by Ginger Booth
After a brief exchange, she flounced her skirts at the man, shaking them in an unmistakably hostile sweep. Both raised arms in imprecations, yelling over each other.
Fortunately Remi returned to translator duty. “He calls her a whore.” He inserted himself between Elise and the baker. Ben prudently pulled the woman out of the shop while Remi attempted to placate Emile. The exchange ended in a raised middle finger, answered with slamming door, but no further hard feelings evident on the engineer’s part.
“Run!” Remi clarified, last to exit the shop.
Milo seized Remi’s arm and pulled him across the pedestrian-only road into a radial street, huffing rapid-fire French which Remi and Elise didn’t understand. Color me astonished.
Ben and Clay exchanged an exasperated glance in the dark, and followed Milo.
“I took the cash box,” Clay reported.
Ben hissed, “You stole the baker’s money?”
“We went in there for money, right? And directions to the library, and where to buy clothes.”
Clay had a point. The interlude in the patisserie accomplished its objectives. Plus a native guide. Ben resolved to slip Milo real soon now. He had a bad feeling about this talk of wizards. Or were his translators the problem? Remi’s English was less than fluent. Elise was fluent in Sagamore English and French, but her language diverged from Cantons French centuries ago. Clay was fluent in Spanish and expected to understand if not speak the language in Italia. But French he understood little better than Ben did.
Wizards. What do they mean by that?
Ben’s only exposure to the concept was English literature in high school. But that wasn’t real. Right?
Perhaps we should have broken in closer to the train station, Sass mused.
Eight klicks per side of the city didn’t seem so far. But she was accustomed to life in the confines of a 40-meter ship. They should pass the Manxter United clubhouse soon. By now the sky was lightening in a slow dawn, and one of the moons crested the wall, giving good visibility. The pedestrian ring road gradually became more crowded.
The clothing shops remained resolutely shut. And the Mahina trio drew attention, if not exactly ugly looks. Maybe one in five of their fellow pedestrians wore a mask. The others seemed to notice them in surprise, study them briefly, then drop their heads and speed up the pace.
Suddenly a large throng emerged from a side street. Sass and her partners stopped to let them pass, trying to hang back inconspicuously. As the last of the bunch passed, Sass turned down the street, looking for the source of this stream of humanity. Because the short block held no more housing than the rest. This particular one was a reprise of the mill-town blocky houses theme, a mere two stories tall, perhaps thirty doorsteps max. But unlike the usual dead end, the street continued into the greenhouse zone beyond. As they approached, a trolley passed, going at a fair jogging clip. When the vehicle crossed their bit of road, passengers hurled themselves off, and continued up the street straight at them. The trolley car never stopped.
Cope and Kassidy naturally swerved right to clear the way. Sass grabbed their elbows and drew them to the left of the street instead, crossing the tide. As the crowd thinned, they came to three sets of tracks, inset into the dirt ground, with some sort of girder above, almost like a third rail for each pair of bottom tracks. A couple people stood on the far side, as far to the left as the gap in the greenhouses would allow.
The rails and girder began to sing and squeak with the next approaching car, heading the wrong way for Sass’s purposes. The would-be riders across the tracks tensed, waited for the nose of the trolley to clear the greenhouse, then ran alongside. Each bench on the car went straight through, with grab bars on the sides. So Sass could see them grab hold and swing themselves onto the moving vehicle, nearly empty. Riding-boards ran the length of both sides, either to stand on or step up.
Sass explained what she thought the system was to her companions. She hustled them to the far end of their runway as she heard the next car approach.
London-bound wasn’t as empty. Sass led off running to grab on and swing herself up. She grinned at Cope and Kassidy, who’d managed the same. She looked around for someone to pay for the ride. But she didn’t even see a driver. Just hard pairs of facing bench seats running clear through, with bars and loops above the backrests to hold on by. Men seemed to stand, the women to sit.
The people in masks stared at her. She tried a warm smile. The lightweight in-dome masks couldn’t hide the way they recoiled. People without masks looked away as though shocked.
Sass didn’t know much about this society yet. But anywhere it was inappropriate to smile was bad news in her book.
26
At some landmark Sass missed, people started rising and shoving to the left of the trolley car. Cope stood on the running board, holding onto a grab bar, because the trolley ceiling was a bit short for him, and guys didn’t sit. A long greenhouse wall zipped by him uncomfortably close. Sass didn’t recognize the crop, which surprised her. Fiber maybe? Some rows bloomed in masses of little yellow flowers.
Suddenly they emerged from the greenhouse. Two beefy guys in masks deliberately tackled Cope off his grab bar and onto the street. Sass jumped up and off the moving vehicle to run back to him, already sitting upright to avoid anyone stepping on him. She gave him a hand up. His wrist was gashed and bleeding.
He held it as the trolley passed. Of the other passengers, none made any attempt to help him, though Sass caught a few smirking glances, quickly schooled when they caught her eye.
“It’ll heal fast enough,” Cope growled, glaring after the now-pedestrians scurrying up the street toward the wall. “Rego stings, though.”
Kassidy ran to meet them, having jumped off the far side of the car. She insisted on looking at his cut, and brought out some first aid ointment and a bandage. “Don’t assume. You’re probably fine. But.”
“Point,” he allowed.
When the next car came going their way, they caught it again. This time, they pushed through to the far side and sat, Sass facing Kassidy and Cope again on the running board between them. No one pushed to that side of the car. And in fairness, it was a little dangerous to exit from that side, since a trolley could be coming the other way. But in their current outfits, with their natural skin and hair, they didn’t seem to get the respect a human being was due.
And they were exactly the wrong people to put up with that.
Sass kept her eye on the taller vertex towers, sometimes visible through the shorter buildings. After about five klicks on the trolley, she said, “Next stop is ours. This side, or that?”
“That,” Cope declared. He swung himself up between them, hunched nearly double, and shoved his way to the other side, Sass and Kassidy giving a bonus shove or kick to anyone who tried to screw with him. As soon as they cleared the greenhouse, they jumped and literally hit the ground running.
“Nice trolley,” Sass muttered, as they fell in with the crowd toward the wall.
“That what that’s called,” Cope breathed, clearly unimpressed. Unlike Sass, the stretch easily saw over the crowd. “Pub. Right.”
“Pub?” Sass replied in disbelief.
Cope raised his eyebrows. “Breakfast crowd.” And there was no doubt it was a pub. The hanging picture sign portrayed a beer glass with frothy head, and a chunk of cheese. He pulled the women into the open-front establishment and pushed them through to a table.
Almost the moment Sass sat, a harried male server approached. His mask offered a pleasant expression. Beady eyes under lowering brows didn’t agree. But from his tray, he slapped a pint of dark ale in front of Cope, and half pints of a lighter lager in front of Sass and Kassidy. His only question was, “Meat pies? Six pee. Ten for the beer.”
“Yes, please, three meat pies,” Cope agreed quickly. The server, who’d already picked up his heavy tray again, did a double-take. His eyes narrowed, first at Cope, then the women.
But Cope put his smallest paper bil
l on the table, a two-pound note. The server scowled and thrust his hand into his pocket to pull out a fist of coins. He counted aloud as he made change.
Cope and Kassidy couldn’t follow this, but Sass got the gist. When the waiter finished giving his lightning lesson in coin values, she plucked up a 5p coin and thrust it at him. She managed to remember not to smile, and attempted a British accent. ‘Tip. More if we get those meat pies quick.’
The server nodded and yelled out, “Three pasties!” and pointed at their heads. A younger waiter – no more than 16, bare-faced – hustled through the crowd with three plates. Each bore a thick hockey puck of a pie and smaller pile of potato fries. Chips, Sass corrected herself.
“How much?” she asked the boy, pointing to the coins still on the table.
“Eighteen pee, mum.” He bounced on his toes as she worked it out. He pointed to the ten-pee coin to hurry her up. She gave him two of those. “Keep the change.”
His mouth gaped open a moment, as though seeing her for the first time. He looked her over, head to toe, then Cope and Kassidy as well.
I over-tipped. “Excuse me, could you tell me where to find the library?”
“The what?”
“Never mind. We also want to buy clothes.”
Eyebrows high, he nodded. “Good thought. Two clock, one up. Tell ’em Saul sent ya. Ta.” He saluted her with a coin and hurried off. Sass puzzled over these instructions.
“This is disgusting,” Kassidy noted. She’d bit into her meat pie. She displayed it to her companions. Within, it held amber jelly and maybe a tablespoon of brown tough stuff. She tugged it out. Her teeth made no impression on it. She used one of the fried potatoes to scoop away the dubious gel, then nibbled on the crust and the potatoes.
Sass took a bite of her own, and rather liked it. What the gel was, she didn’t care to speculate. But she suspected the pie crust was made of wheat flour and lard. The fries may have boiled in the same lard. The beer was good, and high proof for breakfast. But as she looked around, most patrons skipped the food. They bought their pint, guzzled it fast, and moved along their business.
Guys, she noticed. Few women sat in the bar. Oh.
She didn’t care for this society’s sexism. In fact, she wasn’t finding much she liked. She began to sort new acquaintances into beer gut belligerents versus the thin and dispirited. But she recalled recent sore experience with Clay on the perils of first impressions. Try to keep an open mind.
“You got us a big haul, Cope,” she encouraged. Because now she knew the value of their money. Less than 30p for this entire gut-bloating breakfast, and Cope had stolen nearly 100 pounds – with 50p to the pound. Sass checked that point. “Good call, breakfast here. Kassidy, how’s your people watching? Have you figured out what clothes we should wear?”
“Not these,” Kassidy confirmed. She started to point. Sass immediately slapped her hand to the table. “OK… The women to the left of the bar, the lively ones. And Cope, that tall guy nursing his beer by the post, standoffish.”
“Good call,” Sass allowed, after a moment’s study. They’d make good role models. “Anyone figured out which social masks we want?”
“Not a clue,” Cope confirmed. “I hate the people who wear them.”
Sass considered that. Kassidy spoke her thoughts before they coalesced. “Our expressions are wrong. Cover as much as we can.”
Cope thunked his pint down with finality, barely touched. “Let’s go shopping.” As they stood, a gong-like bell sounded, and nearly the whole tavern rose as one to exit.
Under cover of the surging crowd and the table, Sass resumed her seat and marked the time. Damn, that’s remedial. She now had her first guide to the local clock, the currency value, and maybe how to dress for work. In Britain. The learning curve ahead of her today loomed steeper all the time.
She caught Cope’s elbow lightly. “Hey, how’s your arm?”
He turned his wrist to display a wound healed. He brushed off a few bits of scab. But the skin around the cut remained aggravated. “Itches.”
Sass sighed. And they headed out to go shopping.
Alas, the clothing stores remained shuttered until the streets thinned of the breakfast-before-work crowd five gongs and a pealing bell later – call it an hour and a half, cooling their heels in a cul-de-sac garden. Cope demonstrated he could sleep sitting up. Kassidy used their bodies for cover while she flew her drones on a grand tour of London. Sass consoled herself that people-watching was educational.
27
Ben’s team followed Milo stealthily through a filthy hallway embedded in the wall of the ‘university.’ This proved to be the most disreputable-looking district of France they’d seen yet. But Ben wanted a library.
The student’s reaction to that request still worried him. The negotiations were in French, of course, which meant Ben caught more body language than verbal content. Milo was afraid. He agreed to guide them to a master’s library only on condition they would take him with them when they left France, ‘if this went wrong.’ They further promised to set him up in Benelux or Deutschland.
Also instructive, Ben learned that the university student had visited other cities only once in his lifetime, a halcyon vacation through Italia to Hellada, the Greek-descended city. Why he loved that trip but insisted he wished to flee in the opposite direction, remained unclear.
Ben didn’t trust Milo as far as he could throw him. Yet a couple hours later, they still followed him. The kid kept finding new ways to be useful. For instance, they were all now dressed normally enough to blend in, at least in the university district. The sulfurous stink of their clothes sat neutralized in their backpacks. The packs themselves now rode in a balloon-tired handcart.
Milo even sifted through their tentative trade goods, and guessed on the value of the ones he knew how to sell. A visit to a jeweler netted them more than enough money to pay for clothes for all five, including Milo, plus train fare, lodging, and food through Iberia, Italia, and Hellada, a tour the kid seemed eager to join. All that was in exchange for Elise’s platinum cross on a chain, bearing a single diamond. Metals were precious here.
The student still desperately insisted that if the library visit went sour, he needed to escape to Benelux or Deutschland, not points south. Apparently they were violating his own professor’s private collection while the ‘master’ was occupied. As for why Benelux or Deutschland, apparently the Walloons of Benelux spoke French, while Deutschland accepted immigrants from anywhere. Though the kid seemed fearful of that prospect.
Finally they arrived at a black door with rune-like symbols. Milo performed a standing rite with waving hands and muttered incantation. An LED blinked on under a glass eyeball decorating mid-door. Milo bent to stare into the eyeball, and the door lock unlatched.
The kid pushed in hurriedly, and urgently waved them to follow, including the handcart of their belongings. This he pushed into a curtained alcove to the left to get it out of the way.
Ben, not especially trusting, yanked open the burgundy velvet drapes to study the small side chamber. An upholstered bench sat under a fake mullioned window out onto the countryside beyond the city walls. This third floor was the lowest broken by windows, on this city at least. Below, gaudily uniformed soldiers in rooster masks practiced stabbing at each other with spiked poles taller than they were. Hm.
“Ben,” Clay prompted, pointing the direction the others had gone. They followed into a larger chamber. The floor caught Ben’s attention first, a pentacle inscribed in a circle, blood red woven into the black carpet, maybe six meters across. Around the periphery of this were standing desks with – at last! – computer terminals!
They each slipped behind an archaic laptop and got as far as a locked login screen.
“Milo says he can only access that one,” Remi clued them in to the lively French exchange between the kid and Elise.
The materials scientist dressed ‘older’ than the rest of them. She wore a fine deep blue wool tight button
ed jacket with dramatically padded shoulders over a matching swishy knee-length skirt, topped a ‘pretty-girl’ smiling mask. Her outfit cost more than the four guys combined, who wore variations on dull dark tight little jackets and baggy pleated trousers. The shirt itched slightly less than the wool.
Like the baker, Milo preferred Elise over Remi. With a flourish, he finally stepped back, ceding the laptop to the lady. He stepped back rather far, a quarter of the way around the room, still talking, still walking.
“Login credentials,” Remi explained, frowning.
Ben saw the same thing. He stepped over to bodily block Milo’s escape. “Elise, stop! Don’t touch it. Where are you going, Milo?”
Milo gulped, and his eyes darted right. Ben thrust a hand in his voluminous pocket to grab for his smallest stun gun, while ducking the other way and wheeling to face the doorway in. An older man had appeared. The professor? His outfit set a new standard for ridiculous, with knee-length puffy velvet pants and a doublet topped with a 360-degree crenelated ruff a handspan deep. That outfit could have stepped from a Dutch Masters painting. He waved a hand flashing with lit jewels above his head, murmuring with threatening intent. A tracery of red lasers bloomed in the space. His other hand worked in his pocket.
Ben shot the hand in the pocket. The guy dropped to the floor twitching.
Ben was familiar with security lasers from a heist on Sagamore orbital. He had no idea where Clay gained familiarity. But the older man stepped carefully over and around, then relieved their attacker of his control dongle. He killed the lasers.
“Your master, I presume,” Ben addressed Milo. The youth stood frozen at the center of the pentacle. He looked guilty as sin.
Elise began to talk to him, but Ben cut her off with a raised hand. “Master?”
“Oui.” He bit his lip. Then Milo spun to appeal to Elise in a torrent of French.
“Excuses,” Remi summarized.
“No doubt,” Ben agreed. “Elise, just take the laptop.” The one nearest him stood on the fanciest desk, with clear pride of place. The captain grabbed that one, too. “And ask him for Faraday cages to wrap them in.”
