CHAPTER TWO

The grounds of the City Hall were normally a welcome splash of greenery in the industrial grey of the Civic Center. Pink cherry blossoms covered some of the trees, throwing further colour into the palette, which was in turn complimented by the salmon pink roses planted in some of the beds.

In the middle of it all, the white limestone walls of the building itself were gleaming in the late morning sunshine. It was almost lunchtime and some of the local workers would stream out of the surrounding buildings to take a brief rest in these more appealing surroundings.

But all of this went unappreciated by Bobby Vellum as he rushed from the Subway to the Mayor's Office. A thin, matchstick of a man, Bobby was the kind of guy who would never normally sweat, even when wearing a suit in the height of summer. Sadly, today he was stressed, too hot and distinctly flustered. Slipping past the people milling around the doors and distractedly waving to security, he hurriedly made his way to the Mayor's Office.

"Ah, Bobby!" The Mayor dropped the dossier he had been reviewing back on the desk and leaned back in his chair, pausing only to grab his "It's Good to be the King" mug. Raising the hot tea to his mouth then cradling the mug in his hands, the broad-shouldered Englishman now relaxed into a smile that matched his greeting. "How goes it with our new arrival?" he asked.

Bobby sighed and began to pace on the spot.

"That well then?"

"She's locked herself in her hotel room. She's also refusing to talk to me, but it did sound like she broke a mirror," the young man reported.

"Do you suspect she's armed herself then? Was there anything in her Orientation Papers that suggested she'd be a Volatile?"

Bobby stopped pacing and tried to hand the Mayor his own folder. The larger man ignored it and instead cocked his head to one side, furrowing his brow. "Bobby, we've been over this. I want to hear your opinion. I'm quite capable of reading the reports - but I don't have time. It's your job."

"Uh, OK. Yes, erm, well no, not really. I mean, she's well traveled and clearly quite independent but there's nothing to suggest any history of violence or martial arts training. We're careful to ensure the rooms in the Grand Hotels have nothing that could be readily used as a weapon, in case fear prompts someone to lash out. But why smash a mirror? I guess a fragment could be used to attack someone, but that seems like quite a bizarre decision to make." Bobby trailed off as he contemplated the situation further. A small part of him wondered if he'd overstepped the mark by rambling on in front of the Mayor. Verbal diarrhea was something he was trying to cut back on.

"Bless you Bobby, it's not bizarre." Phew, clearly not. "It's resourceful. This Keira woman is scared and understandably so. Used to happen all the time, I guess we've just been lucky to get more Dreamers and Havenseekers in recent years." The Mayor put his mug down and pushed away from the desk. He eased out of his chair and took a few measured steps to one of the large office windows that overlooked the gardens. Gathering his hands in front of him, he gently asked, "Do you not remember your First Day here?"

Before Bobby had chance to answer, the Mayor turned around and continued at a pace. "Of course you do! You were frightened and overwhelmed. You wanted to wake up, you wanted to go home. But your predecessor - God rest her soul - found you and calmed you down. And now look at you!" He punctuated his final words with a flourish of his hands. "A productive member of my staff."

The Mayor plucked the Orientation folder off his desk and handed it back to Bobby. "Get yourself a couple of Constables and head back. She's here and she can doubtless be useful, so get her out of the room and Processed. I'll look in on you towards the end of the day." He'd moved back behind his desk and settled back into his chair.

Bobby nodded. "Yes sir. Sorry sir." The Mayor waved his hand dismissing the apology as if it were unnecessary and grinned again. "Just get it done," he said jovially.

A minute or two later, the young man was bounding down the stairs and heading to the Subway. If he got the Q Train uptown to 34th, he could pop to the Midtown Precinct on his way back to the hotel. What a rush! He hadn't known his role enabled him to appropriate Constables to assist him.

Getting down to the platform, he immediately wrinkled his nose. Clearly one of the Subway horses had taken a shit on the tracks. Between the overground pony carts and the underground horses, Mockhattan could be a little ripe sometimes. The price they paid for intermittent electricity. Bobby hoped the smell would seep into his already slightly sweaty clothes. He was not going to be making a great impression on anyone today. Not for the first time, he hoped the apartment would still have some solar water by the time he got home. He fancied a shower tonight, not a strip wash in the basin. Heating the water on the stove was such a pain in the ass.

He looked round. It was quiet at this time of day. Unlike the real Manhattan, the people of Mockhattan tended to take lunch at or near work, preferring lunches brought from home rather than convenience food. In some ways, it was nice to not have to rush around all day. It was one of the reasons Bobby fancied himself as a Havenseeker if he had to pick a label. In the distance he could hear the quiet squeal of metal wheels on the tracks and the gallop of hooves. He moved to the platform edge.

Despite the frequent issues with the odour of faeces, the horse-drawn Subway trains were still a sight to behold. A team of four horses dragged the two carriages into view, commanded by the driver from his seat at the front, reins held tightly in hand as they looped through the empty window frame on the left. It was an ingenious piece of juryrigging, thought Bobby, and not for the first time. Pulling on the reins, the driver pulled the train to a halt at the station. The doors on these carriages were permanently open - they went to slowly for it to be a safety issue. Inside was illuminated by small lanterns.

As the train began to pull out and on with its journey, across the platform Bobby could see a station worker jumping down on to the tracks with a showel and bucket. Poo had to be cleared up quickly as flames in the carriage lanterns would not react well with the slowly released methane. Any driver spotting a horse defecating on the tracks between platforms was required to report it straight away. Thankfully people were diligent and accidents were rare. The Messenger frequently reminded people of the horrors of the Uptown A Train Explosion after all. It was still a disgusting job though and Bobby didn't envy the poor guy at all.

Settling into the journey, he closed his eyes for a moment and tried to relax. Seven stops meant he had the luxury of taking a few moments to himself - time to work up a strategy and try to remember some of his predecessor's conflict management training. Eloise Cartwright had been a tough old bat, thoroughly competent at everything. She'd worked until she simply stopped; found dead in her bed one afternoon after she'd been uncharacteristically late for work. Whenever things got difficult, Bobby found himself wishing she was still here to do the heavy lifting. It had been less than a year and he still felt a little in over his head.

Right, Orientation folder again. Review the dossier on this Kiera Sullivan. Six stops to go.