Interesting.
Along both of his arms and his chest are a series of interlinking brace tattoos, and a couple of other symbols that may have some esoteric potency, or be a load of bullshit. It's always hard to tell but they're certainly the sort of tattoos that a Pomp might have. He even possessed a bit of death iconography on a shoulder blade, a cherub like mine, though his is bigger.
'If he was a Pomp, he certainly didn't belong to me. I can feel it when my Pomps die.' It was something I haven't had to experience yet, but no doubt will, soon enough. Every RM does. 'He's been too long gone for me to tell if he belongs to anyone else.' Could he belong to Suzanne? No, that doesn't make sense.
'Do you trust the other RMs?' Solstice asks.
I snort, can't help myself. 'Do you know how RMs actually become RMs, Mr Solstice?'
Solstice shakes his head. 'A certain negotiation,' he says. 'Something about a tree?'
Which is pretty good. He certainly knows more than I did when I was just a Pomp. I think back to the Negotiation, wondering why something so bloody had such a civil name. After all, two mumbling death-lusting stone blades were involved. 'Let me just say the process doesn't even begin to encourage trust. I wouldn't trust those bastards as far as I could throw them. Backstabbers, every one of them. After all, it's the only way you become RM. Back, front and side-stabbing, with a little slashing thrown in as well.'
'And what about you?'
'I never wanted this job. And you know, I hold that as a badge of pride.'
'Can't make it easy for you… lacking that ruthlessness. And yet, here you are, RM.'
'I did what I had to.'
'I suppose they'd all say that, wouldn't they? Doesn't everyone, who rises to a position of power?'
I glance at my watch. 'Are we done? I've got an appointment.'
'Yeah, we're done.'
'And about those fellas you want to send over. Don't bother, we've got our own people.'
'You trust them?'
'Absolutely.'
Solstice smiles. 'Just turn a blind eye to any cars parked across from your place.'
'This is inhouse,' I say between gritted teeth.
Solstice shakes his head. 'Not when people die, it isn't.'
I grin nastily at him. 'That's how death works.'
19
'Well, would you look at that?' Tim says. 'You're early.'
Tim's sitting in his office and that's where I've shifted again. 'Right place, wrong time. At least your pants are on,' I say.
'You don't have a clue what's going on behind this desk.' Tim lights a cigarette. 'I thought you were reading those briefing notes.'
'Funny you should say that. I was interrupted by a call from Solstice.' I open Tim's door, and wave across the room at Oscar. He grimaces at me. 'Tim, I don't like how the Feds keep poking their noses into our business.'
Tim sighs. 'Steve, it's all about accountability.'
'It sounds like you agree with their approach.'
'No. But I understand it.' He ashes into a Coke can. 'You read my notes?'
'Most of them. But this group doesn't feel like that. I spoke to Alex, too. He says he can't get anything on them. This is Australia. We don't have any covert groups.'
'What about us?'
'That's different. We're not so much covert as unacknowledged. We've been around since life began.'
Tim walks with me to my office then heads to reception to wait for our possible new recruit.
Oscar's waiting outside my door. There's a certain percentage of rage beneath his professional demeanour.
'Sorry,' I say. 'Had an interview with the police.'
Oscar grimaces, though I think he's coming to terms with me a little. 'How hard is it to phone, eh?'
He opens the door to my office. Lissa's sitting in one of the chairs.
I turn to Oscar. 'What's this with the security breaches today?' I ask. He grimaces again and shuts the door in my face.
'And don't you have your own office, Ms Jones?'
'This was the only time I knew I would be able to see you,' Lissa says. 'There's not much window in either of our schedules… You look a little pale.'
'I've been chasing shadows all day, not much chance to get a tan.' I drop into the throne. 'How is it that everybody knows about Rillman except me? Did you know he's regularly been crossing into the Underworld? Suzanne -'
'What about Suzanne?' Lissa says sharply.
I try not to look guilty. 'Mr D says she's told him that Rillman has been making trouble for years. Just not here. Seems it took my promotion to bring him back to Australia.' It's another thing Morrigan has to answer for.
I sense another heartbeat in the building. 'We have a visitor,' I say. 'Clare Ramage?'
'She's good,' Lissa says. 'One of the best I've found. Even has a bit of family history in the trade.'
Oscar knocks on the door, then swings it open, giving me the thumbs-up, and a woman (Clare, I'm guessing) in her early twenties walks into the room. Tim follows her.
I scan her face to see how she copes with this space. She tilts her head. Good, she can already hear the creaking of the One Tree. My mind's not on the interview, though. I'm back at that odd morgue, trying to piece things together. Who was the assassin working for? And when did bodies stop being processed through the usual channels?
I sit through the interview trying to look interested, but it's Lissa who asks most of the questions. I hope I appear affable and bossish enough, and not that distracted. It's over in under an hour. Once Clare's gone, Tim and Lissa talk it through.
'What do you think?' Lissa asks me. I blink at her.
'About what?'
Lissa snorts. 'Clare?'
I wave my hand absently at the door. 'Miss Ramage was fine. Eminently employable.'
Tim's phone beeps. He grimaces. 'I've got to take this one.'
'Ankou?'
'Nah, the Caterers. Since the ceremony they've been calling me every bloody second hour, because somebody went and left this to the last minute.'
I don't know whether to be offended that they're dealing with Tim instead of me. 'Yeah, you better.' Tim gives Lissa a look that I can't read, and she nods. Oh no, this better not mean another lecture for me.
When Tim's out of the room, Lissa frowns. 'You're losing focus again.'
'No, I'm not,' I mumble. How can I explain that, if anything, I'm more focussed than ever before, it's just the picture that's changed. 'Take my word for it, I'm not. Clare's got the job, I can make her a Pomp tomorrow. Give her one more day to think about it, and to be normal, eh?'
Lissa nods, tries to pull a smile, fails. I can understand why she's worried about me, but she doesn't need to be. Not about this. 'You don't want to give her too long.'
'Worried she'll change her mind?'
Lissa gets up, pecks me on the cheek, walks to the door. 'Who wouldn't?'
'You, me, Tim.'
Lissa laughs. Bad examples, every one of them.
