Stache and Belly, seeing that he could not run very fast, decided to make a game of it. They walked along after him, shouting, “Here, mutie, mutie, mutie. I got somethin’ for ya.”
He reached the door of the church but it was locked.
Donald communicated with Leader, sending an image.
Donald –> Leader: [Image] Is this who we are supposed to follow, Quasifuckingmodo?
Leader –> Donald: I did not get details, but if he came out of the house that’s him. Follow him and report back what he does. Make sure no one harms him.
Donald –> Leader: Got it.
Donald –> Lewis: Bitch.
Quasi appeared to be having a grand old time handing out flyers and chatting to people, until he bumped into a couple of bully boys who appeared to recognize him and who did not appear to wish him well. His panicked facial expression as he stumbled away confirmed that they were not friendly. They pursued him in a leisurely manner.
Donald and Lew followed Quasi’s pursuers, a bald guy with a mustache and his buddy, a slob with a massive beer belly poking out from under his too-small T-shirt. As soon as they followed Quasimodo around the corner of some old church and were obscured from the view of most of the bystanders on the street, Don and Lew struck.
They hit them hard and fast. The bully boys did not even have a chance to squeak before their vertebrae snapped with no more sound than that of a dead branch being trod upon in a forest. A quick, painless death — what a waste.
As Donald slung Mr. Mustache over his shoulder, he could see that Quasimodo had finally found a way into the church through a broken side door. The cowardly little shit did not even look back as he slammed the door behind him. Quasimodo did not realize how lucky he was; if he had seen them they would have been forced to take precautions, surveillance detail or no surveillance detail. Avoiding exposure took precedence over any side assignments that they may take.
Don and Lew found another way into the church and hid out until dark with the fresh corpses of the bullies. They would wait for darkness before trekking to the bridge to dispose of the bodies in the firth. No one would be able to see them at night.
It was a shame that they had to neutralize the bully boys quickly; it would have been interesting, or at the very least mildly diverting, to interrogate them. Leader would also have wanted to know why the bully boys had wanted to harm the target. Surely she would understand that they had no choice but to act swiftly.
Surely.
Maybe?
Don and Lew sat silently in the church and waited for the sun to set.
Hours later he came to his senses, sitting on a pew in the ancient church, not sure how he got in, or why Stache and Belly were not with him pounding the feces out of him.
He was ashamed, running from a couple of pathetic bullies, like the school boy picked on by a prefect. He knew that he had no choice, but that did not make it any easier to accept his cowardice. If only he had not been crippled, if he had not been broken, he would have laughed at their threats and kicked their heads in if they pressed him. Or so he told himself.
One day he would get it all back. One day.
He tilted his head back and closed his eyes.
He must have fallen asleep again, as he woke to the sound of the fireworks. During the Festival there was a Tattoo at the Castle each night. The Tattoo was a display of outmoded military prowess involving the few Calvary left in the armed forces. The end of the Tattoo was marked by fireworks.
The light from the fireworks shone through the stained glass and lit up the statue of Christ suspended in agony over the altar. The figure looked alternately a sickly green or bathed in blood from the wounds from his thorny crown depending on the color of the particular firework that illuminated the scene.
He jerked upright.
A crown of thorns.
That was the answer. He needed a crown of thorns.
St. Andrews, Scotland, 1994
Gone. All gone.
Finn could feel tears of frustration welling in his eyes. He took a deep breath, he would not cry. He had been so close.
When he got up that morning, he had not been able to find his bag. This was not particularly unusual. It could have been buried under some clothes, or in the kitchen or living room, or in the hallway. After half an hour of searching, he had decided to check the Union to see if he had left it there.
As he stepped out of the flat he could smell some smoke in the air and recalled the sound of sirens earlier that morning. He ignored the smoke and hurried across the street to the Union building. There was more activity than normal just inside the entrance for that time of day.
A longhair, wearing a blue jumper with “Security” written on it in yellow letters, was sitting behind a counter just inside the door. Most of the Union Security were longhairs or ex-longhairs, the latter forced to shear their locks to increase their chances of scoring a pre-graduation job offer. Jonni sometimes called them Aslans, as they seemed to lose more than hair when they sold out and got a haircut. It was as if some inner dignity had been shorn from them with their tresses.
The longhair was checking student IDs, making sure no Townies managed to sneak in. When Finn’s turn came he asked the longhair, “Do you have a lost and found?”
“Upstairs in the office,” the longhair replied.
Finn quickly walked through the double doors and made his way up to the office. He could hear people talking about a fire, but he was too focused on finding his bag to stop and ask.
He needed his bag it had the discs containing his actual analysis, not the garbage he stored on the University servers. If he could not get it back, he could try to retrieve a copy of his research from temp storage on the last computer he has been working on in the IT lab in the Bute Building. It would be difficult and not a sure thing, but he was up to the challenge.
He entered the office and asked the woman behind the counter for the lost and found. She passed him a small plastic bin and he rummaged through it. Nothing, there were just a couple of hats, a pair of broken sunglasses, a glove, a single sock and a blue and white striped scarf.
As he passed the bin back he said to the woman, “I heard something about a fire. Was anyone hurt?”
“Ock, did ya nae you hear. The Bute Building caught fire. They think it was arson. Isnae that terrible?” She trailed off, as Finn had already run out the door. She could hear his footsteps pound down the hallway to the stairs.
The Bute Building was a charred shell. Yellow police tape kept back a small group of curious onlookers made up of students with a few pensioners sprinkled into the mix.
Finn noticed Diana amongst the crowd. She looked upset.
“Diana, what happened? Was anyone hurt?”
“Oh, Finn, you haven’t heard? Proctor and Dawson …” she trailed off.
“What about them, are they okay?”
She sniffled. She did not look at him as she responded, “No, no they aren’t. It seems that they were both there early this morning when the fire broke out –”
“Diana. Focus. What happened to them?”
“Dawson’s dead and Proctor, they say that he’s burnt, badly.”
Finn was stunned. His mind went blank. “I’ll go see him.”
“They took him to the hospital.”
“Thanks, Diana.” He looked around. “I hate asking, but did you hear anything about the IT lab? Did it survive?”
She turned to look at him and narrowed her eyes. “You’re a heartless bastard, Finn Alexander. People were hurt.” She looked away from him then relented. “Everything in the building is gone, nothing survived. Even the servers were destroyed.”
He would need to start over.
The aroma of smoke accompanied Leader as she entered the lair with a bag slung over one shoulder.
The coven had been waiting in the cavern for most of a week. With only one victim to feed on in that time they were getting antsy. Leader had forbidden them to hunt. Too many victims would draw unw
anted attention to their presence. Actually, they were more than antsy, they were pissed off.
Leader ran her hand over her bristly blonde crew cut and looked around.
Leader: I have had a vision; we need to remain here for a few more days. Charlie, dump the body up the coast.
She could feel their antagonism radiate from them like heat from a bonfire.
She reached into her bag and pulled out a handful of prescription bottles and threw them into the center of the cave.
Leader: These should keep you occupied for a few days.
She turned her bag over and shook out more meds, and a few floppy discs tumbled out of the bag as well. One of the advantages of breaking into a University medical building was the opportunity to stock up on some essentials.
Their antagonism, banked by the offering of drugs, retreated into a coal-like glow.
Leader: I will allow you to feed when we leave and not before.
The antagonism faded completely and they started to paw through the green and orange plastic cylinders.
“Did you go to see Proctor?” asked Bex. Bex, Finn and Aye were playing pool in the Union. It was midweek and mid-afternoon so the Union was fairly empty.
“Yeah, I went into the hospital yesterday. I don’t think I will be able to go again … it was horrible.”
“So, he was burned badly?” Bex did not want to ask but she couldn’t help herself.
“Very badly. They say he had second and third degree burns over ninety percent of his body. And his face.” He stopped he looked at the Street Fighter game in the corner of the room as he composed himself. He swallowed. “His, ah, face was unrecognizable, the left side anyway. They tell me that he lost his left eye to the fire and they had to amputate his left hand and leg. They said that if he survives, and that is a big if, he may never walk again.” He looked back to the table. “Is it my turn?”
“Aye,” said Aye.
He walked around the table assessing the shots available to him.
“I thought it must have been rough, you look like shite.”
“Cheers.” He took a shot and missed an easy pot.
“You know I don’t mean it like that. I’m worried about you.” She walked over and put her hand on his shoulder.
“I know, sorry. I feel like shi.. feces too. After seeing Proctor I came home and decided to have an early night. I wanted to be fresh before I started trying to rebuild my research. I feel that I need to finish it, as a kind of tribute to Proctor, you know what I mean?”
“Aye,” said Aye.
“Anyway, I fell asleep right away, but then kept waking up from these terrible nightmares.”
Bex lined up a shot and sank a ball in the middle pocket; she was four balls ahead of him. She straightened. “Nightmares are understandable. You’ve been under a lot or stress. Losing your mentor, your research.”
“Yeah, I guess. It seems more than that. Seeing Proctor like that, it triggered memories that I didn’t think I had.” He watched Bex circle the table, hunting for her next shot. “You see, in my nightmares I am in the hospital and it is my father that I see, not Proctor.”
She stopped and looked at him. “Your father? Oh God, he died in a car crash, right?”
“Yeah, I was in the car, but I don’t remember anything about it because I was only about four years old at the time. But from what my grandma told me, the rescue workers got me out of the car just before it burst into flames. Both my mother and father were caught in the fire. My mother died there on the roadside, but my father survived for a couple of days. I’m sure I never visited him in the hospital, but in my nightmares I’m there. Maybe I did visit him, I don’t know.”
“Oh Finn, that’s horrible. I didn’t know. You should have never gone to see Proctor.”
“I felt I had to. I did have to, I owed him that much, but I don’t think I can go back.”
“No, of course not.” She walked over and gave him a hug.
“I probably shouldn’t say this, but if it was me lying there like that, I would probably prefer not to survive.”
“You’re right, you shouldn’t say that.” She made her signature jump shot and potted another of her balls. “You need a break, and Raisin Sunday is this weekend. Let’s get some academic children and have some fun.”
“Um, what?”
“Academic children? You know, Raisin Sunday?” she looked at him quizzically.
“I, uh, never really paid any attention to the Raisin Sunday thing. What is it again?”
“Oh, Finn you’re hopeless. It’s fun and it will distract you, that’s all you need to know for now. I need you to talk to some likely freshers and ask them to be your academic children. Let’s get two boys and two girls.”
“What? Talk to people I don’t already know?”
“Yes, Finn, that is how you make friends.”
“I have friends,” he said. She just looked at him, then Aye and then back to him. “Okay, I will give it a try, but I’ll need a few more Guinness first.”
“Fair enough.”
“So what is an academic child, anyway?”
“Well, freshers need someone older and more responsible to look out for them, so this tradition has developed. Third, fourth year students and postgrads of course, agree to take a couple of first years under their wing and show them the ropes, how to cope with University life.”
“So the first years become…”
“Academic children and we,” she struck a heroic pose, chin up and her fists on her hips, “are the academic parents.”
“And how exactly do we take them under our wing?”
“Why, we get them drunk on Raisin Sunday, of course.”
“Of course.”
“Then on Raisin Monday we wake them up, dress them in costumes and send them to the Quad to get covered in flour and shaving foam.”
“Uh huh. Got it. I think.”
“Look, it’s just a way to get people to mix. Remember? Making friends?” She looked at him expectantly. He nodded uncertainly. She sighed. “And, for God’s sake, don’t tell Jonni. If you do he will turn it into a bacchanalian nightmare.”
“My lips are sealed.” They both looked up at Aye, who mimed a key turning on his lips. He then put said imaginary key in an imaginary top pocket of his T-shirt and patted it twice. They both turned back to the table.
“Your shot,” said Bex.
“I’m shooting red, right, not yellow?” he said as he looked at all the red balls and one yellow on the pool table.
“Aye,” said Aye.
“You?”
Aye looked confused for a second, then shook his head.
Almost, thought Finn, and took his shot.
Life goes on.
The City, Year 7873 in the Reign of Enki II
It was only two hours after dawn and already the day was stifling. The heat radiated from the cobble streets in shimmering waves, making Hael long for the cool marble halls of the Academy.
He was not in the best mood. Bral had pulled him aside after the evening meal last night to talk to him. He had seemed upset, so Hael had pulled him into the Quad to talk. The Quad was off limits to students after dark, but the need for privacy was worth the small risk of getting caught.
It appeared that Samael would not talk to Bral anymore. He had transferred his affections to a boy who was Ten in the year above them and now Samael wanted nothing to do with Bral.
Although Hael had advised his sensitive younger brother that he was better off without the influence of Samael, Bral would hear none of it. Eventually he had stormed off, vowing to win back the affections of Samael.
Hael did not hold out much hope that the situation would be resolved amicably, but he hoped that Bral did not make a fool of himself before he came to his senses. This type of distraction would not enhance his ranking.
Which brought Hael back to today’s chore — he was supervising an outing for some boys in their second year in the academy.
As Hael was a Fifth
Year, he spent about half of his time training the younger boys. Today’s excursion was to familiarize the boys with the Enemy, the Feral. Of course the boys had all seen the Feral before; they were the main source of manual labor in the City. However, all of the Feral in the city had been cursed with Obedience. They were very different from Feral who had just been shipped in from the Campaigns. The boys needed to realize that they would be fighting cunning, strong adversaries, not timid, cringing slaves. The only place to see uncursed Feral within a ten-day forced march of the City’s Peace Gate was the Market.
The Market sold everything that Host or Guest could buy; fruits and nuts from the orchards surrounding the City, meat from the farms and brought in by hunting parties, salt from the mines and spices from, well, no one really knew where the spices came from. There was wine and beer produced by the City’s vintners and brewers, pots and pans produced by the Ministry of Havoc, who jealously guarded the secret of metal working and, the reason for their outing, slaves.
Slaves taken from the tribute and wild tribes were the cheapest, as they were plentiful, but most of the Host avoided them because they had limited ability to understand mindspeak. Tribesmen were usually used in the farms and mines, where they needed little direction. The Feral slaves were more expensive, but not as costly as Guest slaves. Ferals were adept at mindspeech; they had no verbal language of their own, but their mental strength meant only the most basic of Curses would take hold with them, usually a general Curse of Obedience. Guest slaves cost the most, as they were relatively rare and so the wealthy prized them — as they did all rare things. Guest slaves were made up of the criminal element of the City that managed to get themselves caught by the City Guard.
Hael looked over his shoulder and saw Ilba. He lifted his chin slightly and raised his eyebrows, asking if all was well. Ilba nodded. It would have been easier if he and Ilba used mindspeech, but that was forbidden to Academics. Ferals were very sensitive and powerful mind talkers, and on the field of battle Ferals could dampen the ability of Host and Guest from communicating mentally. The strong verbal skills of the Guest circumvented this advantage. This was one of the many reasons that the Army was made up almost entirely of Guest, except for a few senior Host officers and the Healers. Part of the training at the Academy was to break Guest reliance on mindspeech, forcing them to speak.
Ancient Evil (The First Genocide Book 1) Page 14
