Chaos Broken (16 page)

‘Nicola tells me there's an epidemic of teenage gangs, painting on buildings everywhere,' he said.

‘
He rises
,' Crowhurst read, then glanced at me. ‘What do you think it means?'

Gorath sucked deep on his cigarette. ‘It's just kids being kids.'

‘I'm sure it's nothing,' I said, trying to sound like I believed that.

Crowhurst didn't look like he believed me and I didn't blame him. Then Crowhurst realised both Gorath and I were staring at him. ‘What?'

‘Can you give us a moment?' I asked him.

‘Anon's balls!' Crowhurst threw his hands up. ‘Fine. Kick me out again. I'll just run along and find Nicola.' He stalked inside the building, muttering under his breath about being a third wheel.

‘Sensitive fellow, your man,' Gorath remarked.

‘We had a rough morning,' I told him. ‘What are you doing here?'

‘Manika wanted to stay in Harken for a little while, to help her cousin with setting things up,' Gorath said with a tired drawl. ‘She insists on keeping one foot firmly planted in both worlds. The travel doesn't seem to affect her one way or another, but I get slammed with a lag-sickness every time.'

‘Must be true love.'

‘Must be.'

‘So you're staying in the city, just for Manika?' I raised my eyebrows. ‘I suppose you heard that Roman was here?'

Gorath lifted the cigarette to his lips. ‘I did hear this.'

‘You here to keep an eye on him?'

‘You might say that. While I was the one to suggest this course of action, I had hoped more planning would have gone into it. The Grigori are still dangerous. They know to let the nephilim have any freedom would be at the expense of their strength.'

‘And you're just keeping your nose out of the whole affair?' I asked. ‘Doesn't even crosses your mind to press your advantage somehow, does it? With Roman a wanted man in Harken?'

Gorath laughed. ‘What advantage would I have in having the Grigori capture him?' He finished his smoke and dropped the stub. ‘I'm here to support Manika with family business, but I'm also here to keep an eye on those I care for and to protect them, even if it's from themselves.' He pulled another cigarette from his silver case and lit it with a match. ‘I trust you heard of the arrival of the High Grigori from Thesma this morning? A cut-throat by the name of Laeonder?'

‘Someone might have mentioned it,' I said, the name ringing a faint bell.

‘Laeonder will view Roman as a terrorist. A hostile against the Order. They will tear this city apart looking for him. You should convince him to leave. We need to act together, not work apart.'

‘I don't think he'll listen to me,' I said, but his warning resonated with me. What Roman was trying to do with Fowler was foolhardy at best, suicide at worst. Fowler might be a reasonable man, but most other Grigori weren't as enlightened. Roman needed all the help he could get, even if it was with Captain Crazypants.

‘I hope you don't still doubt my motivations, Lora,' Gorath said. ‘I have great faith in Roman and what he can do for our cause. One only has to look at him to see he has been touched by divinity.'

I wasn't sure about the divinity angle, but said nothing. Gorath's belief in Roman as a leader was a vast improvement on him wanting to fight me to fulfil a prophecy.

‘How long are you here for?' I asked. ‘Since the arrival of this High Grigori, I'd have thought you'd want to be far away.'

‘These matters do not concern Manika, and I would not bother her with them. We will stay here a little longer.' Gorath squinted at me through the cigarette smoke. ‘Do you still have my gift?'

‘Uh…sure.'

‘Seth suggested you might try to destroy it, but he could convince you not to.'

‘Uh…yeah.'

‘Yeah…what? He convinced you, or you just went and burned my priceless gift?'

‘Lora?' Nicola appeared at the theatre door. Manika walked alongside her, holding Nicola's baby in her arms. ‘We were wondering what on earth you were doing out here for so long.'

‘Here, isn't he just beautiful?' Manika cooed and tried to put the baby into Gorath's arms. When she noticed the cigarette, she frowned and stepped back. ‘I thought you were quitting.'

‘I am,' Gorath said. ‘I swear this is my last one for the day.'

‘Lora, Crowhurst said you were looking for Roosen,' Nicola said. ‘He's not here right now, but he'll be in tomorrow. I do hope you'll talk to him.'

‘Sure,' I said. ‘I can come back.'

The baby spied me and began to wail.

‘Come on,' I said over the howling. ‘I'm not that bad.'

Manika passed the crying baby back to Nicola, who made soft shushing sounds until he quietened down. Gorath stubbed out his cigarette on a piece of scaffolding with a chuckle, then planted an affectionate kiss on Manika's cheek, before they both headed back in, leaving me with Nicola and baby Tarn. Crowhurst wandered out to join us.

‘Did Nicola tell you he'd be in tomorrow?' he asked me.

‘I told her,' Nicola said, gently patting the baby. The sobbing turned to hiccups, then stopped. ‘Roosen can be a difficult, but he's a brilliant writer. I've seen him take the smallest detail, find its true meaning and express it in a way that brings tears to your eyes.'

‘Sounds great.' I tried to keep the sarcasm out of my voice, but didn't do a good enough job and Crowhurst shot me a stern look.

‘We'll be back tomorrow,' he assured Nicola.

‘Lovely.' She gave us both air kisses, then disappeared.

Crowhurst scratched the back of his head. ‘There goes that plan. What now?'

‘I'd murder for a drink,' I said.

‘You only just had lunch.'

‘I know, I know.' I jerked a thumb in the direction of his car. ‘Can you take me back to Blackgoat? It's time to go on the offensive. I want to put some Runners out to look for this Kalin kid and get him off the street before he manages to kill someone else.'

The rest of the day flew by, filled with administrative duties and a sit-down with some Runners concerned for the future of their jobs. I wasn't able to completely convince them Blackgoat's future was secure, but I did at least assure them we were good for the rest of the month. At least, I hoped we were.

Night fell, along with a heavy downpour, and I spent half of it in my empty kitchen, nursing a glass of gin and a nagging, lonely feeling that burrowed through me, threatening to leave me hollow inside.

After a restless night's sleep, two coffees, a sturdy corset and no-nonsense jeans propped me up, helping me out the door. I made a quick stop at the local markets to load up on pastries, fresh bread and chilli sausages for the Runners, before heading on to Blackgoat. I was early and the silence at the shop was soothing at first, but I was glad when Runners began to trickle in, following their noses to the cooking sausages. Some of them had small jobs later in the day, but those who didn't I charged with looking for Kalin.

While Grubber waited for his shift to start at a security job at the harbour, we poured over the page I'd torn out of the Aldebaran, both hopelessly lost with the dense language.

Out in the courtyard, a handful of Runners sat in the courtyard, talking quietly among themselves while they ate. A cup of coffee sat in front of me, and I'd eaten three sausages.

‘What does
sanguinary
mean?' I squinted at the word.

Grubber peered at the thesaurus through the battered spectacles perched low on his big nose.

‘
Sanguinary
. Something that involves bloodshed,' he read out. He looked at me over the rim of his glasses. ‘Does that make it any clearer?'

I put the pages down and rubbed my eyes. ‘I wish Orella was here. She'd explain it to me.'

‘You're not doing so bad.'

‘No.' I grabbed the pages and waved them about. ‘I don't understand what it all
means
. It doesn't make any sense to me.'

‘How about this bit? I understand that.' Grubber pointed to a passage. ‘A raven-haired Dreadwitch shall be cast into The Weald.'

‘Tells me bloody nothing,' I grumbled.

‘Sorry boss.' Grubber got to his feet, grabbing the coffee he'd been nursing. ‘You need to hire a scholar or something, get them to…you know…make it less smart so you can understand it.'

‘Thanks. I think.'

Grubber's footsteps retreated to the courtyard and when I was sure I was alone, I dropped my hands and stared at the pages in despair.

‘Knock, knock.'

The voice startled me, but I was even more surprised when I saw it belonged to Roosen. He stood in the kitchen doorway wearing a flamboyant, wide-brimmed hat and what looked like silk pyjama pants under a purple greatcoat. One of his eyes was puffy and bruised and from the liquor smell wafting off him, I surmised he was decidedly drunk.

‘May I join you?' He gestured unsteadily towards the table. I was so surprised I just kept staring. Roosen took a quick swing from the bottle, wiped his mouth, then said, ‘I'd like to talk.'

‘Sorry. Of course. Sit down.' I quickly gestured towards the chair Grubber had vacated. ‘I thought we were meeting later?'

Roosen sat, thumping the bottle of whiskey onto the table and my nose wrinkled at the stink of cheap liquor.

‘I heard you wanted to kiss and make up,' he stated.

‘I wasn't aware we were fighting,' I said smoothly.

‘You have to admit our last meeting was a disaster.'

I threw him a half dimple. ‘And that was me on a good day.'

‘Consider me not entirely charmed.'

My small smile dropped. ‘Tell me then, what I can do to make this happen.'

Roosen sighed. ‘You know…I once had aspirations of being a writer. I was going to write a great novel and become the darling of High Town.'

‘I've heard worse plans.' I sipped my coffee.

‘Only my inspiration decreased in direct correlation to my dwindling savings.'

‘That can happen.'

He took a shot of his whiskey. ‘I don't particularly want to work with you. But my muse has abandoned me and I am left with no hope but to try and make something work with you. Perhaps you are to be my epic, my greatest work, my redemption.' Roosen's face crumpled and he lowered his face into his hands. ‘Oh, gods.'

‘Cheer up. You wouldn't be the first to feel that way.' I folded up the pages from the Aldebaran and tried to think of the words that would fix things with the writer. But only quips and insults came to mind, so I pressed my lips together and kept silent. Too much was riding on this job and after the humiliation of losing the contract with the Order, I'd started to smarten up a little.
Reee
-straint, I heard people call it. Right now, I needed it in spades.

A silence stretched out between us, the low rumble of conversation from the Runners in the courtyard acting as background noise.

‘You don't want to
try
to charm me or anything?' Roosen asked. ‘Lay some flattery at my door so I'll agree to turn your life story into this ridiculous play?'

‘Would anything I say really influence you?' I asked dryly.

Roosen heaved another sigh. ‘I suppose if you have to ask for something, it loses its meaning somewhat. Let's just forget it. It's clear we can't work together.'

‘Sounds like you need this job just as much as I do,' I said quickly. ‘I'll try if you will.'

His face twisted. ‘Madam. I am an artist. An art-ist. Which means for my art to mean something, I must be inspired.' His eyes rolled over me. ‘And right now, darling, with all your bad manners and hideous choice in shoes, you are hardly getting my creative juices flowing.'

‘You knock my choice of shoes again and something will be flowing alright.' I nodded at his black eye. ‘How'd you get the shiner?'

‘A little domestic issue.' He swayed in the chair and I grabbed him, keeping him upright. With my free hand, I took the bottle of liquor.

‘How about I get you some coffee?' I put the bottle out of reach. Grabbing the pot from the range cooker, I poured Roosen a large black coffee and set it in front of him.

‘Do you have milk?' he asked quietly.

Checking the cold-box, I found nothing but a hunk of cheese and smoked blood sausages. ‘Sorry. Maybe black is best for you right now. Think of it as medicinal,' I said.

He sipped the coffee and winced. ‘I have a problem.'

I slipped into professional mode, mimicking how Crowhurst acted around clients. I folded my hands in front of me and adopted a concerned look. ‘Tell me about it.' When Roosen hesitated, I placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘It's alright. You can trust me.'

Incredibly, this appeared to reassure him. He gulped his coffee, then said, ‘Six months ago, I met a man called Josiah Gamber at an art exhibit. He's a painter and has an amazing talent.' Roosen's face turned wistful. ‘He had such vision. I thought he was going to explode onto the art scene. All he needed was a little focus. A little encouragement.'

‘I see.'

‘Do you?' Roosen played with his empty coffee mug. ‘Because I didn't. I gave him money and a place to stay. All the support and kind words he needed. A few months later, he started demanding money. Drinking heavily. Staying out all night.' Roosen's voice began to tremble. ‘I finally told him to leave last night. Told him that he'd outstayed his welcome. You want to know what he said?'

‘Tell me.'

‘He told me I was an old man who nobody was ever going to love, and I should be thanking him every day for the gift of his company. When I told him to leave again, he hit me.' The admission broke the last of Roosen's reserve and he lowered his head into his hands and began to sob. Though the tears moved me, I was nearing the limits of my empathy. I preferred a more direct approach to problems and the situation felt simple enough. This guy, Gamber, needed to have his arse kicked into next week, so I'd just go and do it. Then Roosen and I could work together in reasonable harmony, I'd get paid, and Blackgoat would be saved.