by Patrick Lane
“Man following,” Ryder signaled, landing on the console as he was about to leave.
Nifty looked around casually, annoyed with himself for not paying more attention, and spotted a lean figure shrouded in a green hooded cape slipping out the door. He’d thought a shiver moth or some similar creature would have been a better choice to keep track of him and for a moment he considered following the foolish man. Instead, he let a more pressing matter guide his next course of action, as once again his growling stomach reminded him of his hunger.
He hadn’t eaten since deciding on the detour, and had been looking forward to a meal not prepared by his own hands. He knew an unsanctioned Helix like Ragnatex was bound to have all manner of delicacies served in its taverns and he was keen to see what they had on the menu.
Checking his watch for directions, Nifty meandered his way through the district following the information he’d transferred from the delve train’s library. The Rocktower librarians could be extremely thorough sometimes and there was even a rating system for the quality and affordability of each tavern. He made a mental note to commend the department when next he reported.
Turning onto a wide boulevard, Nifty sucked in a breath. He spotted two black and green liveried guards, dressed exactly the same as the rovers they’d encountered in the Gears. The were standing suspiciously close to a group of long robed Hadrians who were hailing passersby with the promise of unfettered enlightment at the hands of the Quantum, or some such nonsense. He’d heard it all before in one form or another as his missions took him to dozens of Helixes. But fortunately, the Hadrians never managed to gain a foot hold in Rocktower.
He considered turning back, avoiding them all together, before realizing he was wearing his civilians and there was no way for them to connect him to Rocktower.
He took the opportunity to get a closer look and approached the guards. He could tell immediately they were Linkers, yet strangely both were from Ascendant Helixes. One was a red maned Vladbrullion, the other a blocky Chordite; neither possessed the unkempt roughness one usually associated with rovers. Each wore a long, sheathed knife at their hip, a well-stocked utility belt, and an unusual, long, thin device strapped to their back that he knew instinctively was some kind of launcher weapon.
All this aside he found himself focusing on strange, glowing blue tattoos around their right eyes, both slightly different from each other giving the men a distinctive look that had Nifty extremely curious as to their origin.
He was about to approach the two with the pretense of asking for directions when suddenly, in identical moves, both men raised a hand to their right sides of their heads, to where a disc of thin metal he hadn’t noticed at first looped over the right ears. They both tilted their heads as if listening, and he heard one of the men say, “Well it’s about time, I thought we’d be stuck here for days,” before walking briskly off.
Nifty considered following them, intrigued by the odd behavior, delaying his dinner this time, but thought better of it. No one knew that they were here…well, other than the port authorities, but no scoundrels at least. So he continued on his quest for dinner.
He encountered several rough-looking customers and surprisingly at least a dozen of the green livered rovers as he crossed the platform, but Ryder made no more mention of his shadow. Yet the hairs on Nifty’s neck told him that he was still being watched as he neared a place called The Laughing Ram. He’d chosen it not so much for the rating but because it was closer to the markets and on his way to the foundries.
Lights along the storefronts were flickering to life as dusk approached signaling the night market had opened, and although the place was buzzing with people, it was a quieter, more cautious atmosphere than he was used to for such a city, never the less he plunged into the crowd hoping to lose his shadow.
As he dodged past merchants standing at store fronts trying to corral him inside, Nifty realized he was following something himself, a sound. His hunger was almost forgotten as a small whisper of a song, so elegant and alluring that he couldn’t help but follow it to the source. The song grew louder as he neared a small shop where over two dozen people were gathered around the spun glass windows, shuttered open to let in the night air.
It was a modest Song potter’s workshop. The people inside were hard at work. Two men, the master and his son, in loose fitting brown robes, were sitting on the ground on the thinnest of woven mats with their legs crossed, facing each other with one hand clasped in a handshake. Both were stout, with large heads and multi-ridged ears that reminded Nifty of the cross section of an onion. He couldn’t say for sure but they had the look of a Sakurian, Chordite cross.
Around them at three stations sat one man and two women, each working at clay on potter’s wheels which Nifty vaguely remembered from his last visit. Both men were singing as the fingers of their free hands ranged along wires extending from each wheel. As if in response to what each man felt, their broad throats emitted their songs into long tubes, directing sound to both cups and urn on each wheel and to a larger pipe resting behind each potter. The father’s voice was deeper and steady, creating a framework for the song; the son’s was higher, modulating frequently as it danced in counterpoint. All five people had their eyes shut lightly and swayed gently to the sounds washing over the workshop, each working by touch alone.
He stood there for a few minutes watching the Song potters infuse their perfect harmonies into the ceramics. He was witnessing a technique handed through countless generations, enabling the singers and their potters to align the molecules of the paper-thin ceramics into vessels of incredible beauty and strength.
Sadness and longing filled the air, joy and harmony filled minds. Tears and smiles appeared on the people’s faces around him and Nifty found himself smiling as well, enchanted. The completion of the two cups and urn, followed by a brief smattering of applause allowed him to gather his thoughts enough to break himself free of the gathered crowd and enter the store front adjacent the workshop.
He knew from the legends about the Song potters that in times gone by, city guards had often times had to be called on to clear particularly persistent visitors from the shop fronts as they lost the ability to draw away by themselves, lingering for days, as they became addicted to the songs. The potters had eventually been forced to come up with their own method for dealing with the situation. They found that creating a particularly ruinous piece of pottery with discordant harmonies could not only clear the shop front but a good deal of the boulevard to either side as well.
Walking through into the pottery store, Nifty found that picking out a tea set proved to be no easy task. He shouldered his way past several customers inside even as more shoppers from the crowd outside entered the tiny shop. Accidentally stepping on toes he got himself corrected with a thwack from a thick walking staff held in the heavily-tattooed hand of a feisty old lady, before finally managing to get himself to the front.
Dozens of dishes and cups, in all colors and sizes, filled the shelves to near bursting and Nifty abandoned the Holo-scanned image for his mum almost immediately, finding far more selection than he’d ever hoped for. After a good bit of back and forth, he finally settled on a sleek blue and white tea set crafted to look like birds in flight. He couldn’t help but wonder if Lulu’s necklace had somehow influenced his decision. The set stood out among the rest with its simplicity and elegance. Just like his mum…well his hand selected mum.
He left the store with a hole in his purse the size of a pushsnout, but a smile on his face at the prospect of seeing his mum’s reaction on her birthday.
The Song potters were beginning a new song, the sounds luring Nifty to the workshop once again, but he forced himself away and started down the street towards the Laughing Ram.
Pretty man’s sounds, Ryder signaled, jumping on the awkwardly large box containing the tea set Nifty carried. Listen again please?
“Sorry Ryder, maybe on the way back. Let’s get something to eat first, yes?” he replied.
Arriving at the Ram, a dozen or so buildings further down the boulevard, he tried not to be too obvious as he scanned behind, checking all the dark corners. He found nothing more suspicious than a couple of brutish looking men, whose interest seemed to be consumed by a Tollenraker trader towing a roto-sled loaded with cargo. Yikes, Nifty thought to himself as he entered the tavern. They may regret that decision.
Sitting near the door was another short, thick-limbed Yolon, with a mane of long blond hair and an equally long, oiled beard. He was no doubt there to make sure any troublemakers were promptly shown the exit should the need arise. He was wearing shock gloves similar to Nifty’s, only far thicker with gold banding across the knuckles. What the man lacked in height he more than made up for in girth, the muscular guard was nearly twice as wide as Nifty. The man made no pretense for subtlety as he scrutinized Nifty suspiciously as he entered.
It was a dimly-lit place, but clean and tidy, with over a dozen deep booths for merchants to discuss their business in private, half of which were currently occupied. He chose a table, carved with the likeness of two charging rams, near the door that allowed him to sit with his back to the wall. The soothing tones of a stringed instrument infused the room from an unknown source, just loud enough to dull the sounds of carried conversations. Dropping his pack to the floor at his side, he pulled off his gloves and sat just as Ryder landed on the table.
Smell nice, smell good, she signaled, then cocked her head as a figure approached.
A petite Monsourion girl glided towards them, in a long, spotlessly-clean apron. At scarcely seven feet tall she couldn’t have been much more than a teenager. “Greetings, sir – welcome to the Ram,” she said in a soft voice as she placed a small plate with a dozen varieties of cinnamon, carved into leaf shapes, splayed out to form a flower, on the table in front of Ryder. “Greetings, friend,” she added with a smile, nodding to the duster.
Like most of her race, she was slender almost to the point of gauntness, with long raven hair, and an almost ethereal beauty. Yet Nifty knew this frail exterior to be quite deceptive. Monsourions were disproportionately strong for their size, largely due to one of the densest musculatures in Submantle, and from a Helix that normally prided itself on its precision machining, they had evolved themselves for a speed and accuracy that confounded most machines.
Ryder ignored the girl as soon as she saw the plate, managing to pick up four leafs at once, munching and clicking happily.
“Thank you,” Nifty replied. “I don’t know what that smell is coming from the kitchen, but could I please get two servings?” he smiled. “And a flagon of Sakaurian fire draught, if you have it.” One wouldn’t hurt – we found the Key after all.
“Certainly,” the girl nodded politely. “It’s vegetable stew with several spiced meats.”
Nifty cringed a little. The vagueness of several spiced meats teetered on a dietary ledge for him, and he nodded his head slowly, relying on the recommendation he’d gotten from the train’s library, as the girl headed for the kitchen to get his order.
Roughly thirty percent of all creatures in Submantle were either born with or had acquired through genetic manipulation, augmented intelligence. Another twenty inherited augmentation of varying degrees from their parents, and there was no telling how many wild animals achieved the true self-awareness that heightened Flux intelligence brought with it.
This meant that if he wasn’t careful, at any point he could be eating a distant relative of Grunt or Snort, or any number of animals he was friends with. It could leave one in a very precarious position when ordering food in unregulated Helixes. Please be fish, please be fish, please be fish, he almost mumbled under his breath as the girl retreated to the kitchen.
Three bowls later, Nifty was stuffed. It had been fish, and it had been delicious. Even Ryder agreed with him, turning away from her treasured cinnamon every now and then to spear small chunks of meat from what she apparently considered a communal bowl.
He was about to take his last burning swig of fire draught when the familiar green shrouded figure walked into the tavern. Throwing back the hood and removing her cloak, the statuesque Lulu strode purposefully toward his table and without ceremony sat down across from him looking rather annoyed. “What in slagstone are you two doing here?” she glared. “You’re supposed to be at Terraport? Have you two been following us, afraid you can’t find the Key on your own?”
Nifty couldn’t have been more surprised if she’d walked up and slapped him in the face. Even angry she was beautiful…well, maybe, especially angry she was beautiful. Her intensity gave her a predatory look that Nifty found thrilling. With her cloak off, he could see that she wore full Ranger gear, complete with a blitz whip at her hip, a T-handled truncheon holstered under her arm, and a satchel slung over her shoulder. Her short red tresses were cut at a neat angle, highlighting her high cheekbones and full lips.
On the cheek under her left eye, set in a row, were the three oval-shaped jewels that glowed faintly from within, one for each year she’d won the brawler bash at the games. They served as both a reminder and a warning, and right now he was pretty sure they were probably the latter.
Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, he raised the flagon to his lips and gulped the last of the draught, enjoying its bitterness and the way it burned on the way down.
Other patrons around the tavern ceased their conversations and stared at the unexpected sight of a Ranger, some looking ready to leave at the first signs of trouble.
Setting down the flagon he answered, “Well met, Lulu, I’m doing well, thank you for asking.” His mind raced as he fumbled for his next words. What would Chadlock say? When it came to women the large |Ranger was never at a loss for words. He decided that maybe a compliment might work best.
“I haven’t seen you for some months now – did you just get your hair cut? It frames your face beautifully.” He said the most gracious tone he could muster,
Wrong, Lulu was about to explode, and he knew it; he was walking a very delicate edge and fumbled out. “It’s not a contest, Lulu. If one of us finds it, we all find it. And before you do anything we both may regret, yes, we were at Terraport however, we encountered a dreadnaught and were forced to change plans. I filed a report with Rocktower at the hub where you saw me earlier.” He pulled out the report and slid it across the table.
Shifting her glare from him to the report she gave it a quick scan and just shook her head. “This says hardly anything. How did you know we were here? And what happened to your face? Those wounds are fresh.”
“Me? How did you know that I was here? It’s scarcely been an hour,” he countered. He felt a slight thrill, noticing a note of concern in her voice when she’d asked about his wounds. “Where’s Belle?” he added for good measure.
That simple question slowed her momentum and she renewed her glare.
Belle, Lulu’s partner and mentor, had spent as much of her career sifting through the libraries, finding clues about various artifacts, as she’d spent ranging the crust.
But Lulu, although somewhat less suited for research, had other abilities which, when combined with her fiery temper, had galvanized her into the top spot at the Brawler Bash. From what little Nifty could gather about her family, the majority seemed embarrassed with her decision to become a Ranger.
For generations, her family had maintained a preeminent position in the Citadel archives. Her parents’ placement as senior Rocktower ambassadors virtually assured her the opportunity to follow in her family’s distinguished footsteps. But against their wishes, Lulu had joined the Ranger service and involved herself with tasks her parents undoubtedly viewed as menial – tasks which would inevitably result in a lower placement within the archives when she decided to start a family.
Nifty surmised that her parents would almost certainly be using their considerable influence to avoid this outcome, and were conducting a rigorous search for an appropriately ranked bachelor, maybe even a winner of the presti
gious Ranger games…but not for a Jax, never for a Jax.
Seeing her standing here set his mind to war with the idea that being a Jax was the worst thing in the world. Maybe it wouldn’t bother her at all that he was descended from a man that possibly nearly destroyed their world. And with that thought Nifty had an idea and a light of hope bloomed in his mind. What if the Jax from the surface could help exonerate the Jax name? What if Nifty could help him do that? Nifty should help him do that. His eyes bored into Lulu’s as he made up his mind. He had hope once more. even if slight.
“If you’d bothered to look around the docks when you arrived, you’d have seen us a few slips down. We were prepping to leave,” she finally answered, curling her hands into fists when she caught herself revealing too much “Slagg it, quit staring at me like that,” she added, reddening slightly.