She almost asks when, and realizes the young couple had to have been part of it. “I didn’t even see you pass him anything.”
“Not him,” Bo says with a chuckle. “Her. She picked my pocket.”
Didi shakes her head. “You are a thief, then.”
“Now, now,” Bo says, hurt in his voice. “Not a common thug, thank you. I am a master of my craft. As are most of my family.” He says the word with a hint of bitterness in his voice, just the barest touch. It makes her wonder what he means by family. “But, fear not. They are of equal mind with me. They know better than to mess with the Underlord. If anyone can find out where your father is being held, it’s them.”
She tugs on his hand, stumbling to a halt, forcing a couple of pedestrians to circle around her with odd looks at her. She’s suddenly aware of her state of mess, of the fact there’s a price on her head. They are still in the more run-down part of the city. Anyone here could be on the Underlord’s payroll. Including Bo and his family.
Bo gets her moving again as fear keeps her protests at a minimum. “I know what you’re thinking,” he says. “Just trust me, Didi. They’ll do anything for the right price.”
She shouldn’t. No way, not a chance, she’s daft and foolish to consider it. But she’s exhausted and alone, without anything resembling a plan of her own. And his smile and her hormones urge her to follow.
Knowing she’s a blikey fool, relieved to be doing something, anything, she finds herself going with him anyway, wondering if she’s just lost her mind.
***
Chapter Twenty Five
Didi follows Bo, his hand still gripping hers, dragging slightly behind him as they move through the city. She keeps her head down now, worried she might run into Jackus again. Has he tracked her here? He must have realized the gunslinger put her on the train, that she’s looking for her father. It’s just disconcerting he might know how to find her.
But no, as she walks along behind Bo, his firm hand on hers, her logical mind puts it all together. Of course he knows she’s in the city and their path from the mag train yard was pretty much a straight shot. It would be easy for Jackus to find them. She’s been acting foolishly, bouncing around from disaster to desperate act to mindless wandering.
That has to stop if she’s going to find Dad.
Their odd course to escape their chasers seems to have done the job, for she sees no sign of Jackus or the two men he’s been traveling with. Either that or the mechcop appearance scared the squatter enough he’s gone into hiding.
It makes her think of the gunslinger with more sadness than she expected. It’s not like he’s a real person anymore, though her heart says otherwise. He’s organic under all that plastanium, isn’t he? She keeps forgetting he’s just a weapon to her, a means to an end. That’s ruffled her feathers about as badly as losing Pip.
“Any idea where the mechcops would have taken a fallen gunslinger?” She says it casually, wincing at the words emerging, knowing it’s anything but a casual thing to say. Bo glances over his shoulder at her, whistles.
“You brought a gunslinger with you?” His blue eyes are wide, a grin about the brilliance of a ten-year-old with a new toy lighting his face. “A real, honest-to-trash gunslinger?”
She sighs and nods. “The mechcops have him.”
Bo shakes his head, excitement fading. “Probably scrapped by now,” he says, disappointment clear in his voice. “Blikey. I’ve always wanted to meet a gunslinger.” Before she can get too down, though, he winks at her. “That kind of information is worth knowing, Didi. I’ll see what I can dig up.”
Relief is a foreign thing to her and she’s not sure how to say thank you. Doesn’t need to as he jerks on her a little harder, pulling her toward a building at the end of the street. They don’t enter the front door though, not that she’s surprised. It’s a warren of dilapidation around here, even worse than the previous areas she’s visited, closer to the mag line. It’s like the people who live here don’t care or can’t bring themselves to, the stench of the planet far worse than she’s expecting as though all the decay on Trash Heaven has culminated in this cul-de-sac.
Worse even than Putter’s territory, if that’s possible, the combination of rotting effluvia mixed with the burnt tang of metals and plas that have seen better days. Her mouth guard’s filter is long overdue for a cleaning, nose plugs in about as good a shape. She swallows past her revulsion and keeps pace with Bo’s longer legs just so he won’t pull her arm out of its socket in his eagerness.
He’s like a giant, bounding puppy—she’s seen such creatures in vids, fluffy and enthusiastic—and, within minutes, she’s in darkness again, out of the full light and heat of the mid-morning sun, washed with cleaner air, thankfully as she steps through a side door in the alley next to the last building on the block and into a startling reality.
A façade, the building, masking a private garden of Eden. It’s the only way she can describe the courtyard-like space, pots of fresh plants sheltered with plasglass and misted with water as condensation rolls softly down the insides of the cases.
Even the ground is different than outside, as though on purpose, plates of mismatched plas and metal covering it in irregular rectangles that forms a gorgeous pattern of color and shape. The many windows and doors, a ring of balconies overhead, seem scrubbed clean and almost pristine, the heavy stench outside not penetrating in here.
“Welcome to my home,” Bo says, smile soft and genuine as he looks around. “What do you think?”
She gapes, looking up at the sky, catching the faintest shimmer of blue. They must have a filter screen over the roof to keep the smell away, the dirt. She’s never seen anything so beautiful and it makes her acutely conscious of how dirty she is.
He doesn’t wait for her to answer, laughing at her expression, continuing to drag her into the courtyard. She looks down with a blush as a small group of people about her age hurry by, laughing. They wave at Bo, one of them tossing saucy hips his way, and Didi wonders at the sharp jab of anger that flirtation raises in her.
But, they don’t stop, Bo guiding her across the span, leaving the courtyard for the cooler interior of the building. It’s still lovely in here, though not as lush as outside, the floors clean, walls freshly painted. Even the doors seem newish, with embellishments that remind her of art.
Bo sees her looking and grins, points. “One of the guys is a metal shaper,” he says. “Loves to play with design. Brill, right?”
She nods, stumbling over her feet in her continuing surprise, feeling like a bit of a bumpkin in this lovely place. Sure, she adored her greenhouse and would pit it against this recreation of something more extravagant, but even she has to admit she could get used to living in surrounds that meant she would more than likely remain clean.
How lovely that would be.
“First things.” He stops at a staircase, swings up them two at a time, Didi hurrying to keep up. “A cleansing, some fresh clothes. Then, you meet Hist and we find out what we can do for you.”
She almost resists the offer of new clothes. She’ll lose her protections. But a cleansing… that she’s been looking forward to for what feels like ages but, she realizes, is less than a day.
A day. Since she killed a bole, resurrected a gunslinger, lost everything she loved.
Didi finds it hard to breathe when that truth settles in. So much can change so very quickly.
Bo is barely at the top landing when he slams to a halt, Didi running into his back, squashing her nose against his spine. He seems stiff suddenly, his easy good nature firming up into stress that instantly triggers her own anxiety.
She peeks around his shoulder as a stranger speaks, the tall, gray haired man not even looking her way.
“Hist wants to see you,” he says, gruff voice angry. “Now.”
“I was going to offer our guest hospitality.” Bo gestures at Didi, but the man doesn’t change attitude or shift his gaze to her. Like she doesn’t exist.
&nb
sp; “Now, Bo.” The man points back down the stairs. “Move.”
Her companion’s casual shrug is anything but, if the hard squeeze of his hand is an indicator. Bo turns and smiles at Didi, his eyes tight around the edges.
“Hist it is,” he says. And shakes his head ever so slightly at her, lips pursed.
Didi’s fear level rises, though Bo never lets go of her hand, the two retreating back down the stairs. The man follows them, his feet clomping on the steps like hammer-falls of doom and the pair of angry women at the bottom, staring up with matching scowls, only serve to make Didi even more nervous.
The taller of the two has her arms folded over her wide, ample bosom, her slender companion’s horse face grim. Neither speaks, turning their backs on Bo whose footsteps slow even further though he follows.
“Didi,” he whispers. “I don’t know what’s happening, but whatever it is, I’m sorry.” He sounds genuine. “This can’t be good.”
“I thought you said your family would help?” She tries to pull her hand away but he won’t let her.
“That was the consensus when I left this morning.” He glances over his shoulder at the older man, head tilting down toward her as he continues to whisper. “Something’s changed.”
She knew she couldn’t trust him. This was a terrible idea. But Didi is out of options. All she can do now is see this through and hope he’s wrong.
They pass several open doors, gather a crowd of frowning followers. Bo’s attitude only worsens, his shoulders slumping slightly until they emerge through a pair of wide, wooden doors—a rarity on Trash Heaven, Didi’s never seen the like—and into a low but expansive chamber. It looks like tile on the floor, real stone tile, and more wood, this time chairs and a long table. Where they found such precious pieces Didi has no idea. The climate on Trash Heaven wreaks havoc on organics.
But, it’s the trio of older people sitting in the rare chairs that draw her full attention, and the press of people who enter behind her, filling the room with their presence. Bo is still holding her hand in a death grip and she’s thankful for his touch, no longer wanting him to let her go.
He’s right. This can’t be good. Not from the stern and angry expressions on the faces of the elders.
“Bo Rylen.” The woman in the middle speaks, her long, silver hair braided over one shoulder, thin, wrinkled hands clasping the arms of her chair like claws. “What have you done?”
“Mistress Hist.” He bows to her, smooth and silky tone stroking her name, charisma turned up to full volume. “May I introduce—”
“I know full well who this girl is.” She cuts him off with an abrupt gesture, and Bo is suddenly gone, torn from Didi, fingers aching from her grip being severed. Didi holds her ground, hoping her lower lip isn’t trembling the way it feels like it’s trembling, and stiffens her shoulders as the crowd presses in behind her, forcing her forward.
Alone and afraid, she faces the leaders of Bo’s family.
“Didi Duke,” Hist says, her voice cold, brittle. Pale, gray eyes examine her a moment, make her shiver. “I’ll give you one thing, girl. You have more brains than sense.” The crowd mutters behind Didi in response. “A gunslinger. You raised and brought a gunslinger to Trash City. For what purpose?”
“To rescue my father from the Underlord.” She knows without a doubt lying will get her nowhere with this woman. But, maybe honesty will serve her. She senses a faint respect in Hist as the woman looks her up and down. Or is she imagining it?
More mutters from the crowd, the woman beside Hist snorting, the man shaking his head.
“A single girl and an ancient peacekeeper against the power of the Underlords.” When she puts it that way, Didi has to admit it sounds ludicrous.
“What else would you have me do?” Didi didn’t mean to challenge the woman. But she’s in the worst situation of her life, and has a feeling no matter what she does or says, this is going to end badly. “Abandon my father? Sit out in the trash and do nothing?”
Hist raises one hand to silence the barrage of hissing and shouts that answer Didi’s questions.
“You have brought trouble and risk to this family.” She drops her hand to the chair arm with an audible thunk. “And, though one of ours made the mistake, it is you, I’m afraid, who must pay the price.”
“Hist, please.” Bo speaks up, even his smooth calm gone, faintly desperate. “Just let her go.”
“I can’t.” The old woman shakes her head. “The Underlord knows she’s here, you idiot boy. Knew the moment the girl passed into this territory.”
Didi’s chest tightens. “You’re turning me over to the Underlord.”
Hist shrugs, looks away with a frown pinching her brows together. “Were this handled better,” she says, “I may have found a way to keep you safe. But that time is over.” She looks back, gray eyes cold. “I have sent an emissary to the Underlord. You will be turned over when my man returns.”
“What happened to our rules, Hist?” Bo’s voice vibrates with rage. “We don’t traffic in people.” This time when they crowd mutters, it’s in soft response to him. There are a few here, it seems, who agree with him. “And we don’t work for the Underlords.”
More mutters, head shakes. But Hist’s anger is stronger as she thumps her fists down one last time.
“You give me no choice!” She surges to her feet, tall, skinny body swaying in her red robe. Didi almost feels sorry for her. Looks around at the family gathering, though she now realizes that term is a loose one.
“I understand.” She nods to Hist who seems suddenly shocked, then ashamed, her pale, wrinkled cheeks pinking. “You have them to worry about. But, I ask you, Mistress Hist. Once you cross that line, once the Underlord knows you will capitulate, you’ve lost your ability to say no.”
The woman sinks to her seat. “I am aware of that, young woman,” she says. “It’s the reason I curse your arrival in our lives.”
“Then help me defeat the Underlord.” If they fight with her, help her find her father… even rescue the gunslinger, they might have a chance. “Eliminate the problem.” It’s the most logical course of action.
Hist seems to waver, but finally hangs her head. “Take her,” she whispers. “Keep her safe. And let me know when the Underlord’s emissary arrives.”
***
Chapter Twenty Six
She’s led away by the same pair of women, considers running. But this place is a warren of corridors, a mess of people and doorways and staircases. She could flee, but she’s pretty sure doing so might lead to worse than just being held until the Underlord’s people come.
Besides, why run? This is what she wanted, isn’t it? To find the Underlord and trade the chip for her father. Perfect. Mind you, she doesn’t have the gunslinger to guard her back, or Pip to watch over her shoulder. It’s just Didi and the tiny, gold sliver of tech in her secret pocket.
Her fingers dip, explore the space. Find the trigger for her protections.
And nothing else.
She stumbles to a halt, chest constricting, heart pounding, all the blood rushing from her face to pool at her feet. She’s certain she’s going to pass out as blackness closes in around the edges of her vision, her chest compressed so tightly she can’t breathe.
The woman leading her spins instantly, the one behind her prodding her to make her move, but Didi can’t. Can’t. The chip. Her fingers search, ignoring the sharp pain as the large woman behind her smacks her on the back of the head before pinching her hard.
“Get a move on, you.” Her deep, rough voice barely registers.
The pocket is empty.
The chip is gone.
Didi finally lurches forward, all hope dead inside her, fumbling for motion as the big woman shoves her with a flat hand in the middle of her back. She moves in a fog, defeat a bitter tang in the back of her throat, not seeing or hearing anything around her as she’s shoved through a door and into a small, dark room.
“No tricks outta ya,” the big woman
grunts before slamming the door. Didi sinks to the floor, knees now rubber, legs strengthless as the last seed of her hope for Dad dies in her chest.
The chip. She’s lost it somewhere along the way, on her run with Bo, maybe, or on the train. No, she had it in the city, she remembers feeling for it. It must have happened when Bo ran into her.
Wait, no. She checked for it, didn’t she? And his eyes—
She pounds on the ground with both fists, sobbing her sudden rage. He took it. He stole the chip from her, the lying, deceitful, blikey—
Didi slumps over and sobs into the plas floor, willing herself to just die. It doesn’t happen, naturally. She’s a failure at everything, so why should her last desire come true? She’s bungled things so badly since the moment Dad disappeared. And, likely, now that she thinks of it, telling Jackus he was working on something has to have been the trigger.
She got Dad kidnapped. And now she’s set herself up to be taken by the Underlord, too. Without a scrap of anything to trade for her life and her father’s.
It’s a long time before she drags herself upright, wipes the tears from her dirty face with her equally dirty hands, sinks back against the wall of what feels like a closet, and hugs her upraised knees. She stares at the door, waiting. There’s nothing more she can do. They have her bag, they have the chip. And she’s alone.
When the door creaks open, Bo slipping inside, she can’t even muster the strength to shout at him. She just stares up at him with hate in her face, and hopes somehow though she’s unable to will herself to death, that sentiment works on him.
He winces at her expression, crouching in front of her with a bundle in his hands.
“Didi, I’m so sorry.” He swallows hard, blue eyes rimmed with moisture. She turns her face away from him, refuses to say a thing. He doesn’t deserve her attention or her forgiveness. “I really am. I thought they’d be more understanding.”
“Go die in the trash,” she whispers. Her voice is hoarse from all the crying, but she doesn’t care. Didn’t mean to speak, either. “Thief and liar, that’s what you are, Bo Rylen.”
Didi and the Gunslinger Page 14