“ A bit more caution?” Cristena said dryly. “Why don’t we start with any caution. Period.”
“ We’re cautious,” Graves said defensively.
“ No offense, but if what happened up there is your idea of being cautious…well…”
“ You can say it,” Stone smiled. “We’re dead.”
“ Yeah.”
FOURTEEN
Cristena quickly took charge, in part because she knew Dirge better than any of the rest of them, but also because she simply had an incredibly forceful personality. Besides having been competently trained in the arts of tracking and combat, Cristena was also a powerful witch. Unlike Cross, she’d never had any institutionalized magical training, but had instead received tutelage from a shaman. Also unlike Cross, Cristena was highly opinionated and very sure of her own abilities.
While common sense dictated they should remove themselves from Dirge as quickly as possible, Stone pointed out that they still needed basic supplies and ammunition, as there would be little to be found in the way of civilization once they left Dirge and entered the Bone March.
“ If only you could’ve been a bit more…subtle…when you decided to ‘help’ me,” Cristena pushed. She’d grown noticeably colder towards Cross since she’d agreed to go with them.
She’s still not happy about her decision, and she’s going to blame me for everything from this point on. Terrific.
The market was a busy place. It was located inside of a series of hollowed-out buildings made of cracked sandstone and supported by steel girders that had turned red from rust and age. Vast tarps made of red and gray cloth were hung over the roofs of the open buildings, forming a makeshift tent that linked the ruined structures together. Thick and unused chimneys filled with refuse and bat colonies doubled as additional support for the fading structures. The vendors, traders and smugglers who populated the market set up their wares in tents, on open tables, or on rugs spread out on the ground. The market was filled with dusty haze, like the inside of a barn or a saw mill.
Cross had the uneasy feeling they were being watched while they shopped. Stone more or less handled the negotiations, with Cristena’s occasional help. Cross and Graves had to step up from time to time to provide their assessment of equipment for sale, much of which was in less than passable condition.
The local militia, who were as interested in satiating the vampire authority as they were with actually maintaining peace, were notoriously crafty at rooting out insurgents and malcontents, and Cross knew that under close scrutiny they’d ultimately be detected for who they really were. The fact that an active search had likely been initiated for them didn’t calm his nerves any, but thus far they’d noted no major alarm had been raised, which was surprising considering how much damage they’d done at the White Spider.
They got less than the desired trade value for Winter’s equipment, but it was still enough for them to acquire a healthy amount of fresh ammunition, some rations, and spare blankets and coats for the cold northern weather. They also purchased a durable camel that could carry everything they’d purchased. The pack brutes were accustomed to survival in the inhospitable Bone March, so the camel would greatly reduce the wear and tear on the horses they planned to acquire next. Cross thought that the brown-furred camel was about the ugliest thing he’d ever seen.
After they wandered the bazaar for a time, Cross knew for certain they were being followed.
He’d been more than willing to sign his suspicions off as paranoia until the third time he saw the same pale woman watching them in the bazaar. She had alabaster skin but was otherwise difficult to get a good look at, as if the air bent around her and the shadows crowded her space. She dressed in an over-sized black and blue cloak that smothered what appeared to be a tiny frame.
Cross first saw her in the crowd when they’d purchased fresh blankets from a diminutive Gol trader. He saw her again when they haggled over the price of dried rations with a local dealer whose half-Doj bodyguard stood nearby, intimidating shoppers with his six muscle-bound arms. Cross saw her for the third time when he perused what passed for an alchemy dealer, a battered and overcrowded table packed with chemical vials, Bunsen burners and a very small supply of basic powders and salts. With all of the banned substances in Dirge there wasn’t much to be had from the alchemist, and everything of any value was buried in piles of discarded clockwork components and spare automaton parts. Cross tried his best to look interested at the wares while he watched the pale woman.
“ Graves,” he said, not looking up from the copper wiring he inspected. The speckled merchant who ran the table had finally left Cross alone.
“ I see her,” Graves said quietly beside him. “She’s not being very careful.”
“ Which means?”
“ We’re meant to see her,” Graves said. “She could be a diversion.”
“ I don’t suppose it could mean that she actually is trying to hide from us, and we’re just that good.”
“ Um…no,” Graves said.
Stone and Cristena had gone off in search of map paper and compasses, which had a propensity to randomly break down in the magic-soaked wastes of the Bone March. They regrouped in short order, and Graves told them about their tail.
“ Damn,” Cristena said. “She’s Raza.”
“ Huh?” Stone said. “Never heard of them.”
“ They’re new to Dirge. Monks who’ve sold their services to the Ebon Cities in exchange for immortality. They’re like constables. And they’re onto us.”
“ Monks?” Graves laughed. “Who cares about monks? What are they going to do, serve us champagne, drown us in porridge and ‘vow of silence’ us to death?”
“ Monks with martial arts training, magic, and guns,” Cristena said shortly.
“ Oh, okay,” Graves said with a nod. “Monks.”
“ Monks that aren’t very subtle,” Cross added. They pooled their purchased goods together and made for the weapons dealer carts, the last intended stop on their trip through the market bazaar. Cross thought they had more than enough guns and blades, but Graves insisted that wasn’t possible.
“ The Raza are unsubtle by design,” Cristena explained as they walked. The market was busy, but at least people weren’t shoulder-to-shoulder. “Do you guys really need to shop for more weapons? It might be best if we left quickly, before the Raza decides we’re worth more than just a casual look.”
Cross added his agreement, but Stone and Graves reminded him that Kray was gone, and they lacked anyone with good experience with the mini-gun (Stone and Graves both knew how to use it, but neither of them had logged enough hours with the weapon to carry it and shoot it effectively). That plus the fact that Cross was without magic meant they were short a heavy hitter. It couldn’t hurt, Graves argued, to make a quick perusal of the armaments, even if they were being followed.
The weapons racks of the bazaar were spare — the sale of magic artillery was illegal inside the city limits, so the selection was limited to jury-rigged arms and old blades, many of which, Cross thought, weren’t worth even the modest prices being asked. There were a few grenades (which they purchased) and some arming wire for explosives, but it wasn’t until they neared the exit that they finally found what they were looking for.
“ The grenade launcher is the M203 model,” the merchant explained. He was a tall and skeletally thin man with a thick moustache and a long black coat that made him look like a villain out of an old Western. “The machine gun is an M16A2. Both are well maintained, and I have ammo for sale.”
“ How much?” Graves asked.
The thick-stocked rifle of the machine-gun was attached to a short tube-like launcher underneath, an intimidating looking weapon with its own trigger and a barrel the size of a baseball.