Set'em Up

by A N G Reynolds

  “Clone-graft tattoos? No wonder you’re broke,” Ariadne said with a sigh. “All right, I’ll go pick them up, but you are not allowed to do anything stupid while I’m gone. I want to be there to witness it.”

  “Thanks,” I said flatly as Ariadne headed out with Skirm and Griffin. Alyx and Cabochon turned toward me. “You guys ready to poke the tiger?”

  Alyx actually smiled.

  • • •

  My plan was relatively simple: get ahead of the Manners and force them to talk to me. Of course, that meant I had to predict their next move. Since Addie’s gang was following my original game plan, I safely assumed that he would continue to do so until he reached the end of my list. If I simply skipped ahead, I could theoretically beat them to one of the locations on the list. I picked one of the abandoned locations, an old townhouse about twenty miles from the hotel. It was the only location on the list that was visited by the Lees repeatedly over the course of about thirty years, meaning that it was more than likely their childhood home or some other place that was significant to them. Since they hadn’t actually been seen at the location in over five years, it was at the bottom of my list. That may have been a rookie mistake on my part, given the fact that five years was more than enough time for the Lees to feel safe returning to their old home, but for getting ahead of the Manners, it worked out perfectly.

  The next step was to figure out the best way to communicate with said Manners.

  Bringing my best handwriting to the table, I wrote out a carefully-worded note to Addie and his gang, requesting a meeting with his boss to discuss a mutually troubling development. I signed it as someone I knew the Manners would never turn down or resist, and tied it with an appropriate green ribbon. The final step was to drop the note off at the abandoned townhouse, a maneuver that went off without a hitch and, given the level of undisturbed dust covering everything in the house, it was a safe bet Addie hadn’t yet reached the end of my list. The only thing left to do was wait until Ariadne and company made it back with my fake tattoos.

  “Marcie!” Ariadne shouted the second she entered the hotel room.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “The Lees, those… pigs,“ Ariadne spat out, “took all of my clothes just to spite me.”

  I tried not to sigh loudly.

  “We bought you new ones, didn’t we?” I asked, taking the leather case she offered me and opening it up. Thankfully the evil twins/clones hadn’t bothered to steal it from the ship. Not that it would do any good for anyone who wasn’t me; clone grafts were finicky, acting almost like the epidermis of organic structures that always clung to its host creature. The clone grafts didn’t act exactly like that, but they would adhere to my skin until I decided to peel them off with a special solution that destroyed the graft’s cells that were holding onto my skin. Theoretically, I could put on and take off a clone graft about two times before it was too thin to use. The graft I needed for this particular situation, however, was one I hadn’t needed to use before.

  “I also found this,” Ariadne said, presenting the shock device. It was in about five or six pieces.

  “Can you do anything with it?” I asked, sifting through the vials of clone grafts until I found the one I was looking for.

  “Uhhh…” she started, looking at the jumbled pieces. “I’m a pilot, not a mechanic.”

  “It doesn’t look too broken,” I offered, making a beeline for the bathroom. “Maybe it just needs some glue?”

  “Brilliant, Marcie. You—”

  I lost the other half of her sentence as I closed the door.

  • • •

  I waited until about two hours before midnight to try and sneak out of the hotel room. No, I hadn’t invited Ariadne to my little party. Although I did agree with the idea that I would need some backup, namely Alyx and Cabochon who were already in on my plan, I didn’t feel the need to unnecessarily involve the princess in what could very easily get everyone killed if I wasn’t as great an actress as I needed to be.

  My mind was well and fully made up about the situation; Ariadne was not coming with me. I even let her have the real bed while I pretended to nap on the couch, which was a grand total of twelve steps from the door. At the correct time, I eased up on the springy piece of furniture, grabbed the small bag of make-up that I had already prepared, and stepped between the squeaky spots in the flooring to the door.

  Unfortunately, it proved very difficult to sneak out of a hotel room when your roommate was sitting in front of the door, looking altogether shameless and elegantly put-out.

  “Hi,” Ariadne blinked at me innocently. I tried not to scream in surprise. How did she get in front of the door without me noticing?

  “Why?” I asked, getting to the point.

  The princess merely patted the ground beside her.

  “You might want to sit, unless you are going to tell me what your plan is.”

  I scowled at her impish face for a moment.

  “I’m going to make the Manners back off,” I said, reaching for the doorknob. The blasted metallic lock zapped me with enough force to make me swear a little.

  “Oh, this?” Ariadne rolled the shock device between her fingers. “All it needed was some glue.”

  I reached for the knob again, this time placing my hand determinedly on the shock pad, reaching for my favorite indentation in their usually smooth surface.

  The cursed thing still shocked me and I growled loudly.

  “Yeah, found the ON/OFF switch for the pads too. Guess what, the off switches have an off switch. Don’t worry, I’ll turn them back on once you stop trying to open the door,” Ariadne said, looking up at me with big, round eyes that were entirely too pleased with themselves.

  “What? Why?” I demanded, feeling less-than-elegantly put out.

  “Because you are a ninny, Marcie Dunn, and I’m beginning to get the hang of this skiptracing thing,” the princess said.

  “Fine!” I said in a harsh whisper. “You can come with me. But you have to do everything, I say without question because these people are more likely to kill you than me.”

  “Why? Is it because I’m the pretty one?” Ariadne whispered harshly, rising to stand. I punched her in the arm and led the way out the door.

  Of course, when attempting to sneak two out of a hotel room, it’s a good idea to check the floor for legs that you might trip over. I hit the ground first, just managing to turn my head to avoid re-injuring my nose. I had taken the bandage off because it looked out-of-place, but it was still far-ish from healed and a collision with a hotel floor would not do it much better. Ariadne toppled on top of me with a surprisingly quiet yell.

  “Tsk, tsk,” a narrow, hatted man clucked his tongue at us, retracting his leg.

  “Can I not go through a door without someone stopping me this evening?” I whispered angrily.

  “It might help if you stop doing stupid things without us, you ninny,” Skrim said in an all-to-easy tone.

  “You’re not coming with us,” I said, dusting myself off and walking quickly down the hallway as if to make my point.

  “Do you really think you can stop me, Miss Dunn?” the narrow man said.

  “I think that I already have many times more people than I was planning on taking on this particular trip,” I said in a soft but accusatory tone. “I promised I’d have two people with me, not four.”

  “Hm?” the tawny-eyed man raised an almost condescending eyebrow.

  “Shut up,” I said, making my way out of the hotel room.

  I practically stomped all the way downstairs with Ariadne and Skirm in tow. Alyx and Cabochon were waiting in the lobby like I had planned.

  “All we’re missing is Griffin,” Skirm said a big off-handedly.

  “He’s waiting in the rented car. It wouldn’t do to arrive in a cab.” Alyx smiled a ghoul’s smile at me.

  “Fine” I sighed in defeat and led the small mob outside.

  “Since we’ve left no one behind, does everyone kn
ow the plan?” I asked as soon as we’d all piled into the car. Cabochon sat in the front with Griffin, Ariadne and I sat in the middle seat, with Skirm and Alyx in the back.

  “We meet the Manners and scare them into backing offa the Lees, yeah?” Griffin said, twisting around from the front row of streets.

  “Follow my cues. I’m the only one with a passably real tattoo,” I said, unzipping my jacket to reveal a power-red top that was just barely modest. I was a gang member, I needed to look like one.

  “Eyeliner.” Ariadne said, forcing my head toward her and expertly decorating my eyelids with the charcoal black makeup, having already put on a healthy amount herself.

  “More,” Alyx said, reaching from the back to take the eyeliner from the princess. The ghoul-lady made me twist awkwardly in my seat so she could reach my eyelids.

  “Stop before I look like you,” I said, gesturing to Alyx’s heavily darkened lids. She smiled perfect white teeth at me.

  “Ow!” I said as Ariadne tried to put a pair of earrings on me while I was still twisted around to face Alyx.

  “I think you need some lipstick,” Skirm said.

  “Am I going clubbing? Are we stopping at a dance before we go scare off a gang? What is going on?” I demanded, trying not to jostle too much and upset either Alyx’s eyeliner or Ariadne’s stabby earrings.

  “Hush. We look fabulous, but you don’t have the right amount of scary disaffected lady with gang ties yet,” Ariadne said, adjusting my earrings. “There, now you look the part.”

  “We should probably do something with her hair…” Alyx said.

  “No. As the boss I am declaring that the hair stays. It took me an hour to get it this way,” I said, defensively patting the intricate braid. Alyx merely shrugged.

  We finally made it to the street and into the heart of Olds II without any trouble. I rubbed my hands together to rid them of nerves and shaking. It partially worked. What worked somewhat better was imagining that I was a hardcore gang member, ready and prepared to strike a deal with another hardcore gang member. After a few seconds to get myself together, I opened up the car door and practically ran up the house’s steps, not waiting for anyone else to follow.

  “Hey!” a voice called behind me. Skirm was making his way up the steps with an irritated look on his face. “Thugs through the door first, remember?”

  “The Manners aren’t supposed to get here for an hour.” I complained, stepping through the house’s doorway.

  I have made many, many mistakes in my life. Few of them have had catastrophic consequences, but some were fairly problematic. This was probably the most problematic of my mistakes, simply because I was a complete and utter idiot about everything.

  Always let the thugs through the door first.

  Silene was probably cringing all the way in Ascalon.

  To be fair, the Manners let me make it all the way into the living room before they slammed the door behind me, separating me from my thugs. I could hear Skirm yelling and banging on the now-locked door. Even if the door wasn’t locked properly, the brute behind it was almost the size of Kohinoor and just as immovable. I was thoroughly without backup or help.

  I grabbed the nearest threatening object, a rusted metal pipe, and tried to fend off everyone around me with it. There were a lot of them.

  “I think I’ve made a mistake,” I said carefully. As if the pipe didn’t feel meager enough, more gang members seemed to materialize from down the stairs, through the kitchen, and from any other mysteriously dark corner the house had.

  They all seemed unimpressed with my bravado.

  They were a smartly dressed group with neatly trimmed black vests over any sort of tank top or shirt they wanted to wear, although some of them went with just the vest, no shirt to obstruct the view of their tastefully tattooed arms. They were also all armed with a variety of weapons, include knives, bludgeons, and the odd crossbow, and one guy even had a blowgun.

  “Nah, you finally did right for once,” the traitorous redhead told me as he stepped forward where I could see him. Addie looked no less irritating in that fancy suit he wore. “No need for theatrics, boss.”

  I wasn’t being theatrical. I was angry at everything and feeling more than a bit scared. The only real choice I had to make was if I wanted to simply spit in the traitor’s face or hit it with the pipe.

  May as well go down swinging.

  The pipe connected with Addie’s jaw with a crack, but his gang was on me before I could swing it a second time.

  “Get her the—” the redhead cursed loudly and through bloodied teeth, “—out of here.”

  Of course, they couldn’t very well let me be conscious as they dragged me into the heart of their territory. A tranquilized dart connected with my neck and I went down without so much as a scream.

  Ariadne was going to be so angry.

  Nineteen

  I woke up with a splash of incredibly cold water to the face. I tried to yell in surprise but some of the icy liquid slid down my trachea, causing a miserable coughing fit.

  “What’s with this?!” a brute I could only smell shouted into my ear. I winced as he pushed my head forward, jabbing a cold finger on to the back of my neck.

  “What does it look like, you dullard?” I demanded, feeling sore all over. The brute forced my head down farther, putting a strain on my shoulders and well-secured hands. I was definitely secured to a chair. At least the scratchy ropes were easier to get out of than organic swaths fused to their host beings. Not like I’d actually need to escape if all of this went well.

  I tried to lift my head to get a good look at where I was. It looked like the living room of some sort of once-grand inorganic townhouse. The rotting wooden walls clung to their ugly metal support beams like they were lifelines. Stone was beyond that. Whoever used to live here had more than enough money to spare and no idea how to build a simple wall.

  Not that the rest of the house was any simpler, but the brute shoved my head farther down before I could get a good look.

  “Ah!” I yelled as he scraped the sharp side of a knife across my neck. He dabbed the blood that I knew was pooling there with what felt like gauze.

  Of course, the clone graft tattoo had few nerve endings for me to actually feel with, especially since I had only had it on for a few hours, but his knife dug well past the graft.

  It was a long moment before he said anything more, probably checking for any organic residue that would indicate this tattoo was an organic symbiote, not my actual skin. Bad fake tattoos were made of organic parasites not unlike Trish Abercrombie’s arm or Ottoman’s venom sacs that sat only a few cells thick on top of the host’s skin. The problem was that when cut, these tattoos oozed both the blood of its human host and the nutrient-rich slurry that organic structures used. Usually it was only minute traces of the nutrient ooze, but that was enough to flag the tattoo as fake.

  My fake tattoos were not organic components in that way. They were grafts made of clones from my own skin, with some additives to make them easier to remove and allow them to be stored away from their host body, namely myself. That meant they bonded to and bled just like my own skin, tricking any blood or DNA test that might prove they were fake. The only real way to prove my clone graft tattoos were fake was to watch me take them off later, which involved a precision cutting tool, a special solution, and a lot of anesthetics. They were almost as difficult to get off as real tattoos.

  “It’s real,” he said in an almost panicked tone. The other Manner gang members who occupied the room murmured uncertainly. I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect reaction.

  Of course, uncertain whispering was a far cry from backing off a hunt, but every poisonous, mountain-moving idea had to start somewhere. Besides, it wasn’t these guys that I needed to convince.

  “Calm down, all of you,” a surprisingly well-modulated voice declared. Footsteps rounded to the front of my head. Of course, all I could see was a pair of surprisingly small shoes.

  �
��Finally,” I said, forcing my head up, against the brute, enough to see a fantastically dressed woman who might have come up to my waist in height. Her wrinkled face was incredibly passive; the kind of dangerous passive that no doubt could intimidate even the enormous thug who was still pressing down on my head. I fought long and hard to keep any surprise from showing on my face. The Manners had not just dragged me to their local boss, they dragged me to their head boss. There had been a SkipCon speaker that devoted an entire talk on the rise of the Manners and speculation that this woman, Lady Emilia Clarke, was secretly their leader. She was a former do-gooding lawyer who somehow, somewhere, went very far astray, trying to set up her own rule of law through street crime and extortion.

  “I get to meet the boss,” I said.

  “Yes, an unfortunately necessary occurrence, Miss Dunn,” the Manners’ boss said, waving a hand at her thug, and he released my head. With the same hand, the short woman grabbed hold of my chin with an iron grip, forcing my head one way and the other, looking over my face and neck. “You should really get that nose repaired properly before it’s too late.”

  “I came here to make a deal, not chit chat with some old woman,” I said with contempt.

  “Yes, I know. You of the Seething are hardly subtle people,” Lady Clarke said, gesturing to my tattoo. I could feel the blood dripping down the back of my shirt.

  I’ve never for one second missed the money I’d spent on these fakes.

  “We are a brotherhood. A family. You have done us a great dishonor by kidnapping me and interfering with my vengeance,” I said angrily.

  “Yes, yes, yes, I am aware of all of that. You will be returned to your clan if I am satisfied that you are who you say you are,” Lady Clarke said, taking a tankard of what was probably a very stiff drink from one of her underlings. “I want to know what the Seething’s interest is in the men I’ve clearly taken an interest in. And why you are associating with someone as sophisticated as Silene of Ascalon. You even hired a few of her thugs.”