Chapter 19
THE MIST HAD vanished.
The sky glowed clear and blue, and the white light of the center star blazed over Ziem and burned off the near-constant fog. Some claimed they could even see the second star, tiny and distant, behind the center star. With a sigh, Drake thought of the time when a day like this would have sent many scurrying to the observation center to take a look through the big scope. But the center was controlled by the Coalition now, and no one wished to draw that much attention to themselves. Especially given the suspicious nature of the Coalition scientists that ran it; they were unable to accept innate curiosity in those they thought beneath them in intelligence, and thus attributed any interest to subversive reasons.
As if looking at the center star would help somehow.
He shrugged off the feeling of futility that had overtaken him last night. It was stronger now than it had ever been, yet with less reason. They had a rail gun now, which was no small feat. Yet it still seemed small, if he let himself think about the galactic might of the Coalition. If he let this feeling grow, take hold, he would not be able to rouse himself to any kind of action, including getting out of his bed in the morning.
How did you do it, Father? How did you keep going, in the face of insurmountable odds and the viciousness of the Coalition tyrants?
As always, no answer came to him. And so he did the only thing he could do at the moment, and set about his daily work. Donning the apron that had become his regular attire here, he focused on wiping down the bar, sweeping the floor yet again, and setting the chairs at every table neatly on the floor. As if each task was the only thing of import in his life. As if each thing required every ounce of his concentration. For right now, the only thing that mattered was keeping his mind from straying to things that had no answer except pain.
When he reached the table in the corner, where Brander held his games of chaser, he paused. He’d seen the new post commander come in again last night. He’d heard the whispers among the patrons first, then turned to look. The air of command about the man was unmistakable. It wasn’t just his breadth of shoulder or steady gaze, it was something more intangible but very real, a sort of presence that spoke of confidence and the skill to back it up.
And after the man had gone—with, according to the buzz, a sizeable chunk of Brander’s coin—he saw in his friend’s expression a combination of grim contemplation and respect. Not a good combination for the people of Zelos.
Brander would go up the mountain, where they could discuss his assessment in detail, later. The mountain where his sister was likely roaming at this moment.
And, that quickly, he was back to that nagging concern, keeping Eirlys alive and safe. She might be nearing adulthood, but she was still and would ever be his little sister. Her safety was his responsibility, as was that of the twins. It was a difficult load to carry, but there was no one else. This was not the life he had wanted, expected, or would have chosen, but it was the life he had. He must balance it as best he could.
For a brief moment, he allowed himself to think of a time ahead, when Nyx and Lux would also reach, Eos willing, adulthood. Then, perhaps, he could turn to his own life. If there was anything left of it. He shook his head sharply. He’d already lost Kye in one form; did not dare let her in in his other guise. Better to assume there would be nothing if and when this was over, than to hold out hope and have it shattered.
He would always feel a responsibility toward all three of his siblings, especially the twins, but even they would be off to make their own way eventually. Hopefully wiser and more cautious than they were now.
And he grimaced at the thought of how much trouble those two could get into were he not here to disentangle them. It was a sobering thought.
It suddenly all seemed too much. He threw the wipe rag down on the chaser table, turned, and walked out the back door. The normally dark alley behind the taproom was flooded with golden light. The noises from the street, mostly troopers shouting orders, seemed distant, even without the mist to muffle them. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, letting the warm rays wash over him. But after a moment, he opened them again and looked around. The alley itself was not improved by the brightness; there were things piled here and there that were probably best when hidden by the usual mist. And the aroma that was rising, of discarded leavings that had no doubt attracted muckrats and other charming scavengers, and the signs of a flock of squawkers that nested in the various abandoned buildings, could also do with the cooling effect of the mist. Gone were the days when Zelos had been spotless, when no one would have thought of leaving a trail of garbage behind them.
He himself preferred the mist anyway, the foggy coolness, although he didn’t mind this occasional visit by the light. This one was unseasonal, given they were still in the early rebirth months, but it would fade soon enough, perhaps until it returned in the sun-season and stayed for several weeks.
A noise drew his attention. A scrabbling sort of sound in the alcove of the back door of the old weapons shop, long ago closed by the Coalition, across the way. He saw only a large, male figure, but something about the way he was moving warned him, in the instant before a tiny, terrified scream hit his ears.
A child. He reacted instantly. Instinctively. He moved, as quickly as he could and still maintain stealth. The dark figure—a hulking man in a Coalition uniform of guard rank—didn’t turn, didn’t seem to be aware of his approach. He was intent on his prey, a small girl not even as old as Lux, who was struggling wildly against his crushing grip.
He had no weapon. The man had at least half again his body weight on him.
You fight with what you have.
Drake freed the ties on his apron. Pulled it off in the last few steps. In the moment he got within reach, the man jerked away the hand that had been covering the girl’s mouth. Drake heard a sharp curse. The girl screamed. Louder now.
“Bite me, will you?” the man growled out.
Good girl.
The man lifted his hand for a blow. Drake took the last two steps. Lifted the heavy cloth of the apron. In a split second, he had it over the man’s head, over his face, with the ties wrapped around his neck holding it in place. Now sightless, attacked from behind, the man roared. His hands flailed toward the blaster at his belt. Drake pulled the ties tighter. Then grabbed the blaster from its sheath. The temptation to use it, to blast this child assaulter to tiny pieces, was strong. Only the likely aftermath stopped him. He tossed it aside.
He dodged the man’s blows, wild and blind, easily. Pulled back even harder. Forced the man to stagger back. His shouts were mere strangled gasps now. The brute stumbled over the rough stones of the alley. Went down hard. His huge, bald head hit the stone. He went limp.
Drake whirled. The girl, a tiny thing with huge eyes, stared at him. Tears streamed down her face.
“It’s all right. You’re safe now.”
She scrambled to her feet. She was wearing a worn tunic that had seen many better days even before this lout had torn it. She looked at him warily. He took a step back, held up his hands to indicate he meant her no harm.
She darted away, toward the entrance to the alley. He stayed where he was, reasonably sure by the way she was moving that she wasn’t badly hurt. He’d gotten there in time.
When she got to the alley opening, she turned back to look at him again. He thought of Lux, and his stomach turned at the thought of her in such a brute’s hands.
“Thank you,” the girl whispered, so softly he almost couldn’t hear it.
He nodded. And then she was gone, out into the street that was beginning to fill with people going about what business the Coalition allowed them.
Quickly, he knelt by the Coalition soldier. He freed his apron, revealing a face that was vaguely familiar. Someone who had likely been in the taproom before, he decided. He thought quickly. Grabbed up the blaster, wiped it with the apron and slid it back into the sheath, as if he had never touched it. Then he put the apron back on as he ran back to the back door of the taproom. He opened it and stood just inside, leaving it open just enough to press his ear to the gap.
After a moment or two, he heard a scraping sound, of something moving across the stone. A second later, he heard string of curses that started out low and grew in volume and foulness until it was a yell of obscenity aimed at everyone in the vicinity and their mothers.
Drake waited until it had lessened to intermittent indictments of various creatures, including a suggestion for a goat that he thought was physically impossible. Then he steeled himself, put on his most worried expression, and shuffled out into the alley.
“Oh!” he exclaimed, as if he’d just seen the big man who was leaning against the opposite wall. “Oh, sir, are you all right?”
The man blinked, as if his vision wasn’t quite right yet. But after a moment he seemed to focus. And to recognize Drake. So he’d been right about him being a taproom customer.
“You’re the tapper.”
“Yes,” he said, trying to sound worried as well as look it. It wasn’t hard, given the suspicion in the man’s narrow eyes. He thought about rubbing his hands together anxiously, but if he judged by the look of him—and the smell—such subtleties would be lost on this man. “I heard some noise out here, and I got nervous. Do you need help, sir?”
The fawning words and tone worked a minor miracle. The suspicion vanished. And it didn’t seem to occur to the man to question why he’d come out at all, if he was so nervous. “I was attacked.”
Drake widened his eyes. “Right here? In my alley? That’s . . . disgraceful!”
“It is,” the man boomed out, confidence regained. “And I’ll hunt them down, you can be sure of that.”
“Them, sir?”
“At least two of them. Maybe three. But I fought them off.”
Right.
Mostly out of curiosity over what the man would say, Drake asked, “Were you looking for something back here, sir?”
The expression on his brutish face became guarded. “I was merely taking a shortcut.”
“Of course,” Drake said with a nod. Never mind that this alley in fact was the longer way around to anything else on the street.
“You should take better care to clear this alley of rubbish.” Back in full Coalition mode, Drake thought.
“Quite, sir. Would you like to come inside? A nice glass of brew to set you to rights? No charge, of course. I would be honored.”
Puffing up now, the trooper looked down his nose at him. As if the offer of a free drink were only his due.
“Perhaps a quick one,” he said. “I’m on duty later.”
Perhaps you should rethink having a brew at all, then. Or molesting helpless children.
“Of course,” he said aloud as he gestured the man toward the door. “But today it will be light much later, if the mist stays gone.”
The man snorted. “This foul, benighted place is enough to drive a man mad. That mist is a demonish thing, I tell you.”
Drake held the door for him with the most respectful air he could summon up. And he poured a larger glass than he’d planned, one that surprised even the greedy trooper.
He busied himself washing the rest of the glasses while he kept an eye on the man in the strip of mirror that ran along the back wall. The man gulped down the brew, taking it in faster than Drake would have thought possible, even for a man his size. When he finished, he slammed the empty glass down on the bar, and wiped his foamy lip with his sleeve. Drake turned and picked up the glass.
“Another? Surely you have time?”
“You’re a good man, Davorin. Despite your name.”
Drake let a wince show. It wasn’t difficult; the comparisons to his father always caused a jab of pain, even ones like this. But his father had become a martyr, and that was a path he did not want to follow.
The trooper laughed. He looked Drake up and down, then reached out and flicked at the edge of the apron. “Nobody’d take you for your father, and that’s certain.”
“I’m thankful for that,” Drake said, meaning it.
He downed the second brew, not quite as quickly. As the man strode out the door, the front door this time, Drake noticed the slightest of wobbles in his step.
He finished the glasses, wiped his hands on that blessed apron, allowing himself a smile as he remembered the trooper’s scorn for the very thing that had taken him down out in the alley.
He turned to measuring what was left in the various bottles and flagons on the shelf.
And hoped that the little girl had gotten safely home.