“No one. My crew’s gone to ground.”
“Sit.” I’m about to object, but Gorgo shoves me into the chair in front of the table. Two Obsidians wrestle Volga down. One shoves an industrial laser cutter in front of her face. The red beam wavers close to her eyes. She goes still. In the distance, we hear the muffled sounds of scorchers going off. I feel myself darkening.
I let a rabbit into the wolf den. Now they tear her apart.
The Duke waits, staring at me, a single vein pulsing under his right temple, until one of his Obsidians returns. I hold my breath at the sound of boots approaching. When the man finally comes to the Duke’s table, I can breathe. Miraculously, he’s empty-handed.
“It was a ruster,” he rumbles. “She escaped.”
The Duke stares at him. “A. Red. Escaped. You. Belog?”
“We had her cornered. She dove into a ventilation shaft. She’s likely pulp.”
“A ventilation shaft?”
“We could not fit. It led down. Harald and Hjerfjord hunt. They will bring her head back by its bone tail.”
The Duke continues to stare at the brute until the Obsidian lowers his eyes in fear. He glances plaintively to the other Obsidians, but there’s no pity in their arctic eyes.
“I am…disappointed in you, Belog.”
“Yes, lord.”
“Do you know what the Queen would do if she were disappointed?”
The Obsidian glances at Gorgo, who is baring his crescent of gold teeth. “Yes, lord.”
“Fortunately, I know how difficult it is for a bear to catch a mouse. So many holes for them to run to. So I will forgive you, but I fear a debt is now owed. How will you pay?”
The Obsidian looks forlorn; slowly he extends his left hand. The Duke slaps it lightly. “The left. Very good. How old was the girl?”
“Young. Twenty winters.”
“Distinguishing features?”
“She wore a tuxedo.”
“A tuxedo.” The Duke looks at me, then back at the Obsidian. “Go help your brothers, Belog.” The Obsidian bows and rushes back to the stairs, disappearing into the shadows. The Duke turns to Gorgo. “Wake the baron of this neighborhood. Criminsky, isn’t it?” Gorgo nods. “Put out a bounty on a Red bitch wearing…” He looks at me again. “A tuxedo.”
Gorgo steps away. The Duke looks back to me, tapping his lacquered nails on the table. “I am also disappointed in you, Ephraim….”
“She’s not—”
One of the Obsidians slaps my right ear. But a slap from one of them is like getting a door slammed on your head. I pitch sideways to the ground for the second time of the night. They straighten me back in the chair. “Who was she?” the Duke asks.
“I don’t know.”
“Are you lying to me? I do hate liars.”
“Why the bleeding hell would I bring someone else here?” I shake my head so I can see straight. “I know the rules….”
“Yet you broke them. I said only bring your team. And you didn’t even bring all of them. As if you were afraid of me. As if I wouldn’t keep my word! As if I need to lie!”
“I never bring my team to a drop.”
He looks at Volga in amusement. “Except your luggage hauler. But do not fret; since you took it upon yourself to disobey me, I took it upon myself to help you follow the rules.” Gorgo returns from his call dragging a woman behind him. It is Cyra. They’ve brutalized her. Face one large contusion.
Volga lunges forward. An Obsidian slams Volga in the back of her head with the haft of one of their axes. She goes woozy and tries to get up. He and another thorn kick her legs out and stand on her back so she’s belly-down on the floor. “Volga, stop,” I tell her numbly. The Duke watches me with neutral expression.
“Is this how the Syndicate treats its contractors?” I say.
“No. I am no slaver. Respect is given until a debt is owed.” The Duke smiles. “After all, what is a man without a code?”
Cyra looks up at me helplessly through the swollen mess of her face. I never liked her, not that I liked Dano that much more, but it makes me sick what these psychos have done to her.
“Let her go. She’s done nothing to you.”
“On the contrary, she has betrayed a friend of mine.”
“Who?”
His eyes glitter. “You, darling.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Your friends are cheap,” Gorgo says. “I approached the Red man, but this one…she came to me of her own volition. Offering to spy on you, for money. Every smoke. Every drink. She scurried to me and chittered in my ear like a little, greedy pet wanting a snack and a pat on the head. Wants to be a thorn, this one.”
Cyra can’t meet my eyes, and I feel sick knowing it is true.
“You were our friend,” Volga says to her.
No, she wasn’t.
“I assume the Red girl you brought from the ship was your insider?” the Duke asks. “Lyria of Lagalos. The one you fooled into carrying Kobachi’s drone?”
I never wanted the Syndicate to know about Lyria. Cyra did tell them everything.
“Yes.”
“And then you saved her life? Your professionalism is suddenly quite indicted, Ephraim.” There is no smile on his face now. “Why save her?”
“You asked me if I was a thief of order or one of chaos,” I say slowly. “I get the groove. This is your world now. Your rules. She performed a service—a debt was owed. She deserves to get paid.”
“That. Is a good answer,” the Duke says. “But she is not a thief. And she is not your friend. She is a slave in all but name, and will run back to her masters. So, I am afraid she must die.” He waits for me to object, but I know it’s useless. The only thing I can protect now is my life and Volga’s.
“I suggest we kill him too,” Gorgo says.
“Oh my. Are you now the Duke of Hands, Gorgo?” the Duke asks. “No? Then shut your mouth.” Gorgo smiles coldly at him, but says nothing. “You have complicated things, Ephraim. But the Syndicate honors its contracts. You owe nothing. You are free to leave.”
“What about her?” I ask, looking to Cyra.
“She has shown a duplicitous nature. She cannot be trusted. If she spoke so quickly to us, who else might she speak to? But…she wronged you, not me, therefore her fate is in your hands. Acid, axe, fire, fist. Choose the one-way ticket.”
“Ephraim…I’m sorry,” she says pathetically through swollen lips. I can’t hate her. I’m too tired to hate her. “Please…”
“Volga?” I ask. She shakes her head. “Just let her go,” I say to the Duke.
“Thank you,” Cyra whimpers. “Thank you. Volga, I—”
“Don’t talk to her,” I snap.
The Duke raises an eyebrow. “Very well. Gorgo, you heard the man. Let her go.”
Gorgo grabs Cyra by the hair and drags her to the edge of the highrise. She kicks and screams when she sees what he’s about to do. “Ephraim! Ephraim!”
I do nothing.
Gorgo throws her off the edge of the highrise like a sack of trash. We don’t even hear the impact. I imagine her lying in a messy pile of meat fifty stories below. Like Trigg on that mountainside.