Katrina felt like she’d stepped onto a movie set. A western movie set. Or maybe one of those western science-fiction movies. If only the writers back then had known this sort of place was real.

The baldheaded guy had indeed sent someone in with a bucket, which she’d used when she had privacy, and then, later, she’d been sent a bowl with mush.

Her mind flew to Rush and the night they’d spent in the square, eating those delicacies and joking about prison food. And now, here she was, eating this.

Tears welled up, but she fought them.

Then the baldheaded, tattooed guy had come to collect her. Told her he was going to give her a tour of the area, show her the marketplace. He sneered when he’d said that.

Katrina had refused, but he’d grabbed her arm and told her she was going, but it was up to her whether she was walking or being carried like a sack of grain over his shoulder.

“The view’s different upside-down,” he’d said with a laugh.

“Fuck you,” she’d retorted, only to find her response elicited more laughter and, “I told you, we’re saving you for the highest bidder. Stop offering.”

Jaw set, Katrina refused to say another word. She followed him into the sunshine, and they’d walked among an assortment of people who looked like they’d stepped off some type of vaudeville show merged with a spaghetti western with a few steampunk characters mixed in. When she noticed the dark-clad men in the shadows, weapons crisscrossing their bodies, scars traveling up and down their faces, marking them as the types not to shy away from a fight, she suppressed a shudder. These were the outlaws. This was the reason Marcomal had its bad reputation.

It went without saying Katrina’s walkabout with Baldy stirred the attention of the characters milling about the area.

It surprised her he didn’t tie her hands or shackle her feet or something, anything, to keep her from running off. He must be very sure of himself or the others if he wasn’t worried about her escape. But glancing at those men again, she decided her captor was the safer of the choices.

A haze settled over the area Baldy—what else could she call him?—led her through. A rosy-beige smog that cast a glow which reminded Katrina of sunsets in the desert. Not that this urban girl had ever experienced the sun setting over a desert’s horizon, but she’d seen postcards and pictures.

Some of the buildings were crafted of wood and others looked like adobe. If Katrina had been there under better circumstances, she’d have found the architecture and the denizens of this place interesting, but as it was, the only thing she could think of was how to get back to Janus.

A group of men in sand-colored dusters and pants surrounded an open-air pit. One turned the handle on a spit that held something looking like a pig. The fire below sizzled as drippings struck it. The smoke left the air with an aroma that made Katrina’s stomach growl.

Baldy gave her a glance. “Didn’t someone bring you food?”

“I don’t think thick water qualifies as food.” She’d barely touched the gruel.

He laughed. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

One of the men at the pit carved a chunk off and skewered it with a metal rod. He held it up to Baldy. “Fifteen sanges, boss. Only fifteen sanges. Special price for you.”

Baldy looked at Katrina. “Give it to her. She’ll need fattening up for the auction.”

The men at the pit burst into laughter, leering at Katrina.

Her face felt on fire. She glared at Baldy then turned her scalding gaze toward the laughing men.

They went silent then one said, “Hope her disposition improves, or she’s not going to bring you much money. You may not even get any bidders.”

The man held the skewer up to Katrina.

She shook her head.

He stepped closer, practically putting the flavorful meat under her nose. “Never know when you might need the energy from this.”

She stared at him. Was he on her side?

She took the skewer from him, nodding her thanks.

“Put it on my account.” Baldy jerked on her arm. “Let’s keep walking. Maybe Persima can do something with you.”

“Who’s Persima,” she asked around a mouthful of meat. It tasted as good as it smelled.

He gave her a cryptic smile. “A friend.”