"A favor? I'll pretend you realize how completely insane that is. Besides, you were asleep when I woke up," Moss said, incredulous.
Imogene shrugged. "Sorry, two glasses of absinthe and—" She shut her eyes and tilted her head.
"How did you find me?"
"Don't worry. Lamb doesn't know I'm here. I was careful."
"It's hard for me to believe anything you say."
"Of course, you don't trust me. Why would you?"
"Well?"
"I wanted to see you privately. I couldn't ask Lamb where you were so I went to see Oliver Taxali. We'd never met, so he didn't connect me with Lamb."
"Oliver told you where I was?" asked Moss.
"Not at first. My father knew Oliver's father years ago. They were both members of the Red Lamprey. That's Oliver's connection with Lamb also." She paused. "Very clever of you, by the way, to focus my attention on the fireplace. Limit my view of the rest of the room. Is he here?"
"Is who here?"
Imogene smiled and then continued as though the question had not been asked. "I knew the Taxali family had a reputation for buying and selling rare books of questionable origin. I thought with the right inducement, like a rare antique book, he might be willing to trade for some information." She leaned forward conspiratorially. "And I was right."
Moss felt drawn into her familiarity, despite his wariness, as if they had just shared a private joke. Curse Oliver. God help him, he would kill the idiot. "Why don't you want Lamb to know you're here?"
"You'll find out soon enough." Her eyes looked toward the door. "Anyway, Oliver liked my offer." She pulled Taxali's business card from inside her glove and turned it so Moss could see the address on the back. "You'll want to visit Judge Seaforth's apartment," she croaked, in a spot-on imitation of Oliver Taxali.
Moss took the card from Imogene. "Oliver should be more discreet," he muttered.
"You look nothing like your portrait in the paper," said Imogene. That ironic smile again. It took Moss a moment to understand what she was referring to. Then it clicked. The newspapers had run his photo for days after the "Brickscold Situation" had been discovered. The mug shots of twenty-three escaped inmates had appeared on the front page. The papers gave the impression of a mass breakout. In fact, a disease had ravaged the prison, killing guards and inmates without prejudice. By the time Moss walked away, there had been nobody in a condition to stop him. In the following weeks, twenty of the inmates had been captured, or killed in the process. By then, the wretched photograph of his younger self, taken during his processing into the prison population, all Adam's apple and protruding ears, had ceased to be news.
Moss's patience was gone. "Is that some kind of veiled threat? What do you want?"
"Oh Moss, I'm teasing you."
Moss dropped the card into the fireplace where it landed with waft of ash. He looked at Imogene, the movement of her lips, the curve of her neck, and the red flush of the skin beneath her collarbone. Her cultivated manner was so at odds with his first impression that he wondered if she had a twin. She unbuttoned her coat. He looked away.
"Do you mind? It's warm in here." Moss hung it on a stand near the door. His hand lingered in its folds feeling the residual heat of her body. He let it go. Back at the fireplace, he stirred the card into the ash with a poker.
"Now that you've found me, are you going to tell me why you are here?"
They heard footsteps. Imogene stood and turned toward the door. "Do you remember me?" Irridis stood on the threshold. The ocelli flew across the room and took up a circular formation above his head.
"Yes," he said. His voice was unwelcoming. A faint sequence of opalescent lights ran beneath the skin on his skull. Moss's gut tightened. It was a tone that did not bode well.
"I hoped you would. It makes this easier," said Imogene. "I didn't know what to expect. We only met once, and for such a short time. But I never forgot it."
"You'd better explain yourself quickly," said Irridis.
Moss remained silent. He needed time to process this new development. Imogene chewed the inside of her cheek and seemed to come to a decision. "Can I show you something first? It might help you understand what I have to say." Irridis looked at Moss, who nodded. Rising, Imogene produced a key from a cord around her wrist. She crouched in front of the case. Moss reached behind his back and closed his hand around the grip of the revolver.
"Slowly," he said.
"Easy, Moss," she said, as she turned the key in the lock. Two doors opened outward. "There we are." Moss let go of the gun.
The interior was divided into small compartments. At the top, a row of miniature books was held in place by a strap. Most were leather-bound and tied with stained ribbons, but some were bundled signatures, or even single sheets of paper, folded and sealed with wax. Under the shelf of books was a row of bottles containing tinctures and specimens suspended in a yellowish medium. The lead-sealed bottles were set into ingenious holes in a shelf, which prevented them from knocking together. Eight small drawers with hand-printed labels lined the bottom of the case. A folio was attached to the inside of the left door with bone clips. It was tied with the same type of ribbon used on the books. It was this bundle that she removed and handed to Irridis.
His expression was unreadable as he pulled the ribbon, releasing four pieces of thick paper. He took them to a desk and arranged them side by side.
"Where did you get these?" Irridis asked. The threat had left his voice. Imogene did not answer, instead she watched as he examined the works. On each sheet was an elaborate ink drawing. Irridis did not touch the paper, but moved his hand as if replicating the artist's strokes. Sections of human anatomy merged with animal and plant forms. There were fungal shapes; others were marine or even prehistoric forms of life. Moss lifted a large magnifying glass from the desk.
"Strange," he said, looking up at Irridis. "The detail continues even under magnification. It seems to go on forever. Who could have had the hand or eyesight for something like this?" He set the magnifier on the table and turned to Imogene. "They look very old."
Imogene looked down. "There was another one. It was stolen from my room in the Cloth Hall. I was stupid. I took them out to look at and fell asleep." Moss watched her profile. "A noise in the room woke me. There was someone else there. I chased them but they got away." Her face had a look that Moss recognized from the tunnel, amused and lethal. "Lucky for them, not so for me. I treasure these drawings, having meditated on them for years."
"Where did you get them?" Irridis turned one of the drawings over, and examined the back.
"When I was a girl, our family home was set on fire. I lost my mother in the blaze. Years later, I returned. There was very little there by that point, just some foundations sticking out of the weeds. I knew of a place where my father used to hide his most secret things. I worked out the location from memory, and a lot of luck. The case was buried near the foundation, where the wine cellar used to be. That's where I dug it up."
"How did you know about the hiding spot if it was his secret?" asked Moss.
"You can't keep secrets from your children," said Imogene.
"What do you know about them?" Irridis said. He returned the drawing to its place among the others.
"I know that they are, as Moss said, old. They were in the bookcase when I found it. I know the bookcase was stolen."
"Why are you showing them to us?" asked Moss.
"I'm coming to that." Imogene turned to Irridis. "I remember, Irridis. Do you? The one time my father brought you to the house. We were banished to the garden while my parents argued. Do you remember what you showed me that day?"
"Yes," he said.
REVELATIONS
At Imogene's request, Moss poured her a glass of Seaforth's whiskey. She took it, holding the tumbler in cupped hands, but did not drink. Moss was wary and stepped away from her. The memory of her standing in the tunnel with the expiring poison bulb was still vivid. She was a dangerous associate of Lamb's.
He would not be lulled. Moss was glad of Irridis's presence, but puzzled by this evident connection. Irridis had not yet answered her question. To break the uncomfortable silence Moss asked Imogene to explain.
"My father didn't have an easy life," said Imogene. "Circumstances led him to become an opportunist, a thief. He stole antiquities. He made secret forays to Nightjar Island and sold what he found in the ruined libraries and museums to underground dealers and collectors here in the city. The Red Lamprey lined up the buyers. They got a generous cut of everything."
"Wait, are we talking about a man named John Machine?" asked Moss. "John is your father?" He watched her body language. He prided himself on his ability to spot a liar, another skill honed in Brickscold. She was composed, but her eye contact was direct. Had John ever mentioned a daughter? Moss knew next to nothing of the life John had led when he was not at the house on the canal.
"That's right," said Imogene. "Whatever else he was, John was resourceful. He found a back door to the island, so to speak. We lived well for a time, but I didn't understand where the money came from until much later. Honestly, at the time, I didn't think about it at all. What child does? Things are as they are." She rested her head on the chair back and closed her eyes for a moment, as if seeing her younger self.
"What happened?" prompted Moss.
She opened her eyes. "Before her death, my mother, Sylvie, confided that for years John had been obsessed with a monastery he'd found in the interior of the island." She circled her palm with her finger as she spoke and then tapped the center. "He'd been a military surveyor during the Purge, and had stumbled across the place during his work. He kept it to himself. There were signs of a massacre at the hands of the military. He reasoned that anyone involved would be more than happy to let the place return to nature."
"I didn't know John was in the military," said Moss.
Imogene nodded. "He was a contracted surveyor. It was a way to stay out of the fighting. The monastery was called Little Eye, but he only found that out later. A few months after the war, he traveled back on his own. The trip nearly killed him, but he found Little Eye again, consulting the maps he'd made earlier. The monastery appeared to have been undisturbed since his first encounter with it. This bookcase was one of the things he brought back from that journey. He knew there was a strong underground market for occult items. The case and its contents were a trove. Lamb later told me that when John got back, he circumvented the Red Lamprey to deal directly with the collectors. When things inevitably became dangerous, he stashed the case."
"Fool," said Irridis, who to this point had remained silent.
"It was a naïve plan, one guaranteed to piss off the Red Lamprey, but there was a worse consequence of his expedition." Imogene stopped and took a deep breath. The rims of her eyes had grown red.
Now we get to it, thought Moss. "Go on."
"Despite appearances, Little Eye was not completely deserted. Someone had survived there."
"How? From what I've read, the Purge was thorough." Even as Moss spoke he felt the hair rising on his arms.
Imogene's laugh was bitter. "If only. On that return expedition, John camped there overnight, sleeping in the open. He was woken in the morning by a little girl." Imogene faced Moss. "It was Memoria, as I'm sure you've already guessed."
"What happened?" he asked, flashing a glance at Irridis.
"He abducted her. There's really nothing else you can call it, though I'm sure he rationalized it as a rescue."
"Despite the fact that she had somehow survived. She must have had help," said Moss, angry.
"He saw what she could do. After that, his concern for her welfare was inextricably linked with how he might benefit."
Moss folded his arms. "And he had to pretend she was his daughter or face difficult questions about where she came from."
"That's right. Of course Sylvie was horrified. She was having none of it, which is how Memoria ended up living with you and your mother."
"I don't know what to say," said Moss. "This all sounds incredible."
"Anyway, Lamb knew that John was cheating the Red Lamprey," said Imogene. "He had John watched. When he learned about Memoria, he knew right away that she was unique and wanted her for himself. It became an obsession."
Imogene sipped the whiskey but the glass clinked against her teeth. She held it out to Moss. He took it and set it on the desk. "After Memoria fell into the ocean, Lamb came to our house with several members of the Red Lamprey. Aside from Lamb, they were all men we knew as well-regarded members of society. They beat John senseless. Lamb demanded the case, which he had heard rumors about. John insisted that it didn't exist, that people had misinterpreted things he had said. Lamb never believed him. All this happened the year before I was born. According to my mother, after that incident, things seemingly went back to normal. John was away a lot but I was well provided for. It was an almost idyllic childhood."
A long silence followed. Moss poured himself a generous glass of whiskey from a crystal decanter.
"But, do you want to know what kind of man Lamb really is?" Imogene's voice had grown hushed, her eyes far away. "Twelve years later, Lamb burned our house to the ground and took me in Memoria's place. It was a delayed punishment for John's lies, his disloyalty and debts. I was forced to live in Lamb's house, supposedly to work off the debt that John owed. Lamb told me that John would be killed, as my mother had been, if I didn't comply. He didn't tell me that John had already vanished. After a while, I knew no other life. I became a daughter of the Red Lamprey. Now, to outward appearances I live a relatively normal life, but I am bound to the Red Lamprey and can be called upon at any moment to do Lamb's bidding." She looked at Moss pointedly.
"I want my freedom. I've come to you because I have no one else and we are all linked, whether we like it or not." Imogene pressed the heels of her hands to her forehead. Her lips pursed and tears rolled down her cheeks. Moss laid a hand on her shoulder but withdrew it when she flinched. "And I want rid of that." She indicated the case. "I don't want any of it. Lamb and his cronies know that it exists and have spent years looking for it. It's been hidden in the apartment he arranged for me in the attic of the Cloth Hall, right under his nose. It must be hidden where it will never be found."
Irridis stood by the window. Moss looked at his feet, deep in thought. Imogene bowed her head for a minute, but then rose and gathered the drawings from the desk. Her face was pale.
"Leave them," Moss said. The air was charged. Although still disturbed by Imogene's role in the meeting with Lamb and what followed, her account had changed his perception of her. It had made him more sympathetic. He strode to the window where Irridis stood beneath a halo of ocelli, watching. "I need to talk to you privately."
Irridis turned away from Moss and addressed Imogene. "There is a bedroom next door. Would you mind giving us a few minutes?"
When the door closed, Moss told Irridis about his encounter with Lamb. The story came around to waking up beside Imogene in the Cloth Hall, and the discovery of the lamprey tattooed on his wrist. Irridis listened to the account without interruption.
"You should have told me about this before," said Irridis.
"What does it mean? Not the tattoo. It's the obviously the emblem of the gang. What does it mean that they've given it to me?"
"The mark indicates that you are under the eye of the Red Lamprey. It is a warning to others. How much do you know about them?"
"Not much. Just stories I picked up in Brickscold."
"The Red Lamprey is a secret criminal society, a brotherhood, with roots that go back to the earliest days of the city. It began with a family called Lamproie that originally came from, interestingly enough, Nightjar Island. They are still at the core of the organization but the membership extends far beyond, to all levels of society. Lamb, the man you met, is, or rather was, one of their most notorious assassins. The tattoo is a warning that you are conducting business on their behalf and therefore fall under the aura of their pr
otection. It is also a death mark. Typically, those who bear the mark are executed when their business is concluded."
"Oh, good, I was worried it was something bad," said Moss. "Imogene said that Lamb didn't know she was coming here. Do you believe her?"
"Do you?" asked Irridis.
"Yes, given what she told us."
"Strange bedfellows," said Irridis.
"Now you need to talk to me," said Moss. "What did she show you in her parents' garden?"
"Wait here," he said. Moss sat in the wingback chair vacated by Imogene. It was still warm from her body. Irridis left the library and walked into the main sitting room. He returned with a folded piece of paper and handed it to Moss.
"What's this?" Moss unfolded it. "I see." He stood up and carried it to the desk and laid it beside the drawings from Imogene's case. It was done in the same style, though much less aged.
"Explain," said Moss. "You had this?"
"I drew it. This is what she was referring to. That day in the garden, I showed her this drawing."
"But these other drawings are ancient. They must have been done decades, even centuries before you were born," said Moss. "You heard what she said. They were found in a monastery."
"Yes, a mystery. I don't understand it either. Years ago when I was very young, the shipwright on the Somnambulist saved me from drowning in the sea off Nightjar Island. I have no memory of my life before the moment when I revived onboard the ship."
"The same man whose house I am going to?" asked Moss.
"Yes. On return to the City of Steps, it was impossible for him to look after me and eventually gave me to another man to square a gambling debt. I have since forgiven him this. The other man promised to see to my needs. I don't remember much of that time," said Irridis. He reached down and picked up the drawing.
"And who was this stranger that showed such largess?"
"You've not guessed?"
"Say it."
"John Machine."
"When was this?"
Necessary Monsters Page 8
