Page 52 of Waifs And Strays
He nodded dully. Damn: he really was in the shit. ‘What can I do to help?’
‘Nothing. There’s nothing anyone can do.’ He turned away.
Even so, I stuck around. Given what I’d seen of Thane he’d sleep for hours, and I was strangely reluctant to waltz off and renew the hunt for Nick on my own. Besides, if we decided to focus on anyone who might sell forget-me-not spells, we’d have to wait until daylight to talk to them. I could spare an hour or two to help Tommy with the clean-up.
Tommy was a good guy who’d made bad decisions and inan odd way he reminded me of Quack – and nothing I’d done had helped her. Sifting through the burnt remains of a warehouse for an hour or two for anything that could be salvaged didn’t make up for her death, but something about the mindless physical work eased my tension – even though I was quickly covered in a layer of black soot.
Although most of the warehouse had been destroyed, it was surprising what had survived. I found a cache of tools covered in ash; if Tommy couldn’t get the Crushers up and running again at least he might be able to sell them and claw back a bit of money. Equipment like this could be costly and it was worth retrieving.
Some small fires were still burning and others had only recently been doused so the metal was too hot to touch. I brushed away as much of the ash as I could, then went over to a man who was working at a similar task. From his clothes, I surmised he was one of Tommy’s employees. ‘You’re not a coffee drinker, then?’ I said when I drew near.
He gave me a wan smile. ‘I’ve been avoiding caffeine since the summer. Wife’s orders. She thought I was drinking too much of the stuff so I promised I’d try and cut back. It’s probably one of the smartest things she’s ever made me do.’
I grimaced in sympathy. ‘I’ve found some tools back there. They’re in pretty good nick all things considered, but I can’t pick them up yet.’
He brightened slightly. ‘Great. Show me where they are and I’ll?—’
He didn’t get to finish his sentence because the shouting had already started where Tommy was. It didn’t take a genius to work out that one of the deacons for the Church of the Masked God had finally shown up to make his displeasure known.
I turned to watch. So did everyone else.
Although it was close to four o’clock in the morning, the deacon was dressed in full church regalia and didn’t have a hair out of place. I gazed at his moss-green cassock, the pristine white-lace collar around his neck, his bouncy brown hair and his upright figure; for a man who appeared to be in his fifties, he was the picture of rude health – until you took a closer look. I could have been mistaken but the little red bumps on his neck didn’t appear to be the result of a vigorous shaving routine: they were hives. The deacon was under far more stress than first impressions suggested.
‘You promised us completion by the solstice,’ he bellowed, as if the volume of his voice would encourage Tommy to snap out a salute and rush off to continue working despite having no materials, tools or energy. ‘We expect you to fulfil that promise or there will be consequences! There are six days to go and the tower isn’t finished. We need it done!’
The deacon was upset about something that was essentially little more than a cherry on top of a public-holiday cake. Why did it matter so much? It was out of character for the Church of the Masked God – and that made me uneasy.
‘We can’t finish it,’ Tommy said. ‘Everything has gone.’ He waved towards the smoking ruins. ‘All the materials we had to finish the job have burned.’
‘Buy more!’
‘There are no more. I already spoke to our supplier – if we want more wood to finish the tower, we’ll have to wait until after Christmas. There’s nothing I can do.’
‘You gave us your word! You know what you’ll forfeit if you don’t complete the project.’ The deacon’s tone was ominous enough to send a shudder through everyone watching.
‘I know,’ Tommy whispered. ‘But that doesn’t change the outcome.’ Horrifyingly, he lowered himself to his knees in an act of submission. ‘I am sorry.’
Enough was enough; while it could be argued that he’d brought this on himself, there was no need for public humiliation. Any respect I’d had for the Church of the Masked God had well and truly dissolved.
I marched up to the deacon, my arms swinging and my fists clenched. ‘Why is this necessary?’ I demanded. ‘Why are you acting this way when you can see for yourself what’s happened here?’
‘Unless you work for this pathetic loser, this has nothing to do with you,’ he sneered.
I sucked in a breath and prepared to snap back, then I paused. My goal here was to make things better for Tommy, not worse, and I wouldn’t achieve anything by matching the deacon shout for shout.
‘I live nearby and I’m a part of the local community. I know how hard Tommy and the Crushers have been working to complete your project. It’s terrible that this has happened and he can’t finish on time, but is that really so bad? There’ll always be another solstice. I thought better of the Church of the Masked God than this.’
The deacon’s head jerked. ‘You’re one of our devotees?’
‘No, but I don’t need to be one of your followers to know that this sort of approach won’t endear you to anyone.’
‘Then fuck off,’ he muttered. ‘We don’t need some middle-aged Karen getting involved.’
A faint gasp rippled through the watchers and the deacon realised belatedly that he’d gone too far. ‘I apologise,’ he said stiffly. There was a flicker of regret in his dark eyes, although I wasn’t sure whether that was because he regretted the sentiment or saying it aloud.
He turned away but I wasn’t finished. I grabbed his elbow and forced him to swing back in my direction. ‘What’s thisreally about?’ I asked softly. My gaze drifted to the hives. ‘Why are you so upset about an unavoidable delay?’
The deacon’s chest was rising and falling rapidly and a vein was bulging in his forehead. He stared at me and then at the small crowd of onlookers before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a crumpled flyer. ‘This,’ he spat, and threw it at me. ‘This is what it’s about.’
