Ghosts of Koa, The First Book of Ezekiel Page 6

  "Then I guess you won't mind if we let the big boys here cast the lines. They have more experience keeping dirtier ponds clean."

  Caleb could feel anger flutter in his chest. "So what does that mean? You're not sending me out into the field?"

  "Even if I wanted to, son, I can't. There's a special note here on your 'closed file'. Did you know that?"

  Caleb felt the color drain from his face. He hadn't known that, actually. When did someone addend his file? "What does it say?"

  Palmer slammed a fist down on the silver plate, and Caleb's hologram file popped back up. "As a Proficient-level Druid, Caleb K. Rai is to be treated as an imported investigative consultant," he read. "He is to work from the office only and is not to be put on patrol or special ops detail without express permission from the Halls of Eyre."

  Palmer looked up at him with an acrid glare. "If you didn't get that last part, son, that means that you aren't to be given any work that could possibly knock the glitter off your ass. Someone made it clear that they don't want you out in the streets getting your head blown off. So I'm sure you won't mind that the other boys take up the slack."

  Caleb creased his brow. "Actually, sir, I would mind. I'm here as an officer, not as a decoration."

  "Ha, that's rich! An Azure from the 52nd Demesne..." Palmer focused his full attention on Caleb's face and then his attire. "More of a breeding ground for celebrities, than cops, don't you think?"

  Caleb sighed and for the first time ever, he wished he hadn't pressed his clothes. Palmer was definitely noticing each careful crease.

  "Cut me some slack, Cap, all right--"

  "You think that I don't know where you really come from, Azure, but I do. Your roots run deeper than the 52nd, don't they?"

  Caleb's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

  "You wouldn't volunteer to come here, and we sure as hell didn't request you. So you had to have been sent here. What'd you do to get landed here in the Fifth? If your family is as blue-blooded as I've heard, I'm sure you were sent here as punishment. What'd you do, boy?"

  When Caleb kept his silence, Palmer slapped his hand on his knee. "HAH! I'm gettin' warmer, ain't I? Okay then, let me guess. Your daddy's probably tired of you covortin' around with the ladies, island hoppin', playin' pretty boy down in the 52nd. Maybe you humped the wrong duke's daughter or something and caused a tizzy. So, Daddy pulls some strings and dumps you in my lap to babysit you and powder your baby blue ass while they figure out what to do with you in Royal Town. That's why your file's closed, ain't that right? You're here on vacation? Must be, because a little rich kid like you sure as hell ain't here for police work."

  The muscles in Caleb's jaw were working double time to not curse this fucker out. "With all due respect, sir," he said, barely suppressing his snarl. "My status aside, I take my work as a cop very seriously."

  "So do I, and if you think I'm going to put a royal like you on a beat in the Fifth Demesne you're whacked. Not only is the Fifth getting worse, but I enjoy having my neck right where the hell it is without your father trying to lop it off for something happenin' to you. I don't give a shit how good you were as a Detective in the 52nd. New ball game, new rules. Work in the Fifth ain't a candy walk, son. That's why Cotch and his boys are in charge, and you're going to play to their game. Got it?"

  Caleb's brows raised reflexively, knowing he must be talking about the infamous Xakiah. Or KX Cotch, as most knew him. Caleb had heard about him over in the 52nd. Rumors, and none too charming.

  "Last time I checked, this was Civilian territory," Caleb said. "Why is an Alchemist, especially one like Cotch, running the Demesne Five precinct? That doesn't rub you wrong at all?"

  Palmer sneered, seeming amused at Caleb's sudden abandonment of formalities. "Oh come on now, boy. You know old civvie blues like me are as useless as balls on a mule nowadays. You watch the news, don't you? According to the papers, here now's 'Azure time'. You like it being 'Azure time', boy? I'm sure you do. Your family certainly gets all the perks of it."

  Caleb bristled.

  "As for Cotch, much as I'm not a fan, I can't knock his reputation. Two months ago, he made one of the biggest busts ever seen since the insurgency started. Since then, he's been knocking Koan heads down with the best of 'em. So, he's the lead nose 'round here. His tactics are a bit-- rough--, but he gets the job done. He keeps the seams of Demesne Five closed to Koan infection. And while I ain't fond of him, he's a damned good soldier. He can learn you a thing or two about real cop work."

  "If he's running the Fifth, then why are you captain? I figured the Civic Order would have you off their payroll by now, seeing as we all now have to swing from Cotch's sack around here."

  Palmer's cheeks flushed pink. "It'll be a hard lesson for you Azures, but you'll find out pretty quick how much you need the Civilians. Me, I've been here for a while. Seen things. I know the Civic Demesnes in and out, and that's why I'm runnin' this precinct, much as you Azure dicks don't like that. But it just so happens that I don't give a damn what you all think. All I care is that you do. You gettin' me, son? You stay out of my ass, and I'll stay out o' yours. If you play nice while you're here, I might just forget all about your closed file, and we can get on as sweet as schoolgirls."

  Palmer waddled to a stand, took a box of files off of a nearby cabinet, and dropped it at Caleb's feet. "There's a bunch of cases piling up that we haven't been able to pursue, due to lack of manpower for one, and secondly, because the organization of the police reports is shot to hell. You could start by going down into the cold room and organizing our paperwork." Then Palmer looked around his own office and made a face. "Actually, start here. I haven't been able to get my files together in ages."

  Caleb's face screwed up. This was BS. "Sir, there's got to be something more hands-on I can do than this. I'm a cop, not a fucking maid. There's nothing else I can do here?"

  "Well, our resident masseuse is out for the month, if you're interested..." Palmer walked past Caleb, heading towards the door, ending the conversation.

  "I'm not joking, Captain."

  Palmer stopped at the door, giving Caleb a look that said he wasn't joking either. "Get this place together, will you? Cotch will be back in a few days, and he hates clutter."

  With that, Palmer closed the door behind him, turning over the hanging sign on the door that said "Out to Lunch".

  Prick.

  Snarling, Caleb kicked the box at his feet. It slid across the office and crashed against the far wall, regurgitating random slips of paper. The gesture made him feel better and yet more impotent all at the same time. All those years of cracking cases, of climbing the ladder, of special ops training in the 52nd Demesne, and this is what he came halfway across the goddamned world for?

  He walked over to the window, chewing on the bitter thought, cursing at how badly things in his life had gone in the past two years. He hadn't picked Demesne Five for the transfer, but at the time, he hadn't had a choice. He hadn't really had much of a say in anything. The Fifth Demesne Headquarters had been at the top of the list of the most understaffed and highest priority precincts, and one that would be the least likely to ask him questions. And likewise, he hadn't asked questions either. He had just been happy to be alive.

  Guess I should be grateful for that much.

  He sighed, already knowing the end to that tune. In the aftermath of his little "incident" in Demesne 52, he had spent nearly the entire trip over here mustering up some inklings of gratitude for what he had left. He had come up dry every time. So he had tried something a bit more practical and less infuriating: reading up on Demesne Five.

  From what little info he had gathered, politicians of the Protecteds were afraid that Demesnes Five, Six, and Seven would soon lose their ground as Civilian sanctuaries. All the other demesnes surrounding the Protecteds had been getting hit with Koan metal. Hard. Outer Civic Demesnes were crumbling beneath the clashes between the Alchemic Order and the Koan insurgency, and
guerilla warfare pressed harder and harder on the borders of the Protecteds as power shifted from Civilians to Koa... or so the files had said.

  Either way, the reports didn't make sense.

  Everyone, even Azures, knew that Koan insurgents considered the Protecteds sacred ground. Most Koan soldiers were rogue Civilians of the Civic Order, waging war on its behalf, not against it. To them, the Protecteds not only served as the capital of the Civic Order, but they were also the last three demesnes where Civilians were relatively safe. They would never breach them. It just didn't make sense.

  The more Caleb had researched the situation in the Protecteds, the less sure was of the truth. He had only hit more dead-ends, more questions, and now that he'd been given bitch work, he definitely had doubts. Of all the things he thought he'd be doing here, he hadn't imagined that this was the kind of help the Demesne Five Headquarters needed. Why even put out an urgent notice for transfers if they weren't going to use them?

  Say it, Rai. Sounds like a crock of shit.

  And now, whatever the Orders or the Demesne Five Headquarters were up to, he was smack in the middle of it. He didn't have proof of foul play, of course. But still, something just didn't feel right...

  Yeah, but that doesn't stop you from cashing their checks, does it?

  He frowned. In the end, he had no choice, and that's what it had come down to in the last year. Survival. But after everything he had gone through to get here, after all he had done to piece together even the semblance of a normal life, he still wondered if this was the best that he could ask for.

  As if to welcome him, a cool moist wind rolled in through Cap's window, kissing Caleb's skin, heightening his senses. It had started to rain. Arms crossed, he watched the first drops fall, and still, he was unable to make sense of the whirlwind of doubts in his mind. But in the end it didn't matter. Demesne Five was his home now... no matter how much he wished things were different.

  Zeika carried Manja up the last hill that looked over their lot in New Co-op City. She stood at the top, stopping to take in the night. The stop home had to be quick before she and Manja went to the Forge. Mama and Baba worked deep in the fields on the other side of Demesne Six, and the civic transport only ran four times a day to accommodate the workers. It would be well past midnight before either of them got home. And there was still so much to do.

  Darkness had swallowed their neighborhood, and for the first time in weeks, a bit of the Canopy had cleared so that the moon and stars peeped through. Zeika looked up, smiling at the silver eye. Waning crescent, it looked like, an eyelid half-closed over a shining gaze, heavy with sleep. And no matter how little of it shone, it always filled her up.

  She continued on into the black beyond, the gravel beneath her feet gleaming like crushed diamond. The only lights ahead were the tiny kerosene lamps of the Quonset huts in their rail-road style lot. Paused at the edge of the property, she sighed, her limbs feeling heavy and reluctant. She gazed up at the winking moon once more.

  A few more minutes won't hurt.

  She hung a left and made her way to the one joy of Co-op City: the gardens. She reached into her robes and locked her fingers around a wad of paper as she navigated her way towards a painted piece of wood labeled "Anon", which marked the start of their vegetable beds. The kids of Co-op City glided around her knees, giggling and chasing after one another under the sleepy lunar gaze, their white robes flying out behind them.

  From the far right, hens clucked softly as they turned in for the night. The rustling of feathers reminded her of the boy who used to tend to them. The one who had disappeared from her lot and who now stared at her every day from his mount above a shattered looking-glass.

  Zeika pushed off the thought and kept moving. At the corner of their garden, she set Manja down under their row of fava beans. The kid clutched her dinosaur bag, laying her head on its yellow snout, her eyes heavy. Guess the kid had had a rough day after all.

  "You okay, kiddo?"

  Beneath the willows, Manja smiled and buried her cheek further into the dino's nose. Her eyes twinkled between the milky fava flowers, their black and smooth paint splotches forming night eyes against white petals.

  Zeika pinched Manja's nose and knelt down to push back some thick braids of honeysuckle. Beneath, a small square door, its hinges, and a braided lock shined up at her from the earth. With a graze of her fingertip, the lock lost its rigidity. Zeika bit her lip, her eyes searching the night; no one had noticed.

  Quietly, she slid the limp braid lock from its latch and opened the door. Dry old earth spat up from the void. She reached down into the dark and popped off the lid of a coffee tin. From places within her robes, some unmentionable, she took out her tips and Davy's money and shoved them into the metal tin before replacing the lid.

  That makes 5,565 dollars to date. Only 15 grand to go.

  That's how much it would all cost. For the move into Demesne Seven, for the relocation tax, probationary work passes, for a year's rent on a new place. Only 15 grand more.

  Not if you don't get moving, though.

  Zeika lifted Manja back up from the dirt, where she had been dozing off. She set her on her feet. "Come on. Let's get you something to eat." She started towards the house, but her arm went taut as Manja stood rooted to her spot, her fingers laced with hers.

  "I don't feel good, Zeeky. My knee hurts. Please carry me?"

  Zeika's eyes widened, and a familiar dread began to gnaw at her chest. "Of course I will, honey." She hoisted Manja up, wincing as she felt Manja's limbs drape limply, too limply, against her body. "You've had a long day. We'll get you something to eat and get you down for a nap, okay?"

  "Kay..." Manja whispered into her neck. The response was so weak that it drove Zeika into a jog back to their hut.

  Closing and locking the shabby door behind them, Zeika shuffled over into the kitchenette with Manja on her hip. After readjusting their little round table out of its tilt, she set the girl down into a chair. The light from Manja's eyes had all but disappeared, and a sag weighed down the girl's cheeks as she laid her head on the table.

  Zeika set her knapsack on the other chair and began to rummage through it. She pushed past the ballerina slippers, past the ragged woolen hat, past the holstered field knife she carried for protection. Finally, she produced a travel medical kit and emptied its contents. A tongue depressor, cotton swabs, and a small flashlight fell out.

  "Open your mouth, sweetie."

  Manja did, and Zeika lifted the girl's top lip, shining the flashlight in. Puffy, red tissue had taken the place of what should have been Manja's normal healthy gums. Zeika took a cotton swab and pressed down on the gums-- and at the gentlest touch, thin particles of crimson beaded along Manja's gumline, staining the cotton with a dark rusty hue.

  Zeika swallowed hard. "Which... which knee hurts again?"

  "This one." Manja pointed at her right knee.

  Zeika rolled up Manja's pant's leg, and as her fingers closed around the hot pulsing flesh, she creased her brow. The tissue was swollen about half an inch around Manja's entire knee cap, making an awkward brown lemon of the joint. Gently, she squeezed.

  "Ouch!" Manja whined. "It hurts."

  "I'm sorry, honey." Zeika removed her hand. She had only touched it for a minute, but that was more than enough to send shivers into her body.

  It's not serious. You caught it early. Deal with it now, and she'll be fine.

  She went to the small fridge in the corner of the room and plunged her hand in, looking for the small orange she had taken from the Diner days ago. No orange. Her heart sank as she returned to her bag and dropped the day's take onto the table, hoping she could find something with Vitamin C or K in it. Zeika knew it wouldn't help... but it'd make her feel better.

  Double-decker cheeseburgers, grilled chicken club, cold French fries, and even a few slabs of steak that some customers had been too full to eat. Zeika had also pilfered a few eggs, sliced ham, oatmeal,
and a couple pints of milk. Her wasteful customers had really come through, but not a shred of green leaf or citrus could be found.

  Stupid. Stupid of you to trust either of them with this. As she thought of her parents, Zeika felt the anger take hold of her. She spilled the contents of Manja's dinosaur bag onto the table. A coloring book and a few broken crayons, a hair pick, a monster truck magazine, a snack tin, a medi-kit, and a small dark vitamin bottle. Empty.

  Zeika held the bottle up to Manja. "How long has it been empty, hon?"

  "I dunno." Manja was tired but lucid at least. She looked up at her, just a hint of a twinkle returning to her blue eyes. And just as always, whatever anger or sadness consumed Zeika's heart melted away. She placed a hand on Manja's head and forced a smile.

  "Okay, we'll get you some more. What are you in the mood for, kiddo? We've got some hamburger, fries, a couple of moo moos..."

  "May I have the chicken club, please?" She had been eyeing it the entire time.

  "Right on. You know I made all of this myself, right?"

  "No you didn't!" Manja giggled. "Your food's yucky!"

  Zeika smiled and rolled her eyes. "Way to make your big sister feel like a champion."

  She had barely pushed the chicken sandwich up to Manja before she snatched it up and started eating like a barbarian. Zeika filled two glasses, one with cold water and one warm with salt, and put both of them down for her. A quick rummage back through the medical kit and their fridge produced a crude icepack for Manja.

  We have to get to Guild Five.

  Zeika clenched her jaw, unsettled by the thought. She hadn't planned on swinging by there for at least another week, but in Manja's condition, they had no choice. Her right knee had already begun to swell. It wouldn't be long before the left knee followed.

  She looked at Manja, who had put her sandwich down. The bite marks in the bread were pinked with splotches of blood. Zeika forced her eyes closed, the decision cemented. They didn't have a choice.