by Martha Carr
He looked at her quickly and raised his eyebrows. “Already? I haven’t even ordered yet.”
Ignoring his attempt at a joke, Cheyenne leaned toward him over the table and glanced through the opening in the booth. “That floating hostess that wanted to take our stuff. I stared right at it, and the activator didn’t pull up anything.”
Persh’al frowned. “Doesn’t work that way. Every piece of tech in this city has a signature.”
“Not that piece.”
“You sure you didn’t just tone down the images? Or maybe you’re getting used to activator eyes and don’t remember seeing something.”
Cheyenne stared at him and raised her eyebrows. “I’ve been paying attention, Persh’al. That round little robot and its blinking eye didn’t bring up a single line of code. Not even a name.”
“Shit.” The troll narrowed his orange eyes and gazed through the opening in the booth. A troll in something like a ballgown passed their table, giggling delicately into her hand as a magical with red-and-black mottled skin and a dozen tiny horns protruding from his skull muttered some stuck-up joke. Then Persh’al glanced quickly at the ceiling and sat back against the booth. “Yeah, I’d say that’s pretty important. Sounds like there’s a lot more going on here than the assholes in charge want anyone to see.”
“So, we’re gonna go after that orb and pick it apart, right?”
“Nope.” Summoning a pale green light at the tip of his finger, Persh’al stroked the glass-looking tabletop, which lit up with a long list of menu items in a soft yellow. “We’re gonna eat. Then I’m gonna play nice and get some conversation going. You’re gonna keep an eye out for more tech you should be able to read like an open book but can’t.”
“Great,” Cheyenne muttered and dropped her gaze to the table.
“See anything that gets your mouth watering?”
She scanned the menu items illuminated in front of her and cocked her head. “I can read the words, but they mean nothing to me.”
“All right, how ‘bout this? You just sit back, look like you’re enjoying yourself, and I’ll order for both of us. You’ll love it.” Persh’al busied himself with the interactive menu, and Cheyenne stared through the booth’s opening.
The floating metal orb, or maybe a different one, slowly passed their table, also lacking any signature. Kinda hard to enjoy a weird meal when we have no idea what’s going on.
Chapter Forty-Four
“I’ve never been more disappointed.” Persh’al slipped five blue plastic cards from his money case and set them on the table. The cards and table flashed together, then his payment disappeared. “This was a total joke, man. Coughing up that much veréle for a tiny little pile of roasted angarfat and a few crumbs of crushed grylyf for what? Presentation? They need to change the name of that dish to Most Expensive Snack Ever That Doesn’t Even Taste Like Grylyf.”
Cheyenne aimed the two-pronged fork at the tower of mint-green jelly on the side of her plate and gave it another tentative poke. Hundreds of tiny bubbles appeared on the surface when the jelly wobbled and opened one at a time to reveal milky-white eyes that stared back at her. “This stuff has eyes.”
“Well, yeah. That’s what gives it the crunch. You’re not gonna eat it?”
She cocked her head and set the fork down on the plate. “I’m not into being stared at by my food.”
“Huh. Then can I have it?”
Cheyenne slid the plate across the table toward him, and the troll grinned. She couldn’t watch him devour the ogling jelly in three huge bites, then the fork clattered to the plate, and Persh’al took a long gulp of the slightly sweetened complimentary water.
“Okay. That’s a little better. You liked the rest of it, though, right?”
“The bread that kept growing back until I finally shoved the whole thing in my mouth?” She scrunched her nose and shook her head. “Feels like it’s still growing in my stomach.”
“But it tasted good. And it’ll stick with you for the rest of the day, won’t it?” He chuckled and scooted out of the booth, lugging his pack behind him. “Oh, yeah. I can operate on a half-full tank. Let’s get to work.”
Cheyenne shouldered her pack and gazed around the restaurant. Most of the dining magicals ignored them as Persh’al led her toward the center of the far wall. Those who looked up to catch a glimpse of a blue troll and a scowling young drow traipsing around with their luggage scowled and rolled their eyes.
Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve broken the dress code. They can deal.
On the far wall was a tall, arching doorway decorated with swirling silver vines and metal leaves that fluttered on their own. Persh’al knocked lightly on the solid metal wall inside the arch and turned to wiggle his eyebrows at her. “The real party’s always in the back room, you know?”
“Totally.” Not that I go to parties, but I have a feeling this one’s gonna be a lot more like Bianca Summerlin’s soirees than anything else.
The doorway shimmered and the wall disappeared, emitting a foggy blue light that somehow didn’t make it out into the pristine cleanliness of the dining room. Persh’al nodded at her. “You know what you’re lookin’ for.”
“Yep.” She followed him through yet another short tunnel, her skin tingling when the wall solidified behind them again. “Back doors into Hangivol’s citywide mainframe. The closed ones.”
“Just don’t open them. The last thing we need on this trip is to set off any alarms.”
“You mean, besides the one you tripped at whatever town that was?”
Persh’al snorted. “I’ll owe you one if we can agree that never happened.”
“Fine by me.” Cheyenne laughed when his floppy orange hair bounced against his neck as he shook his head.
The music in the back room intensified before they exited the tunnel. Seriously? Now it’s O’gúleesh dubstep, and this is not a soiree.
The massive room beyond was dark and thick with odorless smog lighting up in shapes and symbols in bursts of different-colored lights. Suspended lanterns hovering below the ceiling flickered with green and purple flames, casting thin spotlights on the magicals moving back and forth below them. A circular bar glinting with dangling metallic strands that shuddered with the beat of the pounding music sat in the center of the room, where a snake-eyed magical with translucent skin and four arms poured drinks. A stage took up the left wall, though the flying magical doing cartwheels under a purple spotlight obviously didn’t need it. The dance floor was covered by a dark, bobbing mass of heads and hair and flailing limbs, and the rest of the room was lined with more tables and chairs, these open for everyone to see everyone else.
Persh’al bobbed his head to the music and turned to shoot Cheyenne a huge grin. “Better, right?”
“Than the front room, yeah?” She caught up with him and had to raise her voice over the music. “Are people not supposed to know this is back here?”
“No, everyone knows, but a hoity-toity little troll living in Uppertech isn’t gonna go clubbing where everyone else can see. The other magicals in here all pretend they’re not trying to hide something too.”
“What happens in the club stays in the club, huh?”
“You said it. Want a drink?”
Cheyenne snorted and turned to watch the eight-foot guy who could’ve been a tree if he wasn’t shaking all over the place to the music. “Sure. Like, grog or something.”
“Not an option up here, kid. I’m not goin’ strong, either.”
They reached the bar, and the translucent bartender nodded as she set down three black bowls in front of her other customers, their surfaces rippling with pink flames. The magicals dressed for a night out at the opera grabbed the bowls, laughing hysterically, and drained them.
Couldn’t pay me to dress like something I’m not so I could be myself in secret.
“Whatcha want?” The bartender set two four-fingered hands on the bar, her snakelike eyes flickering between Persh’al and Cheyenne.
&nb
sp; “Two mudshines.”
The bartender frowned and opened her mouth to spit some scathing remark, then a flock of small silver orbs swooped down from the ceiling, blinking multicolored lights. They stopped over Persh’al and Cheyenne’s heads and hovered slowly around the circular bar.
Cheyenne glanced at one from the corner of her eye. No info on those things, either.
Eyeing the spinning orbs, the bartender scratched her hairless translucent head with a third hand. Her mouth snapped shut, and she forced a smile at her new customers. “I’ll have to bring something out from the back. If you don’t mind waiting, of course.”
Persh’al shrugged. “No problem.”
Casting him another tight-lipped smile, the bartender reached up with a fourth hand to swipe at something on the ring lining the bar overhead. Her other hands lifted two short glasses from beneath the counter, and the fourth reached into the pocket of her sleeveless black jumpsuit. Then she turned to help two more customers.
Persh’al and Cheyenne exchanged glances, and when he raised an eyebrow and nodded at the still-hovering orbs, the halfling shook her head. He leaned against the bar. “It’ll be easier to talk with some drinks in us. You know, get things loosened up.”
“How loose?” She eyed him sidelong and forced a smile.
The troll twirled his finger around the room. “Loose enough to have as much fun as the rest of these lucky bastards. That’s what I’m aiming for.” He held her gaze and slightly dipped his head.
That’s what I thought. Somebody’s watching us, just like they’re watching the bartender and everyone else. If that was code for “we need to act drunk,” I can only go so far.
Cheyenne leaned back against the bar, propping up her forearms behind her and bobbing her head to the music she’d turned way down with her temporary activator. I can’t remember the last time I tried to fake my way through enjoying something.
A group of orcs standing beside one of the tables against the wall roared with laughter and raised their drinks. The next second, one of them lashed out and socked his neighbor square in the jaw. The sucker-punched magical bellowed in rage as his glass fell and shattered, splashing sparkling liquid all over the floor. “You’ve stepped way out of line, Forul. Try that again, and I’ll—”
“You’ll what? Throw more veréle at me? Your payment’s useless. I want what I came for.”
“Well, you’ll leave disappointed, then.”
The orcs snarled at each other, standing toe to toe and growling through their protruding tusks. The others in their group stepped away and looked elsewhere, knocking back their drinks and pretending they had nothing to do with their arguing friends.
Cheyenne narrowed her eyes. An orc-fight with only one punch? Why are they holding back?
A quick glance at the other tables showed that the other magicals who’d clearly noticed the fight were very obviously trying to forget it had happened. The two orcs still glared at each other, grunting and trying to make the other one back down. A show of green sparks spat from the fingers of the guy who’d thrown the punch, then another orc walked quickly from where he’d been standing at the corner of the club and approached them.
Cheyenne nudged Persh’al’s arm and nodded as subtly as she could toward the altercation.
“That’s enough,” the third orc growled. This one wore a well-tailored black suit, the sleeves cut to three-quarter length, and two silver stripes crossing diagonally on his chest.
A bouncer in the latest fashion. The halfling tried not to make a face.
The bouncer stood close to the enraged orcs, stuck his face right into the middle of their fight, and muttered something only they could hear. Then he snapped his fingers, and a floating silver tray raced across the room to stop by his outstretched hand. He pulled two inch-long vials from the tray and handed one to each of them.
The angry orcs glanced at what they’d been given, then flipped open the caps of the vials and raised the containers to their huge nostrils for a quick, harsh snort. Opening his hand again, the bouncer waited for the vials to be returned before he stepped away. The brawlers shook their heads, then their yellow eyes widened as they stared at each other. The one who’d hit first let out a wild burst of laughter and clapped his recent enemy on the shoulder, then they fell all over each other, snorting and guffawing and shoving each other around like best friends.
The bouncer walked slowly across the club, his hands shoved into his pockets as he eyed the other magicals living it up around him. When he passed Cheyenne, he caught her gaze, raised an eyebrow, and dipped his head. A curving silver earpiece wrapped around the back of his dark-green ear, and she focused her attention on that before the orc disappeared in the crowd.
Shit. That’s not a bouncer. That’s a drug dealer keeping the peace.
She stepped away from the bar to find him again, but Persh’al turned toward her and shrugged. “How long does it take to get a decent glass of mudshine around here, huh?”
Cheyenne turned back toward the bar. Right. I’m here to watch. That’s it.
As if the troll’s layered question made it happen, a thin slat in the surface of the bar slid aside, and a tall, wide dark-blue glass bottle rose slowly from the opening. The bartender snatched it and cracked open the top with her bare hands before pouring the dark-brown liquid into two short glasses. When she slid the drinks toward Cheyenne and Persh’al, her snakelike eyes flickered toward the small metal orbs still moving in slow circles around the bar. Her smile looked more forced than the words hissing out of her mouth. “On the house.”
“Really?” Persh’al glanced at the bubbling brown mudshine and cocked his head.
“For the wait.”
Cheyenne grabbed one glass and lifted it with a nod at the strained-looking bartender. “Excellent.”
As soon as the halfling accepted the offer, the floating orbs darted away, slipping into the dark ceiling again to watch and wait. The bartender shook her head and didn’t look at either of them before she slid around the bar to take someone else’s order.
Persh’al clinked his glass against Cheyenne’s and nodded toward the tables lining the walls. “If we’re quiet enough and smile for the floating cameras, we can talk about what just happened.”
Cheyenne plastered a cheesy grin on her face.
The troll took a huge swig of his drink and shook his head. “Never mind. You focus on not looking like a lunatic, and I’ll look happy enough for both of us.”
The pert smile he shot her in return looked real. Cheyenne put on her most convincing air of bored superiority and raised the glass to her lips. The mudshine fizzed in her mouth and almost made her cough. “This is the next best thing when there’s no grog?”
Persh’al nodded at her glass and chuckled. “I bet there hasn’t been a single bottle of this stuff cracked open in Peridosh. Too expensive. It’s swill in Uppertech.”
Chapter Forty-Five
They sat with a chair between them at the table in the corner, watching the club and the magicals letting down their high-society hair for a night. Three more potential fights were broken up before they started, either by free drinks delivered just in time by more flying trays sent from the bar or by a drug-dealing bouncer’s open hand while everyone else pretended not to see.
“I’ll tell you this much.” Persh’al sipped at his drink and scanned the club. “This shit wasn’t part of the deal last time I was here. Bar fights were a thing, and if they didn’t end in a good laugh, you were tossed out onto your ass and headed to the next bar over.”
“What about the drugs?”
“Man, there’s always something to make you think you’re feeling good. Not handed out by the employees, though.”
“The bouncer had a scrubbed earpiece.”
“Then the bouncer and those flying cameras are playing the same game.” Persh’al leaned over the table, smiling at a group of passing trolls with their hair molded into giant red pillars who didn’t spare him a second glance. “A
nd I’m not convinced the security stops with whoever owns this place.”
“The bartender.” Cheyenne looked at him and took a tiny sip of the weird bubbly liquor. Nothing more suspicious than a drow at a club who doesn’t touch her drink.
“That’s what I’m thinking. She was terrified of those things watching her.”
“I’m fairly sure she was about to tell us to screw off. “
Persh’al nodded. “Absolutely, and that’s when the peacekeeping robots swooped in to remind her of her job. Which isn’t necessarily pouring drinks.”
Cheyenne stuck her elbow on the table and rubbed her lips, searching the club for whatever else might break loose. “It’s to keep people happy.”
“Stoned and drunk and enjoying themselves, no matter what. What we need to figure out is if it’s happening everywhere else. High security at a club is one thing.”
Taking another sip of the weird drink, Cheyenne centered her attention on a skaxen in a glittering cape who abruptly stood two tables down. “Something else altogether if it’s happening everywhere in the city. That would pretty much prove your theory about what the Crown’s trying to do here, wouldn’t it?”
“With a lot of missing pieces left to fill in until we can call it proof, but yeah.” Persh’al frowned at the skaxen, who leaned over his table and thrust a finger into a tensely smiling goblin woman’s face and hissed something unintelligible. “I want to burn that cape.”
“Skaxens and glitter don’t mix well, that’s for sure.”
The skaxen slapped a hand on the metal table and whirled away to storm across the club, the awful cape whipping out behind him. The goblin woman’s smile faded as she watched him leave, her brows drawing together in wary concern.
Two orc bouncers stared the skaxen down, but before the rat-faced magical could get to the exit, a spinning tray with a shot of something neon-yellow swerved in front of him.
“I could find better piss in the Outers!” His orange hand shot out and smacked the tray and the shot glass aside, spilling the drink all over a gremlin woman in a puffy dress with a weird, spiked collar rising up the back of her neck. She flapped her arms and hissed at him, but her anger filtered away when a new tray came to deliver her a neon-yellow shot as well. She smiled grimly and took it while the skaxen stormed toward the door. The two orc bouncers stopped him, muttering something too quiet for anyone else to hear.
