The Blood Gardener (The Dark River Book 2) Page 8

  “Because this is my lab,” Mazlo replied, shutting the wall, sealing the contraption inside. “I’ll need it for the next experiment.”

  “So there’s two parts to it? What’s buried in the grave, and what’s inside a house?”

  “Exactly,” Mazlo replied, leading Derick from the house and back into the fog. “Those shacks outside are production, like greenhouses. Each item out there continues to flourish and work as long as I correctly tend the corresponding grave in here. I have my apprentices monitor the houses out there, and make clones when needed for a transaction. Working the greenhouses is much easier than the grave tending, less prone to mistakes.”

  “Bizarre,” Derick said.

  “Interesting reaction from a man with aposematic markings on his hands,” Mazlo replied. “You’re not gifted, are you?”

  “No.”

  “That would truly be a potent combination, wouldn’t it? I suppose nature wouldn’t deal out such a disruptive abnormality. Nevertheless, your tissues are probably quite interesting and unique as an ingredient.”

  Derick was becoming unnerved by Mazlo’s questions as he led them back to the cottage. He was suddenly unsure of how long it had been since he’d eaten the trapweed seed. He reached into his pocket, feeling for one.

  “Time’s a little odd here,” Mazlo said as they neared the chairs and his body began to slowly reform. “Your face changed back several minutes ago. There’s no need to waste another dose. Not until you leave, at least.”

  “So you know who I am?”

  “I knew when you came in,” Mazlo replied.

  “Then you know I’m no friend of LeFever’s organization. If you’re not either, telling me who you sold the spiders to would help.”

  “Help? With what?”

  “With what I’m trying to do.”

  “Which is what?”

  Derick hadn’t considered himself fully on the side of the rebels, even though he’d helped Anna and kept A safe long enough to unfuse the spirit and deliver it to their contact. In the end he’d been forced to kill Yann, not because he was part of LeFever’s organization, but to save himself from torture. His resolution to destroy LeFever had developed from all that, but he knew it didn’t come with a plan. He also sensed that giving Mazlo a half-hearted answer wouldn’t get him anywhere with the man. He girded himself.

  “I’m going to take down LeFever.”

  Mazlo didn’t reply, and Derick turned to look him in the face. Mazlo’s eyes seemed to intensify behind the flesh mask, studying him, evaluating him.

  “You think you can stop that egomaniac with some fire from the sky?” Mazlo asked. “Burn up all of Atina?”

  “It’s a start.”

  “You have no idea what you’re up against.”

  “Tell me.”

  “No, you tell me. You’re the one with the ambitious goals. You’re going to bring down LeFever, the most powerful force in the Dark River. He and his organization have called the shots down here for quite some time now — they’re not amateurs, they’re formidable. How do you intend to do it?”

  “It starts with you telling me who gave you the spiders.”

  “How do they matter? Go and attack Atina and get it over with. The spiders are irrelevant, aren’t they?”

  “I have a friend who might die from those spiders. They were planted in his ear by whatever cut off part of his body. I’d like to save him, if I can.”

  “If you cut out the egg sacs before they hatch, you can destroy them by burning them.”

  “Egg sacs,” Derick repeated. “In his ears?”

  “The Harvester planted the sacs in their ears,” Mazlo said. “They take a few days to develop and mature prior to hatching. Just have an ear doctor cut them out and remove them. Your friend will be fine.”

  “Except for his missing scrotum,” Derick replied.

  “Genitalia is overrated,” Mazlo replied.

  “So whoever hired you hired a Harvester, too?”

  “More precisely, I provided a Harvester who implanted the spiders, yes.”

  “And there’s no way you’ll tell me who that was?”

  Mazlo rose from the chair. “Are you a gardener, Mr. Hall? Up in the real world?” Mazlo began to drift back toward the cemetery, his body slowly dissolving.

  “I’ve grown tomatoes,” Derick replied, following him.

  “No, that doesn’t count, I’m afraid,” Mazlo said, the fog swirling around him, parting to reveal a path back to the gravesites. “Tomatoes are too easy. They’re like raising a goldfish. A real garden is a never-ending chore, and what I’m doing here is a million times more complex. It requires constant attention. I’ve given you a fair amount of my time; more than I’ve given anyone in years, really. Then again, I don’t encounter a marked non-gifted very often, especially not in here, so I thought it was worth a short break. I must return to work.”

  Derick looked around, hoping to find A, but still not seeing him anywhere. As far as he could tell, Mazlo seemed to think he’d arrived alone. He’s probably outside, hiding, Derick thought.

  Mazlo led Derick through the graves until the bone archway came into view.

  “You know,” Mazlo said, stopping, “before I shove you out the door, let me just say how much I’ve enjoyed our chat. I know this is going to sound odd to you, but I think you might just achieve your goal.”

  “Despite not being successful in getting you to tell me who you sold the spiders to?”

  “Oh no, not that goal. Your goal of defeating LeFever. You have no idea of the scope of what you’re up against, but there’s something about you. Can’t quite put my finger on it.”

  “Sure you won’t tell me?”

  “No, I won’t,” Mazlo said, the small curl of his lips telling Derick he enjoyed withholding the information. “Goodbye.”

  “Goodbye,” Derick said, as he watched Mazlo’s face turn and descend to ground level, scanning a nearby mound and its accompanying headstone.

  Derick turned to walk out the archway, the fog increasing with each step.

  “Mr. Hall?” he heard Mazlo call behind him. He stopped.

  “Yes?”

  “How well do you trust your friend? The one with the egg sacs in his ears?”

  “Why?” he asked, turning and walking back into the graveyard. Mazlo was gone. He searched a few of the nearby graves, but the floating face was nowhere to be seen.

  He turned and walked back into the fog. A? he thought. A, are you there?

  No reply. Maybe he hid near the houses.

  Derick emerged from the fog into the clearing, the slate houses spread out in front of him. He walked to the nearest one, noticing the hinges on the corner of one wall that would allow it to open in the manner Mazlo had shown him. Movement to his right caused him to jump, and he saw a hooded figure cross between two houses farther down. He turned from the movement, reaching into his pocket to pick out a seed, and popped it into his mouth. Mazlo might not turn me in to LeFever, but who knows about these guys out here, he thought.

  He called again for A, but received no response, and he began to worry. Was A still trapped inside the graveyard? He was trying to remember the last time he’d seen the kid. Was it as I entered the cemetery? Did he run out when Mazlo arrived? Has he been abducted by one of Mazlo’s apprentices? They do horrible things to monochildren.

  He walked back through the houses, in the general direction of the tunnel that had led them into the space. He called for A as he went, receiving no response, and beginning to panic. He remembered frantic parents he’d interviewed when called in on a missing child report, and he recognized the fear he felt rising in his chest as the same fear he’d heard in those parents’ voices as they tried to give a physical description of their child. It was desperation filled with frantic anxiety.

  Here, he heard faintly. He stopped, turning to look in all directions. Pathways down houses were empty.

  Past the houses, he heard, very soft, as if far away.

&
nbsp; He continued his trek out of the structures, back toward the tunnel. A? he called in his mind. A? Are you there?

  I’m here, he heard, coming from ahead. He picked up his pace until he cleared the row of houses at the edge of the space, and the tunnel leading out appeared ahead of him, fifty yards in the distance.

  Where are you? he called again.

  In the tunnel, A replied.

  He ran, reaching the tunnel entrance in seconds. The tunnel turned, and around the bend he found A waiting for him.

  I thought I’d lost you! Derick said. Why did you run off? Did he scare you?

  I didn’t run off at first, he said. I ran off after I got this. He held up his hand. Lying on his palm was a severed finger.

  Derick stared down at A’s hand in amazement. Is that what I think it is?

  I hope so, A replied. It was the only finger I could find inside his cottage.

  Derick took the finger from A’s palm and held it up, shocked that the child had the object he’d tried to borrow from Mazlo. How did you do that?

  He couldn’t see me, A replied. I wasn’t sure of it until he nearly locked me into the house, the one he opened to show you.

  You were there? Derick asked. I didn’t see you either.

  I was there, A replied. When I saw what he’d done to the monochild, I was angry.

  I’ll bet, Derick replied. How did you disappear?

  I just felt like I didn’t want to be seen. I decided to go into his cottage to find the finger he wouldn’t give to you. You seemed to want it. Once I found it, I left the cemetery and came here to wait for you.

  A! Derick said, looking down at the kid. He’s going to realize this is gone.

  I don’t see how he can blame you, A replied. He was watching you the entire time, so he knows you didn’t steal it. He doesn’t deserve it, anyway. He’s mean to monochildren. Now you can take it back to Monkey, like you wanted to.

  The finger was solid and hard, severed just above the large knuckle. He placed it into his pocket. I don’t know how you did it, but thanks.

  You’re welcome, A replied. Should we get back?

  Yes, Derick said, leading A through the tunnel.

  Chapter Seven

  He lifted a volume out of the box, examined its spine, and set it down on the bed next to him. There were maybe forty or fifty books of varying sizes and shapes in the box, and he needed to find the one that explained provenance. He wanted to leave the trailer as soon as possible, so he could drive to Hauer’s place and warn him about the spiders. He’d tried calling, but only got Hauer’s machine. If the book isn’t in this box, he thought, I’d better find out now, so I can search at home while I’m in town. It’ll only take a couple of minutes to be sure.

  He thought back to his frustrating conversation with Monkey.

  “I can tell you where its maker is now,” Monkey said as he examined the finger. “Not every place it’s been for the past hundred years!”

  “I don’t need a hundred years,” he’d answered. “Just recently. I know there’s a way.”

  “Not that I know of,” Monkey replied.

  “I remember it. I’ve read about it somewhere.”

  “I’d like to know how, if that’s the case, because I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  Derick had racked his brain. The most likely place would have been in his studies with the Achernar Group. He’d learned most of what he knew about the River from them, before he’d become disenchanted with their approach.

  “It might be in one of the books I own,” he said. “Back at the trailer, or my house.”

  “You won’t be able to bring an entire book,” Monkey replied. “Won’t fit in your Haas Box.”

  “I can copy down whatever I find, though, and bring that in.”

  “Listen. I’d love to be able to track the history of where an object has been. If you can tell me how to do it, I’ll happily try to modify my device. Ball’s in your court.”

  He looked at the next volume. Concordia Objectome II the cover read. Not it.

  It wasn’t in a book about objects, he remembered. It was a book about modifications. It had a red cover with gold embossed letters. Or was it brown?

  He looked back through the books on the bed, examining each with his fresh perspective. None of them seemed right, so he removed the next book from the box and opened it, flipping through the pages.

  Unsure of the last time he’d eaten, he stopped briefly to make a sandwich. Usually he wasn’t hungry after returning from the Dark River, but this time he found himself starving. After slapping lunch meat between two slices of bread, it was back to searching.

  He lifted the next book out and checked its table of contents. Took a bite of sandwich; discarded the book onto the bed. Next.

  By the time he finished his meal two minutes later, he’d reached the last of the books. It’s not here, he thought. I know I had it.

  It must be in a box back at the house.

  He looked at his watch; he’d been back for fifteen minutes, and was itching to leave. Grabbing his jacket, keys, and cell phone, he set the alarm system for the trailer and was out the door.

  - - -

  “Humor me,” Derick said to Denise. “Please check them.”

  Denise pulled the sheet up to Hauer’s neck, tucking him in. “Seems like an odd request.”

  “Just do it, please,” Derick said. “I have my reasons.”

  Denise turned to look down at Hauer. “He wants me to check your ears. What do you think?”

  Hauer babbled something back that sounded like “OK!” and his eyes seemed to be staring at a corner of the room, zoned out.

  “He’s super medicated,” Denise said. “That’s hardly consent.”

  “You may be saving his life,” Derick replied. “Trust me.”

  “Well…,” she said skeptically, removing an otoscope from her nurse’s bag. “You’re lucky I even have one of these on me. One of my clients is a guy who lives on Oswego — has to have his ears checked three times a day.”

  She lowered herself to Hauer’s face and gently pushed it to the left so that his right ear was exposed, then she pressed the tip of the otoscope into his ear and clicked on the device’s light.

  Derick waited patiently. “Well?” he asked after several seconds.

  “Hmm,” she replied, “there is something. Might be an aural polyp, down in there next to the eardrum. He should have it looked at.” She pulled the device from Hauer’s ear and clicked it off. “When he’s better, and can see a specialist.”

  “Can you remove it?” Derick asked.

  Denise scoffed. “Remove it? Hardly. They’re benign unless they’re inhibiting hearing.”

  “This one isn’t benign.”

  She tossed the otoscope back into her bag. “I told you I’d check, and I did. I’m not going to go poking around in his ear.”

  “Then help me get him to someone who can look into it.”

  “Not for an aural polyp I won’t!” she said, a stubborn look forming on her face.

  “I have reason to believe it’s not just a benign polyp,” Derick said insistently. “We need to have it looked at. Right away.”

  “That’s something I need to hear from Mr. Hauer,” she said, packing up to leave. “Not you. You’re not family.”

  “He’s too loopy to speak!” Derick said, following her as she left the bedroom.

  “In a couple of hours he’ll be back to normal,” she said. “I’ll be here at six. He can tell me then, if he wants.”

  “He could be dead by then!”

  “Look, I’m not going to round up a specialist for a house visit just on your say-so!” she said, putting on her coat. “Do you have any idea how expensive that would be?”

  “I don’t care how much it costs, you have to do it!”

  “Listen, I appreciate you’re his friend, and that you…”

  “I’m a cop!” Derick replied, frustrated.

  She paused, looking at him. “Retired
cop, right?”

  “What if the police ordered you to do it? Someone who’s on the force?”

  “Well, that isn’t you.”

  “If a detective told you it was an emergency, would you call in a specialist?”

  She paused again. “I suppose. But I’m not going to do it on just your authority!”

  “Yes, yes,” Derick replied. “How can they reach you? Do you have a cell phone?”

  She removed a card from her bag and passed it to him. “Number’s on there.”

  “When they call you, how long to get someone here?”

  “A couple of hours,” she replied, heading for the door.

  “Well, you might as well contact the specialist now and warn them. You’ll be hearing from the police right away.”

  She didn’t respond. She just opened the door and left, leaving him to lock up as before.

  Derick walked back into Hauer’s bedroom and opened his cell. He called Franklin.

  “Yes?” he heard once the call was picked up.

  “Franklin, it’s Derick. I want you to reach Henderson and tell him to call the number I’m going to give you. It’s Hauer’s nurse. Tell Henderson to order her to have a specialist called in to remove an aural polyp from his ears. She won’t do it unless she’s ordered to.”

  “Oh fuck!” Franklin replied. “His ears? Like that woman?”

  “Yes, his nurse saw something in Hauer’s ears,” Derick replied. “If we can get it removed, we can spare Hauer the same fate of Mrs. Kessig.”

  “Give me the number,” Franklin replied.

  - - -

  It was still daylight when Derick drove to his house, circling the block several times looking for suspicious cars. Everything seemed calm, nothing stood out. He parked and walked to his home, ready to reach for his revolver.

  Once in the house, he searched through boxes. Damn poor job of labeling, he thought. He opened box after box, looking for the volume he was after. He saw plenty of items that made him stop for a moment and think I should take that, too. Then he caught himself and knew he didn’t really need any of the stuff. What he needed was the book.

  One box felt particularly heavy when he moved it, and he opened it hopefully. Inside was a stack of books along the left side, and household objects tossed carelessly into the other. He started removing books, examining each as he did. Once he’d dug halfway through the box, he had to remove the household items from the other side in order to keep removing books. He lifted out a Tupperware container; it looked like it was filled with coupons. Probably all expired, he thought. A plastic container filled with screws and tacks. A hammer. That’s where my hammer went. A dark wooden box with a sliding top. Must have been something my ex forgot, he thought, not recognizing it. He slid the lid open, half expecting to see a bud of pot inside. Instead he found a small glass vial with a black cap. It was filled with a clear liquid.