“How did they kill him?” It was a morbid question, but he felt like he owed it to his friend to know that. To know what failure had cost the Alpha.
“Rumor has it you killed him. Snuck into his room early this morning, tied him up, beat on him a little bit, then slit his throat and ran away.”
Carl’s hands turned into fists. From between clenched teeth, he said, “My knife. They found my knife, right?”
Sunshine nodded.
Dammit! He’d left that already-bloody knife in the bushes, but they’d found it. He’d hoped to pick it up later—the Tanto-tipped knife with which he had killed one of his watchers was among his favorites.
Carl said, “Do my packmates believe the rumor?” It was an important question, as the answer could well determine how long he lived and would definitely determine what options he now faced.
“No, most Timber Wolves are saying it was a Diamondback assassin. Diamondback is considered the frontrunners for a new Speaker, so they had the most to gain. But the other Bands believe it. They didn’t know you.”
Carl frowned. At least his packmates didn’t believe this nonsense. He’d have to make his next moves carefully, but at least other Bands weren’t likely to pursue him. They wouldn’t much care about who killed another Band’s leader, other than that it meant an election they could hope to win, whatever the odds.
His jaw set like iron, Carl said, “So I have friends in the Timber Wolves still. With Pamela off my tail, or at least distracted by the election preparations, I have a chance to contact some of them. Maybe I couldn’t save my friend, but I can try to get revenge for his murder. And for betraying me.”
“I can help you sneak in. We wildlanders know some secret ways.”
Carl nodded, wheels turning in his mind. “Good. If it’s the last thing I do, I want to bring that bitch Pamela down.”
Sunshine leaned her head against his shoulder and let out a deep breath. “If you must, then I’ll help you. I owe you my life. Besides, maybe if I help you survive, you’ll let me get you drunk enough to smash.”
Carl chuckled at that. Would it really be so bad if she was crushing on him? But it wasn’t something he wanted to deal with or even think about right now. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to her if he got her hopes up and then went and got himself killed. But maybe after this was all over… A man could do worse than stick with someone he really liked and knew he could trust with his life…
* * *
0900 HOURS - ZERO DAY +203
Cassy walked toward her house and felt a strange mix of happiness and dread. She’d missed Jaz and Choony’s return because she was still dealing with the damn conflict between Lebanon and the Falconry, but she had met up with the two travelers later in the day. Their news was mixed—the survivors at Intercourse were Empire spies, basically, which she had suspected but now had proof of. It was alarming that they had radios, and Ethan had sent riders out to all the Confed allies with new frequencies and spoken code words for sensitive matters. Michael said keeping up some chatter on the old radio band would help them mislead the enemy when the time came. That made sense but it wasn’t enough to turn the news good.
On the other hand, Jaz and Choony were alive, and that was fantastic news. They’d squeaked through another close one, it seemed. Cassy had chatted with Choony for a long time, catching up and just getting reacquainted. It was nice having him to bounce ideas and internal conflicts off of. He always seemed to lead her to her own right answers just by asking questions, never lecturing unless she needed a lecture, and he seemed to always know when to lead and when to lecture.
Just as importantly, the new large settlement at the Gap was a priceless find. If they became allies or joined the Confed, which Jaz thought was likely, they would help secure the southern flank, something the Clan especially wanted to see. They covered a bridge, a natural choke point, and they were mostly self-sufficient. They also had helped Choony and Jaz escape the Intercourse ambush purely on principle, which spoke well of them.
As Cassy approached the door to her house, she put those thoughts aside and braced herself for the storm she was about to face. Lebanon and the Falconry were still at each other’s throats about Lebanon taxing traders leaving Falconry territory, and both sides had sent envoys to Clanholme to plead their case. Cassy was pleased that they turned to Clanholme to arbitrate the matter, but irritated at the time it had taken, and would still take. It also made the Clan responsible for the outcome. She’d have to tread lightly.
Opening the door, she stepped inside and smiled at the man and woman seated in her living room, who sat on opposite sides of the room. Cassy could feel the tension between them. “Good morning to you both,” she said cheerily.
The man from Lebanon, with characteristic charm and tact, said, “Let’s not blow smoke up each other’s asses, okay? I wish to go home, and to do that we need to resolve this. Lebanon thanks you for mediating this simple matter, and if you can just tell Falconry the facts of the matter, I can get out of here.”
The Falconry woman smirked. “Yes, Cassy,” she said, pointedly using the Clan leader’s familiar name, “I think two days is long enough as well. You have so much more important matters to attend, I’m sure, so once you explain to Lebanon that they can’t go around taxing allies of the Confederation for passing through, we’ll both be out of your hair. Sorry for the ridiculous circumstances of my visit.”
Cassy let out a sharp breath. These two were night and day, and both frustrating in their own ways. She stepped up to her podium and then said, “Thank you both for your patience. This is an important issue for all of us and I’ve had to think long and hard about a resolution since hearing both of your arguments yesterday.”
Lebanon, irritation in his voice, said, “Fantastic. Like Falconry said, let’s get this over with.”
“That’s not what I said,” snarled Falconry.
Cassy raised her hands, palms toward the two guests appeasingly. “Please, I do have a verdict. One which is fair. It has taken a while because this sets a precedent, and I have to be sure that we sail forward in the best direction.”
Cassy paused and waited, until both representatives nodded in acknowledgement. Then she said, “Lebanon. You feel you have the right to a fee for passage from non-Confederation traders moving through your territory, is that right?”
When he nodded, Cassy continued, “Falconry. You feel that as our secret ally you should enjoy the same protections as Confederation members, and you feel that your wagons moving west and northeast don’t travel through Lebanon’s territory. Correct?”
“More or less, yes. They can’t claim everything. We have claims, too.”
Cassy nodded, and put on her most sympathetic, wistful smile. “It is the Confederation’s decision that Falconry controls all land within one mile of their survivor enclave. Lebanon may not collect passage fees from wagons within this zone. Additionally, it can’t collect from caravans headed west along the edge of the forest—they’re headed toward Liz Town, a Confederation member. Fees on those wagons affect prices Liz Town has to pay.”
The Lebanon rep frowned, while his counterpart smiled with tightly-pressed lips, a smug expression.
Cassy continued, “However. The Confederation claims all other territory within our borders, outside of Falconry’s one-mile radius. These territories belong to the closest major Confederation member. Falconry, Lebanon controls the Confed territory outside your one mile. They may collect fees as they wish, so long as those fees are reasonable and necessary. They do, after all, patrol all that territory to make it safer for your traders and they keep the roads clear. Unless those wagons are heading west along the forest between itself and Liz Town, Lebanon may apply reasonable fees for passage. This is the Confederation’s decision.” She slapped the podium, which made a sharp bang. “That is all.”
The man from Lebanon shook Cassy’s hand and left, all smiles, but the Falconry woman stayed behind. After Lebanon was gone, she turned to Cassy and narr
owed her eyes. “You’ve made a mistake, Cassy. One you’ll likely regret.”
Cassy looked up at the ceiling and let out a slow, frustrated breath. “Listen, I don’t like them charging you, or any trader. We need trade to grow and recover. But if I arbitrate against Lebanon, what if they pulled out of the Confederation? Would your people be safer without them standing strong to your north, defending you from the hordes? No.”
“We stood against those raiders and refugees before the Confederation, and we could do it again. We—”
Cassy interrupted, “And they’d be free not just to collect fees from you, but to seize your goods. They’re a lot bigger than you, and closer than the rest of the Confed members. We couldn’t protect you from them.”
Falconry was quiet, and stared at Cassy with one eyebrow raised. The look on her face did not inspire Cassy’s hope that she would go along easily with this decision. Cassy continued, “Look, I gave you territory. Now we have a border and you’re safe within that border. And I gave you an exemption for your westbound traders, even if they aren’t ending their journey at Liz Town.”
“Because it benefitted the Confederation to do so. Please don’t spit on me and tell me it’s raining.”
Cassy nodded. The envoy had a point, after all. “Fine. Then the truth is that I gave you all that I could, because we’re allies and because the Clan has special trade arrangements with Falconry. And because it was the right thing to do. But I can’t do more for you. Lebanon is in the Confed and ultimately, the Confed needs to take care of its own before it takes care of outsiders. That’s the reality we live in, and you know it.”
Falconry’s nostrils flared and her cheeks flushed. “We have a trade arrangement that’s more important to you than us, Cassy. You really need to think about what you’re doing. The Falconry will remember this, if you let this decision stand.”
“Sorry. Whatever the consequences, my hands are tied. I can’t afford to lose Lebanon. Now, if you wanted to join the Confederation then things would be dif—”
Falconry interrupted, snapping, “Shove that! You’ve shown whose friendship you value more. Cassy, I’m shocked and disappointed. I think you can forget about getting first dibs on our gasifiers, or anything else. From here out, the Falconry will do just like you said—we’ll look after our own before we look out for you outsiders.”
Cassy could only nod. It wasn’t unexpected, but still sucked. “I understand. Just don’t cut off your nose to spite your face—we’re still the biggest, closest markets you have, and we still welcome your trading wagons. And you still get the benefit of being pretty safe now, surrounded by strong Confed groups to shield you from the hungry world out there.”
She held open the door, and Falconry left, taking great strides toward the horse stables. No doubt she was leaving immediately. Damn Lebanon and their fees. They should be looting enemies, not friends, and they’d just made Cassy’s life a lot more difficult.
If Choony were still in Clanholme, he’d have something to say about this that would put things into proper perspective. She thought of him and smiled, almost hearing his voice in her head saying, “Do you really need Lebanon?” knowing the answer was yes, and then he’d smile all Buddha-like at her until she had some personal epiphany.
But Choony wasn’t in Clanholme anymore, having left earlier that morning after delivering the unwelcome news of spies or maybe shock troops posing as residents, and she would have to find her own epiphany. Damn Lebanon again…
* * *
1800 HOURS - ZERO DAY +205
Nestor and his fellow “traders” sat across from the town’s leader, Bradley, the “Boss of Intercourse,” in the man’s office. They’d gotten along famously, despite his crazy mind-companion’s continual warnings. That didn’t mean he ignored the warnings, but so far, they seemed like circumstantial evidence at best. There weren’t a lot of children among them… The Dying Times weren’t easy on kids and the elderly, so that wasn’t definitive. They didn’t have stockpiles of salvage… They had at least a plausible explanation for that, and had told him they traded it for food in autumn of last year.
Still, he kept his eyes and ears open, and felt a lot better knowing his five best fighters were right outside the house chitchatting with Bradley’s two guards.
“So,” Bradley said, his loose, flabby neck jiggling as he spoke, “I can’t believe I’m really hosting some of the famous Night Ghosts. We’ve even heard of you down here, from traders and refugees. They talk about the bloody path you cut right through the heart of those invaders around some town called Brickville.”
“Brickerville,” Nestor corrected. He smiled wanly. “It was a rough time but we did what we had to, just like everyone else. Thank you for offering to trade a few supplies with me and my little crew. I’m glad I thought to bring those gold coins from the Empire.”
Bradley’s left eye twitched once, but a big grin spread across his face. “Well, I figure we’ll be trading with them and your Confederation soon enough.”
Nestor shrugged, and kept his face neutral, eyes locked onto Bradley’s. “Not my Confederation. I’m friendly with them, but not friends.” No point giving away intel if he didn’t have to…
“So for the gold coins, we owe you enough cans to feed your band. We’d be happy to deliver them, if you’d like.” Bradley now wore an easygoing smile.
He lies. Let’s kill him.
Nestor ignored the voice of the Other bouncing through his mind. “Oh, no thanks. It’s kind of you, but when my guys and I leave we can just take it with us. The rest of them can wait. We do have some food, after all.”
Bradley gave no sign of disappointment, only nodded. “As you wish. I’m glad you’re staying, though. I have my lunch coming, and it’ll be great having someone from out there in the wilds to talk to while I eat. We don’t get a lot of visitors.”
Before the EMPs, eating in front of guests without offering them any would have been the height of rudeness, but the EMPs changed everything. Nestor’s stomach growled at the thought of hot food. “My stomach seems to agree. But yes, we spend most of our time north of here, or did before.”
“So what brings you down here, then?”
“We’re trying to move around a lot, meet everyone in the region who isn’t with the Empire or the ’vaders. You’ll have to tell me where you found all these trucks… Pretty clever, walling off part of the town like that. Other places I’ve been to have used rubble for that, but the trucks are quicker and faster, I bet.”
There was a knock at the door. “Enter,” Bradley said loudly, and the front door swung open. A man and a woman entered, each with a tray carrying a bowl of soup and a small pile of honest-to-goodness broccoli.
Nestor’s eyes went wide. “Broccoli? How on Earth did you get that?”
“Been frozen all winter. We found them in the freezer of a collapsed restaurant. They seemed fresh enough when we opened one, so we’ve been enjoying them as special rewards and treats.”
“Awesome. I can’t wait to eat something green that isn’t rotten. But just for the record, I didn’t ask for food,” Nestor chuckled.
“Duly noted,” Bradley replied, his voice full of mock severity. He looked at the man carrying a tray and tipped his head toward Nestor. The man nodded and carefully set his tray down before the Night Ghost leader, then stepped back. The woman set hers in front of Bradley, who then dismissed them. The two servers stepped to the side and stood with their backs to a wall to wait for their leader and their guest to eat.
Don’t eat it, dumbass. The Other’s irritating voice bounced through Nestor’s mind again.
Nestor ignored the voice. This was broccoli, after all. He picked up a steaming-hot piece and raised it to his nose to smell the goodness. “I haven’t seen broccoli in forever,” he said, smiling.
Bradley leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head, intertwining his fingers. “Yeah, it was really quite a score. I’ll be sad when it’s gone, which will be rather
too soon. But spring is coming, and then we’ll plant.”
The Other’s voice rang through Nestor’s mind. He isn’t eating his. Why wouldn’t he devour freaking broccoli, man? Why aren’t his fields plowed if he’s planting in the spring?
Nestor paused. That was a good point. Still smiling, he set his broccoli down on the tray before him. Bradley’s eyes narrowed. It was just for a moment, but Nestor was sure he’d seen it. “What all are you planting in the spring? Maybe the Clan can offer some seeds to cover your bases.”
Bradley’s smile faded a bit. “I’m not sure. I have people who take care of that. I don’t really care as long as it gets planted.”
“How many seeds do you have? Is it enough?”
Bradley lowered his arms, setting his elbows on the desk in front of him. “I’m told we have enough, yeah. They chose me as their leader, not their farmer. I delegate to people who manage the parts I don’t know enough about.”
Nestor pushed the tray away a little and scooted his chair back a few inches, enough to allow him to rest his own elbows on the desk comfortably—and still give him room to jump up if necessary. Damn the Other for putting doubts into his head. That broccoli had looked so delicious. “That makes sense. I delegate too,” he said, thinking back to the old man in the farmhouse, and what he’d had Ratbone do. Still, a leader who didn’t know details about his food supply was a crappy leader—unless he was just keeping his stockpile a secret from outsiders, which was possible. “While I appreciate the offer, I can’t eat your food. You know how the new rules work, I’m sure. I don’t want to owe anything to anyone.”
Bradley pursed his lips and raised one eyebrow, but it wasn’t exactly a hostile expression. He rested his hands in his lap. “Now, I offered you food. It’d be rude for me to eat before my guests. Not everything has changed since the war came.”
Nestor shrugged. “Sorry. Where I come from, we don’t take food we don’t need and haven’t earned or traded fair for. So—”
Dark New World (Book 5): EMP Resurrection Page 14
