“Well, maybe you’re not as bad a Detector as the rest of them…” Josiah muttered reluctantly.
“And you either Mr. Hartt.” Rosin smiled.
“Yes, you notice details, and that’s a trait missing from the traitor in our ranks, it can’t be you, at least I should hope not…”
The Deputy Detector creased his face and placed a hand on the door. “What spy?” Lylith caught a glimpse of Rosin’s actions and turned sharply around, screaming at him, “No, don’t open that!!”
The Detector grasped the handle unsurely, Josiah firmly shook his head; “No, really, don’t.” He murmured, finally tempting Rosin away from the door.
“Why, what is it? What are you two hiding?” Ash quizzed.
“It’s the drug dealer.” Lylith White groaned; the returning thoughts once again like a lump forcing its way up her throat. “He’s in there, and he’s dead. Really, very dead.”
“Murdered?” Deputy Detector Rosin queried.
“I’d presume so, yes.” Hartt nodded. “Probably by the same man who killed Matthew McCoy this morning.”
“And you’re sure he hasn’t just overdosed; he is a drug dealer after all...”
Josiah squirmed, flashes of limbs and blood itching across his thoughts. “Yes, yes I’m pretty sure.” He muttered. Shaking his head violently, he leapt around the sofa, diving towards the Detector and jumping excitedly before him. “So, with John Tyler out of the picture there’s someone very important we need to see. We know the paralysed victims of the Repo Glacialis can still see after they’ve been bitten. The killer came to plant a message beneath Robert Acrimony; he must have seen him - is that why you’re here? Is Robert awake at last? “
“No.” Rosin Ash shuffled awkwardly. “That’s why I’m here - I’m sorry to disappoint you but the chances are; he never will be.”
“What?”
“It seems the Repo Glacialis laid in his bag of drugs was male, whereas the first was female and so the venom in its sting is at a higher, more deadly, concentration. The damage to Mr Acrimony is likely to be was much more considerable than that dealt to Roseanne Price. She recovered relatively quickly Robert’s immune system is struggling to cope with the severity of the poison. He’s like a vegetable, a living cabbage in the hospital and if he wakes up, there’s no way he’ll be of any use to us. If you like; he’s dead too.”
Josiah stumbled backwards, thick hands running through his hair. “But he was the last one; he was all we had…” He whispered almost silently, sharply twisting on his heels, panicking and groaning and thinking desperately. Eventually he stopped, arms falling back into place. “No, no… This is okay… So we’re running out of people: the victim, the attacker, the provider, the killer, the suspect, the informant: they’re all out of the picture and you know who that leaves?” His eyes lit up. “The motive! And the motive is… the Patriarch.” He paused for a moment, his smile fading as he turned to Rosin. “Ummm… Can we borrow a horse?”
Cedric Baltazar paced around the room, heavy black boots grinding with frustration against the fine red stitching of the carpet. Gold frames and dusty paintings just a blur as he marched past them, the white wall flickering with sharp swathes of black. He turned to the table again, looking expectantly towards a silent Thomas Taser, his advisor nervously sitting there, twig like fingers pushing his half moon spectacles even further up his nose. “I can’t say I can help you with that sir, Mr Prince is a very powerful man.”
“Well I know that!” The Patriarch snapped. “The whole bloody world knows that! ‘You can’t help me on that’ Thomas? For Christ’s sake; you’re my advisor. What else are you here for?”
“I never realised his visit would be an issue.” Thomas flustered, almost as panicked now as the man who was making him so, his pale skin hot and sweaty, his eyelids squirming open and shut. “He can’t mean any harm; he’s being sent here to help.”
“Help?” Cedric laughed snidely. “He’s going to be the end of me; he’s going to be the end of both of us. Oh God, he’s the only one who knows…” The cacophony of words was cut short by a sharp rattling on the door, two great oak frames shaking to the touch. The Patriarch stopped dead.
The sharp drum strike on the door was soon accompanied by the rustling of papers and the clipping off footsteps as Thomas folded himself off his seat and made his way across to the doors, all his documents and files pressed to his chest. “Where are you going?” Cedric Baltazar yelled.
“I have other appointments to attend to sir…”
“No, Advisor Taser, no you don’t. Come back here!”
“…I hope your meeting goes well…”
The Patriarch snarled. “You coward; come back!”
“…I wish you every success in the election…”
“Don’t you dare do this. Don’t you dare…!!”
“Don’t you dare what?”
Cedric’s words froze in his mouth, on the very tip of his tongue. He let them out with the slightest of groans as he found himself confronted with Michael Prince. Thomas had long since gone, the weasel like man still scampering down the corridor and replaced instead by a sharp suited, sharp tongued statue. Prince’s silver locks were freshly brushed by the wind but his suit showed no sign of the battering; pressed around his chest as if he’d been born inside it. His face showed not a sign of his age; not a blemish, not a blister, smooth as the day he found himself wearing it, and it had cost a lot of money to keep it that way. He even smelt of power, even oozed machismo. He was in every way the man Cedric Baltazar wasn’t.
A few dozen metres away Lucy fiddled with a dial on her little black box as the speaker fell silent. Just a little crackle occupied the cramped room, soon joined as well by her whispered cursing. Then a tapping rattled from the grill and she realised the silence was not a fault in the machine but the knife edge atmosphere filling the hall as her husband walked across it.
“Sir…” Cedric croaked, not used to addressing someone above his rank and almost fainting as he held out his hand towards Michael Prince. The smooth superior snapped up his quaking palm and shook it firmly, never shifting his gaze from the man standing before him. “It’s been a long time Patriarch.” Michael uttered, speaking, words like a slip of the tongue. “You realise this is just a formality, but there are issues to discuss, certain threats that need eliminating, all procedure.” He curled the corner of his lips as if he was smiling. “Shall we take a seat?”
“Yes, yes…” The Patriarch nodded - half speaking, half choking, as he sat himself down. He brushed his sweaty brow and leant into his seat, watching with nervousness as the Board Member pulled a heap of papers from his brief case and out onto the desk. His quivering lip creased to confusion as Michael lifted seemingly random items off the desk and began examining them.
“I’ve got a few dozen forms I need you to sign...” Prince mumbled, almost absent mindedly. “…There’s a new document to constitute the legislation…” a pen, “…there’s a renewal of the contract for the hall…” a picture frame, “…and the deed handing all your powers as Patriarch of the Valley temporarily over to the Board...”
And at last the mug.
Michael plucked the stained ceramic from the desk and examined the base. He tore away a strip of paper stuck to the bottom and revealed beneath a little brown square. With a grunt he tossed the beaker aside, letting it shatter against the wall, the listening device with it. Then, the instant they were alone, he swept his hand across the desk and brushed away the heap of documents, falling away as he replaced them with his long body, sprawling himself across the desk, snarling in the Patriarchs face: “Officer Baltazar, nice to see you again. It’s been a while. I remember when you were just a little man quaking in his boots. Now look at you - here you are, a slightly bigger man, quaking in his boots.”
Cedric was rather taken aback but still keen to uphold his ego. “Oh good,” He muttered tentatively. “For a moment there I almost thought you’d mellowed.”
“Oh n
ot me -” Prince’s eye’s widened into a mock maniacal grin. “I haven’t got the time, too many insects to squash with my massive-granite-fists…”
Baltazar ignored him. “What was that, then, with the cup?”
“Oh sorry, were you drinking that?” Michael smirked. “There was a bug Cedric, surely even you could realise that. A nasty little short-transmission radio strapped to the base and listening to our every word. Thomas Taser doesn’t have the guts to revolt, and so that means there was one person who had the opportunity or motive to put it there.”
The Patriarch quivered. “Who?”
Michael Prince leant even closer, his hot breath speckling Cedric Baltazar’s cheeks. “Your not-so doting wife. It seems your loving couple act is, well, just that. Then, I suppose you already know all about your beloved, sneaking away, secret rendezvous with her special boys…”
“Shut up!” The Patriarch snapped, a building anger suddenly bolting from his lips. Michael Prince sank back off the desk and into his seat. But he showed no remorse, still quietly laughing behind a less than subtle hand.
“What do you want Mr Prince?” Baltazar groaned, wiping the man’s spittle from his already sweat coated skin.
“Want something Patriarch? No, no I wouldn’t think of it. Well, maybe a little.” He winked. “Do you remember, November the 23rd, fifteen years ago…?” Cedric’s lips went pale as he realised that there was still a file left on the table. He was yet to register Michael hadn’t knocked it off deliberately, but as he eased it across the oak it became bitterly obvious. The Board Member explained. “This is the last trace of what happened that night. The blood on your hands. This is Operation Naked Wrath.”
The hooves of the horse sank into the ground, great metal studs dipping into the mud like it was treacle before pulling back out with a spray of dirt and dust. The white hair on the back of the galloping beast felt like silk between Lylith White’s thighs, clinging on with the heels of her feet and two tight hands clasped around the waist of Josiah Hartt. He screamed into the sky, clapping his hands and cheering, turning back to her and showing off how he could control the creature with both arms high in the air. She’d prefer it if he didn’t.
The creature’s thighs stiffened beneath its soft skin, stretching and contorting into ribbons at it careered between the rocky blockades. The feet landing on the ground sounded like thunder, a boom cracking from the earth and bouncing off the walls of the valley. She eventually dared to lean out from behind the flapping curtain of Josiah’s long coat, braving the wind and the cold and the ferocious speed.
The greenery of the hillside was filled with a vast whiteness as a building peaked out of a flattened plateau. This was Stone Hall. The most dominant features were the three marble posts, each perfectly spherical, stretching for metres from the earth and up into the rim of the ceiling. It was designed to be the height of elegance and sophistication, but the right angles and cold, pale walls of the expansive mansion made it hideously dull. A pristine stain on the wonderfully imperfect flora.
Lylith was so distracted by the hall that she barely noticed as Josiah yanked on the reins and brought the horse to an abrupt halt. In one swift move he swung from the mane and down to the ground, landing firmly with a grunt onto the mud. She nervously attempted the same thing, only to find the creature suddenly pouncing onto its two rear legs and whinnying into the sky. She lost her grip on the saddle, followed by the thigh of its legs before somersaulting into the dirt. Josiah Hartt tried to mask his amusement as he held out a hand to help her up. “Sorry about that. He’s an excitable one.” He shrugged. “Maybe sharing a Spinddle with him before we set off was slightly misjudged.”
“Your tea and sympathy needs a little work…” Lylith choked, the wind knocked from her stomach as embarrassedly she dusted herself off. In an attempt to revive her dignity she affected a determined march towards the Hall leaving Josiah to chase after her. The two figures were quickly dwarfed by the hall and the shadow of the edifice engulfed them and they trotted up the steps.
Behind the trio of pillars was hidden a tiny brown door, overshadowed by the vast pearlescent wall surrounding it. Lylith placed her hand on the wood but Josiah held her back for a moment, slipping a small wallet out of his pocket.
“Ready?” He asked.
“Ready.”
Josiah Hartt smiled at her before stepping forward and kicking the door ajar with his boot. Four guards suddenly swarmed around them, slowly withdrawing their truncheons as they pounced. Unfazed, Hartt flashed them his wallet, “Hey there, I have an appointment.” He beamed.
“Who the hell are you?” One of the men shouted.
“I’m Josiah Hartt; advisor, superior and…” He stumbled for another word, “… Caterer.” He caught a glance of their baffled reactions as he strode forward, taking Lylith White by the hand and dragging her with him. The overworked guards shrugged and retreated as the intruders headed for the nearest corridor.
A dark scarlet light illuminated Lylith and Josiah as the candle holsters gleamed. Each flame hung over a long stretch of a few dozen doors they were faced with - imprinted into the fabric of the walls, each identical, each made of light wood scored with deep brown grain marking out the years. Yet there was only one door Josiah’s eyes set upon, inset into the plaster at the very end of the corridor. With a clear disregard for health and safety he pounced upon it, knocking a few downtrodden workers aside as he pulled Lylith towards panel.
They screeched to a halt inches away from knocking the wood door out of its frame. Josiah wrapped his fingertips around the handle and prepared himself for the big entrance. He grinned and yanked it open, chest extended to the full, coat swinging behind him, but instead of finding a Patriarch bowing down before him he was faced with a tiny room and an equally little girl sitting cross legged on the carpet. She looked from her drawing pad and up at them with an open mouth.
“Surprise…!” Josiah grinned, looking to her friend for help.
“Oh, yes, hello.” Lylith looked down at the girl and stuttered. Josiah sighed.
“Hello. Is he a doctor?” Jessica Baltazar asked her, indicating toward Josiah. Hartt padded forward, crossing his own legs and placing himself in front of her. “Lylith could be a doctor too you know.” Josiah smiled. “But no, neither of us are, especially not me – I’m not allowed, not anymore.” He muttered. “Why would I be a doctor?” She put down her pen and explained vigorously.
“Daddy’s always sending doctors. He said I have an ‘overactive’ imagination.”
“But you’re a little girl.” Lylith smiled “I didn’t know there was such a thing.”
“That’s what Mommy says too, but Daddy sends them anyway.” She sighed.
“That’s no good is it? I think I’ll have a word with your Daddy.” Hartt turned. “Is he anywhere around here?”
“He’s in there.” Jessica pointed a thumb towards another door. “But the strict suit man’s with him.”
“That’s okay, we’ll wait.”
“We will?” Lylith spluttered and Hartt beamed as he pushed her onto a sofa, forcing her to watch nervously as he positioned himself opposite the girl.
Cedric Baltazar placed a pair of hands on the file, feeling his way across the smooth paper. “How does this still exist?” He asked in lingering disbelief.
“It exists, Officer, because those smutty little Inspectors kept a record of every operation. Every truth and every lie documented forever in ink. They were released to the public in time of course, but in places some parts of the tale were…snipped out.” Michael Prince placed his own hand on the folder. “Operation Naked Wrath, it had to be edited for the public consumption because if it was realised in full to the parasites out there, if they heard the truth of what happened beyond those doors, think how their stomachs would churn. Why do you think you are still here today? I did that for you. And you’re safe for now; we have the file, not them. All your dark little secrets are tucked safely away in here.”
C
edric’s head snapped up. “And yours. Because what happened that day was as much your fault as mine. If this folder has in writing the exact details of Operation Naked Wrath then it says what you did too, what you sanctioned, what you ordered, so if you release this information, if you tell people what happened in an attempt to bring me down then you’ll be coming too Michael, I can guarantee that...”
Prince snorted. “I know every bit of that, I’m not a fool! So I don’t want you to lose your title Patriarch. I want you to stay afloat, it’s not like I have a choice because, as much as it makes a little bit of sick flood the back of my throat; you are a powerful man, around here at least.” He tossed the file into his lap. “So you will take this report off my hands, lock it away somewhere nice and safe where no one will ever read the full story again.”
“Why me? You could keep it for yourself!” Baltazar flustered, only to find his superior laughing in his face.
“Me? Have you lost your tiny little mind Officer, I am a military man on a board full of pacifists! It used to be just us, the lieutenants of old, and all these unfavourable things from the past, they would just be swept under the carpet. The things I buried, that even I feel guilty for… Reports on Operations like this one, they’d be kept in our own mansions, hidden in our own safes, and we could still get away with it. But now times are changing, it’s like a hippy convention up there, and the acts of war we kept hidden all those years are looked upon very foully by them now, so I’m sorry; I can’t look after your secrets anymore.”
“You’re doing this for yourself? I have a family Michael…”
“You have a cheating wife and a dyslexic daughter. Your family means nothing.” He looked up and down Cedric, the once proud man sinking further into his seat. “And neither do you. Keep it safe Officer, keep it secret. I will not go down, not now after all I’ve done to get here.” He stood up, pulled his suit together and hurried off towards the door. “Keep well Patriarch.” He grinned.
Blood & Baltazar Page 12
