Soldier of Fortune
Chapter 8

They found the back door by the simple act of looking for the kitchen, which every dodger worth her honey knew was the emergency exit of choice for those in need of a quick departure. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the FindNøvᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

And given the staff didn’t blink an eye as a soldier, a dodger, and a draco burst in to weave through amongst the steaming pots and clashing dishes, Mia had to assume they were used to the occasional emergency exit.

One young fellow did look up long enough to ask Gideon how his dinner had been.

“Better going down than coming back up,” Gideon said.

Mia snorted and dashed past him as Gideon asked the keepers to hold his room for the time being, but he was right quick, slipping round in front of her so he could peer out the alley door, which opened right next to the compost bin she’d used to climb up to Gideon’s floor.

She almost commented on it when Gideon came to a sudden halt, hissing a curse.

Mia took it as a warning and, rather than step straight out, slid through the door and to the right, where she tucked herself between the wall and the compost bin just in time to hear a woman’s voice say, “If you or the draco so much as twitch, I will kill it.”

“Understood,” Gideon replied without hesitation.

Whoever this woman was, she was trouble.

“I have to say,” the woman continued, “I am surprised to see you standing upright. We were expecting you to be sound asleep in your room. Nahmin must have gone light on the morph.”

Nahmin, Mia thought, that must be the ponce.

“Nahmin’s dosing wasn’t off,” Gideon said. “It knocked me pretty well out. Almost drowned me, in fact.”

“That would have been a shame,” the woman said.

Mia didn’t think she meant it.

“I’m not sure you mean that.” Gideon seemed to agree.

“But I do,” the woman insisted. “You and I, we have unfinished business.”

“We do? Oh, you mean because of the thing back at the airfield.”

Mia almost snickered at Gideon’s exaggerated tone. Was he trying to make the woman mad?

“Yes,” the woman replied, sounding pretty mad, “because of the . . . thing.”

“How is your brother, anyway? He is your brother, right?”

“My twin, Ronan,” she said. “And I am Rey.”

“Gideon Quinn, but you knew that. Where is old Ronan, anyway?” Gideon continued in a “we’re just mates catching up on old times” fashion.

“Recovered enough to seek you in your rooms.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Gideon said.

“I’m not sure you mean that,” she echoed his earlier opinion.

“Seems to be a lot of that going around.”

Odd, how Mia could hear the man’s smile.

“You know what else is going around?” the woman asked, and Mia now heard the distinctive hum of a crystal shooter warming up.

“An appalling lack of composting in the inner city?” Gideon asked.

Mia rolled her eyes because, even if Gideon weren’t facing an angry woman with a live weapon, it was a silly statement to make. Keeper waste bins were the crystal standard of composting, so why—

“No,” the woman said, apparently in response to Gideon’s suggestion. “What is going around lately is pain.”

Which was when Mia, who understood Gideon even better than she herself knew, put her shoulder to the corner of the bin and her feet to the wall and pushed.

Gideon, still staring down the barrel of a live shooter, wasn’t sure the dodger had gotten his hint until he heard the telltale groan of the compost bin’s wheels.

So, thankfully, did Rey who instinctively turned her weapon toward the new threat.

She got the hint! he thought, darting behind the massive bin as it rolled forward to create a blockade between himself and the mercenary.

Wheels squeaked, Elvis chittered, and brick and metal shrieked as the corner of the compost bin gouged the wall on the other side of the alley.

“You got the hint,” he said as the dodger joined him.

“Yeah, yeah, I got the hint. Now can we scarper?”

From behind the wall of compost, they could hear Rey’s curses, interspersed with the occasional blast from her shooter. “You bet,” he said, making sure the dodger remained ahead of him as they made their escape.

“How’d you know the trash bin was wide enough to block the alley?” she asked as they turned onto the street behind the hotel.

“I didn’t.” Gideon shrugged at her expression of affront. “I figured it’d be enough to have a mammoth-sized compost bin bearing down on her. The blockade was just luck.”

“You’re a right nutter, you are.”

“So I’ve heard.” Gideon glanced around. “They’ll be past, or over, that bin soon enough. We have to get out of sight.”

“That way.” The girl pointed to a brightly lit pleasure emporium on the other side of the street.

Gideon didn’t have to read the sign blazing over the arched entrance to know that this was the Shakespeare Circus, Nike’s cultural claim to fame and one of Dani’s favorite places.

Some cities had theaters, others went so far as to dedicate entire districts to live productions, both new and classical, but Nike . . . Nike had the Shakespeare Circus, a sprawling, multilevel ode to the theatre.

Stages varied in size and shape—from intimate cabarets for twenty to auditoriums which held two hundred.

Such was the Circus’s popularity that tonight, despite the weather, the place was doing brisk business, and the stage nearest the open gates had a placard announcing a performance of A Comedy of Errors.

“It’s a sign,” Gideon said, catching sight of the placard.

“Yeah, I can see it’s a sign,” she said. “I ain’t blind.”

“No, I meant because it’s the Comedy of Errors and tonight’s sort of a—forget it.”

“Right.”

As they crossed the street, he clicked twice and said, “High road.”

Elvis, hissing, leaped from Gideon’s shoulder and flew to the peak of the Circus building, where Gideon knew he’d keep watch.

Without the draco to draw attention, Gideon expected he and Mia had a better chance of blending into the crowds.

Which might have worked, had those crowds not included Erasmus Ellison, Mia’s heavy-handed fagin.

Keeping a weather eye on two of his dippers working the crowds Ellison sat

outside a tea stall near the pantomime’s stage and had just added a generous dose of whiskey to his cup of tea when he spied the tall Corpsman he’d set Mia on over two hours past.

The man appeared alert—eyes everywhere, as if searching for something.

He was also without his draco, which Ellison took to mean Mia had succeeded in the challenge of stealing the beast.

Already counting the starbucks the draco would bring, he toasted the air and took a hefty sip.

Then he saw Mia on the far side of the mark, walking with him—with nary a draco in sight—and the spit take which followed this discovery struck one half of a set of twins walking past.

By the time he was able to placate the angry pair, he’d lost sight of Mia and could only stalk off in the direction of his wayward dodger while the fuming twins stalked off in the opposite direction.

A little over an hour later, Gideon followed the girl off the district tram and down Marlowe Street while Elvis kept pace overhead.

“Why are you counting?” she asked.

Gideon, who’d just reached twenty-three, grimaced. “No reason.” He gestured for her to continue.

A silent seventy-two steps later, they arrived at Kit’s Diner.

Elvis came to rest on the diner’s awning while Gideon scanned the street, but other than a few happy souls exiting a nearby pub bearing the name Here’s One in Your Eye, Marlowe was quiet.

While the girl opened the door, Gideon looked at Elvis. “You’d better stay out here.”

Elvis chittered his displeasure at that idea.

“It’s for your own safety,” Gideon said.

Elvis glared down, seemingly unconvinced.

“Fine, I’ll bring you a little draco bag,” Gideon promised, then followed his young guide into the diner, where the warm air was redolent of oats, cinnamon, butter, and the sharp slash of bacon.

His mouth commenced watering even as his eyes skimmed the small space, which had a mere five booths running along the left-hand wall, a handful of four tops in the middle, and a counter fronted by well-worn, red-cushioned stools on the right.

The kitchen was open to the dining area via a long pass-through, though he couldn’t see anyone inside the kitchen. Only one of the booths was occupied, by a young man with tousled gold-brown hair, wearing a UCAS Air Corps jacket that had seen better days.

The aeronaut looked up, and Gideon watched him acknowledge Gideon’s Infantry coat, which had also seen better days.

The two shared a brief look, a short nod, and then the younger man’s brown eyes returned to the cup of tea he was nursing. There was an empty plate in front of him, all but licked clean, which gave Gideon a certain optimism about the fare.

A kettle began to whistle, and Gideon turned toward the sound in time to see a young woman with burnished copper hair appear through the open arch between the kitchen and counter area, carrying a stack of clean plates.

Not only young, Gideon noted as she made for the steaming kettle, but pregnant.

Upon spying new customers at the door, she assayed a tired smile, one that became genuine the moment they fell on the girl at his side.

“Honey from the keepers,” the young woman called in greeting, surprising Gideon with a familiar Fordian accent.

She set the plates down and pulled the copper kettle from the hot plate and poured steaming water into a waiting pot. “I haven’t seen you in, what, two weeks?”

“Been busy,” the dodger replied with a shrug. “You look—bigger.”

“Yeah, part of the process. Millions of years of evolution, and this is the best we can do.” The redhead leaned on her side of the counter where the girl, after a brief hesitation, joined her, gesturing for Gideon to follow. The redhead gave Gideon a sharp look as he approached. “And who’s your friend? A little tall for a dodger, isn’t he?”

“I was shorter when I started,” Gideon said and was rewarded by a sharper look than the first. So sharp, in fact, he felt a bit as if he were being dissected by her keen gray eyes.

“Another Ford native,” she observed, studying him. “Far from home aren’t you, soldier?”

“Likewise.”

“This here’s Jinna,” the girl jerked her chin at the young woman. “Jinna, this is Gideon. He’s okay, for a citizen.”

“High praise from Mia,” Jinna murmured.

“Your name is Mia?” he asked, glancing at the girl, who shrugged.

He then turned back to Jinna, who was also looking at Mia.

As he watched, Mia met Jinna’s gaze, then Jinna’s brows shot up, and Mia’s hands rose, palms up, followed by a shrug.

Jinna sighed, then turned to Gideon. “You’re welcome to take a seat anywhere,” she said, then looked at Mia. “I’ve got some spare griddle cake batter and bacon that won’t be missed.”

“I can cover the cost of the meal,” Gideon said, even as Mia’s shoulders hunched, “though I do love a good griddle cake.” He glanced at Mia who frowned, then shrugged.

“As long as you’ve loads of syrup,” she muttered.

“A forest’s worth,” Jinna promised, shooting Gideon an appraising look. “Take a table, and I’ll get your tea going.”

Feeling very much dismissed, Gideon followed Mia to a booth, passing the aeronaut.

“Oy there, Mia,” the airman greeted Mia in the distinct brogue of the Campbell Isles.

“Oy back, Rory,” Mia replied with a nod, telling Gideon that both were regulars at Kit’s.

And if Gideon were to judge from the glances the young man occasionally sent Jinna’s way, he wasn’t just there for the food.

No doubt there was a story in those looks . . . a story that wouldn’t be finished anytime soon, given that Rory was rising from the booth just as Jinna approached.

“No more tea?” she asked, hefting the pot she carried.

“Thanks, but no. Gotta get back to the Errant,” he said as they passed each other by.

“Hold it right there, McCabe.”

Rory stopped, turned to where Jinna stood by his table. “Is there a problem?”

“You left too much money.” She picked up the stack of bills he’d tucked under his cup. “Again.”

“I did nae such thing.” Rory, to Gideon’s amusement, stuffed his hands in his pockets so he couldn’t accept the cash Jinna was trying to foist back on him.

“It’s twice what you owe.” Jinna waved the bills at Rory.

“Consider it a down payment on my next meal.”

“Rory . . .”

He shook his head and glanced at the clock on the wall. “Ach, will you look at the time! Best be off. Captain Pitte’ll be pacing at the gangplank, he will.”

“John hasn’t paced a gangplank in, ever,” Jinna countered.

Mia snorted, but Gideon felt a chill spread through his limbs on hearing the name of Rory’s captain.

“Oy, what’s wrong?” Mia hissed, reminding Gideon he wasn’t alone here.

He shook his head.

“Aye, but it’s been an odd day for the crew,” Rory was explaining to Jinna. “Well, you saw.”

“I did, but none of that excuses you leaving too much money,” Jinna insisted, even as Rory retreated.

“How about this?” he countered. “How about you keep it safe for me until I’ve need of it?” Then, before Jinna could protest further, Rory spun around to make a dashing exit.

Or what would have been a dashing exit, if he hadn’t misjudged and walked into the doorsill.

“That’ll leave a mark,” Mia muttered.

“I’m all right!” Rory called out before stumbling outside.

“Nutter,” Jinna said with a fond sigh as she pocketed the cash and joined Mia and Gideon. “Sorry about that,” she added. “Rory’s an old—oh!” She stepped back as Gideon popped from the booth like a child’s bounce ball. “What—”

“What’s his story?” Gideon asked, looming over her.

“Who? Rory?” Jinna glanced back at the door. “There isn’t any—”

“Not Rory. The captain he mentioned. Pitte.”

Gray eyes frosted over. “I don’t see why it’s any of your business.”

“I fought with a Captain John Pitte at the Nasa Escarpment,” he explained, which was true enough. “If it’s the same guy, I’d like to catch up with him.” Also true enough.

Jinna looked unconvinced, but after a moment relented with a short hiss. “Rory served under John on the Kodiak—until Nasa,” she said, her own expression dark. “After the war, Rory, John, and another crewmate went into business together on an independent freighter and—” Jinna cut herself off this time, as Gideon was already moving to the front door.

He yanked it open and took a quick look outside, but the street was empty of any signs of the lovestruck Rory.

For a time, Gideon stood staring out at the night, then he glanced up to see Elvis peering down over the awning, his eyes gleaming as they reflected the warm light of the diner. “It’s okay,” Gideon said to the draco, then headed back inside. “I need a minute,” he said to Mia, who was climbing out of the booth. Then, without another word, he strode quickly to the rear of the building, turning right at the hall where a sign pointed to the diner’s restroom.

Once inside, he switched on the bathroom light, locked the door, and turned to the sink, where he leaned forward and gripped the edges of the sink as if grasping at a lifeline in a turbulent sea.

For a time he simply stood, barely noting the smooth, cool porcelain under his fingers. All he really knew was the ragged in and out of his breath, the echoes of plasma fire in a forest, and the old, old smell of smoke.

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