by Taven Moore
Nolan lifted her hand, then paused. “Give me a moment to speak privately with Jinn, first. I’ll be along shortly.”
Rjon reached forward and took her hand, pulling her into his embrace. One wing unfurled and curled around her back as he drew her in. Unhidden by his wing, his other hand reached down to curl around her backside. “Don’t dawdle, my darling Nolan,” he whispered.
It might have been touching, except that his red eyes were on Jinn’s face as he said it, and the smile crossing his face was not the smile of a friend.
Jinn fought to keep his teeth from clenching and betraying just how much the little scene bothered him.
A rustle of leather and the whoosh of air signaled Rjon’s departure.
“You’re angry,” said Nolan quietly.
Alone with her in the room, Jinn suddenly wished that she’d left with the Shinra’dor.
“No,” he said curtly.
“Control is not about rejecting your emotions, Jinn. It is about confronting them.”
“Perhaps for you, Nolan, but not for me.” Sharply, the memory of the last time he had taken Nolan’s advice and given in to his emotions returned to him. The sound of her, the scent of her, rose up in a rush. He closed his eyes, rejecting the image.
She had moved on. They had moved on.
He took a deep breath, then opened his eyes, shoulders relaxed. “You should not keep him waiting.”
Nolan frowned. “Who is this human to you, that you would even think about trading the dresl girl for her? And don’t say that she is your employer. We both know that you put your brother’s needs above your own.”
He could not answer.
“Do you love her, then?” Nolan’s voice was tentative, as if she hadn’t meant to ask the question aloud.
“Does it matter if I do?” he asked, quietly.
She jerked back, lips curled. “Only that she is a filthy dirtsider.”
“And I am Outcast,” he said, not reacting. “What difference would it make?”
“None,” she said, shaking her head. “None at all. I bid you a good night, Jinn. Tomorrow morning, I will return to assist you in the search for the dresl.”
“Don’t bother,” he said, turning away from her and lying on the bed, eyes closed.
His heart clenched. The curtains rustled once and he knew she was gone.
Nolan had made her choice. The only gift he could give her now was the gift of closure. He would complete his business in Helion, and he would never see her again. Let her believe he loved Remora. It would be easier for her to move on.
He pushed aside the mix of feelings swirling in his stomach and closing his throat. Emotion made him sloppy, and he would need all his wits about him for tonight’s tasks.
Sitting up, he strode to the desk and picked up the knife and note. He carefully wrapped the blade and stashed both items in his belt pouch.
He truly did believe that Rjon’s forces had done all they could to find the dresl girl. They had more resources and more manpower than he could command. Instead of wasting time searching for the girl who clearly did not want to be found, he would search for the cat-dresl who had wielded the finely-wrought blade dipped in expensive iocane powder. A blade this fine was not purchased at some cheap blacksmith’s tent. Someone would know its history, its maker, and possibly even its purchaser.
Surely the city’s finest bladesmiths would not begrudge a late night visitor with a few modest questions to ask.
15. Notch
Remora sat in the corner of the tiny room and eyed the open door the way a fish might eye a circling shark.
To her right was a blank wall. To her left, a half-dozen brass cages held captive shonfra. Destined, she presumed, to be sold as pets to the wealthy. A rainbow-furred audience, they watched her with wide, curious eyes.
The door to her tiny metal prison stood wide open, waiting.
Only one thing stood between herself and freedom. A golden leopard cat-dresl, lounged on a chair. One of his ears was notched and half the whiskers on one side of his face were shorn. For the last fifteen minutes, he had been asleep.
She was, at least, reasonably certain he was asleep. His eyes were closed, his tail motionless, and his furred cheek twitched periodically.
If she truly believed he was asleep, why was she sitting, back pressed against the opposite wall, trying to decide what to do?
She bit her lip. Lady Remora Windgates Price would not hesitate. Right now, however, she felt a bit more like little Remmy Price. Only this time, her uncle would not appear to rescue her.
She reviewed what she knew.
She was on a ship. Of that, she had no doubts whatsoever. Even if the gentle, rocking motion of her prison hadn’t been an immediate giveaway, her captors hadn’t even bothered to knock her out or blindfold her for her kidnapping.
At first, she’d gloated, certain that they underestimated her. She memorized every second of the walk from that dirty alleyway to the ship that held her. A Swan class airship, sleek and flashy and incredibly expensive. Not many of those around. Her avid brown eyes devoured every detail of the room she was tossed in: the blank walls, adorned only with cages of chattering shonfra, the featureless metal floors which clattered noisily with every booted footstep she made, the single hatch door with its featureless inner shell.
The gloating had rapidly given way to concern. She was under constant guard—a rotating shift of dresl that relieved each other of duty every two hours like clockwork.
She verbally berated them all, lashing out at them with the most inventive insults she could devise. When that had no effect, she began to recite the Ardelan Encyclopedia from memory, with special emphasis on the stupidity of animals.
It was no use. She had time only to see the barest hints of irritation on her guards before they were relieved by a fresh dresl and she’d have to start all over again.
This particular guard, the cat she had taken to calling Notch, had taken a different tactic. Instead of standing just inside or outside the shut door, he brought a chair into the room and left the door open. Turning the chair backwards, he crossed his arms over the chair’s back, then . . . watched her.
Her jibes and insults had no effect on Notch. Reciting the exact medical technique used to castrate a male cat elicited only a yawn.
Sometime after she’d fallen into a sullen silence, he had dropped his head to his crossed hands, closed his eyes, and began to sleep.
At least, she was fairly certain he was asleep.
Take a chance? Go for the door? If that was not Notch’s intent, why leave it open? Surely it was a trap.
Notch grunted and shifted position, settling his chin more comfortably in his arms.
An even, rattling wheeze rose from between his ears.
Snoring. Her guard was snoring.
She had to try. She had nothing to work with in that cell, nothing at all. She might actually make it all the way to the surface without being captured, but even if all she managed was to get thrown into a different room, it would be an improvement. Hidden between the whalebone of her corset, her cogsmithing tools waited in tidy, useless columns. Even the tiniest gadget would give her something, some starting point to devise an escape plan.
She cursed the box of disguised jewelry stashed beneath her bunk aboard the Miraj. Any of a dozen necklaces, earrings, or bracelets would have been useful, yet she had been so excited at the prospect of seeing a Shinra city that she had neglected to don even a single piece.
The snoring grew louder and remained perfectly even.
She may never get another chance.
Taking a deep breath, she stood, eyes affixed to Notch’s relaxed form. He gave not so much as a single whisker twitch.
She closed her eyes and counted to three, then pushed off against the wall, thrusting herself at the open doorway.
A flash of gold fur. Her breath whooshed out of her as something slammed into her stomach and flung her back against the far wall. Her cheek burned.
> She blinked.
Notch lounged on the chair, tail dancing merrily behind him. His wide green eyes watched her face with undisguised amusement, furred chin resting on the back of the chair.
She lifted a hand to her burning cheek and it came away wet. She was bleeding.
Notch lifted one hand and showed her his extended claws. Two of them were tipped in red. His eyes still on hers, Notch slowly and deliberately drew his sandpaper tongue against the stained tips.
Horrified, she drew away. Notch dropped his chin back to his crossed arms and began the odd, huffing cough that she associated with cat-dresl laughter.
She hadn’t even seen him move from the chair, yet he had time to throw her backward, scratch her cheek, then return to his previous position on the chair in just the time it had taken her to stand up again. His sleep had been entirely feigned. The open door had, indeed, been a trap.
That, Remora decided acidly, was most definitely cheating. She drew herself up and glared at him. He lifted his head, cocking it to the side curiously.
“You,” Remora said, “set me up. I shall be speaking with your leader about your boorish behavior. What sort of kidnapping is this, anyway? It’s rubbish, and your entire outfit is embarrassingly amateur. Indeed, I’ve not even been told why I’ve been taken! I demand to speak to your leader.”
The huffing, barking laughter began again.
Remora drew herself to her full height, though her midsection ached sharply at the motion. “I am not joking.”
Notch stood and bowed to her, sarcasm fairly vibrating from every splotchy rosette on his coat. His hands signed something at her.
She shook her head irritably. “I do not understand your language. I demand to speak to your leader. Surely there is someone aboard who can speak Common.”
Notch paused, then pointed at her, waiting.
“What, are we pantomiming?” She sighed. “Very well. Me. Something about me.”
He nodded, then lifted the still-pointing finger and laid it horizontally against his throat, jerking his arm in a very familiar gesture.
Remora’s eyes widened. “Dead? Me, dead? Don’t be ridiculous, Notch.”
The dresl’s notched ear twitched once as she said his nickname. She hoped he found it irritating. He repeated the gestures.
She waved an impatient hand in his direction. “Yes, yes, you’ve been perfectly clear. Either your outfit is even more slipshod than I feared, or you are quite mistaken. One doesn’t kidnap an assassination victim. One simply assassinates them. If I were to be killed, it would have been done by now. Why bother keeping me alive?”
His only response was to lean back in the chair, tucking his thumbs behind his suspenders.
The sound of approaching footsteps echoed in from the open door. Notch dropped back to the chair, affecting the same lazy pose he’d used when he first entered the room.
Remora frowned at him. “You’re a charlatan,” she whispered. “Pretending to be lazy and relaxed. You’re not fooling anyone.”
The clatter from those approaching via the hallway smothered whatever reaction Notch might have given. Two hours had not yet passed. This was not Notch’s replacement coming to relieve him.
Perhaps she would have the opportunity to speak with the person behind this kidnapping after all. Hastily, she smoothed the front of her skirt and combed her fingers through her hair. First impressions were terribly important and she wanted to be taken seriously.
Notch’s green eyes laughed at her and his whiskers pushed forward into a feline smile. The door gave a metallic grinding sound as the lock was opened, and Remora fought the urge to stick her tongue out at the cat dresl. One of them would have to act like an adult.
16. Mack
Two figures rounded the doorway. The first was a cat-dresl woman whose white fur was delicately patterned with striking dark gray rosettes. Immediately following her was a black-haired human with an eyepatch and a nasty scowl.
The dresl woman moved immediately to the furthest corner of the room and crouched, making herself as small as possible. Notch gave her a half-lidded once-over before resuming his previous facade of laziness.
“Excuse me,” Remora said, turning to the human and pulling herself to her full height.
The human’s one remaining eye flickered to her with the same look of irritation one might grant a small, annoying dog.
Remora tossed her head, crossing her arms over her chest. She would not be treated this way. “Pardon me, but I demand to know why I have been detained.”
“What’s this?” His hand shot forward to grip her chin, quick as a striking snake.
Startled, she gasped and tried to pull away.
“Stop that,” he said crossly, turning her face to expose her still-burning cheek.
“You. Guard,” he said sharply.
Notch opened one eye fully to look at the man. “Did you damage the girl?”
Notch nodded, then pointed at her, two padded fingers making a running gesture.
“How dare you!” she cried. “You set me up. Tricked me into that escape attempt. I’ll not have you pinning the blame on me!”
“Quiet, girl. You’ll speak only when spoken to. Consider that your first warning.”
“I beg your pardon?” she said.
His eye narrowed. “That’s two.” Dropping her chin, he turned to Notch. “The damage will be deducted from your pay, but at a reduced rate as it happened during an escape attempt.”
He released her chin and spoke to Notch as if she were not present. “Simply having the Outcast Shinra’ere on the streets was enough to flush the leopard from her hiding place. While it is true that with the dresl, we no longer need the red-haired human as a bargaining chip, you’re to take more care with the girl in the future. She has the look of frail youth that sells well, but most prefer to leave their own marks on their merchandise. No more accidents.”
He waited for Notch to nod before continuing. Remora found herself speechless. He intended to sell her? As a slave? Was he touched in the head?
The man removed and examined a pocketwatch briefly. “We’re stuck here another day before leaving for Bespin to meet my employer. I expect your team to keep both girls undamaged until my return.”
Remora stomped her foot. “Excuse me, but I shall not tolerate being treated in this rude fashion! I demand to know what is happening here. Why am I being held? Has there been a ransom demand?” The man turned his one good eye on her. Remora, seeing she finally had his full attention, barreled forward. “Furthermore, I have a complaint to be levied against these kidnapping arrangements. They’re shoddy at best, the guards are rude and antagonistic, I have neither been fed nor offered a proper chamber pot, and I have truly had enough of your overly familiar behavior. Do you have any idea who you are dealing with?”
“No.” His eye gleamed, and Remora realized just how precarious her position was. His hand shot out again, gripping the long drape of red hair at the nape of her neck and pulling it sharply downward, forcing her face upward. She gasped, the motion sending sharp prickles of pain through her scalp.
“You do look familiar . . .” he mused, turning her face from side to side, examining her thoroughly. Finally, he shook his head and released her with force, thrusting her back. “No. With that red hair, you’re likely some Price bastard, but it’s not the hair that seemed familiar. Something in the eyes, or perhaps the cheekbones.”
“Tell me, little girl,” he said as she rubbed gently at the base of her head, where the scalp still burned from his grip. “Who am I dealing with?”
She knew nothing about this man, and nothing about why she had been taken. He’d objected to her being manhandled, but also made it clear he considered her to be damageable merchandise rather than leverage. He had no idea who she was, who he’d kidnapped, and how much she could be ransomed for.
She remembered the cunning look in his eye as he’d examined the cut on her face. Of a sudden, she decided she very much did not want this ma
n to know who she was. As far as he was concerned, she was just some girl who happened to be with Jinn in town.
“You . . . you’re dealing with a friend of Jinn! He will find me, you know. He’ll come after you.”
The slow, dangerous smile that spread across the man’s face sent fingers of frost crawling across her heart. “Oh, I’m counting on it. I very much hope he does find you. That will save me a great deal of trouble in capturing him. My employer wants him more than you can possibly imagine, and it’s my job to make certain they always get what they want.”
With that, he flicked his pocketwatch closed and turned to leave. Remora panicked. He couldn’t leave, not like this. Not without giving her something to use, some piece of information or help that would change her situation. With a growl of frustration, she bent down and slipped a boot from her foot. They’d removed the laces before locking her away. At the time, she’d been irritated by the gesture. She wasn’t likely to commit suicide, if that was their concern. Now, however, it allowed her to slip off the heavy shoe in a single easy motion.
Barely time enough to take aim before he left the room, Remora launched the shoe at the back of his head. It hit him considerably south of her target, between his shoulder blades.
The captured shonfra on the wall seemed to take in a collective breath and step back, away from the front of their cages. Even Notch abandoned all his feigned disinterest and watched her with shocked green eyes.
The human froze, then spun slowly on his heels. Remora took in a deep breath and began berating him immediately. “You, sir, are a cad and a bounder! Never in my life have I been treated with such disrespect. I’ve no doubt that you lost your eye in a fair match, and you now pick battles only against the weak and small. You, sir, disgust me! I hope Jinn does find me. Or, rather, finds YOU. Even if I shall be lost, he is a trained Shinra’ere warrior, and he shall wreak my vengeance upon your pathetic, sniveling self. I curse you, one-eyed coward. I curse your fortune, your family, and your . . .” Remora paused, trying to remember the word Hank continually used when he was cursing something. “ . . . Roith’delat’en name!”