by R J Theodore
Talis had an extra cup of coffee in the galley, to account for a long night of too much excitement and too-little sleep, but she was feeling energized enough on her own. She wanted to get in touch with the Tempest. Bill had promised to get her a name, but as he hadn’t turned up in time while they were still on Heddard Bay, she was starting from only ground-level rumors. It was time to dig up the old bones of her past relationships. Lindent Vein’s ring and the trouble it brought put a tarnish—and a bounty—on her name the last time she was here, and no one would come near her. But that was just business. She didn’t blame them and couldn’t imagine anyone would hold it against her, now the threats had expired.
She started at the postal counter. Message shuttling was the official business of the space, and while she rested her elbow on one side of the clerk’s counter, several couriers came in and out of the office, dressed in street clothes but wearing the shining pins that marked them as sanctioned workers. Scraps of paper, but few words, passed between them and the clerks. Then the couriers dashed back out the door on the next run, purposeful as hornets from their nest.
There were two round tables in the post office, around which sat several old men playing competitive card and chip games. They ignored Talis as she entered, but she recognized two of them. Once she posted up at the counter, it was only a few minutes before one card player folded his hand, got up, and approached her. His skin was weathered, his hair twisted up, wrapped in two prayerlocks from behind each ear, and secured in place with a brass hairpin. He had an eyepatch over his right eye. Talis was fairly certain it used to be worn over his left.
“How’s your luck today?” she asked him idly, continuing to scan the room as though she were patiently waiting for a message.
“Rotten,” said the man, leaning forward on the counter. “But yours may be better. Haven’t heard a curse cross Talbot’s tongue with your name on it for a while now. Might be he’s forgiven you.”
She smirked. She’d left him with the tab at their last meeting and hadn’t been polite about it. “He’ll be fine. I’ll buy him a real round. Where can I find him?”
“Where do you think? Now’s as good a time as any. His next appointment isn’t due until this evening. He’ll be doing the books.”
“That gonna put him in what kind of mood, now?”
“This week, better than most. But he’ll be open to having another hull out there doing his business.” He pushed back upright and nonchalantly scratched at the side of his neck. His hand paused, open, halfway back to his waist.
She nodded and tipped the man a pair of silver presscoins. She was overpaying. And she could rely on Talbot knowing about it before she got to the Docked Tail for her ‘unannounced’ visit.
“Anyone else?” She asked the air casually, not looking around the room. In the corner of her eye, she observed one finger twitch upward in the air. Scrawny, mean-looking bastard, with a scar around his neck like someone had tried to give him a ruby necklace. From the look of him, Talis could just imagine what he’d given in return. Knew that one. Calico’s boy, and not someone she’d imagine would change bosses without saying more. So it was Calico or Talbot.
“Pass.” She slid a presscoin hard against the counter, to the clerk who caught it without looking up. Tariff for the woman’s silence.
That hadn’t taken long as it could have. Not nearly as long as it had last time, when she was shopping the ring around. Good sign. Had to be. Either that, or she’d forgotten what it was like to do business without someone else spreading bad news ahead of her.
The Docked Tail tavern was at the edge of the Red Candle District, two levels down from the postal office. There were short cuts, or should have been. Talis was reminded of how long it had been since she’d last visited Subrosa as she made her way through one familiar alley only to find the end boarded up. Noisy music flooded between the unfamiliar patched polyboard panels, and a thud sounded from the other side as someone dropped something heavy against what must have looked to them like a solid wall. She patted the flat surface of the dead end, one of Subrosa’s not-unexpected modifications and headed back the way she came.
As she turned down another alley, there was a rustle, then the metallic clang of a can getting knocked over. It jumped and rolled out from behind a barricade of trash cans, spinning as it struck the opposite side of the narrow between two shops. Talis put a hand on her belt, flicking open the holster of her revolver.
“Come on out, you.” She’d feel horrendously foolish if it were only a rodent, but at least it wouldn’t tell on her.
Instead, something very pale scurried out from behind a pile of empty crates, making for the other end of the alley. It crossed in front of an open door with an uneven gait and froze, silhouetted against a backdrop of smoke from the kitchen. It was reed-thin, angular, crouched, and cowering. Someone within, coughing and muttering, shut the door, and the shadow vanished.
“What in five hells . . .” Talis squinted into the dim alley, trying to follow the willowy shape without tripping over the garbage that collected along the floor. In the darkness, tucked into shadow, she felt the thing’s gaze on her.
“Damned kids weren’t playing,” she said. Subrosa, apparently, was truly haunted after all.
But that was no ghost.
“Scrimshaw,” she hissed out, only loud enough for it to carry across the ten or so paces between them. “It’s me.”
There was no movement, but the prickle on the back of her neck kicked up ten notches, and a chill hit the gap under her shoulder blades.
It took a minute to remember her Yu’keem lessons, but she dusted off some of the old vocabulary and called out again in Scrimshaw’s own language. It was like trying to gargle nails and sing a lullaby at the same time. Sophie would’ve done it better.
She crept closer. Tentative, though the alien hadn’t done anything more threatening than stare at her from the darkness.
Or so she thought. Reaching the dark corner where she’d seen xin stop, she found it empty. A panel in the wall there was rotted out and moved like a flap of wet cardboard beneath her hand.
Never mind yelling at vermin, she’d been talking to nothing.
But that had been Scrimshaw, no doubt in her mind. Hadn’t gotten much of a look, but something about the movement looked right. Scrimshaw had lost xist leg—another thank-you card to address to Hankirk—and had a crutch when they landed on Heddard Bay.
But xe was here. How’d that happen? Subrosa would be about the least friendly place she could imagine an alien making camp. Aside, of course, from the Bone islands. The tocks would have been kinder company. How many Peridot natives would know that in Yu’Nyun society, someone as badly scarred as Scrimshaw would be an outcast? Talis was betting not many. Fewer would give xin a chance to explain.
No wonder the crime bosses had sent their pipsqueak assassins out after the ‘goste’ of Subrosa. Surely other, more skilled blades were also on the hunt.
Two years. Hells, what kind of life had that been?
But xe’d escaped Hankirk. Somehow avoided the fate that had been reported by Diadem. And after all that, had decided to survive. Talis wasn’t sorry to know it.
She’d been stuck in enough tight, dark spaces in her life to know better than to duck her head and shoulders into the rotted hole after xin. She stood in the mouth of the alley, staring at what she thought was xist shadow for so long, xe could have gone anywhere. Subrosa was ideal for getting lost.
But Scrimshaw stayed on her mind the entire way to The Docked Tail, and she nearly forgot to straighten her spine and emphasize her swagger as she entered the bar. She remembered herself just as the goateed man looked up from the logbooks and ledgers spread out on the booth table before him.
If she’d avoided the detours, she might have been around to witness his true reaction to news of her continued existence and return to Subrosa. But as Talbot sat u
p from his accounts, she knew by the lazy smile and casual slouch that he’d gotten warning of her arrival. Probably would have known well in advance even if she’d managed not to get turned around—or distracted by ghosts.
“Captain Talis! As I live and scheme.” He called over her shoulder to the bartender. “Open the lady a new tab.”
Talis ignored the remark. She’d have happily paid last time if Talbot hadn’t been so stubborn. What little coin she had in her pocket that day needed to stretch until they found work.
And found work they had, only an hour later. One million, seventy-five thousand presscoins packed neatly in alien coffers. Hadn’t occurred to her to hunt him down and make good on the tab. She’d been distracted.
Sliding into the booth across the table from him, she glanced across his ledgers, scanning them without making it look like she was looking.
“Unrest in the capital treating you well, Talbot?”
“Good as ever,” he said, flipping the book covers closed. It was a calculated move. He left those books out when he heard she was coming, she knew. Wanted her to notice the positive balances, and to know he didn’t need her in the slightest. Whatever she was offering, he could take it or leave it based on his own whims. “When’d you get back in the world?”
The bartender, same silent, gruff man as had always wiped the bar top with the same dingy rag, brought a pair of beers over to the table. She looked up at him. Would have greeted him by name, but she didn’t know it. That was the point of The Docked Tail. Total anonymity and apathy were as guaranteed as salt on the bar nuts.
“I’ll take a stout porter on the next round,” she told him.
The beer was for business. Pale as piss, it was mercifully watered down to minimize its flavor. The low alcohol content made it easier to bargain. And it was cheap. By ordering a real drink, Talis signaled her mood and her fortunes. Talbot played relaxed, but she read the droop of his shoulders as he let down his guard a bit.
Talbot arched his left eyebrow high. “I’ll pay for that stout if you tell me where you been.”
Talis took a long pull from the beer. There was no head on it, and it was easy to tilt it back and let the tepid liquid rinse the smell and flavors of Subrosa’s narrows out of her mouth. She tongued her golden canine as she placed the beer down on the table.
“To all five hells and back is where,” she finally responded.
“Word is Wind Sabre ain’t in dock.”
“She’s docked for good. Flotsam.” Twice today she’d had that memory dredged up and had to put words to it.
His face flinched with a mixture of pity and surprise before he reined it in. No one had known that, aside from Jones, but Jones didn’t traffic in information. One of the few on Subrosa who kept his nose clean. Made ships, not enemies.
Talbot rubbed his hand across his chin, ruffling the goatee and then smoothing it again. The tattoos running from his fingertips out of sight up his sleeve were fresh the last time she drank with him. Now the marks were dark green instead of black, the crisp sigil lines healed and soft. Another reminder of how long it had been.
“That’s a shame. Lovely ship.”
“Wait ’til you see the next one,” Talis said, consciously burying the heartache with anticipation. “My girl has Jones’s shipyard in a spin with her design. You’ll be wanting to upgrade your own when you see it.”
“You lost your ship. You been missing for two years. Say you had a rough time of it. So where, in all those five hells, you find capital for a new tub?”
“Not with you, you bastard.” She finished her beer and set it down with a light thud. The bartender came silently, navigating his familiar creaking floorboards, to trade the empty glass for the requested pint of dark brown liquid. The foam threatened to spill over the lip but subsided again before it breached the surface tension. She could smell the malt across the table.
Talbot spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I’m glad you figured your way out of the trouble that ring brought. I didn’t know a way to navigate that mess myself. Believed you could do it, though.”
She scoffed and leaned back in the seat to enjoy the fresh drink. “You didn’t think anyone could do it, or you’d have consigned it in a heartbeat, you sly fox. You knew what I was in for.”
“I did try to warn you.”
“I didn’t need a warning. I needed a way out that wouldn’t leave my ship adrift and in need of a tow I couldn’t afford.”
“And instead you wound up sinking her.”
Talis closed her eyes, took another sip and, after that, a calming breath. They’d always bantered, but this was a touchy subject. She didn’t come here to argue with him.
“But I could afford the tow if there’d been any ship left to drag into port.” She forced herself to smile and wink, then leaned forward again. “Talbot, I didn’t come here to travel backward. My crew and I have a ship, and we’re ready to get back to work, but this time in global business. I want to talk to the leader of the Tempest.”
Talbot leaned across the table to meet her hushed tones. Business in whispers, that’s how it was done in Subrosa.
“And you think I know them?”
“I think you know anything worth knowing. Something like that is worth knowing.”
He sat back, looking at her like he was trying to make a decision, and somehow, it was harder even than the decision to refuse to fence that troublesome ring.
“I got a job for you, Talis. I know you think you’re bigger than a little contract now, but it would mean a lot to me.”
“How much?”
“I swear I’m not negotiating this time. You being out of things for a while means you’re the only one I can trust. You’ve noticed the Rosan guard about?”
She squinted at him and turned as if to regard him out of the corner of her eye. “I have. Has everyone gone on the take in Subrosa?”
“Far flung opposite. Everyone’s under pressure. Thumbs on all the sore spots. Everyone getting titchy. As likely to turn me in as complete the task.”
Talis sipped her malt and resisted the urge to chew her lip as she swallowed. “I thought something seemed off, but thought it was us.”
Talbot shook his head.
“I’ll consider it. What’s the job?”
“A run for Haelli. A bit of Yu’Nyun tech. You can imagine the caution I’ve got to exercise around that. The Vein universities there will pay for my early retirement, if I can get it to them.”
“The borders are open. Why not run it yourself?”
“Can’t spare the time away from my holdings here. It’s . . . complicated.”
Talis breathed through her nose. She had her own small parcel of Yu’Nyun tech to run past the Vein researchers. It was a nice coincidence. If that’s what it was. But how could Talbot have known she was going to walk back into the world today? Everyone who knew she left Heddard Bay was on her ship or in a Bone temple prison.
“If I take this run, what about my request? The Tempest.”
He stroked his goatee again, a familiar motion to sooth his unease. “If you’re sure that’s what you want. They’re more than relief. They’re putting together an army.”
Nodding, Talis leaned back again. “That’s what I heard and why I want to talk to them.”
“Not what I mean. They’ve got kids fighting for them. Growing up too fast or not at all.”
“Isn’t that the truth of Subrosa as a whole?”
“Rats got a better chance of growing up intact than Tempest kids, from what I hear.”
Talis frowned. “If you’ve got a name, I guess I’ll learn for myself. But I appreciate the warning.”
She held out a hand. He hesitated a moment, then gripped her forearm, and slid an envelope forward. “Delivery will meet you at the docks later tonight.”
“We’re in Jones’s y
ard until tomorrow.”
“Even better. Less traffic to keep tabs on my courier.”
She nodded. Good enough. And after they were underway, she could take a peek at what goods he was sending to Haelli, and Kirna and Amos could sort out the solution to that nasty Yu gunk.
She didn’t let go of his hand. Instead she tilted her head to indicate the arcane tattoos running up under his clothes. “Ever get to prove their value?”
The tattoos extended all the way up to his shoulders, she knew. He’d gone off to some Rakkar cult in the caves around an ancient temple to get them, chasing a rumor that the marks would take his already skilled stealth and charisma to the next level. When they were fresh, he’d gone sleeveless in the chill of the uninsulated bar, complaining the unhealed work was staining his best shirts. She’d wondered why he’d bothered at the time. He was running a booking and contracting office and didn’t need to slip his fingers into another pocket for the rest of his life. Having been out of action for two years herself, she finally understood why he couldn’t abandon the life of a pickpocket entirely.
Talbot pulled his hand back and flexed his fingers as though the knuckles were sore. The inked skin stretched and relaxed with the movements. He touched the pinkie and pointer finger of one hand to either side of a symbol tattooed on the bottom joint of the opposite hand’s middle finger. There was a tiny spark, followed by the whiff of ozone.
“Yeah, got ’em working. Took a knife to the throat of the woman who put ’em on me before she explained how they actually work. Gotta match ’em up like cards to get the effect to kick in. Otherwise they’re just swirly ornamentation. But when you have the proper understanding, it’s a thousand different combinations and possibilities for mischief.”
She stayed to reminisce for two more pints of stout and several more tattoo glyph demonstrations, including one for charisma that had her nearly slipping onto his lap. He released the effects in time to avoid getting slapped when her head cleared, and she chose that as a good moment to bid him farewell, grateful that it was on better terms than last time. As she rose, she tossed two polished silver presscoins onto the table—enough to cover his tab for the rest of the night—and floated out of the bar.
