I hesitate for a second. Tawni’s still down there by herself and she’s not exactly a fighter. And the Star Realm’s not exactly a safe place, as we’re quickly discovering. With the kid still in a headlock, I peek out the window. Tawni’s looking up at me, her face masked with concern. “You all right?” I shout.
She nods. “Should I get help?” she yells back.
“No!” The last thing I want is Tawni traipsing through the narrow subchapter streets by herself. “Stay there. I’ll be back in a minute.”
We tramp across the sleeping quarters and out of the room, passing through a short hallway with moldy, pockmarked walls and a crumbling floor. At one point the boy tries to stamp on my foot, but I just tighten my hold on his throat and his body goes slack, forcing me to drag him with me.
The girl pauses at a closed door on her right, takes a deep breath, and then knocks. There’s a muffled sound and the door opens slowly.
She whispers something I can’t hear to someone I can’t see.
“Enough with the mysterious bull crap,” I say, pushing past the little girl and into the room. The room is well-lit, with lanterns in each corner and at least a dozen candles. It reminds me of a séance, like the ones Madame Sonia used to hold that my mom wouldn’t let me go to. Three kids, wearing tattered white tunics that are so dirty they appear gray, bar my path with serious arms folded across puffed-out chests. “Move it if you don’t want to get hurt.”
The kids look at each other, like they’re unsure who to be more scared of—me, or this Mep character.
“Let her enter,” a remarkably high and whiny voice says from behind them. They shrug and part in the middle, allowing me to pass through them. I dump my “hostage” on the floor and move forward. The kid immediately races out the door. Little wimp, I think, not so confident without your slingshot. I’m still clenching his rock-slinger in my hand.
Mep’s sitting on a big cushion in the center of the room, surrounded by a half-dozen other kids, who almost look like his worshippers, such is the meekness of their postures. He would have been sitting cross-legged; that is, if he had any legs. Instead, he is just sort of resting on his torso, the stumps of his legs no more than half a foot long. I keep a straight face, but inside I’m horrified. This poor orphaned boy is stuck in the crummy Star Realm with no legs. It almost makes my time in the Pen look like a vacation.
As I look at him closer, I see that despite his tiny stature—due to his missing limbs—the boy is older than the rest of the kids—perhaps fifteen. He gazes at me with curious brown eyes that dance with questions.
“Why have you come to see Mep?” he asks.
“Why you are speaking in third person?” I retort.
A hint of a smile crosses his face. “I’m sorry, I’m used to speaking to children,” he says. “Why have you come to see me?”
“Your thugs stole our packs,” I say, “and when I chased them they shot rocks at me.” I don’t mention the heel-in-the-head incident. I’ll save it for later if I need it.
“You shouldn’t have chased them,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“They stole my stuff.”
“Finders, keepers.”
“Yeah, rock-slinger boy already tried that on me, but unless you can tell me the Tri-Realms law that states that, I want my packs back.” I can’t believe I’m actually relying on Tri-Realms law in my defense, which is the biggest bunch of BS there is, but I can’t think of anything better to say, except maybe Give them back now or I’ll sock you in the nose.
“Mep’s Law,” he says.
I’m getting bored of this conversation, which is beginning to transition from somewhat silly to laughably loony. “Listen, you little punk,” I say, stepping forward. Immediately, about twelve feet are planted in a circle around Mep. Some of the kids have pea shooters, some slingshots, and all wear fearsome glares. Well, maybe more comical than fearsome, but still, under the flickering glow of the candles, it’s somewhat intimidating, especially because I’m hopelessly outnumbered.
So what do I do?
No surprise there—I fight.
Three kids are down before they even know what hit them, my foot arcing through the orange light. I take a little strength off the kick, as I want to intimidate the buggers, not kill them. The other kids drop their weapons and run for the door. I let them go. Like I said, my tactics are for intimidation purposes only.
I fake a punch at Mep’s face and he flinches, throwing his hands across his face in defense, as if that could really stop my fist. I know I’m just being cruel now, but I don’t care. I’ve had enough.
“Give me the packs,” I growl.
“I think we might have gotten off on the wrong foot,” Mep squeals.
“Give me the freaking packs. NOW.”
“Okay, okay, they’re right here,” Mep says, reaching behind his back and retrieving our two packs. He hands them to me and retracts his hand quickly, as if he’s afraid I’ll claw him or something. I check each bag to make sure nothing’s missing. Stale wafers. A handful of leftover Nailins. Some clothes—our only spare clothes. No canteens, but that’s because we chucked them away when they were contaminated. All there.
“Thanks,” I grumble sarcastically, making for the door.
“Wait a minute, please.” I stop, but don’t turn around. “Why don’t you stay a minute and have something to eat or drink.”
“I’ll pass,” I say.
“I want to make you an offer,” he says, his voice going up in excitement.
“You can’t possibly have anything I want,” I say, although I am curious as to what the little guy has to say.
“Just five minutes,” he says. “Take a seat.” He motions to another cushion, and grudgingly, I place it in front of him and sit down. “Thank you, I appreciate it,” he says.
I just stare at him. This day is getting weirder and weirder.
“Some protectors they are,” he says, motioning to the door. I sense movement to my left and I jerk my head to the side, seeing the three kids I kicked to the ground sneaking for the door. When my gaze catches theirs, they break for it. I laugh as I watch them go.
“They did all right,” I say, massaging my sore shoulder.
“They’re good kids,” he says, at which I cringe, again remembering the kick in the head. Noticing my reaction, he says, “They are. You don’t know what kind of lives they’ve had—where they come from.”
“That’s just an excuse,” I say.
“I like you,” Mep says. I raise my eyebrows in surprise. It’s not what I expected him to say to the girl who penetrated his defenses, accused him of stealing, and beat up his gang of minions. “I do,” he says, flashing me a smile. He’s boyishly cute, with dimples in each cheek when he grins, piercing, turquoise eyes, and messed up brown hair.
“Why?”
“Because you’re tough—like me. You don’t survive in this world without being tough.”
“I’m not from this world,” I say. “I’m a moon dweller.”
“I guessed that much,” he says with a wink. “But I wasn’t talking about you. I was talking about me.” I stare at him for a second, letting his words sink in.
Oh. The Star Realm. I wonder what tragedies have occurred in this boy’s life that he would end up legless, an orphan, master to a bunch of kids who steal for survival. I want to ask him, but know I cannot.
“You don’t want to hear my story,” he says, as if sensing the question on my lips. “It’s not a happy one.” Unlike the other children, who sound rough, with harsh language from harsh upbringings, Mep is well spoken, seems mature even.
“You speak well,” I say, hoping he doesn’t take it the wrong way.
He seems to like that, his eyes opening wide. “My mother always…” He trails off, his eyes going misty.
“Your mother always what?” I prod.