The kid had stopped squalling almost an hour ago, and Three was anxious to get moving. They were losing daylight by the minute, and he feared that once the Bonefolder got word she had neither the woman nor the child, a plan B was bound to come knocking.
“Hey.” jCharles was sitting in his oversized chair drinking a cold beverage of questionably high chemical properties.
“Yeah?”
“We got you all loaded up?”
“Yeah.”
jCharles took a pull, let it settle in his mouth. He swallowed, and then exhaled, mouth open, a vaporous sigh.
“So. Where do we go?”
“You know.”
jCharles shook his head. “There’s got to be something else. Something we’ve missed.”
“Wanting to have missed something doesn’t mean you have. Bad options aren’t so ‘bad’, when they’re ‘only’.”
“I’ll go with you to the steam tunnels…” said jCharles, trailing off.
“You’ve done too much already, Twitch. The Bonefolder’s gonna come looking for you, and you can’t say I’m not to blame for this one.”
jCharles made a dismissive noise and waved his hand. “Bonefolder’s got her friends and turf, but there’s a reason she doesn’t do business downstairs. You don’t worry about ol’ jCharles.”
“She won’t come after you for this?”
“She might have some power. But me? Me, I have influence.”
“This is serious, Twitch, I need to know.”
jCharles sat forward, suddenly serious. “She moves on me, the networks she uses to run all her gigs suddenly disappear. In fact, just planning a move on me would guarantee I know about it ahead of time. So, no. No, she’ll sit over in her little palace sipping her little drink, and she’ll go looking for some other way to keep those books balanced.
“But don’t you let her people catch you in town. She snags you and whisks you off, no way I’ll be able to track you down before she’s done with her work.”
“Well, I appreciate it, Twitch. You’re a good man. And a better friend.”
“Don’t make it a goodbye.”
“’Fraid it’s gotta be.”
jCharles stood, and the men embraced awkwardly, but sincerely.
“I can come as far as the steam tunnels. Maybe even a little further out.”
jCharles was grim, but there was a paleness at the corners of his lips, extra clicks in his words that signaled a dry mouth. Even the bravest men feel fear.
“No, Twitch. Stay here, with Mol. Stay here, and you love her with all you got.”
jCharles nodded. And then, there seemed to be no more words. Three gave a little nod. Turned to his loaded pack. Checked his harness, his pistol, his blade. Everything was ready to go. Whenever it was time.
“Mol’s gonna want you to get one last good meal in, you know.”
“I know.”
“Hurt her feelings if you don’t let her.”
“I know.”
Three glanced out through the window, but couldn’t get a good gauge on the sun, because of the random buildings stacked in the way.
“Hey, what time you got?”
jCharles accessed the global. “14:31 GST.”
“Sundown?”
“18:02.”
About that time, the door to the back room open, and Wren stepped out, with Mol close behind, her delicate hands on his shoulders. He looked a little embarrassed, as children often do after a good cry. Mol nudged him forward.
“Twitch, Wren had something he’d like to ask you.”
Wren took a timid step forward, and Three saw now he had a book in his hand. The one Mol had been reading to him earlier.
“Mr jCharles, sir. Would you be interested in trading this book, for this?” He stretched out his other hand. Three recognized the sphere that filled that tiny palm. The mil-spec strobe he’d picked up back at the Vault.
jCharles bent over, and made a good show of examining both pieces, as if comparing quality. He stood, and thought. Took a swig on his beverage. Cass came out of the back room as the appraisal continued. Then at last, he bent low again.
“I’m sorry, young master Wren. Can’t do it.”
Wren was obviously disappointed, but he took it like a professional. “OK, thank you for considering it.”
Wren moved to put the book back on the shelf, even in the right location, but jCharles interrupted him.
“I said I wasn’t interested in trading, young sir. You can’t trade for a gift.”
Wren turned back, obviously hopeful, but not quite understanding.
“You go ahead and take it, sweetheart,” Mol said. “It’s yours. We want you to have it.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Without reservation, Wren wrapped himself around Mol’s waist, nerve-rig and all, and squeezed, and smiled. “Oh, thank you so much.”
And to everyone’s great surprise, he rushed right over to jCharles and hugged his leg just as ferociously. “Thank you so much, Mr jCharles.”
“Easy kid, you break my leg off, I might just take it back.”
Mol kissed Wren on the head as she passed him, and made her way to the kitchen. Whatever it was she’d prepared smelled delicious, and was apparently moments away from completion.
“You guys can stay for another twenty minutes, right? If you eat fast?”
Three surveyed the scene. Wren, so hopeful, Cass trying to look ambivalent, but clearly hoping for a good last meal. jCharles with his head inclined that one way he did it to let you know you weren’t really being given a choice.
“Yeah, alright. But let’s be quick about it.”
They all bustled together then, setting the food out, finding enough chairs to fit around the tiny table. And once everything was set, Mol stood at the head of the table, and encouraged everyone to hold hands. The only one comfortable with the idea besides Mol was jCharles, but they figured it out.
Mol bowed her head and said, “Sweet Lord, we thank you for all your many goodnesses to us, and we’re mindful of all the blessing you’ve bestowed upon us with these friends, old and new, and we ask your hand be upon them as they go out, and we ask you bring ’em right back to us again. Amen.”
Then she set to serving up something from a large pot that was reddish-brown, and thick, and almost smelled like it had real onions in it. Real, out-of-the-ground onions, not the vat-grown ones that tasted like some chemical engineer’s idea of how an onion should taste.
“It’s not much, I know, but Twitch found an old onion bulb long ago, and believe it or not, he managed to nurse that thing back to health enough to pop us out an onion every now and again. I thought this was a special enough occasion to break out the good stuff.”
“You ever had a real onion before, Wren?” jCharles asked.
“No, sir. I didn’t know they grew…” he trailed off, suddenly distracted.
“Well, you are in for a real treat, then, buddy.”
Wren didn’t respond. He was staring at the wall, at the window, at nothing.
“Wren,” Cass said, but she already knew. His eyes went wide.
“Leave, we have to leave!” He was up out of his chair, backing towards the wall.
Three reacted instantly, pouncing to his gear, swinging on the harness, the pistol, the blade, the coat, the pack, like a whirlwind. He was fastening his coat while Cass was still moving to grab her pack.
“What’s going on?” Mol asked, up, half-crouched out of her chair.