by S. Cushaway
“I know what you’re gonna ask, but I need you. Kaitar told Neiro it was those Sulari squatters in Bywater that grabbed Gren.”
Leigh stiffened. “What’s that got to do with me?”
Orin smirked. “I’m not wet behind the ears like half the yokels here. I know where you came from. Might work to our advantage, if you could get them to parley with you.”
Shaking her head in mute denial, she stared at him, her tongue refusing to form the lie. She could not speak lies to him, not after all he’d done to get back on her feet.
Orin shrugged, his face taking on his customary surliness. “Hear me out. You never complain when you pull a swing shift or go on watchtower guard. I’d have told Neiro to shove it up his ass except for three reasons.” He held up his strong, gnarled fingers, counting them one by one. “First, you are reliable. I know you’ll say yes and I know you’ll take the job seriously. Second, Neiro says he needs Vore, Garv, and Mi’et here. He don’t even want Zres goin’ out. Not that I’d send him out, anyway.” He cleared his throat. “Neiro’s got some kind of Coalition meeting and Evrik Niles is rollin’ in for a few days. He wants the veterans here in case there’s any trouble.”
“Evrik Niles from Glasstown?”
“That’d be the one.”
Leigh frowned. She wanted to go on a ranging, wanted to find Gren and the lost caravan, but the thought of leaving Dogton behind during a possible crisis gave her pause. “Captain—”
“Third, you’re not goin’ alone. You’ll have a scout with you. And Romano Vargas, too.” Orin lowered his hand and leaned back, arms crossed over his chest.
“Romano Vargas? Captain, Romano has no field experience. He doesn’t even go out with the other Junkers on breakdown runs anymore. He’ll be as useless as a three-legged da’mel out there.”
“Don’t I know it? But you need him to drive, so make use of that three-legged da’mel. A mechanic will come in handy if the Draggin busts down, and you won’t have to worry about wastin’ time with the rover.” Orin’s brows arched. “And the scout—”
“Gairy Reidur?”
“Hell no, not Gairy Reidur. I’d never send one of my best greenhorns out with that drunk bastard.” He grinned ruefully, the smile all but hidden under his drooping mustache. “That’s the one bright spot in this whole mess. Kaitar will be scouting for you.”
“He hates Sulari.”
“He does. But he’s got enough sense to hold off grudges out in the field. Heh. He might hiss and grumble, but he’s not gonna go stickin’ a yatreg into you, if that’s your worry.”
Leigh stared at the tar-black liquid in the coffee mug. It was more than Kaitar’s slave upbringing under the Sulari—her people—making unease crawl in her belly. She despised and feared all Shyiine. In her mind’s eye, it was a collective they which had ridden over the horizon that morning five years earlier, tines rattling and horses snorting. Their red ahn’raka robes had unfurled like banners in the wind, making vivid backdrops for nocked arrows and shining bone lances.
“Leigh. You with me?”
The memory sank back into the fog, replaced by the here and now. “So, Romano Vargas and Kaitar Besh.” She took another drink of coffee, hoping it would help dispel the nasty taste the scout’s name left on her tongue. “I thought Kaitar was scouting somewhere near the Sand Belt.”
“Neiro’s got him on the way back. He’ll be here tomorrow night, maybe the morning after at the latest.” Orin’s voice softened. “He’s the best scout we got. If Broach were still with us, I’d send him, but he’s gone. All this might be hard because of what happened when you were younger.” He paused, leveling his gaze. “Are you able to do this? If not, I ain’t gonna hold it against you. I’ll tell the boss he’s just gonna have to send Vore instead.”
Leigh almost choked. She shook her head and held up a hand, swallowing hard. “No, Captain. I can do it. If he’s the scout, then he’s the scout.”
Orin rubbed a finger across his mustache. “Kaitar knows his business. Romano does too, I guess. He’s a good mechanic, you know that. Bit of a dipshit, but you and Kaitar can keep him in line. I don’t guess either of you will put up with Romano’s antics.” He smirked. “You can always just tie him to the top of the Draggin if he pesters you too much.”
Leigh smiled reluctantly. “I might end up doing just that.”
“Viyr gave me a list of authorized supplies and gear Neiro gave the okay to take. I got you as much as I could. Wish it could be more.” From his coat pocket, Orin produced a small, flat device. He eyed it with disgust. “I hate these VDA things. Why can’t Viyr just write this crap down? How do I turn this on aga—oh, here it is.” He tapped a small button and the little screen flickered to life as he handed it over.
Veraleid. Bringing you closer to the future. Authorized Veraleid Digital Assistant. The words glowed cheerily up at her. Leigh moved her thumb across the screen and a neat list appeared. “Two barrels of water? How long are we supposed to be out there, Captain?”
“Neiro said as long as it takes. You’ll be picking up a Scrapper squad. Hell, here’s your chance to see the grand city of Old Pirahj, though I suppose the Scrappers have it pretty well built over by now. And you’ll see that big Toros shard, too. Deactivated, but it’s there.” Orin tilted his chin at the VDA to point out that bit of information.
“I know the stories about how a piece fell from the sky and hit there . . .” Leigh trailed off, not caring about the long-ago Toros disaster or how it had nearly destroyed the world, a thousand years before she’d even been born. “Any other orders, Captain?”
“Neiro wants that shipment, Leigh. He said there’s some important cargo in it. And he wants Gren. Between you and me, if it comes down to it and you have to make a choice between that damned caravan and Gren . . .” He shrugged.
“I know.” There was no choice. Gren had taken her in after her entire life—hard and joyless as it was—had been left smoldering in the desert. He’d gotten her a spot as an Enforcer trainee when most people would have told her to go to the Bin and work as a whore. She would not leave him to a similar fate over any cargo, no matter how precious.
Leigh turned off the VDA and held it between her palms, the surface cool against her skin. “But what’s in that cargo that the boss is so determined to find?”
“Something from the Harpers, he says. You know how Neiro gets about shipments.” Orin’s face twisted in disgust. “I’ve worked for him twenty-two years now and he still gets close-mouthed around me. Only one he trusts is that damned Zippy of his, and that’s because Viyr never tells him no about anything.”
“How am I supposed to know if I’ve found what he wants?”
“He says you’ll know. It’s marked clearly. That’s all he’ll tell me, Leigh.” At that moment, Orin looked every one of his sixty-one years. His shoulders sagged and his haggard face had a gray undertone. A gray-white tuft of hair peeked out from the collar of his shirt where his jacket wasn’t zipped. He hadn’t even brought up the possibility of going himself; capable as he had been in his younger days, he was too old for a long ranging now.
“I don’t like this much,” he said. “We already lost Broach down that way, and now Gren goes missin’, and neither of them were fools. You be damned careful out there. I mean it. Listen to the scout. You don’t have to like him, hell, he’s surlier than me . . . but Kaitar’s got a way of knowing when there’s trouble. People say it’s the Shyiine blood. I just think it’s experience.” Orin’s face crinkled into a weary grin. “When you find Gren, you tell him if he ever pulls a stunt like this again, I’ll partner him with Zres indefinitely.”
Leigh didn’t laugh. The weight of responsibility lay too heavily on her shoulders to find much amusement. “I’ll tell him. I’d better go get my gear ready.”
Orin stared at her with an odd expression.
“Are you all right, Captain?”
“Yeah. Just . . . well. It’s nothin’.” The look drained from his face, replaced b
y the old stoicism. “Neiro isn’t going to send you out until Kaitar’s back. He’ll need a few hours to eat and resupply, but I guess it’s best to get things ready now. The boss hates delays, as you well know.”
She stood and turned to go.
Orin cleared his throat. “Zres’ll be in soon from patrolling the water-fields all night. Don’t tell him about this. You know it’ll set him off. I ain’t in the mood to deal with one of his tantrums right now.”
“He’ll find out sooner or later, but it won’t be from me.”
“Appreciate it.” Orin rose, eyes fixed on the annex where the others were sleeping, or pretending to be asleep. Leigh guessed Mi’et and Vore were awake and listening in on the conversation while Garv snored on, oblivious.
“Never thought I’d end up with a pack of brats like this, but the world is a funny place,” Orin mused. “Maybe this will work out and you’ll be back with Gren inside a week. Then we’ll all have to suffer through his bad jokes and bitchin’, like usual.”
“Maybe. I hope so.” Leigh tilted her head toward the bunks in a mute question.
“Yeah, you go on.”
As she walked past Garv’s bunk again, she saw the stout form had rolled to a more comfortable position. Garv’s breast wasn’t visible now, but her beefy bicep was. The thickset Enforcer had a multitude of tattoos running up and down her strong arms, but the newest stood out in a bad way. The snake—or at least Leigh thought it might be a snake—hung there on Garv’s big shoulder, tongue flicked out, body dangling as if some five-year-old kid had scrawled it. The gloom made it difficult to tell just what that snake was supposed to be doing. Striking, perhaps? Regardless, the tattoo reminded Leigh of Kaitar’s coiled hair, and how it framed his lean, coppery face. He had eyes like a snake’s, too, his pupils slits against bright amber. A poem she’d heard as a girl came to mind, unbidden.
Beware, My Love, for the serpents cross the sand
Seeking the steps of the unwary and hearts free of hate
In the darkest hours, when the Queen of Night shines
Beware, My Love, for the snakes glide along the sand
She turned away, swallowing a bitterness that was more than coffee-aftertaste.
Saltang
Sunlight lanced his eyelids, burning until he groaned. Gairy rolled to his side to evade that awful pain, but it was too late. The headache roared to life, pushing against his temples as if something lived inside his skull, beating against it, trying to escape. Each pulse brought a hammer blow of agony.
He groaned again as his eyes fluttered open. Dust motes danced in a ray of light a half-foot away. Each time he exhaled, more swirled up, looking like miniature dust devils. Something pressed the side of his cheek, too smooth to be the floorboards. Gairy winced, wondering what his head might be lying upon. His arm? No. Both of his arms were flopped at his sides, limp as old rags. Had Senqua brought him a blanket and stuffed it under his head? He didn’t think she had; the Shyiine woman had not one iota of such kindness.
For a while, he lay there, needing to piss, making guesses about what was under his cheek, and wanting a drink. It was the thought of the drink that finally roused him to action. He gathered his shaky strength and pushed himself into a sitting position. His lips hurt, so dry they felt almost burned, and his entire face seemed stretched too tight, too raw, against the bones beneath. Gairy rubbed at his cheeks. The hangover radiated down into his back until everything hurt.
Need a bottle. Get rid of this headache. What did I have my head on?
He looked, and saw what had been his pillow—a dead s’rat, mummified by the dry air and the constant, arid heat. Its eyes, dried and shriveled as black prunes, seemed to study him.
What the fuck . . .? I slept on that all night.
A bleary memory surfaced; Senqua had bitched about it when they’d arrived. He hadn’t bothered to toss it out, Senqua liked to sleep outside in a bedroll, and so the s’rat had stayed. Repulsion knotted his belly as he swayed to his feet. The room pressed close as the dusty streams of light swam into gray for a moment. Clutching his pounding head, Gairy leaned against the wall. His mouth tasted like he’d downed a vat of pickling vinegar, sour and salty enough to wrinkle his tongue. Exhaling sharply, he moaned as his big hands drifted from his temples to wipe at his tangled beard, stiff and sticky with the drying remnants of whiskey. It took a moment to catch his balance, and longer still for the gray spots to clear from his eyes. When he felt steady again, Gairy kicked the s’rat. It slid across the floor, the dry, hairless skin scraping with a whispery sound that made his eyes water.
As he opened the shack's dilapidated door, a thick smell struck him. Bile, laden with the aftertaste of Saltang whiskey, burned the back of his throat and threatened to turn into a real puke. Sunlight battered his face until he almost cried from how badly it hurt. Gairy swallowed the pukey taste. “Senqua, the hell is that smell?”
A Shyiine woman glanced up at him from where she knelt by a small cook fire, some distance from the well. She had the coppery skin, slim build, and sharp features of all her kind. In one hand she held a charred length of acacia branch. A small spice sack dangled from the other, swaying as she moved. A half-roasted antelope haunch lay against the hot coals, the meaty scent wafting on the noon breeze.
“We were out of food,” Senqua said. “I took my bow and went up to Pointe Rock while you were passed out. I’ve got the rest of the antelope dressed and cut up for jerky. I think my father might want the hide, though. Antelope hide make good chaps.”
It took a few seconds for that to click in his head. Gairy scoffed as he staggered toward a lone acacia past the open-faced well. He unbuttoned his fly and watered the tree, wondering if trees could get drunk. If they could, this one might be well and intoxicated from all the whiskey-piss it had soaked up over the years.
“You found that antelope dead.”
“I shot it,” Senqua said. “I did not find it dead. I tried to wake you up to see if you wanted to go hunting, but you wouldn’t—”
“You left the post and found a dead antelope.” Gairy fastened his trousers shut. “Scouts don’t leave the post they’re assigned to without permission.”
“We had no food. Maybe you don’t care much since all you want to do is drink, but I was hungry. It’s been days since we had anything to eat.” Senqua crouched, tossing her long, black braid over her shoulder. “There’s a message on the Draggin’s Veraleid. I don’t know how to use it. Will you show me?”
Gairy grunted. He didn’t want to think about any messages coming from Dogton. Not now. Soon, none of them would matter, anyway. He thumped toward the shack and leaned over a crate near the porch. There, gleaming in the hot sun, bottles of Glasstown Saltang whiskey waited, more tantalizing than any woman he’d ever known. A bottle never called him an ugly Druen goat, and never asked for payment, either.
After fishing one out, Gairy fumbled with the cork; it took his stiff fingers several tries to free the stopper. A good swallow would soon steady his nerves. He kissed the bottle and amber liquid slid over his tongue, awful to taste and wonderful to feel. The headache ebbed a notch.
Senqua watched, scowling furiously as she jabbed at the antelope. “When are you going to teach me to use the Veraleid?”
“Later. Don’t worry about it. That antelope you found almost done?”
“I shot it. With my nilaj bow. I thought about taking your rifle, but it’s too heavy to carry all the way up Pointe Rock.” She sighed. “Gairy, why are you doing it?”
“Doin’ what?” he asked, knowing what she meant. He took another gulp to wash the irritation away. Ever since she’d hired on as a scout trainee, Senqua had nagged about everything. Gairy wished Broach hadn’t gotten killed. If he were still alive, Senqua would be back in Dogton where she belonged.
But she was there, with him, nagging.
“You’re supposed to be training me, but all we’ve done for a week is sit here while you drink. Then, you pass out and I sit around reading
that stupid field guide you gave me.”
“We’re doin’ our job. We’re guarding the Old Tree Well and the outpost. That’s what I do out here. I guard the well.” Gairy shrugged. “Give me some of that antelope. Maybe my stomach’s better today.”
Senqua snorted. “It won’t be better today because you're already getting drunk. You can have some, though. Here.” She picked up a knife lying in the sand and cut off a hunk of the steaming meat. Juice ran down the side along the seared, spice-encrusted haunch. “This part is cooked enough.”
Gairy’s stomach rolled. He sat down on the porch and shook his head. “Forget it. Shyiine don’t know how to cook right, anyway. Probably poison me.”
“That whiskey is poison.” Senqua offered the meat, smiling a little. “Eat something. You haven’t had anything but some old jerky and date cake since we came out here.”
“I don’t want any scavenged antelope. Probably rotten. Smells rotten.” He leaned away from the meat. “Get that crap outta my face.”
Her bright orange eyes turned as baleful as the hot sun. “It’s not scavenged.” She took a bite of the meat and chewed, jerking her chin at him. “See? It’s fine. But you go on, sit there and get drunk again. I’m going to figure out how to use the Veraleid so I can call Neiro and ask him if Kaitar will train me, instead.”
“Leave it alone. I told you, I’ll show you later.” Gairy swished the whiskey around in the bottle and stared, shocked at how little remained.
More than half-gone already . . . just thirsty. Hell, would be nice if Neiro sent her out with Besh instead. Get some peace and quiet here.
But he made no move to get off the porch and only watched the Shyiine woman poking the antelope haunch again. She looked a little sad, and he wondered what she could possibly have to be sad about. It annoyed him, seeing Senqua moping, scowling over her shoulder as if he’d pissed on the entire day.
