Blood & Baltazar

by Liam Inscoe-Jones

  “Wait, no!” Cedric Baltazar shouted. “You can’t just dump this on me and walk away, Michael. I need your help!”

  “I agree.” The Board Member smirked as he poked his head around the door. “You need all the help you can get.” Then, with one final smile, he slammed the door behind him and the Patriarch was left alone.

  “So…” Josiah mused. “Jessica, Christmas time soon, the winter’s nearly here. Are you excited? I remember that when I was a kid; December 25th was everything. As the nights got long it was all about that one day – two weeks ‘til Christmas, this time next week it will be Christmas…”

  “I don’t like it.” Jessica grumbled, squeezing her cheeks between her wrists.

  “What?” Josiah tutted. “Why?”

  “Mommy and Daddy are always busy and Santa Claus...” She sighed.

  “What about him?”

  The girl patted her pad. “He’s really hard to draw.”

  “Oh like that matters, I can’t bake a sponge cake, there’s plenty of other things I can do.”

  Lylith White watched with surprise as Josiah worked his magic on the young girl they’d stumbled upon. She couldn’t help but wonder if, like his dubious medical license, this was even allowed but his talents at keeping the girl entertained were well tuned it seems. Maybe it was because the enigmatic Josiah Hartt seemed like a big kid himself – he’d certainly make a good Dad someday…

  Josiah dug into his pockets, the child attentive – he was on a roll now. He pulled out a little plastic bag filled with tiny shavings of metal, bronze and gold glistening in the light. “Do you like it?” He asked

  “What is it?” Came Jessica’s reply as she stared at the bag with intrigue.

  “It’s a special thing I found in my pocket.” He muttered. “I call it ‘Neeze.’”

  The girl scratched her head. “What’s neeze?”

  “I don’t know; I didn’t hear anyone sneeze…” he turned wildly to Lylith, pleased with himself. “Did you sneeze?”

  Lylith tried to hide her embarrassment, but as the little girl laughed she couldn’t help but grin. But their laughter was cut short as a loud crack came from the next room, a wooden door slamming into its frame. Jessica Baltazar sighed. “That was suit man, he’ll be gone now. Daddy will be ready.”

  Josiah pulled himself up off the floor. “Will he now? Okay then, we’ll be off. Thanks a lot for your time.” He smiled, pulling Lylith White off the sofa and towards the door. Just before he went he turned back to face her and offered to her a little black box, handing it gently over to the girl who took it in her tiny clutches. “Tell you what Jessica, I’ve got a feeling things might change soon around this old house. It’s not your fault, it’s just what happens. But if things ever get too much and you need some help, just push down that little red button and speak into the box.”

  The girl looked at him with some confusion. “Who will I speak to? A superhero?” She quizzed sincerely as she examined the buttons on the side of the plastic casing.

  “No…” He grinned, eyes wide. “Much better than a superhero Jessica. You’ll get through to me!” Josiah Hartt picked up the little rubber ball off the shelf and threw it to the girl. They waved as she looked back one last time before yanking the handle and walking inside.

  Cedric stroked the file as he sat behind his desk, still not daring to open up the pages. As a door far down the hall began to open his heart leapt in his chest, and in a panic he threw it inside one of his cluttered drawers. He sat still and watched patiently as two figures emerged. “Sir…” the girl called down the hall, walking proudly towards him. “…my name is Lylith White…”

  “And I’m Josiah Hartt.” Her friend shouted, suddenly racing past her and diving towards the Patriarch.

  “Oh, the legend.” Cedric mused, pumping his chest out in an attempt regain his dignity after the mocking he’d just received.

  “You’ve heard of me then, sir?”

  “Of course I have?” The Patriarch shrugged. “Weren’t you the nice lad who came for our rubbish?”

  Josiah laughed, brushing off the comment and seating himself down. Lylith dashed to his side. “Cedric, I’m here because…” He winced. “Because we have reason to believe…No, sorry, I can’t speak to him. Lylith, you tell him.”

  His companion sighed. “Sir, we’re here because Josiah believes a murderer is looking to assassinate you. He’s already killed a man in the village…”

  “What, that old Inspector down by the Mills? It was in the papers, I heard the workers caused quite a riot. But surely this killer isn’t a threat to me?”

  “You should tell the drug dealer who had a little encounter with him that.” Josiah retorted. “He wasn’t too happy let me tell you, infact, he was really cut up about it…” His last word was silenced as he received Lylith’s elbow in his ribs.

  “He seems a very capable killer.” The woman finished.

  “But what evidence do you have?” Cedric quizzed. “I get threats every day.”

  “Josiah and me, we worked it out.” Lylith White replied.

  “Oh, you worked it out did you?” The Patriarch mocked.

  “Well, I mean, Josiah did most of it. He can see things others don’t. He’s very good, well… he’s marvellous.”

  Cedric Baltazar rubbed his hands together. “Well you’ve teased me now, she sells you well Josiah. Go on then, see something for me.”

  Hartt almost blushed for a moment, but soon sank into a contemplative mood, looking around absent mindedly for clues to Baltazar’s secrets. After a few moments of humming and flicking his lapels, Josiah turned his head and looked straight back at him. “What like the vet who put your dog down this morning?”

  The Patriarch paused for a moment; confused and intrigued of course, but determined to hide it. “Ask how I know.” Josiah impatiently commanded.

  “No.”

  Hartt sighed, looking over to Lylith expectantly.

  “How did you know that then?” She asked.

  Josiah smiled at her. “Thanks. Okay, so I knew the Baltazar family had a dog immediately by the hairs on the floor of the carpet when I was speaking to your daughter and the dog basket over there by the bookcase in the corner of the room. A few moments later I realised the poor creature was old and sick, the hairs were all grey but more conclusive were the claw marks on the bookcase itself; like the animal was scratching against it, pining as they do when they’re ill. Of course there’s no sign of the dog, yet that by no means suggests it’s now deceased. More conclusive however was the smear of a glove on the gin bottle on your desk; after all, who else but a doctor or a vet wears gloves indoors? Why was he here though? It becomes rather obvious given the stench of idoform staining your skin when you shook his hand as he left. Your dog is dead. I bet it’s so relieved.”

  Cedric rocked in his seat. “Yes, very good, nice cheap trick to use down the pub.” He gestured towards Lylith. “It obviously impresses the girls.”

  “It’s more than a cheap trick, it lead me here, to you, through a series of attacks. I worked that out, from nothing!” Hartt’s anger was sparked, and suddenly his words were descending into an accusative rant. “It’s a skill greater than any that you will ever possess. Many can pull the trigger on a gun, but at least the soldiers were brave, marching to what they could only presume was their deaths while people like you sat and watched and drank. I know because I was there. These attacks you led in the war, these violations, we must assume that’s why people are looking to kill you now.” He calmed down; accepting at last Baltazar had succeeded in rattling him.

  “Sir, all we need to know is if there’s anything you did that could indicate towards why they would come after you specifically, so we can help deter them, or even console them maybe.” Lylith explained.

  “Quite.” Josiah nodded. “The murderer is located in Ashton Wood, not far from here. You were the chief of many manoeuvres right across the country, were there any Operations that took place near there?”


  Cedric Baltazar glanced down to the brown file tucked behind his desk, and took a deep breath. “You think this threat upon me is real?”

  The pair opposite him nodded sincerely, and reluctantly the Patriarch began to speak. “There was one assignment I was given by my superior, a man called Michael Prince. He told me the village of Ashton was a prime target for attack; the river Coon ran right through it, a border between battlefields and the village was the location of the only bridge for miles. There wasn’t much there; a factory, a few hotels, an ale house – but its strategic position meant the buildings had been rid of their original inhabitants by the Revolutionists long before and instead replaced by their travelling platoons. It was an overnight advantage that needed to be destroyed.

  With the help of Lieutenant Prince we arranged an assault, hid a hundred or so trebuchets and horses over the peak and watched the men arrive. On November 23rd, when night had fallen, we struck. Every single building was destroyed, almost every Revolutionist soldier or officer wiped out - none of them innocent. It just so happened that night the men were local, very local. Out of all the manoeuvres like that in the war it was the only successful assault operation away from the fighting territories, infact it’s why I was given this post as Patriarch. If people round here are after me that’s why; there weren’t survivors of the attack, but the dead have relatives, and lovers. The strike wasn’t pretty; if someone truly wants me dead they’re looking for revenge for that night.”

  Josiah Hartt watched intently and paused as Cedric stopped. “So that Platoon, those men, they had no idea you were coming. You killed them, in cold blood.” He muttered. “That’s dirty, even for your standards...”

  “It was a successful Operation, do you think they wouldn’t have done the same to us if they’d of had the opportunity?”

  “It’s still murder, in cold blood-”

  “We wanted to destroy the bridge, that was our brief, that was our target. The fact those men were there and caught up in the crossfire was unfortunate, but Ashton was the least occupied that night than it had been in years. We spared lives if anything- “

  “Oh, is that how you sleep at night?”

  “They’re the enemy, Josiah - we have no sympathies for them. That’s why I’m in this seat, because I was clever enough to think of it first. We won, I was better…”

  “Oh, you are so far down the list.” Hartt muttered. “There are better, more decent human beings filling every house in every town across the land. As for your power, it means nothing. I could destroy your empire in a day, in an afternoon.”

  “I’ve spent the past few hours listening to people who’ve claimed that.”

  “And maybe they’re right. I don’t think you’re quite as important as you think.” They held their gaze for a moment before Josiah stood from his seat and turned his back, taking Lylith White by the hand. “Come on, we’re leaving.” He said gruffly. “We’ve got what we need.”

  In silence they strolled down the hall, Josiah allowing Lylith to exit first. But before her foot was even through the door he pushed her away and slammed it shut, turning the lock before she tried to get back.

  Hartt curved on his heel, turning back towards the desk and sprinting down the hall, racing towards the Patriarch: closer and closer and closer until at a few inches, just as the Patriarch began to waver – he stopped. Cedric Baltazar rose to face him and with a grimace one stood before the other.

  “Josiah Hartt, who’d of thought it?” The Patriarch beamed.

  “Why pretend you didn’t know who I was?” Hartt snapped.

  “You seem to be doing the same for me.”

  “I have my reasons…”

  “So do I! Your little friend is in love with you, it’s obvious and if I told her what I knew… I’m fed up with breaking hearts, and yet here you are, the boy who ran, breaking hers. I’m presuming that’s why you shoved her out the door? Although that was rather mean don’t you think? I wonder if she’ll be waiting when you come back…” He traced his eyes down the length of Josiah’s body with a satisfied smirk twisting his lips.

  “She shouldn’t be part of this; it’s nothing to do with her.” Hartt replied, guilt suddenly bubbling on his brow.

  “You brought her into it!” Cedric laughed. “Still, I can’t believe I’m meeting you at last, all those stories… But they said you were clever, if that were true, why are you still stuck here?”

  Josiah’s face dropped “You must know… Are they still looking for me?” Hartt asked hopefully.

  “Yes. But I won’t give you away; after all, you’re the one hunting down the men want me dead. I think for now you’re a necessary evil.”

  “And I will save you from them. Although one foot out of line and remember, I could destroy you just as easily.”

  “You’re not a threat to me.” The Patriarch muttered. “Powerful men have cowered beneath me; urchins like you mean nothing at all.”

  Josiah ignored his words and turned away. As Hartt strolled down the hall once more he called back a final time; “Just a few minutes Baltazar, that’s all I need. A short speech, a raised glass, and all this; it will be over.”

  Cedric smiled to himself and then when he looked up - Josiah Hartt was gone. The Patriarch breathed slowly for a moment and then leapt into action, hurrying over to his desk and digging out the file. Then, with it flapping in his hand, he ran across to his favourite picture and swung it aside. Dug into the wall behind it was a safe, and in a few moments he’d cranked the dial and pulled it open. He folded the report up and slipped it inside. With one final glance and a sigh, he pushed the bulkhead shut.

  A Plan is Formed

  “S

  o what did you say in there?” Lylith White asked, slipping her shoes and socks off her feet and laying back on the sofa. Night had dropped outside, a deep purple haze falling over the heath as the clouds churned like soup across the looming darkness. But inside the tower there was no hint of the shadows and the cold bruising outside, with firelights scattered around the room, lighting up the walls and the ceiling with a thick honey glow, dancing and wafting from side to side as Josiah Hartt hurried busily past them.

  “I didn’t want you to hear what was being said of course.” He shouted from behind one of the far off divides. “I was giving him quite a telling off, it would have been tremendously embarrassing for all of us.” He carried on around the room, as ever checking his various instruments and apparatus for new readings, making notes on his arm and fingers, marks Lylith had previously assumed was just dirt. On his way round he ran a bow across a violin, shook his head and carried on, smiling at her as she gave him a bemused squint.

  “Okay then - why did you have to stick your boot up my thigh and shove me out the door like that? I’ve got bruises.”

  His head suddenly poked out from the stairway, something she found odd considering he was just a moment ago talking to her from the other side of the building. “It was a matter of urgency Lylith; I didn’t want to sacrifice the ambience of dread. And I really rather shamed him. I don’t want to set you a bad example.”

  “Riiight…” She groaned, stretching back against the peeling leather. “Because I’m how old? I didn’t realise you cared.” She closed her eyes and pondered the scene as Josiah rattled about upstairs. “I can’t say he looked all that bothered when you walked back out. Infact he was smiling.”

  “That was no smile. Definitely not a smile. Putting on a brave face maybe? I think he was about to cry. Never mind, he’s a big boy, I’m sure he’ll cope.” He swung around a lampshade and dived towards her, adding to the stains on the carpet as the drinks in his hand started splashing in the air. “There you go.” He beamed as he handed her a half full jug. The liquid inside looked delicious, a pale, murky brown with bubbles of cream popping on the surface. She sniffed it suspiciously. “What’s this?” She asked.

  “It’s cream tea.” He replied. “Tea with cream in.” He shuffled on the couch next to her and clutched t
he glass tight, the gentle heat tingling on his skin.

  “Okay…” She posed. “…so what’s the twist? Heroine instead of sugar, Cocaine in the milk…?”

  “No, no twist.” Josiah said. “I’ve decide to stop putting overdoses of hallucinogenics in the drinks of my friends. It’s so bourgeois.”

  “Good.” Lylith grinned; gulping down the soup like liquid before realising the cream inside had turned to string and was now floating in clumps on her tongue. She gagged slightly, squeezing out a sentence as she tried to empty the drink back into the cup. “Do you think he was telling the truth? The Patriarch I mean…”

  “I don’t see why he wouldn’t.” Josiah said. “He’s not a nice man - that attack on Ashton village he told us about was terrible, but like he said, we are the ones protecting him. We’re the ones who are tracking these people down. Cedric’s clever enough, he knows if he doesn’t tell us everything this time next week he could be lying in a coffin in the gardens of the Hall.”

  “Then I think you were harsh on him. I know he came across a little… full of himself. But then so did you, lording it over, pumping the testosterone, we owe him a lot. He’s made a few good decisions in his time”

  “Such as?”

  “All kinds of things.”

  “Go on.”

  “Speed bumps. For the horses.”

  “Those things were a disaster. Especially on carnival day. The high street was a blood bath. Kids had nightmares for weeks...”

  “The toasters then-”

  “Toasters?”

  “You know, those souped up ones people went crazy for a few years back. Made from a single sheet of metal they were. I mean those things were lethal.” She was lost in the story now. “My Aunty Josephine got electrocuted by one when she was still knocking around… though then again, she was trying to recover a piece of jammed bread with a chisel and a hack saw.”

  “Toasters? He banned those? I’ve still got mine.” He remarked coyly.