3
“No!” I scream.
Somewhere amidst the static in my brain I hear Velkan and Phin yelling and scuffling with the guards. I lunge after Ayma as she is dragged outside, but another guard bars my way with a veined trunk of an arm and slams me against the wall. I cry out in pain just as a tall figure darkens the doorway.
Rigs and the other men seated at the table jump to their feet and salute the man who strides into the hall. Stringy mud-colored hair skirts his broad shoulders. I blink back tears, trying to place him for a moment before it hits me. Furax—the body poacher I met on Diretus.
He sweeps past the guards, gestures for them to retake their seats, and reaches for a leg of some unidentified creature dripping with juice before sinking into a chair opposite Rigs. He munches steadily for a few moments, listening to something Rigs is saying to him in a low voice, and then licks his fingers and looks slowly around the room. His eyes settle on me and a gleam of recognition goes through them.
My skin prickles and not even my suit can counteract the chill that comes over me. Furax pushes back his chair, gets to his feet, and walks toward me. A slow grin spreads over his leathered face. “Well, if it isn’t the red-headed spitfire who swallowed a handful of monkey brains and kept them down. Put my men to shame, you did.” He glares at the guard who holds me pressed against the wall. “Let her go, you blockhead!”
The guard looks abashed and releases me. “Sorry, Furax,” he mutters.
Furax places a hand on my left shoulder and beams proudly around. “This here’s the spunky pirate who stole the Zebulux right out from under Crank’s and Sarth’s noses.”
Rigs and Scarface exchange dubious glances beneath raised brows.
“What about them?” Rigs asks, gesturing with his chin at Velkan and Phin.
“They’re with me,” I say in my best authoritative tone.
Furax releases me and snaps his fingers. “Untie them. We shall eat and hear of their exploits and what brought them to Razaran.”
I flex my fingers and rub my freed hands together, unsure how far my new celebrity status will allow me to push Furax. But there’s no time to waste. I lay a hand on his arm and look at him earnestly when he turns back to me. “They took my friend to the cryogenic facility. The girl they marched out of here right before you walked in.”
Furax flattens his lips in a thin line of disapproval and nods to the guard nearest the door. “Bring the girl back here.”
He leads me over to a table and pats the chair next to him. “Tell me everything that’s happened to you since you left Diretus. That was quite the feat you pulled off, absconding with the Zebulux. The whole Netherscape is abuzz with the story.”
I shrug and sink down on the wooden seat. Velkan and Phin pull up chairs next to us. “Crank and Sarth double-crossed me.” I plant my eyes firmly on Furax. “Did you know they planned to auction me off?”
He reaches for a strand of my hair and gives it a predatory sniff before smoothing it back over my shoulder.
I barely manage to suppress a shudder.
“You were the item of desire that night,” Furax says. “The bidding went as high as I’ve ever seen it on Diretus. Two men died in the uproar that ensued once they discovered you’d gone missing.” He leans conspiratorially toward me. “But Crank and Sarth went after that ramshackle ship with everything they had. What was it carrying that made it so valuable to them? As rare as your fiery strands are, I doubt you were the only prize on board.”
I take a shallow breath. Our only hope of getting out of here lies with Furax. I need to pique his interest enough for him to want to keep us alive, and there’s only one thing I know for sure that will do that.
I make a show of stealing a measured glance at the guards before responding in a low voice. “Dargonite—ninety-eight shekels of it.”
Furax’s eyes glimmer with greed, a nerve twitching in his weathered face. “I knew it had to be something more than avenging their honor. Crank and Sarth didn’t want anyone else going after that ship, even though we all were game to hunt her down.” Furax strokes his chin thoughtfully. “How did you end up here?”
I shift in my seat. If I tell him we came under attack, it will look suspicious that there’s no damage to the hull of our ship. I can’t reveal what the stealth fighter is capable of. We need it to make our escape. “After we lost the Zebulux and the dargonite, we stole a ship from the Syndicate. We had mechanical difficulties and were forced to look for somewhere to land. This was the nearest planet.”
Furax reaches for another hunk of meat. “The stars align for a reason.” He tears the meat in two and offers me a piece. “Seems we were destined to do business together.”
I take the meat and chew it halfheartedly. Whatever Furax has in mind, it can’t be good. The last thing I want to do is get dragged into the body poaching trade.
“I admire your mettle,” Furax continues. “You’ve become quite the ship thief. I’m sure half the Syndicate fleet is after you now.” He motions at Phin. “I see the Syndicate uniform. Inside job or what?”
I shake my head. It’s safer if the body poachers don’t know that Phin really is a Syndicate soldier. “We stole it to infiltrate security.”
Furax gives Phin another studious glance and then turns his attention to Velkan. “And the faithful serf serves you now that you took him from his master.”
“He serves no one. Velkan’s a free man. A dermal sculptor on Aristozonex removed his holographic tattoo.”
Furax elevates his brows a fraction of an inch. “You must have paid a pretty penny on the dark market for that procedure.”
“Dargonite opens a lot of doors,” I reply.
“Indeed.” Furax looks amused. “Where did you get the dargonite?”
I hold his gaze despite sweating giant globs of fear on the inside. “A primitive planet in the Netherscape,” I answer with a careless shrug. “They don’t know its value.”
Furax’s lips curl upward into a satisfied smile. He slaps the table and gets to his feet. “Keep it that way. We’ll chart a course to this planet in the morning. In the meantime, I’ll make sure you and your friends are well taken care of.”
“Furax,” I blurt out. “We’re on an important mission we need to complete first.”
His eyes flash a dangerous sequence of emotions. “What’s more important than dargonite?”
“The dargonite isn’t going anywhere. My birth parents are trapped on Mhakerta. It was taken over by a self-actualizing software application several years ago. I’m on my way to free them.”
Furax rubs his knuckles slowly with the tip of his thumb. “Those planets taken over by AI are lost to us. Impenetrable, everyone knows that. Not even the Syndicate can access them.”
“Give me a couple of weeks,” I say. “I have a plan to outsmart Mhakerta’s air defense systems.”
Furax levels an annoyed look at me. “You’re no good to me dead. How will I find the dargonite without you?”
I straighten up and assume my most regal mask. “The dargonite is located on the planet I was raised on. My adoptive father is the chieftain. I will give you the coordinates and my handprint as a seal to stake your claim. If I don’t return, my father will honor it.”
“Your word carries no weight with me.” Furax gets to his feet. “Your doomed mission can wait until I have the dargonite in my possession. We leave in the morning.” He turns to the guards. “See to it that they are well looked after and have everything they need. I’ll be in The Nag’s Head if I’m needed.” Before I can say anything else, he strides out the door and into the street.
I jump to my feet to chase after him, but Scarface blocks my way. “You might want to wait on your friend. Make sure she gets back in one piece.” A noxious smile flicks across his lips.
I slump back down in my chair and forward Phin and Velkan a helpless look. We have no choice but to play along with Furax’s demands for now.
Minutes later, a guard escorts Ayma back insid
e the hall and shoves her in our direction. She sinks down in a vacant chair at the table, trembling and ashen.
“Are you okay?” I ask, wrapping my hand over hers.
She gives a tremulous nod. “They were about to send me to the cryogenic facility further up the mountain. Why did they let me go?”
“Turns out I know someone here. A body poacher named Furax—long story.” I give a wry grin. “He wants to get his hands on some dargonite, so he’s cutting a deal to spare us if we take him to Cwelt.”
Ayma peers hesitantly over her shoulder at the guards standing around. “I’ll do anything to get off this planet as quickly as possible.”
I rub my fingers over my brow. “It’s not that simple. We can’t take him to Cwelt now—not with the entire Syndicate fleet there.”
“We don’t have much choice,” Velkan mutters. “Furax isn’t going to delay going after the dargonite, no matter what reason we give him.”
“Then we have to find a way to escape tonight,” I say in a low voice. “Furax told the guards to make sure we are well looked after. Let’s see if we can talk them into showing us around so we can get our bearings.”
Scarface shrugs when I ask him to take us on a tour of the town. He says something indecipherable to Rigs, and then ushers us out into the street. “Start walking,” he grunts. “There’s not much to it.” He follows a few feet behind, a loose grip on his gun, apparently not overly concerned we’ll try and make a run for it, which confirms my suspicion that the bridge is the only way in and out of town.
We stroll down the main thoroughfare, peering into all manner of weather-beaten businesses along the way—grimy lodgings with flaking signs hanging askew from rusted chains, taverns crammed with drunken, ill-mannered patrons, a gloomy pawn shop, a casino that consists of three card tables occupied by dour-faced men with rotting teeth, a cafe with most everything on the menu crossed out, and a tailor stitching intently on a bench outside his business, a bottle of rum and a rifle within easy reach.
Eventually, we come to the pen where the guards corralled us when we first arrived. My stomach twists at the all-too-familiar sight. The pen is almost full now with a new batch of arrivals all tethered to one another. Some are hunkered down in the dirty straw, knees tightly pressed to their chins, shoulders shaking as they cry silently. Others lean against the wooden posts and stare at us blankly—all attempts to resist the heinous fate we were facing ourselves only a couple of hours earlier, long since exhausted.
A young woman with filthy matted hair on the other side of the railing raises her head and scrapes her hair out of her face with split, yellowed nails. Her doleful eyes pierce me with a familiar plea that sends a shock wave through me. The tanner from Diretus!
4
I grip Velkan’s arm with shaking fingers. “It’s her!” I drop my voice to a low murmur even though the din from the tavern is drowning out my words. “The girl we wanted to save on Diretus.”
Ayma turns to me in surprise. “You know her too?”
Velkan grimaces. “Furax must have brought her here in his latest shipment.”
“We need to get her out of that pen.” Conviction courses through my veins. I wanted a second chance to save the tanner, and now it’s within my grasp.
Velkan blows out a frustrated breath. “How? We’re prisoners ourselves.”
I glance over my shoulder at Scarface jabbering with a red-faced man who gesticulates wildly back at him with a beer bottle.
“The only reason we’re not dead, yet, is because we have something Furax wants,” Ayma says in a low tone. “We can’t risk our lives trying to save anyone else. We’re our parents’ only hope. Who’s more important to you? Them or her?”
“Every life’s important,” I retort. “I’m going to make Furax release her. I’m not leaving her behind again.”
Phin makes an incoherent sound at the back of his throat. He thinks I’m pushing it, but Furax might be willing to do me another favor. After all, he badly wants that dargonite, and a lowly tanner is a small price to pay.
“Time to go,” Scarface yells to us.
“Better do what he says,” Phin says. “We’ll work this out later.”
But there may not be a later. I’ve no idea when the guards will come for the prisoners and transfer them to the cryogenic facility further up the mountain. The thought of what awaits them makes me sick to my stomach. I pull my shoulders back and stomp over to Scarface with all the arrogance I can muster. “One of my crew is in that pen,” I say. “Release her immediately.”
Scarface eyes me with an irritated air before spitting in the dirt at my feet. “You got your one friend reprieve, which is more than Furax gives most people.”
“She wasn’t part of his shipment,” I say in a steely tone.
Scarface narrows pitiless eyes at me. “Says who?”
I glare back at him. “I think I know my own crew. Furax told you to make sure we were well looked after and locking up one of my crew members with your prisoner haul isn’t exactly being hospitable. So fetch Furax and we’ll settle this now.”
His face like thunder, Scarface whistles to a guard stationed at the gate to the pen and directs him to go inside The Nag’s Head and look for Furax.
Phin pulls me aside out of earshot of Scarface. “A crew member? Are you out of your mind? Have you seen her nails? She’s half-feral. What are we going to say she does on the ship?”
I shrug. “Maintenance.”
Velkan and Ayma join us, their faces creased with fear.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Ayma pulls nervously at her ponytail. “If we push our luck with Furax, he might change his mind about letting us leave here tomorrow with him. I just want to get off Razaran as quickly as possible.”
Velkan furrows his brow. “He must have a count of his prisoners. He’ll know we’re lying.”
I rub a hand across my clammy forehead. “I never said it was a good idea, but it’s worth a try. It’s just a haul of bodies to him. I doubt he counted them. He probably never even looked at their faces.”
Moments later, Furax surfaces at the doorway of The Nag’s Head clutching a mug of beer, the guard at his side. My pulse pounds in my temples. I only hope the lure of a dargonite mine is enough for Furax to indulge me one more favor.
He glowers in our direction, waving the mug in the air as he talks to the guard. After a few tense minutes, he turns and disappears back inside. Whatever he’s decided, it’s not important enough to him to come over here and discuss it with us.
I force myself to breathe as the guard tromps back to the pen and confers with Scarface.
A rush of relief floods my veins when the guard opens the gate to the pen. He steps inside and unties the tanner woman from the rest of the prisoners, then jams the barrel of his rifle into her back and shoves her forward. After he locks the gate behind him, he grabs the woman’s bound hands and starts tying her to the hitching post.
“Wait! What are you doing?” I cry out.
Scarface gives a contemptuous sniff. “Separating her from the next batch of bodies headed to the cryogenic facility. Furax is gonna do you a favor and hold her here as collateral until he has his dargonite.”
Shock decimates through me. I should have known Furax would use this as leverage against us. What choice do I have now but to take him to Cwelt like he demands? I can’t let this poor woman down again.
“Time to go,” Scarface barks, gesturing into the darkening shadows with his rifle. “Tour’s over.” He ushers us down a dimly-lit side street past several alehouses to a drab-looking stone inn surrounded by a crumbling retaining wall, speckled with crusty lichen. The place looks like a condemned relic left to fester on the fringe of town.
The heavy wooden front door banded with metal and studded with rivets jams when Scarface tries to open it. He shoves and kicks at it until it screeches in release and scrapes open. He steps aside and indicates for us to go inside. “Your upgraded accommodations,” he says in a mocking d
rawl.
I eye the unwelcoming doorway dubiously. A dense three-foot-long garland of cobwebs dangles directly under the lintel.
“I dread to think what monster spun that mesh fortress,” Ayma mutters to me as we duck hastily across the threshold. “If it’s anything like a bloodsucker, I don’t want to set eyes on it.”
Inside the foyer, a ghostly pole of a man with a long, narrow face and receding hairline presides over a wooden reception counter riddled with bullet holes and ominous-looking, rust-colored stains. On the wall behind him, a pendulum taps to and fro on a garishly carved antique clock with an elaborate dragon-bird creature cresting the frame. A small seating area to the left comprises an armchair with frayed armrests and flesh-colored stuffing peeking out from the seams, a coffee table littered with beer bottles, and a broken bar stool. The man behind the reception pushes his spectacles up the ridge of his nose with a skeletal finger and inspects us with a churlish air when Scarface waves us over.
“Evening, Bones,” Scarface drawls, resting an elbow on the counter.
Bones dips his head in response, but his thin lips tighten. I’m guessing he has little affection for Scarface, but his submissive demeanor indicates he’s squarely at his beck and call. He’ll be no help to us if we try to break out of here tonight.
“These are Furax’s guests.” Scarface raps his knuckles on the counter as he straightens up. “Make sure they are satisfactorily taken care of while confined to their quarters. I’ll be back to pick them up in the morning.”
Immediately, Bones clicks his fingers and two burly thick-necked men walk through the arched flagstone entry behind the counter, wielding guns and wearing ugly scowls.
Whatever trace of hope I had of escaping dies within me. If it had only been Bones in this establishment, we might have been able to figure out a way to get out of here tonight. But with these two thugs guarding us, it will be impossible to even the odds, at least not without a weapon.
Girl of Stone (The Expulsion Project Book 2) Page 4
