Tales from Arondell: Sodom - Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Sinah Darian

It's been days since Isabella's abduction, and I'm no closer to finding her. I'm tired of badgering the Watch, and being ignored. I'm sick of this filthy city and its nasty parasites, and I've had it with my mother and Aunt Bayne. Something has to change!

I want Isabella back. Now.

Staying at home, waiting for the Watch to do their job hasn't done me any good, and neither has going out every night. I used to enjoy that, but now, without Isabella around, it feels so empty and pointless.

Of course, the streets aren't safe. More than any other time in recent history. I've done everything I can to blend in. I've even cut off my beautiful hair! There's something I never thought I'd do, but I had to. I'm recognisable on sight at the Tankard, and I don't want random Watch patrols spotting me, either.

During our last ugly encounter, Mister Mallory made it clear he didn't want me darkening his establishment again. But I hit a dead-end there, last night.

I'm not surprised. What was once an “open door” policy is now restricted to the Fraternity and its supporters. All because of my fiance's ongoing feud with Mister Scarlett.

I've no doubt this is his response to the accusations stacked against him. The same thing happened in just about every other pub and club, too. Because they're all owned by him, or his employees.

The whole city is on alert now, no thanks to that accident. That's all it was: An accident, but try telling that to Matthias. Nothing short of intervention from the Crater Council will change his mind, and that's never happened. Not in recorded history, anyway.

It's so easy to hide and pretend these changes aren't happening, but when they directly affect me, well...

Everywhere I turn, tension hangs in the air, like soot or ash, covering every weed, every house, every sign-post, and the people I pass on the street. No one is safe from scrutiny. Certainly not me.

Watch patrols have quadrupled, and bold advertisements across the city announce they're recruiting – more like drafting – volunteers. Oh, they have the man-power, but they want more young people on their side; away from the drugs and other temptations.

Honestly, I don't know where I stand, and like most other people I'm too scared to speak out or boldly declare whose side I'm on. If I had a choice, I wouldn't take a side, because ironically they both have their place here.

If not for the Fraternity, I wouldn't have so many luxuries and small freedoms I take for granted – like opium, birth control, and imported wine – and my parents would be out of work. In the least they won't be as wealthy, because much of what they import relies upon the freedoms Mister Scarlett fights for.

On the other hand, if not for the stern gaze of the Watch, Sodom isn't safe; if Sodom can even be called “safe”. Criminals and hooligans  run rampant – the result of an overcrowded prison system – and more people die from drugs and alcohol.

New laws – especially the barbaric Death Penalty – keep the masses – and me – under an iron fist. As long as the people are afraid, order prevails.

But these are trifling concerns. I still have to find Isabella.

At least now, in light of recent events, I have one thing I can use to my advantage, and finally spur the Watch into action.
 

I watch the rows of shop-fronts and terraced houses roll by, as the black sedan bounces down North Street.

The bloody road is still a mess. There are more cracks and potholes than ever before, making the shortest journey bumpy and uncomfortable.

I rock about on the back seat, clinging to the seat-belt with one hand and my wide-brimmed Grace Kindred hat with the other.

“Sodding filthy city with its nasty parasites,” I mutter. “Somebody ought to exterminate the wretched things.” Of course there are so many of them – or so I've heard – that doing so is impossible.

My fiance's chief driver – a stern, sable haired Orzan man of Black Mountain descent – ignores me and stops at the intersection. That's one of the things I hate about him: Almost never says a word, and barely acknowledges my existence, except to level me with his reptilian stare. He's almost as bad as my fiance's physician.

He even looks a bit like Mister Malacor. I shudder and peer through the window.

Beyond the passing traffic, fresh stonework, construction vehicles and piles of twisted rubble mark where the Old North Hotel stood, highlighting the damage. Roadworks continue at one corner, and a long partition of fluorescent plastic, redirects motorists around the workers and their machinery. Fresh tar stands out like a festering boil on unblemished skin.

No way in Taros is the Fraternity responsible for this. I shake my head and look away. Not without killing themselves in the process. What a shame that would've been. I snort and roll my eyes.

The traffic signals switch from red to green, and the black sedan bounces across the intersection, turning right, away from the roadworks. The bitumen levels out again.

I sigh and relax into the seat. As much as I can, anyway, given where the driver is taking me.

At least it's not raining, though the forecast said it will be after lunch-time. I frown and squeeze my umbrella. My fingers shake and my heart starts to race.

I let out a slow wobbly breath, and opening my wyvern-skin handbag, I take out my compact mirror and check my reflection. Good. Everything appears to be in order.

Knowing how fussy Matthias can be, I've done my best to present myself to his liking: In a stylish charcoal velvet coat, matching pleated tweed skirt and a pale blue silk blouse, buttoned up to my throat and tied in a soft bow. I'm not wearing any make-up and only a dab of perfume, because Matthias doesn't like these things.

I touch my fringe. My hair is the only thing he won't approve of. So be it. I snap the mirror shut and put it away. If his men weren't so sodding incompetent, none of this would've happened.

The sedan finally stops outside Crater Prison; an offshoot of the sprawling North Watch-house. I smooth my hands over the wrinkles in my blouse and fiddle with my fringe a final time. Well, I'm here.

The grim-faced Orzan driver opens the door and helps me alight onto the side-walk.

Ignoring him – he's never been a pleasant fellow – I glance at the tall, sullen grey building and swallow hard. It has no front garden, or potted plants, like many of the buildings in this district. Not even straggling weeds or ivy cling to the ugly, old structure.

Grim bay windows glare at me from behind iron bars.

Suppressing a shudder, I allow the silent driver to escort me inside. Past the busy front office he guides me, through a side door and up a winding staircase, to the top of the Harrier-Confessor's tower. Here the carpets are blood-red, and the dark panelled walls gleam in the lamp light. A hard semi-circular bench – the only piece of furniture in the round room – hugs the wall opposite my fiance's office.

Before I know it I'm whisked into the room and standing before my fiance's desk, the driver departing without a word.

I flinch as the door swings shut behind him. My clammy fingers tighten around my umbrella. Relax, Sinah. You've been alone with him before. You have nothing to worry about. Just relax. Forcing myself to breathe, I quickly hang my hat and umbrella on the coat-rack, and fold my hands over my belly. Fuck, my fingers are still shaking.

Good thing Matthias hasn't seen me yet. He didn't even acknowledge my arrival, because he knows I'm always on time. If not, he'd have his driver's guts for bootlaces, and he'd take great delight in the extraction process.

I shiver and start to sweat. I hope I never give him a reason to gut me...

I give my head a rough shake. Get a grip on yourself, Sinah. The only way he'll ever find reason to hurt me is if I'm not careful, and I've always been careful in my dealings with other men.

Except Zaenack Caine. I grimace. He was my one true indiscretion, the one who should've been beyond my reach, simply because of his criminal record...

Matthias Septimus, Bayne's cousin, sits quietly behind his desk, scribbling away in a neat, leather-bound ledger. Even seated he looks impressive, seeming to fill the room; commanding everything he owns, including me.

He's tall – easily as tall as Zaenack - stout of limb and heart, with a mind and resolve like steel and frigid blue eyes. He's clean-shaven, he keeps his thick silver hair neatly cropped, and he always wears black. Even his shirt, cravat, and gloves are black, no doubt to hide the blood spatters from a previous confession.

He stops once to change the ink cartridges in his fountain pen, then he resumes his writing. That must be his daily report, or his journal... I muse.

Matthias is a meticulous record-keeper. He stores any detail, no matter how small, in the dozens of ledgers on the bookshelf; all filed in alphabetical order. Because he never knows when certain pieces of information might come in handy.

That's what he tells me.

Like his writing desk, the rest of his office is a pristine and staid affair. All furnishings, though of superior quality, are simple and practical in design. All wooden surfaces and brass fixtures gleam in the warm white light. Tidy rows of books – dictionaries in a variety of languages, among other things – line a second sturdy bookshelf. All paperwork he files away in a tall metal cabinet behind his desk, and the writing surface is free from clutter. Only a few treasured photographs hang from the walls.

Among them is a picture of Bayne, and a recent photograph of me. Before I hacked off my hair. I cringe and shrink away. Bad idea, Sinah. Bad idea.

Finally Matthias finishes his writing. Closing the ledger, he packs away his fountain pen, disposes of the empty cartridge and folds his powerful hands in front of him. His steel-blue eyes lock upon me, nailing me to the carpet.

“Sinah, my dear.” A tight smile creases his thin slit of a mouth. “You're punctual, as usual. I see you're looking well.” He scrutinises me then, in the same disturbing manner as his physician and frowns: His frosty gaze fixing upon my hair.

Bowing my head, I quickly mutter, “Well enough... my Lord.” I struggle to breathe and smile for his sake. I wish he wouldn't demand I call him that! “Considering the flightiness of this new maid.” I don't know how I do it, but I manage to keep the bile out of my tone.

I need a drink. I touch my throat, and wet my dry lips.

Matthias narrows his eyes briefly, and steeples his fingers. “Straight to the point I see. I like that.” He gestures to a high-backed leather chair in front of his desk. “Please, sit my dear. Tell me how I can help you.”

Get rid of Zaenack Caine for one... And believe me, not him, if he tries to spill my little secret...

Matthias abandons his desk to file away his ledger and when he returns, sitting down again, he fills two glasses with water.

“Thank you,” I mumble and drain it in two swallows. “As you may know.” I put the glass down. “My slave, Isabella...”

“Yes. I know that part.” He dismisses me with a brusque wave of his hand. “Tell me what hasn't been filed in your complaint.”

Don't interrupt me! I grit my teeth, and force a weak smile instead. “Of course,” I hesitate, and watching his stony expression change only slightly, I lower my gaze to my folded hands. One of the hardest things about dealing with Matthias Septimus is remembering my place around him. I focus on my breathing again: Slow, deep breaths Sinah. This will be over soon...

“I know where to look for the thief, and my stolen property... My Lord,” I mumble at length, daring a quick glance at him.

Matthias lifts an eyebrow. “Go on,” he prompts, gesturing with his right hand.

I look away. This is the hard part. “I believe she's at the Shiv and Tankard.” In my lap, my fingers twitch. I clasp them tighter to keep them still. “Furthermore, I believe the Tankard is a Fraternity safe-house.” I hold my breath, keeping my gaze down and wait for his reaction. Although a part of me wants to see how this news affects him, I don't dare.

“That's a serious allegation.” He pauses for emphasis, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. “How did you come by this information?”

His damning words strike me like a bull-whip and I flinch in my seat. My head shoots up, and again it takes all of my willpower not to scowl at him. But his frozen stare meets mine across the desk, and I recoil from him, nearly shrinking into the floor.

“I was there, during the week,” I confess, sounding too small and weak for my comfort, and clench my hands in my lap. “I'm... I'm sorry... My Lord, but... I couldn't sit by and do nothing. Not when my slave was still missing. It's just as well I did, too, because I discovered some things I had to report.”

Matthias lowers his hands and leans closer, fixing me with his hard, unnerving stare. At that moment, as his eyes penetrate me, violating me, he's more a granite statue than a flesh and blood man.

“You did the right thing,” he says in a soft, cold voice. “Coming to me with this information. However, the means by which you obtained it is irresponsible.” His words ring in my ears, condemning me.

I clench and unclench my hands, feeling my jaw tighten. But I also know better. I can't ever show my anger in front of this man. Not because he forbade it, but because I don't want him knowing how much he pissed me off.

“Yes, my Lord,” I mutter. “I'm... Sorry. It won't happen again.”

“No. It won't.” Matthias stands up and walks around his desk. “I can't have anything unfortunate happening to my future bride.”

Please, don't remind me. I shiver. Those words are still a death sentence. “Of course.” I look away.

Matthias slips his iron fingers beneath my chin, forcing me to look at him. My heart pounds, panic squeezing my chest. Don't you fucking touch me. I want to scream and shove him away, but I don't dare. I've seen how easily those hands can welt skin, and crush bone. “Does this mean you won't..?” I croak.

A cold smile curves his lips. “Rest assured, my dear, I'll return your property to you, and bring Mister Caine to justice. As for the rest, I'll begin a formal investigation immediately.”

I suppose that should be a relief. I sigh, somehow relaxing for the first time this morning. I have to admit, as much as I despise him, he certainly knows how to get the job done. He certainly didn't mess about when Bayne told him Uncle Kellen raped me for so many years.

“However.” Matthias continues, releasing my chin and taking my hands into his. The gesture should be tender, affectionate, like it was with Zaenack, but all it does is make my skin crawl. “I fear your mother and my cousin have gone soft on you.”

My heart drops to the floor and shatters. Oh no. Don't you fucking dare tell me...

“So, as of this moment,” he draws out his words, making me cringe, “you will live with me, at my estate, where you'll receive the best care.”

You mean where I'll be under constant guard. I scowl inwardly and force my best smile. No one dares refuse the Harrier-Confessor. Not even family.

“Now, let's put this unpleasantness behind us. My duties have kept me from you too long.”

That's the best part about your duties... I sigh, thankful that I don't cry much. If I did... I gulp and suck in a quick breath.

Matthias rises and draws me to my feet. I have to crane my neck to look at him; as I often did with Zae. He raises my fingers to his lips, and kisses them. Ugh. I fight the urge to shudder. His lips are cold and dry, better suited to a corpse. Not soft, willing and wet, like Zaenack's.

I can't help my sigh, and hope he doesn't notice. He doesn't seem to. “I've exclusive tickets to the opera tonight, and you will accompany me, my dear.”

You're lucky the Crater Council lets you have so much fucking power. Otherwise I'd tell you to shove your offer, and your orders into the depths of your bowels.

But no. Since father died and my mother married Bayne, my life has never been my own. I have to play the part of the blushing bride-to-be, the envy of all my plastic friends. Because none of them know the beast behind his reptilian smile...

Continued in Chapter 16