Tales from Arondell: Sodom - Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Sinah Darian

Dreary rain mists North Street, splattering the foggy passenger window. I scowl at the long line-up of cars, jammed almost bumper to bumper, and spin away with an irritated hiss.

"Get a move on, will you?" I growl and thump the partition in front of me. "He doesn't pay you for a leisurely drive.” I bang on it again for good measure. “What's taking so long?" Oh sure, North Street is one of the busiest roads in Sodom, but this is ridiculous!

A small tinted window in the partition opens a crack. Finally!

"Humblest apologies, Miss Darian." The surrounding cars and the honking horns muffle the driver's voice. I grit my teeth, resisting the urge to jam my fingers into my ears. "The road collapsed early this morning..."

Great! Just fucking great! I throw myself back into the leather seat and cross my arms. Another sink-hole. Just what I need! "Fine." I scowl at the black barrier and the unseen driver. "Do as you must. But make it quick!" I press my fingers into my temples and grimace. I hate this fucking city.

"Yes, Miss Darian." As soon as the traffic starts moving again – at an agonisingly slow pace – the driver turns off the main road, and takes the long away around to the North Watch-house. The cars and the noise dwindle into the background, allowing me to relax into the seat. Peace and quiet. I rub my brow and sigh. It's about fucking time.

He pulls up outside the front gate just as the rain falls with full force. I peer through the wet, streaky window. I'm glad I brought my coat and umbrella with me. I scowl at the bleak scenery.

Heedless of the foul weather, the driver, a blonde lad of elven descent, steps out of the car and holds the door open. He waits until I've opened my umbrella before he helps me onto the side-walk.

"Call for me again when you need a ride home, my Lady." The young man tips his hat, and climbs back into the  driver's seat.

"I will,” I grumble, turning my back on him as he shuts the door and drives away.  He's a nice enough fellow, I'll give him that much. Nicer than my fiance's usual driver, but he's still an employee of the Harrier-Confessor. I don't like, nor trust, anyone who works for him.

Peering up at the grim grey Watch-house through the streamers of water and dismal light, I shudder. I hate this place...

From the outside, the angular building looks deserted, like the rest of the street, and warm welcoming light shines through the lower windows. The rest are dark and curtained, glaring at me like vacant eyes.

Well. I take a deep breath, resisting the urge to shudder again. I'm here. I'd better get this business over and done with. Squaring my shoulders, I stride through the gate into the building.

The bell above the door rings, announcing my arrival, but the clerk at the desk doesn't even look at me. Typical. He's of elven descent, bespectacled, and somewhere in his middle years, with cropped grey hair and knobbly fingers, scribbling in the ledger in front of him.

He has a perfectly good typewriter on the desk beside him, now covered with a film of dust. But he, like many other Watch employees, eschews modern technology – even the older models – in favour of good, old-fashioned book-keeping.

No wonder the Watch can't keep up with the muggings and break-ins. I frown at the rest of the reception room. On any other day, rain, smog or otherwise, other anxious citizens would crowd those hard wooden benches, and other clerks would sit in their cubicles behind the great desk. But today, the reception room is so quiet it resembles the street outside.

Suits me just fine. They might even process my complaint today. I scowl and cough once.

The clerk resumes his rhythmic scribbling, pausing once to blot out a small error with some correction fluid.

You bastard! I grit my teeth, and clear my throat. But the clerk still ignores me. The impudence! You know I'm here. Issuing an annoyed hiss, I stomp up to the desk and rap on it with my knuckles. That grabs his attention.

"Yes, I saw you the first time." The clerk sounds bored and irritated – he's not the only one – and pushes up his spectacles with an ink spattered finger. "Is there something I can help you with, Madam?" He puts down his pen, and folds his hands. "We're rather busy today, as I'm sure you can imagine."

"Not too busy to report a theft I hope," I huff, knowing this is going nowhere fast and jab an accusing finger at him. "And don't pretend you don't recognise me, Sir."

The elf clerk manages a tight smile. "Of course, Miss Darian." He yawns. "My apologies. Now, what's the trouble?" He picks up his pen again.

Unbelievable. I just told you! I almost shout at the man, not in the least because he and so many others can't do their jobs properly. What's it going to take to get speedy justice around here?

"Burglars broke into my home," I growl and cross my arms.

The clerk's spectacles slide down his long beak of a nose, until he shoves them back up again. "What was stolen and when did the crime take place?"

He's treating me like an imbecile. I hiss at the clerk. "Last night, just past Twenty-Second Bell, Mister Zaenack Caine broke into my home and stole my slave. And the bastard wasn't-"

"Zaenack Caine." The clerk tugs on his ear as he mulled over the name. "Yes, I know of him. Arrested for larceny and drug possession." He nods as he scrawls some notes in his ledger. "Well, I'm sorry, Miss Darian, but we can't help you today. We're inundated-"

"What?" I cry out in disbelief. Of all the indignities! First he ignores me, and pays little attention to my complaint. Now this! How dare he!

"I'm sorry, Miss Darian. You're not the first we've had to turn away." The elf clerk continues without batting an eyelid. He's like automaton, for all the feeling and expression he shows.

"Now see here!" I jab the open ledger with my index finger. "If you don't report this-"

The clerk sighs and regards me with clear, condescending eyes. "Like I said before, Miss Darian, you're not the first. Others reported robberies last night, all within a few blocks of the intersection. Now, if you'd excuse me..."

I gape at the clerk. This scrawny hook-nosed pen-pusher who dares to speak to me, as he would to the rest of the rabble. "How dare you! I'm the fiancee of the Harrier-"

"I know who you are, Miss Darian." Once more he puts down his pen, and takes off his spectacles. His eyes are pools of pale blue ice, as he sighs again and massages the bridge of his nose. "And I'm sure you're aware that threatening a Servant of the Watch is a felony."

He has me there. Damn it. I really didn't want to be placed under Matthias' icy scrutiny. I narrow my eyes at the clerk, and fold my arms again. "Fine." Since you won't help me, I'll have to face the bastard myself. "I'll be back tomorrow then. First thing in the morning." And you'd better be ready to help me.

"Yes. Come back tomorrow." The clerk offers a tight-lipped smile. "Or the next day. Most of our staff should be back on duty by then." He closes his ledger, and rises from his swivel stool to file it away in the bookshelf behind him.

Rude bastard. I turn to leave. Yes, I could plead that Isabella is in danger the longer she remains with Zaenack Caine, but it's obvious he has no further interest in dealing with me. Besides, the only things that could happen to the little slut are falling pregnant, catching a disease, or getting her heart broken. The Gods know she deserves all three. Maybe then she'll come crawling back to me.

Opening my umbrella, I stride into the rain and flag down the first cab I find...

Continued in Chapter 10