“Just because someone looks bad, doesn’t mean they’re evil,” said Kirwyn coldly.
“It’s got nothing to do with good and evil,” said Alana, shaking her head. “It’s whether they’re a threat or not. I’ll decide next time whether you parlay with strangers.”
16
Moortown’s walls were wood and corrugated metal, they sat on raised earth, and wooden towers jutted out behind them. The front gate was an old rusting fence made of criss-crossed iron tubes. This was lowered and raised by a system of gears and pulleys. Guards paced around a bridge overlooking the gate. They wore no uniform, some of them had no shirt. Their weapons were similarly mismatched. Shotguns, crossbows. One had what appeared to be a rocket launcher resting on his shoulder, and an axe tucked in his belt. Alana noticed with some consternation that one of them wielded a long rifle of the Ranger Kor. She didn’t recognise him.
One of the guards wore black goggles so tightly on his head they appeared to be fused to his skull. He had a ratty grey moustache and deeply tanned skin, he was smoking some kind of metallic engraved pipe, he jumped off his stool and lent over the balcony when he saw the 3 travellers.
“Oy! What brings you to Moortown?” he cried.
“We’re traders,” shouted Alana.
“What do you trade?” he bellowed
“Technology.”
The guard smoked his pipe and considered them for a moment. He leapt down over the palisades, and strolled over to them, limping on an artificial leg.
“What sort of technology?”
Alana looked to Loma. Loma sighed and placed her backpack on the ground and rummaged, she retrieved a flat metal disk, placing it in the palm of her hand. Soothing music started playing, of such high fidelity one could assume an orchestra was hidden just out of view. A vine cracked out of the projector and flowers budded and swayed in time with the wind. The guard’s mouth dropped, but he closed it quickly to catch his pipe. He reached out a dirty hand to touch the flower, but his fingers passed through the hologram. Loma promptly turned the thing off and placed it back in her bag.
“Are we in or no?” she said
The guard still stared at his hand that had touched the flower. “Uh, open the gate!” he cried upwards. The gate rattled unevenly to the sky, and they passed through the earthen walls into Moortown.
“This is a town?” asked Loma incredulously.
There was no uniformity to the buildings, they were fashioned together with scrap. Each one spewed out a great deal of black smog from their chimneys. Rubble and detritus lay all about. There were no roads – as such, more muddy pathways. A group of dirty children ran past them carrying guns.
Alana shrugged. “It’s Moortown.”
“Where is this mechanic?” asked Loma, barely containing her revulsion.
“On the opposite side of town, big blue building next to the scrap pile. Can’t miss it.”
“While I’m dealing with him, I’d like you to secure us a meeting. Someone with vehicles. Someone trustworthy. Do you think you could handle that?”
“Yes,” said Alana, irritated.
“Meet me here in approximately 30 minutes.”
“Yes sir,” said Alana.
17
In the Magic Carpet music boomed. Hookah smoke swirled around the dim lights as a burly man waddled around, talking loudly and coarsely, collecting arms full of pint glasses, playing pool, jostling as groups moved in and out of the lively den.
Alana stood by the bar, trying to haggle with a Hun for safe passage back to Loma’s ship. A bald, stocky Kentishman wearing a greatcoat approached her. He tapped her on the shoulder. She quickly turned to face him.
“Are you a real rainja?” asked the Kentishman.
“What’s it to you?”
“I fought you lot always travelled in pairs?”
“Guess I’m not a real Ranger then,” she turned back to the Hun, continuing their conversation.
“But you look loik one, and you talk loik one.”
Under her poncho, she held the grip of her knife. Alana slowly turned to the man. “I’m very busy,” she said calmly. “Bother someone else.”
“You’re not so scary up close. Wivout your long roifle.”
He swung at her. His fist froze in the air, trembling. A hand clutched onto his wrist. Kirwyn stared at the Kentishman with wide eyes. The man groaned in pain. Kirwyn released him and he stumbled backwards. The man looked down, nursing his wrist – he jerked up and spat in Kirwyn’s face. “YOU FACKIN FRRREAK!”
Spit ran down Kirwyn’s cheek, he stared at the man blankly, his eyes wide and unblinking.
“I’LL GUT YOU ALOIVE!” sputtered the man.
“Fuck off mate,” said Alana calmly.
An old Cavalier howled with laughter, he nudged his bodyguards and spoke to them. They scraped their stools and walked over to Alana. One of the bodyguards pushed the Kentishman aside, the other lead Alana and Kirwyn to the Cavaliers’ table and sat them down.
The Cavaliers’ colours were black and pink, they wore riding jackets and jeans, with little scraps of armour sewn in here and there. The old Cavalier was tall and fat, with balding grey hair and a thick moustache. His face was red and merry.
“You,” said the old Cavalier to Kirwyn, “You,” he said to one of his men. “Arm-wrestle, now. It will please me!”
The junior Cavalier put up a gloved hand to the table. Kirwyn reluctantly grasped it and the two men struggled for a few seconds before Kirwyn slammed the Cavalier’s hand to the table. The table erupted with laughter, Kirwyn and Alana smiled nervously, the junior Cavalier got up from his stool and headed to the bar, shaking blood back into his hand.
“You and me!” said the old Cavalier to Kirwyn. His men tried to drunkenly dissuade their boss – he pushed them aside. He took off his jacket and his men whispered pleadingly into his ear. Alana casually brushed her hair from her ear and leant over to Kirwyn.
“Let him win,” she sang urgently and quietly. Kirwyn nodded reluctantly.
The old Cavalier barked his men away. He placed his arm on the table. Kirwyn placed his. They grasped. Kirwyn made a show of struggling, slowly dipping away into a losing position, but was surprised by a sudden burst of strength from the man. His pride wounded – Kirwyn struggled against the man with all his might – their hands went shuddering back to their original position. Kirwyn strained, looked with confused fascination into the grinning man’s eyes. The old Cavalier slammed Kirwyn’s arm into the table and his men roared with joy, and laughed, slapping their boss on the back.
Kirwyn nursed his hand, bewildered. The old Cavalier took off his glove, revealing a skeletal metal frame, he waved the fingers about fluidly and held his forefinger to his mouth. He looked to Alana “Shh, don’t tell him my secret,” he whispered. The Cavaliers burst into raucous drunken laughter. The old Cavalier banged the table with his robotic fist and laughed, Kirwyn grinned and looked to Alana, she smirked.
18
The old woman scurried across the moors, clutching her robes in the wind, her black armbands clinking, she came to a quarry, and then to a vault door, which she twisted open with great effort. Faint violin music drifted out of the metal hole, it was erratic and high pitched, though not entirely unpleasant. She stepped down the ladder, and sealed the vault door shut behind her.
She plodded through lightless, echoing corridors, the music grew louder and more frenetic. The old woman lowered her hood, and then lowered her head and cringed. The music stopped. Fiddler was upon her, peering through the slits in his ceramic mask. He was a slight man, his mask was that of a Greek statue, serene and noble. The eyes underneath flitted about suspiciously.