She still didn’t know how he had forged the dueling contract. Everything about this city was revealing itself as deception and shadow—tricks of the light.
She focused her attention on getting back to the car.
Escaping this nightmare was her only hope.
She finally reached the bridge support and frowned at the rickety metal staircase attached to it, but having no other options, she began to climb.
She was out of breath by the time she reached the third landing. The air was so thick with moisture that it felt like breathing in a cloud. The world outside the staircase was lost in a sea of gray, and before long, even the ground was swallowed up.
When she finally reached the top of the bridge, she paused to catch her breath, then trudged the dozen yards to the lowered portcullis blocking entrance to the city.
A trio of guards sat in the murky shadows within the gateway. She could make out hands of cards being played as they talked.
Valerie leaned into one of the openings in the portcullis and shouted.
“Excuse me. Can you open this gate?”
“Get lost!” The guard speaking hadn’t even turned his head.
Valerie bristled. “Hey! Listen to me. I’m Valerie Terravecchia of the House of—” She cut herself off at the sight of her bare finger.
She wasn’t anyone anymore.
One of the men had looked up in curiosity at her shout, but now that it was evident she wasn’t continuing, he let his head dip back to his cards.
Valerie tucked her hand out of sight and tried again. “Listen, my car is parked downtown, near Sterling Plaza. I just need to get to it, and I’ll be out of your hair.”
One of the guards threw down his cards in frustration, obviously the loser of that hand. He slapped the table and stood. His eyes found Valerie a moment later.
“What is this ruckus you’re on about? What car?”
“It’s a Guardian 770 war car. I left it parked downtown.”
The guard smirked and turned to his card-player buddies. “Hey, get a load of this one. Claims she has a Guardian 770. Buzz off, little girl. The gates are closed to commoners till morning. Everybody knows that.” He waved her away, then wandered back to his card table and sat down.
“Hey! I’m serious!” Valerie shouted. “I promise, I just want to get to my car. Come back!”
“Was that really your Guardian?”
Valerie spun around to discover a boy of perhaps twelve watching her. He was astride a bicycle. His clothes were dirty and ragged, but his face was sympathetic. Valerie looked him over, then went back to pounding on the portcullis.
“They took that car away.”
Valerie turned to face him this time. “What? You know about my car?”
“Sure. All the kids were talking about it. Some came all the way from the smelters to see it. There hasn’t been a Guardian 770 in Port Hyacinth since . . . forever. Coleslaw says he’s seen one before, but Coleslaw lies about everything. He once made up that he seen a Belmont coupe convertible.” The boy grinned as if expecting Valerie to laugh. “But you know they never even made a convertible Belmont. Coleslaw is full of it.”
Valerie tried to piece together what he was saying. “Hang on. You or this Coleslaw person did see a Guardian though?”
“Sure. They took it to the impound, down on the South Side. I talked to the hauler. Said they’d never seen such a beautiful car.”
“Where is it now?”
He turned and pointed into the fog. “Outside the south city gate. The iron district. This side of the wall.”
Valerie studied the darkness in the direction he was pointing. “How far? Can I walk it?”
“I guess so. Might be a long time though.”
“God, aren’t there any cabs outside the walls? How does anyone get anywhere out here?”
The boy shrugged. “The worker trolleys start running at sunrise. No cars on the roads past eleven unless it’s official business.”
“I can’t wait till sunrise. I need to get out of this damn city right now.” Valerie studied the boy’s bicycle. “How much do you want for your bike?” She rummaged in her bag and found her wallet.
“It ain’t for sale,” the boy replied.
Valerie unsnapped her wallet and assessed how much cash she had. “Tell me a number, kid. I’m a lady, and I’m telling you I need your bike.”
“You can’t have it.”
Valerie again felt the urge to point to her hand but realized her signet ring was still missing. She frowned at her naked finger.
The boy turned his bike around and prepared to pedal away.
“Wait! Please. I need your help,” Valerie pleaded. “Tell me how to get to the impound. If you help me get there, I’ll . . . I’ll let you ride in the car.”
The boy put a foot down and studied her. “Really?”
“Really.”
“I guess I can let you ride on the back.”
“Of your bike?” Valerie asked.
“If you’ll be my girlfriend.”
“What?”
“I mean, you’re kind of beat up, but you’re still pretty,” the boy said.
Valerie put her hands on her hips. “You’ve sure got a mouth.”
The boy shrugged. “You want a ride or not?”
Valerie studied the long, dim road along the city wall. Even if it weren’t so far to walk, she felt a little company along the way would be welcome. Even a cheeky peasant boy was better than nothing.
“Fine. I’ll ride on the bike with you. How do we do that?”
The boy smiled. “You can have the seat. Just hold on to me and I’ll pedal.”
Valerie cursed her choice of clothing for yet another time today as she tried to figure out how to get on the bike without giving this kid a peep show.
“Turn around,” she ordered. “Don’t look this way for a minute.”
The boy seemed disappointed but complied. Valerie managed to get her leg over the bike and got herself seated. Her first order of business after getting the car back would be to locate some leggings.
“Okay. Now we can go.”
Valerie soon found herself rolling down the exit ramp with her feet in the air and a tight grip on the waist of a boy she couldn’t even conceive of talking to in other circumstances. Whatever had become of her life, she was grateful that at least no one she knew was around to see it.
She had somehow sunk to a level previously undreamt of. Even so, there was a slight familiarity here, a lingering memory from childhood. She recalled riding on the back of Henry’s bicycle as a child, feet splayed in a similar position, getting a lift home from school on the day someone had stolen her bicycle. It had been the tragedy of her life up to that point—the shock that anyone would take what was hers and get away with it. She recalled the indignation her young self felt at the injustice of that situation.
If she only knew.
After fifteen minutes of steady pedaling, they found the impound lot where the boy said it was. He laid his bike down in the grass near the entrance to the fenced lot, still breathing heavily from exertion.
“I can handle it from here,” Valerie said, tugging at the frayed hem of her shorts again. “Wait outside.”
“You said you’d give me a ride,” the boy replied.
“And I will once I get the car. Just stay here.”
Valerie entered the impound and made her way to an entrance station. The rotund clerk at the counter sized her up while sipping a cup of coffee.
“I’m here for my car,” Valerie said.
“Imagine that,” the woman replied. “You need to fill out the form.” She slid a clipboard across the counter and plopped a pen atop it.
Valerie dutifully entered her information on the form and handed it back.
The clerk glanced at it, then looked up in surprise. “You’re the one who owns the Guardian? Hang on a sec.” She ambled to an office door at the back of the room and cracked it open. “Bern, you wanted me to let you know
when the Guardian’s owner showed up. She’s here.”
“She?” A low voice emanated from the back office, and a chair scraped across the floor. A man that was almost twice the width of the clerk clomped his way out of the office and crossed the room to the counter. He was wearing a food-stained shirt with a name tag that said Bernard.
“That’s a hell of car you got there, Miss . . .” He reached for the clipboard and read the name she had written. “Terravecchia.”
“I’d like it back now,” Valerie replied.
Bernard shuffled a few papers. “Seems you left it unattended in a short-term parking area. Had to pull it.”
“I understand that,” Valerie said. “I’d just like to get it back.”
“There was a fine, of course,” Bernard replied, watching her carefully. “Even for ladies from noble families. Say, how old are you?”
“I don’t see how that’s relevant,” Valerie replied. “How much is the fine? If I can just pay it, I’ll be on my way.”
“It was a bit of a custom job towing that car,” Bernard replied. He licked his lips. “Didn’t have any of the standard hookups. Took extra work.”
Valerie simply waited, one hand on the wallet in her bag. It was clear he was sizing her up. If he knew the name Terravecchia, it wasn’t apparent. He certainly didn’t seem intimidated.
“Wasn’t easy,” Bernard continued.
“I’m sure nothing is for you,” Valerie muttered.
Bernard narrowed his eyes. “And what do you mean by that?”
Valerie tried to brush off the comment with a thin-lipped smile. “I only meant that this business is clearly complex. I don’t imagine just anyone can . . . tow cars and give them back.”
“It takes precision,” Bernard said. “Especially with a car like that.”
“I’m sure it does,” Valerie replied. “Now, about that fine. I really do have to get going.”
Bernard sized her up one more time, then sniffed. “Two hundred.”
Valerie balked. “What? Two hundred? To pull a car a couple of miles?”
Bernard crossed his arms. “Like I said, it was technical.”
Valerie muttered under her breath and thumbed through the cash in her wallet. She looked up and shook her head. “I don’t have that much.”
“Then I guess you don’t get your car tonight.”
“I need that car!” Valerie exclaimed. “It’s the only way I have to—just give it to me already, will you? Look, I’ve got . . . a hundred and sixty-five crowns. I swear that’s all I have.”
“Call your daddy then,” Bernard said.
Valerie felt her face warming. “How dare you speak to me like this! Do you have any idea who—if I have to call—” Valerie stumbled over her usual defenses. There was no one to call. She wasn’t even a noble anymore. She had no one left to ask for help. For all her fury, there was no curse she could invoke on this commoner to smite him back to his place.
Her righteous indignation seemed to have an effect, however. Bernard’s composure wavered. “Now don’t get upset . . . your ladyship. The car will still be here. If you need to make a call or come back, I promise we’ll hold it for you.”
Valerie choked back the profanity she wanted to unleash on him. “Very well,” she growled. “Can I have your assurance that the car will be safe and unmolested?”
“Of course, your ladyship,” Bernard said. Then cracked a smile. “With a small deposit.”
Valerie clenched her fist and prepared to unload on him, but once again she realized that she had nothing to hold over him. He had all the power and he knew it.
“How much is the deposit?” she asked.
Bernard was openly grinning now. “A hundred . . . and fifty.”
“A deposit of a hundred and fifty,” Valerie said. “Paid against two hundred. Fifty more gets the car.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“This is ridiculous,” she muttered. “Put it in writing.” She extracted some money from her wallet.
“Oh, I don’t think we need to do that. A deal is a deal around here.”
“In writing,” Valerie insisted. She held the money up. “Please.”
“I don’t mind writing something up,” the clerk interjected, visibly uncomfortable with the standoff.
“All right, fine,” Bernard replied. “But the deposit only gets you a week.”
“Usually it’s thirty days,” the clerk mumbled.
“What do you know about it?” Bernard said.
“Everything,” the clerk retorted. “Been here ten years, haven’t I?”
“I’d like the thirty days then,” Valerie said, as calmly as she could manage.
Bernard glared at the clerk, then stretched his hand out for the money. “Fifteen. Give it here.”
Valerie handed over the money and Bernard began to count it. The clerk sheepishly slid another form across the desk. She had already filled in the deposit amount. “The thirty days is in the boilerplate,” she whispered.
Valerie nodded but skimmed over the contract anyway. “I’ll be needing a copy of my own.”
The clerk slid a second form across the desk, and Valerie signed both. The clerk stamped them and added her own signature before folding Valerie’s copy into an envelope for her.
Bernard disappeared back into his office without further input.
Valerie tucked her wallet away and thanked the clerk. The woman gave her a nod. One small sign of solidarity against a system that was doing neither of them any favors.
Valerie then walked back out the door and pondered her options.
Two hundred crowns. Where on earth could she come up with another fifty this time of night?
The boy with the bicycle was still there, leaning against the fence.
“Where’s the car?”
“I need to make a phone call,” Valerie said. “Where’s the nearest pay phone around here?”
“You’re supposed to give me a ride in the Guardian.”
“Who says I’m not? But I need to make a call first.”
The boy eyed her suspiciously.
“Look, kid, am I your girlfriend or not? A boyfriend needs to help a girl out if she’s going to hang around.”
“What’s your name?” the boy asked. “If you’re my girlfriend, then I should at least know your name.”
“Val.”
“Val,” he repeated. “I’m Eli, like the prophet.”
“Can you foretell where we’ll find a pay phone, prophet Eli, because that would really help me out.”
Eli shrugged. “Maybe in the village?” He pointed down the coast road to a glow of lights. “One of the sailor bars probably has one.”
The village wasn’t much to look at from this distance, just a battered wharf full of dilapidated, clapboard buildings jammed between the two bridges that jutted out from this side of the city wall. Houses clung precariously to the steep hillside, and the road twisted into hairpin turns all the way there.
She had to hope that at least one of the establishments would have a public phone. Commoners weren’t entitled to private lines, but there would be a community one somewhere in the neighborhood. Even so, she eyed the wharf with suspicion.
She’d never lingered outside the city walls of Port Hyacinth before, especially at night. A rim village was far afield of the shopping districts and theaters she’d visited with friends from school. This place was already rougher than anywhere she’d been in her life.
The infrequent streetlights did a poor job of lighting the route, and there was a closed-off and inhospitable quality to everything in view, evidenced by barred windows and heavy, iron-reinforced doors. Even the shadows seemed laden with secrets. But there was nothing else to be done.
“Fine. Let’s go,” Valerie said, making up her mind before she could be convinced otherwise.
“You don’t want to ride?”
The acrobatics required to get back aboard the bike with her decency intact were more than she felt capable of at the m
oment.
“I’ll walk.”
Eli scooted along beside her as they went, coasting on the bicycle and stopping frequently to allow Valerie time to catch up. The ground grew progressively muddier as they worked their way to the village, and water sprayed up from the bike’s back tire as the boy rode ahead, speckling his back with mud. It reaffirmed Valerie’s choice to walk, though her boots were acquiring their share of filth as well.
Eli paused a dozen yards ahead, putting his foot down to wait for her.
What was this kid doing out so late? Didn’t he have parents worrying about him? Valerie almost voiced her concern but then thought better of it. If she offended him and he left, she’d be all alone out here and, selfishly, she wasn’t willing to part with him yet.
The nightlife along the wharf consisted of a half dozen fried fish stalls, several brothels, and a string of taverns that spilled flickering firelight and tinny music onto cobblestone streets. Somewhere, someone was singing.
Valerie got more than a few sideways glances from passersby as she walked along the waterfront. The swelling in her eye had lessened, allowing her to see where she was going, but she knew she must look terrible. She tried to arrange her hair to cover the bruised side of her face. She wasn’t sure how much it helped.
She spotted a sign on the side of a building that read “Public Phone.” An arrow pointed down a side street where another tavern stood perhaps a hundred yards away. There was a gigantic octopus on the sign. She immediately started down the street while Eli rode ahead, passing from one circle of streetlight to the next before disappearing into blackness in between. Valerie watched him fade into the darkness a block away but then fail to reappear in the next pool of light.
Was he waiting for her in the shadows?
“Hey, kid!” Valerie shouted.
A scuffling sound and a squeal followed. Then came a shout. It sounded like Eli.
Valerie dashed forward to the point where she had seen the boy vanish and found the opening to a side alley. Shadows in the alley were moving and shifting. A groan came from a puddle of darkness on the ground a short way in. At least two figures were standing over it. One was holding the bike.
Sword Fight Page 8
