Needle Rain (16 page)

“And?”

“And?” A few inches in front of Omi, a small mound of gray sand marked the entrance to a crab hole. “And a crab has made a home way up here, many yards above the water – surviving despite being subjected to harsh conditions.” There, that sort of answer would have gained him an “A” in a philosophy exam.

“And?”

He frowned. What was the right answer? “The sun, birds, seagulls, terns, water, further north...” The cliff swept around in a crescent and there, on the distant point, a gray shambles of tumble-down rock. A building, perhaps. “An old house? Watchtower? Fort? Rocks? Can’t tell which.”

“Those rocks are the remains of Rogi Vassbinder’s sea-mansion. You know of him, of course. All zhenjui Needle Masters are taught his history.”

“Yes.” His mouth was dry. Rogi had been a fearsome man, probably insane, at the last. “He made Immolators – the first of them. A genius, if mad. I didn’t know he lived here.”

“Only in his last years.”

Thom spread his fingers, stared at his hands. The tendons that linked fingers to hand. The blue vessels. The whorls and lines of wrinkles at each joint. Needle Master. The ache inside him awakened and clawed fresh wounds.
How I have failed. Let me count the ways.

“I asked what you saw, Thom, because I wanted to also ask you this: in any of all those things, do you see yourself?”

“Myself? No. Thank the gods.” He laughed bitterly.

“And yet that is where you need to be.” Omi opened his eyes and stared earnestly at Thom.

“You want me to jump off this cliff? Gladly.” Again he laughed and realized that he had spoken the truth. A simple solution to an agonizing problem.

“Pah! There is no joke in this! You seek self-enlightenment. Relief from your inner ills! You blame yourself, and yes, I do know what you’ve done! You have betrayed your country. To assuage your sadness at your wife’s death you took somm. Your child is dead at least in part because of your weakness.” He paused a second or two.

“The children here, many of them have been abused, assaulted in some way. If we simply ignored them and went to those who injured them and made them say sorry, would that be enough? Huh? Do you ever wonder what happened to that girl you attacked? Heloise is her name. Or the man you forced to betray his country? Samos Goodkin? You sit here stewing in your own juices when you could be, and should be,
doing
.”

Thom found he was leaning backward. This priest was insane. What could he do?

“That girl is alive. Your needles are still inside her. Why not remove them?”

His mouth half-open, Thom fought to bring order to his thoughts. “But, you brought me here,” he whispered. “How can I –” He slumped and shoved his hands into his hair, left them there half-covering his face.

It was true. He stewed in his pain, mulling it over, day, night, in his dreams even, but that woman, Heloise, his anger permeated his every thought of her. Anger and also, he realized to his disgust, a tinge of lust. He frowned.

“I hurt her because she helped to kill Leonie. My daughter. She threatened her and then she killed her.”

“Ah-h-h. That I did not know. A terrible crime if it is so. Are you sure of this?”

“I –” If it was true, there was reason behind his rage, and if false, there was none. He knew she’d made the threat and Leonie had died. But, no, he had no facts. Though he searched every one of his dubious memories, he found no proof, just the bitter aftertaste of rage. “I can’t be sure. But it must be true.” He drew away his hands.

“Thom. Even if it is true, do you believe what you did was right?” Omi paused. “If you do, you are not the man I thought I rescued from a hanging death. Do you remember what you did?”

A seagull floated in a rising air current just out from where they sat at the cliff’s edge. Serene, effortless, at one with its world. As he watched, the bird seemed to study him also with those black shiny eyes.
Don’t you judge me too.

“Twenty-five needles. I remember those. I was wrong. Of course, I was. Terribly so. But there should be justice for Leonie. And I’ll never get it through the judiciary. I’m a traitor.”

Omi was looking out to sea. “It takes more courage to face your own wrongs and those you injured than to simply say, sorry, and forgive yourself, and do nothing.”

His whole body trembled. “I vowed never to touch another needle.”

“Then undo that vow. You are a zhenjui Needle Master. It is only what you do with your skills that has been wrong, not the skill itself.”

“Ah, yes. Truth also,” Thom said bitterly. “You’re not as crazy as I thought.”

“Then you will help this girl if I bring her here?”

“You want me to heal her? What? When she deserves a trial?”

Omi rummaged in a pocket within his robe and withdrew a slim opaque tube as long as his finger that he waved before Thom’s eyes. The trapped things within buzzed angrily. Homing flies. Some trinketologist with too much time on his hands, or an expensive commission, had crafted these into miniature versions of Grakkurd airships. They were little oblong balloons. Some bronze and purple, others green and black and shiny steel, and all of them bumping against the thin hollowed-out horn of the tube and ready to launch.

“I can have a message to Carstelan in a day. My fellow priests will carry it to her.”

“A day?” Thom stared sightlessly out at the horizon. Truly, he didn’t know. He felt as if he’d fallen into another river in full flow and was tumbling helplessly.

“I can’t remember the exact placement of the needles. The somm, perhaps, caused this, I don’t know.” He slowly shook his head. As he had done for several days, he struggled to recall the days after the fight at his clinic and found only a disconnected junk pile of dismembered memories. His anger as he attacked the girl, Heloise, yes, that he remembered. He felt it even and shrank inside as he did so. But the order of the needles, the depth, the angles, even the positions on the body – none of this was in his memories.

“You may, if you see her again. Neh?”

“I remove the needles and miraculously become a worthy soul again?” It was peaceful up here, at least on the outside. The seagull tilted a wing and dived away with a shrieking cry. “But she will still be a murderer.”

“Very well. If you need this then listen: On one other small condition, I promise to seek this justice for you, and if she is truly guilty of the murder of your child she will hang.”

He turned and stared at Omi. “You? A priest? You’ll seek this? Besides, she’ll only bring the Enforcers up here.”

“I can almost guarantee that she will not contact the authorities. Almost, but then nothing in life is certain, is it? The other.” Omi spread his hands. “Amora weighs both love and hate. It is well within my governance. Do we have an agreement?”

His tongue became glue inside his mouth. He should ask why Omi was so certain, but what did it matter? He would only be delaying things. “Yes.” As he said it, he imagined Heloise being hung by the neck, spinning, spinning, on the rope, dead, and suddenly felt ill and unsure. Was he right to ask this of Omi?

She’d brought Leonie to the clinic and exposed her to the dangers that involved. He bit his inside cheek. But would she have ordered her killed?
You idiot
,
why would she?
It wouldn’t make sense.
Somehow, belatedly, he knew she would never act so callously.

“The small condition,” Omi said, reaching into his robe. He produced a small cardboard box. The hissing sound coming from within was distinctive.

Thom found himself shuffling, clawing, scrambling backward, while still on his knees. “No. No! Keep it away!”

“Ah, but that is the condition. You must learn to resist your addiction if you ever want to be in control of your own destiny.” Omi slid out the drawer of the box to reveal a somm beetle. Its mandibles were up and waving about like a miniature pair of tusks. Its flame orange body flashed in the sunlight. “You will carry this with you wherever you go.”

By a combination of bluster, anger, and pure determination, Heloise got past the guard outside her bedroom door. With Bull and two guards in tow, she made her way downstairs to the small dining room where a selection of breakfast delicacies sat on the sideboard. Finding her mouth watering and pastries, eggs and crispy-fried bacon sitting there all perky and scrumptious, she grabbed a slice of bacon with finger and thumb and munched down on it.

“Er-hm!” Yassmin spoke from behind her. Sitting at the long oak table, no doubt. “My dear, no matter what hot and sweaty escapades you’ve been up to. No matter how energetic your activities...I expect manners in my house.”

Following Heloise through the dining room door with one guard at his elbow was Bull. Even he rolled his eyes at that thinly disguised insult.

It was too much and at the wrong time. The woman was a hypocrite and also a fool, if she thought her infidelities were hidden.

Heloise turned, sure that sparks must be spraying from her eyeballs. “Yassmin. I haven’t been fucking anyone. Leastways, not last night. You and Colonel Reicher, on the other hand –”

“Oh!”

That was all Yassmin managed before Heloise sailed over to the far door, travelling deliberately fast. Another snide remark and she’d slap or maybe kick that woman where it hurt the most. The corridor outside was empty apart from a soft strip of green carpet and a few side tables topped with expensive porcelain.

“Second door down,” Heloise muttered. A messenger in the livery of some upper city house exited as she approached. She caught the swinging door.

Inside the study, Uncle stood leaning over his desk, arms propped either side of an unfolded letter, head bowed. He still wore his riding clothes, dusty, creased, and she could smell the horse sweat.

Demanding information right now wasn’t a good idea.

“Uncle?”

He spoke without lifting his head. “You were seen. A woman who is well known in aristo circles has written to me. She says you tried to kill her, but...that it wasn’t really you. And she says, that you were possessed by a ghost.” He raised his head and studied her, as if she’d sprouted horns. “Normally, that sort of comment, well, I’d say they were crazy. But this woman, she’s level headed, a business lady. Strangely, I think she wants to help you.”

The door clicked shut behind her. No one in here but her and Uncle. What to do? Deny it? She was here to find out what the Needle Master’s Guild had told him. To get him to tell
her
what was going on, not the other way round.

A night spent running around in pajamas doing the bidding of a malevolent, well, a slightly homicidal, ghost, and now this.

She sagged.
Damn.
The energy that had carried her here had gone somewhere. Probably to bed. Her eyes felt as if they’d been boiled, and the aches in her muscles returned tenfold. And the holes in her feet... She refused to even think about them. Suddenly the green leather lounge against the wall looked heavenly. Weaving slightly, she tottered over and sat down.
I feel like a potato.

“Uncle, let’s swap stories.” She pressed a hand onto her eyes and massaged then opened them again. No. Still felt like a warmed-up corpse.

He pulled up a chair and looked acutely interested. “Right. You start.”

Glaring at him took too much energy. “Anisa. Is that the lady’s name?”

“Yes. It is. Unfortunately.” He cleared his throat. “Is Yassmin still at breakfast?”

“She’s not likely to barge in here soon, if that’s what you mean. You’ve been keeping things from me, Uncle, and I’m angry at you–”

“I did it to protect you–”

“From what? And for how long? Anyway...” She held out her palms. “Forget it. We’re even. Last night...last night, a ghost took over my body.”

She waited a few seconds for the implications of that clanger of a statement to sink in.

Uncle gave little away in his expression.

She shut her eyes and swallowed before continuing. “Nothing I could do about it. He wanted to kill this woman and the only reason he didn’t was because she changed his mind for him. The weird thing was that she didn’t really see
me
. She saw him.”

Uncle drew in a long breath. “In the eyes of the law, if he’d killed her, you would have been the murderer.”

“I figured that. Did you tell Kane he couldn’t talk to me?”

“What? No. The man’s scared witless. He told me about seeing the ghost, you know, but he was so incoherent I didn’t believe a word he said.”

“Oh.” That was more than she wanted to hear.
Best to deal with it later.
She hunched forward. “Now it’s your turn. And I really want to know if this ghost possession thing is because of the needles. Is it?”

He stood and went around the desk to a drawer. “They wrote a report on you. Here.” He tossed a folder, spinning, to her and she caught it. “In summary. They think the needles are bad but they don’t know exactly what they are doing to you.”

Blinking away the bleariness, she opened the folder. The letterhead of the Burgla’le Zhenjui Needle Master’s Guild, headed the report. She flicked through the pages. “Twenty-three pages?” She whistled. “And they don’t know anything?”

That made him smile. “Oh yes, but they know a very great deal about what they don’t know.”

She guffawed. “Hope this report was cheap.”

“Two hundred and thirty grints. Ten per page.” He sat on the desk’s corner.

“Uncle! You’ve been done over like a newborn customer.” She laughed again but found tears leaking from her eyes.

“Dear, it was worth every single grint.”

His earnest yet anguished expression made her pause. Never had Uncle looked like this. Business was business. Debt-collecting was hazardous and everyone involved was well aware of those dangers. But not
these
dangers – ghosts weren’t in the company rulebook.

Something felt askew. What was she missing here? Or what was she not admitting to herself?

The ghost and the needles were linked. Not maybe. Had to be. And where there’s one, there’d eventually be two. How could she stop them? Why her?

“Do you think this is the divine justice of the gods? Punishment? It was my mistake that caused the girl’s death.”

“Divine justice? No.” He rubbed the bristles on his chin. “If it is then I’m being punished as much as you are.”

She steepled her hands before her nose.
Think, girl.
“I have other questions. If I take the soporific potion, is it safe and can I lower the dose?”

“No and no. It’s why I finally stopped it. Keep using it and you’ll get serious liver damage and, eventually, die. And really,” he said gently. “Do you want to live your life through the fog of a drug?

Slowly, she ran through the options in her head. Take the drug anyway. Tell the world about her problem. Do nothing and make a mess of everything, most likely. Reluctantly, she decided on a course of action. If it didn’t work, she’d move out. Staying here could be as messy and dangerous for Uncle as it was for her. She might not get on with Yassmin, but Uncle was married to her. He had his own life and family. His business would take a nosedive if she badly assaulted the wrong person, or did worse...though she couldn’t right then and there put her finger on what could be worse than murder.
That
alone could get her hanged. Maybe Uncle too if they thought he was involved.

“Tonight, you have to restrain me somehow. I’ll do that every night until another ghost comes to me. If another ghost comes. Use something I can’t undo or break. Metal, I suppose.”

He blanched but she could see him thinking, going down the same logical paths she had traveled.

“You’re thinking shackles, aren’t you, Heloise? Not needed. You can sleep in the cellar where I store the valuables, gold, contracts, and so on. There are no windows. The only way out is through a thick steel door with a voice-sensitive trinketton lock. Only I can unlock it.”

That sent a chill prickling through her. Being chained down she could handle. A shut-tight room with no way out? No. “What if I need to leave and you’re upstairs asleep? Shackles seem a better idea.”

He grimaced. “No, I’m not chaining you up. It’s a grotesque idea. I’ll sleep nearby. Besides, you may be wrong. There may never be another incident like last night. I’ve decided. That’s it.”

She sank back against the leather. He’d decided.
Hmm.
For now, in spite of her misgivings, she’d do as he said. But if something went wrong...

****

The cellar turned out to be a whitewashed room, three yards by three yards. The two, almost room-length, shelves holding the valuables were shunted together against one wall by Uncle and Bull to make way for a bed and a side table with a trink lamp – one made of a lovely silvery metal with long-necked green geese flying around the lampshade. But, no matter how lovely the furnishings, the room made Heloise wrap her arms about herself and shiver.

“It’s almost sunset.” Uncle slipped his fob watch back into the pocket of his jacket. “We should close the door.” His expression was unreadable. Too much so, as if he deliberately held his emotions in check. Then he came forward and hugged her.

“Thank you, Uncle. I’ll be safe in here. I’m sure.” A lie, she wasn’t sure, but the truth would unnerve him and what use was that?

“Bull will sleep right outside the door. He’ll send for me if you want the door opened.”

Bull nodded.

She blinked. What had happened to the promise that he’d be sleeping nearby? It took only a few heartbeats before she figured it out. Yassmin. She must have demanded he sleep in their bedroom.

“So...how loud do I have to yell? And, oh, we should have some sort of password, so you know it’s me. How about Grunt – my cat’s name. Oh Gods! Who’s been feeding him? How could I forget?” She clenched her fists.
Scum.
Scum-scum-scum-scum-scum.
Put a cork in it.
No hysterics.

“What?” Bull frowned. “Grunt?”

“He’s being looked after by Kane,” Uncle said hurriedly. “It’s her pet,” he told Bull.

“Yes, he’s my cat. Sorry. I’m nervous.”
And the thought that I’ve starved my cat... Damn. On top of everything else, it would just put the cream on the cake.

“The door’s not soundproof. Bull will hear you. Grunt is the password? Right. Let’s be out of here.” Uncle chivvied Bull out the door. “Good night, my dear.”

Her last sight was of Uncle’s blandly worried face and, above that, Bull, trying to smile but looking even more concerned. The door clacked shut, made small whirring and clicking sounds, then fell silent.

The trink lamp shed a light strong enough to banish most of the shadows, except for behind the two shelves.

She was alone in here. Probably a million grints worth of wealth on the shelves and she’d give it all away to be normal again. Not that it was hers anyway. She stuck a finger in her mouth and chewed a jagged nail. The report from the Needle Master’s Guild lay atop the yellow quilt on the bed. Reading might take her mind off the fact that she was trapped in a room for an entire night waiting for a visit from a ghost.

She shuddered. This was a bad idea. Better to try to handle this by herself. One night to try this out and that was it. Home tomorrow. Snuggling up to Grunt, even without Kane, had to be better than this.

The three pillows she’d been left were thick and smelled of fresh lemons. She piled them against the wall at the headboard and settled in. Comfy. And non-pink pajamas – satin gray this time. The room was just cool enough, the bed welcoming. Her eyelids felt heavy. If only the reading material was more exciting. Page after page of dry description of needle angles, depths, positions.

Ugh
. She pictured a whole gaggle of Needle Masters, men most likely, prodding her while she slept.
Ick.
This was her body. They should have waited, asked her permission. Drager had escaped anyway and no one seemed to know where he’d gone. Not a single trail that led anywhere, Uncle had said. They could have waited.

The ugliness of imagining that invasion of her body brought other memories to the fore. Having a ghost inside your body, controlling you more rigidly than a slave master could control a slave, that was far more awful.