Misfortune Market: A HASEA CHRONICLES STORY (BOOK 1.5) (4 page)

“A good question. Why haven’t I?”

The mayor stood up slowly - like a spool of old wire unreeling itself - and pushed at the corner of the picture. It arced upwards, exposing part of a strange symbol, written in what appeared to be dried blood. “The Overseer got his cohort to use Umbra magic to block my connection to the Ether,” he said. He dropped the picture back and gave another sigh as he sat back down, lifting the glass once more. “Maybe I could have broken through the barrier once. But I’m too old and tired these days. My hold on the Ether is as weak as a dying man’s grip. If I tried to do anything now, I’m certain the effort would kill me.”

“What happened to you to give up like this?” Grey added. He didn’t see the glare from Gabriella.

Nice and tactful as always, mate.

“Life happened.” The mayor set down his glass and wiped a few beads of whisky from his lower lip with the back of his hand. “We all choose our paths through life. Not all of them lead us to where we want to be taken.” He shook his head slowly. “Some lead to dark places. Places that have no way back out. My path landed me here.” The mayor hunched over his desk, clutching the almost empty glass of whisky in his wrinkled hand. He fell silent.

He’s going to be no use to us.
Looking around I could tell that everyone felt the same way.

“Gag the guard for when he wakes up,” ordered Gabriella.

Scarlett nodded and set to work, pulling a Silencer mask from a pouch on her belt. The new units had recently been dispatched from the research and development department at Sciath Outpost. It resembled a black leather bandana and was created using a complicated mix of material and electronics. Scarlett placed the Silencer over the Skinshifter’s mouth and jaw, securing it with straps at the back. Then she entered a code on a LCD screen on the side. The unit beeped twice and the material shrank around the jawbones, as if it were being vacuum packed. Now it would be almost impossible to remove without the release code, and no matter how loud the guard shouted, no one would hear a thing. Scarlett propped the Skinshifter against a wall, next to a worn ‘keep left’ bollard.

“At least tell us what the Overseer plans to do with the Chosen he had brought here,” said Gabriella after Scarlett was finished.

It was a while before the mayor answered and for a moment I thought he had fallen asleep. Slowly he raised his head and cleared his throat. “He intends to sell her at the auction. It happens at eight PM ever year like clockwork – the highlight of the market. She will be sold to the highest bidder.”

Gabriella nodded. “As I thought.”

The mayor glanced towards an old cuckoo clock on the wall, which had some of its wood missing, exposing the internal workings. “It will be eight soon. You should hurry if you want to get her out.  Just…don’t expect it to be easy.”

Gabriella gave a wan smile. “It never is.” She gestured towards us and we moved towards the door. Before we left, she paused. “Mayor, we will do something about this. I promise.”

The Shaman was already pouring himself another drink. He didn’t even bother to look up.

*

We re-emerged into the chaos of the market. Reactivating our belts, we pushed our way through the crowds, heading deeper into the fray. As if the mayor’s words had wiped clear my eyes, the more I looked around, the quicker the place lost its quirky charm, and I found myself becoming disgusted by the things I witnessed. Filthy, malnourished Luminar and Umbra children of various species ran between the legs of the revelers, getting roughly barged to the sides or beaten by vendors when they were caught trying to steal a piece of meat or fruit from one of the stalls. An arena had been set up to one side of the market and baying crowds were waving tickets and money, betting on a fight between two bloodied Manticore cubs. The Fera circled each other, screeching and stabbing out with their stingers. I couldn’t bear to watch the outcome.

“Sweet jesus,” breathed Delagio and I followed his gaze. A Yokai was standing in front of a grubby tent, sorting through a handful of notes and coins. A handwritten sign had been pinned to the wall behind him.

Shinroba whores. Only £10 for half an hour with the exotic Elf women of the Bloodsand Desserts. Satisfaction guaranteed.

A group of undeniably beautiful but dispirited female Elves draped in a garish rainbow of dresses stood either side of the tent, their bronzed skin marked with cuts and bruises. As we watched, a Bloodling with a shaved head walked up to the Yokai and handed over twenty pounds. The pimp collected the note with a smile – exposing his needle teeth - and signaled to two of the Elves. Fixing plastic smiles to their faces, they linked arms with the smirking Bloodling and lead him inside the tent.

This place is awful.

I turned to look at Gabriella and could see that she was barely keeping a lid on her anger. It seemed that the further we sank into the mire that was Misfortune Market, the darker the secrets we unearthed became.

A group of drunken Skinshifters barged past us, shouting and leering at the remaining girls and pouring beer they had purchased from a nearby bar through mouth holes in their garish masks. The Yokai pimp tried to get their attention but they waved him away.

“Oi!” slurred one of them as he passed by Gabriella, leaning in towards her. “Fancy some dog meat?” He burst out laughing and was joined by the rest of his gang. Their behaviour reminded me of Terry and his idiot crew.
Worlds apart and still some things never change.

“Not if you were the last mongrel on Earth,” she hissed and shoved him out of her way - hard. He collided with the pimp and received a giant fist to his jaw that dislodged his mask and sent him sprawling onto the grimy floor. Other revelers stepped over him without so much as a second glance. As the other shifters scrambled to help him and argued with the pimp, we slipped into the crowd before any real trouble could start.

We kept moving towards the back of the market, each of us getting angrier at the things we saw.

A cluster of apparent ‘criminals’ of the city were bound by ropes and suspended from the tall ceiling – bloodied and barely conscious. Signs with words like
Thief
and
Escapee
hung around their necks. A Pixie whose face was pulled back into a permanent sneer was offering people the opportunity to throw small knives at them for cash prizes.
‘Three pound reward if it sticks!’

By the looks of things, a lot of prize money had been handed out that day.

An Imp child was on his knees, scrambling through the putrid mess of the floor, desperately searching for food, yelping as he received kicks from passers by. Delagio deftly swiped a piece of meat from a nearby stall and slipped it into the child’s hands. His eyes went wide as he stared at it, and then he scurried away into the crowd.

A Bloodling was selling various human body parts wrapped in brown paper. The harvesting of organs for sale on the Red Market was something that had supposedly been abolished back in the Victorian era, but there it was – alive and well.

“This is worse than I could have imagined,” whispered Scarlett, her face drawn back in a mask of horror. I had to agree.
It’s one thing to hear the stories about Misfortune Market. It’s another thing entirely to experience it.
 

It didn’t take much longer before we found what we were looking for.

A large stage covered the entire back area of the cavernous room. It was an arrogant structure of mismatched wood and metal that seemed to impose on its surroundings, making them yawn outwards to accommodate. The back section was closed off by a set of ivory curtains similar to the drape that had covered the entrance to the market. A wonky pedestal had been set up near the front, and standing behind it was a bizarre figure.

The man wore a flamboyant purple suit with gold trims and a matching tophat, ringed by a number of feathers. His face was hidden behind a mask that resembled a china doll – but covered in cracks and with what looked like real teeth, which were drawn back into a macabre smile. He was holding a white cane in one hand and a grubby journal in the other, which he was studying with great interest. The way he moved across the stage showed an air of arrogance and unchecked self-importance. It was quite clear who the man was.

The Overseer.

Several guards surrounded the Overseer, helping to set up the stage in preparation for the beginning of the auction. They were a mix of species – mainly Oni and Skinshifters using bulky imprints. However, the guard that drew the most attention stood like a statue next to his leader – not a single muscle moving, apart from the steady rise and fall of its dark chest.

A Devil.

The creature worse no mask, and I could see that its exposed goat-like face was pitted with scars that shone pink against its black fur. Its horns were decorated with beads and dangling adornments and it wore a nothing but a once white loincloth, which was now stained with dried blood and dirt. Two bone blades were fixed to a single leather belt tied around its waist.

“That must be Zaris,” whispered Gabriella.

“A Devil? We’ll that’s ah day ruined,” said Delagio.

“A particularly nasty one too by the looks of things,” I added.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Scarlett doing something odd. I turned and saw that she was leaning forward, her silver eyes narrowed and nose wrinkled.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“The Overseer’s scent,” she whispered. “There’s something…familiar about it.”

Gabriella frowned at her. “Do you
know
him?”

Scarlett closed her eyes and breathed in deeper. “I don’t know. Maybe. There’s so many overpowering scents in here it’s hard to focus on just one. I think I’ve at least been in the same room as him at some point. Maybe a long time ago.”

“He’s a Vampire then?”

She nodded. “Most definitely. His scent is a Bloodling’s.”

Gabriella clicked her tongue. “That’s not good. If he catches your scent too, then he might see through the belt’s magic. If he knows who you are and makes you, we are screwed.”

“Agreed. Do you want me to leave?” Scarlett asked.

Gabriella paused for a moment. “No, we need every Guardian we can get. There must be something else we can do to help us blend in more.” She looked around her, eyes narrowed and searching. “There.”

I followed her gaze and saw a stall not too far away, where a twitchy Trollite was selling a number of old masks and overalls like the ones that everyone around us wore. Without another word we all walked over to the stand. The Trollite looked up at us through his oversized features – his disproportionate eyes glistening with a layer of mucous and his guitar pick teeth twisting and pressing for space inside a mouth that filled half of his crooked face.

“Buy?” he asked, his tongue slipping around his mouth like an agitated snake.

“How much for five masks and five overalls?” Gabriella asked quietly.

His face broke into a smile, which made my stomach clench with nausea. Trollites were hideous things that made the skin of everyone around them crawl. Domestic versions of the very dangerous Trolls, they had somehow sprung into existence during some hiccup in time. They weren’t strong and they weren’t intelligent, and a troll would sooner step on one than welcome it into its fold. They eked out their existence by doing things that others wouldn’t – such as murder for hire, or kidnapping infants to sell. They were scum.

“Which maskssss?” he said, as one of his eyelids twitched closed of its own accord.

“Any.”

He held up fingers that were one phalange too long. “Four poundsss each itemmm.” His sickly voice seemed to roll over each word, pulling and stretching them until they were almost unrecognizable.

Gabriella put her hand in her jacket pocket and pulled out a roll of notes. Every Guardian was required to carry money at all times, just in case an emergency arose or a human needed bribing. Our world was driven by an unconscious duty to protect; the world we protected was fueled by stamped paper. She shed a twenty-pound note and handed it over to the grinning Trollite, who snatched it greedily and stuffed it into a grimy money belt. He slid over a stack of masks and multicoloured overalls, which Gabriella took with a polite nod, and we all walked into a quieter corner to put them on.

I chose a green jumpsuit that stunk of sweat and a mask similar to the Guy Fawkes ones made famous by that action film. The rest of the team chose from a mix of gargoyle extremities and sinister smoothness to accompany their overalls.

“These stink,” said Grey, shrugging into his blue outfit.

“That’s the point,” said Gabriella. “We need them to help mask our scents.”

Once we had successfully blended in, we made our way back into the crowds, which were beginning to migrate towards the stage.

A second later a foghorn blared out across Misfortune Market, its sound loud enough to make me flinch. The band screeched into silence and the babble of bartering ceased as if everyone had been rendered mute. The Overseer rested his cane against the podium and folded his arms behind his back, standing up straight and swelling his chest out with self-importance as hordes of revelers started to swarm towards the stage, like religious zealots heading towards a ritual.