delicately across was one of the largest in the valley, stretching on for a length which she would consider a fair walk from end to end. Each wall was lavishly decorated with old furniture, varnished until it was gleaming and littered with golden ornaments and memorabilia from centuries past. Great marble archways ran along the carved ceiling like the ribs of a vixen above him. The walls were painted a deep cherry red and, stencilled onto the paint; shapes echoed the dark ferns that tainted the hillside upon which the mansion was perched.

  Patriarch Baltazar’s desk was placed at the very end of the hall and contained all the items in the room that held any significance to Cedric at all. It was irony in itself that most his prized possessions were all intended to murder him and people like him. Amongst his gun and many other items he owned a grenade hidden inside a copy of Wuthering Heights and a poisoned dart tucked within a snuff box inside one of the cabinets many drawers.

  “The photographer’s coming in tomorrow for the family portrait.” The first lady stated as she finally reached him, placing the tray down on the wood. “Me, you and Jessica, I spoke to him this morning, we discussed some locations. He thought out in the hall, or perhaps on the moor?”

  “Of course, on the moor, in December...” Cedric grimaced. “Oh wait, anything to make me suffer eh Jessica? I don’t know; you and he decide. I don’t care. I’m sure your choice will be excellent sweetheart.”

  “Thank you.” Mrs Baltazar smiled, pushing the piping mug close to him, just inches away from his lips. “And you’re quite right darling; these are family matters. Why should they concern you? Tell me, what are your plans for today?”

  “Just the usual Reform meetings, sub-valley assessments, control and maintenance of the whole regions funding; as equally important to your…fluff, I’m sure.”

  “Absolutely…” Lucy humoured, flicking through and casually disassembling the files she knew her husband would soon have to put back in their place. Suddenly her ears pricked up. “Oh Cedric!” She gasped. “I completely forgot. The Liberal Boards meeting is today is it not? What, your entire status rests on the outcome? Let’s hope it falls in your favour otherwise you’ll be in serious trouble. All this wealth comes off the back of your position here. Should you lose it, I shudder to think what would happen to you? Me?” She pouted. “Your daughter?”

  “Jessica will be fine darling.” Patriarch Baltazar muttered. “The board will undoubtedly decide in our favour and normal state affairs will be resumed. Even if the worse came to the worse and the final idea was sanctioned, what with such a superb board and supporting wife behind me, the seat is bound to remain mine…”

  “Quite right too.” A cold voice rang from across the hall. The couple’s heads turned to find waiting for them a few metres back Thomas Taser. The man was tall and gangly, weedy legs bent backwards against the wall. Greasy hair was polished across the man’s many wrinkles, scoring deeply into what was still a young man’s face. His meek body was held together by a tightly bucked grey uniform, tied like a strait jacket around his docile limbs, tucked at the ends of his trousers into a pair of well-polished military boots. He trotted forward, ploughing through the silence with the slamming of his heavy heels against the carpet.

  Lucy Baltazar smiled, picking herself up out of her seat. “Well… I’ll leave you two to it. Big boys stuff eh?” She smiled at Thomas. He replied with a quick “Yes.” and placed himself opposite Cedric. It seemed clear to him Mr Taser had no idea Lucy was joking, infact, he was unsure if his advisor had ever had a sense of humour at all. Those creases on his face certainly weren’t laugh lines. Lucy politely excused herself and Cedric Baltazar leant keenly forward. “So?” He asked excitedly.

  “The board have made their final decision.” Thomas mused.

  “And…” Cedric snapped impatiently. He was greeted only with a pause as Thomas flicked through the papers. “Come on Taser; you don’t actually need to pause for dramatic effect, I need to know…Spit it out!”

  Thomas Taser shuffled. He was a man of strict discipline and authority, but anybody with a higher title than him made him quake in his boots. “The vote was conclusive; the emergenc
y protocols are long since out of date and have been dismissed. This county is a democracy once more, and from now on, sir, if you are to rule the valley then your name must be voted for by the people within it.” and then, “I’m sorry.”

  Patriarch Baltazar leant back in his chair and sighed; running his long, thick hands slowly through his hair. Thomas Taser watched in silence for a moment as thoughts ran through Cedric’s head; an empire just waiting to crumble around him. Then there was Lucy, whispering in his mind, laughing and teasing and mocking him. But he shook his head and straightened himself again. “We need a plan.”

  “That’s more like it sir.” Thomas gave his best attempt at a smile. “Strategies must be laid if we are to retain our positions. But we have no need for concern, the men and women of the valley are more than aware of your status. Who else could offer what you have for so many years?”

  “You can’t know that.” Cedric snapped. “I won’t lose this place Thomas. This is everything, it’s all I have left. We need someone to go down into the towns; Mugollen, Pollock, Stonemoore and find out what people want so we can ensure they get it…”

  “No sir, that not how it’s done.” Thomas Taser spat on his hands and ran them through it hair, giving the aged fibres slickness in the light. He leant forward, as if uttering a deep and dirty secret. “That’s not how it’s done. I’ve seen it before, in democracies returning across the land. You don’t give people everything they want. You speak to them and tell them what they desire, tell them what makes them happy and give them that instead.”

  Cedric Baltazar backed away and placed a contemplative finger across his lips. Without speaking, he nodded and confirmed their plans. “What about the board; they said there would be some sort of specialist advisor available for the Patriarch should they go ahead with the plans. Is that still happening?”

  “Yes.” The advisor nodded, straightening himself as sharp as a knife edge. “His name is Michael Prince…”

  “What?” Patriarch Baltazar spluttered. “Why wasn’t I warned it was him?”

  “I didn’t realise,” Thomas stammered. “I don’… is there a problem sir?”

  “Yes there’s a problem!” Cedric exclaimed, leaping from his feet and slamming his hand against the oak. “He can’t be allowed to come here; if he sets one foot inside this office then that’s it for me. I’ll be finished! Contact the board, tell them to send someone else, tell them not to send anybody…!”

  “But it’s too late…” Thomas spluttered. “He’s already here.”

  An Eight-Legged Dilemma

  J osiah Hartt threw his overcoat across the sofa and leapt over the first floor of the creaking tower. Lylith followed behind him, pressing against the make-shift doorway until it clumsily fell into place. She watched as her companion leapt around the various sections, reading gauges and mixing different substances at every stop. As he disappeared from view she traced his path through sound, following various bubbles and squeaks and a rather peculiar scratching which precluded a moments enraged cursing from Josiah. Within minutes though his inspection was complete and he poked his out from behind one of the divides.

  “All done.” He beamed. “Bit of trouble with a cuckoo-clock I’ve been working on for a while now, but I managed to lock her away at last. Where were we?”

  Lylith White sighed and walked further into the room. “I thought we were headed for Stone Hall, to warn the Patriarch that someone is to be planning to take his life, but it seems your cuckoo-clock was rather more important.”

  “Aaah, who cares about warning him?” Josiah exclaimed.

  “What?” Lylith spluttered, her heart sinking as her faithful Josiah showed his first signs of faltering. He clearly picked up on her shock and quickly corrected himself. “What I mean is; why should we waste time warning him when we should be ensuring he has nothing to have to be warned about!”

  “You don’t want to go do you?” She sighed.

  “I just don’t like the sound of the man. I’ve met people like him before; Officers with privileges, they made my life hell. I’ll save him from a band of angry assassins but I’ll go to hell and back to avoid meeting the guy...” With that he was off, working his way across the streams of clutter that pooled onto the floor around them. Lylith called after him. “But he needs to be prepared for what’s coming; ready to take arms!”

  Josiah produced a loud snort from the other side of a wall. “Arms! Who needs the hassle? I took arms once; shot myself in the leg, had an entire platoon take me to hospital. All because of a stupid gun. It gave the manufactures quite a lot of publicity in the end, infact there was boost in their profits, the general who owned it made a fortune …” He mumbled. “But that’s neither here nor there. The most important thing is that me and you Lylith, we can sort this out without all these tools for murder, because our greatest weapons,” he appeared once again, tapping vigorously on his temple. “are up here. Knowledge is power, and power is everything. If our guns are our minds then these are the bullets;” He picked up a couple of hardbacks off a crooked shelf behind him and tossed them to her, picking up another for himself. “Books! Sure a good dictionary is great for whacking someone round the head in a fight, but what’s important is inside. Everything you ever need can be found in a book, and I should know, I’ve written a good few of them. Get reading Lylith White, and that’s all the arsenal we’ll need.”

  “But what am I looking for?” She asked, leafing through the pages. Inside she found phenomenal stretches of text, sprawled out across the sheets like massive black stains, but amongst the words were pictures, the subject of which she recognised instantly. Spiders, etched in graphic detail, thin marks representing the finest hairs on the back on the legs; great back arches jauntily jutting from the creature’s torso until sharply twisting and lurching inwards. Every one of the animals was drawn with a grimace across its face, sharp pincers protruding from gnarled charcoal skulls, only serving to hide the beady black eyes which sat in its sockets, leering from the pages.

  “But why?” Lylith asked, finally drawing her eyes from the book, “This is about the Repo Glacialis, am I right? You already know about them though don’t you, you told me yourself. We don’t need to learn anymore, the drugs thing was bad but relatively harmless, nobody was getting killed. Meanwhile murders are going after the Patriarch…!”

  “Come on Lylith, think…” Josiah moaned, not looking up as he flicked the pages of a book between his fingers and tossed it aside, only to replace it with another. “…The murderer in question thinks he is covering his tracks and delaying the investigation by using Iceman’s drop off points as a cover. As far as he knows we think right now Matthew McCoy is just frozen while the real killer murders his way up four levels of government.

  The crucial moment though was the second set of prints at Robert Acrimony’s attack. Perhaps it was by coincidence that a man at the level that was at the first of Matthew’s killer’s list was struck down by a different criminal, but he seems to think with Robert Acrimony in hospital his work has been done for him, all he had to do was visit the scene and plant his little note to get his point across. The Repo Glacialis plot became a perfect cover for his work; to set up for his next attack on the Inspector and make us believe it was still Iceman doing the dirty work, buying him time to get to the Patriarch. Why he never killed Mr Acrimony as well is beyond me, though maybe it doesn’t matter because he has left us with a final gaping gap in his plan. The scene of the murder of Matthew McCoy was almost an exact replica of the scene at the drop off point, and on the outskirts of the woods. Infact it was enacted to such a pinpoint detail of which only I could fathom meaning there was only one person who knew the traits of that scene as well as I…”

  “Iceman.” Lylith White realised aloud.

  “Mmm…” Josiah nodded. “So whoever the murderer is, he must have had contact with the dealer in order for him to replicate the scene in such an intricate manner. Whether the killer bullied him to tell or asked him politel
y; as long Iceman saw his face or heard his voice then I can track down that man and stop him.”

  “And that’s why we’re looking for spiders?” Lylith theorised.

  “Exactly. The one piece of information this Iceman has given us about himself; his little pet arachnids. And the Repo Glacialis aren’t any common or garden spider either; they come from half the way around the world: great swathes of tropical forests and sweltering sunlight, not a damp little village where it’s raining half the year and snowing the rest. We use these books to learn every detail about the spiders and deduce what would be needed to keep them alive. There must be something there which is unique enough to a place like this that would require a specialist supplier. Then we track that supplier down and snatch a customer list; using that to locate our mystery dealer.”

  “That’s clever.” Lylith nodded appreciatively.

  “That’s simple.” He smiled back at her before loudly turning the page and ushering her quiet. Lylith White gave a quick resentful grunt before picking up another hardback off the floor and flipping the hard shell open. To her dismay she found just a blank sheet where she expected to see a contents page, and reluctantly she flipped the next leaf over and scanned the text in the book, looking anxiously for the name of the elusive spider hidden amongst the slew of words. She found after a few minutes the book was infact titled ‘Using Arachnids in Modern Cookery.’ She threw the book aside, trying to hide her disgust as she picked up another.