Girl of Shadow Page 4

  “That it is. I am so proud of what you’ve accomplished. The best I have ever seen.”

  I blush at his compliment. “Thank you.” He doesn’t give them out frequently so I feel a sense of pride whenever he bestows one on me.

  “What are we doing today?” Without saying another word, he attacks, pulling a long staff from behind. I’m ready. I’ve been ready since the door shut behind me. My senses are on high alert. I jump back avoiding his swing. If he hit me, I would likely have a cracked bone or two. A cracked bone is still dreadfully painful. I can tell you from personal experience, but each one has taught a lesson. Always expect the unexpected. Nothing is off limits in a life or death fight.

  I race around the room at top speed to grab a staff of my own from the corner. We could use real weapons, but in my father’s house it would be unwise. The real lessons always take place at night in the shadow of the moon and even those are far and few in between now. I’m skilled enough they are no longer as necessary as they were in the beginning. Mostly, I train by myself in my room on nights I’m not working for Fernando. Practices, like today, are for building endurance, speed, and refining technique. They also serve as an easy way for Fernando and me to pass information regularly.

  Fernando is right on my heels. For a man of eighty, he sure is fast. His staff whacks the top of my thigh barely skimming it, but it’ll bruise. I leap in midair to face him. My foot impacts with his staff shoving him back. The momentum forces him back a few feet. The move buys me just enough time to sprint the rest of the distance to the staffs, a mere ten feet away. I grab one just in time to block a blow to my gut. We keep at it for the next hour. A steady pace that once was impossible for even a few minutes. In those days, I always left battered, but only in places that could be covered with clothing. I would never have guessed that I was capable of so much.

  After our hour long battle, he oversees my regular workout of push-ups, sit-ups, pull-ups, and squats. We plan to meet tonight. I have a new target.

  Chapter 6

  DARICK

  “Where justice is denied, where poverty is enforced, where ignorance prevails, and where any one class is made to feel that society is an organized conspiracy to oppress, rob and degrade them, neither persons nor property will be safe.”

  -Frederick Douglass

  ~~~

  My day grows steadily worse with each passing minute.

  My examination of the crime scene gets me nowhere. Nobody saw a girl, no one has any idea of when the poison was put in his flask. I assume it was the same day he died. Apparently, he had a slight drinking problem that was commonly known. Such vices get men killed.

  In fact, it’s entirely possible it wasn’t even the Girl of Shadow. Many of the men present last night have been vying for The Boss’s attention. One of them could have conveniently tried to knock off another just to rid themselves of a competitor, but, of course, no one owns up to it. Still, I took statements from everyone at the party. I talked to the dead man’s wife and family and followed up with their staff. Everyone present came to the same conclusion- it had to be the Girl of Shadow. I left with absolutely nothing and still more work to do, but at least the elite will be drinking a little less for a while…

  Back at my office, I manage to get a little paperwork done. I file my most current reports on the Girl of Shadow and review the logs for the last twenty-four hours. It’s slow going. I tap my foot against my desk thinking about a more efficient way to contact her or them. At this point, I’m certain the Girl of Shadow is more than one person. The question is whether they will help or hurt us.

  I’m interrupted by one of my guards. They have the most impeccable timing.

  “What is it?” I can’t keep the annoyance out of my voice.

  “I apologize sir, but a correspondence has been found.” I’m immediately more alert and my previous irritation has completely dissipated.

  “Come in and take a seat.” He does anxiously. “What kind of correspondence?”

  “I’m not entirely sure sir. I can only speculate…” I wave for him to go on. “It seems to be a note with written details about The Boss and his estate. He wants to keep it quiet for now. He asked that I only discuss the situation with you.”

  “I see.” I don’t move from my spot, considering the best way to approach this. If The Boss wants to keep this under wraps than he probably suspects there’s more depth to the situation than a single note. “Is that all?”

  “No sir, The Boss wants to see you as soon as you’re available.” Which means right away.

  Standing, I button up my jacket and straighten my tie. “Excellent. I’ll go see him now.” The guard, realizing he’s been dismissed, leaves. I make a point to tidy up my desk before locking up and leaving my office.

  I find The Boss in his study, evidently unhinged by recent events. He’s yelling obscenities while Alroy and a few others are leaning over his desk examining something.

  “You wanted to see me?”

  “Damn it, yes! What took so long?”

  “I apologize. I only just heard.”

  “Fine! Fine! I’m sure you were informed?”

  “Yes, vaguely.”

  “Good. You can examine the letter yourself.” He waves to where everyone else is.

  I find myself standing huddled with a bunch of other men examining the letter I had written. I make a comment here and there about the contents as the rest try and determine the field of suspects. My handwriting and style are much different from my regular correspondences, enough so I’m unconcerned with being considered a suspect. The actual content of this particular letter has nothing glaringly apparent to give me away, but it is clear that it has to be someone who works on the estate. The details I provided could not have been gathered by a random guest.

  After hearing our conclusion and after attempting to minimize the situation, The Boss calls for a meeting tonight of all of his most trusted employees and advisors. He’s decided it’s time to clean house. If there’s a traitor in his home, then logically it’s possible to have traitors within the homes of his Capo and associates. He won’t stop until he draws blood. One way or another the traitors or suspected traitors will be found by morning.

  As head of security, the burden of discovery lies on my shoulders. I conduct interviews with the staff and follow leads; nothing too frightening just pleasant inquiries. Unlike my earlier inquiries at the crime scene this morning, this is all fake and for the benefit of the head of the household. He needs to believe I’m doing my job and doing it well. There’s a plan already in place if something like this occurs. The results are awful, but this method saves lives and allows the operation to continue. Still my stomach twists. I’ve handled these type of situations before, but I feel a sense of unease today like something is bound to go wrong.

  I make my rounds through the gardeners and ground keepers. It’s evening now. The air is cool, but not yet cold. In a month or two we will be wearing layered clothing at this time of day, but for now a single layer is enough. A great time to work the property without the sun’s rays beating down on the workers’ backs. The Boss is probably finishing up dinner by now, likely distracted by his meeting tonight. I still have a few minutes. I walk through the gardens until I’m face to face with Charlie Corvo, the man who will take the fall for the correspondence. He’s a good fellow; a family man. I would even call him a close friend. It sickens me that things will end this way for him, but someone has to do it.

  Charlie’s been a loyal member of the Liberty Rebellion. Like my own father and grandfather, Charlie’s family has been deeply involved in the plotting since the beginning. The goal is a democracy. Liberty, the name of our group, is an old word, meaning to be free from oppression. It’s a foreign idea, one that hasn’t been witnessed by anyone living today, but it once existed and the concept is worth the fight and sacrifices necessary to see it through. Our motto is, “dying for liberty is still more freedom than a long life in chains”. Every member of the group u
nderstands the sacrifice that may be required of them.

  Five decades ago, while The Boss’s father still ruled, my grandfather, the enforcer of that time, began throwing around the idea of change. It became undisputable that the royal line had strains of madness that only more power could feed. His idea grew and eventually he held secret meetings with like-minded individuals. Mostly they discussed possibilities, but the group became anxious for change. Steadily, their thoughts became actions, but actions weren’t enough; they needed an end game, one that limited chaos and collateral damage. They decided that the mob style structure had to fall. It would never be enough to remove the head from the beast because the beast can always grow another head. So like my father and his before him, I have served The Boss while slowly dismantling his empire.

  Now our group has infiltrated into The Boss’s home. We have members working as cooks, guards, gardeners, maids, laundress, and many other positions. We are all biding our time until the best opportunity presents its self and then we will restructure everything for the benefit of the people; no one will have to live in fear again.

  “Hey, Charlie.” He stops his work cutting shrubs. There’s sadness and resignation in his blue eyes when he sees me. He knows what I’m here for. It’s the only reason I would approach him so publicly. He’s probably even been preparing for my appearance as I’m sure word of my uneasy task has spread from one Liberty rebel to another as I have ‘questioned’ many of them.

  “Hey, Darick.” He speaks in a whisper while bending down to cut another branch. “Is it time then?”

  “Yes. If you’re still willing?” We will find another way if he isn’t. He nods, his look grim. I hoped to never see the day when Charlie would take the fall for the rest of us, but it had to come, we both knew it was likely and the day is now finally upon us. As hard as it is, he is only one of many. When this is all said and done, we will honor all the men, women, and children who made the greatest of sacrifices. Their names will always weigh heavy on my heart.

  “Just take care of my family and make sure my death is…” Shouts prevent him from continuing. On the other side of the courtyard, two guards arrest a man, Samuel Leebeck. The feeling of unease I’ve carried around all day hits me like a punch in the gut. Things are going all wrong. Charlie and I share a look. Our eyes reflect the same thing. Fear. The wrong man’s been arrested.

  I leave Charlie to his work. There’s nothing he can do, but go along like everything is normal.

  Chapter 7

  DARICK

  “Human progress is neither automatic nor inevitable... Every step toward the goal of justice requires sacrifice, suffering, and struggle; the tireless exertions and passionate concern of dedicated individuals.”

  -Martin Luther King, Jr.

  ~~~

  Since Samuel’s arrest, I’ve been scrambling to unravel the mess in front of me while trying to keep other Liberty members out of it. To continue gathering information in spite of this occurrence, I had to reach out to other members working internally to fill Samuel’s position. There’s no other choice. The operation must continue no matter the cost.

  After speaking with a few guards, I find out Samuel had not been told my correspondence with him had been intercepted. He went to retrieve the correspondence, hidden among the books in the library when a guard noticed him. At the time, the guard was unaware of the note found earlier in the day; however, later when he heard the news, he reported what he’d seen. Samuel was arrested and is currently being tortured in preparation for questioning.

  My mind is going a million miles a minute with worry. I have to be the one to question him. There’s only so much pain a man can take before he spills and Samuel’s young and has a family to think of. If the right buttons are pushed, torture is the least of Samuel’s concerns. He never signed up to be a fall guy. In fact, Samuel is too useful in other ways for him to ever take the fall. He’s skinny and short with a great ability to get in and out without a fuss. So far, his main job within the rebellion is to work as a messenger between other active members within the estate, but he’s only human and a mistake was made. A mistake that’s my fault, I should have talked to him first thing after hearing the news or made sure someone else made contact. So stupid.

  I should have told him not to gather messages for the next couple of days, but I got too wrapped up in this mess and the role I have to play to think about the actions of others. To make it worse, Samuel got sloppy. He should have taken better note of his surroundings, a guard shouldn’t have been anywhere near him without him being aware. Two mistakes in one day. Two mistakes too much. Perhaps, we are all getting comfortable in our tangled lives that we have become careless. And though the group is strong in numbers, our operation is fragile and one single error could end everything for us. Three generations worth of work gone.

  I take my time going down to the dungeon, my steps leisurely. There’s no way I’m going to give myself away by being too eager. I pass staff and other guards along the way. Everyone is working late to accommodate The Boss’s need for a night time meeting. Another element that makes this whole thing more complicated.

  Passing the kitchen reminds me of my hunger. It’s the bread that draws my attention. Fresh golden rolls. Cook makes them best and they are mouthwatering. I haven’t stopped for dinner yet and it’s wearing on me. After all of this running around and the stress of the past few hours I could use a quiet moment, but I won’t stop and eat just yet. My stomach will have to grumble for a moment longer. Thinking again of Samuel, my stomach settles. He might not ever eat another meal.

  The steps leading down to the dungeon are lit by periodic torches, creating shadows along the wall. The whole thing is medieval and highly ineffective since it’s impossible to see anything in the dark spaces, but The Boss claims to like the feel of it. It would certainly be intimidating to be led down here in chains.

  I’m surprised to find The Boss already here. His lower half is cloaked in darkness, but his face is visible; a spectator to the violence.

  “Ah, Darick! It’s about time you made your way down here. Jeremiah is just finishing the interrogation and oh it’s been fruitful.” He smiles with glee, making my empty stomach want to heave its non-existent contents. His enthusiasm reminds me of the first night I killed.

  “How wonderful!” I play along, hoping my tone doesn’t sound sarcastic. “What information have you discovered? Anything useful?” Please tell me you haven’t found anything useful…

  “Yes, very useful!” His expression changes from delight to predatory. “I need you to track down a man for me, one Charlie Corvo.” I flinch internally while keeping my face passive. “Do it quietly. If you need to, threaten his family or make an example of them. Whatever you need to do to get him to come in without trouble. Tonight, I don’t want a show.”

  “Yes, sir.” Before I leave, I take one look at Samuel, he’s in bad shape, but more than anything his body is a posture of defeat and shame. Part of me is angry that he gave up Charlie and another part is grateful he didn’t give up me. I quickly tuck the thought away. I’m not a coward. With mixed feelings, I leave to find my friend, to lead him to his death.

  Charlie and his family live on the back of the property about a half a mile from the main house like most of the staff. The close proximity offers them easy access to work and the protection The Boss offers. The crime rate within the estate is nearly nonexistent if the actions of The Boss are excluded.

  It’s considered a privilege to live here. The other option for the poor working class is to live in one of the slum districts where crime occurs all hours of day and night and there’s never enough food to go around. No, living here is like a vacation in paradise; if only they didn’t have to work for the devil to get here.

  Walking steadily behind me are two of my men. I know I won’t have any trouble from Charlie, but it would look strange for me to capture a ‘dangerous’ man on my own. Now if I was on my way to kill him, then that would be a whole differe
nt story. I would go alone. An odd contradiction I know. It’s the difference between official and unofficial business. Killing problematic people for The Boss is unofficial.

  We pass small house after small house. They’re all the same. Grey brick with grey roofs. The houses were built on a grid system. Eight feet apart on all sides. Very orderly and structured, yet each a little different, reflecting the personality of the owner. Some are bare, some have flowers planted by the door, and others have decorations hanging inside their windows. I have a map with me, showing who lives where. I don’t need it. I’ve been to Charlie’s house a handful of times before, but it is necessary now for me to distance myself and appear as if I don’t know the man personally.

  During the day, this part of the estate is busy with men and women going about their lives while the children are left to mostly fend for themselves or are under the care of an older sibling or neighbor. At night, it’s mostly deserted as people make their way to their beds or leave for their shift at The Boss’s house. We cross a few along the way, all of whom go out of their way to avoid us. I can only imagine what they are thinking. No one wants to see the Enforcer in their neighborhood.

  Finally, we come to a house with a garden. The curtains are pulled, but I can hear a few voices behind the door. Turning to my guys, I direct them to wait on each side of the house; a technique used to prevent a criminal from getting away. Conveniently and probably intentionally, the houses were only built with one door at the front and, for the most part, the windows are too small to climb through. Even though it’s unnecessary for Charlie, it gives me the advantage of having a private conversation with the man and his family out of the way of busy ears.