Kill Baxter (19 page)

The Witch steps forward and begins to speak. ‘We have been attacked in full force by an unknown enemy. Thanks to Hekka Jones sending out an emergency distress signal, our allies managed to respond quickly enough to stop Hexpoort from being taken.’

Hekka is at the front of the crowd and dips his head as if he dislikes the attention.

‘Probably because he was hiding in the communications room,’ Nom whispers in my ear.

‘I would like to thank our allies for their swift response. Malachi and the Dwarven Legion, and Naebril and her Flock.’

A tall member of the Flock has shifted her faceplate on to her head. Her face is lean and hard but has a look of detached amusement. She raises a hand in acknowledgement.

‘We need to regroup,’ the Witch says, ‘and—’

The Samnite moves forward and holds up a hand. ‘We are at war,’ he declares. ‘And war is not a time for empty platitudes.’

He flicks his hand and several dwarven legionnaires drag a hooded figure on to the platform. It’s a goblin, burnt and injured, with his hands cuffed behind him. Another legionnaire follows them, recording with a top-of-the-range camera.

‘War is a time for decisive action and swift retribution,’ the Samnite says, his voice loud and resonant, reverberating across the courtyard. The legionnaires strip the combat jacket from the goblin and bare his grey chest. ‘War is a time for punishing those that stand against us.’

One of the legionnaires draws a knife from his boot and carves the scratch-like goblin script into the prisoner’s chest. Blood streams from the wounds and the goblin grunts in pain.

King pushes through the crowd. ‘I object,’ he says, his eyes wide and shocked. ‘That is a symbol of desecration! According to the Kebra Bik, his soul will never find peace.’

The Samnite looks down at him. ‘War is a time to send a message.’

The legionnaires drag the goblin across the platform and loop the gallows noose around his neck.

The Witch turns to the Samnite, a look of outrage on her face. ‘He needs to be interrogated. We need to find whoever organised this attack.’

The Samnite looks at her with contempt. ‘We already know who we’re at war with. Not just those that attacked us, not just the goblin race, but the whole of the Hidden.’

He flicks his hand again and the gallows platform opens, dropping the goblin through. There’s a pop as his neck breaks.

Naebril of the Flock saunters forward and the students part to give her a path to the platform. She raises her hands and claps, a slow, sarcastic gesture that makes the Samnite bristle.

‘Well done,’ she says in a strong voice, a voice used to command. ‘That was a brilliant piece of theatre. But we’re not here to listen to your xenophobic threats.’ She turns to the Witch. ‘We have helped you, and now it is time for you to repay us.’

The Witch’s outrage is raised another notch. She stands there, her body taut like a guitar string tuned too tight. ‘You know our stance.’ Her voice is flat. ‘Katinka is an MK6 agent. We will not hand her over to be killed.’

‘The thing you call Katinka is an abomination,’ Naebril says. ‘A male member of the Flock that should have been killed at birth. The fact that he attempts to hide in a female persona does not exempt him from the dictates of our culture.’

The Samnite looks down at her like she’s a particularly disgusting bug that he’s about to squash.

‘Your “culture” has no right to make demands of the rulership,’ he says. ‘Personally I’d prefer it if that confused cross-dressing member of your species were cleansed from this planet. But the Dwarven Legion, and by extension its interest in MK6, will not tolerate the questioning of its authority.’

There’s a shifting at the back of the assembled groups, and I turn to see the Flock donning faceplates and drawing swords. The dwarven legionnaires have their hands on their guns, and red dots appear in the courtyard as snipers on the airship take aim.

Naebril shakes her head and laughs. ‘Perhaps a time is coming when the Hidden will no longer bend a knee to the Legion and its lackeys.’

She flickers a hand gesture and the Flock take flight, dozens of huge white wings unfolding and transporting dark bodies up and away from the Hexpoort walls. Naebril points a finger at the Samnite and then follows them, scattering students as she takes to the air.

The Samnite’s face is a mask of hate and anger. He looks down at us.

‘You object?’ he says to King.

‘Well, the Hidden are disparate. There is no unified front. Dwarves themselves fall under the category—’

‘You are removed from your post as teacher at this institution.’

Two dwarven legionnaires approach. King smiles, and his sharp teeth glint in the firelight. ‘Lay a hand on me, my friends, and you’ll lose it.’ They hang back.

‘With all due respect, you cannot make changes to my staff,’ the Witch says.

‘With all due respect,’ the Samnite replies with a smile, ‘Dwarven High Command has invested more money in this institution than your human government. Every inch of this facility has been purchased with dwarven gold, and we have the final say in any decision.’

‘The Blood Kraal will hear about this,’ the Witch says furiously.

‘Yes, of course. Please contact the MK6 council. Let them convince you of the veracity of what I’m saying.’

The Witch stares at him, and then spins on her heel and stalks away down the gallows stairs.

King is sitting in his office smoking. He nods to the chair in front of the desk when I enter. I slide into it and watch him. He offers me the cigarette and I take a drag. It tastes of cat.

‘Malachi is right,’ he says. ‘MK6 leadership in the Blood Kraal has confirmed that he is acting steward of Hexpoort.’

‘Why?’ I ask. ‘He’s a total dick.’

King gives a low purring chuckle. ‘You have a way with words, Zevcenko, no doubt. Yes, he’s a dick. But he represents the interests of a very powerful organisation.’

‘So what happens now?’

‘I am relieved of my teaching post pending an investigation into where my loyalties lie.’ He shakes his head. ‘Fifteen fucking years in this place and I need a dwarf to tell me who and what I’m loyal to.’

I hand back the cigarette.

‘You students are going to be apprenticed immediately to whatever agents are available.’

‘I though apprenticeship was only—’

‘In your fourth year of study at Hexpoort? Yes. And the majority of you are in your first and second years. But according to our esteemed Samnite steward, “the Dwarven Legion is committed to many freedom operations across the globe and cannot be expected to shoulder the burden of this alone”.’ He snorts. ‘Freedom operations. That’s what they call mercenary wars these days.’

‘Jesus,’ I say. ‘Are we really at war? Is that what the Muti Man wants?’

King shrugs and blows a plume of smoke from beneath his whiskers. ‘I saw the crown in the courtyard. You were the only one who got a good look at him.’

I shudder when I think about that twisted face and beak. I describe the whole thing to King: the way he brushed aside Faith and Chastity.

‘An injured Crow,’ King says, and scratches his chin with a claw. ‘And one that can perform magic. It sounds like we were attacked by a Tengu.’

He reaches across and pulls a scroll from a drawer in his desk. He unrolls it and plants an incense holder and a pen on the corners to keep it open. The scroll is made of red fabric and is marked in ink with a mandala annotated in Sanskrit. In the centre is a man with black wings and a long nose, holding a staff.

‘Tengu are Crow shamans,’ King says. ‘From what we understand, they are the Murder’s ruling class, although the Murder is thought to have splintered after the pact with Basson and the betrayal of Sabian Dober.’

‘So this could be revenge?’

King nods. ‘Maybe. Although if this Tengu is the Muti Man, then his alliance with the Bone Kraal suggests different interests.’

‘OK,’ I say. ‘But who are the Bone Kraal? I’ve heard them mentioned before, but everyone seems to think they’re a joke.’

King sighs. ‘The Blood Kraal and the Bone Kraal were two sides of the same coin, two ancient organisations that were formed to govern the magical world. The Blood Kraal was made up of humans and the Bone Kraal of members of the Hidden.’

‘Right,’ I say. ‘So what happened?’

‘The human Blood Kraal formed an alliance with the Dwarven Legion hundreds of years ago. The Bone Kraal was gradually stripped of power until it was nothing more than a figurehead.’

‘And now it’s back? But why would a Crow be working with a Hidden organisation? I thought it was their mission to hunt down the Hidden?’

‘It was,’ King says. ‘But maybe they’re working together on the understanding that humans and dwarves are the real problem. And you know what?’ He stubs out his cigarette and looks at me with those strange yellow eyes. ‘Part of me doesn’t blame them.’

Over the next few days, MK6 agents arrive at Hexpoort in a flood. There are tall Masai warriors carrying spears, short Somalian witches with painted faces, ageing long-haired metal-heads, rotund businessmen smoking cigars, lean police detectives and tough-looking uniformed cops. A scary guy with prison tattoos on his face throws a creepy smile and a gang sign as he passes, and a soccer mom reaches up to tie her hair in a ponytail and reveals a Glock nestled in the waistband of her granny panties. MK6, it seems, has reached into all areas of South African life.

I can’t stop thinking about Esmé and what an idiot I am. I said things that I really, really regret. The kind of things that shot the possibility of a second chance in the back of the head execution-style. I’ve never been dumped before. All those pop songs are surprisingly accurate. It does hurt that bad. I should be lying in bed listening to tragic love songs and crying into my pillow, but unfortunately nobody has written a song about getting over a broken heart while clearing up dead goblins. Yet.

I’m humming softly and rhyming ‘can’t get you out of my head’ with ‘clearing up the goblin dead’ when I see a Cortina brake hard, reverse into a parking space next to a black van, and then slam unsteadily into the Hexpoort perimeter fence. Ronin climbs out, a brown beanie pulled low over his red hair and an army duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He’s talking to himself as he stumbles towards the gate. He looks terrible; his face is pasty and his beard wild.

‘Be your best self,’ he mutters, and walks right past me.

‘Ronin!’ I shout. ‘Hey, Ronin!’

He turns and sees me. ‘Jesus, sparky. Have they turned you into a fucking ninja? Didn’t even see you.’ He claps a hand on my shoulder and then uses it for support as he fumbles for a cigarette in his pocket.

‘How you been?’ he mumbles through the ciggie. ‘You been touched by the miracle of education yet?’

‘Oh yeah. It’s been like one big TED talk up here.’

‘Heard about the trouble you had,’ he says. He’s sweating, but his blue eyes are as intense as ever. ‘You OK?’

‘Kinda. I think.’ The adrenalin has long since been replaced by an ever-present horror at the violence I’ve seen, which competes with the more mundane horror I feel at being dumped by both my girlfriend and my best friend on the same day.

‘Kinda is sometimes as good as it gets,’ Ronin says. ‘Come on. Help me put my stuff in one of the dank little rat holes they call rooms here.’

I help him with his bag to the Skaduwee point of the Hexpoort pentacle, and then we make our way to the gallows. The goblin’s body is still swinging in the breeze and Ronin raises his eyebrows. ‘I didn’t know Hexpoort was into executions.’

‘The Samnite,’ I say. ‘He says he wants to send a message.’

‘Malachi?’ Ronin asks, and I nod. He shakes his head. ‘That’s one sick puppy. I knew him on the Border and still wish I had put a bullet in his head when I had the chance.’

‘Well let me give you another opportunity,’ a commanding voice says.

Ronin laughs and turns around. ‘We missed a great he’s-right-behind-me-isn’t-he? moment there, pal.’

‘Pal.’ The Samnite flexes his black-gloved hands and purses his lips. ‘Pal. That would imply a kind of equality between the two of us, wouldn’t it? Is that what you think, Ronin? That we’re colleagues?’

‘I remember a little dwarf mercenary in his first combat deployment shitting himself with the rest of us on the Border,’ Ronin says.