The Haunters, part 5: Union Boys
Detecive Ran's ruse unveils a clue to the identity of the Old Vic Wraiths!
Last time on City of Witches: Ran and Winchester combat pickpockets, and Winchester gives them a lesson they'll never forget. Ran and Winchester have an argument, and Ran continues his search for the Old Vic Wraiths alone, with only the words of Reigna guide him.
“Keep your damn gloves, too," I said. But Winchester was already gone, so I turned and walked my own way. He didn't need that judgemental bastard anyway.
I turned down a random corner, scanning the streets. I walked with purpose despite having no aim. Reigna had said the theives I was looking for, "slept under the head of Julib.” Whatever that meant.
I walked, challeling me frustration into my footsteps. I didn't care much about the noble, but how dare that bastard come into my city and tell me what's what? I'll show him what in my report to the Captain.
It was then I saw it. I stopped short short. You could get away with that sort of thing in Glowtown. But there it was.
A wooden face, carved into the front of a tavern, above the door. A pale blue head with one eye and red lips. I looked up. It was facing west. That was the head of Julib. If Reigna was right, that's where they could be found. They were armed, dangerous, and their leader knew my face. Could be a damned hornets nest.
I walked in.
* * *
"How 'bout another!" yelled the barkeep.
A group of men cheered, shoshed despite the early hour. The waitress brought them another round, holding the wooden tray above her head to squeeze through the crowd.
Why was it so damned packed in here? It was the middle of the day, didn't anyone here have a job?
I made my way through. Crowds were nothing new, and I found my way to the front of the bar. Miraculously, there was a free stool.
I settled onto the stool, my eyes scanning the raucous crowd. The barkeep approached, wiping his hands on a dingy cloth.
"What'll it be?"
Instead of answering, I nodded towards the boisterous group. "What's with all those worthies?"
The barkeep chuckled. "Oh, they're Union boys. They negotiated themselves a day off."
I raised an eyebrow. "A what? So, they don't have to work?"
"Not today. They're all excited 'bout it, too. The owner is too," he said with a wink.
"What a time to be alive," I muttered, shaking my head. "Get me a stout blackie."
"A fair choice. Just a mo'."
As he bustled off to pour my drink, I took another look around the tavern. The county map of Lockdam caught my eye, its edges curling with age. Next to it hung a tattered brigade banner, a relic from the Cruel Wars. This place was steeped in history, yet here we were, celebra
ting a day off work.
The barkeep returned, sliding a dark, foamy pint across the bar. I wrapped my fingers around the cool glass, savoring the first sip. Rich and bitter, just how I liked it.
As I set the glass down, the hairs on the back of my neck prickled. Someone was watching me. I casually glanced around, careful not to give away that I'd noticed. There, at the edge of the crowd – a big guy, built like a brick wall, his eyes fixed on me. I didn't know that mike from Julib, but I figured he knew me.
I spoke loudly, "you know, my cousin's a wraith." I aimed it at the man next to me.
"That so," the man next to me said, looking at me like I was a loon. "I saw me gran's ghost once."
"No no, the real Wraiths. The ones making a scene in Old Vic."
The man's eyebrows shot up.
A man on the other side said said in a perfect Glowtown brogue. "you 'ent know no damn Wraith, they're too smart for that!"
"I heard they're actually ghosts," said the man to my right. "Spectral an' all."
"No no, my cousin, he's good with them-"
"'ent no dam wraith-"
I did my best to look offended and took the chance to glance at my admirerer. He was frowning deeply a staring openly.
"They go through the walls!"
"No, no, it's no big deal. I helped em plan a robbery!"
My two inculocutors groaned in disgust.
"You never did!"
"My toe! They're ghosts!"
"They use thaumics!" I said, using the term that non-practicioners use to refer to the Art.
"Like the healer?"
"But spookier," I said. "They only look like ghosts. They have these special devices-"
"Alright mike," said a gruff voice from behind. "That's enough. He don't know no Wraith, got that?" He addressed my companions. They nodded their heads rapidly. Can't find loyal drinking mates anymore.
"Your cousin ain't no wraith!" I said, spraying him drunkenly.
The man growled at me.
***
I hit the ground with a thud, my hat rolling away. The big man loomed in the doorway, his face a mask of anger.
"Don't talk about the Wraiths!" he bellowed, slamming the door shut.
I chuckled, dusting myself off. My little performance had worked like a charm. What that brute didn't know was that during our brief tussle, I'd managed to slip one of my compass locks into his pocket.bA neat little trick I'd picked up after my last run-in with the Wraiths.
I retrieved my hat, brushing it off before placing it back on my head. The street was bustling with afternoon traffic, the clatter of horse-drawn carriages mixing with the hum of thaumic engines. I straightened my coat, ready to make my way back to the station.
"Excuse me, young man," a voice called out.
I turned to see an elderly woman tending to a small garden in front of a modest house. Her weathered hands were covered in dirt, and she peered at me over a pair of spectacles perched on the end of her nose.
"I couldn't help but overhear," she said, her voice quavering slightly. "Were you talking about the Wraiths in there?"
I approached her fence, intrigued. "That's right, ma'am. I was."
She glanced around nervously before leaning in closer. "You seem like a nice young man. I probably shouldn't say anything, but..." She trailed off, her eyes darting back and forth.
I waited patiently, sensing she had something important to share.
Finally, she took a deep breath and met my gaze. "My son," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "He's a Wraith."