Feargus

Days Until Rhian Arrives: 6

Obligatory Strauss Check-In:

Hour 1: • Stared hopelessly at the crops on the rooftop garden. • Still fine but not fine. I wished I could say hello.

Obligatory Ivana Check-In:

• No change around the village. • I suggested I look for the missing people, but she said I'd die. • I didn't want to die before seeing Rhian. • Lunch. • A cuddle and a nap.

Obligatory Alexander/Faust Check-In:

• Alexander showed me an urgent missive from Councilwoman Faust that had been delivered by a Strachan courier. Help was on the way in an estimated six days. • He smoked his pipe. • I drank some Pigs.

It wasn't as though we'd had time to develop a shorthand, so I had to figure D.T. was an initial—nothing too complex coming from a young Amali lad, I reckoned. Of the seven client names I'd narrowed down, there was one that stood out: D. Trager. They'd been seeing Johan for the past four months, same time twice a week. D. Trager was also peppered in the schedules for the other employees with Ambiance incidents.

The employees had all been male. So—D. Trager was someone who was attracted to men. A woman, a gay man, someone like myself who enjoys both, whatever the case. They were scheduled in with Johan that night, and I wondered if they'd show up.

The doors had barely opened for the night when I heard an unfamiliar but very familiar voice coming from reception. I listened while I shined a glass.

"Long time no see," the receptionist said.

The other man grunted. His voice was rough. The Strachan accent was thick with that one. "Tanis around?"

"She's gone to haggle with the Silver Spoon for some lemons. People like the orange curly tails, but the yellow ones are a big hit."

"The what now?"

"We've got this new bartender—actually, you might like to meet him."

"Aye? Can't remember the last time I met someone I liked."

The receptionist laughed, and their idle chatter grew louder as they made their way toward me. So, here's where I now realize I should have named this book How I Met Everybody Before Everybody. The man turning the corner with the receptionist was definitely a Strachan, and there was nobody else's face I'd looked at more than Rhian's. But if I was right, he'd recognize me, too. Remember: I come from the great hair family who all look alike.

"Stracha's Steed," he said.

I wiped my hands quickly and rushed over, holding one out. "Jack Finnegan."

"All right, Jack." Rhian's father took my hand with a brief smirk behind his scruffy beard. "Rhydian Sinclair. What's this about tails?"

I reached into my bucket of orange tails and produced one, tugging on the end to make it spring. "Some tail with your tail, sir?"

Rhydian guffawed.

I grinned.

The receptionist had to get back to the front because he controlled the mechanism that opened the door. It was the weekend, and we were bound to be busy. Rhydian took a seat at the bar, and I poured him a pointless whiskey.

"So, Jack Finnegan," he said, quietly.

"Rhydian Sinclair," I replied.

"Fuck, of all the places."

"Aye, you're telling me." I shook my head. "You window shopping?"

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Rhydian chuckled and pounded back his drink. "Looking for recruits."

He seemed to already know I'd spoken to mum and dad about their allegiance and the defect organization, so there was no mystery in what he'd meant by that.

"It's just me here," I said. "Oh, but, uh—" I leaned in across the bar, speaking even more quietly. "They have Andrei Strauss stationed out in Oskari, and Rhian and our mate Michael will be here within a week."

"Right, well—you never saw me."

"Why? She'd like to meet you."

Rhydian pushed his glass forward. "Would she?"

I filled it up. "I mean…"

"Time and a place, lad. She won't need me confusing things."

"Look, Rhian's my best mate, my sister, my partner—she's basically me, but not. And I'm already forced to keep a lot from her, as you probably understand."

When interviewing Rhian for this very book, I asked a question the people would surely want to know the answer to: "Are you mad at Gus?" And she said, "Look, it doesn't make a goddess-be-damned difference to me who Gus knows and when." And I said, "Aye, but he didn't tell you, so it's only natural that we, the people, think you'd be mad," and she said, "What difference would it have made had he told me?" And I said, "None, probably," and she said, "Right. Not mad. Just like I wasn't mad at Strauss, or Adeline, or any of the other pains in the arses who met my father first and didn't tell me. What else have you got, people?"

A trio of lasses turned the corner and settled in at one of the tables. They seemed a bit tipsy already, and I gave them a wink before looking back to Rhydian. "I know you're not going to change your mind. So, how are you going to make the crappy position you're putting me in worth it?"

"Well, that depends if—"

I held up a finger, poured three glasses of wine, and stuffed a few tails up my sleeve. Making my way over to the lasses, drinks down, smile on. I reached behind the first lass's ear, and a tail appeared. They squealed like I'd pulled Zacharias Vonsinfonie out my rear.

I looked between the other two. "Either of you hiding anything?"

The second one tugged at her top. "I'm not sure, why don't you check?"

I slipped my hand in, fished around, and wouldn't you know it? Another tail. The final lass got hers draped neatly over her glass, plus a kiss on the cheek for good measure. They introduced themselves—none of their names beginning with D—and after fondling my abdomen for a while, they stuffed an inordinate amount of notes into my pants. I told you: the Partisan fetish was real.

Back at the bar, Rhydian watched with a look of incredulity. "Here's the deal," he said when I returned. "You don't tell Rhian about me, and I don't tell Jack and Daisy about what the fuck I just saw."

The lasses were giggling amongst themselves now, so I unloaded the money, and leaned in across the bar. "All right, but what I really need is for you to stick around and keep your ears open tonight. I'm looking for someone with the first initial D, last name Trager."

Two men entered the theatre next. I gave them a friendly smile and an upward nod. They'd been in every night so far—neither was D. Fortunately, Rhydian agreed to help, and with the people piling in, he spun around on the stool to face the stage.

By the time the show started, the place was packed. That night, it was a couples' display, which tended to get quite steamy, and while I stirred a drink, I imagined Everleigh Gloom hiding invisible in the rafters.

♪♪♪ Seeing you, not seeing me. Hidden tails and treasure trails. ♪♪♪

While I worked the bar, I struck up conversation with just about everyone, taking their names while I was at it. Rhydian circulated a bit, did his part to suss out D. Trager, though he did it about as well as Rhian would have done had I asked her to socialize with a bunch of strangers at a brothel, so—not very.

About halfway through the night, a well-to-do, mid-thirties woman approached the bar, ordered two glasses of wine, and asked me to open a tab. Naturally, I asked her name.

"Della," she said. "Della Trager."

Rhydian spared a casual glance over his shoulder, and I topped up his glass.

So, not a man. I couldn't wait to tell Zack—

"And," she continued, gesturing across the theatre to a tall, dark, and handsome chap in a pressed suit, "Derek, my husband."

All right, so maybe a man.

Tanis had asked me if I was willing to expand my responsibilities, and I meant it when I said I wasn't. But for now, I had to pretend I was. So for the rest of the night, I babysat the Tragers—giving them the full-on Feargus Finlay treatment knowing their favourite hire was out of commission. The seed was planted, and it was only a matter of time.

A Day in the Life With Zack - Entry Log #5

"I appreciate what you did last night." "I'd prefer not to talk about it. But how was your day, Feargus Finlay?" "We have a suspect in our drug case." "Do we? And?" "It's a woman." "No—how's that possible?" "And a man." "I don't understand." "Our suspect is a married couple." "Well, it's the man distributing the drugs—I assure you." "How can you be so certain? I didn't think the Anima had precognition." "We don't, but even precognition for Partisans isn't some innate sense of all-knowing. It is a deep, undisturbed connection with the numbers that make up the world." "The numbers." "Indeed. The very same numbers from which we divine music." "So you know our culprit is the husband because math?" "Precisely."

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