A Mutiny of Marauders

by Daniel Coleman

  “I’m not even ten years old,” said Tru through a mouthful of meat. “I can’t earn enough to live.”

  “My father happy to hire you. You work with us, make paper.”

  They’d talked about it a million times. The pay just wasn’t enough.

  It didn’t matter where his money came from as long as he had food and clothes, plus a little money to buy a miniature once in a while. If killing a kid could be sacred, so could stealing, and since the encounter with Rune a week before, Tru never stole anything without devoting it to the sun or moon, depending on the time of day, and his pockets. Apparently it worked; he hadn’t been caught since the huge Druid nearly killed him.

  “You should not steal,” said Kintaro in a serious tone.

  “Why not?”

  “Stealing is wrong.”

  “Why?”

  “Because what you steal belongs to someone else.”

  “Only until I take it,” said Tru. Kintaro wasn’t stupid, but for some reason he refused to open his ears and listen. How could it possibly be wrong to get what he needed to survive? If anything was ‘wrong’ it was dying.

  “You could go to prison. Or get killed. And who catch lizards with me then?” Kintaro didn’t smile.

  “I could starve, Golden Boy.” He didn’t know what the nickname meant, but Kintaro’s parents used it sometimes when they were proud of him. Tru only did it when Kintaro annoyed him.

  “If stealing not wrong, why you hide it, not tell people you stealing their things?”

  “Are you kidding me? People get scutting mad when they catch me.” They turned without speaking, heading toward an overgrown park.

  Kintaro squeezed his hands to his temples and said, “You as stubborn as my father’s mule.”

  “If people cared that much, they should be more careful with their stuff. Like I am.” Kintaro was the only one that knew about the miniature collection, but even he didn’t know about the small stash of coins in the false wall of Tru’s hovel. His brain felt tired from trying to make Kintaro understand. “Hey, I have questions about outside.”

  Kintaro had only been on Hollow Island a few months, so he knew more than anyone about the rest of the world. But he had an advantage over Tru because he knew a lot about Hollow Island too, from watching the hollows his whole life.

  “Okay,” Kintaro said. He picked a long reed of grass, looped a catch-noose in the end, and scanned the thick grass alongside the road for lizards.

  “So a lot of people with really dark skin live in Africas, right?”

  “Africa? Yes.”

  “And if someone has skinny eyes they live in Japan or Chinese or Malaysia or whatever?”

  “Asia. Uh huh.”

  “So, who sorts them?”

  “What do you mean?” Kintaro stopped and backtracked. Extending his long blade of grass, he motioned for Tru to stay back. From where he stood, Tru saw a brownish lizard nestled at the base of a clump of grasses. Attempting stealth, Kintaro positioned the noose at the lizard’s head. When it was positioned perfectly, he yanked, then looked to see if he’d succeeded. The lizard dangled from the noose by its neck, swimming in the air while Kintaro smiled proudly.

  “You don’t have to yank, Golden Boy. A slow tug works better so you don’t end up launching it to the Hot side of the island.”

  “You watch. Someday pupil become master, then you ask me to teach you to catch lizard.” He took the lizard gently in his hand. “Now repeat question.”

  Kintaro’s attention was on the lizard, and that was all right. Tru didn’t want him to start teasing if the question turned out to be a stupid one.

  “I want to know whose job it is to sort everybody. Who decides if someone’s skin is dark enough to live in Africa or if his eyes are the right shape to live in Chinese? And what if a person has dark skin like Anne Bonney and skinny eyes, like you? Is there a separate country for people like that?”

  Kintaro had stopped again, staring at Tru in disbelief. Doubling over so abruptly that Tru was sure he’d crush the lizard, Kintaro laughed and laughed and laughed. Tru had no idea what was so funny, but when Kintaro pointed at him and tried to speak, only to get caught in another laughing fit, Tru pushed him over into the tall weeds. That only made him laugh harder.

  “Go milk a pig,” said Tru and walked away.

  After a minute, Kintaro caught up with him, still laughing too hard to speak. Tru wished he could take back his stupid question. No wonder Liam always called him piker. Who cared about their stupid outside, anyway.

  “Sorry, my friend. Sorry.” They stood in the street looking at each other, Tru still ready to punch the older boy. “On Hollow Island, all people live together—white, brown, black, blue, pink. Outside, each country has most people one color. They live where they born.”

  “Just like that, people are magically born in the country where everyone looks like them?”

  Kintaro bit back another round of laughing that would have earned him a good kick in the crotch. “Babies look like parent. In one country many parent look alike, so many babies look alike. For thousands years people with dark skin live in Africa, so babies in Africa have dark skin.”

  Tru considered that and it actually made a little sense. It was like how coquís lived only on Hollow Island but not in other parts of the world because that’s where they were born and if both of your parents were coquís, then you would be one too.

  “So what about me?” asked Tru, getting to the real question. “Where do people who look like me live?”

  Finally being serious, Kintaro looked him over. Tru knew he didn’t really look like anyone. His skin wasn’t light or dark, and neither was his hair. His eyes were light brown but not round or skinny.

  Apparently satisfied with his inspection, Kintaro nodded and said, “In Japan we said konketsu.”

  “Is konketsu a country? I’ve never heard of it.”

  “No, is word that mean from many races. In English you say mutt.”

  “Mutt? You mean like a buckdog?” Tru punched Kintaro on the arm and said, “Last time I ask you anything.” Being compared to the mangy dogs that roamed the street was the last thing he wanted.

  “Just think, Konketsu, you are best of all people. Each race in world put part into you, best part. Norway give you strength. Africa give you wisdom of earth. New Zealand give you ability to enjoy life. And Japan, Japan very generous. Give you intelligence, give you loyalty. Most important give you honor.” He tapped Tru’s chest.

  That was better than being a buckdog, and he nodded in acceptance. The words made him think of Rune’s gift. He still carried it, wrapped up and tucked into the most secure pocket he had, on the inside of his thigh.

  “And why do so many people want to come live on my island?” asked Tru. “If there’s so many different places out there, why not just move to a different country?”

  Resuming the walk, Kintaro said, “Here is like magic. Here is fantasy. Here is also simple. My parents wanted to escape technology ruling their life and all the busyness of everything.”

  Tru understood magic, and it scared him. While some Jennies fascinated him, all Jennies scared him. Technology was even harder to understand. It made him think of people flying, invisible money, and of course the hollows which he heard about all the time. How those things could rule someone’s life he didn’t know, but it did sound kind of horrible.

  “So instead of moving far away from everyone and living in a forest or something, they come here and become monsters.” Tru kicked another rock down the road.

  “Someone on hollows once said only ten percent of immigrants are Jennies and not many of those are dangerous people.”

  That didn’t make Tru feel any better. Even one monster on his island was too many.

  Kintaro said, “A bad monster is on Hot side of island right now. Metolo just came back from San Juan and told my father. A man in black kills people in the night. Every day he leave people dead in streets in different city. Man, woman, children,
it doesn’t matter—he kill anyway. No one can stop him.”

  At the thought of a killer wandering the night, even on the other side of the island, Tru looked over his shoulder. Most of his work was done after dark, but the worst he’d ever had to deal with were other night people who he could pay off with a cent or two. No one wanted to mess with a member of the Guild. Handing over a little bit of money made encounters work out for everyone involved.

  “My father say man in black is shinigami. Even carry ogama like shinigami.”

  Just the sound of the words made Tru shiver. “What does ogama mean?”

  “Ogama is tool used to cut wheat.”

  “You mean a scythe?” Tru asked.

  Kintaro shrugged.

  “But the fence keeps monsters on the other side of the island,” said Tru hopefully. “We’re safe on the Cold side.” There were some Jennies on the Cold side, but only Level 1s. That was the law, and Tru had never heard of it being broken.

  Kintaro shook his head. “No fence can stop shinigami.”

  “The Rangers will protect us,” said Tru. But if no one could stop the man in black, the shinigami, did that mean Rangers couldn’t either? And if Rangers couldn’t stop him, what could a fence do? Tru felt like running back to his hovel.

  Stupid monsters. Life was hard enough without them coming to his island and interfering with his life.

  6

  Laughing at the Rain

  <
  Darwin: The Castes themselves are the biggest guardians of secrets. Many of them spread false details in coordinated efforts to protect their interests and advantages. The production managers of our programming are also very careful to hide certain details while allowing others that might imply modifications or endowments where none exist. Red herrings of a sort. Lastly, the rumors that we teach inaccuracies regarding other Castes in our training and quarantine center are unequivocally true.

  - Excerpt from an interview with Darwin, President of Hollow Island Corporation >>

  Peeking through an upstairs window in the empty building across from the Ponce depo, Tru watched people collect their ratings. Rain fell, hours later than he was used to. With the sun near ready to set, the clouds should have already dumped their water and disappeared. Pounding drums and pattering rain just didn’t go together. It made the night sound worried.

  A few mils or so waited for Tru behind the bars of the depo. That wouldn’t buy much, but Tru wasn’t about to complain about free money. The most he’d ever gotten in ratings was one cent, and it was only so much because he waited two weeks before going to collect them. Some people got a few kilos every time they went, and he’d even seen a few people collect more than fifty k in a single visit.

  Tru didn’t know who did the rating or why he got rated so low while other people got rated so high. Maybe it was something to do with honor, like Kintaro was always talking about. It was nice to finally have a friend he could ask questions. Maybe when Kintaro showed up in twenty minutes so they could collect their ratings together, Tru would ask. Until then, he’d wait here where it was safe.

  The lookout spot was perfect to observe people getting their ratings. On any other night, he would pick one or two and follow them home. By watching which rooms lit up with candle light, he could get a general idea of where they hid their money then go back at a future date to pilfer it.

  However, since hearing about the shinigami, Tru hated to be out alone, even before dark. Part of the reason he arrived early to meet Kintaro was to travel in daylight. The other part was because a good Thief never walked in blindly anywhere when he could avoid it.

  Two weeks after the decent haul they’d taken in the market, and Tru had only gone to work once. Liam had made him do it, and they ended up making nothing all night. His savings had nearly evaporated over that time. Soon he’d have to spend the coin Rune had given him.

  Tru sighed and tried to squirm the feelings of wrongness away. Even though his heart wasn’t in it, he continued to watch people collect their ratings. A few people tucked coins away into pockets, but the majority scooped their meager earnings into leather coinpurses at their waist then tied them off. A small group of Tinkers put their coins into their metal-bottomed Tinker’s purses. When they walked away, the sound of money was only a small part of the musical, metallic noise.

  Next up was a man in a sleeveless brown tunic. As the depo worker slid coins into the tray, the man picked up one foot to scratch an ankle and Tru recognized the cobbler’s mark on the sole, a stingray. The shoes were lightweight, as flexible as feet, and expensive. Which meant that man was probably a Thief, Ninja, or some other Caste that needed good footing.

  The fact he hadn’t recognized the man for more than some laborer was just more proof that the evening was off. It was the start of Tru’s normal work day, but he felt distracted. And scared. He hated to admit it, and he would never tell anyone except himself, but it had been hard to go to work ever since he’d heard about the shinigami. The way he felt tonight, it would be impossible to hide it from Liam.

  On nights like tonight when Liam wanted him, he didn’t have a choice. He never let Tru go home early or stay away even if he was sick or anything like that. If it was market night, Tru would understand because of the huge consequences from the Guild if they didn’t take their assigned night. But it wasn’t. Liam wanted to work some bars tonight, trailing drunks. Tru just wanted to hide.

  If he did go out and ran into the shinigami, none of that other stuff with Liam or with the Guild, would matter.

  Kintaro told him a hundred times that the shinigami would never come to the Cold side. Even if he said it a thousand times, it still wouldn’t make Tru feel better.

  It wasn’t worth the risk to work tonight. Liam would have to deal with Tru missing work tonight. Kintaro would have to deal with it too. He didn’t need Tru to be there to collect his ratings and go home.

  As soon as the thought occurred, Tru clung to it. He let out a loud, relieved breath at the thought of spending the night at home instead of in the darkness. After one more glance up then down the street, he crept down the stairway and took the busiest streets possible toward his hovel.

  Instead of letting up and going away, the rain just fell harder. Within a block, Tru was soaked. Two blocks from home, Tru shied into a shadow of a tanner’s shop when he heard a faint laugh. The pounding rain made it impossible to tell how far away it was, but the stench from the shop pushed Tru forward. Next door, on the corner, was a large blacksmith shop, closed up and quiet. Tru peeked around it and saw the laughing man sitting in the street. He was looking upward at an angle and laughing with everything he had. And smiling blissfully.

  The laughing man was a relief. Tru had seen him in different places around the city, only when it rained and always laughing. He was harmless. Still, Tru was ready to bolt as he approached the man on the street. The man reacted to Tru’s silent approach about as much as a blind man would. The forceful laughs were only interrupted by equally deep breaths. For an old man, he had amazing endurance.

  Tru paused alongside him and pulled a mil out of his own pocket. Water ran in small rivers along the old man’s wrinkles into his beard, making it stringy like a dripping mop. Tru slipped the mil into the man’s coat pocket and moved on. He didn’t know if the man was a beggar, or if he even needed money, but anyone that crazy couldn’t have much. The man’s dedication was impressive. Tru doubted he’d ever feel that much enjoyment of anything.

  The last two streets were empty and mostly lightless. Tru sped straight into his front door without even doubling back to make sure he wasn’t seen going in. He brushed past the decoy items in the front room—an old mattress, a small crate of old food, some broken pre-Hollow Island furniture.

  Tru moved the rotten board in the corner of the back wall and shimmied into his hidden room, his real hovel. He didn’t bother drying off, or lighting a match, just went straight to h
is mattress and curled up. Finally safe.

  After sleeping all day, Tru couldn’t count on any more sleep, but lying awake in his dark room was better than being hunted in the dark night. He pulled the coins from various hidden pockets and laid them out in his hand then counted in the dark. The stash under the floorboard was empty. Years of savings gone, because of low productivity. The two cents and fourteen mils would keep him alive for a week, maybe two. If things didn’t change by then, he’d have to spend the sacred kilo.

  Well, it was better to spend a sacred coin and live than die with money in his hand. Maybe soon someone would stop the shinigami and give Tru his life back.

  7

  Bombard a Drab Mob

  << A lo hecho, pecho.

  Puerto Rican saying. Literally, “Concerning what’s done, chest.”

  More accurately, “What’s done is done; take heart.” >>

  Nash approached the Shangri-La Hotel in Krete, the fourth town in as many days. The new system he and Livi had developed of sending out gofers, kept them closer behind the Reaper, and also kept them moving from town to town faster.

  Two doormen—doorpersons rather, one man, one woman—pulled the front double doors open and stepped aside with a bow to let him enter. Whereas most places he stayed had dirt or cement floors, this one had polished wood floors clean enough to eat off of. Rather than a few candles on the walls, full chandeliers with twenty large candles each hung from the ceiling, along with mirrors high on the walls to augment the light.

  Most of the cheaper inns were old, pre-Hour War buildings that had been taken over and converted to something that could pass as an inn. And while the bones of this building might be that old, everything had been redone so it was new and shiny and posh. A series of long vents high in the room pulled air through the open slatted windows at ground level then through the room to keep it cool and fresh. Nash wasn’t sure exactly how they pulled it off, but he knew it had something to do with workers on the other side of those high walls operating specialized fans.