Blood & Baltazar

by Liam Inscoe-Jones

  For a moment she caught a glimpse of Josiah Hartt, her companion keenly tearing through the sheets, pupils darting across the page, his head lurching from side to side as line by line he digested the words inside. As she watched him, long hair aloof, a question occurred to her. “Why leave a note? Why plant one at all if it was only going to reveal all this as part of a grander plan?”

  Josiah looked casually from his book. “People who aim to assassinate major political players like Cedric Baltazar,” He said the name like a riddle, “they have a reason to do so, a grudge to settle, views they don’t agree with and so they aim to destroy the man and leave a mark, to show others like him there are forces out there to be reckoned with, or to tell history that they got their payback in the end. To not leave any sign that this was all part of a greater plan means that all there is left is anonymity.”

  “Then why hide it away under the ground where no one can see it; why not leave them on top of the corpses or send out a memo…”

  “It has to be something subtle, untraceable...” Hartt explained. “Little hidden scraps of paper are ideal; the message is made but only after the event or at least when it’s too late to stop it. They want to leave a warning to the future but not in a way that could endanger their plot. It’s not like in the movies when they blurt out their plans to a crowd; and that is why it all has to be hidden in the soil. The killer knew that eventually the Detectors would find out Matthew McCoy was dead and so the scene would be scrutinised to find out how, where the note would be found. Then they would check for other beneath the places where Robert Acrimony and Roseanne Price were discovered; and only after all that time would they have the clues. By then numbers ‘two’ and ‘one’ might have already been murdered. Luckily me and you came along and found the whole clever ploy out a little prematurely but the point still stands; the person or people behind these notes are certainly a worthy match for your Patriarch…”

  “Then why don’t you want to see him?” She asked, sharply drawing his attention. “You’ve spent all this time, dancing around, telling me these stories about guns and showing off yet you claim you don’t want to see him because it would waste time? That can’t be why; this is just you isn’t it? Some sort of grudge against Patriarchs, or just this one?”

  Josiah Hartt looked up from the book, his lips twisted. “They’re not Patriarchs, that’s just some fancy name given to them after the war was over. They’re soldiers.” He folded up the book and placed it on the carpet, the glint in his eyes now faded. “Do you know where they came from Lylith; your illustrious leaders, the men you hail as legends?”

  “No; should I?”

  “Oh everyone should. When the war began the leaders of the valleys were taken away, hidden in cages and caverns; it was meant to be protection but they just became the targets of the men who used to serve them. Those old heads of state were honourable people, voted in by their citizens because they were trained for the job, they were there to justly deliver a fair system to the people. Yet one by one during the war those old leaders were hunted down and killed, or broken; that was why the war descended so badly out of control. So who were we left with? The lieutenants, the officers, the brigadiers. They had power over the population through rank for so long people started to believe they could justly rule us outside of war as well. When the Revolutionists fell that was exactly what happened. There were no rulers left, so we just carried on the way we had for over a dozen years; letting the soldiers run things. Nobody asked for them, nobody elected them; without anyone thinking twice they took control over us, our politics and our money – they just stuck around. They were allowed to do that Lylith, after some of the things I saw them do, the men who fought saw them do. Luckily for the Patriarchs most of their soldiers are dead, the truth can’t be known. And the truth of what our leaders made us do back then - it would make your skin crawl.”

  “What sort of things?” Lylith asked quietly.

  “Does it matter, Lylith!?” Josiah snapped, turning his gaze and grabbing another book. The room fell silent. The air went still. Lylith White looked away.

  It had been several hours since Josiah‘s outburst. His abrasive words had taken Lylith by surprise and ever since she’d sat recovering and wondering why the fun and excitable Josiah had suddenly turned on her that way. She didn’t know if he was angry with her still, if he would stay angry with her and ask her to leave as soon as she’d lost her usefulness. She’d only asked a question after all; clearly she’d touched a nerve, but why speak to her like that? It was like he’d spent so long on his own he’d forgotten about people and how to behave around them.

  However her panicked thoughts were put to rest as he leapt from his chair and waved the book in the air, speaking to her as if all was forgotten. Like nothing had happened at all. “Look Lylith!” He exclaimed, beaming a wide grin again. “I knew I’d read it somewhere, I just had to be sure – it’s the Praedam Bestiae...”

  “The what sorry?” Lylith spluttered, unsure whether to slap him or cheer.

  He pointed excitedly at the page in his book. “The Praedam Bestaie; it means ‘Prey of Beasts’. They’re tiny little things, like fly larvae only a tiny bit vicious and a hell of a lot more nutrious. Oooh, that rhymes... “ He shook his head. “They might just be a tasty snack; but the Repo Glacialis needs them to survive. I can’t imagine they stock them in the local market; you’ve never even heard of them.”

  “So thats it!” Lylith White exclaimed, breaking a smile through her worried lips. “If we can find out who keeps the Praedem Bestaie then we can find out exactly who Iceman is...”

  “Thats the plan” Joisah nodded, reaching over to his coat and shoving his arms through the holes inside out. “Off we trot Lylith; we’ve got a wagon to catch.”

  ‘Aleds Amazing Arachnids’ was not a particularily appealing shop. Like the rest on the street it was a simple wooden construction, a yellow paint lining the wood and spilling onto the thin glass panes that were stiched between the frames. The buildings seemed to move with the wind, creaking as they buckled under themsleves over time; a steep jetty masking the pathway in shadow. The door of the shop had been broken from its hinges but replaced crookedly with a couple of bolts. Above the entrance hung a sign, whistling as it swung. The name of the shop was handwritten over what looked like an old black board, accompanied by a rather gruesome image of a spider pinning down and feeding on a tiny, squirming grub.

  “Thanks alot Dougal!” Joisah Hartt called as he yanked Lylith White off the hay truck, sending the driver galloping off on the great shire horse that had pulled their carridge along. Lylith dusted herself off and turned to face the rundown shop. She was about to comment, but found Joisah Hartt had already slipped inside. Pulling her coat tight, she hurried after him.

  Aled threw himself over the counter. He lurched forward and tried to place a cup on top of the spider as it scuttled across the desk. He missed by a few millimetres and the critter headed straight for him. He slammed his fist against the desk as it ran, but to no avail. He dived beneath the woodwork and found a net, which he promptly used to scoop the spider up.

  “Gotcha.” He grinned. But the critter struggled free and leapt through the spaces in the stiching, landing on Aled’s eye and scutlling up his forehead.

  The shopkeeper was taken by such suprise he instinctively yanked the net inwards against his bulging stomach and the fragile stick snapped in two. He swore and yelped as the arachnid burrowed itself in his hair and dangled from his fringe. Aled slammed his head against the desk, shouting as pain shot across his bruised scalp. The creature stayed put.

  He scrambled around the junk, finding a jar and a pair of sissors as the spider spun a net amongst his greasy locks. At last Aled pulled the scissors up and snipped at his long fringe, letting the critter drop, stuck firmly on a lock of his hair, into the jam jar.

  Aled tightened the lid breathlessly, hands on his hips and panting against the wood of his counter. It was only as he looked up that h
e realised Joisah and Lylith had been stood there watching him for a good few minutes. In an attempt to retain his dignity he got off the desk, brushed his now lopsided fringe across his left eye and muttered a quiet ‘Hello’.

  “Ummm...Yes.” Joisah nodded. “I need your help.” He muttered, keen to escape the akward emptiness that had filled the room. As Aled composed himself Hartt cast his glance away from the podgy man and around the shop in which they stood. The floorboards creaked benath their feet, gnarled wood bristling with hair as the grain wore slowly away. The walls were painted a deep, swamp green; not helping to illuminate the already dingy room. The creatures themselves were many in number, each invidually contained in bottles and jars and cages, creeping slowly and spinning their webs from every which right angle they could attach themselves. Some spiders were huge, larger than any Lylith knew could exist.

  Their great hairy limbs protruded from the cracks in their sticky torsos and arced in every direction, a deadly embrace from which it would be hard to escape. Some boxes were even hung from the ceiling, squarking and waining through the drifting specs of dust.

  “Ah, yes” Aled grinned, walking round the desk to face them. “This is my marvellous shop. An emporium if you like.” He pointed his finger to the different creatures. “They’re a friendly bunch really; the Europeans are the nicest, we have some lovely Norweigen Spurts which smell rather perfumey, a gift for your lady friend perhaps? There’s a nice Spanish breed my mate sold me for a few notes the other day...Ooh, except for these blighters though,” he pointed towards the spider he’d just captured in the jar. “Nasty little buggers; the Scottish Stickel. Fast as a bolt and they have one nasty bite too, I had things sprouting from my behind that looked like...well...sprouts.”

  “Thats lovely.” Lylith White humoured, tapping lightly the sleeve of Aleds woolen coat. “But we actually came here to see if you stock Praedam Bestaie?”

  “I’m sorry?” Aled murmured.

  “Little grubs.” Josiah smiled. “For the spiders.”

  “Ah yes, we do them, do a nice line in them.” Aled nodded vigourously, leaping around the counter and whispering to something beneath it. “Here we are, come on lass, give them a show.” He took a grubby aquarium out from below the desk and placed it down on the table, emptying the creepy Scottish Stickel from its prison. It soon caught sight of the mass of Praedam Bestaie squirming on the bottom of the aquarium and dived forward.

  The larvae themselves were tiny in size, little maggot like creatures but plump and fat, the most useless things squirming amongst eachother in a thick, sticky slime. Their skin was such a sickly shade of yellow Lylith didn’t feel sorry in the slightest as the spider caught one in its jaws. The arachnid continued to pull the grub inwards, sitting on and cocooning it with its great hairy legs. The arachnid began to shake vigourously, quaking and lurching from side to side with the sound of nuzzling and squealing driving the other larvae away. When the spider was done it stood again - all that remained of the creature was a tiny sticky puddle on the glass. Aled gave a quick smile before scooping up the spider and sealing it tightly in the jar. “Oh God.” Lylith coughed. “That was disgusting.”

  “I think its amazing.” Aled murmured.

  “Oh absolutely, it’s beautiful!” Joisah grinned.

  “Do you really think so?” The shopkeeper asked, taken aback.

  “Definately. Really good show.” Josiah nodded, running out of words. “But thats not why we’re here. Tell me Aled, does this shop have any kind of customer records perchance? I mean, I know you need a licence to sell these sorts of things, do you have to keep records of who you sell them to aswell?”

  “Yes, we do, ready for Mr McCoys inspection.”

  “Could we look at them do you think?” Lylith asked.

  “Oh no, I couldn’t do that, even for a nice lady like you. Completely confidential, for my eyes only.” Aled tapped his nose and winked.

  “Are you sure about that?” Lylith pouted gently.

  “Yes...” The shopkeeper flushed. “One hundered percent.”

  “How about for five notes?” Joisah quizzed.

  “I don’t think I could do that...”

  “What about ten?” Hartt suggested.

  Aled pondered for a moment, but then vigourly shook his head. Lylith White looked at her companion expectently, but Josiah merely pulled out his empty pockets. Lylith turned away, resoundly giving up and making a beeline for the door. To her suprise Josiah followed, but only for a moment as he twisted back round and waved. “See you around Aled, I hope your mother gets better soon...” He beamed before making to leave.

  “Wait a moment mister...” Aled called them back. “I never mentioned me mum... Did I?”

  “No...” Josiah tutted, leaning against the wall. “No you didn’t.”

  “Then how could you know that?” He asked. “Am I being stalked? Again?”

  “No, nothing like that.” Hartt smiled, suddenly leaping into an on-the-spot rant like a pro. “I merely noted that you went to the hospital recently because of the coat that you still haven’t had time to take off and of course the strong smell of disenfectant. Then I saw the two snags in your breast pocket there, like you’ve had to pin a badge to it that you’ve never worn before and now is absent; an identification card for visitors perhaps? Lastly your fingernails are dirty while your hands are spotlessly clean, showing you’ve been forced to wash them during the day when normally they’d be shamefully grubby.” Embarrassed, Aled dug his hands into his pockets. Josiah continued. “How did I know you were paying someone a visit? Well the carrier bag on your desk has some purple liquid fermenting in the bottom; grape juice maybe? Who gives grapes as a present unless the recipient is sick? Looks like there were no bins by your mothers bedside; hence the reason you brought it back with you. As for how I can tell who it was you were visiting – the opened envelope in your pocket with ‘Dear Mum’ scrawled on the top was a big clue. Thats how I knew. Easy as punch.” He grinned. “Now, can we look at your customer files?”

  Aled stammered for a moment, his mouth had been dropping since he’d begun but only as Josiahs words caught up in his head did it finally hit the floor. “Yes....” He coughed, laughing to himself in wonder, “Yes you can. How could you not sir?” Josiah winked at Lylith and she rolled her eyes as Aled dived behind the counter to the sound of his stubby hands rummaging through piles of papers. “That was some awesome skills man!” The shopkeeper enthused. “Me and a few mates go drinking on a Monday evening. How do you feel about coming along...”

  “Erm… not Mondays Aled no, thats not my cup of tea, not my thing at all that...” Josiah squirmed. “Nice to have a little appreaciation for once though.” He was cut short as Aled leapt up from beneath the desk with a scruffy sheet of paper in his hand. He presented it to Lylith and Hartt.

  “There are two people who’ve purchased Praedam Thingies in the past three days.” Aled announced, eyes on the list. “One of them was kind Mrs Pettigrew who’s cat seems to have taken quite a fancy to them, or there’s this man; John Tyler, funny little fellow that one, came asking about milking a Repo Glacialis, thats a very rare breed is that...”

  “Oh we know…” Josiah beamed.

  “Then that’s him, the Iceman, we’ve got him!” Lylith exclaimed, clicking her fingers and snatching the list, reading the address beside John Tylers name aloud; “Number One, Costello Mount, Pollock. That must be him, the dealer!”

  Josiah smiled. “Thank you Aled, for everything...” He paused for a moment, looking thoughtfully at the cages around him. He began slowly: “Do you know how I worked out you used to play with dolls Aled?” The shopkeeper’s face dropped. Josiah crept closer, whispering in the shopkeeprs ear. “I’ll tell you in return for a couple of those Scottish Stickels.”

  Aled nodded reluctantly before deciding to pull out a jam jar from beneath the desk. As Josiah Hartt smiled Aled reached out for the cage and let out a little wimper.

  “How exactly did you kno
w about his dolls?” Lylith White asked as they walked away from the shop and watched with disgusted fascination as the two great spiders squirmed inside the aquarium Josiah clutched between his arms.

  “Ah, I couldn’t tell you that,” Hartt tapped his nose. “Sworn to confidentiality you see. Especially since he started to beg.”

  It had taken them nearly twenty minutes to get the spider back into the glass box, some of which was spent cutting off the other half of poor Aleds fringe. But still Hartt walked down the road with an expression of pride on his face. “And what exactly do you plan to do with a pair of vicious arachnids? Lylith quizzed.

  “I’m going to care for them and milk them. Then teach them how to paint.”

  “I don’t know whether your joking.” She admitted.

  Josiah prodded a finger into his own cheek and asked; “Does this look like my joking face?”

  “I honestly never knew you had one.”

  Josiah snorted then turned back to the road. “Number One Costello Mount Lylith. We’d better get moving - Mr Iceman has visitors.”

  Costello Mount was hidden far behind the treetops, with long thin branches hanging like curtains across the face of the house. They swayed in the breeze, like wind chimes whistling as a bitter draft washed them like waves. It seemed Number One was the only one, a fragile white structure stripped to its wooden bones as the bleached plaster slowy cracked and crumbled away. Four tiny windows were boarded up, allowing just the tiniest glimpse into the cluttered darkness inside. The moss and damp grew from the earth and up onto the walls, spreading like a virus through woodwork to doorways; a green fungus ingesting the house bit by bit. Behind a steep cliff face sloped, with jagged rocks jutting from the granite wall and deep cracks running like tributaries through the stone. In the chaos of the scene before them Joisah and Lylith saw why it was a perfect hideaway for a drug dealer as bashful as the enigmatic Iceman. The building was practically invisible.