Through Fire Page 3

  Chapter 3

  Flint made his way across the meadow, green with clover, to where the Rhino sat where he’d left it two nights ago, when he’d ridden into town to pay his respects at the Clavar family funeral. The old rig hadn’t moved a step, and he’d have been shocked if it had, for once the iron grey door slammed shut, no one without Flint’s distinctive genetic code could enter the hulk, let alone start her up. And if they could have opened her up, where would they have taken her? He had no idea, but Jerethy’s words kept coming back into his mind: take the Rhino west. Take the Rhino west. Take the Rhino west. It was Jerethy’s way of telling him to go to Hell, because they both knew west meant saltwater, and saltwater meant death, not because of wind and wave, or rust and rot, but because fire slept below that water.

  West meant death, yes, but east...

  But east.

  East meant the plains, the desert, the endless red desert, the towering mountains, and beyond them, the verdant forests. East meant the broken places, the ruins of the old world, and the wild ones who scratched out a living in scattered villages and roaming bands. They lived like children playing in the burnt shell of their parents’ manor, and they fought like children, too, but these children ran free, no chains, no gems, no buy and sell. He’d taken a stand against it here, but he saw now he could kill a dozen Burl Clavars, and Bay City would run on down the same path it always had, until the last of the rigs broke down and died, or the sea dried up and the King of Fire rode across the land and burned it all to ashes.

  Urgency gripped him, a hand on his guts, and he felt sweat moisten his brow and under his arms. He moved faster, determined now. If everyone was marking time until they went down in fire, then he could burn in his own way. They didn’t want him, and he didn’t need them. He would point the Rhino away from the bay, and just keep going. He had to do it fast, though. If he hesitated, he would give them time to send him his charge, and they’d make sure he took her, and once the child was in the Rhino, he would be stuck with a problem. He couldn’t just refuse to take her, and neither could he dump her out at some spot in the wild lands. No, the only way to get free was to go, to just go, and never look back.

  Soon he made out the dark grey shape of the Rhino, and he pressed himself to walk faster, but some whisper told him not to run. He felt eyes on his back, and feared that running would somehow signal the townsfolk that he meant to leave. He knew the feeling was absurd, sheer paranoia, but he couldn’t shake it off. He settled instead for a brisk pace, and soon grew so warm he had to strip off his leather jacket, and moist patches grew on the blue cotton shirt underneath. He carried the jacket in one hand, and moments later he almost dropped it as he saw a weird shape on the top of his rig, as if the Rhino had sprouted a dorsal fin. He frowned as he wondered if the townsfolk, Vistor or the sheriff or somebody, had clamped some sort of device on the rig, and then he gripped the jacket and squeezed, for he realised the shape on the rig’s back was no machine, but a person; no full-grown man or woman, but a child.

  He sighed through gritted teeth. “Hey kid, get down from there. My rig’s no toy.”

  The child jumped in evident surprise, flashed a look his way, rose to a standing position, and started to run towards the tail of the rig. A foot slipped, the child stumbled, and dropped down on the far side of the rig. Flint cursed, let his jacket fall to the grass, and ran around to the rear of the hulking vehicle, past the horse-sized hole of the turbine exhaust, the nickel alloy dark with carbonised dust, past the rear fins, and around to the other side, his heart tight in his chest. As he rounded the rear of the hulk, he heard a shriek, and put on a burst of speed, then skidded to a halt as he saw the child sprawled out on the stubby right delta wing. He saw it was a girl, lying face down on the wing, obsidian hair spread gleaming across her head and down her back, in stark contrast to her white silk dress. She lay there unmoving, one arm draped over the edge of the wing, and he froze, the breath caught in his throat. He put one hand to his forehead and massaged his scalp, and then he stepped closer and reached out to touch the girl’s shoulder. He felt the cool smooth fabric under his fingers, and the girl didn’t move, and he came closer, eyes wide, wishing not to believe what he saw, and then in one convulsive movement she rolled over, grabbed his wrist, stuck out her tongue, and howled like a banshee.

  “Oh God, fuck,” he yelled as he jumped back, yanked his hand free and raised his fists. Then he dropped them and glared at the girl, who popped up and sat on the edge of the wing, brushed her hair out of her face, and giggled. She had deep crimson eyes that twinkled with mirth, a button nose, and the hand that brushed at her hair had chipped nails.

  He collected himself. “Now that you’ve given me a heart attack, how about you get down off my rig and go play somewhere safer, like the beach, or the edge of the shield wall.”

  “My momma always says those aren’t good places to play,” she said in a high, lilting voice. “She says they aren’t safe.”

  “They’re a lot safer than my rig, I can promise you that, kid.”

  “I’m not a kid, I’m twelve. Anyway, you can’t put promises in the bank, my uncle says that.”

  He gave her a blank look. “A bank?” Then he shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

  She peered at him under furled brows. “One of the old places. I guess it’s true what my uncle says,” she put on a gruff voice, “you damned riggers don’t even know how to read.”

  “Of all the- Get off my rig!”

  She jumped to her feet. “Catch me first, you damned rigger.” Then she sprang to her feet and danced up the wing and onto the Rhino’s broad grey back. Flint tensed his hands in a strangling motion, then grabbed the cool metal and hauled himself up onto the wing. Where the girl seemed to leap and float up the skin of the hulk, he had to grab at the small mirrored ridges raised forward of the many rows of solar panels on the top surface of the hulk, the ridge front slopes contoured to protect the panels from the grit and other particles that scoured the rig’s skin from front to back, every time Flint took her up to cruising speed. He winced as the girl pranced across the panels. Although they were built to last, felt every step from her battered pink sneakers like a hammer on his back.

  “Get down from there,” he said, but she danced away from him, over the locked round cover of the rooftop port, and away to the front. He had no choice but to chase her along the length of the rig, and follow when she slid down the back-swept diamond bubble of the front window. Then she halted, poised on the tight arrowhead strip of metal that ended in a vertical titanium spike, the ‘horn’ that gave the Rhino her name, and that housed her radio antenna. The girl took the spike in one hand, and shot him a smirk. He shook his head. “No, no way.” He eased himself down the window, and set his feet on the strip, all too aware that one slip would send him tumbling down to the grassy earth below. At this height the fall wouldn’t hurt too much; at worst he’d break an ankle, but even at best he’d lose time, and just then time had never felt so precious.

  “Girl you are playing all kinds of stupid. Stop this before you get hurt.”

  She blew him a kiss, and then she hooked one elbow and one leg around the spike, and twirled through the air, and gold flashed at her neck. His heart tried to burst out through his ribs, but she spun full round, and ended, balanced again on the metal, with a dancer’s grace. She let go of the spike, folded one arm across her midriff, extended the other to the side, and bowed. His brows raised, and he nodded in appreciation, but then her foot slipped, her jaw fell open and her eyes widened in horror, for she was really falling this time, and she would hit head first, and his hands shot out, and he snatched her wrist in his left hand, her shoulder in his right, and he straightened her on the spar. “Got you,” he said, but in that moment, he noticed the shining metal at her chest, a necklace thrown loose from the collar of her dress, and watched it hang there against the white silk ruffles, a golden chain, and a single glittering diamond.

  +

  They sat on gl
ossy varnished mahogany chairs squeezed into the narrow space of the Rhino’s kitchenette. The chamber itself was all white plastic panels and brilliant little lights, which made the antique furniture glimmer and stand out even more. Flint drank rich, strong coffee from a chipped green mug. He’d lost track of the coffee he’d had since getting out of jail, and he couldn’t seem to remember his last real meal, or shower, or night of sleep in a real bed. The girl had asked for coffee too, but he’d given her milky tea in a white porcelain cup with a picture of a floppy eared beagle. She frowned at him, now, over the rim, but she drank it, and he saw the tension ease out of her shoulders. He hung his leather jacket over the back of the chair, and leaned forward, the steaming green mug in his right hand. “No point running around it. Those eyes, that bauble at your throat… You’re Buck Ambrel’s girl.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not just someone’s girl. I have a name, you know.”

  He nodded. “You’ve got the attitude, too. You’re Buck Ambrel’s daughter for sure, and I figure you’re my charge. Don’t understand why they want you on my rig, but that’s the only reason you’d be here.”

  “Maybe I killed your charge, and took her place.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t have the gas for games.”

  “But my chaperone isn’t here yet, so you have to wait.”

  He bit down on his retort, and tried to think of a way to get rid of her. He thought of just shoving her out of the door and taking off, but it might get back to the other riggers. If he just vanished all quiet and alone, they would probably leave him be, but if he put some marks on the old President’s daughter on the way out, they might just decide to hound him, and he didn’t need the trouble.

  He sat there and ransacked his brains, and a smile grew on the girl’s lips. “I was right about you. You mean to cut out, you mean to run.”

  He balled his right hand into a fist, and massaged it with his left. “And what if I do?”

  “Take me with you. Get me out of this stinking city.”

  “I really don’t want to play this game.”

  She drained her tea, set the cup down on the work surface, leaned forward, and gripped the arms of her chair with white knuckles. “I’m not playing, rigger. I want you to put as much air between me and this city as you can.”

  In spite of his misgivings, he found himself drawn into her game. “Let’s say you’re serious. Why pick me? Let’s say you want to get out fast, stay ahead of all the search dogs, scarred trackers, and gene-seeking rockets we’ve obviously got stockpiled in secret underground bunkers, and if that’s true, why not talk to Jerethy, Nathor or Wurnech? Straight up speed freaks, those folks.”

  She shook her head. “No, no. It has to be you.”

  “Then tell me why.”

  “Because of what you did. Because of the man you killed.”

  He stiffened, and then he slumped back in his chair and wished he could be anywhere except there, in that conversation.

  The girl leaned forward, her voice got lower, and her eyes fixed him like searchlights smeared with blood. “You don’t give a, a dead pig for this city. You killed a citizen in front of everyone, at his wife and daughter’s funeral. You thought they were going to hang you but they didn’t, and now that you’ve got your chance, I’d bet all the gold in the world that you’re going to run.”

  He sat back and ran his hand up and down his chair’s polished armrest, considering the idea. It needled his pride to find that a little girl had seen right through him. Perhaps she was smart enough to handle a ride on the Rhino. Then again, how long could she stand it, and what would happen when she got sick of it and wanted to go home? He couldn’t bring up some girl on his rig, and he sure couldn’t dump her in the middle of the wild lands and say ‘so long.’

  “You wouldn’t be betting gold, girl. You’d be betting your life on the goodwill of an acknowledged murderer. You seem sort of bright, but it stinks, putting your life into the hands of a murderer.”

  “But-”

  “What if I take you halfway across the world, and leave you in the desert? What if I need food, or the rig runs low on fuel, so I find a camp of slavers, and sell you?”

  She shook her head. “You wouldn’t do it. Not you, not Flint of the Rhino. I know you wouldn’t do it.”

  “You’ve never even met me. How can you know that?”

  “Because of what my uncle says about you.”

  “Vistor? I barely know the man.” And besides, he thought, I’m planning to run out on him. His curiosity started to itch. “What can he possibly have to say about me?”

  A sly grin edged across her face. “Give me your hand that you’ll take me, and I’ll tell you.”

  Laughter bubbled out of him. “You never give up, do you.”

  “Not under the sky or above the ground. You have to take me, you see? Just submit to the inevitable and your life will be perfect.”

  He chewed his lip. “This is crazy, this is genuine, A-grade lunacy.” He didn’t want to take her seriously, and he still couldn’t see how she would live a day in the wild lands outside the Rhino’s protective hide, but he also couldn’t think of a way to get rid of her, and his time was ticking down. “Look, say I take you to Smelt, or Brimtown, maybe even to Glory Point, and set you up with some good folks I know. Bay City might be the last big place left, but there are still some smaller towns where people can live without being total savages.”

  “No, no, that won’t work, that won’t work at all. You’ve got to take me away, far away, from the city, from the great way. You’ve got to take me to the other side of the world.” She stared up at him, her red eyes glimmering with tears.

  “But why, at least tell me why.” He studied her, and put his own plight out of mind. “You’re in big, bad, serious type trouble.”

  She nodded.

  “Someone’s going to hurt you if you stay? They hurt you already?”

  “Please, there’s no time. Let’s just go. I promise I’ll tell you everything once we’re past the shield wall.”

  His face twisted in a scowl, half of anger, half of exasperation. He opened his mouth to answer, when a new figure entered the kitchenette, a lean man in a neat black suit with a pink tie. His head was smooth and shiny, and he peered through round blue-rimmed spectacles, with lenses that matched his pink tie, over a jutting beak of a nose. “Do hope no interruption,” he said, setting down a large blue rucksack and a smaller black leather case that jingled. “Door was open, see, and supposed to be here, word of the girl’s uncle, Diana’s run off, probably playing around the stray beast, do hurry, and so forth.”

  Flint felt his jaw loosen as he listened to the man’s odd speech, and then he looked at the girl to check his story, and saw she had shrunk down in her chair, and her face had turned pale and collapsed. She held her eyes fixed on a point on the floor, and her slack lips trembled. She almost seemed to be a different person from the vivacious adventurer he’d met just a short time before. Now, as far as he could tell, she was shaking with terror.

  “Chop chop, race under way, can’t hear the horns from here, blocked by the wall, see?”

  He gave the man a blank look. “What?”

  “The race, man, the race. Glory Point awaits.”

  “Oh. Yeah, right, yeah. The race. Who are you exactly?”

  The man raised his eyebrows. “Did she not say? Manners, manners, what are we without them? Beasts, savages, scroungers… Diana’s tutor, man, tutor. Here for the race. Chaperone, yes, chaperone.”

  Flint stared at him, and then he realised that his moment had passed. He had lost his chance to make a clean exit, and if he still wanted to abandon the race and run from the city, his difficulties had just doubled. He might have entertained the notion of taking the girl with him on a mad run across the wild lands, but he felt for damn sure this weird dude would not be up for that kind of ride, and he could probably make trouble if Flint tried to toss him out the hatch. His vision of freedom faded and collapsed in ta
tters, and he saw it had never been more than a fantasy. He rubbed his head, and then a rush of anger rose up from within, and made him rise and push past the man.

  The tutor squawked and straightened his glasses. “Say, that’s not the way, sir, not the way.”

  Flint turned back and leaned over the man, forehead low, amber eyes hard and dangerous. “I’m a rigger, son. As long as you’re on my hulk, the way is whatever I feel like right now.”

  “Lead by example is it, sir? Shining, shining beacon in the dark, that sort of thing, eh?” He stuck out his hand. “Name’s Caerlion.”

  Flint shook his head and walked away. He felt petty, but the man represented such a massive loss of opportunity that he couldn’t bare to touch him, in case some vile taint passed by the contact, to spread to every corner of his life.

  “Find a place to sit down and hold on, Caerlion.”

  “Necessary, sir?”

  He spoke as he walked away, along the short, narrow corridor to the cockpit. “Oh yeah, it’s necessary, you dapper son of a bitch. I’m going to fire up the turbine. I’m going to burn some gas in your precious little race.”