Wolf Logic

by Masha du Toit

  Wolf Logic

  Text and Illustrations by Masha du Toit

  Copyright 2015 Masha du Toit

  Contents

  Title Page

  Inside

  News From Home

  Kidnapped

  A Midnight Meeting

  Passwords

  A Scent of Cloves

  Chemistry

  Escape

  Small Rooms

  The Midnight Row

  Cards and Dice

  Back Again

  Wolf Logic

  Gas

  Getting Out

  Farewell

  About the author

  To the distracting and encouraging

  denizens of the Mod Lair

  Book Description

  Never trust a werewolf.

  That's Gia's first lesson as she enters the wolf cages at Special Branch, the police force that deal with the illegal use of magic. But working with the tracker-werewolves is not the greatest danger she faces: Gia is a spy. She risks torture and death if her secret is discovered.

  Then Gia receives shocking news. Her little brother has disappeared, taken out of his bed, in the middle of the night. She doesn't want to believe that Special Branch is responsible, but who did take Nico? Could it be the magical terrorists, the Belle Gente? Or is there another, even stranger explanation?

  Contemporary fantasy set in Cape Town, South Africa: Wolf Logic is the sequel to Crooks & Straights.

  Inside

  “What do you call that?” Cadet Jooste came to a stop in front of Gia. “What’s this—thing you are wearing?”

  Gia glanced down at her clothes. She was dressed exactly like the other recruits—grey shirt over a black vest, dark grey trousers, black shoes. Not really warm enough for the early morning chill, but Gia knew better than to show she felt the cold. It was still dark, although the eastern sky was stained with the coming of dawn and she could hear traffic starting on Liesbeek Parkway. Less than twenty-four hours ago she’d been in her own bed, in her own bedroom. Now she was shivering in a parking lot, surrounded by strangers.

  Cadet Jooste gave a disgusted snort. “You’re supposed to be wearing your white shirt. Didn’t you hear me tell you?”

  No, you didn’t. The words crowded on Gia’s tongue, but she swallowed them with an effort. “No, ma’am.”

  “Back you go to the dorm and get changed. The white shirt, get it? And jump. Sergeant Landman will have you for breakfast if you’re late.”

  Back Gia went, up the slippery marble steps to the front door. Her footsteps echoed in the tiled corridor beyond, then up the staircase that must once have been grand but was now scarred and faded. The dormitory she shared with the other girls was a similar combination of faded elegance and modern neglect. Tall sash windows had been painted closed. A high, pattern-pressed ceiling was laced with rusty stains. The floor, once an expanse of polished wood, was now covered with grey carpet.

  She headed for the row of battered lockers and opened her own.

  What am I doing here? What on earth am I doing here? The question had drummed through her from the moment she’d opened her eyes that morning. Only a day before, joining the Special Branch Youth Brigade had seemed like the solution to all her problems. After all, that had been the bargain she’d made with the Belle Gente. She’d be their spy here in Valkenberg and, in exchange, they’d leave her brother alone. What could be neater? And now here she was, groggy from lack of sleep, her head rattling with a jumble of rules.

  Always ask permission before. Never look at. Always stand up when. Never wear your. Address all senior officers as.

  Gia changed shirts quickly and headed back out the door, buttoning the white shirt as she went. Calm down. All I have to do is stay out of trouble. Don’t catch anyone’s attention. As long as they don’t notice me too much…

  It was a close thing, but she made it just in time, stepping into her place moments before Sergeant Landman came striding towards them. “Mantjies! Jooste!” he snapped. “The trucks are on time this morning. We’ve got some stuff to sort, but only two live ones—”

  He stopped abruptly. “Cadet! What is that?”

  Gia fought the urge to shrink out from under his stare. “Sir?”

  The sergeant’s lips thinned. “What is that you are wearing, cadet?”

  Gia saw Jooste's smug expression. Okay, so that’s how it is. Some kind of prank. Well, nothing for it but to face the music. She tried to stand as she’d been instructed, straight but relaxed. Sergeant Landman was right in front of her now, but she did not dare catch his eye in case he thought she was being insolent.

  “I said, what is that you are wearing, cadet?” Gia looked at the air above his left shoulder. “Sir?”

  “Why are you wearing a formal shirt, cadet? Are you trying to be funny?”

  She could smell the cigarette smoke on his breath.

  “No, I know what it is.” The little man rocked back on his heels. “I know this trick. You think you can get out of doing the dirty work by wearing your best clothes. Well, you are out of luck. Your name, cadet?”

  “Grobbelaar, sir.”

  “Grobbelaar, take off that shirt and—hang it over that railing there, out of the way. And don’t think I’m finished with you.”

  He seemed to be expecting an answer, so Gia said “Yes, sir,” and started unbuttoning her shirt, thankful that she was wearing a vest underneath. Her hands shook and the buttons kept slipping. She was horrified to feel herself blushing. For some reason, it seemed essential that no one should realise how humiliated she felt. Not the ridiculous little sergeant. Not Jooste. And especially not her fellow recruits, who all seemed to be avoiding looking at her.

  Shivering in the chilly breeze, she hung the shirt on the metal rail that bordered the parking area. To her relief, Sergeant Landman had lost interest in her and was giving orders to Jooste and Mantjies, the two senior cadets in charge of the recruits.

  “Cadet Jooste, you’ll be managing the checklist and the refills. Cadet Mantjies, you’re to deal with whatever rubbish the night patrol have decided to dump on us. Don’t bother to sort it, just bin it all ready for collection.” Landman turned to the recruits. “You there and you and you go with Mantjies. You and you are with Jooste.”

  Gia noticed that he was picking only boys for Mantjies’s group.

  Then the sergeant’s gaze fell on her and his mouth tightened. “Oh, yes. And you. You’re with Mantjies. The rest of you are with Jooste.”

  Mantjies was a tall boy, one of the older cadets who’d been at Valkenberg for a year or two already. He was skinny for his height, but held himself with easy confidence. “Grobbelaar, right?” he said as he checked her name off his list. He seemed amused and Gia found herself smiling back at him. It was a relief to see a friendly face. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

  “Okay, guys.” Mantjies slipped his pen back in his pocket. “Let’s get moving on this. Krynauw and Ford, you see those roller bins over there? I want them lined up here, all of them. Vetkoek, the aprons and gloves are over there, on the steps. Make sure everyone gets one apron and one pair of gloves.”

  The boys sprang to obey and for a while everything was drowned by the thunder of empty roller bins. Then a deeper rumble caught Gia’s attention—headlights on the road to the main gate, black shapes against the dim greens and greys of the trees. The trucks turned into the parking area, their lights sparking yellow reflections on the damp tar. They drove right up to the group of recruits then stopped with a hiss of pneumatics. Doors opened.

  “Morning Sergeant!” Figures emerged from the lit interior, Special Branch constables, bodies thick with the padding of their protective gear. Some wore hoods that hid their faces and Gia guessed that these must be sniffer units.<
br />
  Werewolves.

  A man got out from the driver side of one of the trucks. “We’ve got some visitors for you, sergeant.”

  “Constable Robertson,” said Sergeant Landman. “Quiet night?”

  “Oh, not bad, not bad,” said the constable, taking off his cap and rubbing a gloved hand through his hair. “Got some pets for Doctor, though.” He jerked a thumb at the last truck in the row. “And a heap of rubbish. Cleaned up a walg or two, so there’s plenty of stuff back there.”

  “Mantjies!” Sergeant Landman looked round. “That’s for you then.”

  “You know what to do,” Constable Robertson told Mantjies. “But watch it, there might still be some goggas in there. See if you can trap them. The doctor will be pleased.” He turned away. “Jeffries! Bring those two over here.”

  Constables were manhandling two figures down out of the back of one of the trucks. Gia could not help staring. These must be the “live ones” that Sergeant Landman had mentioned earlier, prisoners, arrested by the night patrol. They were taller than the constables and walked with a curious, shuffling gait. She would have liked to see more, but Cadet Mantjies was calling his group together. “Okay, everybody got their aprons and gloves on? Good.”

  “Mantjies!” Sergeant Landman was back. “Leave the inside work for this one, right?” He jerked a thumb at Gia. “The others can work the bins.” He gave Gia a sour look. “Teach you a lesson, Cadet Grobbelaar.”

  -oOo-

  A constable threw open the back doors of the truck and Gia nearly retched at the stench that came rolling out.

  “Whoa, that’s ripe!” said Mantjies. “Well, in you go, Cadet!”

  Gia grabbed hold of the cold metal of the tailgate and pulled herself up. No point in thinking about this. Just makes it worse.

  “There’s a head-mounted torch hanging just inside the door,” said the constable. “Also a broom and some boots. Watch your footing. You don’t want to go down in that lot.”

  “But what’s in there?” asked one of the other recruits, the boy whose round face had gained him the nickname of Vetkoek.

  “It’s rubbish,” said Mantjies. “The patrols confiscate any walg hoards they come across. Most of it’s just junk, but there’s always a chance of something more valuable, or something illegal. Magical equipment, drugs, whatever. Our job is just to get it binned. The doctor and his people will sort it. Now, you guys, Pote, Vetkoek, Foster, you are in charge of the bins. Roll them over here by the back of the truck for Grobbelaar to fill and then take them to the New Block, you know where that is?”

  The boys nodded and Pote said, “Yes, sir!”

  Mantjies looked up at Gia. “There should be some empty bags in there you can use. Watch your step. If you find anything that’s obviously valuable or dangerous, shout out and let me deal with it. Don’t go fooling with any of it, you got me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The truck reeked of sun-ripened garbage, laced with the tang of ancient cat pee and other, worse odours. Gia tried to breathe as shallowly as she could as she strapped the torch to her forehead and stepped into the boots. They were much too large for her. She’d have to walk carefully not to trip over her own feet.

  Where’s the broom? Oh, there.

  The torchlight revealed a row of rubbish bags spilling their entrails over the metal floor. Those are no good. Better try and get as much as possible into some unbroken bags. Gia took a gulp of the relatively clean air near the door and waded in, broom in one hand, bag in the other. Just as she’d feared, the old bags split as soon as she tried to lift them. The broom was not much use either and soon she was simply scooping rubbish with her gloved hands. The beam from her torch showed more than she needed to see. Half-empty tins, disintegrating cardboard boxes, a dead rat, old shoes and a number of small, tightly wrapped packets that puzzled her until she realised they were used diapers.

  It’s not so bad. At least it’s warm in here, out of the wind. Soon enough, though, she had to give up the struggle against the stench and stumble to the doors, dragging what she’d gathered with her.

  “Pretty bad, is it?” said one of the boys outside. This was Pote, a slender boy who owed his nickname to his over-large feet.

  “Oh, man,” She got enough breath to speak. “You don’t even know.”

  “Well, tip it in.” He bumped the roller bin against the tailgate.

  After that, it wasn’t so bad. She found her rhythm, filling a bag as far as it could go and gasping in fresh air as she lowered it into the roller bin. When a bin was full, two boys dragged it away, rumbling over the tar, while another bin was pushed into place with a bang.

  The boots made her shuffle rather than walk, but the gloves and apron kept most of the stuff off her. The worst moment was when she tried to lift a box and the bottom collapsed, dropping its contents in a wet heap. The stench of it enveloped her like rancid velvet but all Gia could do was stare at the crawling mass spilled over her boots: reddish-black in the torchlight, a pearly glint of maggots plumply stitching their way through whatever it was and she nearly lost control. She strode, gagging, to the doors and hung there for a moment.

  “You okay?” asked Vetkoek, anxiously peering up at her.

  Gia nodded, still trying to deny what she’d seen. Surely not. It could not be? She’d seen an eye, a gleaming row of teeth… Back she went, determined not to disgrace herself. She seized the box again, forcing herself to look and felt like laughing with relief.

  Just a dog. A dead dog. But how had it got into that state? It looked as though it had been flayed. She shook open a new bag, gritted her teeth and using the box, shovelled the thing in. “Dead dog,” she said to Vetkoek, who was holding the roller bin. “Or anyway, I think it’s a dog. Better tell Mantjies.”

  Vetkoek nodded, his eyes large.

  “Grobbelaar!” Mantjies was approaching. “How’s it going there?”

  “Nearly done,” she called. “Another small heap and then it’s just the stuff to sweep up.” She hesitated, suddenly unsure of her role. Can I just ask for stuff? Or is there some special Youth Brigade way I’m supposed to know about?

  Mantjies looked up at her, eyebrows raised. He seemed friendly enough.

  “I think I’ll need a mop,” she said at last. “It’s pretty sticky in here.”

  “I’m right ahead of you, cadet.” Mantjies grinned and Gia saw that several of the recruits had long-handled mops and one of them was unreeling a hosepipe. “Pick up what’s left,” said Mantjies then stopped as a siren cut through the air.

  An ambulance drove by, wailing, all its lights flashing. Gia watched it turn and draw to a halt in front of a building some distance off.

  “What’s that about?” Pote asked Mantjies, who was shading his eyes against the rising sun, staring at the ambulance.

  “That’s the prison block, down there,” said Mantjies. “Somebody must have—”

  The group looked at him expectantly, but he did not finish his sentence. Instead, he turned to Gia. “You need a break, cadet?”

  “No, it’s okay,” said Gia. “Let me just get the last of it out.”

  She ducked back inside and then felt the truck rock as some of the other recruits followed her. “Whoa, man, what a pong!” Vetkoek stood just inside the door, staring in.

  “Out the way, cadet,” said Mantjies. “I want Foster, Mostert, Pote, all of you in there picking up this mess. Then we’ll turn the hose on it and mop it up properly.”

  It was light enough by now that Gia no longer needed the torch, but the area at the back of the truck was still in shadow. As the other cadets moved around, picking up the few pieces of rubbish still lying about, Gia shone her torch into the shadowed area. One more bag. It was half empty too, a deflated pool of black plastic. Gia bent to pick it up, then paused. Something moving under there. A live rat, this time?

  She nudged the bag with her foot and was rewarded by a rustling, scrabbling sound. Definitely something alive.

  “What’s w
rong?” Vetkoek was behind her. “Something in there?” He reached for the bag and just as he touched it, something exploded out of the plastic folds, came whirring up straight at Gia’s face. Before she had time for thought, she’d snatched at it with both hands and held it, wriggling, at arm’s length.

  “Way to go!” shouted somebody. “What a catch!”

  “It’s gonna chew your arm off!”

  “Jeez, what the hell is that thing?”

  “Don’t let it go!”

  The thing had wrapped two barbed claws over her gloved thumb and was trying to chew her fingers off. So far, it didn’t hurt more than a savage pinch, but she suspected it was capable of inflicting more serious harm. It had a narrow, insectile face with brilliantly faceted eyes and delicate feelers swept back from its forehead like the horns of an antelope. The little body vibrated in her fingers. Gia tried to hold it as gently as possible without letting it slip free.

  “Well done,” said Cadet Mantjies, from close beside her. “We’ll get a box for it. Can you hold it just a bit longer?”

  Gia nodded. The creature had stopped trying to pinch her thumb off and was trying a new form of attack. Shimmering shapes were forming in the space between its feelers. Gia looked away.

  “Krynauw,” ordered Mantjies. “There’s an extra critter box in the first truck. Jump it.”

  Moments later, Gia inserted the creature carefully into the unzipped box and with a “Ready? Now!” from Mantjies, she let go and watched as he zipped it up. As the creature battered around inside the box, she felt an unexpected pang of guilt.

  I should just have dodged out of the way. If she’d not grabbed for it, it would be gone by now, flying free. Back to where it was supposed to be.

  The other recruits seemed oblivious to her mood. They thumped her on the back and shook her by the hand, complimenting her catch. Somebody asked if she played cricket and next thing they were calling her a “Zacky” after the famous player.