3

CHAPTER 3

 Don’s place was a lot more extravagant than what I was used to. He owned a house, a large three story building atop a hill and fenced off to the streets. The building itself was made of red bricks, and white painted metal twisted into balconies and arches. There were two main rooftops that were pointed and high, like horns found on an evil creature, the sight was something to behold at night, especially when the silvery moon backlights the horns and their shadows stretch across its grounds. Children have used this building’s architecture to create gruesome, ghost stories which is sometimes reiterated by parents to scare their children into behaving. I have heard parts of these stories, talks of fiends escaping from the Netherworld and this being their ‘gateway’, if there was ever such thing, come to think of it, sometimes it seemed as though Don wasn’t from this world, probably another reason why children believed the stories.

 I chuckled lightly to myself as I walked up to the wrought iron gates made to mimic the rooftops in fashion. Don’s Watchers stood just on the other side. They nodded to me and pulled a gate open for me to enter. The Watchers I had seen on many occasions, they were regular henchmen for my big brother.

 A Watcher followed me. He was a large frame, thickly built with no neck; his chest was the same width as his gut, typical for a henchman. As he walked his whole body moved, like someone had tied rope around his torso restricting any casual, flowing movements. He was very different compared to myself. My footsteps were quick, my body slightly hunched as I casually walked, or even jogged up the stone steps to my brother’s home as I watched where I put my feet. My guide was completely aware of his surroundings, chin up, shoulder’s back and an air of confidence radiated from his persona. He stopped and opened the front door for me, his thick lips, curled from a scar earned long ago whilst proving his worth in the bodyguard trade. His nose had the same broken look; his eyes were a light, almost pale grey, a very unique colour I hadn’t come across too many times.

 The halls were decorated with expensive paintings, vases, and ornaments of every kind. It seemed like anything my brother had acquired had to be displayed, despite some of their illegal qualities. The walls were papered with a cream colour; the ceiling was marked with fine carvings of different symbols, swirls, and patterns. The carvings were done by the hand of one man; I knew this because that man stood upon scaffolding, engraving more of the intricate patterns at the end of the hall.

 The Watcher stood at another door, a pine one with a golden handle twisted into an extravagant fashion. He knocked on the door twice and waited for the command to come from inside.

 “Enter,” it was muffled but still clear enough to understand.

 Already I could tell my brother was angry, and I hated that.

 The door was opened, a man no older than I stepped out. He was Handy Jak, a skilled financer. Don had met him whilst I was in the army and since then he has been a close advisor to the Street Boss. Instantly Don recognised his talents and gave him a job. Jak was now in charge of all things where coin was concerned. Dealers, Resources and thieves answered to this man and Jak, in turn, relayed information and demands to Don. I saw Jak on a regular basis, although I would rather not, his smug face needed a beating. His lip curled a smile to me on the way out.

 I stepped inside the room; it was small compared to what I would have expected if I hadn’t been inside before. It was all very, ‘Don’, an aura of wealth and power to hide his cheap and poor past. A black cast iron fireplace was the only source of light as logs burned in the deep hearth. Above the fireplace a portrait was lit up. The portrait showed Donovan Shaw in his prime, sat with his back straight and shoulders wide, with a clean, white shirt and a golden chain running from his thick chest where it was buttoned into his shirt to the pocket on his grey, single-breasted waistcoat. Don’s black hair was oiled back, slick and smart. He wasn’t smiling, a serious businessman for his colleagues and confidants to see. His eyes were a pale blue, very much like my own; they were bright under heavy lids. He was clean shaven, a square jaw with a pointed, dimpled chin; his eyebrows were thick and constantly furrowed as the weight of the underworld fell on this man’s shoulders. His nose was misshapen, a past etched onto his face forever thanks to a stray fist that caught him in a fight with Blue Henry when he was nineteen. He hated his nose; he always thought it pointed out a weakness. Other than his broken nose, his appearance was very much expected from his predecessors as a Street Boss, but this was just a portrait.

In front of the fireplace was a chair, a tall chair with purple, velvet cushioning and mahogany handles and legs, its carvings looked similar to the markings the man was etching into the ceiling in the hall. Sitting in the chair was the Don of today, a thick yet pale hand wrapped around a glass of port. His knuckles were white and scarred from a lifetime of use.

 I stood behind the chair. Apart from the smell of the logs burning in the hearth, the air had a tinge of smoke lingering in the air from burning incense which gave off an overly sweet smell, that and the overused aftershave of Don.

 Sat in the corner was a doctor, the man with the mission of keeping Don breathing until a successful predecessor was named and Don was ready to pass. His thin spectacles were perched upon a long, hooked nose. A thin, pointed moustache grew just above his thin top lip. His grey eyes were above his hollow cheeks, thin jaw line with a pointed beard at the tip of his sunken chin. A condescending look was written all over his face.

 I ignored him, rubbed my neck and bit down on mouthpiece of my pipe again, puffing away at the sweet tobacco and adding my own fumes to the already almost suffocating atmosphere.

 I was left alone with my brother �" again, ignoring the doctor.

 “Cal?” he grumbled from his chair.

 I circled around to face him. “Yes, brother?”

 “I told you not to call me that.” He was half the man used to be, and deteriorating fast. Compared to his portrait, he was a shadow. His face was pale, his hair turning silver just above his ears and thinning on the top, and the pale blue eyes he once flashed at courtesans and colleagues’ wives were now a dull, milky blue, bloodshot and tired with bags hanging down onto his sagging cheeks. Creases had crept into the corners of his eyes and mouth. Despite his ill condition, Don still had an air of respect which commanded the same from people in his company, the way he sat like nothing fazed him and nothing bothered him despite the massive weight on his wide shoulders, his silk dressing gown flowed neatly down the velvet chair, his legs were wide apart as he sat, slouched in his seat. Don’s illness had taken almost everything from him; his authority was one thing he still clung on to.

 “Sorry, Boss.”

 “Little Rich?” his eyes were firmly fixed on the dancing flames in front of him.

 “I haven’t found him yet, but I’m still looking.” I had no choice but to stand, there were no chairs at hand, nothing to ease the tiredness in my legs and back. My lids dared to close; they were only open due to the sheer determination of mine and the fear that Don would call for someone to beat the s**t out of me, or worse, Don would do it himself. I wondered whether he still had the strength in him to do such a thing.

 “Find him,” Don drank gentle sips from his glass of port.

 “I will.”

 Don looked at me from under his heavy lids, a curl in his lip, “and Marv?”

 A shudder nearly crept down my spine, and despite him being my brother I still felt I had to fear the beast. During my latter teenage years I had joined the royal army just when Don was starting to make a name for himself on the street, for years he had to put up with taunts of his Royal connection, so much so that he had to disown me for my career path. A career path which ended in me dropping out and becoming a street rat myself. Don did me a favour at this point in offering me a job as a Tracer’s informant, a favour I would never have asked for but no one trusted me. I owed him my respect at the very least, even if I was reluctant to give it.

 “He bled out.”

 “He was a Skip; if I wanted him killed I would have sent a Wetman.” Wetman, a term used to describe an assassin. “You still killed a bloody decent Resource.”

 “Technically, Dole killed him.” My brain was tired, useless, I hadn’t realised my response was a mistake until Don’s glass of port smashed against the side of my face. I winced, clutching my cheek.

 “He died on your f*****g watch!” Don shouted from his chair, his hands were fists on the mahogany arms. “You’re quite the f**k up, you know that?”

 “I’m no Jak.” I muttered under my breath as I picked out a small piece of glass from my cheek.

 Don glared at me.

 “Sorry, he held out on information I needed.”

 “What was it?” Don settled back into his chair but still eyed me angrily.

 “He was spreading rumours.”

 “About what?” I could sense the tone in Don’s voice, a hint of gravel in his bark.

 “About you.”

 Again Don looked at me, “go on.”

 “I needed to know what he said, to whom and who started them. From what I’ve gathered though, he was talking of you being too weak to run South Seren. That you have always been weak and I was proof.” I felt ashamed, it wasn’t a lie. I was a burden on Don’s wide shoulders, he showed a chink in his armour when he recruited me from. It was a favour I had flouted several times by throwing my weight about, talking to him like he wasn’t the man he was and much more.

 “What have you got so far?”

 “Nothing really, I concluded that it must have come from within the organisation judging by the detail on which your symptoms were described by others. Don, if there are rumours about you health and condition, they are testing your resolve and state of mind, there is the possibility of an attempted usurp. I would like to keep this to myself, if that’s ok?”

 Don nodded slowly; he took several seconds silence. His tired mind appeared as if it didn’t work as fast as it did in his younger, healthier days. Finally he answered, “Not to yourself, use Lowri, she’s good and trustworthy. I’ll inform Jak and put some ears on corners. Chase this Cal, find them and show them just how weak I am.”

 I left Don.

 The sunlight had started to dim, the sky now looked like a water colour painting, hues of red, orange and a tinge of purple flooded the canvas overhead. My eyes still stung from a lack of sleep and my limbs pleaded for rest. The thought of my bed was the only thing keeping me from going to see Prospect about the cylinder.

 I headed onto Trinity Street. My local dump, the terraced buildings were crooked and broken. Many windows were boarded up and the doors were hanging off. I approached the smallest of the buildings, a one story one roomed box. The door looked old, the walls even older, yet as I approached my shack I still felt a warm sense pride and security even though this was the fifth home I had had in seven years.

 Walking around on the street all day didn’t always feel safe, in some cases it was just dangerous and at night, stupid. At night is when the bad people come out to play, the muggers, the rapists, the murderers and on some occasions a man who embodies all three. They say you’re never five feet from a crime in Seren City.

 I pull out my key from one of my trouser pockets and open the door an inch; I push my dagger in the gap and lift the fishing hook from the door handle on the opposite side. If the door was opened and the hook was still on the handle, a spray of darts smeared with Ricin will catch the intruder, hopefully stopping them from breaking into my home. Ricin was a poison made from the same plant that was used to make castor oil given to me by my Chemist, expensive but worth it.

 With the hook off I casually pushed the door open and strolled in. The difference from the outside was that there was furniture inside. The walls were just as old and dingy, cracks and lumps from damp covered the walls, and the windows were boarded up, each with their own individual trap I had personally set. A single bed hugged the wall in the far corner with my chest of possessions, a small desk in the other. A shelf of what little books I had stood across from me. I turned and placed the hook back on the handle before falling onto my bed, its wooden frame creaking under my weight. I groaned and welcomed the rest to my limbs before falling into a deep sleep.

 People screamed all around me, men, women, children, all of them, I watched as the soldiers ran into their homes and pulled them out. They butchered them there and then on the street. Houses and buildings were ablaze in this small village. Rain pounded the mud around us making it hard to walk in the heavy armour we wore. The battle of Ragstaffe had been won; the bragging and taunting by the soldiers of Seren had just begun.

 A general sat on horseback behind me, a tall astute man, straight backed and hard faced. He had a neat moustache on top of his stern, upper lip. His eyes were cold, devoid of emotion as he watched his soldiers massacring the citizens of Jűr. He looked at me, and a shiver crept down my spine. He nodded to the building ahead of me. I turned back and began walking, it was long and arduous, the building kept moving further and further away and farther uphill. The screams and cries filled the air. To my right, a boy was being pulled out of his home by his hair; he held his arms out for his mother who was being held back by another soldier. Both mother and son were crying and pleading to be left alone.

 As for me, the building ahead loomed as I reached its front door. I pushed it open and inside were Shadows. They stood, pinned to the walls and waiting for my presence, the door slammed shut behind me despite my not remembering to walk in.

 Behind them was a symbol, the symbol, a circle surrounding two crossed lines.

 I awoke to morning light peaking through the planks of wood nailed to my windows. I rubbed my face and scooted myself off the bed. I had an urge to see my old war possessions. I walked over to my chest, using a handkerchief and a key; I unlocked it and lifted the lid, careful not to touch the metal because of the contact poison I had applied. This poison was taken from a Golden Poison Frog. The chest hadn’t been opened for seven years.

 I opened the chest to reveal any possessions I had gathered from my time in the Royal Guard. My uniform was folded neatly; the colours green and silver were blazed across the fine cloth. My sword lay on top, a double edged long sword �" standard for the army, with the crest of Seren on both the hilt of the sword and the breast of my uniform; a silver eagle escaping a golden sun.

 I felt the uniform; a blood stain was under my thumb, it felt rough to touch. My time in the army wasn’t a successful one, in fact I hated it. I only joined because Father always talked about his time serving the king. The battle of Ragstaffe is what did it for me, watching people being slaughtered was too much for me to take. I left, turning my back on my kingdom to join the underworld in the slums of the city.

 A small book lay beside the sword; it was a diary I had taken when in Ragstaffe. It was about the size of my hand with a red leather cover. I had only ever opened it once, the writing inside was in Jűr, a language I couldn’t read nor speak. I opened the book and turned the first crisp page; the swirling patterns were neat and slightly slanted. There were no mistakes, no scribbles only precise careful handwriting.

 There was knocking at my door, a stern rapping against the wood.

 “Who is it?” I called out; I shoved my uniform back into the chest and threw the diary in, a photograph poked out of the corner of the book. I picked it up; it was a photograph of a family, two children, a boy and a girl, and a woman standing next to a man. A knock still came from my door. The man in the photograph looked familiar �" he was the man with Little Rich. I took out the photograph Lowri gave me and compared the two, it was the same man, same almond eyes behind thick spectacles, same long nose, same slicked back hair tied in a ponytail. The knock came again. Using the handkerchief I closed the lid on the chest and locked it.

 “Open this wretched door.” A shout came from outside.

 I knew, I could tell by the absence of foul language that it was a messenger from the Royals. I heaved a sigh, I didn’t know if I had the strength, not the strength to open the door that I could do but refraining from punching and gutting that slimy, brown nosed dick. I unhooked the handle and unlocked the door.

 On the other side of the threshold stood a man, his name was Giles, even when he was pretending to be street folk; he dressed smarter than the average person, and wore much more expensive clothes. A cloak hung neatly on his shoulders, a deep red satin texture with fur linings. His trousers were cut off at the knee but merged with long, white socks. His shirt was bright white and ruffled on his chest. His face was thin, pointed, with the look on his face like he had trodden in some poor animal’s s**t. His black, finely combed hair was hidden beneath a wide and extravagant, velvet hat with a white feather protruding from the top. He kept a thin goatee, so thin it looked as if someone had drawn it on. His aftershave smelt of old spice, it was overpowering. He stuck out like a sore thumb, even worse on Trinity Street.

 Giles invited himself in; stepping into my shack of a home must have been difficult for the posh git. I took satisfaction in this thought.

 “What do you want?” I asked closing the door and resetting the hook.

 “Oh very inviting,” Giles scoffed looking around my one roomed house, “we have another little job for you, obviously.”

 “As in?”

 “We need something.” He stood with his hands crossed in front of him, partly out of comfort, mostly out of not wanting to touch anything.  “A diary. Small with a red leather bound. I’m sure a man of your resources can find such a thing.”

 My heart skipped. “Who’s diary?”

 “A diary from Jűr. The name is Vladimir Fűdd, he was a farmer in Ragstaffe.”

  I wondered whether the diary in my chest was the same Giles was describing. It was written in Jűr, I did find it in Ragstaffe and it did have a red leather cover.

 “It’ll be hard, my best Resource died yesterday. Why do you want it?” I walked over to a cupboard and pulled out a piece of stale bread, I sat on my bed and chewed the hard crust. The bread was much harder than I really wanted but I didn’t care if it came to being rude to Giles.

 Giles’ temple pulsed from grinding his white teeth. “Have you any other means?”

 “Perhaps, it’ll be expensive though.”

 “And I suppose you want some coin to pay your little streets rats to do your dirty work?” An eyebrow rose on his large forehead.

 “No, I want some coin to pay my street rats to do your dirty work.” I was pushing my luck, I didn’t like Giles, hated him in fact.

 “You will not be paid, find another way.”

 I sucked the air through my teeth, winding Giles up like this made me happy. “That will be harder.”

 “You’ll do as we say or you’ll suffer the consequences, Eli.” He barked, clearly getting frustrated at my lack of effort to obey him.

 It did shut me up though, momentarily, him calling me, ‘Eli’ is what did it. The consequences I knew would be hurtful, not just for me but for everyone. They knew who the Street Boss was and his relation to me. If I didn’t do what the king and his men commanded me to do, Don would pay the price. When I left the army, I searched for Don; no one would give me a job because no one trusted me. Even in the slums a criminal needs to have good credentials to get employed by another criminal. Don took me in, he changed my name and handed me a new identity, the life of Eli the soldier had died, my life as Cal the Tracer had begun. But the army got wind of my defect, I don’t know how but they cornered me, threatening to tell my secret to the underworld and making people question Don’s integrity. If Don was weak the royal guard and the Roaches would pour into the slums and end the world we knew whilst people were fighting over Don’s heritance. They would attack whilst we were divided with a weak structure, like a building, without the foundations a house would crumble under the slightest knock, Don was our foundation.

 “Where shall I start?” I said through gritted teeth, I hated their hold on me, I felt like a dog on a leash, just like the army. The only difference between being here and the army was that I could see Don, Lowri and a few others. Otherwise I was still killing in the name of King Julian, only this time, who I kill are criminals. That eased the guilt at least.

 “That’s for you to figure out. Find it.” Giles replied, a smug smile on the thin lipped mouth of his. He headed for the door, I considered stabbing his back right there and then, stabbing someone’s back wasn’t an act I was particularly fond of but in this case I would make the exception.

 I unhooked the trap and opened the door for the Royal’s messenger.

 I watched Giles leave. I stood in my door frame for a while, though the sun still irked my eyes a little they still felt more comfortable after sleeping. I closed them and felt the cool morning’s breeze play across my face, it felt nice.

 “Who was that then?” Lowri’s voice came out of the darkness. I opened my eyes and there she was standing just feet away from me. She had brown trousers on today, no cap; her hair was allowed to hang freely by her shoulders. I couldn’t help but notice how good she looked in the sunlight.

 “Informant,” I lied. I hated lying to her, she was perhaps the only person I really trusted, and yet there were things I couldn’t tell her, not that she would understand nor care. Betrayal is betrayal, by friend or foe it still warrants murder.

 She frowned and nodded at the same time, “bit overdressed don’t ya think?” she spoke as she squeezed past me, her breasts pushing against my chest as she did so, her hair smelt of coconuts.

 “He was a bit, wasn’t he?”

 “You really need to tidy this place, Cal.” Lowri sat on my bed; she rested herself on her arms and crossed her legs. I thought about just taking her there and then but after just seeing Giles, it would have been difficult, his smell of old spice still lingered slightly �" although I could have given it a go.

 “What did he tell you, your informant?” Lowri asked her shirt was unbuttoned to reveal a little cleavage, if anything I would have thought it was an invite. I was tempted; it would not only be great with Lowri but to release all this stress also.

 “Nothing new,” I leant against my door frame, “Just some stuff about a book”. I smiled, trying to invite her in to me.

 “Books, huh?”

 “Long story.”

 “So, what are you doing today?” there it was, the hint that we weren’t thinking the same thing.

 “Need to see Prospect about the cylinder and that symbol.”

 She jumped up, “let’s go then.”

  �" Idea gone.

Reviews

[Morrigan Nicole]

And thank younger sharing. XD

[Morrigan Nicole]

Wow, your skill still amazes me. I had forgotten about this book until just recently. I've been at AJs these last couple of days and got bored while he was at work, so i jumped on his iPad and figured I'd better catch up on WC. I instantly went to this touched up in the first couple chapters and continued on.
You really show a lot of potential in your writing. You could say I'm envious... Okay, I admit, jealous is more like. :)
I find myself falling in love with your characters Cal and Lowri. They make a perfect couple, and you describe them so well.
I am particularly interested in finding out more about Don and his background. It seems to me that although he does not make it apparent, Cal cares for his brother, even if it may be deep down.
The scene at the end with Cal and Lowri was very nice. Perfectly laid out. Your vocabulary and word choice are very tasteful, you really know how to keep your audience begging for more, then again, with you, Id expect no less.
Reading on. :)

[Coyote Poetry]

A very good chapter. I like the meeting with the brother. I like the discussion at his door. You have create a interesting world. I like the words and the description of locations and events. Thank you for a excellent chapter.
Coyote