He shakes his head.
“Christian boys taken by their ruling Muslim masters and pressed into service for the Ottoman war machine. They became more loyal than the fickle tribesmen.” Elise shifts her position. “The practice was recently abandoned—the Muslim nations no longer have the strength to expand. But the Japanese military historians saw the custom’s usefulness. They adopted it, but unable to confront the colonial powers directly, built the program through stealth, taking younger children when they could. Which has worked very well for them—it mirrors the programs direction of action through deception.
“I was told I was found in Hong Kong where my parents abandoned me. I was educated in the same manner as any other Japanese child and taught to hate the West for throwing its unwanted children away like garbage. Kentaro Yamamoto raised me like a father. We all called him Father.”
“We?”
“Fath…no. Kentaro runs Yamamoto Laboratories. I was part of a program created to keep tensions and mistrust high among the Western and European imperial powers. Some of us were educated as English, some as Americans. The older ones, like William, can pass for either. When we are not learning to be westerners, we are taught the arts of sabotage, assassination, intelligence gathering.”
“There have been rumors the English and Americans are interfering in each other’s territories these days.” Marco whistles. “Genius.”
“Yes. The Japanese are very powerful, but they receive no respect from the proper super powers—even after their victory in Mongolia over Russia. They are seen as inferior. With South Africa and Russia as the only independent states, a peace between the English and Americans means certain doom for Japan. They cannot stand up to both.”
“With England and North America at each other’s throats, Japan will be free to claim most of Asia. They don’t hire mercenaries because their only loyalty is money, making it harder to keep interference secret.”
“Yes.” Elise smiles. “You’ve always seen things very clearly.”
Marco taps his head. “Got my brains from the white half.”
She can’t stop her laugh. “You’re awful. I don’t know how you do it.”
“I find humor in everything is good therapy for preventing insanity.” Marco shrugs. “What about you? What about this stuff you said they took from you?”
“We were experimented on—given treatments that changed our chemistry and physiology.” Although the flat is warm, she shivers. Marco squeezes her hand. “Scientists created a specially treated coal, kami-oshiroi. We ingest it with our food. When introduced into our new chemistry, it raises our body temperature…makes us faster, stronger, and able to endure more in the field. If we ingest too much without using the energy, we overheat, go into shock, and die.”
“So you only take it when you’re on a mission?”
Elise says nothing.
“You need a minimum amount to live as well.”
She nods.
“Is this an accident, or another form of controlling you?”
“It’s all very secret.” She shrugs. “I was getting ready for my first mission when I found out about my parents—and the parents of the other kids. It was just dumb luck. I stole what I could and ran.”
“How long do you have?”
“Not long.” She moves her left hand toward her right sleeve, hesitates, then pulls it up. Her arm is discolored, covered in yellow-brown splotchy flakes. Marco looks from her arm to her face, his eyes full of concern. “We call it rust. It’s the beginning of the genetic breakdown of our tissues. Without kami-oshiroi, our bodies completely shut down.”
“Then I guess we better go get it back.”
“There’s that we word again. We aren’t doing anything.”
“I’m not a trained assassin, but I didn’t grow up a half-breed without learning to fight, and you aren’t at your best,” he says firmly. “You didn’t plan on just sitting here and dying, did you?”
“No.” Elise stands up and moves her chair. She bangs on a couple floor boards until one pops open. Taking two bags out from under the floor, she brings them to the table. She opens one of the bags and Marco let out a low whistle. It’s full of British pounds. She unclips the latch on the second bag and rolls it out on the floor, revealing an assortment of blades and guns. “I still have my training. I know how to fight. But it would be better for me to get in and out quietly.”
“You’re a super-powered ninja.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m nothing like a ninja.”
“You infiltrate defenses, commit sabotage, and kill people.”
“I’m exactly like a ninja.” She starts loading a Colt revolver. “I’ve been watching the Blood Dregs’s building, but it’s sealed up tight.”
“Well, you are a lucky young woman.”
“How do you figure that?”
“You’re not the only one who knows a few tricks.”
Elise looks up. “Marco. I don’t want you to get hurt. Go find yourself a real girl.”
The young man steps closer to her and pushes a strand of black hair back from her face. “I don’t leave my debts unpaid. And you are a real girl.”
“Real girls don’t rust.”
He kisses her. Her cheeks become hot. “You seem real enough to me.”
“Marco…” It is too much. All the running, hiding, looking over her shoulder. She lays her head on his chest, hears his strong and steady heartbeat. If he is afraid, it isn’t showing. Maybe he doesn’t know any better. Maybe he is just as solid and steady as ever. Right now it doesn’t matter, she just needs to let go, if only for a moment. For the first time in years, she lets herself cry.
Dressed in her coveralls, Elise crawls under the Blood Dregs’s building, three inches deep in urine-soaked mud. God only knows what else is down here. Rats for sure. She hears them squeaking in the dark. Feels them running across her legs. Ahead of her, a match flares occasionally as her guide checks their position.
This kid better know where he’s going.
A few more minutes of crawling and she bumps into the boy, who is now waiting for her. He lights a match and points up. She rolls onto her back. Six inches from her nose is the wood floor of the building, and she quickly identifies the lines cut in the boards. A door. She nods to the boy and pats him on the shoulder in thanks. He grins, youthful white teeth surrounded by muck. Then the match goes out and he is gone.
Ninja.
She gently pushes up the boards. It’s a good thing Marco is busy elsewhere. He never would have fit through this hole. She sits up, hands first, squeezing her upper body through. With her palms down, she pushes herself all the way up and looks around.
The street urchins are true to their word. The emergency exit is surrounded by crates. She replaces the hidden door and sits down, pulling out the drawings of the building’s layout the children helped them with. It was built by the English army almost two hundred years ago, just before the North American revolution. South Africa is one of the few countries that survived the era with their freedom and state mostly intact. Since then, the building has been used as a shelter by whoever is strong enough to claim and hold it. The front half makes up the barracks, the back a warehouse. The warehouse is the most logical place to store the kami-oshiroi. They need a lot of it for sustained operations. This has to be the place. If it’s not here I’m screwed. Elise shakes her head as she folds the paper and puts it in her pocket. Peeking over the top box, she can see a metal door on the far side of the warehouse. Near it is a table covered with cards and poker chips. The men are gone.
Guess I didn’t need that diversion. Should she go for it? Elise looks at her watch. Two minutes until Marco’s diversion. She better wait. Stick to the plan. Three minutes. Five. Where the hell are you?
She looks over the crates again. Do not give in to desperation. Desperate people do stupid things.
Ten minutes.
Quickly she jumps over the crates. She moves without a sound toward the crates stacked near
the metal door. Taking out her knife, she pries up a corner. It’s full of metal tins wrapped in white paper. Just to be sure, she jabs a hole into the top and pours out the contents. Kami-oshiroi.
“I expected you sooner.”
She spins around. William stands there, a weary expression on his face. Behind him, looking nervous, is the man Elise let go in the alley. William’s men hold Marco between them. William sits down at the table. Teddy and one of the Janissaries stand behind him, while the two other men take position behind Marco and Elise. Elise has no choice but to let them take her. William places his hat carefully to the side, folds his hands in front of him. He looks at Elise.
“It’s lucky we found your friend getting ready to drive a horse cart full of oil into our lovely home.” He leans back, wrinkling his nose at her. “We have Teddy here to thank.”
Elise looks at Teddy and the man swallows hard; he takes a step backward.
William glances at Marco. “You shouldn’t have brought him into this, Aki-ko,” he says in Japanese.
“Let him go, Haro,” she responds in kind. “He’s nothing to you.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“I’ll come back.”
“You guys are talking about me, aren’t you?” Marco says.
The older man laughs and runs a hand through his graying, but thick red hair. He switches back to English. “Sorry, Elise. It’s too late for that.”
An explosion rocks the front of the building. Marco kicks the table into William, sending him rolling backward. Elise grabs for the knife on her guard’s belt, but he grabs her hand and twists. Anticipating the move, she spins in the air with the motion, lands on her feet, and knees the man in the groin, then kicks him in the nose.
Marco is being held around the throat; he tries to claw at his captor’s eyes. Elise kicks the guard in the side of the knee. His cry is cut short by her blade, and with a fluid motion she cuts Marco’s bonds before another man grabs her from behind, pinning her arms to her side.
Marco reaches out to help her, but William is there, raising his Derringer. Marco pushes the gun aside and smashes his forehead into William’s nose, shattering it. The blow would bring down a normal man, but William isn’t normal. For a veteran of countless operations, it isn’t much more than a hiccup. He blocks Marco’s follow-up swing and uses his momentum to hiptoss him to the ground.
One of the benefits in being covered in excrement is that no one likes to touch you. It also makes you slippery. Elise lifts her feet off the ground. The unexpected change in weight is enough to drop her out of the man’s grasp. She lands on her back, kicks her foot up into his throat, and spins, sweeping his feet from under him.
The good news for Marco is that William doesn’t seem to be fueled up on kami-oshiroi. The bad news is he doesn’t need to be. Marco’s brawling instincts, youth, and strength keep him in the fight.
William fakes a lunge to the right, then spins left, lashing out at the boy’s throat. A thunder crack echoes through the warehouse and William halts in shock. He stares uncomprehending at the bloody hole in his chest before collapsing to the ground.
Elise drops the Colt and runs to him, cradling his head in her lap, tears running down her cheeks. William lifts a hand, feebly wiping a wet trail from her dirty cheeks.
“Aki-ko.”
“I’m sorry, Uncle,” she says in Japanese.
He smiles, nodding near imperceptibly.
“As am I.”
“Elise?” Marco is behind her.
William’s eyes stray to the boy, then back to the girl. “It’s OK to go now.”
Then he is gone.
Marco touches her shoulder. “Elise?”
She nods and stands.
“What was that explosion?” she asks.
“Plan B. God bless the children.” He runs to the metal door and slides back the latches. He turns back to the crates. “How many of these do we need?”
“One.”
“One? How long will that last?”
She opens the lid all the way, checking the amount of tins. “If I sit on my butt and do nothing? A couple hundred years.”
“Damn. Why aren’t they in a cooler?”
“Don’t need to be.”
“What? Why were yours?”
“You’ve seen my place. Where else am I going to put them?”
“What about them?” He motions to the unconscious and groaning Janissaries on the floor.
Elise looks at the men. Teddy is nowhere to be seen. “They don’t matter.”
Together they lift the crate and carry it out the door as a boy, maybe seven years old, leads a sickly looking mule in front of a small cart.
“How’d I do, Marco?”
“Perfect, Jack.” He tosses the boy a couple crowns. “Get out of here.”
Jack snatches them from the air with a grin and is off before either of the pair can say anything.
“Ninja.”
“What?” Marco glances at her.
“Nothing. Let’s get this on the cart before people stop minding their own business.”
The sun is rising over the water. Elise discarded her filthy coveralls, but has said nothing since leaving the city.
“You going to be all right?”
Elise nods.
“You were amazing.”
She snorts a laugh. “So were you.”
“Yes, I was.” He directs the mule to the right, onto the hard-packed sand of the beach, and pulls up next to a cluster of man-sized rocks.
“What are we doing?” the young woman asks.
Marco nods at a small gap in the rocks. “We’re here.”
“Where is here?”
“Told you I’d show you where I was staying.” He pries the crate the rest of the way open and starts filling four gunnysacks he had grabbed from the warehouse. He slings two of them over his shoulders. “Come on.”
“Why are we taking the powder?” She starts filling the other two bags.
“You really want to leave them lying out here after all we went through?”
“Marco.”
“What?”
“You’re not safe with me around.”
“For someone trained in observation, you’re having a hard time noticing I’m not safe without you around.” He turns and squeezes between the rocks, disappearing from view. With a resigned sigh, Elise shoulders her bags and follows. She has to climb over several rocks, but it doesn’t take too long to reach a small isolated pocket of sand hidden from the road and the rest of the beach. There sits a sail boat, about fifteen meters long. It looks like an odd patchwork of different types of wood, like a child’s clothes sewn together from the scraps of others. Marco is throwing his bags over the side.
“I had planned on painting her before showing her to you.”
“This thing seaworthy?”
“Without a doubt. Found her here when I was sixteen, beat to hell on the rocks. Not sure how long it had been here. Spent three years combing the beach, junkyards, and sawmill scrap yards, but I found everything I needed. Found a great sail off a fresh wreck last spring. Owner let me have it for helping with the salvage.”
“Why didn’t you just live here?”
“Was afraid someone would see me coming and going. After the incident with Jaq, I decided to risk giving the site away. It was getting too hot in the slums.”
“You let him beat you up.”
He shrugs. “Eventually they get you. Fighting makes it worse. It was hard not to. Didn’t want you thinking I couldn’t handle myself.” He jumps up, grabs the rail, and pulls himself up and over, then looks at her expectantly.
She stares back at him. “So what’s your plan?”
“I’m loaded with food and fishing poles. I know how to make seawater fresh. I’m just going to wait a couple hours for the tide to come in, cut the rope, and float away to wherever.”
“You’re all about the details.”
“You have anywhere else you need to be?”
“Not really.” She chews on her lower lip and looks across the water to the horizon.
“You’re thinking about the past again.”
“No.” She looks up at him. “I was thinking about the future.”
He smiles at her—damn those perfect teeth—and holds out his hand again.
What the hell. She reaches up and takes his hand. It’s only rust.
About The Authors
Tonja Drecker grew up in Denver, Colorado. After finishing her education at the University of Denver, she listened to her heart and followed her prince charming to Germany. There she discovered her love for dark fairy tales and Steampunk fiction. When not at home on her laptop, she can be found with her husband and four children exploring castles, forging paths through mystical forests, or simply pulling weeds.
Valerie Hunter is a high school English teacher and voracious reader who is currently studying for her MFA in children’s and young adult literature at Vermont College of Fine Arts. Her stories have appeared in magazines including Cicada, Cricket, and Hopscotch, as well as in the YA anthology Cleavage. She hopes to write further adventures about Laraby and Travis from Miz Fixit.
Jason Keith is a former military correspondent. He has traveled around the world and has lived in Europe and Asia. Today he lives in Oregon with his children and their cat, Newton.
Kristin Lanett lives outside of Chicago, Illinois in a small suburb with her husband, bulldog (the inspiration for Zedock), cat and chinchilla. She grew up in Wyoming and Idaho and has always loved the west and the freedom of spirit it embodies. Her grandfather and a picture from 1945 of him on the railroad inspired the story of the Henning flyer.
Rachel Schieffelbein grew up in a tiny town in Minnesota, where she still lives with her husband and their four kids. She coaches high school speech and theater, and enjoys riding horses, reading, and making up stories. She likes to create characters she’d want to hang out with, and she hopes her readers will like them as much as she does.
Carmen Tudor’s YA fiction appears in Spotlight: A Golden Light Anthology, Spirited: 13 Haunting Tales, and Gooseberry Wine, which is available as a stand-alone e-book. When Carmen was diagnosed with early-onset glaucoma a few years ago, the ensuing ophthalmic visits and tonometric procedures inspired some pretty creepy story ideas and a few chilling nightmares—one of which was “Red Sky at Night.” On the bright side, she loves animals, cupcakes, and collecting old books. Carmen lives in Melbourne, Australia, but you can always visit her online at carmentudor.net.
Real Girls Don't Rust Page 15