I felt a sting in my heart. I hadn’t thought about Drake for ages. We hadn’t known each other for too long, but I’d respected him. Right up till the point where I was staring into his terrified, dead eyes. Eyes which had watched his wife and child die.
“Drake was killed by the Conclave,” I said. “I’m sure of it.”
“And these new detectives won’t be?”
That silenced me.
“I believe your fears about the Conclave,” Brett continued. “And I believe this new Necro Lord is connected to them. It’d be odd if he wasn’t. Which means that if we get close to cracking this case, then the investigators who do so are going to wind up dead.”
“What would you have us do, then?” I retorted. “Attack the slums head-on? Walk into trap after trap? You said so last night. We can’t repeat what happened last time.”
“And we won’t,” Brett replied, calmer than me as he put his arm around my shoulders. “Because we have the Last Light, now. But I was thinking about it last night and I don’t think we can avoid probing attacks on the Necro Lord’s domain. Raids.”
“But people will die…” I knew this already. But I still didn’t want to accept it.
“People will always die. But let us ensure their deaths are not in vain.”
We stood in silence for moments longer, until the time drew closer to leave and we set off for Gardens PD. One of my least favourite places in the world.
***
Even though the Gardens PD force were now generally favourable towards me, thanks to Jane’s tenure as Minister of Police and my status as Last Light, I still had bad memories of the place.
It had been where I’d been lambasted by Montague for screwing up the first Necrolord case, watched Garce get killed by Finley, and saw Jane incarcerated. Oh, and worst of all, it was where I’d met Agent Phillip Brown.
Definitely not my favourite place to be. But, duty was duty. And Treth insisted that duty was important or something.
Outside the tall, brutalist structure of the Gardens PD, we noticed Hammond’s flaming red sports car. Hammond had just lit Busani’s cigarette with a flame from his thumb as they noticed me and waved us over.
“Isn’t this a loading bay?” Brett asked, eyeing the red car parked right in front of a government building.
“Of course,” Hammond grinned. “I’m unloading Busani’s fat arse.”
Busani took a drag and then blew smoke in Hammond’s face.
“At least I can feel my arse with both hands, one-armed wonder.”
“Oh, that’s hurtful,” Hammond retorted, still grinning.
“How do you even drive a manual?” I asked, noticing the gearshift in the car.
“Badly,” Busani replied. Hammond responded by burning Busani’s cigarette to the filter, causing the hunter to drop it with a yelp.
“Lots of skill,” Hammond explained, as he turned back to me. “Experience and speed.”
“You take your hand off the steering wheel to change gears, don’t you?” Brett offered.
“Well, yes. But skilfully!”
Before we could add anything more, a young man wearing Crusader armour came jogging towards us, panting. Henri Pretorius. The Crusader’s best sharpshooter. And younger than even me.
He stopped suddenly in front of us, all standing casually about, and locked his feet together. He saluted.
“Morning, Commander!”
“At ease, Henri.” I sighed. I had long given up trying to get him to lighten up.
Hammond incinerated his cigarette in a closed fist and then cracked his knuckle.
“So, we’re all ready for this party?”
“You have a very optimistic view of meetings. Did Puretide serve cake?”
“Of course! I’ve been meaning to request it at the Crusaders. And donuts.”
“I could go for some donuts,” Busani added.
“These are cops. I’m sure they have donuts,” Brett replied. And, with that, we all strode into Gardens PD. Soon enough, we were led to a conference room on an upper floor and were greeted by over a dozen cops in full uniform. And, alongside the cops, were two men wearing business suits. No sign of Riaan or Phillip, thank Athena. But, while I’d never spoken to the two men in suits before, I recognised one of them.
“Mr York,” the man with a white buzz-cut and severe, hardened jawline said coldly, nodding towards Hammond. He stared at the pyromancer with piercing blue eyes.
Hammond, somehow, paled.
“Ah, bo…Mr Taragon, sir.”
Edward Taragon, CEO of the Puretide Agency, stood up and offered his hand to me. He didn’t smile, and I could feel his ice blue eyes drilling into me.
“Edward Taragon,” he offered. “Our meeting should have happened a long time ago.”
“Kat Drummond,” I answered, unnecessarily and accepted his hand. “Our not meeting was fortunate, till now. Agencies only need to collaborate when we can’t handle our affairs alone.”
Edward nodded, gravely. He agreed.
The other man in a suit sidled up to us and offered his own hand. He was younger than Edward. Thirties. Early forties at the most. He had dark hair and a familiar face.
I’d seen this face before. But on someone else…
“Captain Montague,” he offered, giving a smile I’d never seen on the face before. “Charles Montague.”
I accepted his hand. “You are James’ brother?”
He nodded, and I saw a hint of sadness in his eyes even though his polite smile didn’t shift.
“I am sorry about your brother,” I said. “He was a good cop.”
“Thank you. And I know coming from you that that is a huge compliment. Please also rest assured that I’m not one of those conspiracy theorists who think that you killed him. He died in the line of duty, unfortunately participating in a false arrest.”
I inclined my head in respect. I didn’t know Montague had a brother. And one who was now captain. Hopefully, James Montague’s failings didn’t run in the family.
Charles turned and made his way to the front of the room. At his beckoning, we all took a seat as the lights were switched off and a projector sprung to life, illustrating a district map of Hope City.
“Good morning, everyone. I am Captain Charles Montague of the Gardens PD. We can all do introductions later but I would first like to thank Kat Drummond of the Crusaders and Edward Taragon of Puretide for being here. While, formally, this is a police matter, I know that this is the domain of professional monster hunters. I will be relying on your agencies’ knowledge until this case is closed.”
Charles switched slides. While he did so, I surveyed the room. Besides Edward and the Crusaders, everyone here was a cop. No other Puretide agents. Was Puretide’s rumoured manpower shortage really that bad? Or was Edward making a statement? That his presence alone was sufficient. Edward looked my way and caught me staring. He didn’t smile.
I looked back to the front. The map was now zoomed in over a portion of the slums.
“We all know the basics. The new Necro Lord, emphasised as two words, is a Class-3 magical warlord who has carved out a large portion of the slums for his domain. Yesterday, he committed over half a dozen acts of terror using undead suicide bombers. He made no demands. But he did contact the Chairman to gloat. We ran a voice recognition program and found no matches…”
To be expected. Over three-quarters of Hope City’s citizens were undocumented. Much fewer were in a voice recognition database. Hope City was the very opposite of a surveillance state. Just how I liked it, even if it did lead to problems like this. But, I wasn’t willing to sacrifice freedom for the veneer of safety. Not one bit.
A policewoman raised her hand. I recognised her. She’d helped me in the archives earlier in the year.
“Yes, Sergeant Gonheim?”
Ah, yes. Karen Gonheim.
“Do we have a recording of the message? Or a transcript of what was said?”
Charles nodded. “We do. Playing it…now.”<
br />
Charles opened a sound file on his computer and the room went silent, broken by the sound of static.
“Hello,” Riaan’s voice came through the surround-sound speakers. “This is the Chairperson of the Council of Good Hope. Who is speaking?”
Silence. A nervous, static-filled silence, broken quietly by shallow breathing.
“I know who you are, false-king of a false state,” a male voice responded. The words dripped with venom, and an overwhelming sense of confidence. He sounded, above all else, scathing.
“Excuse me?” Riaan replied. “This number is being traced. Who is this?”
“You will hear of my works soon, false-king. Let them be a symbol of what is to come. A welcoming gift from one ruler to another. Even if your rule is a façade.”
“Who are you?” Riaan repeated.
“You know my name. This city spoke it with the reverence it deserved years ago. And it will soon do so again.”
Riaan remained silent. The Necro Lord clicked his tongue, irritably.
“Too cowardly to speak, Chairperson?”
He somehow made Riaan’s actual title seem more mocking than false king.
“This is my city…” Riaan began.
“No. It isn’t. Its hers. And soon, it will be mine.”
“And who…who are you?”
“The Necrolord. Back from death. Again. And I will finish what I started.”
The Necro Lord hung up and the recording ended.
Charles looked up at a shaken room. Even Busani was fidgeting.
“We attempted to trace the call, but it was made using a burner-cell. The last geo-lock we got on it was in the middle of the Karoo desert. CDF crews searched the area and found nothing.”
“Flesh puppet with a voice-proxy enchantment,” Edward offered.
“Or, he just drove away,” Brett retorted. Edward glared at him and my boyfriend glared back. Perfect! Starting the inter-agency rivalry already.
“Regardless,” Charles continued. “We don’t know the exact location of the Necro Lord. But, we do know the following. First, we know this is a copycat. The original Necrolord was female and perished three years ago. We suspect that this is one of her apprentices. A gang leader under her empire who has consolidated what she left behind.”
He pointed at the map, indicating at a series of bordered territories in the slums.
“These districts were once all held by rival gangs. The Londons, the Numbers, Darkbois…just to name a few. Evidence of gang wars has stopped, but not due to a ceasefire. The gangsters who used to wear flags and colours of their respective gangs have been seen wearing black, and their tattoos have been replaced by a scarified skull. They have become organised. And their cooperation is unnatural. The only time there was this much cooperation among the slum-gangs was under the original Necrolord. We suspect that the new Necro Lord has consolidated his control over this region. Which gives us an indication of his territory.”
I had to give it to the police here. They seemed to be on the ball. They had located the cursed earth in Hope City. More than I expected. But…
“This area is huge, Captain,” Edward added. “A labyrinth of shanties and tenements. How are we meant to find a single necromancer in such a large area?”
“Investigation,” Charles replied, without missing a beat. He clicked something on his computer and an overlay went over the map. Red splotches of varying sizes.
“These are reported zombie attacks. None have resulted in large outbreaks. What does this mean, hunters?”
“Either the zombies are masterless,” I replied, before Edward could. “Or their master is controlling them. Limiting their attacks.”
“Why would he do that?” Charles asked. I saw in his eyes that he knew the answer but wanted us to tell his colleagues.
“Controlled feeding,” Edward replied. “Maintaining undead minions relies on a lot of magical energy. This can be gained through spark, weylines or the life-force from flesh. Zombies can be topped up by eating people. And, it also bolsters his numbers.”
“Controlled feeding has the added benefit of decentralisation,” I added, meeting Edward’s glare. Was this a contest? “If he was using his spark, he’d be drained fast. And weyline usage would be immediately noticeable.”
“And this feeding isn’t?”
“It is. But we only know where the zombies are now. Not where he is. He’d have to channel the weyline to keep the zombies animated. But, this way, he can order them to attack people and then retreat before there’s a too noticeable outbreak.”
Charles nodded, satisfied.
“Then, what can we tell from this map?”
The entire room squinted at the map. Then Edward and I started speaking at the same time.
Charles raised his hand. Then pointed at me. Edward sneered.
“Zombies can’t roam the streets for long without being noticed,” I offered. “Every point of attack suggests a likely stronghold or flesh factory.”
“Flesh factory?” a cop asked.
“Industry term,” Edward said, dismissively.
“A place where undead are stored, created and modified,” I answered.
Charles nodded. “There seem to be a dozen separate zombie attacks here. Could there be a dozen flesh factories?”
“Unlikely,” Edward said.
“Highly likely,” I rebutted. “Especially if he has dominated as many gangs as he seems to have done. With mortal labourers, he can man about a dozen facilities. Maybe more. And without the need to do all the work himself, he could be building an army of abhorrent.”
Or worse. But I couldn’t listen to Cindy. The Necro Lord didn’t have the golem shem. He couldn’t.
Charles examined the map, while rubbing his chin.
“The most prudent course of action,” he said, finally, “seems to be to find these flesh factories and shut them down.”
Exactly what I didn’t want to hear.
“We tried that against the original Necrolord,” I replied. “It cost many lives.”
Surprisingly, Edward nodded his assent. I had expected him to be more like the Drakenbane CEO. To not care about the cost. Only results.
Charles looked sad at the proclamation.
“We have gone over the options. While the potential cost of hunter and police lives is high, the threat these flesh factories pose is even higher. We must eliminate them if we are to cut out the Necro Lord’s power base and save civilian lives. And that is, ultimately, our priority.”
Edward nodded again. Perhaps, we did have something common.
“But we will be more prudent this time,” he offered. “No waltzing into traps. The wet-work will follow the detective-work.”
“But, are your detectives equipped to find these flesh factories?” I asked. I was impressed by this briefing, but these were still cops.
“Not fully. And that is why I’d like a few of your men to help with the investigation. To consult and to help train my men while we scout. Would this be possible?”
Edward didn’t volunteer at all. He only crossed his arms. After some time, he grumbled.
“My men are soldiers. Not scouts. Point us at the flesh factory and we’ll torch it. But you find it first. I won’t risk their lives by separating them from their squads.”
“We’ll be doing the torching, sir,” Hammond replied. Seemed he’d gotten some of his courage and snark back.
I turned to my men.
“Any volunteers?”
Brett, Busani and Henri put their hands up. Hammond shrugged. “I’m a soldier, not a scout.”
Seemed it was a Puretide thing.
“Not you, Brett. I need you on standby…”
For reasons.
“Henri and Booz, you sure?”
“Yes, Commander.”
I nodded, pleased at their enthusiasm.
“Thank you,” Charles said. “They’ll be in good hands. And I suspect that we are now in even better hands.”
“T
ake your cue from the captain, boys,” I said. “I look forward to seeing you back at HQ when this is done.”
The two of them saluted and then left with Charles as the meeting was adjourned. Time for donuts and coffee. Fortunately, the war was now on hold.
I decided to enjoy the respite. Because I had a feeling that, when it ended, the violence wouldn’t stop until the last body fell.
Chapter 10.
Mortality
The benefit of delegating the war to the police and my two lieutenants was that I could focus on the other important business. Like relaxing. For a few seconds, that is. I don’t think I ever truly got to relax these days. I’m sure my characters in the online games I used to play had grown cobwebs. I had since given up on trying to keep up with any TV shows.
But, delaying the inevitable conflict with the Necro Lord did give me a reprieve to focus on other things. Like the golem case. And, while I was adamant about destroying this new warlord, I couldn’t have golems running around my city. Plus, the rabbis had promised a hefty reward.
Brett and Hammond got word of a nearby minor demon in Old Town as we left Gardens PD. I wasn’t in the mood for roasting imps, so I bid them farewell and made my own way back to the HQ.
There was no rest for the wicked, however, or those who slew them. For, as I arrived back at the HQ, a flustered Jane Phoenix greeted me at the door.
“Kat…there’s a man in your office. He says you know each other.”
I sighed. “Did he give a name?”
“Danny Black. But I suspect that’s an alias. Should I not have let him in? He was adamant that you expected him.”
“I did not. But it doesn’t matter much. I’ll go see him now.”
I waved Jane off and sighed.
“I wonder who it could be,” Treth commented.
“I hope it’s the golem thief looking to make a trade. Would save me a lot of time tracking him down.”
I scaled the stairway up to my office. The hum of construction covered the echoes of my boots on the stairway. The Crusaders were getting larger. Which meant we needed more room. We’d already purchased the building next door. The construction was to connect the buildings together. Soon we’d have more office space, place for the arsenals and maybe even a barracks for our agents without their own places to stay. We’d been letting a few of them sleep in the Mosh Pit, but that was no place for a Crusader.
Cursed Earth (Kat Drummond Book 12) Page 9
