CUTPURSE
JAMIE McFARLANE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication / use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.
Cover Artwork: Filip Dudek
Copyright © 2015 Jamie McFarlane
All rights reserved.
CONTENTS
CUTPURSE
CONTENTS
Slum City of Nannandry
Hovel
Blue Lagarto
Stowaway
In the Clouds
Strange Gifts
Who's Really in Charge?
The Fort
Pod-Ball
Lena's Diner
Big Happy Family
Sacrifice
Flight of the Pigeon
Epilogue
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CONTACT JAMIE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Slum City of Nannandry
Planet Grünholz, Tipperary Solar System
"You're late with tribute, Pigeon."
Young Priloe's heart raced, not having heard Jaschot's approach in the darkened alley. To be called pigeon was a dire insult, referencing the inhabitants of the cities in the clouds, whose only contribution was to shit on them from above.
Priloe started forward, too late to escape the older boy's grasp. He felt cruel fingers encircle his upper arm - tight bands of steel which he had no hope of escaping. Narrow and willowy, Priloe was taller than Jaschot by a head. But what Jaschot gave up in height, he gained in a squat, powerful build.
"Let me go. I've a mark and Sephre would not like you jacking it up," Priloe whispered.
If Jaschot brought him back empty handed, Priloe would most likely be whipped and refused at the mess. The whipping he could survive, as beatings weren't new. If he was only responsible for himself, a night without the mess was not a problem. But he wasn't alone. Milenette, his young sister, relied on him for survival. Without his protection, she'd likely be sold to slavers.
Priloe knew he needed more than a threat, for Jaschot was as crafty as he was cruel. Sephre would not take a pigeon's word over that of her street sergeant.
"I'll give you my take," he said, making up his mind quickly.
"That won't save you from a lashing," Jaschot said. His grip loosened as he considered the offer.
The rain, which almost never stopped, picked up its tempo and Priloe saw a full plan develop in his mind. Something about the rhythmic splatting of the drops helped him think. He twisted and pulled his arm free. Jaschot might be quiet, but he wasn't particularly nimble. Priloe easily avoided the heavier boy's slashing arm and dashed into the open market.
The market was one of the lowest levels in the city of Nannandry. On the surface of Grünholz, vegetation grew in dense knots above the soggy peat-bog. Thick limbs twisted around each other as they grew slowly in the heavy gravity. Here, thick leadwood branches had been bent, woven, and shaped to maintain a more or less flat surface where hundreds of vendors manned their permanent booths.
It was only a very few who cared to cover their goods from the constant rain. Pragmatically, the denizens of the perpetually cloud-covered world had accepted their moist existence. As if to make up for the constantly wet weather, they enjoyed a temperate existence. Seasons were marked by the rain much more than the temperature, which only shifted a few degrees. To an outsider, it was wet all the time, but to the citizens, the misty showers of the season Quintella were quite different from the downpours of Sparacal.
Priloe's speed was offset by his poorly adapted bare feet, which found little purchase on the slippery bark of the leadwood. He compensated by using every skid and slide to his advantage. Priloe knew Jaschot would have no trouble navigating through the market, as the bottoms of his feet were scaled over with hard callouses that gripped the shallow grooves of the bark.
Priloe had to stay ahead of Jaschot until he could score some loot. To steal directly from a vendor's table was an unthinkable sin. Every vendor worth his or her salt had direct monitoring of their goods and getting on the wrong side of the commerce guild was a good way to earn a quick trip to the bottoms in a plain wooden box.
Priloe had a different target in mind, however. He'd seen a group of off-worlders walking into the crowd. Being visitors, the constable wouldn't be particularly sympathetic if they complained about a little thievery. His sharp eye had seen a particularly interesting object tucked into the larger woman's belt. Done well, his marks wouldn't even know what happened.
"I'm coming for you, Pigeon."
Jaschot's voice was closer than Priloe had hoped, but he needed to keep his pursuer close to make this plan work. The four off-worlders were easy to pick out in the crowd as they were at least fifty percent taller than the tallest troglodyte (a name Priloe had heard applied unkindly to the short, heavyset natives). They also walked uneasily across the branches, slowing their progress.
Priloe ran past the group by a few meters and cut across their path. He wanted their first introduction to his predicament to be incidental and put them at ease.
"Oh, Jaschot, you're so slow. Next time, I'll let you be the wonk-rat first." Priloe tried to project a levity he didn't feel. Jaschot wasn't playing, but was too focused to do anything more than growl. "You must have such a lovely singing voice," Priloe taunted. Jaschot would not forget the insult, but if his gambit paid off, Sephre would not allow the beating to be too intense.
Priloe saw the opportunity he'd been looking for. A single, thick branch rounded up from the ground level joining the untamed wall of vines that continued their skyward quest for light. He wrapped his toes around the edge of the branch and slid toward the wall. Jaschot had fallen for his plan and dove at him, expecting to come up with an armful of the willowy boy. At the last moment as Priloe slid up the wall, still following the smooth branch, he launched himself up and over his pursuer.
Jaschot, coming up empty, slammed into the wooden wall, bellowing and cursing in pain. Priloe stopped, feigning concern for his playmate. He approached, apologetically. "Jaschot, I'm so sorry. Are you hurt? I should fetch a nurse."
The large boy spun on him and roared in humiliated anger, "I'll kill you."
Priloe had no reason to doubt Jaschot's intent and wondered if perhaps he'd been too successful in this little game. However, it was now too late to reconsider and he bolted away, slamming directly into the large female who had been in the center of the group of off-worlders. The woman's thickly muscled body was reminiscent of the planet natives in all but height and he momentarily wondered if he'd made his final mistake.
"Whoa there, little man," the woman's throaty chuckle reassured him as she picked him up. "What's this all about?"
Jaschot ran up on the group, growling, but stopped when he noticed that the thin, black-haired man in the group had drawn a flechette pistol.
"You need to take it somewhere else," the man said, leveling his weapon at Jaschot.
"Oh, there's no harm here, Nicholas. Put that away," the large woman said.
"I believe his friend there means to do him in. You," the one called Nicholas said, indicating Jaschot, "go on, get out of here or we'll
be calling the police."
"Constable," a tall, narrow female from the group corrected.
"Fine, Tabby. Get out of here or we're calling the Constable," he said.
Jaschot stalked away. Priloe knew it wasn't over with Jaschot, but was comforted by the finger sized object he'd secreted away from the woman when they'd collided.
"Sorry for that. He gets moldy some days, but he'll be clean in a few minutes," he said. "Sorry to bother you."
"Stay safe," the big woman said.
Free from both Jaschot and the off-worlders, Priloe made a mad dash for the hovel. He would find Sephre and turn over his prize. She would certainly forgive his lateness for a shiny piece of off-world tech. He was certain of it.
Hovel
The Hovel wasn't a building as much as it was a labyrinth of tunnels running beneath most of the main portion of Nannandry. One of twenty cities colonized during the initial exploration of the Tipperary solar system, Nannandry was now just a failed experiment.
It turned out that while humans could adapt to the heavy gravity and nearly constant rain, they didn't enjoy it. Attracting new colonists had become more and more difficult as centuries of natural selection slowly turned the population into troglodytes. Their bodies adapted to the heavy gravity by becoming more compact and their skin turned a dullish green from a beneficial parasite that countered ill effects of disease caused by fungus.
Priloe longed for a life off of the planet. Unlike Jaschot and the rest of the natives, his bones ached constantly from the heavy world and he had to take great care to wash his skin with sand to ward off fungal rot.
The approach to the Hovel was tricky. To slip off and fall into the bog was extremely dangerous. The same branches and roots that spread above the surface dove deep into the bog. The tangled mass had trapped many hapless victims and was also home to a multitude of carnivorous amphibians that were more than happy to have a free meal.
Priloe had developed his own way into the Hovel - one that he was uniquely capable of traversing. With his small frame, he could wriggle around slippery corners that his thicker cohorts couldn't manage. It was a matter of both safety and pride that had prompted him to develop his route.
He felt rough hands pull him up into the dark alcove that adjoined the Hovel's main room. Priloe panicked as he recognized Jaschot's dead eyes looking back at him.
"Hand it over, Pigeon."
Panic threatened to overtake him. He'd risked a lot by coming back to the Hovel late. If he lost his tribute, he'd have nothing to trade.
"I didn't get anything," he lied.
Jaschot slammed a meaty fist into Priloe's stomach, bending the smaller kid over and forcing the air from his lungs. He followed with a slap to the side of the head which sent Priloe spinning to the ground in a heap. Priloe curled into a fetal ball and switched off that part of his mind that cared about beatings. He would endure or he would not, it simply didn't matter.
"Oh, no you don't. It's in here somewhere, I'll bet." Jaschot started rifling through his clothing. At this point, Priloe knew to resist would only make Jaschot angrier. The bigger boy finally found the small finger-long device that Priloe had hidden in his shorts. "What have we here? Feels like a promotion for Jaschot to me."
He pulled the slender device out and held it in his hand, turning it over in the dull light of the glowing moss. Momentarily mesmerized by the unusual technology, Jaschot didn't notice that Priloe had regained his feet.
Anger flooded Priloe as he played out the scene in his head. Sephre would no doubt praise Jaschot for his gift. She would just as likely assign him to beat Priloe for turning up empty handed. It was more than he could take and he grabbed at the device.
Jaschot looked up. It took him a second to realize he wasn't holding the object any longer. Priloe felt the device's smooth cylinder conform instantly to his hand. It expanded perfectly to match the outline of his palm and fingers, forming a perfect shape to grip. A thin, glowing line appeared at the end of the device, extending a meter, bright yet impossibly thin.
"You toad shite. Give me that." Jaschot's arm swept around, grabbing at Priloe.
Neither boy could immediately process what occurred next as Jaschot's forearm separated and spun away harmlessly from the rest of his arm, having passed through the thin, glowing line. Blood instantly pumped from the open wound and sprayed onto Priloe and then Jaschot.
"What have you done?" Jaschot bellowed, falling to the ground.
Priloe dropped the device. The thin blade retracted and the grip once again transformed into a smooth, finger long cylinder. It rolled into a crevice and disappeared from sight.
As much as Priloe would have liked to leave Jaschot bleeding to death in the alcove, he knew it would go worse for him if he didn't at least try to get help. He grabbed a length of cord from his pack and quickly wrapped it around Jaschot's arm. He then broke off a thick stem from the root that made up the wall and used it to help him wind the cord into a tourniquet.
"You're dead," Jaschot said as Priloe helped him to the main room.
They'd caused enough commotion to have drawn the attention of a couple of the older boys who'd been lounging in their hammocks.
"What's this about?"
Priloe's blood ran cold. It was Sephre's voice.
"Jaschot. He's hurt," Priloe said.
"What happened?"
"It's the pigeon. He stole my grab today and he cut off my arm when I tried to get it back," Jaschot said.
"How did he manage that?"
"It hurts. Please get the doc," Jaschot pled.
Sephre stepped down from her chair that was hidden in the shadows. She was a bulky woman, with unruly, long, greasy black hair. Around her considerable girth, she wore a belt that held her prized blaster, which she now held up and pointed at Priloe.
"Is he telling the truth? Did you cut off his arm, Pigeon?" she asked.
This was the end. Priloe's only regret was that he would no longer be able to help his sister, Milenette. So far, he'd been able to keep her from Sephre's reach, but without his help, she'd either join Sephre's gang, be sold to slavers, or starve.
"Yes," he answered, closing his eyes and accepting his fate.
She fired the blaster and the smell of charred flesh burned Priloe's nose. The sound of a body crumpling to the ground forced him to open his eyes and he saw Jaschot, lying on the ground, dead.
"Phoma, drop him in the bog," she ordered. Priloe stood completely still. He knew he could easily be next. One of the larger boys dropped out of his hammock and approached the dead body.
"You've cost me a lot, Pigeon. Jaschot was one of my best. While I'm deciding what to do with you, how about you tell me how you managed to cut his arm off so cleanly."
Sephre had re-holstered her pistol and appeared distracted as she watched Phoma drag Jaschot's limp body away.
"I… I… don't know. It was tech that I grabbed from an off-worlder. Jaschot tried to steal it from me and it cut through his arm."
Sephre's eyes raised in interest. "Where is this tech? I doubt it will erase your debt, but it might prevent me from dropping two into the bog tonight."
"I dropped it. It's back… I think it fell through the ground."
"Well, that's very tidy. Find it or die. Agaric, why don't you accompany our young thief here so that he doesn't run away. And Priloe, if anything happens to Agaric, I'll send the entire gang after you."
A pock-marked, red-faced boy rolled out of his hammock and nodded in the direction of the alcove.
Blue Lagarto
Priloe fished his hand down between the logs where he'd last seen the small device fall. It did no good as he wasn't able to feel it.
"I have to go under," he said to his guard, Agaric. Priloe walked over to a narrow opening in the floor and slipped below.
"If you run, she'll kill you," the older boy said plainly. Priloe had always liked Agaric and knew what he was saying to be true.
"Where would I go?" Priloe looked back to the
older boy.
"I know." Agaric nodded his head in understanding. It meant something to Priloe that the other boy understood how hopeless he felt.
Beneath the floor, Priloe squirmed his way around the branches, inching his fingers toward the location where he imagined the device had fallen. A gleam of metal caught his eye as he shone his light down toward the bog. His heart sped up as his sharp eyes picked out the familiar shape of the object. It had slid down a dozen meters on a wide root and lay next to the water.
Only a desperate person would willingly get so close to the water's edge. Any number of hungry predators could be resting just beneath the surface, waiting for his approach. He turned off the light and allowed his eyes to adjust to the dim light of the glow-moss. There was no reason to attract any additional attention by bringing a man-made light down to the surface.
Slowly, he crept down the half meter diameter vine, wedging his bare feet between roots and squeezing head-first past the gnarled branches. He didn't like that there was an open pocket where the device lay and he rested quietly for a few moments, trying to discern if there were any animals about. He knew better, most bog monsters were ambushers, lying in wait for their prey, sometimes for days at a time. The location beneath the hovel was especially dangerous, as food and waste had filtered down over the years, attracting unwanted guests.
Priloe steeled himself and continued his descent. To return without the tech was certain death. He breathed a sigh of relief when his hand finally closed around the object. Once again, it recognized his grip and expanded comfortably to match his hand. This time however, the deadly thin blade didn't extend. He looked back at the water and shrugged. He'd obviously spun himself up for no reason.
The surface of the water exploded as the gaping maw of a blue lagarto lunged for him. Priloe had no choice but to jump to the side, landing in the water next to the four meter long lizard. The lizard's large maw snapped shut, missing, but it swung its head to the side, easily tracking Priloe's position. It was an ambush predator that had sprung its trap.
Cutpurse (Privateer Tales Book 6) Page 1
