The Moon Dwellers (29 page)

“So you’re travelers then?
What part of the Moon Realm a
re ya from?” the funny guy asks
.

Pr
obably remembering how well I’
d handled a similar questi
on in the pizzeria, Roc answers
this time.
“Subcha
pter six,” he says
.
“We’re just here for the night.
So many of your people have come to work in our subchapter that jobs are scarce
,
so we thought we’d have a look around at what you have to offer.”

I hold my breath, hoping he will buy the lie.
He does
n’t.

“Ha!” the man exclaims, so loudly he mak
e
s
me jump slightly.
“You’re sun dwellers if I’
m an eternal optimist.”
I freeze
, waiting for the tr
ouble to start.
As if he senses my discomfort, he adds
, “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with us.
We won’t give you any trouble.
Name’s Chip, ol’ Frankie was just messin’ with me earlier when he called me Chet.
He’s always purposely gettin’ my name wrong, callin’ me all kinds of things like Chaz, Chris
, and a whole lot of other name
s I can’t repeat in public.
What did your mothers call you
, anyway
?”

“I’m Tristan,” I blurt
out.
Stup
id, stupid, stupid.
Roc glances
nervo
usly at me.
He probably thinks I’ve
lost my mind.

I’m Roc,” he adds
quickly.

“
Tristy and Rocky…” the man says
, moving his tongue
in a circle
as if he i
s rolling the names around in
his mouth to see how they taste
.
“They’re good names, boys.”

I should just let it go.
But I do
n’t.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
If anything, my mother should have named me
Damn Fool.
“It’s not Tristy, i
t
’s Tristan,” I say
sternly.
“And we’re not boys.”

The man chuckles
, high and mirthfully.
“You’ve been hangin’ out with ol’ buzzkill ov
er here for too long,” Chip says
, motioning to Frankie.
“But as you wish, Tristan the
M
an.
”

“You can still call me Roc
ky,” Roc offers
unhelpfully.

I think we a
re out of the woods—clumsily dodging a bullet.
Wrong again.

“
Heyyy, wait a minute,” Chip says.
I kno
w exactly what the p
erplexed tone in his voice means.
He has
another question, probably a lo
t more questions.
Because he’
s
probably figured something out.
“You say your name’s Tristan, eh?”

“Uh, yeah, but you can call me Trist
y if you really want to,” I say, backtracking, hoping it will help, even though I know it wo
n’t.

“You’ve got a very famous name
, young man,” he says
.
“What’s your last name?”

I go blank
.
Not a single r
eal sun dweller last name pops
into my head
.
All I can think of i
s
:
“Goop…and…no…I…mean…Troop.”

“Tristan Goopandnoimeantroop?
What
kind of name is that?” Chip says
, laughing again.

“Sorry, I’m just a little lightheaded from all the
smoke out on the street,” I say
, shaking my head and trying t
o appear confused—not that it i
s that hard for me.
“My last name is spelled T-R-O-O-P-E, and is pronounced True-Pay.
It’s French.”
I
am
feeling clever all of a sudden.

“Tristan Troop-ay, huh?
Are you lyin’ to me again, young man?”

I have
the perfect come
back for
that.
“No,” I say
, not even convincing myself.

I get the feeling he may have worked it out already, and is ju
st enjoying himself, watching me flounder in my scummy old pond of lies.
I cringe, waiting for him to seal the deal.

“So you’re not Tristan Nailin, the son of President Nailin, the boy wonder who will one day become the most powerful man in the Tri-Realms?
You’re not
that
Tristan?” Chip asks
, his smile growing even wider—impossibly wide—spreading from ear to ear.

“I think you have me confused with—”

“Ha!
We’ve got a real treat tonight
,
everyone.
Tristan Nailin himself, in the flesh!
Well
,
bless my lucky stars!”

My instinct—especially after our encounter in the p
izza shop—i
s to be ready to f
ight, but the man’s tone sounds
lig
ht, friendly even.
Either he is a very good actor or he has
nothing against me.

With unexpe
cted swiftness, his tone changes
.
“Your father is a r
eal piece of work, son,” he says
in a low voice.

“And me?” I ask
, dreading the answer.

“Eh, I th
ink you’re al
l
right, kid.”
I am
so o
verjoyed by the fact that he does
n’t
harbor any ill feelings
toward
me that I manage
to ignore him calling me kid
again.
He continues
: “I have a good sense about people, ya know?
Just like I could tell you were lyin’ earlier, I can tell you have a good heart.
I think maybe you could be the one to make some positive change when you become president.”

“
I’ll never be president,” I say
honestly.

“For heaven’s sake, why not?”

I scan
the room.
T
he others in the cellar are
listening to the exchange in silence.
Their dark eyes feel
like those
of silent executioners.
I hope it i
s just my imagination.

I kno
w I should stop the conversation now—
for
G
od’s sake, shut your big, fat mouth!
—but I tell
them anyway.
“I’ve run away.
We’ve
run away.”
I interlock
my fingers to signify the collective of Roc and
I.
“I don’t want anything to do with my father or the Sun Realm.”

The guy with the smile winks
at me.
“You see?
I told you I knew you were one of the good guys.
”

I change
the subject, cutting my losses.
“So who do you thin
k is behind the attack?” I ask
.
Despite his age, the guy
does
seem percept
ive, and I really think
he might
have some valuable insight
s.
Instead, Roc jumps in.

“I think your love
for
that girl is so strong tha
t it causes explosions,” he says
playfully.

“Roc, no,” I say, but it is too late.
The talker seems
to enjoy clamping his mind around whate
ver topic i
s on the table.

“What girl?” he says
, leaning forward.

I warn
Roc off with
my eyes.
“Just a girl,” I say
.

“A girl
friend
?” he guesses
.

“Yeah, so
rta.
Just a girlfriend,” I say, hoping that will
e
nd the conversation.
But Roc i
sn’t ready to let it go.
Good friend.

“Yeah, Tristy and his girlfriend
just
had their first date,” Roc says
, smiling brightly.
“They almost even spoke to
each other this time.”
I want to slug him, but I do
n’
t think a spat of violence will
win me any points with the moon dwellers.

“A moon dweller?” Chip asks
, a gleam in his eyes.

I wait for Roc—who i
s suddenly feeling talkative—to answer, but instead he put
s his palm out to indicate it is my turn.
I wish there is a table I can
kick
him
under.

“Yes, she’s a moo
n dweller,” I say
.

“Well, why aren’t you with her?
’
Specially at a time like this.”

It is a good question.
I want to be with her, want to know she is okay.
I don’t think the guards recaptured her, but I ca
n’t be sure
,
as I was
a bit busy dodging flaming rubble at the time.

“I
don’t know where she is,” I say
, dropping my head.

“I might be ab
le to help with that,” Chip says
.
“I’m somewhat of an amateur
private investigator.
Where’
d you last see her?”

I know I am
approaching a d
angerous
level of truth, but I’ve
told them so much
already
—hell, they know I am
Tristan,
the
Tristan—so I decide to just go for it.
I need help, and if they can provide it, then I have
to accept
the risks
.
“Okay, l
ook.
Here’s the thing…”
I tell
them nearly everything.
The
strange feelings I had for
her the first time I saw her; our escap
e from the Sun Realm; how she was
trying to escape from the Pen when the bombs starting blowing up all aro
und us; and, finally, how she was
gone when the smoke cleared, like a magician performing
a
famous disappearing act.

When I finish, I sit back and wait for a response.
I’m not
sure what to exp
ect
.

Everyone starts
talking at once, asking questions, making comments.
The young
mother exclaims
, “That’s so ro
mantic!” while her husband says
definitively, “You’ve got to go after
her.”
The older couple, who’
ve previously been silent, speak
in succession: “I bet they went north,
” one says
, while the oth
er says
, “No, south, she must’
ve
gone south!”
Even the kids ge
t
involved.
The little girl says
, “Trista
n, do you love her?”
The boy i
s more interested in the action than the romance.
“Were you scared when the guards poin
ted their guns at her?” he asks
.

When the chatter
dies
down so
mewhat, I hear
a voice from m
y right, from the door, which i
s now
slightly ajar.
The woman who invited us in is standing there—I didn’t even notice
her arrival
and have
no idea how much she’
s
heard.
“She’ll be laying low for a few days with her friends, until things die down.
You might only have one chance to find her, because as soon as she makes a move, she’ll run as fast and as far
as she can.”
The woman sounds
wi
se beyond her years, like she’
s
expe
rienced everything that life has
to offer.
“What do you reckon, Chip?
She’ll head for the northeastern suburbs most likely, at least at first, don’t you think?”