Through Fire Read online

  Chapter 8

  His mind ran with images as he drove through the fading day, Blacksnake’s tattoos come alive and writhing, then turning to soot, to burst into a cloud that wove itself into a tall tower, a burning light within. He came back to himself with a gasp, and realised that the intense strain of the past day, and the growing ease he felt at breaking free from two ancient death machines, had bushwacked him, and he’d lapsed into slumber. He thanked the Rhino for watching over him, and promised her a complete service once he got back to the city. Then he went to find Diana.

  Once he’d got her back, Diana went to her spot, but instead of sitting, she bent over and peered at the blistered patch on the right edge of the window. She turned back and frowned. “I did everything you said, Flint, but you didn’t tell me much, and you still haven’t.”

  He locked the cockpit door.

  “Flint?”

  He slipped past her, unlocked the glove compartment, and showed her the gun. Her eyes went wide, she reached out, and pushed the weapon away. “Put it back, put it back.”

  He held it between them for the moment. “I’ve pulled our little lion’s teeth. Now you are right; I didn’t tell you much, but neither have you.” He slid the gun back into the glove compartment and locked it. “I think it’s time that changed.”

  He sat, and she chewed her lip as she stood looking down at him, her arms folded across her body. She tapped the bubbled window. “I don’t know what you did, Flint, but I can guess. There’s only one thing I’ve heard of that can do that to the Rhino.”

  “Pretty much.”

  She raised her hands. “But that’s so dangerous. You could have… We all could have...” She glared at him with moist red eyes.

  “But it worked,” he said, and grinned.

  She scowled at him, and then she giggled. “Yeah, I guess it did.” She dropped into her seat.

  He felt tension ease out of his muscles. “Now I need to know something.”

  She turned away, and nodded.

  “I’ve got all sorts of questions, but as I see about it, most of them come down to the same thing. I think you knew Caerlion wasn’t from the bay, and I think you knew he had the gun.”

  She shrugged.

  “I doubt you knew much about his people, but you probably knew about the trade, too.”

  “You haven’t asked me any questions yet.”

  He licked his lips. “Yeah, but I’m getting there. I met some of Caerlion’s… Well, I wouldn’t call them friends. I don’t think he has friends. But I met someone, and she told me he wasn’t my real enemy.”

  Diana turned further in her seat, put her feet up on the chair, and hugged her knees.

  Flint rubbed his jaw, and felt bristles scrape his palm. “So what I want to know is this-”

  “Vistor.”

  He froze. “What?”

  She turned to face him, tears rolling down her face. “It’s my uncle Vistor, that’s who you’re asking about. He’s the one who bought the guns. He’s the one!” She trembled, and buried her head in her arms.

  Flint felt torn between sudden, almost painful curiosity, and the desire to put an arm around the child, and tell her everything would be alright. He knew, though, that if he said that, she would see the lie. It wasn’t going to be alright. It hadn’t been alright all week, and if he understood matters, it hadn’t been alright for a long time. He didn’t know how Vistor and Caerlion had met, but the murdering bastard had called himself a ranger, and Bear had told him he’d gone to the bay to trade, so he imagined Caerlion had begun the process. Perhaps he’d sounded out Buck, first, but Buck had turned him down, or Vistor had made a better offer. And then they’d announced the race… The timing was too perfect. He tried not to acknowledge his next thought, but it rose before him, inexorable as gravity.

  He looked at the sobbing girl, and though every instinct told him to hold his tongue, he had to know, he had to. “Diana,” he said. “Did Vistor murder your father?”

  She screamed, leapt at him, and rained blows down on his arms and chest. He tensed, but held his hands back and let her hit him, until her strength ebbed and she collapsed against him. He held her, a small child, furious and terrified by a world of adults that had betrayed and imprisoned her. He saw now why she wanted to run, why she been so desperate she had turned to a criminal to carry her out of the city. Pursued by one murderer, who better to protect her than another one? Who else would understand her need to flee?

  Perhaps it would have worked, he thought. Perhaps, if they’d hit the way fast enough, they could have escaped together, and found some sort of peace on the endless way. But no, he shook his head, they couldn’t have run forever. No one could. Besides, Caerlion had found them first.

  He gritted his teeth. “Listen to me, Diana. What happened to your family is as bad as it gets. Brothers fight, but murder… Even the Clavar brothers had more honour than your uncle.”

  She shook with sobs, her head buried against his chest.

  “But whatever he did, you’ve got to remember one thing. It’s not finished yet. Those guns are still out there. If we can find them, or find the other rig that’s going to pick them up, we can stop them from getting to the bay. Do you understand me? We can stop Vistor.”

  She grabbed his left arm and dug her nails into his bicep. He grimaced but kept silent. Then she let go, and looked up at him, her face almost as red as her swollen eyes. “You damned rigger.”

  “That’s me.”

  She laughed, just once. But it was enough.

  +

  Everything felt as if it were moving faster now, and he didn’t dare slow down or events would escape him, so Flint drove deep into the night, long after the others had disappeared into their cabins. He arrived at the Pig sometime before dawn, red lights flashing on and off atop the tall spires of the ancient suspension bridge. The way ran uphill for some distance, until it reached the near side of the canyon, water far below, and the bridge stretched across the gap. Flint shivered to think about the water at the base of the canyon, and had to tell his fatigued mind it was running water, just running water.

  On a normal run he would have zipped over the bridge, but Bear’s report had been terse to the point of nonexistent, and if there had been some sort of accident on or near the bridge, he figured he’d better not try to rush through it in the dark. He’d put the Rhino through enough. Decision made, he set the rig down beside the way, leaned the seat back, and closed his eyes.

  Sleep refused him. Every time he got his mind soothed and calm, and his body into a state of floaty peace, an image would pop up, perhaps the gun in the glove compartment, or Bear’s cobalt eyes in her soot-covered face, or, again and again, the skeletal creature, gold and shining, as it raced down on the Rhino to melt the windows and turn the air inside to fire.

  He pulled himself upright, rubbed his eyes and stubbly jaw, and rose. He flicked on the external lights, left the cockpit, and made his way to the door. Once outside, he took several deep, slow breaths, savouring the aroma of grass, trees, and flowing water. He often forgot about the taste of the air, on a long run, but he always realised he’d missed it whenever he left the rig. Fatigue still lay heavy on him, but he felt a bit more conscious, so he walked up the rig’s left flank, and peered up at the blistered cockpit window. He reached up and stroked the clear crystal, felt the small bubbles with his fingers, and frowned. Each bubble was smaller than a fingernail, and they had arisen at the surface layer of the thick window, but still, he felt guilty at having let the monster mark the Rhino.

  He patted the rig’s nose, and bent down to check out the turbine intake. He saw no sign of damage, and the nose and horn both looked fine, so he continued around the right side, to the stubby delta wing, where he froze at the sight of a chunky object like a glowing bird perched on the edge of the wing. He looked closer, and saw the thing was no bird, but a monstrous claw, a talon hooked into the titanium wing. He stared at it, entranced, almost afraid to touch it. The talon, a sh
arpened length of jointed golden metal, hooked back and came to a shear edge at the line of wing, and an image flashed in his mind, of a monstrous metal hand, that grasped at the wing as it flew past, only for the wing to scythe its talon off.

  His jaw dropped and his eyes peeled wide as he gazed as the solitary talon. He raised a hand, paused, and felt fear rise, icy hands that wrapped around his gut, his heart, his throat, crushing and chilling them. He felt as if the monster still lived in that claw, and when he touched it, it would see him, and erupt from the earth of the sky, and envelop him in an agony of fire.

  He swallowed, tensed his arm, and reached out for the thing. When he felt cold metal on his skin, he flinched and squeezed his eyes shut, but nothing happened, no thunderbolts from heaven, no fountains of magma from below, so he wrapped his fingers around the talon, and pried it loose from the wing. He raised it to the light, and hefted it. The talon weighed less than a twig, but the golden metal had gouged into the rig’s wing, and the sharp edge of the claw still felt smooth and sharp. Curious, now, he looked closer, and saw the beauty of it, the craftsmanship. A human had made this, he knew, a skilled artisan, back when the world still had such a profession. They had made it to catch targets and hold them long enough for the death machine’s fires to burn them to cinders. But they had also made it beautiful. Perhaps they had not seen the evil in their work, and perhaps they had tried to create beauty in spite of that evil.

  He grew all the more curious, for the talon, as superb as it was, had sheared off at the joint. He’d always believed the fire monsters were invulnerable. Now, as he looked closer, he knew, really knew, that they were machines, just as his rig was a machine. They were machines, and while their metal bones were strong, their joints were… Well, they were damn strong too, he had to admit, but they could be broken.

  He closed his hand around the talon and raised the fist to his jaw. Things were changing faster, ever faster. The wild lands contained more than outposts, villages and beasts. The leaders of the bay were turning on themselves. The strength of the world concealed weakness, and perhaps it would soon collapse, fall apart from within. If so much he had believed was untrue, then perhaps nothing was true, or perhaps he had to find his own truth, a truth as strong as the Rhino.

  His thoughts clouded and dark, he made his way back to the cockpit, stretched out on his seat, and slept a few fitful hours. When he awoke he found the talon still clenched in his hand, sharp and glittering in the dawn.

  +

  “Nothing.” He punched the wheel, and scowled across the empty bridge. An inner voice told him he should keep calm, contain his frustration and move on, but he’d pushed so hard to get this far, all to catch up with the other riggers. The only reason he’d waited out the night was to avoid running into a smashed-up hulk on the narrow bridge. The rising sun revealed no such hulk. “Unless it’s covered in ghost rigs.” He shook his head. The other rigs might as well be ghosts, at this point.

  He rubbed the golden talon in his left hand, sighed, and kicked the Rhino into motion. The way had begun to curve back in a broad slow sweep to the sea, and he ran past several small outposts as he went. Had he been concerned with the race itself, he would have been obliged to stop each time, greet the people who lived out there, deep in the wild lands, and trade with them for a token of his visit. As it was, he took comfort in knowing that his fellow riggers had probably done just that. It must have slowed them down, and maybe it had given him the edge he needed. The Rhino might not be fast enough to outrun the Eagle or the Comet, but she ran at a steady pace, and once up to speed, she could run until her tanks were dry.

  Some hours later, he felt his hopes were crumbling. He’d already passed the last handful of settlements between the Pig and Glory Point. He was nearing the final stage of the race, and if Caerlion’s mystery partner was still in the race, he’d probably already picked up the guns and burned maximum gas carrying them home. The immense white tower rose before him, a thick round pillar standing on an even larger base. When he first saw it, it looked close by, but as he drove on, it continued to grow, yet recede, like a mountain on the horizon.

  The cabin door opened, and Diana came in with a tray holding a steaming mug and a heap of random biscuits she must have found deep in the corners of the kitchen cupboards. She wore blue jeans and a black satin top that matched her hair. “Haven’t seen you back there all morning,” she said, and set the tray down on the dash. “You haven’t shaved, you haven’t even showered.”

  “We’ve got to catch up with the other riggers. If we don’t make it...”

  “I know,” she said, and perched on the edge of the copilot’s seat. “But you still have to eat. What’ll you do if we run into this character, and you’re all set to do something heroic, only you’re too weak from hunger to give him the old killer death Rhino punch?”

  “Uh...”

  “What’re you gonna do, scratch him with your stubble?”

  He frowned at her, and rubbed his cheek. “Yeah, okay, I’ll-”

  “Are you gonna waft your armpits at him until he blacks out?”

  “Hey!”

  She giggled. “Okay, I probably spent too much time thinking about this, but it’s lonely back there, and Professor Crazy has stopped even trying to act like a tutor, so I thought I’d come up here and taunt you back to humanity.”

  Once again Flint questioned the girl’s effect on his sanity. But then, he reflected, it wasn’t really just her, it was the whole mad race, and surrounding that lay Vistor’s personal madness, and again, the madness of the time. He saw rings within rings within rings, and himself at the centre, gleaming red like Caldy Clavar’s ruby.

  Diana picked up the mug of hot black coffee and thrust it at him. “Take this, Flint. You’ve been different since the burnt place, all pale and grim. I think you’re suffering from caffeine withdrawal.”

  He slipped the talon into his pocket, accepted the mug, his favourite green one with the chipped rim, breathed in the delicious aroma, and felt the heat warm his hands. “You might be on to something there,” he said, and drank. The hot fluid almost scalded his mouth and throat, and he felt his heart kick into high gear. “Wow,” he said. “You made it strong.”

  “I knew you hadn’t slept a lot, so I used up the last of the coffee.”

  He pursed his lips. “How much coffee have you given me here?”

  She grinned. “Drink it and find out.”

  He shook his head, but he drank it all. Then he started in on the biscuits.

  She pointed out of the window. “That’s Glory Point, isn’t it?”

  “That’s the Point.”

  “Every rigger has to stop there, right? I mean if they’re running the race, right?”

  “That’s what I’m hoping.”

  She toyed with the little wooden rhino sitting on the dash. “Of course, the other one, the bad rigger, they might just skip this bit and go straight back. They wouldn’t care if they got disqualified. Kind of like us, right?”

  He made a face. “That’s what I’m not hoping.”

  She sucked air through her teeth. “Good luck, Flint.”

  +

  They rounded a corner of the vast white plinth that formed the base of the tower, and Flint’s heart leapt as he saw the row of rigs parked at the hydrants, their water pipes humming as they filled their tanks. “They’re still here,” he said.

  Diana stopped brushing her hair and shot him a quizzical look. “How can you tell which rig to look for?”

  He shook his head. “Not what I meant. You see those two big ones over there?”

  She peered at the machines. “Yeah, they sort of look like the Rhino.”

  He grinned. “Size-wise, maybe. That’s the Dragon, and that one on the right is the Eagle.”

  “How can you tell?”

  He pointed. “The Dragon has a sort of fish scale pattern, and twin antennae that sweep back behind the cockpit.”

  She shrugged. “The other one has the same pattern.�
��

  “They look similar until you get up close, but actually the Eagle has a feather pattern, and the nose hooks down like a beak.”

  “Uh huh. But Flint, I still don’t get why you’re so pleased about this. Did Caerlion let on about his partner, or are these riggers going to help us?”

  “Well the last time I saw Jerethy he more or less told me he wasn’t my friend. As for Nathor, he’s… A bit like me, actually.”

  She showed him a lopsided smile. “Maybe he’d be good.”

  He shrugged. “I mean, he doesn’t talk a lot, doesn’t spend much time in the city. He just loves riding the Eagle.”

  “So why are you happy? Just glad to stop for a bit?”

  “No, no, I’m pleased because they’re the fastest rigs of all. If they’re still here, then so’s Caerlion’s buddy.”

  “She nodded. “Okay, that’s actually really good news. But Flint, what’s your plan here? I mean, we could just run in and start hitting people until they tell us everything.” She mimed grabbing someone by the ear and punching him under the jaw.

  He chewed his lip. “I think it might take a bit of finesse.”

  “Hey, I know, we could hang Caerlion off the top of the tower, until he tells us who he’s working with.” She cocked her head. “Of course, he might not be able to talk much after the pummeling, so maybe he could sort of bleed on the right rig.”

  Flint began to wonder what effect he’d had on the girl. With any other charge, he would worry about having to explain everything to a couple of stern parents, but given that he was planning to wreck Vistor’s entire scheme, whatever it was, he decided to add it to the long list of problems he was content to ignore. “More finesse than that.”

  She folded her arms and pouted. “Hmm. So if you don’t like my ideas, rigger, then you’d better have a really incredibly amazing one of your own.”

  He nodded. “That would be good. Unfortunately, planning ahead has never been one of my strengths.”

  “No, you’re more of a smash it now and explain later kind of rigger.”

  “Not my preferred description, but let’s go with that. What I say, is this: we tie up Caerlion, and take-”

  She grabbed his arm. “Can I gag him, too?”

  “Uh, yeah, sure.”

  “Fine, let’s do it now.”

  “Hey, don’t you want to hear the rest of my plan?”

  She leapt out of her seat. “Nope. Let’s be honest, Flint, your plan will just fall apart after five minutes, so why worry?”

  She dashed out of the cockpit, muttering about rope.

  Flint frowned. Then he noticed the wooden toy rhino, facing his way and leering. “Oh shut up, you.”

  +

  Flint covered Caerlion with the gun and Diana rolled up his blue shirt and tied his wrists with yellow cord from the hold. Then he led them out, and they saw the tower up close. The sun had begun to sink in the west, and it painted the tower gold. At this range the tower rose above them so tall it seemed to stretch into the sky, and Flint could see that the outer skin was not plain white, but a thick layer of crystal filled with microscopic channels that flowed with water. The crystal surface flashed rainbows, and the constant flow of the water made it foam, and gave the tower its appearance.

  Flint took them past the line of thirsty rigs, to a separate building that stood apart in space and time; where the tower stood as a reminder of the old world, the second building, a wooden longhouse with a smoking chimney at the far end and plastic sheets for window panes, looked both newer and far more ancient. The air carried loud voices, shouting and laughter, and the bittersweet aroma of beer, wine, and stronger drinks.

  Diana paused and faced him, a disapproving look in her red eyes. “I hope you haven’t put us through all this just so you can get smashed.”

  “No, Diana,” he said. “I didn’t run so hard just for a drink.”

  “Good. Because my old man used to get smashed sometimes, and then he’d talk very loud and stumble around, and sometimes he fell down and slept on the floor.”

  “I promise I won’t-”

  “And he snored so loud it gave the dog a heart attack.”

  Flint rubbed his jaw. After all the coffee, he felt he’d enjoy the calming effect of a few beers, but he didn’t want to have those eyes burning into him for the rest of the journey, however short it might be. “Just water. Promise.” He put out his hand.

  She hung back a moment, then shook. “Just water.”

  Caerlion sniggered. “This is how you fight for your city, rigger?”

  “Get along,” said Flint, shoved the man through the double doors, and followed.

  He found himself in a long dim hall, oaken pillars spaced at intervals, and a large, packed table running along the middle. At the far end he saw a wooden counter manned by a burly guy in an apron, with long yellow hair and a thick beard. All along the table he saw his fellow riggers, drinking and talking. On the far side of the table he saw two riggers in a fierce dispute. On the left stood Jerethy, his iridescent blue eyes shining with rage, his muscular form threatening to tear apart his green shirt as he raised a fist at Nathor, whose gaunt figure towered over everyone, though his bone-white skin and loose black shirt and trousers made him look like a spectre of death.

  “How do we get their attention?” said Diana. “Do you plan to shoot someone?”

  “No, no,” he said, eyes locked on the argument. “Wait here.”

  “But Flint-”

  He ignored her, too distracted. Jerethy could be as mean as an alpha goat, but he never lost his cool. If Flint could have picked anyone as a clear favourite in the race, he would have chosen Jerethy. Popular, bright, clear-headed, and driving one of the fastest rigs in the bay, he made the best choice. But here the man was bellowing at Nathor like an enraged bison.

  “...lowest, foulest, filthiest pieces of chicanery I have ever seen in my time on the way, and I have run into mutant cannibal slavers who smear corpse rot on their spears before they hurl them.”

  Nathor’s huge green eyes flashed as he replied in a raspy whisper. “Did I break any rules?”

  “That’s not the point,” said Jerethy. “There’s such a thing as honour, even in the race.”

  “Did I break any rules?”

  Jerethy looked left and right, as if pleading with his fellow riggers to witness Nathor’s evident madness. “We’re running with tanks of pure hydrogen. Any kind of explosion could rupture a tank, and boom! There goes one rig, maybe two or three if they’re packed together, and where did you pull your little stunt with the bombs? On the stinking Pig of all places!”

  Flint pushed his way through the crowd gathered around the two champion riggers. He started to speak, but as soon as Jerethy saw him, his face turned a shade darker, and he spat. “Like attracts like, I see. On my right I have an attempted murderer, and on my left comes the real thing.”

  Flint felt his body stiffen, but Diana put a hand on his arm, and her touch helped him stay calm. “Jerethy I just want to talk to you, I didn’t come for a fight.”

  “Oh no? I have my doubts, because some of us were listening on the chat a couple of days ago, and we heard some very suspicious ‘talk’.”

  He frowned. “I don’t...”

  “Seems Blen caught up with you after all. See I thought you two had a fight, but maybe you really just talked, talked so good he took Old Horn off the way and vanished across the plains.”

  Flint grimaced. “Oh, shit. Look, Jerethy, that’s not important right now.”

  Jerethy walked close enough for Flint to smell the mulled wine on his breath. “Not important? You kill two brother riggers, and that’s not important?”

  “Brother… Burl wasn’t a rigger.”

  “I don’t mean Burl. I’m talking about Wurnech.”

  Flint felt the floor fall out from under him, and the world began to spin. He pressed forward, gripped Jerethy’s right bicep, and spoke in the man’s face. “I didn’t kill Vern, Jerethy. He came to
help when Burl tried to run us off a cliff.”

  Jerethy’s voice got low. “Take your hand off me, you murdering son of a bitch.”

  “When will you climb down from that pinnacle of perfection and listen to someone who knows what’s happening, murderer or not?”

  Jerethy hooked a hard left at his liver. Flint felt the punch coming, turned with it, and bled off enough of the force that he only felt like falling to his knees. He held his grip on Jerethy’s right arm, spoiled the man’s next punch, and stepped back, palms out. “I didn’t come here to fight you.”

  “Then this’ll be over quick. There’s a poison in our city, and I aim to purge it right here.”

  Flint gnashed his teeth. “You’re wrong, Jerethy.” He dodged another blow. “You think I’m poison? Rigger, you’re so lost you don’t know your turbine from your toenails.”

  The other riggers backed away, none intervened, and Flint saw they even shushed Diana when she asked for help. Nathor melted away into the crowd, which had made a nice big space for Jerethy and Flint to settle their account. Flint didn’t know if they all shared Jerethy’s hatred of him, or if they just wanted to see a good fight. Either way it didn’t matter – he had to end this before it got worse.

  “Jerethy, I’m going to give you one last chance to get your head straight and listen to sanity, and then I’m going to beat your brains back into shape.”

  “I know Vistor backed you in this race, Flint. It’s a fix, so he can cling on to power now his brother’s gone. I won’t let that happen. I’ll kill you here before I let a murderer and a cheat seize my city.”

  Flint’s jaw fell. “What?”

  Jerethy didn’t wait to explain. He sprang forwards and threw a right hook that snapped Flint’s head back and sent him reeling to the floor, the room dark, blood roaring in his ears. He hit the hard wooden floor, heard something clink nearby, lay on his side, and fought for breath.

  A huge shadow loomed over him. “When I’m President, we’ll have justice.”

  He saw a massive fist rise over his face, and he struggled to raise his guard, or rise, or roll, but his body, a heavy leaden lump, refused to move.

  Someone shrieked, a second shadow fell across him, and he heard a girl’s voice, loud and frightened. “Don’t you touch him.”

  Jerethy’s reply sounded distant. “Get out of my way, little girl. Go play with the other little charges down the table.”

  Flint saw the silhouette as she drew herself up and put her hands on her hips, and when she spoke, her voice grew in volume with every word. “How dare you, you stupid, ignorant, moronic rigger. I’m the President’s daughter.”

  “...you were the President’s daughter,” said Jerethy. Now you’re just a charge, and probably talking to the next President right here.”

  “Not yet you’re not, rigger, not yet. I am Diana Ambrel, daughter of Buck and Suzanne Ambrel, and while my father may be a heap of, of ashes, until this race ends he’s still President, and I’m still breathing, and that makes me President. Are you gonna raise your fists against your President?”

  In the silence that followed, Jerethy sounded smaller. “I, uh, no…”

  “And do you call it presidential to, to settle your arguments with your fists?”

  “Hey now, that man’s a damned murderer, and maybe you don’t like it, little…”

  “Yes?”

  “...President. But he is a murderer, done the thing in front of the whole city, more or less, and I’d call hanging him a work of justice. I mean, come on, he killed Burl Clavar, everyone knows he killed his brother, and everyone knows he killed his wife and girl, too.”

  Diana sucked air through her teeth. “He didn’t kill Caldy or her mom, they’re fine, I met them, they’re living in the forest.”

  Flint felt his strength return, pulse by pulse. He started to rise, but Diana kicked him, and he decided to stay where he was. He wanted to settle matters with Jerethy in a more direct manner, but she seemed to have got a better grip on the situation. Maybe her father had engaged a few competent tutors, back before Caerlion showed up. In fact she reminded him of old Buck, chewing out some dumb green rigger.

  Jerethy whistled. “That the truth, little girl?”

  “You forget my name, rigger?”

  He coughed. “Sorry, but is that true, Miss Diana?”

  “You calling me a liar, rigger Jerethy?”

  “But, but, he still killed Burl, right?” Flint saw Jerethy look around the room for support. “If little Caldy’s still alive, how did he get her necklace? Everyone saw him hurl it in Burl’s face.”

  “Flint here rescued Caldy and her mom from slavers. You know how they got out here, in the wild lands? Burl got his brother to help him, and they took the girls to slavers, and they sold them.”

  The quality of the silence changed. Before it had been that of people watching an entertaining play, but now it strained with the nervous tension of a courtroom. Flint saw Jerethy rub the back of his head. “Listen, Miss Diana, that’s a big accusation, I mean it’s a big thing to lay on a dead man-”

  “I know what it means, and I’ll take you to them as soon as we finish.”

  Jerethy wilted, found a chair at the long table, and sat down facing Diana. “Yeah, the race.”

  “No,” said Diana. “This,” and she crouched down and patted Flint’s pockets. By then he had enough strength to sit up, but she put a hand on his chest and shook her head. “These guys kind of hate you,” she said. “Let me do the talking.” She found what she wanted, stood, and turned to face Jerethy and the company of riggers. “You all have been running just as fast as you can, trying to catch up with my old man. Well let me tell you a story. My father has a brother, a weaker sort, not good at running, not strong enough to haul a crate of beef or heave a bucket of beer, not strong enough to turn the tables on a bushwhacking bandit. He’s got the genes to be a rigger, just like you, but he doesn’t have the bones for it. And today or tomorrow, when you race into town, you’re gonna stomp on his ambition.”

  Jerethy cleared his throat. “Look, Miss Diana, you might not get along with your uncle, but these are the rules, and you’re going to have to accept that the next President is not going to be an Ambrel.”

  “But it is,” she said, and laughed. She raised the object she’d taken from Flint, and pointed it at Jerethy. Flint rose to his feet and put a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged him off. “It’s going to be the same Ambrel who sent you off on your race. If he gets his way, it’s going to be the same Ambrel for life.”

  “What is that thing?” said Jerethy.

  “Diana,” said Flint, “this is a mistake.”

  “No! I’m sick of other people telling me what’s right and what’s wrong. I dreamed I’d be free on the open way, but it’s just another load of rules, and if you break them, someone puts a rope around your wrists and sells you like a piece of chicken.”

  Jerethy hissed. “Wait. I know what that is. Where did you get it? Flint, did you find that out there? Did you make it into one of the old cities?”

  “Look at me, rigger,” said Diana, her face white as bone. “Look at Vistor’s promise. You will have a new President, and you will obey him or you will get the gun.” She moved her arm, and Flint tried to stop her, but she snaked out of his grasp, aimed at a blue earthenware beer jug in the middle of the table, and fired. The blast deafened Flint, and the jug exploded in a fountain of foamy yellow beer that sprayed everyone around, and studded the table with jagged blue shards.

  For a second everyone froze, and then the hall erupted in pandemonium, rigger yelled at rigger, charges screamed and ran, or hid under the table and wailed. Jerethy, pale as milk, put his face in his hands and shuddered, and the nearest riggers edged away from him, and their frightened glances told Flint they wanted to get far away from the focus of Diana’s righteous anger.

  Flint put a hand on her shoulder. He tried to speak to her, but the gunshot had made it so he couldn’t hear his own voice over th
e ringing in his ears, so he patted her back, and she leaned against him and trembled, but just for a moment, and then she straightened up and held the gun in place covering the whole hall of riggers, and none of them moved, and the hall would have been silent but for the thunder that continued to echo in Flint’s skull for an age. When at last the sound faded to a distant hum, she spoke again, softer at first. “You stupid, stupid riggers. You run the great way and you flirt with the wild people and you think it makes you free. You carry water and beer and cheese and ham and everyone welcomes you back and says thank you, they give you nice things, and they listen to your stories about the mad old world outside the shield wall, and all this time you haven’t smelled the rot in the city.” Her voice grew louder and she put teeth into her words. “You think you’re living in freedom, you think you’re all-powerful, because you carry what we need. We need you but you don’t need us. We stay at home and you run free. Well tell me this, what will you do when Vistor shuts the gates of the city, when he puts a gun to the head of your wives and old ones, when your children are raised under the shadow of a gun? How long will your freedom last before he makes you his slaves?”

  Jerethy shook himself all over and rose to his feet. “Girl, Diana, we’ve listened to your words, if what you say is true, and you’re backed by the Bay City Executioner over there, then I’ve got to ask why you’re here shooting and talking at us, instead of blazing into the city so Flint can give Vistor a taste of Rhino justice?”

  Flint didn’t know if he should laugh or curse, so instead he put a hand on Diana’s shoulder, and spoke to Jerethy. “My charge here came with a tutor, ‘cept he was something else.” He outlined what he’d learned about Caerlion. “So we’ve come here looking for his partner, Vistor’s other rigger.”

  Jerethy wrinkled his brow, a troubled look in his iridescent blue eyes. “Find it hard to believe a brother rigger would sell out the city that way.” He put his hands up before Diana could speak. “But I’m guessing you’d like to arrange a search of the rigs.”

  Flint nodded. “That I would.”

  Jerethy shook his head and sighed. “I don’t like you, Flint. I don’t like you one bit. There’s too much of the wild places in you. But I like this girl, she’s got iron in her blood.” He looked at her. “I might pay your bride price, have my folks train you up to be my wife.”

  Diana bristled. “Say that into my gun.”

  Jerethy swallowed. “Yeah, she’s got iron.” He turned and faced the watching crowd. “You heard Diana. You see the gun. I’m for tradition, and that means we choose our President in a fair race. If Vistor’s against that, he’ll answer to me, come what may. You agree?”

  The riggers nodded and grunted their assent.

  “So let’s have us a search. No one leaves the tower until we’ve gone through every rig. And to show I’m level and plain as the way, we can start with the Dragon.”

  Diana sagged against Flint. “How was that, rigger?”

  He grinned. “That was good. That was real good.”

  “Wonderful. Can you take the gun now? When I fired it, I think I broke my wrist.”