Etched in Bone

by Anne Bishop

  Surprised, Monty turned toward his partner. “Why? I thought you and Michael were riding your bicycles along the Courtyard roads. Did you have a problem with the Wolfgard who are guests here?”

  “Not with them, no. I’m not an Intuit, but I am a cop. Michael and I both have a feeling that there are other guests in the Courtyard right now, guests no one mentions—at least not to any of us.”

  Elders. Even the word made Monty shiver. Gods above and below, had they returned to the Courtyard?

  Monty’s mobile phone rang. “Montgomery.” He listened for a minute, then hung up. “That was the captain. He and I are expected at the mayor’s office in thirty minutes.”

  “Trouble?” Kowalski asked.

  “Only the type and degree are in question.” After a moment, Monty added quietly, “Your idea of adding what we can to the communal pot is a good one. It’s better for everyone if it doesn’t look like we expect the Wolfgard to hunt for us. Better yet if we bring what meat we can to the table.”

  Stopped at a red light, Kowalski looked at Monty and nodded.

  They didn’t need the words. There had been no need to fill out a DLU form lately, or check the cairn where keys and wallets might be left when nothing else remained of a missing person. But if the terra indigene were squeezed out of eating their usual prey, they would go hunting outside the Courtyard for a different kind of meat.

  • • •

  Jimmy sat at a table in the Stag and Hare, eating a handful of chicken wings and nursing a beer as he eavesdropped on the men in a nearby booth.

  “Price of everything is going up,” one man complained. “The only thing staying the same is the paycheck.”

  “Price is going up, and the quantity is going down,” his companion said. He lifted half his sandwich, then dropped it on the plate, looking disgusted. “I bought this same lunch special last week, and the sandwich had twice the meat as this one.”

  “Know what you mean. I went to the Saucy Plate yesterday. Piece of lasagna smaller than my hand, a few greens and a slice of tomato as the salad, one roll, and one fucking pat of butter. One. Charged me ten dollars. And a second roll with butter is now an extra item.”

  “Mayor says he’s working with the governor to keep the lines of transportation open within the Northeast.”

  “We need the lines open to the rest of the regions. That’s what we need.”

  “They’re open for those who have the money to grease the right palms. Bet the mayor and the governor aren’t feeding their kids watery soup made out of cheap cuts of meat.”

  “Bet the fucking Others aren’t going hungry either.”

  A moment of uneasy silence. Then the men focused on their meals.

  Jimmy looked at the chicken bones on his plate. Didn’t even begin to fill the hole in his belly. And one beer didn’t relax him the way mellow weed did—if he could find a source here in Lakeside. The freaks might growl about anyone enjoying a bit of weed on their property, but CJ wouldn’t let the freaks toss him out for a bit of weed, not when it meant tossing Sandee and the kids out too. With Mama looking on, Lieutenant Crispin James Montgomery would smooth things over, and the brats knew how to play sentimental suckers like Mama and their uncle CJ.

  Finding a source of weed would have to wait. Right now, he needed to scout around the Courtyard a little bit and see if he could turn men bitching about food into a business opportunity. Dropping enough money on the table to cover the bill, Jimmy headed for the door.

  As he walked out of the Stag and Hare, he realized the blond-haired man who had been sitting at the bar, also nursing a beer, had been watching him in the mirror behind the bar the whole time.

  • • •

  The meeting at the mayor’s office included Acting Mayor Walter Chen, Police Commissioner Raymond Alvarez, and ITF Agent Greg O’Sullivan, as well as Monty and Captain Burke.

  “I received a phone call from Governor Hannigan this morning,” Chen said. “Based on the news reports, it sounds like we have some serious shortages of certain foods, and Commissioner Alvarez tells me the increase in break-ins that target butcher shops and small neighborhood grocery stores seems to reflect that. But it’s my opinion, and the governor agrees, that the terra indigene have not curtailed the transport of food to such a degree that food cannot be purchased. Could shops be attempting to create ‘luxury items’ as a way to increase prices? Your thoughts?”

  Everyone looked at O’Sullivan, then at Burke, but it was Alvarez who answered. “I sent men to every human farm that supplies food to Lakeside to find out the status of the family and the farm. The savagery of the storms that slammed into the city didn’t last much beyond the city limits, so the farms dealt with minor damage to crops and buildings, but no loss of life among the people or livestock. The cluster of stores that supply the farms reported running low on things like sugar and coffee, and they’re hoping to get resupplied before they run out, but it’s pretty much business as usual for them. Same with the farmers. They’re still bringing meat, dairy, eggs, and produce to market.”

  “My impression is animals from the Midwest Region are slower to arrive at cities like Shikago, whose meatpacking plants supply much of the meat for the Northeast Region,” Burke said. “Grain is also arriving in smaller quantities, but those things are crossing regional boundaries. Same with the foods grown in the Southeast Region. The farmers may not be exporting as much out of their region because they’re being encouraged to sell within their region first.”

  “One difference in supply and demand may be the number of people who have temporarily swelled the population of Lakeside and other human-controlled cities in the Northeast,” O’Sullivan said. “A lot of people fled from Toland before and after the storm. Some went back to their homes, either permanently or to salvage what they could. Many are looking to find work and settle someplace else. Problem is, there are significantly fewer human-controlled places than there were a month ago. There are two college towns in the Finger Lakes area. Around them are small towns, farms, vineyards and wineries, and wild country. All those places, including the college towns, are semi-isolated now—even more so than they used to be. People can come and go, and goods are delivered to stores. The phones don’t always work beyond the local area—and phone lines that would connect the Finger Lakes area with Toland are brought down with such regularity, the phone company has stopped trying to repair them. But people who have skills that would benefit one of those small towns, or can work at the colleges, would be able to relocate there.” He smiled tightly. “I don’t think there are many people who have tried to resettle in an area controlled by the terra indigene—especially people who aren’t used to such sharp scrutiny.”

  “What about the Others in the Courtyard?” Chen asked. “Are they experiencing shortages?”

  Monty held himself still, but no one else spoke—because they were waiting for him. “Not everything is as plentiful as it was,” he said carefully. “But that’s because the Lakeside Courtyard has allowed some police officers to purchase goods, including food, at their stores. And the tenants in the apartment buildings the Business Association purchased are also permitted to buy food in the Courtyard.”

  “They are trying to feed more people from the same bowl of rice?” Chen said.

  “Yes, sir. That was brought to my attention a short while ago.” The lack of criticism for his failure to spot the potential trouble earlier was its own form of censure. “A suggestion has been made that if the humans want to continue eating in the Courtyard in order to interact with the terra indigene, then all the tenants in the apartments should offer part of their weekly meat ration to be used at the coffee shop or the restaurant in the Market Square. That way the humans are helping the Wolves feed all the residents.”

  “Do you think they’ll agree to this?”

  Monty smiled. “I don’t think the Business Association will argue with the femal
e pack.”

  “Which brings up a point Elliot Wolfgard asked to be addressed.” O’Sullivan took a folded piece of paper out of his inside jacket pocket and handed it to Walter Chen. “To sign up for a ration book, a person needs to go to the government office that is handling the distribution and show a place of residence and employment, as well as provide a list of the people to be included if it’s a ration book for a family—and to show proof so that someone can’t claim to have four children when they really have two.”

  “Or they can receive the books at their place of employment,” Chen said. “For example, all police officers and staff working at the Chestnut Street station will receive their ration books at the station.”

  “The accounting department at each station will be responsible for distribution,” Alvarez said, looking at Burke and Monty.

  O’Sullivan pointed to the paper he’d given to Chen. “These people are employed by the Courtyard. Being human, they’re entitled to receive a ration book. Mr. Wolfgard did not want them penalized for not working for a human employer.”

  “The consul is very thorough,” Chen said with approval. “I’ll personally make sure these names are correctly recorded. They will receive their books at the Courtyard?”

  “Yes. The consulate will distribute the ration books.”

  Chen stared at one name before looking at O’Sullivan.

  “She’s human,” O’Sullivan said quietly. “She’s entitled to rationed goods, same as anyone else.”

  Monty tensed. Elliot had added Meg’s name to a list that would become a record in the mayor’s office?

  “Knowing where she is doesn’t mean being able to reach her,” Burke said so softly his voice barely carried. “Her being included sets a precedent for the other girls. They all face enough challenges without being forced to depend on someone else for food.”

  Monty wasn’t sure how Steve Ferryman listed the five young cassandra sangue who lived in the Intuit village, or Jean, who lived with a Simple Life family. Were Intuits and Simple Life folk even included to receive ration books? Did they need them? Something to ask, but not here and not now.

  “I’ll speak with all the station chiefs and make sure they’re aware that price gouging should be reported,” Alvarez said. “Since people have to register at shops, the owners shouldn’t be allowed to take advantage of what, hopefully, will be a temporary situation.”

  “One last thing, Lieutenant.” Chen picked up a carry bag from the floor beside his chair and set it in front of Monty with a gentle smile. “Rice. It’s a staple food in my neighborhood. I offer it as a small token of goodwill to our neighbors in the Lakeside Courtyard.”

  “I’ll make sure they receive it,” Monty said.

  He, Burke, and O’Sullivan walked out together. O’Sullivan stopped the other men before they reached their cars.

  “Lieutenant, you should know that Elliot Wolfgard included your mother and sister as employees and tenants of the Courtyard. He was precise about saying your brother was neither an employee nor a tenant, that his position in Lakeside was that of a temporary visitor and he couldn’t claim the apartment as a place of residence.”

  “Is Cyrus looking for work or another place to live?” Burke asked.

  Monty shook his head. “As far as I know, his official residence is still listed as somewhere in Toland.”

  “Then you, and he, should be aware that the ration book for him and his family will be issued out of Toland,” O’Sullivan said. “If he wants rationed goods, he’ll have to return to Toland and pick up the ration book in person or provide the proper authorities with his new permanent address.”

  Jimmy wasn’t going to do without. Jimmy never did. Not for long, anyway. But Monty couldn’t see his brother going back to Toland just for a ration book.

  “You need a lift back to the Courtyard?” Burke asked O’Sullivan.

  “No, but thanks. I still have some work to do at the office here. I just wanted a private moment to let you know about Cyrus.”

  “I appreciate that,” Monty said.

  After asking Kowalski to deliver the rice to the Courtyard and continue patrolling, Monty went back to the station with Burke.

  “Do the Others think there are shortages?” Burke asked. “Or do they just enjoy what’s available?”

  “They tend to eat what is in season,” Monty replied. “And the supplies that come in from the earth native farms differ from week to week.”

  “You let me know what the women want to do about sharing the meat ration. I’ll participate.”

  Monty studied his captain. “But you don’t usually eat in the Courtyard.”

  Burke said nothing until they pulled into the station’s lot. “I think I should for a while, don’t you?”

  • • •

  “I’ll take one of those lasagnas,” Jimmy said. He wasn’t sure what kind of freak ran the Market Square butcher shop. Wasn’t one of the Wolves, because the freak had brown feathers in its hair.

  “Four pieces of lasagna is ten dollars. The dish is an extra five. You bring back the dish, we refund the five.” The freak pulled out a ledger, opened it to a flagged page, and made a notation.

  “What’s that?” Jimmy asked.

  The freak didn’t answer. He set aside the ledger and sealed the package of lasagna just as Sierra walked into the shop.

  Jimmy smiled, pleased that she hesitated when she saw him. Bitch should hesitate. Bitch had a lot to make up for.

  “Hey there, Sissy,” he said pleasantly. “Did you have a good day at work?”

  “Yes, I did.” She approached the counter, still watching him, trying to assess his mood. As she should. Then she turned to the freak. “Hi, Boone. I’d like a package of lasagna.”

  Brown eyes stared at her. “That’s four pieces.”

  “My mama is having dinner with me and the girls.”

  More marks on the ledger. Shit. The freaks were keeping tabs on what was bought and how much? Well, he’d just have to figure out how to get around that in order to assure his customers that he could deliver a steady supply and quantity of meat.

  Jimmy slanted a glance at Sissy. Wouldn’t be that hard, with a little help from someone who owed him.

  He waited for her, walked out of the shop with her. Once they were outside, where there was bound to be something watching them, he closed his hand on her carry sack. “Let me carry that for you.”

  “It’s all right,” she said hurriedly. “I can . . .”

  Cross me on this, and you will pay.

  She read the threat in his look and released her hold on the sack. “Thanks, Jimmy.”

  Gods, the bitch even thanked him. Could it get any better?

  They walked through the Market Square’s open area. They walked through the employee parking lot to the wooden door that opened onto what had been the customer parking lot when some of the stores had been open to the general public. And they dashed across Crowfield Avenue to the apartment building.

  The building’s outside door wasn’t locked at this time of day, but the bloodsucker on guard would be nearby. While Sissy opened the door and blocked the view of anyone inside, Jimmy slipped her carry sack into his own. Nothing suspicious about consolidating packages.

  He had his apartment door key in his hand and was turning toward the apartment when she started to reach for her carry sack, then stopped, confused—and a little frightened.

  “Jimmy . . .”

  “That’s all right, Sissy.” His smile and friendly voice were at odds with the look in his eyes. The look was a warning to Sissy. The rest was playing to the unseen audience. Here was the kindly brother bailing out his little sister again—and providing a reason for any sniffling and whining the bitch might do. “You can pay me back whenever you get the money.” Next time he squeezed her for a little cash, the dumb-ass bloodsucker would c
onfirm that she owed him money. How good was that?

  Pleased with himself, Jimmy walked into his apartment and shut the door in Sissy’s face.

  Sandee met him in the kitchen, looking disheveled and pouty. Gods, what had he ever seen in her?

  “Here.” He pulled one of the lasagna dishes out of the carry sack. “Dinner. I get half. You and the brats can have the rest.”

  “That’s not enough,” Sandee whined. Her eyes fixed on the second lasagna when he put it in the fridge. “And you got another one.”

  “That’s business,” he snapped. “If I see so much as a spoonful of it missing, you’ll end up with broken fingers and a few missing teeth.” He rounded on Clarence and Fanny, who stood in the kitchen doorway. “And that goes for you too.”

  “Don’t you be talking to your children like that,” Sandee protested.

  “Who says they’re mine? Got no proof they’re mine.”

  “Jimmy,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears.

  “If you want to do that shit, do it somewhere else,” he snapped. “If you want to eat, get this heated up.”

  Sandee sniffled and brushed at her eyes, then picked up the lasagna, busying herself at the counter. The kids slunk away, which was fine with him. He settled at the kitchen table and watched Sandee struggle to remove the simple clips that held the cover to the dish. He didn’t trust her. She’d gobble up some of the food cold and then try to split the rest.

  That ledger at the butcher shop was going to be a problem. But he’d find a way around it.

  • • •

  Heading to the grocery store in the Market Square to pick up some greens for a salad to go with the lasagna Sierra had picked up for dinner, Twyla saw her daughter dash into the butcher shop, not even having the courtesy to thank Vladimir when he opened the door for her.

  Taught her better manners than that, Twyla thought. Then something about the girl’s movements made her uneasy, and she hurried to the butcher shop and stepped inside.

  “. . . wasn’t paying attention and I tripped over one of the girls’ toys and dumped the lasagna on the floor. Couldn’t salvage any of it.” Sierra gave Boone Hawkgard a brittle smile. “So I need to buy another one.”