Chaos Bound (5 page)

‘I don’t like threats, Master Grogan.’

‘Then don’t give me a reason to make them.’ Grogan smiled, like he knew he’d finally pissed me off and was happy about it. He stood, tipped his hat at me, and walked off without another word. Lander waited for his boss to pass him, then grinned at me as he drew a finger across his throat. I rolled my eyes. Just what I needed. Another fan with knives.

Gideon listened to my report the next day in his office at Blackgoat. Given it was mid-afternoon, it was nice he was sober. It wasn’t nice he was in his long johns, standing on a crate and getting fitted by his tailor.

Gideon’s office had no windows and the walls had recently been repainted a screaming red that hurt my eyes. Shelves were cluttered with dusty artefacts and neglected books. A small daybed leaned against one wall, covered in job folders that needed filing. I was slouched in an overstuffed armchair, staring intently at a crack in the ceiling. I wasn’t in the mood to see Gideon’s jiggly bits wobble around as he was measured and I was ready to run if those long johns had to come off.

Crowhurst sat beside me, fiddling with the ruby earring in his ear while he read gossip in a local street press. His beard was short, and blond hair slicked back. His boots looked new, and his waistcoat was made from purple silk, clashing with an orange cravat. Crowhurst’s clothes always looked beyond his pay grade, and I had long suspected he moonlighted for customers outside of Blackgoat.

‘Do you think it was a hired assassin?’ Gideon was asking me, his face pulled like he’d swallowed vinegar. ‘Who do you think he was trying to kill? Nicola, or you?’ Even in his long johns, his favourite scarlet fez was secured firmly on his wild bush of coarse hair, tilted at a jaunty angle so the tassel swung across his eyes.

‘No-one seems to know who he was, and I'll have you know, I haven’t had anyone try to kill me in weeks,’ I huffed.

‘Just a matter of time, baby.’ Crowhurst thumbed over a page. ‘Just a matter of time.’

Gideon grunted. ‘I don’t like that Ivor Grogan approached you personally. He is a dangerous man.’

‘He gave the impression the attack on Nicola could be related to his business,’ I offered. ‘Either way, Nicola needs more protection than two Runners.’

Gideon winced as the tailor shoved the end of the tape measure into his crotch. ‘Did Nicola mention anything more to you? Perhaps something about her father?’

I rolled my eyes. ‘Nicola Grogan thinks her father walks on water. She lives in a world where unicorns piss rainbows and puppies never die. She thinks her father is over-protective and I'm too cute for words.’

‘Clearly delusional.’ Crowhurst nodded.

Gideon stepped off the crate and pulled his trousers back on. The tailor stepped away, scribbling on a notepad. ‘I'll have everything ready by the week’s end.’ He ripped a page off his pad and passed it to Gideon. ‘My bill.’

Gideon took the piece of paper without looking at it. ‘I can hardly wait to view your latest masterpiece, kind sir.’

The tailor sniffed like he was used to hearing sweet-talk from his customers. He rolled up his tape, packed his shiny tailoring bag and left. Gideon glanced down at the piece of paper, blanched and collapsed behind his desk, fanning himself with the quote. ‘This man will see me ruined with his bills.’

‘Why don’t you buy your suits off the rack?’ I asked. Gideon looked at me like I'd suggested he go eat babies. I thought of my collection of expensive Outland shoes. ‘Whatever. I won’t judge. We all have our vices.’

Gideon pocketed the tailor’s bill and pulled his top drawer open. A bottle of vodka appeared a moment later, followed by three shot glasses. He filled them to the brim then pushed them towards Crowhurst and I, motioning for us to drink up.

‘It’s still daylight.’ Crowhurst said it like that meant something.

‘I can tell the time.’ Gideon tossed the clear liquid back with a well-practised throw.

Crowhurst sighed and sipped his gingerly. I stared at my shot glass on the table, and wondered if I should bring up what happened at Growlers with Maya Velkov. I'd been hoping to talk to Cloete first, but I was having trouble finding her. On my way up to Gideon’s office earlier, I'd noticed a group of Runners downstairs, talking in huddled groups. They’d fallen silent when I'd greeted them, and my heart had given an anxious squeeze. I'd hoped Velkov had been bluffing about luring some of Blackgoat’s Runners away, but the static in the air made me think otherwise.

Gideon poured himself another shot and threw it back, then banged the glass back down on the table. ‘First order of business: neither of you are required at the Iron Horse tonight. Apparently, Lady Nicola Grogan is still recovering from last night’s misadventures and needs rest before her big event tomorrow night. When the schedule resumes again, in light of her father’s veiled threat, I'll replace Lora with someone else.’

‘I thought Cloete turned the job down.’ I kept a close eye on Gideon when I mentioned her name, but the satyr didn’t react.

‘If needs be, Crowhurst will wear a dress and learn to walk in heels,’ Gideon said.

Crowhurst took another sip of vodka. ‘I've had worse jobs.’

Picking up a file from his desk, Gideon waved it around. ‘Second order of business: new job for the both of you.’ He passed Crowhurst the file. ‘Lora, you will work with Crowhurst on this one, but he will be the primary.’

Crowhurst’s eyes skimmed the file. ‘Jonas Grundler. Missing a week. City Watch can’t find him. Mother says the disappearance is out of character.’

‘Nineteen years old.’ Gideon poured himself another shot. ‘Works in a factory on East Street. Disappeared two weeks ago. Left for work, didn’t come back. His mother is worried. Given the City Watch has found nothing, she hired Blackgoat to find him.’ Gideon looked at me pointedly. ‘Lora, perhaps you could ask your special friend, Captain Hallow, what he knows?’

‘He’s not my special friend,’ I sniffed. ‘And just to check, why is Crowhurst the primary on this?’ I tried not to sound whiney. I'd seen Crowhurst in action and knew he had earned the right to step up in the ranks, but I disliked playing second fiddle.

‘I earned it,’ Crowhurst said sourly. ‘My car got trashed on the last job I worked with you. Do you know how much clockwork repairs and parts cost in this city? I had to pawn most of my Outland weapon collection to that dodgy broker of yours, Taunton, to get the money for repairs.’

I wondered what price he’d gotten from Taunton. I'd recently visited him myself, looking to pawn some Outland handguns for some cash to settle some outstanding gambling debts. But Taunton had turned away my impressive pair of Colt Magnum revolvers, saying he was still trying to move some stock and his books were full. Since I'd been a little on the desperate side, I’d had to resort to pawning a little book of illegal magic I usually kept under lock and key. It had been a hard parting, since it was a one of a kind item, and I’d only managed to hand it over after Taunton swore on his grave he’d keep it safe until I could buy it back.

‘I'm sorry you had to give up your toys,’ I told Crowhurst. ‘But your car getting trashed was an occupational hazard.’

Crowhurst folded his paper up. ‘Just working with you is an occupational hazard. It took me years to pull that gun collection together. I went to a lot of effort. Do you know how hard it is to sneak a Tommy gun past the border guards?’

I had a pretty good idea. While Outland mechanics didn’t work within The Weald, clogging with the magic that protected it, there were still very tight import laws, and Outland weapons were flat-out forbidden. Of course, that didn’t stop people from trying, since there was a thriving black-market for them. Every tinker in the city was racing to invent something more advanced than the clunky wheellock pistols and flintlocks, using Outland weapons for inspiration. Then there were the collectors, like Crowhurst.

Crowhurst grinned at me. ‘Heard you picked up a new nickname.’

My back teeth automatically clenched. ‘I don’t want to know.’

‘You sure?’

I glared at Gideon. ‘Do I really have to work with this moron?’

‘Lora, you are secondary on the job because Jonas Grundler is griorwolf,’ Gideon replied.

‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ I asked.

Crowhurst snapped the file close. ‘If it’s griorwolf business, then I'll work this job alone.’

‘No.’ Gideon’s voice was firm.

‘No respectable griorwolf in the Gypsy Quarter will talk to me if Lora’s tagging along,’ Crowhurst argued.

‘No-one works alone,’ Gideon repeated.

‘Wait a minute.’ I straightened in my chair. ‘There are griorwolves in the Gypsy Quarter?’

Crowhurst rolled his eyes. ‘Did you think I was the only griorwolf in the city?’

‘How many of your kind are there?’ I'd seen Crowhurst change once into the beast that lurked inside of him. It had been the first time I'd seen a griorwolf, and I'd kind of been hoping since that it would be the last. ‘How many griorwolves live in Harken?’

‘Never you mind,’ Crowhurst said. ‘Griorwolves don’t advertise their existence to outsiders, and I'm not going to start chatting about it now.’

‘You have contacts, don’t you, with the Marrok family? I believe they are a most prominent family of griorwolves.’ Gideon’s small smile turned hard. ‘Isn’t that right?’

Crowhurst flushed a dark colour. Gideon’s smile dropped. ‘You’ll use your connections to find Grundler. Lora will back you up if things get…difficult.’

My eyes bounced from Gideon to Crowhurst. ‘Is there something I should know about the Marrok’s?’

‘No.’ Crowhurst’s hands were tight around the file.

Gideon screwed the top of the vodka bottle back on. ‘As I am still the owner of this establishment, there will be no further arguments about this. Both of you can suck it up.’

‘Grundler’s mother would have only come to Blackgoat Watch because she heard you had a griorwolf working for you,’ Crowhurst said to Gideon. ‘Why won’t you trust my judgement on this?’

Gideon waved the point away. ‘My word is final.’

The irritation slipped from Crowhurst’s face, replaced by his usual carefree mask. He stood, file in hand and walked for the door. ‘You’re making a mistake.’

‘Excitable fellow,’ Gideon mused after Crowhurst had left. His eyes fell on the full shot glass meant for me. ‘Since you’re not working tonight, I trust you’re fine with entertaining yourself, yes? Perhaps something that involves a cup of warm milk and an early night, yes? I don’t want you out gambling your pay cheque away.’

‘I don’t do that so much anymore.’ I covered my mouth with a yawn.

‘And I trust you’ll have a suitable dress for the party tomorrow night?’

The yawn caught in my throat, ending in a spluttering cough. ‘Eh?’

‘Nicola Grogan’s coming of age party, tomorrow night?’

‘What’s that got to do with me?’

‘I'm sure I mentioned it,’ Gideon said. ‘We’ve been invited to the event. It’s a masquerade ball, at the Grogan country estate. You must have made quite the impression on Nicola. She specifically requested you attend as a guest, and I will be your escort.’

I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to ease the tension headache that had appeared behind my eyes. ‘Can I decline?’

‘Considering your track record of late, with you leaving a trail of dead clients and co-workers behind you, trust me, this is a good thing.’

‘It wasn’t my fault.’

‘What wasn’t?’

‘Rae Dowler had a heart attack. Are you blaming me for that?’

‘Of course not. That would be idiotic.’

‘Right.’

‘But other people blame you. I can hardly stop that. Do you know what your new nickname is?’

I sighed. ‘All right. Tell me. What is it?’

‘White Death.’

I moved my hands to my temples, rubbing softly. White Death was not an improvement on Chopper. Not by a long shot. ‘Fine. I'll go to the stupid party.’

‘Do you have a dress to wear?’

‘Probably. Maybe. Why do you care?’

Gideon glowered at me. ‘They say this is going to be the event of the year. You can’t turn up in some ridiculous, low cut, Outland cocktail dress that causes a social scandal. There will be a lot of high profile guests. Even the Lord Mayor Corelli himself will be attending. Why don’t I just bring something over for you to wear, yes?’

‘The Mayor, eh?’ My hands dropped into my lap and I narrowed my eyes on the old goat. ‘I hope you’re not planning on trying to talk to him about the job we did for his wife.’

Gideon looked hurt. ‘You think I am incapable of having a pleasant conversation with our elected Mayor?’

I rolled my eyes. ‘I've heard you rant often enough to know what issue you want to bang on about. Face it, you’ll never be able to convince the Mayor to grant equal rights for full-bloods and otherkin.’

‘It isn’t right.’ Gideon began rifling the paper on his desk. ‘I have the latest letter from his administration, once again rejecting my request for an audience with him.’

‘That’s because he doesn’t care, you know.’

‘Doesn’t care? Doesn’t care?’ Gideon’s voice rose and he whirled a finger around. ‘The full-bloods were the first dwellers within The Weald, and humans are the plague of locusts that descended upon her by chance, consuming all her natural glory.’

‘Ease up,’ I protested. ‘I'm mostly human, remember?’

‘It is my right, as a guest of the party, to talk to whomever I please.’ Gideon gave up looking for the letter when he came across a bag of sweets hidden under a file. He stuffed a few in his mouth, chewing angrily.

‘As long as you don’t try to use the exorcism as leverage,’ I warned. ‘Either way, he won’t listen to you. He’s a pompous nitwit, from what I hear.’

Gideon shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t dream of disturbing the party by harassing the Mayor. Master Ivor Grogan is a man not to be crossed. I certainly don’t want to upset this important event.’

I frowned. ‘Why?’

‘He’s probably spent a fortune on it, for starters.’

‘No, why is Grogan not to be crossed?’ I folded my arms. ‘And why would he go to the trouble to tell me his daughter is in danger because of his business? Who does that?’