The Pearl King

by Sarah Painter

  She went into her bedroom to get another pair of socks, hoping that warm feet would make the rest of her feel less icy. The door to the terrace had a thin curtain that was pulled half across. The slice of the outside world was unappealing. Sleety rain was coming down heavily and Lydia grimaced at the thought of leaving the flat for supplies. Since Charlie had revealed his surveillance, Lydia hadn’t felt the same way about her outdoor space. It had been bad enough that a hit man had attempted to throw her off the roof, but now she had Charlie and his covert cameras. It didn’t matter that she had removed it and checked over the terrace carefully. It felt sullied. Bloody Charlie.

  Paul Fox was on her mind. Having admitted to herself that she wanted to believe him, even after everything that had happened, she knew she had to be smart. Animal charm had always gone a long way in the Paul and Lydia show and she had to make sure he wasn’t playing her. First off, she could check his facts. She counted back the hours from their meeting and searched for flight times to Tokyo out of London. Having narrowed down the list of most-likely flights, she thought about asking Jason whether his hacker skills were up to accessing the airline’s passenger information before realising there was a simpler solution. She made a call to Karen, her old boss in Aberdeen, the woman who had trained her as an investigator. Karen had been in business for over twenty years and had a vast network of useful contacts. For a reasonable fee she could find out most things, and Lydia knew she had helpful friends in every transport sector. You often had to know if someone was doing a flit, especially when a lot of your work involved infidelity, custody battles and acrimonious divorce. One of Lydia’s proudest moments as a trainee had been when she had stopped a man from taking his three small children to Central America during his monthly contact-visit. She could still see the pure relief on the mother’s face.

  In less than an hour, Karen called her back. Paul and Tristan Fox were on the passenger manifest for flight 2102 from Heathrow to Tokyo on Tuesday. They both had the chicken.’

  ‘What about the return journey? Did you manage to find that?’

  ‘Of course,’ Karen said. ‘Just Paul, as you expected. He had the chicken again.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Lydia said. ‘Invoice me.’

  ‘Nae bother, hen,’ Karen said. ‘Anytime.’

  Lydia met Charlie downstairs in The Fork to give her report on Jayne’s Floral Delights. He was in his favourite seat and she slid onto the chair opposite. ‘Shop was dead on Saturday.’ Lydia didn’t know what made her omit her online research, the fancy website with its high-end arrangements, but obeying her instincts was a reflex she hadn’t broken. Besides, it might make Charlie think badly of the business without proper proof.

  ‘All right,’ Charlie said. ‘Check it again next weekend, just to be sure.’

  ‘I have clients I have to get back to, a business to run.’

  Charlie sighed. ‘Do I have to remind you of our agreement?’

  ‘That Pearl fruit shop seems to be doing a good trade,’ Lydia said, keen to move topic. ‘As you would expect.’

  ‘What about it?’ Charlie sounded defensive.

  ‘Just that it’s odd. Right in the heart of Camberwell.’

  ‘High streets are dying, hadn’t you noticed? Some nice little business want to move into Camberwell, we’re not going to block them.’

  ‘We?’

  Charlie frowned. ‘Have you heard of the Camberwell Regeneration Plan? Miles Bunyan has been pushing for it.’

  Lydia shook her head and said ‘no’.

  ‘Part of the deal, which has subsidies and tax breaks to encourage development in this area, involves encouraging small businesses. I can’t go around running people out of Camberwell for being born into a particular Family.’

  Put like that and Lydia was shocked. ‘That’s not what I meant, I’m not trying to keep people out, I just wondered. I didn’t know where we stood with the Pearls these days. As a Family, I mean.’

  Charlie shrugged. ‘Pearls have always been quiet. Useful for supplying you what you need from their nice little stalls and shops, but not too bright.’

  ‘Don’t be prejudiced,’ Lydia said.

  ‘I misspoke,’ Charlie waved a hand. ‘I meant not too powerful. They never bothered to conserve their energy, keep it close. They diluted their power all over London and beyond.’

  ‘Now you definitely sound prejudiced. I heard in biology lessons that nature prefers a wide gene pool. Makes for strong babies. Just look at the Royal Family, we want to watch we don’t end up with weak chins.’

  ‘Biology,’ Charlie smiled indulgently. ‘I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about Family Power. Different rules.’

  Lydia wanted to argue further, but she recognised that it was pointless. Charlie was set in his ways and it would take more than a lively debate to shift him out of them. A lot more.

  Chapter Eight

  A single magpie was sitting on the wall of Uncle Charlie’s house. Lydia greeted it as she entered and it hopped along the path in front of her, as if leading the way. ‘I’ve been here before, you know,’ she told the bird and then felt faintly ridiculous when it flew away.

  Charlie opened the door in a black tracksuit with a white towel around his neck. ‘I didn’t think you meant literal training,’ Lydia said. ‘I’m not dressed for the gym.’ And will never set foot in one, she added silently.

  ‘Come and get a coffee,’ Charlie was striding back through his house, heading to the kitchen. The energy was flowing off him and Lydia realised something; he was excited. The knot in her stomach tightened. This was not going to be an easy conversation. She accepted a small cup of espresso and a bottle of cold water from the fridge. ‘Caffeine and hydration, hot and cold, it’s the best combination to really wake you up. And we need to be fully awake today.’

  ‘Right,’ Lydia wasn’t fully listening as her brain was busy with trying to formulate the right words. ‘I need to talk to you about something,’ she managed.

  ‘Fire away,’ Charlie said. ‘This way.’

  ‘It’s about the business side of things,’ Lydia spoke to his back as she followed Charlie up the stairs. He was showing no signs of pausing for a chat and Lydia had to get this out. ‘I’m not sure I’m a good fit.’

  Charlie didn’t pause on the stairs but he stopped at the top and turned around to face Lydia. He always towered over her, but with the height advantage of the stairs, he was like a mountain. Lydia curbed the urge to shade her eyes as she looked up. ‘You said you were ‘in’. You made a deal.’

  ‘I’m still ‘in’, that’s not the issue,’ Lydia said. ‘I just don’t think I’ve got an aptitude for the business side. And I’ve got my own business to run. I think it’s better left in your capable hands.’

  Charlie’s eyes narrowed. ‘There’s something else.’

  ‘I think you should keep the details of the business side quiet. Don’t involve me. It’s safer if I don’t know the nitty gritty.’

  ‘What do you mean ‘safer’?’

  ‘I’m ‘in’. I would never do anything to harm you or the Family or the business. I need you to trust me when I say it’s better if I don’t know certain things.’ What she didn’t know, she couldn’t pass onto Mr Smith in a moment of weakness. Or through coercion. He was being very gentlemanly at the moment, but who knew how long that would last?

  ‘Have you got back together with that copper? Is that the problem?’

  ‘I’m not with Fleet.’ Lydia swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat. ‘That’s not the point, anyway. I just think it makes sense. If I’m not running the business side, why tell me about it in detail? The fewer people know about our business the better, right? That includes me. Loose lips and all that.’

  Charlie shook his head. ‘This sounds a lot like you going back on your word. I want you in the business. Getting to grips with it at every level. Running the books, everything. I won’t be around forever.’

  ‘Crows will be lining up for the honour. Pi
ck someone.’

  ‘I already have,’ Charlie said, but Lydia could tell he was weakening. Maybe she wasn’t his first choice, after all. Maybe he had just wanted her on side as a sign of loyalty to his big brother or for the look of things. Succession had always been important and she was the rightful next in line. Maybe he just had to be seen to be following the line and would be grateful of a way out of working with her.

  ‘I don’t think it’s where my skills lie,’ Lydia said, truthfully enough.

  ‘Drink up,’ Charlie said. His voice was neutral and he turned away too quickly for Lydia to get a read on his expression. They were on the third floor of his house. Lydia expected a home office, maybe a spare bedroom, instead Charlie opened the door on a large empty space which spanned the entire footprint of the house. There was a single pillar about a third of the way across the space which must have been put in to replace a load-bearing wall when the rooms were knocked through. The floor was oak, the walls white and winter light streamed through the large windows which lined the front and back walls. If she didn’t know Charlie better, she would have said it was a dance studio.

  She walked into the middle and turned slowly, taking it in. This amount of unused space was probably one of the biggest luxuries in London. ‘What do you do in here?’ There was no gym equipment, no mirror, no plants, furniture, or storage. Nothing. She felt a breeze on her cheek and turned her head, looking for the source.

  Charlie was watching her and she stopped. The hairs on the back of her neck lifted and she thought, for a second, that somebody was standing just out of her field of vision. Someone in the corner of her eye. And then they were gone.

  ‘This was where I trained your cousin.’

  Maddie.

  ‘She was making great progress until…’ He stopped.

  Until she had gone off the rails, almost killed a man, crashed a car, run away, hidden with Paul Fox’s help. When Lydia had found her (at Charlie’s request), Jason had had to save Lydia’s life. Then Maddie had invited Lydia to join her in her mad rampaging world, before disappearing. She was the Night Raven in Lydia’s mind. A spirit who visited her dreams and reminded her that the myths of her Family were alive and kicking.

  ‘Why are you showing me this?’

  ‘If you’re not going to get involved in the Family Business, there are other ways you can demonstrate your loyalty. Other ways you can be useful.’ Charlie tilted his head. ‘We all have to play our part, Lyds, you know that.’

  ‘I don’t have any skills,’ Lydia said. ‘Except investigating. I’m quite good at that and getting better all the time. Crow Investigations is at your service.’

  ‘Don’t insult me,’ Charlie said. ‘You are Henry Crow’s daughter. You have our coin. Show me.’

  Lydia felt her coin appear at her fingertips and she folded it into her palm. Not fast enough to evade Charlie’s gaze, though, and he nodded at her closed fist. ‘You’re the rightful heir, don’t you want to find out what that means?’

  For her whole life, Lydia’s parents had told her to stay away from Uncle Charlie, to hide what she could do and that if he so much as sniffed opportunity, he would use her without thinking twice. Given that she felt essentially powerless, her only ability to sense the power in others, it had never seemed like much of an issue. Of course, nothing had seemed like an issue when she was growing up. The Crow Family stories were just that, stories. Her mum and dad had protected her well. Now she had to protect them. She thought fast and said: ‘You know what I can do. You think I can refine that? Learn to read my senses better or have a bigger range? That could be overwhelming in a place like London. If I’m sensing people’s Family power from further away, I’ll get too many at once, they might all just blend together.’

  Charlie shook his head. ‘That’s just the start. Maddie couldn’t lift a paperclip when we began, she was able to drive a car after a while.’

  ‘She was able to crash a car,’ Lydia amended. ‘And I’m not interested in driving with my mind.’

  Charlie spread his hands in a gesture which told her he didn’t really care what she was interested in and said: ‘Why don’t we just get started. Sooner we start, sooner we finish. And if you’re not going to be hands-on with the business administration…’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Close your eyes.’

  Lydia did as she was told. Instantly, she felt vulnerable. She was standing alone in the middle of a vast room. Charlie was near the wall by the door and he was her uncle. She was safe, she told herself, but her body didn’t agree and felt her heart rate kick up.

  ‘You can feel your coin in your hand. Hold your arm out straight and open your hand so that your coin is lying flat on your palm. You’ve flipped your coin a million times, but now you’re going to float it. Just have it lift up from your palm and hold it in the air a few inches above your hand.’

  Lydia obeyed the instruction. She could feel her coin, the slight weight of it and the edges against the shallow cup of her stretched palm. ‘I don’t see-’

  ‘Concentrate,’ Charlie said and his voice brooked no argument.

  Lydia realised that she wasn’t getting out of the room anytime soon unless she showed willing. She scrunched up her forehead to show she was concentrating.

  ‘Picture your coin floating six inches about your hand. Just steady in the air.’

  Lydia didn’t bother to picture anything, she just concentrated on looking like she was trying to do something. She tensed her muscles and scrunched her eyes. After what felt like a decent amount of ‘effort’ she put her arm down and opened her eyes. ‘Sorry-’ The words died. Her coin was hanging in mid-air, directly level with her eye line and an arm-span away. It wasn’t spinning, just sitting in the air perfectly level as if held by an invisible shelf.

  ‘Good,’ Charlie said. His face was flushed and Lydia grabbed her coin, pocketing it. ‘Next, we’ll try a neutral object.’

  ‘I’m tired,’ Lydia said, trying to inject exhaustion into her voice. She let her body slump a little. ‘I feel woozy. Like I’m going to faint.’

  Charlie crossed the room quickly and put a concerned hand on her forehead. ‘You do look a little pale,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll get stronger with practice. It will get easier.’

  All Lydia could think about was getting out of that room and away from Charlie’s house. There was a fizzing in her body, like something was going to explode. She didn’t think she was going to throw up, it didn’t feel like nausea, but it wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility.

  ‘Good work, today,’ Charlie was saying as he followed her from the room and back down the stairs. ‘Get some rest. Get Angel to give you dinner. I’ve told her to feed you.’

  Lydia managed to thank him and get out of the door. There were five magpies on the path and she nodded to acknowledge them, not trusting herself to speak.

  Halfway home, Lydia couldn’t keep speed-walking and she crouched down on the pavement to take a few breaths. She hung her head low, trying to get oxygen back into her system and to stop the ringing in her ears. Her coin was safely back in her pocket, she knew that, but somehow it was in her hand at the same time. And, when she opened her eyes, it was also hanging in the air about six inches from her nose. That wasn’t possible. That wasn’t right. Her coin was part of her, like her thumb. It appeared when she wanted it and disappeared when she didn’t. She could flip it in the air, make it spin a little more slowly. She had never made it hang in the air like that before, it had never occurred to her that such a thing was possible. And now there were three. But that wasn’t right. There was only one, she knew that, as surely as she knew she had two feet. So why could she feel one in her palm and see one in front of her? How was that possible?

  ‘No,’ Lydia said, and the coin in her line of sight disappeared. She straightened up and checked her pocket. Nothing. Just one coin, again, heavy and reassuring in the centre of her palm.

  Chapter Nine

  Waking up alone, starfished a
cross a cold bed in a room that felt as if Jason must be somewhere close, leaching the warmth from the air, Lydia’s head pounded. It took her a moment to orientate herself. She had dreamed of Maddie but, unlike the run of nightmares she had experienced in the past, Maddie was just a distant figure, silently standing at the edge of her dream activities, not interacting with Lydia, not warning her. It was as if Maddie had given up.

  Lydia focused on the almost-empty bottle of whisky which was on the nightstand. She wanted to drink it and, at the same time, registered that this was not a good impulse. The bottle was at her lips and the liquid burning down her throat before she thought any further. Slumped against her pillows, Lydia waited for her head to clear. Booze had always been good at sharpening her up, counter to what most people seemed to experience and, these days, it felt like the only way she could function. All of her senses were screaming that working for Charlie was a bad idea, that meeting Mr Smith was a bad idea, let alone the giant chasm of miserable need which had opened up inside since she had left Fleet. It was too much.

  Enough. Lydia had finished her permitted ten-minute pity-party and now she forced herself up and into the shower. As she scrubbed at her scalp and lathered the shampoo, her mind wandered back over her dreams. She had been somewhere dark and filled with dense foliage. Trees creaked and an owl hooted. It had been a fairy tale landscape that she only half-remembered from childhood stories, filled with dangers she couldn’t quite see. And Maddie. Somewhere in the dark, just off the twisting path. Watching Lydia fuck up from a safe distance.