WARP world (33 page)

“And the authorities will know that. Can your magic…the device you used on her leg after the drexla attack, can it help her?” Brin asked Seg, his tone unapologetically desperate.

Again, Seg flinched. His secret had been shared. As he continued to stare at Ama, to his surprise, no anger rose in him despite her betrayal. “Yes, but my…devices are hidden on Ama’s boat. Get me on there and I can save her.”

“Tonight,” Brin said to Seg, coming to a sudden decision. “We’ll wait for darkness, it’s the only way, but we should hide her in case…” he paused, then turned to his offspring. “Children, fetch our guest some food and drink,” he ordered, then waited for them to leave the room before speaking again.

“I’ve got a safe room beneath this cottage; we’ll move her there. I have no time to vet you, and no reason to trust you, but it seems you’ve saved my cousin, so for that I am indebted.” He made the admission grudgingly. “We have lost Stevan, we mustn’t lose Ama. But you should know that if you speak on what you see here, your life is forfeit.”

Seg nodded.

“The authorities will be on the prowl. You need to hide. I have matters to attend to but I will return before sunset.”

“Wait,” Seg said. “If you can get me a head count on who is securing the boat—an accurate count—as well as their positions, I can handle the rest.”

Brin almost laughed. Given how ridiculous he must have appeared—dripping and shivering, in nothing but an undershirt and trousers, half the width of the man before him, announcing he would handle a boatload of armed constables by himself—Seg lauded the man’s restraint.

“Leave this to those who have experience in these matters,” Brin said.

“I will make my way onto that boat with or without your assistance. I won’t let her die because of your ignorance.”

“Ignorance?” Brin stepped closer to Seg, eclipsing him. Seg stood his ground against the mountainous Kenda.

“Brin!” the man’s wife snapped in a forceful whisper, then directed her gaze to Ama, deathly still on the bed.

Brin stepped back and Seg had the distinct impression that he was being assessed.

“I don’t need fighters,” Seg continued, “I just need eyes and a head count. Ama’s spoken of me; you have some idea of what I am capable of.”

Once more, Brin looked to Ama, pale as a corpse, then back at Seg.

“Very well,” he said, “you can wait for me to return with the information or you can come with me once we’ve moved my cousin to safety. I can outfit you in something less conspicuous, try to pass you off as one of my workers, or hide you in the cartul. Your choice.”

“I am not Kenda, as you know, and could not pass well for one. You can hide me, and if need be you can signal me.” He reached out and laid his hand on Brin’s forearm, aware, once more, of the ridiculous contrast between his skinny forearm and that of the burly Kenda’s. “Because if it comes to it Ama is…” he hesitated, looked down, looked away, then back at Brin, “I have killed to protect her. You are hers and you are protecting her, and I will protect you. And—” he paused, “and I want those bastards to bleed.”

Brin smiled but not in jest. “Then let’s make them bleed, my friend.”

“You’ll put on some dry clothes before you leave this house,” Brin’s wife ordered Seg, as the children returned with a pitcher and some bread. “Unless you want to fall ill from chills before you die at the hands of the authorities.”

Seg opened his mouth but Brin raised a hand, “You won’t argue with Perla, if you have a drop of sense in your head.”

“Of course, I’d be glad to—” The bang of the front door opening silenced Seg. All sets of eyes moved in the same direction at once. Perla waved the children over to her. Seg’s hand moved to the pistol hidden in his pocket.

“Brin?”

Geras’s voice; Perla let out a held breath, Seg tensed.

“I’ll handle this,” Brin said, and stepped to the doorway just in time to block Geras from entering.

“Cousin?” Geras asked, head cocked, craning to see past him. “I just came from the docks, there’s constables all over the
Naida
, what’s…” His eyes found Seg, his nostrils flared and he tried to push past Brin. “What’s he doing here? Where’s Ama?”

“She’s alive,” Brin told him, both hands on his shoulders. “And you’ll stay civil until the explanations are given.”

Geras continued to fume but he nodded and Brin swung sideways to let him enter. He crossed the room in three loping steps, then knelt at his sister’s side. “Tadpole,” he whispered.

“She was at the temple, with Stevan,” Brin began, pacing his words, keeping his tone low and even. “I don’t know the full story yet, I will learn it. But…” he took a breath, “the authorities were there, Stevan was killed, Ama was shot and Seg brought her here.”

Geras bowed his head, grasped Ama’s limp hand in his and pressed it to his forehead.

“We’re going to get Seg on the
Naida
, he has a healing device hidden there that can save her.”

Geras laid Ama’s hand back at her side, stood and faced his cousin. “And you believe him?”

“Ama showed me the marks from drexla spines that opened her skin; healed by his device,” Brin answered.

“No one survives drexla poison,” Geras shifted his attention to Seg.

“The auto-med is designed to formulate antivenom, as long as the toxin isn’t too complex,” Seg explained, a wary eye on Ama’s brother.

“And your device can heal a banger wound?” Geras asked.

“We’ll have to remove the projectile,” he said and looked to Ama, “but the auto-med will provide a detailed picture of—”

Geras’s fist caught Seg on the chin. His jaw slung to one side, his legs gave way and he stumbled backward into the wall. Brin was between the two of them before Geras could strike again.

“We don’t have time for this.” Brin’s voice was low but firm.

“He’s the reason she’s lying here,” Geras growled.

“Perhaps,” Brin answered, his voice calm.

“Stevan’s death could be his doing.”

“Possibly.”

“But you defend him?”

“I do what’s best for my people.” Brin darted a glance at Seg, who was righting himself and recovering from the blow.

“If my sister dies, he dies,” Geras jabbed a finger at Seg.

“That’s enough!” Perla piped up. The children hovered behind her, eyes wide and fearful. At the sight, Geras lowered his arm and backed away a step.

“Move Ama to the safe room,” Brin ordered Geras. “You’ll stay here to watch over everyone until I return. I’ll leave my seft for you. If there’s trouble, you know where to go.”

Geras grumbled and nodded reluctantly.

Brin turned to Seg, “You’ll help me hitch the cartul while Perla fetches you some dry clothes.” Orders delivered, he strode out of the room.

Once out of the cottage, Seg lengthened his stride, to catch up to Brin.

Brin nodded to the pocket that held Seg’s pistol; the pocket Seg had dipped his hand into after Geras’s punch. “Thank you for not killing my cousin in front of my children.”

“You could have let him finish me off before I had a chance,” Seg replied.

“I promised Ama no one would harm you, and I’ll keep that promise as long as she lives.”

Seg was silent for a moment, “I could say the same.”

Brin nodded. “Then we’d best not let her die, if we are to remain allies.”

S
eg wasn’t the first person or object to be smuggled through the city in Brin’s cartul - he had made that clear. This time, however, the eyes of the constables were on alert and Seg imagined their stares as he was bounced through the city. In front of the compartment in which he had stowed Seg, Brin had loaded tools and pieces of lumber for cover. The rattles and bangs of the tools did little to ease Seg’s concern. Nor did the many stops Brin made along the way, though he had warned Seg about this in advance. Brin was well known in this city and any deviation from his usual routine would cast suspicion. As well, the social stops and pauses to exchange hellos, trade a joke or some innocuous gossip, were opportunities for Brin to pass along information in the code his people used. With some of the men, he slipped a Kenda word, whistle or gesture into the conversation that ensured he would have eyes and ears of his own, watching his back, a precaution Seg could appreciate.

Luckily, Brin had to pass by the
Naida
to reach the boat works, their final destination, so his path could not be considered unusual. There was a brief moment of concern when a passing constable signaled him to stop but, from a crack in the wood of his hiding spot, Seg saw the man give only a cursory glance inside the cartul before waving Brin on.

The cartul slowed ever so slightly as they passed by Ama’s boat. Seg’s vision was limited, he could only hope Brin’s information would be accurate.

At length, they reached the boat works. Around the back of the building, out of sight, Brin climbed off the driver’s seat, and cleared the way for Seg to exit the hidden compartment.

“I counted seven men but there could be more aboard,” Brin said, his voice covered by the dull thuds of hammering. He knelt down and drew a quick map with his finger in the sawdust covering the ground. “Three are stationed on the upper road, here. Two men are at the ramp leading to the dock. One is on the dock, at the end of the slip, near the stern. And one is onboard the
Naida.
”

Seg stretched his cramped muscles as he examined the map. One against seven, not the best odds.

“At least three of them have bangers,” Brin pointed to three of the indents in the sawdust. Seg’s eyes were focused on the map, calculating. “I don’t claim to know your business but these are Haitha odds.”

Haitha
, Seg recalled the name from his brief study prior to breaking off from the squad. The location of the Kenda’s last stand against the Shasir. A slaughter.

“I have men eager to spill blood—if you ask, they’re yours—but no matter, I’m at your service. Tell me what you need,” Brin said.

Seg studied the map with a practiced eye and his thoughts went back to the grizzled old trooper who had taught the Combat Maneuvers class back in Guild training.

Know your Outers. Learn to read ’em.

She had preached that.

Most places, people don’t look for a fight. Most places, they’re looking to survive first. Most places, they aren’t expecting a shock attack, and by the time they figure out what’s going on, you’re halfway through their asses and on the other kargin’ side. Sometimes we’ll run across real fighters, but most of the time the ones picked for guard duty are the slackers who wanted to get out of real work.

“On the eleventh hour,” he told Brin, “I’ll need a distraction for my entry, and then I’ll make my own exit. Your people pull back and, when the time comes, I move. Either here,” he dotted on the sawdust map, “or here, or here, depending on what comes to respond to my entry, and which direction they come from. None of your people should have to fight tonight. I’ll do all the blood spilling.”

He rubbed his face, which was smooth compared to that of his companion, and remembered that his razor was onboard as well. A good enough reason to return in and of itself. In a World all but drained of natural resources, articles as enduring and functional as a simple, reusable blade, held great value. And this blade moreso than others, being a gift from his father. In fact, it was the only gift he had ever received from the man. He would be damned if some Outer was going to prance about shaving his legs with it.

“One more thing,” he said. “You don’t need to be directly involved with this. I need you to stay clean, because if this doesn’t work—”

He paused.

“If this doesn’t work, it will be your responsibility to get Ama to safety, and I will hold you to that.” From some vague, nebulous and probably non-existent afterlife, of course. “You and your men can decide among yourselves how many you want to commit to this.” He eyed Brin for a long moment, thoughtful. “Just get my distraction and then be ready to pull me in and hide me when I come out.”

“Distraction,” Brin nodded, “I think we can arrange that. Don’t worry about Ama, she will be cared for; Kenda look after their own.”

Seg had already seen this was true. Had the Kenda possessed weapons and technology equal to the Shasir’s, he was sure they would not have lost their war. True solidarity was rare, and potent.

“I think a runaway cartul full of fosfol, stove fuel, could start some believable panic. Light that cart, aim it at the right target and you have a very distracting fireball. That should give you plenty of time to move around. Now there’s just the matter of choosing a target,” Brin smiled, “but that will be the fun part, especially with so many lovely, luxe Dammie cruisers in port for the upcoming ceremonies. A plausible accident.”

“Indeed,” Seg stretched again.

“I’ll go and see to my business then. A covered cartul will be waiting for you, when you’re finished with yours–with my most trusted man to see to your escape. You’ll see a blue and yellow flag hanging from the side. No flag means there’s trouble and you should keep moving. If there’s anything else you require, tell me now.” With Seg’s indication that nothing further was required, he turned to leave, then paused, pulled up one of the boards in the back of the cartul and retrieved a long blade nearly identical to the one he had brandished earlier that day. “You might find this useful,” he said, pressing the seft into Seg’s hand. Then he placed his hand on Seg’s shoulder, “We Kenda look after our own.”