Trouble was, he didn’t trust himself to just blow the hinges, let alone the doors, and with the guards involved… He wasn’t a fighting man, and he’d never been one to bloody a nose that didn’t earn it. Maybe they could distract the guard, draw him away before the fireworks started.
“Tibs, could you–”
“No.”
“You didn’t even let me finish.”
Tibs yanked his hat down to hide his eyes. “Don’t need to. I know what you’re thinking. I go cause a ruckus off on some side street and that guard, bored as he is, figures he better go check it out. And then you shift a little sel over there, blow the hinges, run in and… what? You don’t know what’s on the other side. Could be nothing. Could be a person. Could be the weapons are behind another locked door and you’ll have to blow that, too. And then you’ve used the power twice and I pitsdamned know how hard it is for you to keep it under wraps once. And the guards will come running at the noise – and then what? Going to blow your way free of them, too? And how are you going to get the weapons out, just on your lonesome? Even if they’re conveniently loaded on a cart, you got arms like toothpicks and legs to match. You’re not haulin’ ’em anywhere on your own.”
Detan gripped the air, as if he could grasp an idea out of the chilly night. “Pelkaia said this was the way – that her people would come at the sound of the explosion and load it all out. We don’t do this, we don’t get the ship, and Ripka–”
“Ripka would take your eyes out through your mouth for what you’re planning on.” Tibs jabbed Detan’s forehead with his finger and scowled. “You spent years keeping that sands-cursed power of yours under wraps, and just because Pelkaia told you to use it you’re going to hop to it? When you’re at your most unstable? She said get the weapons. Said her people would come when they heard a blast to help load ’em out. That is what you have to work with, and this plan ain’t what we do. So you best figure out another way, because I’m mighty thin of patience.”
Detan’s temper flared, rage bubbling up through his veins like a kettle ready to blow its lid and hiss at the world at large. He became acutely aware of the pouch of selium Pelkaia had given him to do the work with. The shape of it, the bloated cloud contained within a thin leather sack tied to his belt and the inside of his jacket to keep it from floating off or wrenching his clothes askew.
Maybe it was his imagination – he hoped it was – but the substance called to him, luring, siren in its possibilities. Its potentiality. It would be so easy to give up his anger, to shunt it aside into that cloud of gas and watch it tear itself apart. The impending satisfaction of that moment thrilled through him, tingling him straight down to his toes.
He wouldn’t be able to control it. It would rend both he and Tibs – and the whole of the apartment building behind them – to dust and ashes.
Tibs flicked him between the eyes.
“Right…” He breathed out the word, relaxing his fists. Awareness of the bladder of selium faded. “Right.”
“Good.” Tibs stepped back, folding his arms. “So, what’s it going to be?”
“Tibs, my old chum.” Detan slung an arm around the dusty man’s shoulders. “We’re going to need some new coats, and I know just the place.”
Their new uniforms stank of stale ale and some pungent smokable that appeared to be all the rage amongst the Remnant guards. Detan hoped it would at least add an air of authenticity to their costumes, because it wasn’t doing anything at all to help the air in general.
“You reek,” Tibs said, plucking at Detan’s sleeve with a grotesque curl to his lip.
“You reek.”
“I think you reek enough for the both of us.” Tibs shoved his hands in his pockets. His expression twisted. Slowly, he drew one hand out and held it up to the faint streetlight. His fingers were coated in something brown and sticky, twisted filaments sticking up in all directions. A distinct aroma clouded around his fingers, mimicking the char-and-smoke scent that already clung to the coats. The source of the guards’ new smokable.
Slowly, deliberately, he wiped his fingers off on the hem of his coat. Detan’s lunch threatened to revolt.
“Ugh,” he said.
“Well,” Tibs drawled, “now we know what it looks like in the raw.”
“Wish we didn’t.”
“Me too. Me too.”
They’d been lucky on their return visit to Lotti’s card room. The late mark meant all the regulars were already deep in their cups. The crowd was split between those desperate to win back what they’d lost, and those manic with success. No one had an eye for the pegs the coats were dangling from, and even the bouncer had been off on some other errand. Probably kicking someone who’d taken losing a little too close to heart out of the building.
They were, however, not quite as lucky with the guards at the Fleet’s weapon cache.
The man guarding the back door had drifted off to sleep – making him an unlikely mark. Detan’d often found it was a might more difficult to convince a man of your good intentions when you’d roused him from a nap.
The other, who was meant to be minding the front door, was much more interested in the young woman who’d come to pay him a visit. They stood with their bodies angled close together, the woman’s clothing and face hidden by a long, dark cloak. Probably she’d slipped out from under the eye of a maid, or a mother, to make this rendezvous. From the way they were carrying on, Detan was quite sure she wasn’t supposed to be out. No one took that much delight in a midnight conversation unless it were a forbidden one.
“What do you think, Tibs? Shall we interrupt new love, or a nice rest?”
Tibs hmmed to himself. They’d returned to the awning down the street from the courtyard, letting the shadows do half the work of making them invisible, their uniforms doing the other half. No one bothered Fleet guards in Petrastad. Not so close to Remnant, where any enemy of the empire could be chucked at a moment’s notice.
“Love, I think,” Tibs said. “Give the young man a chance to show off how important he is.”
Detan grinned. “Now that, I like.”
He tugged the collar of his new coat straight and took off down the street with a military swagger, careful not to let his hands drift too near his pockets. The guard’s attention was riveted upon his lady; he did not so much as glance at the two men walking straight toward him. Detan grimaced. The last thing he needed was to surprise the lad and put him on edge.
He whistled a soft, merry tune, and when the man picked his head up and looked his way Detan smiled and waved as if delighted to see an old friend.
“Ho there!” Detan called as he jumped up the short, low step with Tibs fast on his heels. The woman sidled sideways, quick as a rockcat, to put the young man between them. She had a small face, making her eyes look unnaturally large and expressive. That was the gaze of a frightened woman. No – wait – this woman was excited. Thrilled, even, by the prospect of danger. Detan could work with that.
“Are you in charge of things tonight?” Detan asked the young guard. He was a good half-hand shorter than Detan, so Detan worked up a slouch to make him feel taller, more in control. Uneven stubble sprouted across the lad’s cheek and jaw, and he pushed his chest forward as he gave them a curt nod.