Salt in the Water (A Lesser Dark Book 1)

by S. Cushaway

  Confused, Zres blinked, his head throbbing where it had thumped against the hard ground. “What the hell! Let me go!” He tried to kick free, but his legs had tangled in the blanket.

  “You did this.” Mi’et shoved two dusty, scuffed cards into his face. Zres found himself staring at a pert, printed nipple.

  The big Enforcer pressed down with all his weight. “You leave my cards alone or I will break every bone you have.” Abruptly, he released his grip, pulled the cards away, and stuffed them into his back pocket.

  “Son of a bitch, Mi’et . . .” Zres glared at him, rubbing the bruise already forming along his freckled arm. “They’re just cards. You can get more from Avaeliis, just put in an order with Neiro.”

  Mi’et grabbed him, squeezing with both hands so his fingers pressed in deep against Zres’s flesh, grinding into the muscles.

  “You ugly, splotch-skinned bastard! You wanna get shot for assault?” Despite his bold words, fear snaked up his spine. He tried kicking himself free again, but Mi’et didn’t even twitch. Zres stopped struggling and went still—playing dead, except for the grin tickling the corners of his mouth.

  Mi’et pressed with all of his weight, his sharp teeth gnashing as he spoke. “They are all I have of my mother and sister, and you whipped them. If I catch you touching them again, I will pull your eyes out and string them around your neck.”

  Zres bit his lip to stop himself from speaking, but it was too late; the words tore from his mouth and slapped Mi’et square in the face. “My mama’s on those cards, too. Don’t see what the big deal is. Just a bunch of whores.”

  The half-breed hauled him up by the shoulders so he dangled helplessly, bare toes brushing the ground with each kick. When Mi’et hurled him, a vague sense of wonder filled Zres. The canvas wall blurred by in a brown smear as the strange sensation of being airborne snapped the fear right in two.

  I’m flying.

  He hit the edge of a footlocker near Garv’s bunk. Pain, real pain, shot along his spine, tearing a strangled cry from his throat. Tears filled Zres's. He gripped his back and sucked in a breath between clenched teeth. “Shit, that hurts . . . !”

  A shadow fell over him, blotting out the light from the cell lantern hanging above the bunks.

  “The hell if I’ll let you intimidate me over some fucking titty cards.” Pushing himself to his knees, Zres swallowed a yelp of pain and braced his side. Blood trickled to the waistband of his shorts. He grinned again, wishing he could stop. “How’d you like a couple more scars?”

  Mi'et's right arm twitched like a thousand locusts had found their way into the scarred limb.

  He’s gonna kill me. And here I thought it’d be the damned beans or the boredom.

  “Mi’et!” Orin’s voice snapped through the barracks like the crack of a bullwhip. “Stand down!”

  Grunting, his eyes watering, Zres hauled himself to his feet. His heart skipped a beat. Just beyond the Enetic’s broad shoulder, he saw his father, white-haired and grim, a hand resting on the grip of his revolver—ready to draw and kill if it came to that.

  Mi’et turned and stared at the captain, his hazel eyes gleaming in a way that made Zres want to squeeze his own shut so he wouldn’t have to see it. The big Enetic had four inches and many pounds on Orin, all of it muscle and killing anger.

  He’s gonna put Mi’et down like a rabid dog!

  Suddenly cold all over, Zres plopped down on the locker he’d smacked into, gripping the steel edge as if the thing might pitch him off at any second. His touch left a smear of blood against the surface.

  Orin spoke in a calm, quiet voice. “Mi’et, go take a walk around the gates a while. On the outside of town. Make sure there’s no sign of hogs or snakes or coyotes out there. Go on. Go take a walk.” He jerked his head toward the exit.

  Silence dropped over the barracks, heavy, muffling the sounds of people outside going about their business. After what seemed like an eternity to Zres, Mi’et glanced back at him, some of the awful rage draining from his expression. Now, the ugly visage held a weary, vaguely pitiful look.

  “You are lucky to have your mother,” Mi’et said, voice flat, indifferent. “And your father. Especially your father.” He stalked out, brushing past Orin without a word. Sunlight streamed briefly into the barracks, then vanished as the canvas flaps fell into place once more.

  Orin sighed. “The hell were you thinkin', Zres? Of all the people here in Dogton to pester, you went and picked Mi’et? What the hell got into you? You know he don’t like anyone touchin’ those cards.”

  Zres shrugged, the smile sliding down his face until all that remained was a little tremble on his lips. “It was just some cards.”

  His father scooped up the blanket from where it had fallen to the floor and tossed it back onto the bunk. “I told you to leave the Enetics alone. You know they got their troubles, but you poke at them anyway.” Orin lowered himself onto the cot and pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “Don’t you got any sense?”

  He can’t even stand talkin’ to me. Sorry he ever visited Ma and squirted out such a fuck-up.

  Knees wobbly, Zres stood, rubbing at his back as he limped over to his footlocker to get some clothes. “Why’d you hire them, then? If Mi’et’s gonna go rabid over a deck of cards like that, you might as well throw him in the jailhouse along with that convict. Make him eat leftover beans every day until he begs to come out.” He yanked his pants on, shoulders aching and bruised. There’d be no whip practice that afternoon.

  “They don’t got no other place to go, Zres. Mi’et does his work just fine so long as no one pesters him much. He don’t snap at Vore or Garv like that, does he? No, and I’ll tell you why. Because they don’t taunt him like you do. Leave him alone. You think I wanna shoot Mi’et because he’s about to break your neck? Hell.”

  Zres pulled his jacket over his shoulders, hiding his discomfort as the heavy material settled against his bruises. “Seems like you’d be rid of a problem.”

  “Zres . . . heh. Forget it. You got work to get to.” Orin stood, leveling his gaze.

  Zres met that hard stare, his own green eyes defiant. “What work’s that? Door duty again?”

  “No. Since you got Mi’et riled up and fit to murder anyone that looks at him crossways, you’re gonna have to go feed the prisoner today. I ain’t got the time. I’m supposed to be out at the water-fields right now with Neiro and Frell. Hell, I’d be there already if it weren’t for this mess.”

  “Feed the prisoner?” A little light poured into the dark tedium hanging over his thoughts. His shoulders no longer ached, and the throb in his back seemed petty. “The Shurin? That prisoner?”

  “We ain’t got any others I’m aware of,” Orin said dryly. “Get your boots on, heat up that mess of chili, and take it to him. I expect you to do it without dawdling. No talkin’ to him, either. Just feed him, take the bowl and spoon back when you’re done, and get your ass to the watchtower outside the gates. You’re relieving Garv this afternoon so she can go on door duty.” He turned, speaking over his shoulder. “Zres, leave Mi’et alone from now on. Kaitar, too, for that matter.”

  “Yep,” Zres said, pulling on his boots, only vaguely aware of what he’d just agreed to. Without bothering to watch his father leave, he hooked his bullwhip to his belt and scrambled to the annex to heat up last night’s leftovers. In his twenty years of life, he’d never gotten to speak to anyone from Avaeliis, save the exception of old Neiro. For two years, he'd waited to find out more about the Enetic stranger, a runaway fugitive who had come through the mountain tunnels—the Grin—only to be caught by the Enforcers. No one would ever tell him much, not about anything.

  But he’d find out today.

  Zres scooped the lukewarm chili into a bowl, grabbed a spoon—it wasn’t quite clean, but he could wipe it off on his pants, he supposed—and ran out of the barracks. When the chili threatened to slosh over the lip of the shallow dish, he slowed his pace a little. Erid dropped
a line of hoses he'd been hooking to the town pump and waved at him.

  “Where you goin’, Zres? You got time to show me some whip tricks?”

  “Not today, Erid. Tomorrow. I gotta go feed that Shurin.” The way Erid watched, eyes big, face full of envy and curiosity, made Zres feel as if his job might have some perks after all.

  A hot gust of wind tugged his strawberry-blond hair. He paused long enough to smooth it down, then picked up his pace again. For once, he felt no urge to meander past the merchant stalls or poke his nose in the Bin to see if anything interesting was going on. Instead, he focused on the squat jailhouse perched off the main road at the northern end of town.

  The sight of the mud-brick building usually depressed him, sitting there alone, away from the hubbub. This time, he felt a stab of excitement as he jogged the final few yards and stepped up the three rickety stairs to the entrance. Zres fumbled with the latch, wincing as he bumped his bruised shoulder against the door. A bit of the chili slopped onto his thumb and dripped to the limestone. He sucked the food off his hand absently, scuffed his way inside, and peered at the small interior room. Filthy.

  Setting the bowl on the ancient desk in the corner, Zres searched inside the top drawer for the cell key. Listening to his heart counting beats, he tugged it out and unlocked the steel door at the back of the room.

  Sairel . . . Vore said his name is Sairel, and he’s blue. Wonder if that was just him messin’ with me. Time to find out.

  Rather than ram his sore shoulder into the door a second time, he balanced the bowl with one hand and turned the knob with the other, pushing it open with his boot. The door hinges creaked rustily. Sunlight streaked in through a single barred window, creating a mottled, mote-riddled pattern on the floor.

  From the only occupied cell, a man stared back at him—and he was blue. Not a rich, deep color like Zres’s imagination had painted, but the pallid skin certainly had something of a blue tint. Sairel’s eyes widened, so pale they seemed almost white. He smiled. Zres cringed; the smile was awful, the gums the exact color of rotting meat, lined with long, shining teeth.

  “Hello,” the Shurin said smoothly. His voice carried a note of refinement, but the rasp just underneath reminded Zres of scales scraping against skin. Sairel stood, tall and gaunt, naked except for a pair of faded undershorts. The nostrils of his long, flat-bridged nose flared as he sniffed. Zres remembered a picture in a book his mother used to have, depicting various creatures of the far-off eastern coast. One of those strange beasts came to mind immediately—shark.

  “He . . . hello. I’m here. Food.” He cleared his throat, trying to overcome his shock. “I mean, I’m here to give you lunch.”

  “At least you’re more polite than Mi’et, even if you are staring rather hard,” Sairel said, unperturbed. “What is it today? No, let me guess. Bean chili, bean stew, or beans and eggs? Do you know what I miss having for lunch?”

  Zres shook his head. The gears in his brain started to grind away again. “Step to the back of the cell. I’m gonna open the door and put this on the ground. I got my whip, and if you try anything, I’ll use force.”

  “Please, where would I go? Run out into the town where your father—he is your father isn’t he? Your father would shoot me. Or one of the others would. You, perhaps.” Sairel winked, expression nearly coy. “And suppose I did get out of this little town. How long do you think I’d last in the desert, hm? A few days, at the very most. Probably less.”

  “You wanna eat, or should I just toss these out?”

  The Shurin sighed, then slid toward the back wall. He put his hands atop his head, fingers clasped over shoulder-length hair the color of corn silk. “There. Now I’m cooperating. I wish it wasn’t chili again, though. Do they feed you the same thing?”

  “Yeah.” Cautiously, stomach fluttering and heart flip-flopping, Zres unlocked the iron-barred door and set the bowl on the floor. He studied the Shurin as he locked the cell. Up close, he could see the man’s eyes had a strange iridescence to them, almost like a pearl-handled knife. Curiosity tickled at the edge of repugnance. “Do all Shurens have eyes like that?”

  “It’s Shurin,” Sairel replied, rolling the r and making it sound like a purr way down in his throat. “Not Shur-ens. I understand you Estarians have a difficult time saying it. Most back in Avaeliis didn’t do much better. And, to answer your question—no, not all Shurin have eyes like mine. That would be like asking if all humans have green eyes. Of course there are variances.” He stooped and picked up the bowl of chili. “Really, at first I thought the food here was quite good. Better than the rot we got back in the Junk . . . ah, you’d call it Old Avaeliis, of course. But now I’m getting rather sick of eating beans.”

  “They said you were part of that Cursor project.”

  “Yes.” Sairel sat on his small cot, bowl balanced between bony knees. His eyes narrowed, full of a sly cunning that made Zres’s skin crawl. “But I’m not the only one in town who was part of that. Tell me, how much did your father—”

  “The captain,” Zres corrected.

  “Yes, your father. How much did he tell you and the others about that war? Did he mention Verand was involved as well?”

  Zres frowned. “Who?”

  “Neiro’s Mechinae.”

  “Oh, Zippy? Well, Zippy’s just what people call him around town, but his name is Viyr.” Zres shrugged. “Why? What’s he got to do with that Cursor stuff?”

  “Quite a lot. If they hadn’t disabled my Shelfing, I could show you right now. I could give you lessons on the entire ordeal, in fact. Teach you the whole history of the Shurin people and how it trickled right down to me, a Cursor conducting research for Verand Eleid. I was his personal assistant once, you know.” He kicked his feet up onto the cot and leaned against the wall, plucking the spoon from the bowl. Chili dripped into the dish. He stared at it, his thin lips twisted into a pout. “I was his friend.”

  He’s got to be makin’ shit up. Goin’ nuts from sitting in a cell for so long.

  Zres regarded the small prison. “Nice collection of books they gave you.”

  “This spoon’s dirty.” Sairel tossed it into the bowl with a disdainful sniff. “Disgusting, really. Not so filthy as the Junk . . . did I mention it’s horrible there? Like a burial chamber for those still alive. Wasting away. The others might be dead now. Even Enetics can’t live indefinitely, not in that sort of environment.” He put the dish on the floor, food untouched, and crossed his legs at the ankles. Zres noticed the Shurin’s toenails and fingernails were dark gray, and long as claws.

  “I gotta get back to work. You gonna eat, or. . .?”

  Sairel’s eyes flicked back and forth, curious. “You don’t want to stay and talk? Do you know how bored I get in here? Oh, sure, they’ve seen fit to give me some books, and Mi’et brings me food, but he’s a brute and doesn’t count for much.”

  Zres stood. “Mi’et’s not much of a talker. Like trying to beat an answer out of a brick wall.” He motioned Sairel to get up. “Speaking of brick walls, gonna need you to back up again.”

  “If you stay a while, I’ll tell you more about Avaeliis, and the Cursors.” Sairel grinned again, his teeth looking as though they cut right through the gums like knife blades, though not a speck of blood tinted his mouth. Zres smiled back, unable to stop himself, though all he wanted to do was get the chili bowl and leave. A cold line of sweat ran down his aching back as he shook his head.

  “Anything you’d like to hear. You’ve got nothing to fear from me,” the Shurin went on. “I don’t have any weapons, and I’m in no shape to fight a strapping young man like you.”

  “Nope. Thanks, not today. Back up against the wall.”

  Sairel’s smile faded, but his eyes widened. “Pity.” He pushed himself up and stood near the wall, hands on his head. “Like this?”

  Despite Zres's discomfort, a keen interest wriggled like a grave worm far under the dirt of his unease. He did want to know more about Avaeliis and the Cursors.
About the Cynops. About all of it. He hesitated before scooping up the uneaten food and securing the door again.

  “You’re really going then?” Sairel asked. “Damn. Well, then. Forever.”

  Forever?

  He managed to clamp his mouth shut just before he could ask why the Shurin had said it. Without meeting Sairel’s hideous smile, he turned, escaped through the doorway, slid the key in the old lock, and breathed a sigh of relief. A moment later, the sun hit him as he left the jailhouse, dissipating the chill that had settled in his bones. It felt as though he’d just escaped a tomb.

  Big Dogs

  “Now, Neiro, I can put in an order with Ham Elgin to have a team come down from the Foundry and replace some of these pipes. See that one?” Frell pointed at an above ground pipeline leaking at the seam. “I estimate you’re losin’ a gallon of water a day from that one little crack.”

  “I see,” Neiro said, not caring. Maybe he could bring himself to care later, when he was out of the sun and had a shot of cold, blue Synth in front of him. But not now. Not with his armpits a swamp of sweat, not with his face turning purple with the heat, and not with Dramen Frell twitching his mustache in disapproval. From their vantage point on the lookout platform at the east end of the water-fields, the Junker Steward had found several such problems already.

  Neiro stared at the water in the irrigation ditches, the red muck dotted with flies and bugs. He had a fleeting urge to jump in; it would be cool in that muck, bug-ridden or not. He could pack mud all over himself and roll in it.

  Frell’s voice dragged him out of his wallowing daydream. “It’d be about a three-month project to replace the whole works. But we’ve got some engineers that have been working on an improved irrigation system.” The Junker rubbed his chin. “Of course, Avaeliis would have to fund it, but I imagine getting them to agree wouldn’t take much shoving on your part.”

  That’s what you don’t understand about the Cynops or the Syndicate.