The gray-haired bartender appeared in the doorway, her frown melting into an open-mouthed gape at the huge hole in the far wall, the men and women strewn across the floor. But she gathered her wits with remarkable speed. “Problem?”
Dola relaxed, her features composed once more. “No problem, Kayla.”
Scorio and Dola sat in silence as Kayla and several others helped the wounded rise or simply carried the unconscious out through the bead curtain. A look from Dola assured the bartender, who finally retreated and left the pair of them alone.
“Nice tricks,” said Dola at last.
“Not bad,” allowed Scorio, leaning back, affecting nonchalance. “They’ve proven useful.”
“You willing to part with those treasures?”
“Not yet,” he said.
“Wise. But now I understand your story even less. Why work for a handful of octs when you’re carting around wealth like that?”
“Check out the sandals,” he said, lifting one foot. “And from what I hear, this robe I’m wearing isn’t the latest cut.”
“So you’re asset rich, cash poor.”
“Essentially.”
The older woman pursed her lips, considering him. “There’s no way you could activate those treasures without manipulating mana. Which means you’re a Great Soul. But you’re down on your luck. Which means you’re on the outs with all four Houses.”
“I won’t confirm or deny it.”
“That makes hiring you on a high-risk move on my part.”
“I thought high-risk moves were your trade.”
Her smile was humorless. “Those that I actively choose after careful evaluation. You’re an unknown element with who knows what baggage.”
Scorio stayed silent.
“The Academy after you? One of the Houses?”
“No,” he said. “That I can swear to you. Nobody knows I’m here or alive.”
“Interesting choice of words.”
Scorio smiled at her. “Honest ones, too, for that matter.”
“Hmm. So you say.”
He leaned forward. “We already know you’re hiring me on. Now we just need to settle the terms.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“I’m still sitting here.”
“I’m interested. What rank are you?”
“Rank?” He thought briefly about bluffing, but decided Dola was just too experienced and smart to fool. “Char. I got out early.”
“Char. So you’ve got your tricks and that’s it.”
“Like you said, they’re nice tricks.”
“That they are.” Again she pursed her lips, those deep dimples appearing, her eyes narrowing. “We’ll stick to the original job. Ten octs for successfully executing the mission. You do well, and we can talk about fast-tracking you to more interesting opportunities, giving you more responsibility.”
“Seeing as I’m a Great Soul.”
“Seeing as you’re a Great Soul in training,” she said. Her gaze had become speculative, predatory, hungry. “If you play fair with me, if you do your part, you could do well.”
“That’s my intention.”
“But know this, Scorio. My crew will keep their mouth shut about what happened here today. But you mess up, you set yourself against me, and we’ll see to it that the wrong people at the very top hear about you.”
“Some judicious blackmail to square the deal,” said Scorio, his smile widening. “Oddly comforting. Fine. I take it that means you trust me now?”
Dola laughed. “No. But you don’t get where I am without knowing when to take a bet. I’m not important enough to warrant a Great Soul coming after me down here in the Narrows. Which means, strange as you are, you’re no mole. So let’s try each other on for size. One mission. Depending on how it goes, we’ll talk.”
“Fair. Thank you for the opportunity.”
Dola leaned back, hiking one knee up to plant a boot on the bench and drape an arm over her knee. “Oh, you’re most welcome, Scorio. I’ve a feeling things are going to start changing for the better around here. And if we play our cards right, our little outfit might be heading to the top.”
Chapter 12
If one was feeling generous, they could call the plan audacious. The object was simple: to switch a small crate filled with valuable imports for a replica, and make away with the real deal before anyone noticed. The complication was that the only place where that was an even feasible operation was inside the actual skycrane yard on the border with hell.
Scorio marched along with the rest of the team, a band of surly, focused youths all dressed in House Chimera greens, the badge that depicted the lion and goat-headed monster with a snake for a tail large and clear over their hearts.
The uniforms felt authentic, and the way folks in the streets gave them a wide berth indicated others felt so as well.
“C’mon,” said Skarx, their leader, a bronze-skinned man with hair pleated back in tight rows over his scalp. “Cycle’s nearly over. We’re going to be late.”
The band picked up their speed, breaking into a dignified jog, six in all, three rows deep. The buildings had grown progressively more ostentatious and imposing the closer they got to Hell’s Door, and when the terminus of the vast cylinder finally broke into view, Scorio stared.
The sun-wire extended to another ivory projection, ornate and intricately carved as the other end, but this circle was circumscribed by searing blue. For a moment, Scorio thought he was staring at huge panels of glowing sunphire, but then he realized they were holes. Massive gaps that looked out into hell. To a cerulean blue sky, across which floated wisps of white cloud.
Four vast ivory beams secured the central circle to the perimeter, each broad enough for three carriages to ride down, side by side.
“Those are the skies of hell?” he asked the man at his side, but the fellow grunted noncommittally and kept jogging.
The avenue up which they were running speared straight toward one of the monstrous blue gaps, the one owned ostensibly by House Chimera. The streets here were in pristine condition, the paving blocks broad and smooth, the buildings freshly painted, the fountains pouring forth crystal clear water every other block. Verdant trees rose from street corners, and wealthy citizens walked along the sidewalks, arm in arm, each dressed in a more ostentatious robe than the last.
Members of House Chimera were everywhere. Dressed in their slate greens, they appeared severe and regal, disdainful to the point of aloofness. Each member moved with a purpose, often in pairs, or guided caravans laden with goods down the center of the avenue, crying out with peremptory authority at anyone who got in their way.
But Scorio couldn’t tear his gaze away from those blue skies. The sense of depth. As if all of Bastion peered out through them at an azure void.
“Look sharpish now,” said Skarx. “Nobody breathe a word without my permission.”
Up ahead the avenue terminated in a great gate through which traffic bogged down to a crawl, empty wagons and carts lined up one side to enter the great skycrane yard, others heavily laden with goods creaking and swaying as they exited. All were checked for accurate documentation, and House Chimera guards were everywhere, walking up and down the lines, gathered at the main gate, peering down from guard towers that loomed overhead.
Skarx strode up to a side gate embedded in one of the towers, and there came to attention with admirable precision, snapping out a salute as an officer on duty looked up from a sheaf of papers to frown at him.
“Early for your shift, Sergeant?”
Skarx stared straight ahead. “Priority shipment coming in, Captain. Was told to be here before Second Rust.”
The captain glanced up at the sun-wire. “Then you’re cutting it close.”
Without being prompted, Skarx presented his badge, unclipping it from his chest, and the captain glanced at it, turning it around to read something on the back before nodding and handing it back. “On your way then.”