The Colossus Collection : A Space Opera Adventure (Books 1-7 + Bonus Material)

by Nicole Grotepas

  It was luck then that Amaya’s energy was so soothing. Holly would hate to see how deep into the mood she could plunge without that equalizing presence.

  “So, the painting? I need to see it before we finish the exchange.” Amaya settled back into her seat and crossed her legs. She took a loud experimental sip of her drink. “Charly, please, help yourself to the kasé. I made it just for this.”

  “No thanks,” Charly said.

  Holly put her mug down and pulled her gloves out of her coat pocket. She stood up, unscrewed the top of the tube, and then using gentle movements, extracted the painting from its protective case.

  “Charly, would you mind helping me?” Holly asked.

  Charly rose and took one end of the painting. They unrolled it, and held it up allowing Amaya to see it.

  Amaya put her drink down and came around to their side of the furniture arrangement and looked closely at the painting. She made appreciative noises as she studied different parts of the painting, obviously checking to make sure it wasn’t a forgery.

  As they stood there, Holly forced herself to not focus on the tension between herself and Charly. Her thoughts drifted to Amaya’s work. Interior design. No doubt the woman really did that. But if she worked as a fence, how often did she get into dangerous situations? What protections did she have?

  Holly studied the corners of the room, looking for signs of surveillance. There were paintings distributed around the walls of the office. Perhaps there were hidden cameras there.

  Or maybe Amaya was so selective with her clientele that she only worked with people she knew she could trust.

  Holly chortled mentally—as though there was anyone perfectly trustworthy in all the 6 Moons.

  Have I gotten that jaded, then?

  “Very astounding. I have always, always loved this piece,” Amaya said, putting on a pair of glasses that she wore around her neck on on a chain. They really completed her look.

  Holly felt the lecture coming on about the piece.

  “So you’ve seen this painting before?” Holly asked, deciding she’d help get the lecture over with. She didn’t want to be stuck all day in Amaya’s smelly shop. It still had that strange fragrance of mildew mixed with dust, like there was a drip saturating a rug somewhere that never dried out.

  “Oh yes, many times. In the museum once, and prior to that, I negotiated the hand off between the owner of that museum and the agent who retrieved it for that owner.” She was bent at the waist, her eyes right up next to the signature at the bottom corner.

  Holly exchanged a look with Charly. “So you’ve handled a deal similar to this one before?”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Amaya muttered absently. “Many times.”

  “How many times?”

  “It’s like everything with my clients. I’ve lost count.”

  “Does any piece ever stay in a Centau’s hands longer than a year?” Holly asked point blank, feeling immensely frustrated with the selfish bastards and their penchant for dealing in art.

  “A few. But then we get these lovely works that have become, I would say, indicators of supremacy among them.” She laughed. “Well, it’s like a game, you understand? They change hands, passed along through subterfuge. It’s like a game for them. A sport. Perhaps their only sport. They’re not exactly made for actual sports—not like humans, Constellations, and Yasaons, who actually have athleticism. I never thought about it this way, but you know, I would say their equivalent of sport is this—having the prowess to hire agents to play their collection game.”

  “It’s disgusting,” Holly said.

  “Well, it pays my bills. I’d hardly make enough money to own this shop if I didn’t have the side business,” Amaya said.

  It paid Holly’s bills, and she knew that Charly was thinking the same thing as their gazes connected again across the front of the painting they continued to hold aloft for Amaya.

  “Done in the style of Manet, an old Earth painter, you know. Such exquisite detail, such skill in replicating Manet’s signature nuance, but applied to the light of Yol in the northern region. It’s so, so lovely. Takes my breath away, every time.”

  “Yes, we have heard about it,” Holly said. Her arms ached. How long could the woman study the painting? She’d clearly seen it many times before.

  “Oh, what’s this?” Amaya said, spying the tear that Odeon had done.

  “It was there all along,” Charly said before Holly could say anything.

  “It wasn’t there last time,” Amaya remarked.

  “Or it was and you didn’t see it. Amaya, it’s a tiny imperfection. Makes it real. Makes it better. The Centau won’t notice.”

  Amaya said nothing. She continued to stare at the tear. A sweat broke out under Holly’s coat. Her fingers felt like they were making puddles within her winter gloves.

  Finally, the woman took a step back and removed her glasses. “Put it away.”

  Together Holly and Charly rolled the canvas up and slipped it back into its tube.

  Amaya whisked back around to resume sitting and sampling her kasé.

  “It’s authentic,” Amaya said.

  “Of course it is. You think we’d try to fleece you, Amaya?” Charly said.

  “But I’m going to have to take off a few thousand for that damage,” Amaya said.

  “That’s mercenary. I don’t think it’s fair.” Charly’s voice was firm and unflinching.

  “Charly, dear, you can hardly call it unfair to demand a fair price for damaged goods.” Amaya’s smile was like a crocodile’s in a sandbank.

  Holly sat back and drank her kasé, though her appetite had fled the moment the anxious brew began in her stomach over the tear and Amaya noticing it.

  “Oh, I can. You know why I can? Because I know you’re not going to point it out to your Centau client. You’re going to skip over it. Can’t risk having the deal fall through entirely. You need it as much as we do. You point that out, and maybe your client rejects the painting. And then what? You lose the guarantee of however much this job nets you, year after year. What is it? Thirty thousand novas?”

  Amaya gasped.

  Charly nodded, taking the reaction as evidence that she was right. “Work on that poker face, Amaya.”

  The fence fanned herself, seeming irritated. So what? It seemed the woman was hired for her ability to spot forgeries, and not for her negotiation and diplomatic skills.

  “I’ve given nothing away. I don’t know what you’re talking about, Charly.”

  “So you were hoping to make forty thousand on this job?”

  “Hardly. I just don’t believe in paying full price for damaged goods.”

  “It’s not what you want, it’s what the Centau buyer wants. Once the painting is in the frame, no one will see the tiny tear. It’s smaller than a pinky nail and those are bound to happen each time someone cuts it out of the frame. Someday they’ll have to retire this piece or it’ll be the size of an ancient postage stamp.”

  “They’re idiots. They know nothing about art. They know what I tell them,” Amaya said. “That’s why I’m an interior designer for them.”

  “You probably told them about this painting in the first place,” Charly said, puffing up the fence.

  It was a smart move. Holly had to hand it to her.

  Amaya’s cheeks trembled. “Fine. Five thousand less than the agreed on price. It’s my lowest offer.”

  “I was going to say zero. But we’ll take one thousand less out of gratitude for overlooking the tear.”

  “Three,” Amaya said, lifting her chin defiantly.

  “One,” Charly said. “For recognizing how instrumental you’ve been in building the entire rivalry between the rich Centau houses.”

  “Two. Charly, please, I have my dignity.”

  Charly looked at Holly, as though to ask permission. Holly flicked her chin subtly.

  “Amaya, we’re happy to give you an additional two, bringing it to three. You’re a 6 Moons treasure,” C
harly said, offering her hand across the table. Amaya took it, seeming satisfied with the deal.

  6

  “Why, Danielle, I expected to see Lucky, your right-hand man.” Holly sat down across from Danielle Le Roi—smuggler, harborer of weirdoes, witches, and whatever else happened to crop up.

  After hiring the captain for the 3D galactic orrery job, Holly had learned to not be surprised when Danielle did or said something odd or some new facet of her personality cropped up.

  At first glance, she seemed delightful and harmless.

  But like many actors in the world in which Holly now operated, Danielle had a mercenary streak.

  “You’re early. Early and sarcastic. Are you asking me to kidnap you and leave you on a deserted shepherd moon, Holly?” Danielle asked, a fake smile plastered on her face.

  The woman hunched to take a sip from her spoon. They’d met at a shop crossed with a restaurant called Popotes et Magie. Holly squinted and surveyed her surroundings.

  She’d just arrived, expecting to be early, but Danielle had beaten her. Being early to a rendezvous was a new initiative, meant to give her the upper hand—scope out the location, and watch her date show up to get a read on them first.

  Though Holly was thirty minutes early, she’d only succeeded in catching the captain bent over a large bowl of soup and with hunks of peasant bread at a wooden table in a corner of the joint. Le Roi could see everything from that spot, while Holly had to sit with her back to the room.

  Unfortunately.

  “Not at all. I just thought you never left your ship, never set foot on moons to have any sort of fun,” Holly explained, trying to suppress the sarcasm. “I expected we’d be meeting in the shipyard. Not here. And I expected Wick. Not you.” She was glad Wick—aka, Lucky—wasn’t the one she was meeting. Something about him made Holly’s skin crawl. And it wasn’t his fake eye or missing leg, although those things didn’t help. It was something in his aura, in the energy he gave off..

  “Oh, I send Wick on plenty of important errands. My right-hand man is an excellent errand boy. But I also like to mix it up, keep him guessing. He’s like family, and family will stab you in the back if you’re not careful. So, on these high dollar jobs, I’ll often show up myself. And plus, today I’m picking up supplies for the White Witch. Remember her? You two were splendiferous friends.” Danielle smirked at Holly as she referred to Melba, one of the few residents who lived on the Benedicat Corr Tuum. “Not that it’s any of your business. But she needs to replenish the things she uses to make spells and foresee the future.”

  That’s what it was. The shop had a weird vibe, but Holly hadn’t been able to guess from the name what was so off about it. The place was on the northernmost reaches of Analogue Alley, almost in the Northern Grey Jade district, just skirting the fringe of the Red Jade area.

  Bundles of twigs hung from the rafters. An actual fire burned in a hearth and a cauldron hanging over it bubbled with some kind of thick liquid. There was a counter where patrons could order food and a few rickety old tables against one wall, which was where Holly now sat with Danielle. Displays of crystals and bottles of elixirs lined another wall. A few of the various areas Holly could see were devoted to voodoo, healing magic, and black magic.

  Isn’t voodoo black magic? Holly wondered. Despite the cozy comforts built into the shop, there was still something unsettling about it. Holly cocked an eyebrow, trying to make sense of it, realizing she was very much out of her depth. This was Danielle’s turf and she appeared to know that.

  “How kind of you, to help her out like that,” Holly observed.

  “I know,” Danielle said. “You should get something to eat. This place has the best food.”

  “I’m stuffed from lunch,” Holly lied. Like she needed to tick Danielle off. The woman might add a couple grand to what Holly already owed.

  “Piffle. Get a pastry. They’re to die for.”

  She wasn’t stuffed from lunch, but she didn’t trust the food here. It was probably poisoned. How much could she trust a place that sold ingredients for black magic?

  Holly blinked. Wait a minute. Why was she thinking like black magic was actually real?

  “You have the money?” Danielle asked. “Or am I taking you on a vacation to my favorite abandoned shepherd moon?”

  “Of course I have it.”

  “All of it? Including the extra fee?”

  Though she disagreed with the fee, Holly had it. “Yes.”

  Danielle motioned to someone Holly couldn’t see behind a display of pointy hats. A hulking man emerged and ambled over to her side.

  Holly sat back. How had she missed him?

  “This is my cousin, Boris. He’s going to count the money.”

  Holly tried not to gape. “Does he own this shop?”

  “No. His father does.”

  “So the magic runs in the family?”

  “You might say that. If you believe in magic. Do you?” Danielle held out her hand.

  It took Holly a moment to realize what the captain was waiting for. She reached into a hidden pocket inside her winter coat, pulled out the sack of novas, and handed it to Danielle, who passed it off to Boris.

  He bowed mutely and trudged off, vanishing amidst the clutter of the shop. Holly didn’t like him walking away with her money when it hadn’t been settled as their payment and wanted to protest, but he was huge and seemed a bit mindless. The last thing she wanted was to push Danielle into deciding that Holly needed to learn a lesson. She bit her tongue and decided if it came to a fight, she’d fight. But for now, best to keep her cool and beyond that, to act like she was cool and totally under control—that nothing about this arrangement bothered her.

  Holly settled back into her wooden chair, waiting to let Danielle drive the conversation.

  “Yes, my aunt Melba was married at one time to Boris’s father. We were a close-knit family. Boris is a sweetheart. Simple man. Keeps the customers in line—you know, lets them know early on that there’ll be no black magic tricks performed to get a better deal. Also Boris made my captain’s chair. Remember that glorious piece on my bridge?” Danielle grinned and laughed as she broke off a hunk of bread, slathered butter on it, and dipped it in her soup.

  “I recall a throne. Not so much a ‘captain’s chair.’” Holly made air quotes with her fingers.

  Danielle chuckled.

  “It does seem more like a throne, doesn’t it? Matches my scepter. Boris’ father made that. The top piece is a dragon’s egg.”

  Holly managed to keep a straight face. Inside she realized that either Danielle was certifiably crazy, or there were more secrets to the 6 Moons than Holly could have ever guessed.

  “A dragon’s egg?”

  “Yes. Dark purple, almost the color of night. Remember? With swirling galaxies and stars in the shell.” Danielle dipped her bread and took a bite out of it. Soup dribbled down her chin. “Oh, wait. You never looked too closely at it. The others did. You must have been off trying to not get sick. Sleeping. Or whatever.”

  “That sounds about right,” Holly admitted, willing herself to not blush. “But a dragon’s egg?”

  “Yes, yes. Some kind of relic. It was traded to my uncle from a mysterious Centau who wore a cloak and a hood, and swore my uncle to secrecy. Claimed to not be from the 6 Moons, or even the Centau homeworld.”

  “Then how do you know the mysterious figure was a Centau?” Holly asked, pointing out the obvious flaw in the story. “And if he was sworn to secrecy, why are you telling me?”

  “I wasn’t sworn to secrecy. He was. And he told me. And I made no such vow to get him to confess the origins to me.” Danielle lifted her bowl and scooped the final bit of soup into her mouth. “I need seconds. Be right back. Don’t go anywhere. We’re not done.”

  Another obvious answer, that Danielle didn’t mention: her uncle was lying.

  “Oh you can count on me being here when you get back.” If for no other reason than she wanted to hear how outrageous t
his preposterous story got about dragon eggs and mysterious Centaus.

  Holly mused about having trusted Danielle to fly her crew around the 6 Moons. Had she heard how crazy the woman seemed to be, would she have done that? It was the problem with needing help for illicit jobs—you couldn’t always choose the caliber people or their level of sanity.

  The small talk was killing her. Although, it was some of the most fascinating small talk she’d ever engaged in. What she wanted more than anything was to be done with the debt looming over her. The galactic orrery job had only thrown a hundred kinks in her plans and she was finally tying up the loose ends.

  Boris better hurry the hell up with his counting.

  When Danielle returned, she sat down and began buttering another chunk of bread. “Why do you think I spend all my time out on a ship?” The woman blinked at Holly, waiting for an answer.

  “Oh, this is an actual question. I thought it was rhetorical.”

  “No, I wondered if you’d come up with a good reason.”

  “I assumed you were wanted and didn’t want to have a permanent address where dangerous types could find you.” She shrugged.

  “Not at all, although those are pretty good reasons. No, the main reason is the dragon’s egg. My uncle gave it to me so that—” she stopped suddenly, and studied Holly’s face, as though having a realization. “Wait a minute, I can’t tell you that. Any more details and I might have to kill you.”

  Holly laughed. Danielle didn’t.

  “Wait, you’re serious?”

  “No, no, I’m totally teasing you. I wouldn’t kill you. I’d just leave you—”

  “On an abandoned shepherd moon.”

  “Exactly. That.”

  “If it’s any consolation whatsoever, I think you’re nuts and the story about the dragon egg doesn’t help. Can’t possibly be real.”

  “Good. Think that. Very smart.”

  Boris returned, leaned over, and whispered something in Danielle’s ear.

  But his whisper was the equivalent of a standard-sized person’s loudness in a loud bar. Holly heard everything he said.

  “The novas match the amount you are expecting.”