Fire

by Jim Heskett

  Rosia began at the other end of the table, carrying plates and glasses down to Yorick, and then stacking them in his bucket.

  Yorick paused, stretching his back. Bussing tables and washing dishes involved a lot of leaning over, and his sore back made him feel at least thirty years old, maybe even older. The hardness of the bed in their room didn’t help much, either.

  “You okay?” Rosia asked.

  He nodded at her. They hadn’t spoken much since yesterday. The explosion at the tea shop had soured the revolutionary fire in their bellies. The dead and dying lingered in his thoughts.

  But a change still needed to happen. How long could they hide out in this brothel, working for room and board, waiting for their opportunity to help the serfs? It had only been three days here, but it felt like an eternity.

  Yorick picked up the now-full bucket and walked it across the room toward the elevator when something across the way caught his eye. They could see across the courtyard from the restaurant, including a view of the rooms reserved on the first and second floors for the main brothel function. Yorick and Rosia watched putas and clients going into and coming out of those rooms all day long and hardly thought anything of it.

  Not that they didn’t care about the plight of the putas and their indentured servitude. But, it was only one of the countless problems they’d found in Denver.

  Something caught Yorick’s eye. Two men leaving a room. One of them, a portly man in a suit, adjusting his tie. This was nothing new. Businessmen stopped by to indulge their sexual desires morning, noon, and night.

  But the other person leaving the room made Yorick stop and take notice. Blond hair, blue eyes, light skin. While a few pale-skinned male putas worked in the brothel, there was something familiar about this one.

  Yorick set the bucket on the carpet, then he checked around the room to see if Zan or the overseer girl were watching. When he didn’t find any sign of the two of them, he beckoned Rosia to join him.

  “Come see this.” He walked toward the bay window overlooking the interior courtyard. The young man leaving the room paused on the mezzanine below to adjust his shirt, which was small and tight. His clothes were ill-fitting, probably to show off his lean and taut muscles.

  He had short, messy blond hair and sharp features. He was wearing heavy makeup on his face, a common fashion among the male putas. Handsome, athletic, and so very familiar. Yorick sat on the edge of knowing, his brain buzzing with the inability to solve the puzzle.

  “Wait a second,” Rosia said as she joined Yorick. She tugged on her lower lip as her narrowed eyes focused. “I know him. Don’t we know him?”

  The hair. It had been cut.

  Yorick’s eyes bulged. He did know the man standing on the carpet in front of the room across from him and two floors down.

  Hamon.

  The former leader of the Blue team of guerreros at Wybert’s plantación. A mentor to Yorick and Rosia, he had ended up last in the battle rankings one day because Diego had cheated, and then had been banished to the inside of Wybert’s mansion. Yorick had assumed Hamon had been killed there, but here he was, in the flesh, working at Zan’s brothel, hundreds of kilometers away.

  “It’s him,” Yorick said.

  They had searched the mansion for him on the day of the revolt but had found no sign of him. Could Hamon actually be here in Denver, alive and in this same brothel?

  “It can’t be,” Rosia said as she paused next to Yorick.

  “It’s definitely him,” he said, and then dashed out of the restaurant, down the stairs to the second floor. Rosia was a meter behind him, sprinting to keep up.

  A million thoughts flashed through Yorick’s head as he flung the door back to the second floor, where Hamon had exited the small bedrooms reserved for the putas and their clients. He was walking along the carpeted mezzanine toward the other end, tight clothes squeezing his muscular frame.

  “Hey,” Yorick said, a little louder than he’d intended.

  The man turned, a small collection of gold pieces in his hand. His eyes landed on Yorick, then Rosia. It was him. Hamon. Alive, in the First City.

  Hamon’s mouth dropped open, and his chest pulsed up and down. The gold pieces slipped from his hand and tumbled onto the carpet below. Light thumps as they scattered along the mezzanine floor.

  “Yorick?” he said. “Rosia?”

  All three of them immediately raced toward each other and quickly collided in a three-person hug. Yorick felt Hamon’s tears on his cheek as the taller man wept while embracing him. Makeup from Hamon’s face smeared onto Yorick’s forehead when Hamon touched his temple to his and then Rosia’s.

  Hamon pulled back and held up a hand to silence Yorick, who was already opening his mouth to spit out at least one of his million questions.

  “I have so much to tell you,” Hamon said, “but not here. Come with me.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “This way,” Hamon said as he pressed a keycard against a nearby door. Yorick watched it click, and then open, and Hamon led them into a small room with a bed, a nightstand, and a sink. Hamon held a finger to his lips as he turned a dial on the nightstand, making mariachi music boom from a set of speakers.

  Hamon pointed at the bed. Yorick and Rosia sat, and Hamon knelt on the floor, close to them. “I don’t think they can hear us with the music on, but we should be careful, anyway.” He paused, his face alight. “Is it you? Are you really here?”

  “It’s us,” Rosia said, weeping as she nestled next to Yorick. “What are you doing here?”

  “Banished to the brothel, by the king,” Hamon said, his smile darkening. “It’s a long story. But first, tell me: is it true Wybert is dead?”

  Yorick nodded. “A few weeks ago. There was an uprising. We revolted against him and stormed his mansion. The farm serfs were the ones who started it.”

  “Unbelievable,” Hamon said.

  “We looked all over for you, in the mansion and underneath it, but there was no sign. We thought you were dead. Everyone sent inside the mansion had died. When we confronted Wybert, he said as much.”

  “I was already gone by that point,” Hamon said. “I didn’t know anything about your revolt. The people who disappeared inside Wybert’s mansion? A few he kept, but most, he sent out of the plantación via the tunnels underneath. Those tunnels were there, the whole time, and we never knew about them.”

  Realization dawned in Yorick’s mind. That must have been how Diego escaped. They had seen Diego inside the mansion, having clandestine meetings with Wybert. He must have been sent there by the king to spy on the lord, and he came and went at will. That would explain why he would sometimes disappear for days at a time.

  Yorick started to ask a question, but Hamon interrupted him. “Before you left, did you manage to take any of the control chips? The ones that power the battle suits and the rifles.”

  Yorick and Rosia glanced at each other for a moment. Yorick shook his head. “We did, but they’re all gone now. Some were smashed outside the city. I saved one, but we traded it to get us out of a holding cell. It’s why we’re free.”

  Hamon’s face lit up again. “There’s a control chip in the city right now?”

  “We think so,” Rosia said. “We traded it to a detention center guard named Jorge so we could buy our freedom.”

  Hamon nodded. “That idiota probably has no idea what it is.”

  “What are they?” Yorick asked. “What can those things do?”

  Hamon flashed another look to the speaker sitting on the nightstand. He leaned even closer and lowered his voice. “Those control chips are the key to everything. They can destroy the government.”

  “What do you mean?” Yorick said.

  “A single chip, when plugged into a networked computer, can spread a computer virus that can take over the entire network. You could turn off all the lights in the city. You could reroute supply trucks going to Kansas. You can do almost literally anything as long as it’s connected to the ne
twork.”

  Yorick leaned forward. He didn’t know the meaning of half the words Hamon had said, but he thought he understood the general gist of it. “Could we open the gates to the plantacións across the kingdom?”

  Hamon chewed on his lip for a second. “Yes, I think you could. The chip needs to be programmed for each specific purpose, but I know a hacker who can help us program the chips.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “So much has happened in only a few weeks,” Hamon said, sighing. “Wybert brought me to his chambers, the day when Diego cheated and sent me last in the rankings. Wybert made me… do things to him. After, when he was asleep, I looked through his desk and learned about the chips. When he woke up, he was furious with me. He said he was going to send me away, to trade me to Denver to become the king’s plaything. He said he needed the king to send men to the plantación to help with something, and I was to be a peace offering.”

  “The Royal Army did come,” Rosia said. “To help his guards keep us in line.”

  “What did you do?” Hamon asked.

  “The farm serfs were going to rise up,” Yorick said. “They had already planned an uprising, so we didn’t have much choice other than to join them. Join, or watch them die because they were underpowered. We took them by surprise and fought our way through them all, and we didn’t stop until Wybert was dead. But then we got a surprise when we were searching the basement. We still don’t understand what we saw down there.”

  Hamon frowned. “What did you see?”

  “Robots. A whole army of them.”

  “That makes sense,” Hamon said as his eyes lit up. “I’ve heard about them, but I had no idea Wybert had any. He must have been a Frenchie sympathizer. Now that I know, it makes sense. As crazy as it sounds, Wybert was actually on our side against the king. I meant what I said when I was glad you killed him, though. Not everyone involved in the cause is there for the right reasons.”

  Yorick didn’t know what to say to that. He waited for Hamon to continue.

  “Nichol acts like he wants justice for Wybert’s death, but he doesn’t. Not really. Wybert and all those like him opposed the king every chance they got. And, they’re gaining power. There’s a revolution coming here, too. I’ve heard things. It’s imminent.”

  “Why are you still here?” Yorick asked. “Why haven’t you escaped? This city is so big, I’d think you could disappear if you wanted.”

  Hamon shook his head. “Not until the king is dead. He’ll pay for what he’s done to me and others like me. Until that happens, I’m right where I want to be, in the heart of the city. I could be mad at Diego for cheating in the round that day, or I could be mad at Wybert for sending me away to Denver, but I’ve had a few weeks to think about it. All of it is because of the king. He’s the cancer at the heart of this whole world.”

  “I understand,” Yorick said. “We should tell you that Diego is in Denver.”

  “I know,” Hamon said. “He doesn’t know I’m here, though. I’ve been able to hide from him when he’s at the brothel. He usually only comes for breakfast, and I stay away from the restaurant.”

  “How long have you been here?” Rosia asked.

  “Only a couple weeks. When I arrived here in the First City, the king kept me for a few days, but I wasn’t up to his standards. He offered me to Zan as payment for damage his soldados had done after a drunken night in the restaurant bar. He traded me like a Fours card, and there wasn’t anything I could do to stop it.”

  Yorick and Rosia looked at each other. He could read the glint of hope in her eyes. For the first time in days, they had an inkling of which way to go.

  “I can’t believe we found you,” Yorick said. “I never thought we would actually find a way to open the plantación gates.”

  “We can do it, but it won’t be easy. It will be almost impossible, actually.”

  “That’s okay,” Yorick said. “We have a chance.”

  “It’s not much of a chance,” Hamon said.

  Yorick smiled. “Let’s worry about the odds later. This is good enough for us right now.”

  Hamon breathed a cleansing sigh as he patted both of them on the knees. “It’s so good to see you again. You have no idea.” He checked a clock on the wall and then stood up as he straightened his clothes. “I have to go. I’m not a full indentured servant like some of the putas, but I need to be careful what they see me doing. Keep your heads down and don’t be noticed or stick out. Ever.”

  “What do we do next?” Yorick said.

  “Get the chip back. If you do that, we can do amazing things. We can change the world.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  When Yorick walked away from the brief meeting with Hamon, all he wanted was a few minutes to steal away with Rosia to process it all. They needed to talk strategy. While new possibilities floated above his head like stars in the night sky, just as many challenges had also now materialized.

  How would they get the chip back from jailer Jorge?

  “We should go talk,” he said.

  Rosia’s eyes trailed all around, focusing on the mezzanine levels above them, as well as down into the courtyard below. “We need to be very careful right now. We don’t know for sure that no one was listening to that conversation.”

  Yorick shrugged. “Nothing we can do about that.”

  “True,” she said, sighing. “Let’s go back to our room.”

  But, as they marched along the mezzanine toward the stairs, brothel owner Zan appeared before them. He’d come around a corner quickly, and his wide and frumpy frame filled Yorick’s vision. Sweat dabbled his forehead, and his shoulders rose and fell as he tried to catch his breath.

  “My office. Downstairs. Now.”

  After glancing at his watch, Zan spun and headed toward the elevator. Yorick and Rosia looked at each other, and Yorick could read the frustration in her eyes. Rosia didn’t want to have a conversation with the boss right now, either.

  But, they didn’t have a choice. If they walked out the front door now, they would lose access to Hamon and Diego and everything else.

  “What do you think?” Rosia whispered.

  “If he heard us talking to Hamon and wanted to turn us over to the soldados, he wouldn’t have let us go to his office voluntarily. He’d have sent his security team to escort us.”

  “Good point,” she said, waving Yorick forward. “After you.”

  Yorick and Rosia followed Zan, but they took the stairs because Zan didn’t hold the elevator open for them. They were only going down two flights to the main floor, anyway.

  A couple of the security guards eyed them as they exited the stairwell, but no one said anything or made a motion to approach them.

  When they entered the waiting room to Zan’s office, a secretary at a desk greeted them. She scowled, holding up a hand to tell them to wait. The door opened behind them, and Zan thundered into the room. He ignored them as he strode across the creaky floor and entered his office. He slammed the door shut, and the wood frame around the door rattled for a full second afterward.

  Even taking the stairs, they’d arrived first. Yorick didn’t need to say anything; he could tell Rosia was thinking the same thing by the hint of a smile on her face.

  A few seconds after the office door had shut behind Zan, the secretary pressed a button on a rectangular plastic device on her desk.

  “Sir? Two kitchen workers are here to see you. I didn’t ask them yet if they have an appointment.”

  After a moment, a breathless Zan replied, “Fine. Send them in.”

  The secretary waved them forward, the scowl never leaving her face. Yorick and Rosia entered the small office to find Zan behind his desk, a similar scowl turning his wrinkly mug sour. His dead eyes tracked them across the room.

  “Many of the workers in my kitchen are old and slow,” Zan said. “They don’t care for their jobs, and they take no pride in their work.” He leveled a finger at Rosia and Yorick. “You two are young. Full of
life. I had high expectations from you. You have more freedoms than I do most of the others. I gave you a room that had been recently remodeled. I let you come and go as you please. And now I find you sneaking off with one of my best putas for a morning of fun. And during your work shift, no less.”

  Yorick and Rosia shared a quick look. They’d been seen going into the room with Hamon.

  “Sir, it’s a misunderstanding,” Yorick said. “We weren’t sneaking off with him for… what you think. It’s not what it appeared to be.”

  Zan tilted his head to the side a little, almost amused. “Then what was it?”

  Yorick paused to think. Admitting to previously knowing Hamon would be a bad idea. How could they justify the quick meeting they’d had?

  “We’ve become friends with him,” Rosia said. Yorick noted she’d not specifically said the name Hamon. No way to know if he even went by that name here. “We were only talking and catching up since we hadn’t seen him since yesterday morning.”

  Zan leaned forward. “Friendships between putas and kitchen workers is forbidden.” He jabbed a finger on his desk. “And during your shift? You didn’t ask for permission to take a break. You didn’t ask for permission for anything. I don’t know what sort of establishment you think I’m running here, but Zan’s runs on order. It runs on discipline.”

  His tone had risen as his shoulders heaved up and down. He was becoming quite heated. Yorick felt a pulse of anxiety rumble through him. When they’d arrived at the brothel three days ago, it had only been a place to hide out and plan their next move. But now, with Hamon and access to Diego and other potentially important figures in the king’s government, they needed to remain here.

  If they were kicked out, that could cause serious problems.

  Yorick opened his mouth to apologize, but Zan interrupted him. “Why are you here? I know you said you’re from Wyoming, but that doesn’t explain why you’re in Denver.”

  Without missing a beat, Rosia said, “My mother. She was ill, so we came down here to see her.”