Tools?
“Oh my gosh,” a heavyset man at the far end of the counter said, going white.
“It was murder then?” the older of the blonde girls asked.
I wasn’t sure what color I was going, but I could feel a sick feeling in my chest. The smells of the coffee were getting more intense. Too intense.
I’d known she’d been mauled. I’d known she’d been attacked, and that she’d been scared, but this was the worst bit of all. Tools? How did one use tools?
“Do you need to step into the washroom?” Laird asked.
“No,” I said. “But give me a second.”
“Someone was murdered? In Jacob’s Bell?” the heavy man asked.
“We don’t know if it was intended as a murder” Laird said. “At the very least, she was attacked, and she did die that same night, possibly from the cold or blood loss. For the time being, it’s a good idea to stay safe, don’t stay out too late, and tune into tonight’s news. I’ll be giving an announcement to fill everyone in.”
“And him?” the blonde girl asked.
“I don’t think there’s a lot of doubt about why someone might have gone after Ms. Walker,” Laird said. “Others might come after him. We were having a discussion regarding his safety, and we might talk about the house as well.”
“Are you selling it?” the employee behind the counter asked.
“Good Christ, James,” the middle aged woman said. “His cousin just died, and you’re asking about that?”
“Everyone’s going to ask,” James said. “People are in debt, and once that house sells, property values-”
“I’m not saying you’re wrong,” she said. “I’m saying it isn’t the time.”
James frowned. “Can I get you something, Laird?”
“Coffee, black.”
James had it ready in seconds. “Blake, was it? You want anything?”
“No, thank you,” I said. I still felt a little ill. Tools had been used? What did that even mean? Knives, scalpels? Or hammers and saws?
Laird reached for his wallet, to pay, and James refused him. The ease with which Laird accepted that suggested it was a regular thing.
“Corner booth?” Laird asked me. I nodded.
The booth in the corner situated us away from any people. Laird was in the lead, and he took the seat that placed his back to the corner, which meant I had my back to the rest of the room. I sat down, hands clasped together in front of me for warmth, breaking the grip only long enough to turn around the napkin dispenser, so the reflective surface wasn’t facing the wall.
Rose wasn’t there.
Laird opened and closed his pocket watch. I could see the interior, a backing that had enough openings to reveal the complicated inner workings. The entire thing looked like it was made of gold and ivory.
He’d grabbed three little paper packets of sugar, and tore two open. I watched as he tore them open, then emptied them. They missed his drink entirely, forming a little dune onto the table, with grains dancing across the slick, not-quite washed surface.
He moved his cup, placing it onto the pile, and sliding it across the table. When he lifted it, the sugar was left in a crescent shape where it had been dragged by the underside of the cup. He emptied the remaining packet, a smaller pile in the center of the crescent, and then three lines, fanning outward, on the other side. The edge of the paper packet helped give the three lines form.
Almost half of a typical ‘sun’, as a child might draw it, with the rays fanning outward, and a dot in the middle.
I could see the blonde girls turning in unison, glancing at Laird.
“A signal?” I asked. My heart was pounding. I had no idea what this meant.
“Just the opposite. Keep an eye on the people.”
I did. Twenty or thirty seconds passed, enough time that I almost spoke up. Then people stood up. The occupied booth nearest us emptied. A group of people entered the shop, and situated themselves at the far end.
“That should provide a bit of privacy,” Laird said. He sipped his coffee. “We tend to learn a few tricks, because it’s expedient. This one is a bit of shamanism. Many of the circles here and there will look down on someone for dabbling. It’s dangerous, and it leads to more mistakes. It’s better, many say, to specialize, do one thing well. The Duchamp family there seems to hold to this idea. The Behaim family doesn’t.””
“And my grandmother? I know she had an area of expertise, but the library is pretty comprehensive.”
“I think your observations are apt. She may well have been a rare talent, helped by a generous heaping of time. I chose to work, to have this be a definitive part of my life. There were periods I was more serious about it, points where it faded into the background, and I raised a family. I suspect your grandmother made it her life. I find it impressive, if I leave the particulars aside.”
“Hard to imagine her like that.”
“I imagine you have questions. About her, about all of this.”
“Lots. Very few I’m comfortable asking.”
“You don’t want to show how little you know, perhaps. I wouldn’t worry. Most of us were novices in the beginning.”
“Most?” I asked.
“Most. We have a local exception, even. Others almost assuredly exist. It is generally a bad habit to use absolutes, even outside of certain circles. None, all, every, always, and so on.”
“Right,” I said.
“You’re in a dangerous situation, Blake. The natural inclination is to be the cornered rat, to lash out, biting, in a frenzy. One would understand if you wanted to throw caution to the wind and fight us.”
“Hypothetically speaking,” I said, “Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”
He raised his heavy eyebrows. “Besides the obvious?”
“Besides the obvious.”
“Do you know the reason we discourage people from owning guns?”
“Guns are dangerous,” I said. A glance to the side indicated that some more people had come in. A group of kids started to drift towards the empty tables near us, then changed their minds and headed for the door. Taking their coffee and snacks to go instead of sitting in.
“Well, we’re talking about dangerous things. Guns are more dangerous when in the hands of someone who doesn’t know how to use them. Not to whoever poses a threat to them, but to themselves and to their loved ones. It’s much the same here.”
“If I’m going to die anyways,” I said, “What’s the harm in self defense?”
“An attacker can take your gun from you. The idea is the same here. When we work, we’re dealing with outside parties. If they don’t succeed in their tasks, your opposition can make a better offer, or simply frustrate them to the point that whatever you sent comes back at you, angry and blaming you for the failure.”
I nodded slowly.
He gestured down at the diagram in sugar. “This idea recurs in any dealing with Others. Always, there is a risk. Here, I make a meager food offering, create a sign to indicate what I want, and draw from the reputation I maintain with local community spirits. A bonus of my position. The spirits play along, because they know it keeps people safer and helps to keep the community safe, and because they know I’ll make a better offering later, a habit I’ve established. The end result? They turn people away before they sit nearby, and we can talk without fear of eavesdroppers.”