Page 23 of Waifs And Strays
I knew they didn’t expect an answer; Trilby was one of the few people in Danksville who understood there was far more to me than met the eye. They hadn’t been so crass as to ask me directly but I knew they’d asked around about me. I also knew that sooner or later Trilby would find out about my past career, not because people had loose lips but because Trilby was so good at worming out secrets. But I wasn’t going to make it easy for them.
After several beats of silence, Trilby sighed and gave in. ‘No. I haven’t had any forget-me-not spells on my books for a long time. Few people around here can cover those sorts of costs and the ones who can don’t need to come to me.’
It was a fair argument and I appreciated Trilby taking the time to make it. ‘Fine,’ I said.
‘Is there anything else? You do appear to be in rather a demanding mood today.’ They were still angling for informationbut they’d need to be a lot more subtle than that if they were going to weasel anything out of me.
As it happened, I did have something else to ask them. I took my carefully folded black top out of my bag. ‘An unidentifiable liquid was spilled on this last night. I want to know what it is.’
They made no move to take it from me. ‘I take it that it’s probably not beer?’
‘That would be a fair assumption.’
Interest sparked in Trilby’s eyes. ‘Is it dangerous?’
‘Not to bare skin but I expect that nasty things might happen if you were to ingest it.’
‘I see. It will take time to retrieve the answers you require. If you return tomorrow…’
I shook my head. ‘That’s too long. How about midday?’
They sucked air in through their teeth. ‘No can do, Kit.’ I waited and Trilby raised their eyes heavenward. ‘Fine. But it’ll cost you.’
‘I can pay.’
‘Yes,’ they said. ‘I do believe you can. I’ll do my best.’
I inclined my head and allowed a small smile now that I’d got my way. ‘Thank you.’
Trilby doffed their hat. ‘Any time, Kit. Any time.’
Several of the other stallholders were watching me, including Natasha; doubtless they were curious about what had happened to me yesterday. I wondered if they’d seen Quack and Ribbit limp out of the alleyway.
I debated the merits of pausing at one of the other stalls to casually mention the encounter and suggest there’d been a third party involved. I didn’t want to get a reputation as a hard arse, not here, but the less I said about the matter, the faster the rumours would die away. It wasn’t always wise to add fuel tothe fire.
With that in mind, I left the market. Although the construction team that had supposedly employed Nick was low on my list of suspects, I couldn’t discount it. It would be a good time to check in and make sure its staff were not involved.
Once upon a timethe area known as the Glebe had been owned by the Christian church, but as the Preternatural community started to grow Coldstream was mostly abandoned by organised religion. Preternaturals were considered to be less than wholesome, and religious figures of all denominations were viewed with equal suspicion.
In recent years there had been a return to some of the older ways. Worshippers of the Masked God, who were considerably better organised than their peers, had been particularly successful in gaining both followers and wealth. As devotees of one of the divine entities benignly associated with death, the members of the Church of the Masked God had accrued a number of legacies – there was nothing quite like impending death to encourage people to make bequests to smooth their path to eternal life.
The more fiscally responsible devotees had taken those legacies and put them to good use, buying up swathes of unused land from the departed Christian church. As in any large group of people there were pockets of corruption but, for the most part, the Masked God’s followers were doing good work. The thriving community they were building in the Glebe was evidence of that but there was still a lot of building to be done, which was why there were so many construction crews located in the warehouses on the Glebe’s fringes.
Although I hadn’t heard of the Crushers until Nick had mentioned them, it didn’t take long to track them down. Fromwhat I could tell from the outside, they were neither the richest nor the poorest of construction workers; their warehouse was relatively modest but there was a decent bustle in and around the area.
From the materials they were transporting – often by hand as they didn’t seem to own any trucks – they were establishing a small docking area for the sole use of the Glebe inhabitants. Anyone who might be resistant to becoming a follower of the Masked God in order to live in the Glebe might be swayed by the convenience and community that was being developed. It wasn’t my bag but I had no reason to take umbrage with what they were doing.
If there was one thing I’d learned over the years it was that the majority of people were simply people, regardless of who or what they worshipped, the numbers in their bank account or their proclivities once they were behind closed doors.
I was unclear whether the Crushers were Masked God devotees; Nick hadn’t mentioned anything and I didn’t know enough to be sure either way. My hour spent watching their activities from across the street didn’t shed any light on the matter.
I knew that werewolves were not interested in their religion, although it wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that a few overzealous worshippers might decide that forcing a wolf to join them would be good publicity for their cause. It seemed unlikely, but I had to remain open to all options.
There was too much hustle and bustle for a sneaky incursion so, growing bored with just watching, I drew back my shoulders and walked across the road to talk to the Crushers. A group of burly trolls passed me hefting long planks of wood. Their gritted teeth suggested they weren’t in the mood for conversation so I spoke to an older woman sitting outside the warehouse on an upturned bucket. ‘Hi there!’
She barely looked up. ‘I’m on my break.’
‘I’m looking for Tommy.’ I gave the name of the foreman Nick had mentioned.
