“Big Epic there,” a man filled in. “Glowing.”
Oh, right. Obliteration. Well, surprisingly, he was the least of my problems. I took off, running the direction indicated, trying to keep my attention on the task at hand, not on Calamity. I needed to save Megan, get some answers, warn Prof that Regalia’s range was wider than he and Tia thought.
What would Prof do when he saw me free from the base? It probably wouldn’t be good, but I had to believe that he’d listen to me when I explained that Regalia had appeared at the base.
Ten bridges? That was a long run, and time was short. The Reckoners had likely already started putting their plan into motion. I needed my mobile. Sparks, I needed more than that! I needed a weapon, information, and—preferably—an army or two. Instead I ran, alone and unarmed, across a wooden bridge where each board had been painted a different color.
Think, think! I couldn’t reach them in time, even running all the way. So what could I do?
Well, I knew the plan. The Reckoners would follow Newton doing her nightly rounds. That would start midtown, then sweep through the city down toward old Chinatown, where the hit would happen. So, if I could position myself in the middle of that path, they’d theoretically come to me instead of me needing to find them.
By asking a few more people for directions, I was able to make my way to Bob’s Cathedral, a place I knew would be along Newton’s route. The grandly named locale was just a rooftop spraypainted on the top and sides like a series of stained glass windows. The place had a dense population, and Tia suspected that it was on Newton’s rounds because it let her show off and remind everyone who ruled the city.
I slowed my pace as I neared, joining a line of people moving up a bridge toward the colorfully painted building. Sparks, the place was busy. As I reached the top, I found that it was a market, full of tents and shacks. The tents displayed wares ranging from things as simple as hats made from Babilar tree fronds to products as exotic as salvage from the old days. I passed one man who had bins of windup toys. He sat behind them with a small screwdriver, fixing a broken one. Another woman sold empty milk jugs, which she claimed were perfect for storing fruit juice. A few full ones sat out glowing brightly to prove her point.
The press of bodies and the chatter was—for once—something I found relieving. It would be easier to hide here, though I had to make certain I was in position to spot Newton when she came. I lingered by one stall that was selling clothing. Simple stuff, really just sheets of cloth cut with armholes. One was a cloak, though, that glowed bright blue. Perfectly unobtrusive here in Babilar.
“Like what you see?” asked a young girl seated on a stool beneath the awning.
“I could use the cloak,” I said, pointing. “But I don’t have much to trade.”
“You’ve got nice shoes.”
I looked down. My sneakers. Good rubber on those, the type that was getting harder and harder to find. If I was going to be chasing the Reckoners, I suspected I’d need my footwear. I fished in my pockets and only came out with one thing. The chain that Abraham had given me, with the symbol of the Faithful dangling at the end.
The young girl’s eyes widened.
I stood for a long moment.
Then I traded my shoes instead. I wasn’t certain how much my shoes were worth, but I just kept haggling, adding things until I walked away with the cloak, a pair of worn-out sandals, and a pretty-good-looking knife.
I put on my new gear and found my way to a tavern on the side of the rooftop, a place Newton stopped for a drink most nights before continuing on to harass the various shopkeepers of the cathedral. It sold alcohol that glowed faintly in the night. If there was a universal law regarding mankind, it was that they’d find a way to ferment anything, given time.
I didn’t order a drink, but instead settled down outside on the ground next to the tavern’s wooden wall, hood drooping over my eyes. Just another idle Babilaran. Then I tried to decide what I’d do if Newton actually appeared.
I had about two minutes to think on it before she strolled right past me. She was dressed in the same retro-punk style from before, a leather jacket with pieces of metal jutting out of it, like it was wrapping paper that had been pulled tight around a death machine. Short hair, cut and dyed various colors.