Pelquin's Comet (23 page)

She paused before the jeweller’s, which, with its dark marble shop front, struck her as far too daunting to venture into. Not that this stopped her from staring in at the gorgeous pieces on display. Taking centre stage was a wonderfully crafted ring featuring an imposing solitaire diamond. As she watched, the ring disappeared, and she realised this was a holographic projection showcasing choice items that were doubtless held safely in the shop’s interior. The projection had been faultless, and she would never have known she wasn’t seeing the ring itself. A teardrop pendant, the like of which she’d never seen before, replaced the ring. The stone rippled with red, orange and yellow, like a drop of condensed flame.

Even Bren was impressed enough to comment, “Yeah, I know; a firestone. Gorgeous isn’t it? After we’ve come back from this job you’ll be able to afford everything in that window and more.”

Leesa knew by this stage that they were on a cache hunt. The way Pelquin had sold it to her, she was to get half a share – half of whatever the regular crew got. In effect, one share was to be split between her and Monkey Palmer, the injured mechanic she’d replaced. That way, none of the others lost out through her coming aboard, she could still walk away a wealthy woman, and Monkey was compensated despite missing the trip. As compromises went, it worked for her.

“This is the second fanciest shopping street in Victoria,” Bren was explaining.

“The fanciest would be…?”

“The one we’re going to be turning into shortly: the Row,” and Bren gestured ahead to where the street they were on ended in a T-junction. “Home to the swankiest, most exclusive shops – sorry, boutiques – this side of New Sparta.”

“And the shop we’re going to, that’s on this Row, is it?”

“Good Lord, no,” and Bren laughed. “Mokhy’s got his faults but he’s not
that
much up himself. They wouldn’t let him set foot in most of the shops on the Row, let alone own one of them. Mokhtar’s place is sort of off-off-Row. See, the Row contains the crème-de-la-crème; off-Row you’ll find places which can claim to be almost as good as the Row but not quite; off-off-Row are the ones that would like to be. Though, in Mokhy’s case, he doesn’t try too hard. You’ll see what I mean when we get there.”

They turned left into the street that Bren had called the Row. Despite lacking the trees down its centre, the Row seemed similar to the boulevard they’d just left but even more so. The facades of the shops were magnificent, the window displays works of art in their own right, yet Leesa would have hesitated to enter any of them. She was used to shops’ windows that were designed to entice you in, whereas these all seemed to do the opposite; they were more intimidating than inviting – presumably because she wasn’t their target audience – and she wasn’t sure whether to feel fascinated or appalled.

The store fronts slipped past – a sparsely chic boutique decked out entirely in white, the shop’s name spelled out in what might have been diamonds, a designer outlet, another boutique, and then an art gallery. This one she granted a little more attention. Although the artist’s name meant nothing to her, there was something about the large, bold abstract piece claiming centre stage – a cascading collision of brightly coloured geometric shapes which seemed to leap out of the frame – that appealed to her. Reluctantly, she moved on. Bren had kept walking, forcing her to catch up.

They were only on the Row for a mercifully brief time. Shortly after the gallery they took a turning to the right, giving her senses a much needed break; though at first the stores here seemed indistinguishable from those on the broader street they’d just left. That soon changed, and Leesa realised it only applied to those at the very top, the ones clinging to the Row’s grandeur. Beyond these first few the shops became more approachable and less likely to inspire sensory overload. Leesa found them all the more appealing as a result.

Bren stopped at one of them and darted inside, saying, “Wait here a sec.” The shop was a vintners of considerable distinction to judge by the window display and the prices. Bren soon emerged with a bottle wrapped in paper.

Another minute’s walk and Bren took them right again, this time into a narrow street which lacked any of the pizzazz of the Row. Shops had been largely replaced by cafés and eateries, and the stores they now encountered reminded Leesa of those back in La Gossa. The window displays were busy and crowded, presumably adhering to the principles of scattershot marketing: throw enough temptation at the customers and something’s bound to stick; while pulsing lights thrust the latest bargain discount at browsers’ consciousness like a blade; a pretty blunted and ineffectual one perhaps, but the intent was there.

Leesa assumed their destination was one of these stores, but instead it was tucked just around another corner. She had a fleeting opportunity to take in the crowded window before Bren led the way inside. The window displayed a bizarrely varied selection of goods, from items of clothing – the rugged, outdoors variety – to ornaments and knick-knacks, stopping off at hunting knives and camping equipment – self-erecting tents, water purifiers, instant-light fires etc – and kitchen gadgets. The confused impression only intensified once she stepped through the door. The shop was far bigger than it appeared on the outside and she found herself in a bursting-at-the-seams wonderland of wildly varying goods, which inhabited front-to-back aisles to her left, stood in haphazardly piled stacks at the end of each aisle, and even climbed up the wall to her right.

Immediately in front of her stood a counter, behind which leaned a tall, slender man. He was handing across a wrapped parcel to an affluent-looking couple who smiled and thanked him, clearly delighted at their purchase. His return smile as he said, “Do call again,” was warm and friendly, though Leesa wasn’t so sure about the gold tooth which glinted in the process.

She stood aside to let the couple pass. As soon as they had exited, the man came out from behind the counter, his arms spread wide. “Brenda, my dear friend! What a lovely surprise. I had no idea the
Comet
was back in port.” He hugged the object of his greeting, who didn’t look entirely comfortable with the embrace but endured it stoically.

“Hi, Mokhy, it’s good to see you, too,” she said. “We just landed.”

“And who is this delightful creature?” he asked, releasing Bren.

“This is Leesa. She’s standing in for Monkey on this trip. Leesa, meet Mokhy.”

“Enchanted,” and the tall man stooped into a half bow, taking and kissing Leesa’s right hand. The gesture, which would have irritated the hell out of her from most people, struck her as charming coming from him. He had kind eyes, she decided, and found herself smiling.

“So, it’s just you two? Pelquin too busy to call on an old friend, is he?”

“He sends his apologies – we’re not stopping long – but he did ask me to give you this.” Bren held out the bottle.

He took it eagerly, pulling aside the paper wrapping. His smile broadened. “Ah, Tarkhillan brandy! What a gentleman Captain Pelquin is. Come, come, you must sample this with me.”

“That’s very kind, but I’m not sure…”

“I’ll not take no for an answer, Bren! Tarkhillan should never be drunk alone. It requires the appreciation of friends! Now, come on through, please.” He beckoned them behind the counter and into a cluttered back room. Bren hadn’t resisted too hard, Leesa noted.

A boy was asleep, or feigning sleep, in one of the two chairs that stood by a small dining table, his head slumped on his chest, feet up on the table itself.

“Get your shoes off there!” Mokhtar snapped, physically pushing them off at the same time. The boy – in his early or mid-teens by the look of him – jumped to his feet, startled. The lad was scrawny and a little gangly, having yet to fully grow into his frame.

“Now go and make yourself useful by minding the shop, eh?” Mokhtar said. “Can’t you see I have visitors?”

The lad scurried out without speaking, though casting an inquisitive look in their direction. Mokhtar watched him go and shook his head. “My sister’s boy,” he explained apologetically, turning back to his guests. “About as much use as an unperforated sieve, but he’s family; what’s a man to do? Sit, sit!” He gestured towards the two dining chairs.

Following Bren’s example, Leesa sat as instructed; she wouldn’t have dared do otherwise in the face of Mokhtar’s earnest imploring. The man himself hastily removed a biscuit tin and a small pile of folded sheets from an armchair, placing them on the floor before pulling the chair forward. He then took three small tumblers from a head-height cupboard, holding each up in turn and examining it critically against the room’s single light. He then plonked the three glasses down on the table and himself into the armchair, which he shuffled forward a few steps in order to reach the table.

Having done that, he picked up the bottle of Tarkhillan, broke the seal, and pulled out what looked to be a genuine cork stopper, which he sniffed with great dignity, declaring, “Nectar!”

Three generous measures of caramel-brown brandy were then poured into the glasses. They each took one. Mokhtar held his up in salute, saying, “To the crew of
Pelquin’s Comet
. May her stardrive never falter and her shower units never pack up mid-journey.”

“I’ll drink to that!” Bren agreed.

Cold fire hit the back of Leesa’s throat as she joined in, while her mouth filled with the tastes of caramel and alcohol. The whole experience was powerful but inexplicably smooth; there was fire here, but it was fire that had been tamed. “Wow!” she said, holding up her glass to look at the brandy that remained within. “That’s fantastic.”

Mokhtar grinned. “Isn’t it?” He turned to Bren. “I see why you let this one on board, Bren. We have here a lady of discerning taste. You should carry a bottle of Tarkhillan with you and use it, sparingly of course, as part of the interview process for new crew.”

“Not a bad idea. I might recommend it to the captain.”

He laughed, and topped up their glasses.

After another refill, Mokhtar’s demeanour turned more serious. “So, you’ve come here just to catch up with an old friend, or is there something I can do for you?”

“Actually, there is something…”

“I thought so,” and he wagged a mischievous finger at Bren. “What is it you’re after, Brenda? Something difficult to get hold of, something not available over the counter, something a little… illicit, perhaps?”

“Sorry, Mokhy, I’m not looking to
buy
anything as such. Pel sent me to collect an item he left with you for safe keeping; told me to say that he’d given it to you against future need and that the need is now.”

Mokhtar’s expression turned even more serious. “Did he now? And what exactly is this object you’ve been sent to retrieve?”

“No idea. I was assuming you’d know.”

He nodded, slowly, his gaze never leaving her. Then he stood up, walked across to a sink unit which occupied the wall behind him, and knelt down to open the door of the cupboard beneath. Various tins and cartons were pulled out and left haphazardly on the floor so that Mokhtar could reach all the way to the back. He then took out a large white tile, presumably from the wall itself, which he placed down with greater care, and, seconds later, drew out a long leather box, which he brought across and placed on the table. It reminded Leesa of the fancy case a piece of expensive jewellery might be presented in, but larger.

Mokhtar stood there, both hands resting on the table, leaning forward and staring first at Leesa and then at Bren.

“Do you have any idea what this is?”

“No,” Bren said, “and I don’t need to know.”

“Oh, but I think you should,” he said. “Nobody should deliver something like this without knowing what it is they carry.” With that, he opened the hinged lid of the case and, taking almost reverent care, lifted away the cloth beneath to reveal the most beautiful weapon Leesa had ever seen. It resembled an old-style pistol, though with a greatly elongated barrel – half a metre and then some. Three quarters of the way along that barrel a small ridge of metal disfigured its underside: the stand, for resting on a wall or table or other convenient surface to steady the gun and ensure maximum accuracy. Another difference was that the gun’s two sights, both front and rear, were clustered just above the handle, close to where the rear sight would be on a standard pistol; in this instance they were merely the frame for the virtual sighting system that would appear when the gun was activated.

“
Now
do you know what this is?”

“I was in the army for five years, Mokhy,” Bren said. “Of course I know what it is.”

So did Leesa, though she couldn’t have said how: it was a needler. Not the type of thing you’d necessarily wanted to carry into battle – too specific, too tightly focused, too limited – but a formidable weapon all the same. This was a specialist piece of kit; an assassin’s gun.

“Best sighting system ever invented,” Mokhtar said. “You can see through solid walls with this thing, and shoot through them as well, of course. It allows you to set up multiple targets and take them out in quick succession without the need to adjust or recalibrate. A beautiful tool, isn’t she?”

“And you’re sure this is what Pel wanted me to collect?”

“I’m certain. This is the only thing your captain has ever left with me, along with instructions to safeguard the gun on pain of death, torture, and the ruining of my good name – though perhaps not in that specific order.”

“Makes sense, I suppose.” Bren still didn’t look certain, as if she was trying to convince herself. “He wouldn’t want to keep this on the
Comet
, that’s for sure; couldn’t risk it being found in a customs search. It’d be an instant prison sentence for anyone caught holding one of these and, as I recall, we were the subject of some pretty intense attention from the local pols last time we were here.”

“Precisely,” Mokhtar said, spreading his hands. “So
I
have taken that risk, on behalf of my good friend Captain Pelquin.”

Leesa couldn’t begin to imagine what Mokhtar had demanded from Pelquin in return. On reflection, she probably didn’t want to know.