He glanced behind him at the slum he’d just passed through, already decrepit and clearly in the process of being consumed by the decay. What was going on? How fast were the ruins advancing? Where would the people of Bastion go when the city was consumed? What were they doing to try and mitigate the damage?
Fruitless questions.
Taking a rough guess at his location, he set off radially west, picking his way carefully along the margins of the slums, walking constantly up a subtle curve of the city, avoiding attention by dipping into the ruins when necessary, skirting impoverished camps, knots of humanity trying to survive on the outskirts of the city, children laughing and chasing each other, the gray ivy claiming everything right up to the edge of the ruins proper.
Here and there he saw the crimson-bodied salamanders, long as his arm, sinuous and playful as they rippled over shattered walls or dove into dark holes. Once he espied a moth-rabbit, pale and luminous like a pearl, flitting overhead on its great, dappled wings, rising and falling in erratic dips that made it look barely in control of its own flight.
Finally, he reached the market, which appeared unfamiliar in the chestnut light, empty again of its stalls and vendors.
He entered the ruins, followed the broken street a couple of blocks, then turned radially east and made his way through the rich gloom, searching for the right building. He passed it by a block, realized he’d gone too far, and returned slowly till he saw the familiar window. He glanced up and down the street to make sure nobody was watching, and then prepared to climb into the dark interior.
Only to pause, one foot raised, at the sight of a languid gleam running along the windowsill.
A slender thread.
He followed its length to the window’s side, then leaned his head in to trace its path up to a collection of battered metal pans, hung precariously off an ingeniously rigged hook.
Scorio frowned, considered. An alarm. Feiyan seemed the type, but would she have set it after leaving? There hadn’t been one when they’d returned together from the market. Perhaps she only set it when they were home?
He stood there, indecisive, and then caught the faint scent of cooking from the building’s interior.
His stomach gurgled plaintively.
A subtle sound from across the street caused him to whirl just in time to see movement on the far rooftop, too quick and now gone for him to make out.
One of those salamanders?
Acting on a hunch, he took off at a stooped jog, hurrying back toward the broader avenue, and there dropped behind a pile of rocks and went still.
The sun-wire overhead was darkening, the end of Second Rust coming fast.
A shape came racing down the avenue, fleet of foot and intent on leaving the ruins. A young, dusky-skinned boy, clad in ragged robes, hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, the sides of his scalp shorn clean.
Timing it just right, Scorio took out the bridge, set it on its side, base against the closest large rock, then activated it.
The bridge exploded outward across the avenue, four feet high and forming a low wall. The youth stumbled to a halt, eyes wide, but then Scorio was on him, bolting across the avenue to grab a fistful of his robe and haul him around.
Only to receive a painful stomp across his foot and a hard elbow into his gut.
Hissing in pain, he yanked the kid in closer, wrapped an arm around his neck, and squeezed till the boy stopped struggling.
“Nice and easy now,” he said, the bridge popping back into its diminutive shape and dropping to the ground. “I don’t kill kids, so relax.”
“Let me go,” hissed the boy, both hands gripping Scorio’s forearm where it pressed against his neck. “I didn’t do nothing, let me go!”
“Sure, all in good time. Let’s take a little walk first.” He dragged the boy over to the bridge, scooped it up awkwardly, then bent the boy’s arm behind his back and escorted him back down the street to the musicians’ home.
The boy whined the whole way, struggled and twisted, and reminded Scorio of how Instructor Helminth had escorted him to the holding cell. Scorio frowned, thrust away the memory, and stopped before the window.
“Hey!” His voice echoed within. “Helena? Feiyan? Come on out for a moment.”
Realizing he wasn’t going to get away, the boy relaxed. Only to throw himself sideways with all his strength and nearly break free of Scorio’s grip.
“Sit,” said Scorio, shoving the boy down, and then positioning himself over him. “Stay.”
“What are you doing here?” Feiyan had appeared in the window, hammer resting over her shoulder, making no attempt to mask her anger.
“Scorio!” Helena’s stepped into view behind her, her smile easy and warm. “You’re in real trouble.”
“Saw this kid watching your place,” said Scorio. “He took off, but I grabbed him. Thought you might like to know.”
Feiyan glanced down at the boy, who had turned away sullenly, arms wrapped around his knees. Her gaze flicked back up at him. “Doesn’t explain what you’re doing here in the first place.”
“You told me you were clearing out,” he said. “I thought I’d use your place for the night.”
Feiyan’s frown deepened. “Damn it. That was supposed to keep you away.”
“Why we being watched?” asked Helena, moving up alongside Feiyan and peering down at the boy. “Hey, kid. Why were you watching our place?”
“Not going to talk,” he grumbled.
“We both know you are.” Feiyan’s voice was low and serious. “One way or another. So be reasonable. There’s no need to have your legs bent the wrong way before you tell us what we want to know.”
Scorio stared at Feiyan. Her face was impassive, her heavy brows lowered, her lips set. Would she really…?
The kid sure thought so. He stared up at her, terrified, and then raised both hands disarmingly. “Dola sent me. She thought Scorio might come back here.”
“Uh oh,” said Helena.
Feiyan’s gaze traveled with painful slowness from the boy’s face to Scorio’s own. “Dola sent him. To watch our place. What have you gotten us mixed up with?”
“You said you’d be gone,” said Scorio again.
“Answer the question,” growled Feiyan.
“I did a job for her. Didn’t like how it went down and decided to keep the goods for myself.” Scorio placed his hands on his hips. “Simple enough.”
“Fool. You’re a dead man.” Feiyan blew the lock of curled hair away from between her eyes and stared up at the darkening sun-wire. “We need to go straight to Dola and tell her we’re not involved.”
“Won’t work.” Helena crossed her arms and leaned against the side of the window. “You know what she’ll ask you.”
“True.” Feiyan grimaced. “We’ll need to bring you with us.”
“That’s not happening,” said Scorio. “Sorry.”
Helena jutted out her chin and scratched the length of her jaw. “Impasse.”
“We can take him,” said Feiyan.
“Yeah, probably,” allowed Helena. “But I don’t want to.”
Feiyan turned to stare at her partner. “Dola will string us up if we don’t.”
Helena inhaled deeply, her broad, thin lips pursed in thought, the metallic eyeshadow catching the very last glimmers of the sun-wire. Scorio and the other two watched her, waiting, till she let out a controlled exhale.
“All I’ve wanted since I met you was to leave this life behind. Find a way to live somewhere nice, where we can be our better selves. Or just a chance to figure out who we could be. And now? We actually have a way out. Thanks to Scorio. And what did we give him in return? A set of robes, a pair of sandals I’m amazed haven’t broken yet, and an introduction to the worst lady on this side of town. Doesn’t that rub you the wrong way, at least a little?”
“Sure,” said Feiyan. “But nobody ever said this world was fair.”