by Ioana Visan
“Meaning?”
“We could transplant nerves from his legs. Being his own, there’s no risk of rejection. However, it will render the legs unusable.”
“We can give him back some of his mobility,” Rake said, “but if he’s needed for a certain operation, I’m afraid it won’t be enough.”
“Well ... that won’t do,” Dale said, coldness seeping into his voice. He’d been so close to succeeding. Images of armies walking out of bot factories flashed in front of his eyes, and he clenched his fists.
“We thought it might not.” Spinner nodded. “So we’re ready to offer a solution for that, too.”
Dale’s eyebrows rose. Renard sat impassively, as if it wasn’t his problem they discussed. In a way, it wasn’t.
“We can carry him,” Rake said. “We have enhanced people capable of carrying great weight. Moving him around will not be a problem. We’ll take him anywhere you need him to be.”
“That wasn’t part of the deal,” Dale said.
“No, it wasn’t,” Renard said, uncrossing his legs. “But it’s the only way we can accommodate you. It’s either this, or there’s no deal at all. We’ll do our best, but it won’t be of any use to you.”
First, the Golden Lady got involved, and now this. With the increased number of people, Dale risked being exposed and losing the advantage of the time window. “You want in.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes. We. Do.” Renard punctuated each word with a nod.
“You don’t even know what this is about.”
“True,” Spinner said. “But we did a scan of his brain, and the highest amount of activity is located in the most interesting places. Whatever this is about, we want in.”
“I see …”
“We’re not imposing, Mr. Armstrong,” Renard said. “We are simply stating your options.”
“The Golden Lady warned me you might,” Dale said.
“Miss Aurore is a smart woman.” Renard smiled. “But I wouldn’t call her that to her face if I were you. She has strict beliefs regarding what’s proper and what’s not, and you don’t want to cross her.”
“I figured as much,” Dale said. “So, I guess this means we’re stuck with each other.”
“We can proceed with the nerve transplant?” Spinner clapped his hands. “Wonderful!”
“You have done this before, haven’t you?” Dale asked, the concern hitting him as an afterthought.
“Yes … on horses,” Spinner deadpanned, putting on an idiotic smile.
“He’s joking,” Renard said with a roll of eyes. “Of course we have done this procedure before, with a great rate of success. We’re not endangering our clients’ health. It would be bad for business.”
As true as that sounded, Dale was still not reassured. “I’d like to talk to Cole first and see what he thinks. And then we need to do some planning.”
“We keep him under strong sedation to spare him the pain,” Spinner said. “Even if he was clear-headed, communicating with him would be difficult.”
“Which means we can jump straight to planning.” Renard gestured for Dale to take a seat.
14
“Who bought this piece of shit?” Spinner yelled, balancing on the edge of the balcony. The large theater hall opened wide below him, but he didn’t worry about falling. He’d anchored himself to a ceiling beam wrapped in metal. The lights flickered in his hands, and Spinner was tempted to throw them to relieve his frustration.
“You did,” Rake answered from near the stage. “The electrical system is ancient. I’m having problems down here, too.” He moved along the orchestra seats, checking the cables that wired the smaller lights from the front row, and shook his head, grumbling to himself.
“Well, where are the maintenance people?” Spinner asked. “We don’t have time for this! We’ve got more important work to do.”
Rake raised his eyes at him and shrugged without saying a word.
The heavily decorated, round hall was crowded with people rehearsing. Gymnasts and dancers filled the stage while clowns cavorted in the aisles. The contortionists wrapped themselves around the gilded support columns along the walls. Weaving between all of them, roadies hauled trunks of equipment and costumes.
Focused on fixing the lights, Rake paid no attention to the commotion surrounding him.
Spinner shook his head. Sometimes he envied Rake’s ability to detach himself from everything.
He was still fiddling with the lights when Nicholas made his appearance, coming in through the main doors. Aurore accompanied him, her royal presence imposing enough for people to open a wide path in front of her, despite her prosthetics not showing. Grimacing, Spinner let go of the lights and slid down a pole to the ground floor.
“So, this is how it looks,” Aurore said as they approached the stage.
Nicholas stepped carefully around a box left in the way. “It’s going to look much better once we finish the décor. Isn’t it, boys?”
Rake snorted, and even Spinner winced a little at being called “boy” by someone younger than him. Nicholas was taking his part too seriously.
“It’s going to look great,” Spinner said.
“If we can get the lights to work,” Rake added helpfully.
“You have problems with the lights?” Nicholas asked. “Tell the manager to put you in contact with the father and son electricians. They helped me once, too.”
“Okay, will do. ‘Bye now!” Spinner said. “We were just leaving.”
“Did you finish rehearsing already?” Nicholas checked his watch. “We’re not that late.”
Spinner let a knife slip from his sleeve into his hand and threw it in the direction of the stage. If Rake’s hand hadn’t shot out to catch it, it would have hit one of the gymnasts and there would have been no human pyramid for the show. Not only had Rake caught it outside his field of vision, but he threw it right back. With his magnetic fields ready, Spinner had no problem catching it.
“See? Done now,” Spinner said. “‘Bye-bye!”
“Not so fast,” Nicholas said. “We have some things to discuss with Miss Aurore—”
The loud screech of a trumpet pierced the air, making them shudder. The musicians had taken over the orchestra seats and were tuning their instruments while getting a feel for the acoustics.
“Let’s go backstage,” Nicholas said. “There’s no way we can talk here.”
He gallantly offered Aurore his arm when they climbed on the stage, though she didn’t need any help. Spinner shuddered behind them. At least she was wearing gloves.
They couldn’t talk in the crowded corridor, either, so Nicholas took them to his dressing room. Other than the mirrors, lights, and chairs, the room was empty. A scratched rectangular area in the corner showed where his trunk of tricks would be stored when brought to the theater. So far, it hadn’t been since Nicholas’s act didn’t require any rehearsal, either.
Rake and Spinner slid along the wall as usual, becoming one with the background.
“It’s good to see you here,” Nicholas said with a smile. “I’m sure I’m speaking for everyone.”
Aurore tossed the short, velvet cape over her shoulder. “I have shares invested in the theater. I’m a dedicated supporter of the arts. Of course, I had to check on you and make sure you didn’t ruin anything.” Her smile was cold.
“Well, as you see, we’re taking good care of the theater.” Nicholas gestured around. “We prefer to leave it standing when we’re done with it. It’s good for business.”
“Ahem …” Rake cleared his throat.
“And, speaking of business—” Nicholas glanced at Rake, “—what’s the deal with this Armstrong guy? I know it’s none of our business, and I wouldn’t normally ask because a client is a client, but he came with a proposal that is … too much for words. He’s either very brave or insane.”
Aurore’s lips pursed in a smirk. “I wouldn’t know about that. And I think the idea was yours.”
“Let’s
not dwell on that.” Nicholas waved an impatient hand. “Can he be trusted? What do you know about him?”
“I know he’s some kind of a mercenary,” Aurore said. “As for being trusted … well, I wouldn’t go that far, but he’s desperate. He can’t get what he needs anywhere else, and I don’t see what else he could do here.”
Spinner fully agreed but didn’t do more than just nod.
“I still think it could be a trap,” Nicholas said. “The procedure is complicated enough, but getting into the Hrad? If we were caught in there, we’d be lucky to escape alive. They keep pushing us farther and farther away each year. It’s possible some people want to get rid of us for good.”
We should have never put him in charge. It went to his head. Nicholas was a coward, had been on the run for years. Still, Spinner couldn’t blame him for wanting to preserve the comfortable life he’d made for himself with the circus.
“I can’t vouch for his sanity, but I can tell you he’s up to his neck in debt to me if that’s of any help.” Aurore made it sound like a promise Armstrong wasn’t going to screw up.
Except it didn’t look like she knew Armstrong well enough, and that was no guarantee he cared about her reputation. If he messed up with them, it would be too late for the circus people, even if Aurore did make him feel her wrath in the end.
“What’s Big Dino’s take on this issue?” Aurore asked.
“Big Dino couldn’t be consulted,” Nicholas said with a pointed look.
“Already?” Aurore asked after a momentary pause.
Nicholas nodded. “We’re on our own. So, you see why it’s such a big concern for us. These two are keen on doing the procedure because it’s a novelty but, really, what’s the point of doing it if you don’t live to tell about it?”
Both Rake and Spinner glared at him. There was a point in doing it, even if it wasn’t a matter of saving someone’s life in this particular case. But they did spare the client a lot of pain and help him regain his motor skills faster than anyone else could have. That had to count for something.
“Well, I have him under strict observation, and my people reported nothing suspicious so far,” Aurore said. “I think he’s, umm … hiding.”
“That’s not good. If there are people looking for him …” Nicholas and Aurore exchanged a knowing look.
“Why not assume he’s good at what he does and understands the risks?” Rake asked out of the blue.
“Hey, since when have you become such an optimist?” The words escaped Spinner’s lips before he could stop them, and he gave Aurore a sheepish look.
“Just saying.” Rake shrugged.
“Yes, of course!” Spinner changed his tune, hoping that if no doubt fell over their client’s patron, they would be allowed to work on the client in peace. The rest held only a secondary interest for him.
“You’re both mad!” Nicholas said in one of his rare outbursts aimed at them.
“But we’re in charge.”
Rake’s reminder had Spinner grinning. He preferred to let Rake reinforce their politics while he continued to be the good guy. There had to be a balance. They couldn’t all be bullies or there wouldn’t be anyone left to listen to them, at least not for long. They were not Big Dino.
“You know what?” Nicholas said. “I wash my hands of this whole thing. I’ll do the show, but that’s it. You deal with the mad man.”
“No, that won’t do,” Spinner said in a hurry. “He needs to talk to you about the plans.”
“No, he doesn’t. You make the plans with him. Take all the men you need. You have my ‘permission’”—Nicholas mimed the quotation marks with his fingers—“for everything.”
“I take it Armstrong didn’t see Big Dino?” Aurore’s face stayed unchanged, but Spinner was convinced she was chuckling inside.
“There was no need,” Spinner mumbled. “In the beginning, we thought it was a simple fixing job, then …” Then it was too late, and Big Dino wouldn’t have been able to change anything.
“I’ll keep you informed if there’s any new developments.” Aurore pulled her cape back in place. “If nothing comes up, I’ll see you on the big night. Good luck!”
Nicholas held the door open for her, but Spinner and Rake stayed behind.
“Why do I feel like she wished us to burn and poison ourselves, all at the same time?” Spinner wondered out loud, staring at the ceiling.
Rake’s deep chuckle served as distraction, and Spinner moved out of the way at the last second. The knife vibrated when it passed by him. “Missed.” He grinned, then took a look at the knife stuck in Nicholas’s table. “Oops.”
15
“We should strike early in the evening when everyone is busy in the big tent,” an unfamiliar voice said.
Dale’s shoulders tensed, but he didn’t turn to see who was speaking. He’d overheard the conversation by chance when he stepped up to the bar for a drink—water, since he was working—and these two men were talking around a small, square table in the corner.
After two days spent busting heads and wasting time in the Black & White club during twelve-hour shifts, he was convinced nothing out of the ordinary was going on here. Some small-class smuggling and trafficking various items, but nothing that would have hurt the Golden Lady’s trade … at least he didn’t think so. She had probably sent him there with one purpose only—to keep an eye on him. He’d received the job without needing any references at all. Lucky for him, since he couldn’t produce any if asked. His superiors still waited for him to report back to work, anxiously hoping he’d changed his mind about the request he’d filed before going on sick leave. They were wrong. When the time came, he was going to pilot that plane.
Dale wasn’t complaining. The amount of drunks and smoke was bad enough, but it beat spending the day locked in the attic, watching people passing in the street through the tiny windows. And every now and then, he exercised his muscles, throwing troublemakers onto the cobblestones outside. His only concern was not to use his full strength and give the witnesses a hint of his capabilities. Keeping that in mind, he hunched over his drink and listened.
“We go around the tracks, climb on the car, and enter through the window,” the same voice said. “It’s the third car from the end. We can’t miss it.”
“What about the security?” the second man asked.
“They don’t work in the evening when there are thousands of people outside. Remember what they do is still illegal here. There’ll be no one in the workshop.”
“Are you sure that’s where they keep the spare parts?”
“I watched them for two days. It’s where they take all their clients for fixing. The spare parts can’t be far. It’s a big car.”
The grunt that followed could have been in appreciation of the strong beer or the plan the other man had presented.
“How do we get the stuff out?” the one who needed convincing asked.
“That’s the trick. We can’t get close with a car because someone is bound to notice. So we park behind the abandoned warehouse and take all we can carry.”
“Hmm …”
“A few small items, sold to the right people, will bring us more than we make in months. I say it’s worth it. We should do it.”
The sound of fingers tapping on the lacquered table set Dale on edge. Those weren’t normal fingers. That was the sound of metal hitting against wood. Fingers capped with metal? Something one shouldn’t have been surprised to find in such a place.
“We go tonight to take a look,” the second man said. “If—and only if—we find it safe, we go in. Otherwise, we wait for another day and plan better.”
Dale clenched his glass. Considering how deserted the train area looked at night, there was no way the two thugs would find it unfit for business. He tapped his fingers on the bar top and debated what to do about it.
The racket made by chairs being moved around grated his ears, signaling the men were preparing to leave. There was no time to think. He needed
to act before he lost them.
Dale leaned over the bar to speak quietly to the bartender. “I’m taking off early today.”
Milo shook his head while wiping a glass with a towel. “Boss won’t like it.”
“Tell her to take it out of my paycheck.”
“Her?” Milo’s eyebrows shot up his wrinkled forehead.
Dale didn’t answer. The two conspirators had reached the door, and all he could see were two large backs covered with heavy, brown coats patched up with leather. They shouldn’t be hard to spot in a crowd, assuming he didn’t wait too long. He grabbed his jacket from behind the bar and started after them.
16
The hour before the beginning of the show was the quietest for those who remained on the train. With the passenger cars being soundproof, none of the agitation from outside disturbed Cielo as she walked along the corridor. The hand panels allowed her access from one car to the next until she reached the third before last. Rake and Spinner called it “the factory” because that was where they fixed people. But people suffered in here, so she was partial to the term “infirmary” instead.
Familiarity with the layout of the place allowed Cielo to find her way around the workshop with ease, despite the dim light. She placed the thermos she’d brought along on the corner of a workbench, careful not to disturb anything, and turned on a bright lamp. Next to her, the unconscious patient lay on a mechanical bed. With well-practiced moves, Cielo picked a vial from a drawer and injected its contents into the IV. While waiting for him to wake up, she pressed the buttons and had the upper part of the bed elevated.
A moan broke the eerie silence in the room.
“It’s okay. It’s just me,” Cielo said in a soothing voice. “They’re not here to torture you.” It was supposed to be a joke, but a groan let her know the man didn’t appreciate it.
Blue eyes opened and focused on her face. After a second of scanning, his facial muscles relaxed. The contraption that kept his jaw in place prevented him from speaking, but the swelling around his eyes and nose had retreated, allowing Cielo to see his real features. In a day or so, he would look human again.