"Shterc!" El’s boot caught in a deep mudhole. Again and again, she yanked until it came free with a sickening slurp. The mud caked her boot up above the trim and moisture seeped through the lacing. She growled and stomped on, leaning into the headstrong wind with an equally stubborn strength.
“Mind your step, lass!” an orcish man shouted at her from across the street.
“Mind your manners, fucker!” she shouted back, making an obscene gesture.
“Get lost!”
“After you!”
He barked a laugh and dove into a tent to his left. El adjusted the straps of her cloak and harness, patting her pockets to make sure everything still had its place.
This sorry part of the world was the place that the gods forgot. A hellhole made up of all kinds of dirt that hadn’t seen proper sunlight in over a decade. Damp, smoky, polluted, and altogether populated by the most dangerous and deranged individuals this continent and the next had to offer. Deep within the wilderness of Khorun, Sangora was the home of the misfits, the outcasts, and the wayless. Who else would even consider moving to the inhospitable, rough, seething landscape resting in the shade of the spitting fire mountains looming above? Their sulfur stench faded into the background most days if the winds were favorable, but still gave a unique taste to the air that perpetually lingered.
Sprawled along a ragged mesa, Syndicate Base 19 was no exception. Perhaps that included her for the time being. As it had since she set foot on this godforsaken soil. Death was as sure as the rising sun if they made her and not a pretty one either. There was a special kind of hell reserved for akati like herself.
"Hell?" she thought, catching herself. "Esirno, I’ve been here too long."
Still, she did not regret volunteering for the mission. Given the chance, she’d do it all again. It was her right and obligation. There was much she needed to make up for. Much she wanted to be far away from, too. A noise caught her attention and she barely managed to get out of the way as a platoon of soldiers on hovers swooped by. Biting back the curses, she paid a little more mind to where she was going. The lands outside the walls were lawless and unmarked, free for all and perilous. The black stone was porous, brittle, and as willing to cut through your boots as it was to give way beneath your weight if you weren’t careful.
As someone prone to hug the shadows, her step was light and her eye trained enough to spot the worst of it. Another set of grim-faced and armed men were doing drills in the drizzle, rain mingling with the sweat on their foreheads as their commander barked orders, punctuated by a crack of his whip.
“Lousy worms!” she could hear the drill sergeant scream in common illevian through the bellowing wind. “I should toss you to the Vanish! Babes do better than that! Again! Come on you cowards! Don’t make me regret this!”
“Thank fuck I did not sign up for that…” she muttered and pushed on.
This was a military base through and through. Splinters of the illevan society scattered like rats across the lands after the great battle that saw the end of the Age of Arcanum. Few trusted the perilous Accords struck between the empires of Illeva and Akati. Fewer still believed they’d be honored. Once Elmira scoffed at those people, now she was forced to agree. With aid from sangoran crime lords, the illevian army was growing, becoming stronger under their new rule and alarmingly so.
“Get the latest!” a young man with snagged blonde hair bellowed, waving a sheer sheet on which headlines and ads fought for attention. “Brand new! Fresh bodies in from Kilmoru! Could this be it? Exclusive inside! Get the latest!”
Kilmoru was the outpost that hosted bases 10 through 14. If they were sending troops, something was brewing, and it piqued her interest enough to part with some of her hard-earned coin. El approached him and held out her hand. “I’ll take it.”
“That’s three coppers, doll.”
She cocked an eyebrow as she pulled the pennies out. “Since when did the price go up?”
“Since this morning,” he said, wiping snot from his nose with the back of his hand. “You in, or what?”
“Yeah, yeah,” she said, and he transferred a copy to her. “Better be worth it.”
Several teeth were missing from his wide grin. “Never is, doll. Never is.” He sauntered off, hollering to anyone and no one to get the latest news.
After what felt like ages, climbing the never-ending incline towards Base 19 she came to the spot she was looking for. El looked over the edge of the plateau with the wind ripping her hair. The view was stunning, but not for the faint of heart. The cragged rock was so vertical it effectively isolated them from the rest of the world. Running along the southern precipice, an old frost-cracked stone wall kept people and cattle from wandering too close to the edge.
A loose pebble dislodged as she swung across and lowered herself over the wall till she hung at the edge of her fingertips. Her heart skipped a beat, the muscles in her fingers tensed painfully before she dropped down, finding purchase on the small ledge just inches below. It would take a long while yet before that pebble made a sound.
Here, the cliff was dangerously precarious and narrow, especially on rainy days. The place she’d found one day by accident was nothing more than an indent in the rock, but to her it was everything. An oasis. Paradise. A well-placed overhang eased the sounds of the Base and protected her from prying eyes, providing comfort in a comfortless place. Pulling her coat tighter, she checked her watch. There was still time. There was always time until there wasn’t.
El pulled a small, rectangular crystal out from one of her many pockets and held it against the paper. It glowed faintly and flickered. No traps, no magic. No secret messages. First up in bold letters was the headline “The Shelling Ghost leaves for greener pastures” which made her scoff and groan inwardly. The familiar flutters in her stomach intensified and there were already six different scenarios in her head on how that could go wrong and what she could do to avoid the inevitable splatter zone. Way to bait the beast no one could find, let alone dispose of. Then again, the locals were not as wise as they boasted and about as smart as a goliath drenched in ale.
The rest was the usual mix of trash and information that one could expect. A raid of thefts left bodies in their wake. A lieutenant of the Red Division was dismissed for gambling addiction. The workers' union on Gio was on strike yet again. The mountains to the west were shaking the earth five times a day now. There was a piece heralding the mighty Black J’kol as they ventured into the void that was the Molimyr Ocean to raid the akatian outposts along the Varuvian border with the Olirian continent. She read that article twice, but the details were vague and said nothing of the forces they’d encountered, or the colors flown by their adversary. These articles were the only pieces of home she could afford to entertain, but they always left a bitter aftertaste. With a sigh, she scrolled through the rest of the paper. Obscene jokes and crude depictions covered the last section and she let the device land in her lap as she leaned back against the cold rock.
The wind turned and brought the sound of relentless waves crashing against the cliffs below. Sitting up here, high above the planet, did the oddest things to her perception. The strange disconnect made her life on the plateau somewhat easier to bear. Her home was there. Somewhere far far away. Hidden by the waters stretching beyond the horizon. Technically it was a lake, but huge enough that you wouldn’t have known, even if you flew over it. Some insisted it was an ocean and fought anyone who claimed differently. Sometimes with brass knuckles if common sense offended them enough. Those were usually the same people who had not seen the beauty of Avaleen from above the atmo and refused to acknowledge that such a thing was possible. They were almost as bad as those who claimed the world flat. Almost.
Such was life here. Perpetually dim in both light and wit.
“Don’t you know that living on a rock hurtling through space is a massive conspiracy theory designed to subdue the truth of the all-knowing eye?’” she muttered under her breath, her voice taking on the shrill, lilting tone of the locals. “Morons.”
Still, she couldn’t fault them the sentiment, as much as it pained her to admit. If viewed from the air or the ground, the lake indeed took on the appearance of an ocean if one also hadn’t had the pleasure to experience the actual oceans scattered on this planet. The very idea was blasphemy to many, as to them their home was more than a pebble amongst many in a universe of infinite diversity.
Wonder what it is like, to not wonder what the horizon holds, she thought, biting at the dry skin of her lower lip.
White waves crested the rocks below. Such grand, dangerous, fatally serene beauty. In the local accent, the sea was named Qi-Betrí. The Endless. Despite its deceptive calmness, it was the most dangerous body of water in the world. No one knew its true depth, nor its secrets. Was there a monster lurking below the surface? Several? Were there cities sprawled on its floor? For thousands of years, it’d been the stuff of urban myths and legends, of cautionary tales told to too-adventurous children and horror stories entertaining around a flickering fire.
Frankly, the consensus was that it was all true and that the lake was utter trash. Beautiful and deadly, but trash all the same.
It scared her like it did everyone with a touch of common sense, and yet it mesmerized. Pulled. Mere minutes above those waters had a way of calming her that hours in prayer could not. There was a distinct feeling that the lands here called the shots. No matter how tough or grand it got, no matter who ran it or what happened, one day Base 19 would be reclaimed by fire or water and that day El would laugh.
She checked her watch again. Half an hour to go. She was restless, etching to move, to run, to do something, anything. Instead, she tried to forget the frigid wind that seeped into her bones and settled her gaze on the horizon, thinking back on the path that brought her here.
Those dark days had been intense. Back when the war between Japhaia and Agartha was fresh in everyone’s mind and every sound sent gazes darting about, pulling hands to weapons and shoulders hadn’t begun to relax. It had been pure devastation. The losses on both sides were too big to count. Too big to comprehend. It was a war that had no victor but turned into a mutual annihilation that dethroned them both from the top of the cosmic order. And from the skies as their cities crashed and broke.
The illevans and the akati scurried like rats back into the shadows of their lands. El remembered the uproar when it was decided to relocate the Council to Farhaven in western Oliria. The small town which became Agartha Nova. Leaving Agartha had seemed impossible, despite the destruction. Despite the irrevocal loss of the enchantments. Homes no longer standing. Cities no longer living. The air becoming too toxic for their lungs to handle for a longer period. And still, the stubbornness remained.
Oliria was an insignificant continent, not the biggest on this planet but sizeable and with its own challenges and quirks. Its inhabitants had welcomed the refugee akati with open arms, letting them settle in a remote corner out of the way that no one wanted to touch anyway. In time trade had picked up between the different races and there was a mutual, if cautious, exchange of knowledge and technology. Because of this, the akatian colonists were scorned by their kin. But those, like Elmira, who accepted the fall of their empire thought it was a brave venture, to try to live in harmony instead of dominance for once.
For her, the change was a welcome one. She had been there after all. Sat through the unhinged debates, the boring, endless arguments that never led anywhere, saw through the signing of the Accords, presided over the funerals of the Guardians of Ayursha that fought and fell in that devastating final battle, attended the remembrance ceremonies for many more. She was there when the Regent succumbed to his wounds and joined the Veil and saw her oldest friend, the bombastic and charming Misha Eldter, rise to the position through the mechanics of convenience. He had made her proud, proving himself worthy of the power albeit a little rough around the edges. Yet his light dimmed fast under its pressure.
Nearly 80 years ago Misha, Elmira, and the Mora general Maesia Mijinn gathered in the Council Chamber on the top floor of the Citadel of Ayursha, the walls still covered with scaffolding as the refurbishment went on. An old temple to Ignis served as the tower’s foundation, and the ceremonial hall was converted into a garden as Ayursha took root in this new place.
“Will you be happy here?” Elmira had asked her.
There was a dry sense of mirth from the old god. “We will see, child.” Nothing else had been said on the subject and the work to convert the temple carried on, with the Council Chamber being one of the last pieces to be completed.
The workers had been sent away for the time being. Ulric, the Head of Intelligence was drumming his fingers against a metal scaffolding deep in thought.
“It is a military assembly point, I am sure of it. They’re growing their forces right under our noses!” Misha said with a sharp exhale and spread his hands with a winning crooked grin. “After all, have I ever been wrong?”
Mijinn's frown deepened. “I do not argue with that first part, Regent, but it would be foolish of the illevan government to sign the Accords and then turn around and so blatantly break them quicker than it took for the talks to conclude.”
“Are we sure that they even are affiliated?” Elmira asked.
“Why Sangora?” Mijinn asked at the same time.
Ulric cleared his throat. “Valid questions and I assure you my people are looking into it. As for the location… Sangora is a curious choice, yes, but they have made it, and we must adjust our tactics accordingly.”
“What would you suggest?” Misha asked him.
“A spy of course.”
For a moment the room went completely still.
“Oh! Easy! I am sure the general knows a few candidates,” Misha said, turning to Mijinn with a grin. “Do you not? Someone strong, intelligent, fierce, good at remaining out of sight and mind-”
“Someone willing to go in without backup,” Ulric said, his face unmoving.
“Beg your pardon?”
Mijinn nodded. “Plausible deniability. We cannot be seen to break the Accords on the off-chance that they did it before us. Better to have a scapegoat. Someone we can sacrifice. Someone with a dubious past and a… for lack of a better term, dinged reputation.”
“Someone like me.”
Elmira’s words shocked her just as much as they did the rest of them. But her heart remained calm in her chest as she continued, their gazes focused on hers.
“We all know who I am, who I was,” she said. “No one outside this room does. If need be, she is the perfect scapegoat. The perfect sacrifice, as you so eloquently put it. There are records, trials, and stories to lend your disownment weight. If need be.”
She turned to Ulric. “I am your spy.”
The lack of protests confirmed her hunch. To her surprise, it hurt a little, but she brushed that notion away. Facts were facts and history, while hidden and removed, was still there. It still happened.
Ulric’s gaze was serious, his hands clasped in front of him. “Are you certain, your grace? You are the Elder of Ayursha. Is it truly proper for you to leave Agartha behind in these trying times?”
She felt the weight of it land on her shoulders. “Agartha does not need me now. Nor do you. I speak many languages. I know how to blend in. As for Ayursha… She is with me always, and the Weave binds us all as it is everything and everywhere. I will not be so gone that I cannot reach out. Even Sangora must have a Portal or a thinning where I can touch the matrix to send a message. If not, then there are relay stations.”
“And messengers with fickle loyalties,” Mijinn added. “Are you sure?”
Elmira nodded once. “Yes. I am sure.”
Misha reached out to place a hand on her shoulder. “Elmira… These are our enemies we are talking about, not some bandits in the badlands.”
“Could be bandits in the badlands,” Mijinn said under her breath. Misha ignored her.
He gave her shoulder a little squeeze and a tug. The closest to intimacy he would ever dare to show. “We have lost so much. I cannot lose you too,” he said, his voice soft.
“Tell me that I am wrong,” El said, seeking his eye, pleading with him to understand what she was not saying. Give me one reason. Please. But he averted his gaze and let her go, pulling a hand across his brow.
One by one they met her gaze, noted her straight back, the determined line of her mouth. She let them think it through as the light outside the tall windows shifted. Mijinn eventually broke the silence.
“You are not.”
That was all she said, and it was clear she was not going to speak further on the matter.
Elmira turned to Ulric with a small smile. “Guess I am going to Sangora. What do I need to know?”
Maybe he understood, maybe not, but for the rest of the day, and the days that followed, they talked over everything his department knew about Sangora and the illevans hiding there. Going over every scrap of information, hypotheses, and possibilities. When she wasn’t studying, Mijinn drilled her skills in covert combat. Sometimes she was joined by Alana, her ward. On those days the bruises did not hurt as badly as they usually did. Watching the girl pour over a map like they were planning an adventure together filled her with conflicting emotions. Elmira was not a mother and had never planned to be. But when her friends died suddenly and left their girl behind, she did not have the heart to let her grow up in an orphanage. Perhaps it would have been kinder if she had. Then she would not be leaving her like this. Knowing she might not make it back.
The memory of their last day together was one she thought of often. After several years of preparing for the entrance exams to Elmira’s alma mater, the prestigious A’triyes Academy, the girl had revealed she took them early and passed.
“You did what?” Elmira blubbered.
“I passed,” Alana laughed, holding out the letter of acceptance. “I will be joining the Medica as an expectant and come Interviews I will become a full student. I may arrive upon my discretion, and considering your journey, I thought why not now?”
Elmira had been too shocked for words, too overwhelmed with pride to do anything. The girl looked at her with a worried frown.
“Are you mad?” she wondered.
“Oh, woye, no! No, never. I am so proud of you. You have been through more than your share of tragedy. This is your victory. Well-earned and well-deserved. I assume this means you will not be using my apartments, then?”
Alana bit her lip. “I would love to live closer to the Academy. Spread my wings.” She put her hands on her hips and looked her square in the eye. “It is high time you do the same, you know,” she said with such a grave gaze that Elmira threw her arms around her and held her tight.
Life had not treated her ward kindly. But somehow Alana picked herself up, growing up into a strong, independent, if a little reckless, young woman Elmira was so very proud of. Forging her own path through the world.
That same evening Elmira packed a few belongings and left home come the following dawn with a final, parting gift for little Lani. The whole affair was subdued. Only a small group to see her off at the skyport. To be frank, most of her colleagues were happy to see her go with a pat on the back, Misha making her promise to hightail it back if Agartha Nova found itself in mortal peril. She left on a cargo transport bound for the Varuvian islands. After that, she’d use portals to arrive at the base of the plateau, where she covered her tracks and slipped in with a throng of fresh recruits.
The mission was simple enough. Get in. Get close. Stay put.
So, she did.
Soon after arrival, she discovered just how much their undercover intelligence had underestimated the place. Base 19 might just have been a handful of patched-up tents and temporary shelters inhabited by homeless children and survivors of Japhaia, but that soon changed and drastically. Those survivors overpowered their kind hosts and turned their village into a ghost town of ruins covered with dried blood and soot. After that, things moved quickly and Base 19 became the central base of operations of the Syndicate. 80 years had come and gone since the Elder of Ayursha arrived to spy, and those early days seemed more like a fever dream than memory.
Base 19 grew and swelled while Elmira pushed the memories of her home away, locking them away in neat little boxes. Timeless though she was, time still marked her soul. She forged a new identity as a rough outcast with an eye for patterns and lies and called herself El. As El, she rose through the ranks until she became a runner to the inner circle.
It had been a long con. 80 years felt like an eternity in this place, especially with the longer days that had screwed up her sleeping pattern in the beginning.
She couldn’t recall quite how it crept up on her, but these days she found it more and more difficult to separate herself from the rogue. Despite the chaos, the danger, and constantly looking over one’s shoulder, a part of her would be sad to leave. El was everything she couldn’t be. Everything she kept hidden below the surface, locked tightly away in a little back corner of her mind. In more ways than one, she was more like who she used to be. Like the one who died when Elmira was born. But there was no time for introspection here, El was her armor and that was that. Life here consisted of the code of the highway and war. Besides, she liked the freedom. Tainted by death and blood as it was.
Today the dark clouds hung much lower than usual, whisking by at breakneck speeds. With weather like this, the supply ship might not even be able to lift and the elevator-tethers would certainly be closed for use.
Gio’s gonna have to wait another day, she thought, sending a silent prayer for the strikers who relied on smuggled rations to survive.
She had helped with the relief packages, argued with the local mob the best way to aid their brethren above until a system was put in place. It was the little things, but it made all the difference to her and whether the night’s sleep would be good or bad.
Her gaze followed a flock of birds flying towards the horizon. There was a small, familiar pull towards the stories hidden on that line. Tales of a village on the far shore. A town where time and gravity moved differently. A piece of the Fey on this plane. What was that like? Maybe she could go right now? Who would stop her? She could find a thinning. It could be so easy.
A sharp bell rang out in the distance.
“Another time,” the little voice in the back of her mind said.
The bell rang out again in rapid succession which was code for immediate abortion of launch. The jet streams made it impossible to lift from the plateau. The scream of frustration never left her throat, but the corner of the device she carried dug into her flesh. She rested her head against the stone, gathering the courage to get up, fighting the urge to toss the blasted thing over the edge. This was the fifth failure. Fifth. The strikers were running out of time.
Throwing one last long look at Qi-Betrí, El unfolded herself and crept along the edge, clinging to the handholds as a sudden gust rushed up the cliff and took hold of her coat. When the coast was clear, she slipped over the wall, as soundless and invisible as a shadow.
A mile or so later, she slipped by the guards at the eastern gate. They glanced her way the way people glanced when they tried hard not to look as she dropped a small satchel on the ground when she passed. One of them would snatch it up before she’d even cleared the area. A long time ago, they’d reached a tentative agreement. She provided them with qattu guo, a type of leaf native to several planets. When chewed it provided a fairly pleasant high. In return, they did not report her comings and goings to their boss.
Getting to that point had taken some creativity on her part. Several deals and a few shady alliances later, but now she had a steady supplier in the fourth quarter where she, incidentally, also had a shack. Squeezed into a space where two roofs overlapped, it had a roof of its own that kept most of the water out. She made a point to spend as little time as possible there, and what she didn’t want for other eyes to see, she carried on her person always.
The fourth quarter huddled near the southern gate and was the largest quarter of eleven. Which, in the grand scheme of things, meant squat. Without a map, you wouldn’t notice the neighborhood changing unless you knew what to look for. No street was better than the next. No matter where you went, you were as safe as you would be meeting a hungry saber on the plains.
Given the circumstances; the fourth quarter was a quiet neighborhood thanks to the new local underworld leader. A young man by name of Korp, with black beady eyes and a nose for profit. No one bothered her cause of him, nor would anyone sell El the Rogue out lest they pay the price. That alone had saved her life on a few occasions. All she had to do was run messages and supplies. It was a fair deal and didn’t take up too much time. He was a good chap, but she’d never make the mistake of underestimating him or overstepping her welcome.
“’Scuse me, miss,” a man slurred behind her, trying to remain upright. “If I could trouble you to step aside a moment?” He hiccoughed. It didn’t seem to occur to him that there was plenty of space on either side he could pass on.
“Not at all,” she said and stepped out of his way, curiously amused.
The man was rounder, his uniform dirty and patched, and red blotches covered his skin. There was a thin sheet of sweat on his forehead that he absently wiped away with his sleeve.
“Much obliged,” he said, attempting to touch his hat.
His face contorted into a deep frown until his entire body swayed dangerously from side to side and the first heavy step was taken. In this way he shuffled off carefully, holding out his arms for balance.
The streets were bustling with activity. Revelers who started the evening early stumbled around in twos and threes. Some lounged around, hoping to catch some rare sizzling rays of Avaleen twin suns wrapped up in seventeen layers. Tents had their walls tied up, revealing the various goings-on inside. Not all of it was family friendly. Some of it even less so. She flipped her collar up so it covered the lower half of her face and pushed on.
The eastern gate led straight into the eleventh and newest quarter. The difference between the approach and the Base was staggering. Within a few steps, she walked by two card games and three crap games surrounded by the usual hustle and bustle and laughter. Life seemed almost normal. Almost. It angered her. They’d become soft. Lazy. Recklessly jovial. She shouldn’t care but she did anyway. They were souls after all. Even if they were on the wrong side. She skirted the crowds, keeping an eye out for the SPF’s tell-tale red sashes. The Syndicate Police Force was brutal at their best behavior, gaining a reputation that deterred most. They were also easily bribed, which came in handy, albeit expensive.
The Syndicate’s grand hurrah had sprawled out across the blackened plateau like a leaking bucket. Expanding with each new wave of recruits until it got walled in by Qi-Betrí on one side and the fire mountains on the other. While not huge, it still took the better part of half a day just to get from one end to the other because of the winding alleys and streets that confused even the maze runners.
There was no plan here. People pitched their tents and houses wherever they saw fit. The only area off-limits being the raised hill in the middle of the southern half. That was the Inner Circle’s turf, and everyone gave them a wide berth.
Misha had been right in his assumption. Since she arrived hubs had popped up, which in time developed into quarters. Mess tents and mobile hospitals that weren’t so mobile anymore, craftworkers setting up shop on corners and rivaling gangs fighting for territory in an ever-changing landscape without mercy. Where soldiers went, so did the scrape of society doing the best of an unpleasant situation.
“You El?” a shrill voice with the lilt of a native sangoran asked.
She eyed the young scruffy looking dwarven boy who appeared out of the shadows next to an alley. “Depends. Who’s asking?”
“The Man,” he shrugged, shifting from foot to foot. “Well?”
She almost laughed had he not worn that solemn expression. She highly doubted someone that important would use such a youngling to run a message. But it piqued her interest enough.
“I am. What do you want?”
“Got a message for ya.”
He reached into a pocket and fished out a crumpled piece of paper. She held out her hand and waited. The boy clutched it a little harder, shaking his head.
“I want my money first,” he said.
“Hardly,” she said, holding out her hand. “I gotta see it’s for me first.”
The boy looked conflicted but soon shoved it into her hand with a scowl. She turned it over. The seal was intact. That was something. A seven-turned spiral with an arrow running through, drawn in blood-red on gold. The Man as the boy put it, was none other than the infamous Kollisi whose path to the top was painted in clouds and blood and ash. In smeared ink across the front she read Maze Hunter. She gave the boy a cold look before she broke the seal and unfolded it. The hand was barely legible, probably written in haste and with little care.
Second Cye.
On behalf of General Kollisi, I have been asked to request your assistance regarding the acquisition of one (1) transistor. Bor based. I have been told you can do the impossible in one day. Prove it. No trace.
Regards, Colonel Boll
Colonel Boll. Of course. A rotund man with few brain cells. Though the ones he had, he used very well. Her blood ran cold, the hairs at the nape of her neck rising. The paper crumbled in her fist as she slowly looked up.
“I’m just a messenger,” the boy quickly said holding his hands up. “I got no nothing with what it says.”
“You’ve had this for a full day?” she asked, keeping her voice level as she pronounced every word. “What. Did. You. Do. Boy? Nap on the way?”
“Ain’t my fault. I just moved planetside,” he said, glaring, folding his arms. “I got it to ya, didn’t I?”
She cursed, looking up at the fading light. There was no time to go to the shipyards, it’d take at least half a day. Same with the scrapyard and the odds of finding it at the market were slim to none. There was, however, one other option.
He looked her up and down, eyeing the pouch tucked into her belt. “The man said I’d get five copper.”
“Forget it,” she said as calmly as she could manage. “You bollixed it.”
“He promised me.”
“Then go ask him for it.”
“Maybe I will,” he said with much more confidence than his eyes had.
She scoffed. To her annoyance, the boy started tagging her. He tailed her for three blocks before she realized he was as stubborn as he was stupid. That had to stop. She swirled on him, the daggers looser in their sheets.
Like gas trapped in a canister, the question came blurting out. “Are you really the Maze Hunter? The one who caught Howarth the Goliath?”
Howarth. The oaf who’d tried to assassinate Captain O’Hagan in the middle of a white-out. She half-smiled at his boyish excitement.
“So I am told,” she said, resisting the urge to roll her eyes, her daggers still close to her touch. “I get what I want, and I never get lost. Now get lost.”
Only a moment’s hesitation held him back before he shrugged and headed down an alley, hands shoved deep into his pockets. She stared after him. How could the colonel have used such an imbecile for a messenger? The others had at least half a brain, most of them working as guides for newcomers. That, or she’d found notes with requests stuffed into her pillow, which she was sure was just a power move used to keep her quiet and in line. Worked like a charm. Lately, the requests came in more and more often. Something was in the works. If she could only figure out what.
"Patience," the voice in the back of her mind whispered. "Focus. No trace."
"Like Howarth," she replied, fighting the smile.
She caught sight of a sign with a peacock and a key. The patrons were singing loudly inside in discordant harmonies. No one saw her as she slunk by. Bor was a strange alloy to make a transistor out of, but she could see the benefits. She knew just the man for the job too.
