Chaos Broken

by Rebekah Turner

  Berta rolled her eyes. ‘With those ratty black roots? I don’t think so.’ She leant forward on the counter. ‘You know, I heard of this Runner with white hair, who wasn’t a Witch Hunter. She was something else. She was the sister of the nephilim. That be you?’

  I hesitated, then gave a quick nod. ‘That’d be me. I’m not with the Order. I work with Blackgoat Watch.’

  ‘How about we trade,’ she suggested. ‘I’ll tell you a little something, if you tell me a little something.’

  I stirred my steaming bowl of noodles. ‘If I have the information, it’s yours.’

  ‘You’re going to get us in trouble.’ Benny flapped his hands about, clearly distressed.

  ‘Who are you afraid of?’ I asked him. ‘Why do you think you’ll get in trouble for talking to me?’

  ‘I hear things,’ he wheezed, and rubbed his chest dramatically. ‘I hear many, many things.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ Berta admonished him. ‘Go stir the broth before it burns.’

  Benny turned to the simmering pot, grumbling under his breath

  ‘I’ve been hearing disturbing news,’ Berta said. ‘That the Grigori are intending to force the Council of Ten to pass some new laws. Some laws that don’t exactly benefit our kind.’

  Remembering what Crowhurst said about his time in Thesma, I gave a small nod. ‘That wouldn’t surprise me.’

  ‘Do you know anything?’

  They both stared at me, waiting. I realised whatever I said here and now would be repeated to every customer. This was how a rumour was birthed. I leaned forward, with a conspiratorial look.

  ‘There’s a High Grigori in town,’ I said. ‘He comes from Thesma and goes by the name Laeonder. He’s here because he doesn’t trust how the Harken Grigori have been dealing with their nephilim.’

  ‘No.’ Berta’s eyes widened in shock. ‘Why?’

  I leaned back. ‘There is a nephilim who used to be one of them. A Regulator. One who survived the berserker rage to achieve a state of enlightenment. The gods blessed him with wings the colour of the snow, a testimony to the pureness of his heart. Some Grigori wanted to make peace with him, but others hunted him, wanting to make an example of any nephilim who would dare to dream of freedom.’

  ‘The Grigori without their nephilim? Never happen,’ Benny snorted. ‘And as for peace? Forget it.’

  ‘Not all are Grigori are evil,’ I said, barely able to believe the words had passed my lips. ‘But this new High Grigori? He’ll never accept anything beyond absolute obedience. He’s a dangerous man, with no regard for Harken’s citizens. I heard he once orchestrated a mass murder of otherkin in the city of Thesma.’

  ‘Shocking,’ Berta whispered. ‘Just shocking.’

  ‘You hear anything about martial law being rolled out, you close up shop and go to ground,’ I warned her. ‘Get out of the city. Tell everyone who comes through your store. It could mean their life.’

  Berta made the forked sign of evil, as if trying to ward off the very suggestion of a civil uprising. She muttered quietly with her husband while I ate my noodles, watching the top floor. By the time I was done, a few patrons had settled beside me and were waiting for orders. When I paid, Berta nodded at the window of Roosen’s apartment.

  ‘Your friend is a nice enough fellow. Comes here twice a week. Good customer. But he’s got one of them soft hearts. The kind that swindlers love, and he’s got one up there now. Fellow who thinks he’s a great artist. He’s a bad sort. Your friend should get rid of him, quick.’

  ‘Thanks. Do you know if this great artist is there now?’

  ‘I think so. What are you going to do?’

  I stood and paid for my food. ‘Convince him to move on.’

  After a coach rattled by, I limped across the street and entered the residential building. Climbing a narrow staircase that smelt very unhygienic, I reached the top floor and walked along a dark corridor that smelled of spicy food and pine-scented cleaning products. The last door was locked and when I pressed an ear against it, I heard muffled voices coming from inside. Leaning my cane against the wall, I slipped a hairpin out of my braid and worked the lock as quietly as I could. A door to my left opened, spilling light into the dim hallway, and I froze. A woman stared at me, backlit face full of suspicion. I pressed a finger against my lips and she frowned. My breath caught, thinking she was about to start shouting. But she just closed the door, leaving me in darkness. I turned back to the lock and within moments, it clicked open. Pushing the door, I slipped inside Roosen’s home.

  The entry space was tiny and opened directly into a dark living room that smelled of oil paints and turpentine. In the shadows, half-finished canvases leaned against the walls and writing materials were strewn over armchairs.

  Light spilled from the kitchen, along with rough voices. I moved forward, until I could see a group of men drinking and playing cards around the table. Gripping my cane, I stepped into the light.

  ‘Everybody get out,’ I barked.

  Heads snapped my way and brows furrowed.

  ‘Who are you?’ One man asked. He was a handsome man, with a dimple in his chin and well-groomed hair. I took a bet this was Gamber. He put down his cards and glared at me, carefully plucked eyebrows twitching.

  ‘How did you get into my home?’ he demanded.

  ‘Roosen gave me a key,’ I told him.

  His face flushed. ‘He would never do that. He would have checked with me first.’

  My eyes roamed over his friends. ‘You gentlemen have to leave.’

  Gamber laughed. ‘Did that fat fuck hire you to throw me out? How do you suppose he got the balls to do that?’

  ‘Not my department to wonder about his balls,’ I said. ‘And now, it’s not your concern either.’

  Gamber’s friends looked at each other, like they couldn’t decide what to do. Figuring I’d help them decide, I pulled the dagger from my bra and pitched it at the table. The blade dug deep, leather-wrapped hilt vibrating.

  ‘Is that supposed to impress me?’ Gamber asked.

  I felt like telling him yes, just because I had hit my target for once. Gamber’s friends hastily got to their feet and inched nervously by me, hands raised.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Gamber yelled after them, then he glared at me, looking distinctly unimpressed. ‘You think you can frighten me with your cheap tricks?’ He shifted his head so I could see a plait tucked behind his ear, entwined with black thread, indicating he was a darkcraft practitioner. He turned back to me with a smirk. ‘You think you can take me?’ he sneered.

  ‘I’m pretty damned sure I could.’

  He sneered. ‘I could turn you into a toad, if I wanted to.’

  ‘Wouldn’t be the worst thing that’s happened to me.’ I leaned against my cane. ‘But you know, I’m not so bad myself at casting any more. I’m what you’d call a late bloomer. Kind of took a while for me to make sure my spells didn’t miscast.’

  ‘Miscast?’ Gamber laughed. ‘Are you really that bad?’

  ‘No. I was handicapped by a charm that hid who I was. Made me afraid to learn more powerful spells, because I wasn’t sure I could control them.’ I grinned. ‘But that time’s passed, my friend, and I’ve been learning every mean little spell in the book.’

  ‘Remind me why I should be listening to you?’ Gamber drawled. One hand inched towards his pocket. ‘I don’t care about you, or your hard little life.’

  ‘Yeah. You just care about bleeding Roosen for everything he’s worth, right?’

  A small smile played on Gamber’s lips. ‘I’ve given him a slice of happiness. Do you think a loser like him would ever be able to find someone like me? Happiness always has a price, you know.’

  ‘Was that black eye you gave him your idea of happiness?’ I asked.

  ‘We had an argument. It happens.’

  ‘Not anymore.’

  He threw salt my way, casting in broken Latin. The spell shot forward, but I had cast as well and blocked him, scatte
ring light across the room. Gamber staggered back, face turning pale.

  ‘What was that?’ he gasped.

  ‘Weren’t you listening before? I told you I was a late bloomer.’ I threw him some dimples. ‘But I’m all caught up now.’

  My spell had faded into a soft vapour, but I was still connected to the ley-lines, a little trick Orella had taught me. I motioned at the mist of my spell, beckoning like it was a dog.

  Gamber stumbled back. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Just showing you who you’re messing with.’ Sweat trickled down my back and I could feel a murderous headache starting up behind one eye. Staying connected to the ley-lines for this long was difficult. But hey, you never knew what you could accomplish unless you tried, right? I sent the spell out, its gentle caress spreading across objects around me. Gamber’s hair ruffled, but I didn’t go near him. The spell began to stretch, the connection to the ley-lines weakening, so I wrapped the spell around everything I could and just…lifted.

  Gamber gave a shout of surprise as everything in the room rose gently in the air. It was actually quite a difficult spell to pull off – it required precision and a delicate touch. Gamber knew it, and that he was outclassed in the casting stakes. Of course, that didn’t make him any smarter.

  ‘I’m not leaving,’ he said.

  A kettle smashed into the back of his head, before bouncing away.

  ‘Ow!’ Gamber howled. ‘That hurt.’

  ‘Not as much as this,’ I murmured, sending a chair crashing over his back. Gamber staggered against the table. I sent another chair to smack over him. My bad leg staggered as the strain of the spell took hold, and I clutched at my cane. The moment cost me and the spell collapsed, furniture and cutlery dropping to the floor around us in a cacophony of sound.

  ‘You’re crazy,’ Gamber shrieked. I was glad I’d freaked him out, because with the exhaustion I was feeling now, there was no chance I would be able to cast again for a while. Trying not to limp too much, I walked to the table and retrieved my dagger. I flipped it and tried to casually catch the handle. But my hand was shaking so much I missed and it fell to the ground. Fortunately, Gamber wasn’t paying attention to my pretend-awesome act. He was still looking around the kitchen, wondering how I’d managed such a hard spell. I could have told him it was easy. Get yourself a great teacher, practise every day and make tons of enemies who want to see you dead. Instant motivation.

  ‘I want you to get out now,’ I said.

  Gamber sneered and I realised to my dismay he’d figured out the spell had wiped me. The headache was making my left eye twitch and it felt like someone was trying to drill clean through what I had left of a brain.

  ‘You’re insane if you think I’m leaving this place,’ Gamber spat. ‘That village idiot Roosen would do anything I tell him, so I’m not going anywhere.’

  ‘Village idiot?’

  I turned to see Roosen behind me, a grocery bag clutched to his chest.

  He stared at Gamber in shock. ‘You think I’m the village idiot?’

  ‘Your pal Gamber here was just leaving,’ I said. ‘He thinks it’s time to try and be a starving artist again.’

  ‘I don’t think you’re an idiot.’ Gamber stepped towards Roosen, tone pleading. ‘I was just angry.’

  ‘You’re going to leave,’ I said. ‘Or I’ll throw you out a window myself.’

  Roosen put the groceries down, then fixed Gamber with a fierce look. He made a sweeping, dramatic gesture towards the door. ‘Get out.’

  Gamber’s manicured eyebrows snapped together. ‘No.’

  ‘This is my house,’ Roosen said. ‘And you’re going to leave, or I’ll call for the City Watch.’

  Gamber laughed. ‘They won’t lift a finger for a domestic around here.’

  ‘I’m friends with a Captain,’ I told him, massaging my temples with my fingertips. ‘They’ll do more than lift a finger.’

  At this revelation, Gamber stopped protesting and started for the living room. ‘I need to pack my things.’

  ‘No.’ Roosen’s voice was sharp. Gamber stumbled to a stop, eyes growing big.

  ‘But my paints,’ he began.

  ‘You can get them from downstairs tomorrow,’ Roosen said. ‘I’ll pack them up.’

  Gamber hesitated, then threw his hands up. ‘Fine. It’s not like you’re worth it anyway.’

  He left the kitchen with a thunderous face, keeping clear of Roosen. The door slammed close a moment later. Roosen’s face was pale.

  ‘Was it that easy?’ he whispered.

  ‘Yeah.’ The world swayed and I fell to my knees. ‘That easy.’

  ‘Lora?’ Roosen rushed to my side. He gently helped me into the living room and directed me to a couch.

  I closed my eyes, waiting for the spinning sensation to stop. ‘I’m fine. Just overstretched myself a bit with a spell.’

  ‘And you did that for me?’ Roosen sounded choked up.

  ‘You said you needed help.’

  ‘I also told you to forget it.’

  ‘Guess that didn’t stick as much as the sight of your black eye.’

  ‘You’re a bit of a sweetheart, aren’t you?’

  ‘I sure am.’

  There was a pause, then, ‘Lora?’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘What happened to my kitchen?’

  Chapter 24

  The worst of my headache was gone by the next morning, but I was thankful I hadn’t pushed myself any further with the spell. My speciality, knock-’em-out spells were easy. It was only when you upgraded that your body started feeling the stress. Of course, that was unless you’d consumed some of the Apertor Elixir. I was still annoyed Laeonder had taken mine. That shit was impossible to find, even on the black market.

  Crowhurst was late in picking me up, but arrived with two bacon and egg rolls, so he was quickly forgiven. Besides, I figured I was getting a little spoilt, being driven around everywhere, though it was saving me a fortune on rickshaw fees.

  At Blackgoat, I decided to hide from the real world a while and read a street-press paper in Gideon’s office, boots resting up on the desk. At some point, Crowhust joined me and began filling out the account books, occasionally stopping to mutter to himself. After a while, I got bored of reading gossip and settled back to chew on a nail to help me think, watching Crowhurst do math in his head. The meeting with Laeonder had unsettled me more than I had wanted to admit. When I was finished with that nail, I started on another one. By the time I was finished with one hand, I started on the other, hoping a brilliant idea was going to come to me about how to handle the High Grigori.

  ‘You can get germs that way,’ Grubber rumbled from the doorway.

  Dropping my hand, I motioned for him to come in. ‘You all set for tonight?’ I asked him. ‘The client happy?’

  Grubber lifted his shoulder. ‘No complaints so far.’

  I realised the big Runner was waiting for permission to talk. ‘Something on your mind?’ I asked him.

  ‘No one’s been able to find this Kalin kid you wanted us to look out for. Some of us reckon he’s hiding underground in the sewer system.’

  ‘You checking that out?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah.’ Grubber grimaced. ‘We’re checking the sewers out.’

  ‘Anyone down there who could help us?’

  ‘Found an old swamp nymph, but that’s about it.’

  ‘She hadn’t seen Kalin?’

  Grubber rubbed his mouth. ‘We tried asking, even offered coin, but she just threatened to curse our cocks with warts if we didn’t leave her alone.’

  ‘I’m sure she was bluffing,’ I assured him.

  ‘I could try to find her again,’ Grubber said, but he didn’t look convinced, his large hands absently settling in front of his crotch in a defensive gesture.

  ‘Good,’ I said. When Grubber hesitated in the doorway, I arched an eyebrow. ‘Is there something else?’

  His eyes dropped. ‘We know the company’s not doing so grea
t.’

  ‘Blackgoat’s doing just fine,’ Crowhurst assured him, looking up from the accounts.

  Grubber shuffled into the room and held out a small bag. ‘We took up a collection to try and help keep things going.’

  I sat in stunned silence. The bag wavered in Grubber’s hand, then he placed it on the desk in front of me, the coins inside clinking. ‘Anyway,’ he said. ‘That’s all I wanted to say.’

  Crowhurst and I watched him go. The staircase creaked as he descended. After his heavy footsteps faded towards the kitchen, I lowered my forehead to the desk.

  ‘I can’t take this,’ I whispered. ‘They’re all waiting for me to perform some sort of miracle and it’s not going to happen.’

  ‘Deep breaths, Lora.’

  I sat up, eyes locked on the bag. Pushing it aside, I knew I’d never take the Runner’s hard-earned coin. I’d be returning the money. As soon as Blackgoat was doing okay, I would give it back. A nasty thought crossed my mind that maybe I could go to a gambling hall and double it. My jaw tightened at the prospect of losing the Runner’s money to some simpering card dealer. Standing, I grabbed my cane.

  ‘Any chance you could give me a lift?’ I asked Crowhurst.

  ‘Where are we going?’ he asked.

  ‘Time to see a man about a play.’

  ***

  Crowhurst dropped me off at the theatre. Nicola was pleased to see us and she grabbed me in a big bear hug. ‘I heard what you did for Roosen,’ she whispered in my ear. ‘Thank you.’

  Uncomfortable, I untangled myself from her grip. ‘Just doing my job.’

  ‘No.’ Nicola shook her head. ‘You were doing more than that. You were helping a friend.’

  I didn’t want to burst her bubble and point out that I was just trying to get along with Roosen so he’d cooperate with me. Nicola gestured to where the portly writer was sitting in the back row of the seats.

  ‘He’s been waiting for you,’ she told me.

  Dodging carpenters and painters who were constructing set pieces of Harken architecture, I approached Roosen, who had his head bowed, pen scribbling furiously away in a notepad. I cleared my throat and he blinked up at me for a moment, before recognition flooded his eyes.