“She’s safe in the office, we left her locked up in the lobby. Here.” Detan handed the keyring over and pat the young man on the shoulder. “I’m sure she’ll be pleased as sunshine to see you again and hear all about your heroics. Come along, Brownie.”
Detan hooked his arm in Tibs’s and forcibly steered him away from the bleeding man. He picked a direction that he hoped veered toward some sort of market and sped his steps.
“Thank you, Step!” Allat yelled after him. Detan lifted a hand to give a cheery wave, and then they turned, disappearing from Allat’s line of sight down a side street.
“We are so fucked,” Detan said.
“You, admitting defeat?”
“Pah, no, it’s just–” He felt the wax mold in his pocket, eyed the slender tower where the watchers kept themselves and their prisoners. Monsoon season was coming quick. The rising pressure of it prickled his skin, the tingle of moisture in the air hinted at more than proximity to the sea. He didn’t have time to muck about in Petrastad breaking Pelkaia and her pits cursed first mate out of the clink. Ripka and New Chum wouldn’t keep in the Remnant much longer, he was sure of that. They needed him to pick them free before the monsoons trapped them for a full season.
And surely the watch wouldn’t execute a couple of failed thieves, even if one had shot a guardsman of the Fleet. He bit both lips, sealing his mouth shut.
“What are you thinking?” Tibs prompted after they’d been walking awhile in silence.
“I think… I think we’d better return to the Larkspur.”
“To let Pelkaia’s crew know what happened?”
Detan grimaced. “Not exactly.”
“Ah… I see. In either case, I suggest we find an apothik to send to that guard. He lost a surprising amount of blood, and I fear Allat is no nursemaid.”
“Fine,” Detan said with an exaggerated sigh, hiding a smile. “You’re always such a goodie, Tibs ole chum.”
“One of us has to be.”
Detan flinched. There was no hint of joking in Tibs’s voice.
Chapter Sixteen
Ripka dragged herself into the rec yard after a restless night, her limbs so stiff from overwork she feared they’d have to roll her down the stairs like a barrel. She’d only been at the Remnant two days, but already she felt the heavy claws of prolonged routine sink into her. This time around, the guard ushered them into the rec yard in one big clump, not bothering to line them up for the trestle table that was used to feed the sparrows who hadn’t found other groups yet.
After one full day in the Remnant, the guards had decided the new intakes were on their own.
The table she’d occupied with Clink and her girls had a new member. A round-faced woman with lips that looked like she’d gotten them stuck in a bottle sat on yesterday’s empty seat. Must be Kisser, the ill woman whose manpower they’d pretended to be replacing when they took Ripka from the guard. For a moment Ripka feared she’d been replaced, that they really had only wanted her for her extra set of hands, but as she drew near, Forge’s head picked up and some quick words were exchanged amongst the group. Honey reached over and dragged a fresh chair across, giving her a little smile as she pat the seat.
Ripka smiled back, and regretted it. She couldn’t let herself get too close to these women. She’d be gone soon, if all went well. And worse, she was going to have to use them to get what she was after. Going to have to probe them to see if they could lead her toward the source of Radu’s clearsky dealer.
“You look like shit,” Clink announced as she shoved a bowl already topped off with morning gruel toward her.
“Aren’t you a ray of sunshine,” Ripka drawled as she shoveled the bland food into her mouth. Though she’d never been one for a home-cooked meal, she’d much rather have a bun off a streetcart and a ladle of thick milk tea than this flavorless mush. But, from the way her body ached, she knew she’d be a fool to scorn it for its taste.
“You hear the rumor?” The new woman, Kisser asked, her voice a low murmur as she leaned over the table, bread dangling from her fingertips. Bits of porridge dripped off its soggy edge.
“We get all our rumors from you,” Clink said. “Spill it.”
Ripka ate her gruel quietly, conscientiously, wondering how Kisser would have come by any rumors if she’d spent the day spewing in her cell as the others had claimed.
“Some sparrow tried to make a break for it last night. Faked something wrong with waterworks and as soon as they got outside ran for the damned sea.”
An unground grain caught in Ripka’s throat and she coughed. Honey passed her a clay cup of water without comment. All eyes were riveted to Kisser, which was well enough as far as Ripka was concerned.
“What a moron,” Clink pronounced. “What would they do if they made it to the beach? Swim for Petrastad? That water’s bone cold, and shark infested to top it off. They’d be chow or frozen solid before they were even tired out from the backstroke.”
Kisser spread her arms expansively, as if gathering in the whole of human folly. “Desperation, no doubt. What drove them here might very well be what’s driving them away. What about you, Captain? You considering taking a dip?”
Ripka blinked at Kisser’s use of her false criminal name. It made sense that the others would warn her of the new addition, but Kisser smiled at her as if they’d been friends for ages. After her encounter with Radu, any hint of familiarity made her twitchy.
“I’m from the Scorched. You think I can swim?” she said, getting a laugh.
“It’s true, though,” Kisser pressed, waving a spoon through the air. “The only way off this rock is up, in an airship. Sea’s too rough to try a raft, even if you did know how to build one.”
“Not to mention the sharks,” Honey said.
“She already mentioned the sharks,” Forge said, grinning as Honey blushed.
“I like the sharks,” Honey murmured.
“You considered building a raft?” Ripka asked, trying to keep the girls focused on the mechanics of the Remnant. The more she could glean about what went on here, the better.
Meanwhile, as long as they were talking to her, they were looking at her, and she took the opportunity to shift her body language. She may not be a practiced con like Tibal or Detan, but she’d seen a few addicts on their come-down in her day. Hunched shoulders, slouched posture, gripping an elbow with one hand while the other scratched lightly at the opposite bicep. Not to mention the teeth clenching. She already had that nasty habit, she just had to do it hard enough for them to notice.
“Me, build a raft?” Kisser snorted and shared a look Ripka couldn’t read with Clink. “Naw, but I’ve heard of people who’ve tried – stories, you know, nothing recent. More like fairy tales the inmates tell themselves. Evil, determined bastards slipping off in the night on rafts made of old, wax-fortified coats and sticks whittled together from our spoons. It’s all nonsense. Just wait your time, work hard, and don’t piss too many people off. You’ll get out eventually.”
“Anyone in particular I should avoid pissing off?”
Clink smirked. “You’ve already put your foot in it. Got the Glasseaters irritated with you, and the guards who had to break up that fight to match. I’m surprised no one’s pissed in your washbucket yet.”
“Wonderful.” Ripka groaned and stirred her porridge with a wooden spoon of legend, listless, pretending disinterest in food. Forge and Clink exchanged a look.
“Hey, Captain,” Clink said, her voice lower than usual. “You hurtin’?”