Through Fire Page 9

  Chapter 9

  As they carried out the search, Flint marveled at the changes he’d seen in Diana since he’d first met her, dancing on the Rhino’s back. Before she had been carefree, perhaps insolent, but daring. She had wanted to run from the city, escape the prison she had grown up in, or rather the prison her uncle had begun to build, first for her, and then for them all. She still seemed daring, and yes, she could still hurl insults – even at a whole crowd of riggers, but underneath it all he sensed something new, a fierce determination to return, to run and hide no more, and instead to regain her home, renew it, take it back from the beast who had stolen it.

  He wondered, as these thoughts flowed through him, how much of what he saw was real insight, and how much his own feelings layered onto the girl. He, too, had tried to turn his back on the city, and he too had found that it bound him, not with steel chains, but with something finer. When he had found Tessa Clavar and her young daughter Caldy, prisoners of the slavers, he had been appalled, and when he had learned how Burl had sold them, sold them himself, fury had overwhelmed him, and he had raced back to do rigger justice on Burl, but ever since that night when he had thrown Burl’s broken body onto the pyre, and his rage had burned on, he had known that his feeling was not a moment of anger at an act of injustice, but a deep hate of a system that put prices on people, a system that, he now saw, took a straight path to slavery.

  He would stop Vistor, with his hands, his rig, or Caerlion’s gun, if need be. But the real challenge would follow on the heels of the first, for Vistor was not their ultimate enemy, and once Diana returned to the city, she would see that. She would have to.

  +

  The search continued long into the night, for there were many rigs, and though some were small, they were all freighters, with large holds and lots of nooks to stow cargo. Caerlion went along, sullen and withdrawn, prodded by Nathor, who had produced a long curved knife, hooked at the tip like a sickle or an eagle’s beak, and smirked when the cruel point left a thin mark on Caerlion’s neck. Perhaps he hoped to provoke a reaction from the enigmatic insurgent, but Caerlion never spoke, and his eyes remained unreadable behind his glasses. Jerethy watched this with a sour look, but he said nothing to Nathor, perhaps hoping to avoid further infighting among the riggers at a time when they needed to cooperate.

  At last they finished the search. Where spirits had run high, now Flint saw glum looks and heard bitter grumbles. He shared the other riggers’ frustration, but Nathor gave it voice. “This was a wasted evening.”

  They crowded into a rough circle on the black strip that ran from the hydrants back to the great way, and Nathor shoved Caerlion into the centre at the rounded end of his knife. “This creature can tell us how much of the girl’s story is true,” he said, “if any.”

  Flint stepped towards him. “You think I would push this at you on a whim?”

  Nathor rolled his big green eyes. “You kill on a whim, rigger. Having us run around like idiots seems a deal less serious than that.”

  Flint curled his hands into fists. “Says the man who filled his hold with homemade bombs. You’re a danger to everyone around you, Nathor, and more still to yourself. How you haven’t blown your rig up I do not know.”

  Nathor turned away from Caerlion, and angled the blade towards Flint. “I figure this is a big lie, Flint. I figure Vistor put you up to it. We all know he buttered you up and slipped you out of the noose. I figure he sent you to mess with us so we’d screw up the race, and his chosen rugger could take the prize.”

  “And who would that be, huh? Who would Vistor’s puppet be?”

  Jerethy stepped between them, palms stretched out. “This has got to stop. We get nothing from fighting each other. No one has the guns, no one is Vistor’s puppet.”

  Nathor scowled. “So what do we do? Come on Jerethy, you don’t just want to give up.”

  “Of course not. We take this guy back to the city and make him speak in public.”

  “Fine,” said Nathor. “I don’t like it, but I’ll keep him under wraps.”

  “No,” said Jerethy. “I’ll do it.”

  “How do we know you’re not the traitor?”

  Jerethy shot him a dirty look. “Nathor, if it comes out that I’ve been working with this guy, I will renounce the presidency.”

  “If you were indeed conniving ‘with this guy’, you would say anything.” He took a half-step towards Jerethy. “I think that’s been your plan all along.”

  Flint felt the situation slipping out of control. For once he cursed that rigger independence – they could work as hard as machines, but they couldn’t work as a team. “Nathor, this is going nowhere.”

  “When I want to hear your voice, I’ll-”

  When Nathor faced Flint, he turned his back on Caerlion. The tutor had shrunk, had descended into himself, and his blue shirt had hung loose over his form. Now he moved in a blur. He locked his hands together and swung them into Nathor’s left kidney like a mace, and stomped into the back of the rigger’s left knee. Nathor gasped and fell. In a fluid motion, Caerlion twisted the knife arm up and back, and trapped it against his chest. Nathor cursed and strained against the hold, but Caerlion leaned forward and pulled back, and Nathor screamed. Then Caerlion slid his wrists up under the knife’s hooked tip, jerked back, the metal sliced through his bonds, and the yellow cord fell to the ground. He took the knife out of Nathor’s hands and set it against his throat, glittering beak digging into Nathor’s skin.

  Flint shook himself and stepped towards Caerlion. The man had acted so fast he hadn’t had time to think, and the other riggers had frozen just the same. He put out his hands. “Caerlion, think about this. There’s nowhere for you to run.”

  Caerlion hauled Nathor to his feet, careful to keep his knife blade tight against the taller man’s neck. He smirked at Flint, and began to steer his captive out of the crowd. Nathor moaned. “I can’t walk, you bastard,” he said. “You bashed up my knee.”

  Caerlion sneered. “Walk or die, sir. Walk or die.” He jerked the blade, and blood welled up and ran down Nathor’s throat, a darker stain on his black shirt.

  Nathor gasped. “I’ll walk, I’ll walk.”

  Jerethy raised his hands. “Let him go. You won’t be harmed, I swear.”

  Caerlion ignored him, and forced Nathor out of the crowd, towards the line of waiting rigs.

  Flint looked around. “Diana, Diana, where’s the gun?”

  She pushed through the crowd, raised the weapon, and aimed at Caerlion. He laughed and kept herding Nathor away in the direction of the Eagle. “You can’t do it, girl. You’re just a child.”

  She said nothing, but her hands shook.

  Flint touched her shoulder. “Give me the gun, Diana.”

  Caerlion got Nathor up beside the Eagle. “You forgot about me, Flint. You spent all this time searching for something that doesn’t exist.”

  “Diana, give me the gun,” said Flint, but she tightened her grip on the weapon, and her whole body trembled with the tension.

  Jerethy folded his arms. “What’s he talking about, Flint?”

  Caerlion edged towards the door in the Eagle’s flank.

  “He’s just trying to distract us.”

  “Distract you,” said Caerlion, “I’m trying to educate you, you brainless rigger. Why do you think you couldn’t find the guns? Why do you think you couldn’t find my partner?”

  “I was with you at Salter’s Reach,” said Flint. “I saw your crew and I spoke to Bear. The guns are real, Caerlion.”

  Caerlion grinned, almost at the door. “But they’re not here, Flint. They’re not here. Do you want to know why?”

  “Just shut your mouth,” said Flint.

  “No,” said Jerethy. “I want to hear this.”

  “He’s just going to lie to you,” said Flint. “That’s what he does. He lies and he breaks things. He came here to break our city, and right now he’s trying to break our resolve.”

  “No, Flint,” sa
id Caerlion, right at the door. “I’m going to tell you the truth from now on. You haven’t found the guns because you haven’t found my partner. Why haven’t you found my partner, Flint?”

  “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that we stop you.”

  “You’re wrong,” said Caerlion, and forced Nathor’s bony hand against the scanner panel set in the door. “You haven’t found my partner because he’s dead, Flint. He’s dead and you killed him.”

  Flint’s mouth fell open. “Blenner? You were working with Blenner Clavar?”

  “No,” said Caerlion, and he shoved Nathor through the open door, then followed close and turned him so they stood in the doorway, Caerlion behind the rigger, Nathor’s eyes pleading with the silent, watching crowd.

  “Then who?” asked Flint, and he strode towards the rig, curious now in spite of himself. “There’s no one else. You’re lying like you always have.”

  Caerlion laughed. “I lie less than any of you. And Flint, poor Flint, haven’t you reasoned it out? I wasn’t working with your personal demon. Come on, who was there, so interested in helping you, when they had no reason to be? Who had a rig fast enough to get ahead of the rest, pick up the cargo, and shoot back to the city before anyone could catch them?”

  Flint shook his head. “No, it’s a lie. I don’t believe you.”

  Caerlion took off his spectacles, and turned a hard cobalt gaze on Flint. “Wurnech.”

  “No!”

  “Wurnech was my partner, Flint.” Laughing, he shoved Nathor deeper into the rig, and slammed the door shut.

  Flint roared, hurled himself at the door, and beat it with the edges of his fists until the rig growled and lurched and Jerethy and the other riggers grabbed him and hauled him away, and he struggled in their grasp as the Eagle skimmed out into the darkness, to dash his hopes, and crush his memories.

  +

  Flint started to shove people aside as he made for the Rhino, then Jerethy grabbed his shoulder, spun him around and yelled in his face. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Flint knocked his hand away. “I’m gonna get in the Rhino and chase that lying snake down. Get out of my face, Jerethy, I’m going.”

  Jerethy grabbed him by the arms. “No you’re not.”

  “Are you really trying to stop me, Jerethy? He’s getting away.”

  “Yes,” said Jerethy. “Yes he is.” He dropped his hands to his sides and stepped back. “He’s in the Eagle, and he’s getting away. Are you actually going to chase after the Eagle in that flying brick of yours?”

  Flint began to speak but the words died in his mouth, and he slumped. “No.”

  “No, you’re not,” said Jerethy. He turned to face the next rig, with the fish scale pattern and the back-swept antennae. “He’s in the Eagle, and the Comet ain’t coming. It’s time for the Dragon.”

  Flint looked left and right and ground his teeth together. “Go get him then. He’s gotta run inland, to pick up the-”

  “The guns, yeah,” said Jerethy, walking to his rig. “I got it.”

  “I’ll take the rest of the rigs back to the city, so we can-”

  “No!” Jerethy whirled around and locked eyes with Flint. “This race is not done.”

  Flint straightened up. “This isn’t just about the race any more. Vistor could-”

  “I said no. Vistor’s got nothing without the guns, and when we finish the race, he’ll have no choice but to give in. But you, and you, and all of you,” he looked across the crowd of riggers, “stay right here. I’m fighting to keep some order, and if any of you cross me, your rigs will answer to the Dragon.” Jerethy hit Flint with one final burning look. “That goes double for you, Rhino.”

  Flint sagged, leaned his weight against the nearest rig, and watched as the Dragon’s engines coughed once and roared into life, the rig rolled around, picked up speed, and ran into the growing dark.