The Forgotten Prince Page 9

  “For Graft’s sake,” Tim said.

  His brother turned to Wendy, concern spread across his face. “What the hell are they doing here?”

  Wendy nodded in John’s direction. “Looking for him.”

  The Twins, Bella, and the two men at the terminal in front of them turned their gazes to John, who stood speechless. She was right, of course, even though he wished she wasn’t.

  I wonder how long it will take them to cut their losses and turn me in, he thought.

  He felt the need to say something, but before he could open his mouth, someone entered the room behind him and bumped past him.

  “Easy,” John said, taking a step forward to catch his balance. He recognized the man at once, and his blood pressure spiked.

  Marb ignored him, walked to the edge of the horseshoe and examined the images. His barrel-chested companion followed after, glaring at John as he passed.

  “I knew it,” Marb said, turning away from the screens. He drew his pistol and leveled it at John’s head.

  John did not hesitate. His pulser was out and pointed in response.

  “Whoa!” Tim shouted.

  Wendy sidestepped out of the way, bringing both arms up. “Stop.”

  “He’s a spy,” Marb growled.

  Bella stepped up, furious. “Damn it, Marb. You stupid prick, back off.”

  John stared into Marb’s eyes, finger gently squeezing on his pulser’s trigger. The barrel of Marb’s pistol was a deep black hole looking into oblivion.

  An eerie silence fell over the room as both men glared at each other. John knew if Marb decided to pull the trigger first, he would probably never see the blast that killed him and wrestled with pulling the trigger himself. He didn’t want to kill the man, but his desire to remain whole slowly ate away at his reluctance.

  The clicking of another pistol’s hammer broke the silence.

  The tunnel vision that John hadn’t even realized had formed, faded. Marb’s gun was smaller now, but another gun came into view, this one pointed at the side of Marb’s skull. It took John a second to realize who held it.

  “Put it down, Marb,” Wendy said.

  Marb gave the pistol a sideways glance, squinted, and then squared his jaw. “He shouldn’t be here.”

  “Not your call.”

  You can’t beat two of us, John thought, mentally willing the man to comply. He felt a presence behind him and shot a glance over his shoulder. Oak stood there, a mixture of confusion and anger covered his face. He looked like he would snap at any moment.

  Another hammer clicked and Marb’s pistol dropped. John hesitated for a second, then let his own fall. Wendy kept hers leveled.

  “Our fight is not in here,” she said. “Our fight is out there. Our fight is with Hook.”

  “Yeah, well, it looks like he’s bringing the fight to us.” Marb retorted, jamming his pistol away and nodding at the screens behind him.

  Wendy lowered her pistol and considered the images again. “This changes everything. We’re going to have to move sooner than planned.”

  “How soon?” Harry asked. “I just got all this stuff running smoothly again.”

  “Two days at most. The longer we stay here, the more vulnerable we are.”

  “Two days, I can’t—” Bella said, giving her brother a horrified look. “Damn it!” She turned and disappeared through the doorway.

  Tom said, “That’s not a lot of time. We won’t be able to get everything moved that quickly.”

  “Then we’ll just have to deal with what we can,” Wendy said then turned to Carter. “Send another team out tonight. We need accurate information on their movements. Tim, I want teams working in shifts, make sure people sleep. I’ll take a team to the clinic tomorrow morning, then we’ll start moving the other essentials.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Marb said.

  “No,” Wendy said. “You’re going to stay here and manage the evacuation.”

  “That’s ridiculous. With Michael down, you’ll need another.”

  She seemed to think about that for a moment, then to the surprise of everyone, including John, she turned to him and said, “He’s coming.”

  Marb almost choked on his words. “You can’t be serious.”

  Ironically, John thought the same.

  “If he’s going to fight with us,” Wendy said, “then he needs to see what we’re fighting for.”

  “Now he’s fighting with us? Have you gone completely insane? Wendy, you know nothing about him.”

  “It’s no different than when we found you, Marb, or Oak for that matter. You know the Rules.”

  “Yeah, well, if I’d written them, they’d be very different.”

  “Then it’s good that you didn’t write them. You have your instructions, I’d suggest you get started.”

  Marb stared at her for a long moment, then stormed passed her.

  Oak lingered, staring at John, fist clenched.

  “Can I help you with something?” John asked, hoping the words would lessen the chance of a confrontation, not sure if he’d be able to handle the brut of a man without the benefit of surprise.

  “D-don’t trust.” Oak managed after a moment.

  Tom called after Marb, “You forgot something.”

  Marb’s voice echoed from the corridor outside. “Oak, come on!”

  The barrel-chested man relented and left without another word. Tom eyed John, then shook his head. So, Tom was an equal opportunity ball-breaker. That made John feel a little better.

  “Wendy,” Carter said from his seat on the platform, “there’s something else.”

  “What?”

  When he didn’t answer right away she turned from the doorway, gave John a quick look, then moved back to the platform. Carter turned to the terminal and punched in a command. The view of the city disappeared, replaced by a very different view, one which John recognized immediately. The Laden & Kotch building stood in the middle of the screen, flanked by the smaller, decaying buildings of Old Town. The shot was taken from a high angle, presumably from another high-rise in the area.

  The image panned up, showing what could only be some kind of large warship. Whether in this world or his, John knew cannons when he saw them.

  “It can’t be,” Wendy whispered.

  The camera panned over the warship for a few seconds, then moved down to the avenue in front of the old department store. Several groups of people sat clustered near one end of the building, surrounded by heavily armed soldiers. The image zoomed in again, focusing on a lone individual facing the group of people. A boy stood before him.

  A second later the figure turned and the image froze. Carter turned to Wendy. “I’m sorry.”

  Without a word, Wendy turned and left. John wasn’t sure, but he thought he’d seen a tear running down her cheek.

  TWELVE

  Oak ducked into the shadows of the alley again, as another skiff flew by overhead.

  How many was that now? Four? No, five.

  They were everywhere. He couldn’t ever remember seeing so many. No wonder Wendy was so upset.

  All because of that bastard from the other side. That man caused all of this to happen. The arrival of John Mc-whatever-his-name-was made something burn deep inside Oak, something he didn’t really understand, but as his anger grew, so did the burning. It was like the feeling he had as a child when he tried to understand what everyone else found so funny, or when he didn’t understand why people pointed and whispered when he was around.

  He had always been big. Big as a tree, his mother used to say, which of course, was how he had earned his nickname. He wondered if anyone even knew his real name anymore. At night, when he was alone, he would remind himself, afraid that if he didn’t, then maybe someday he would also forget and that was something he did not want to do.

  Paul Allen Gibbs would remember.

  He crossed the street, pausing briefly for a transport truck to pass, then turned down a side street and continued north. Halfway do
wn the block, he stopped and glanced back the way he had come, suddenly unsure. He had never come this far into Mid-Town without Marb, but he was almost positive he had followed the path from their last trip.

  His pulse quickened, but the fear of being lost was overshadowed by the need to find Marb. He turned another corner and pressed on.

  After leaving Harry’s he’d followed Marb back to his room, listening as his friend worked himself up, arguing his points to himself, and cursing loudly. At first, Oak thought that his friend was angry with him. Slowly, he realized that he was furious at everything. He didn’t understand all of what his friend was going on about, but he damned well agreed with all of it.

  As the hours went by, his anger seemed to subside, but as sunset came Marb worked himself up again and stormed out. Oak followed as best as he could, but didn’t want Marb to know, so he had stayed out of sight. Now he feared he had stayed too far back. Now, not only did he not know where Marb was, but also he didn’t know where he was either.

  Oak crinkled his nose at the industrial stench of Mid-Town. The blocks reverberated with the constant hum and sounds of the factories and food possessing plants around him. Ahead of him, the spires of a large plant rose up behind the long square tenements that lined the streets.

  Workers made their way along the sidewalks in quiet droves. No one noticed Oak, and no one cared. If Old Town was home to undesirables and junkies, Mid-Town was home to the only just tolerable. Everyone stayed in his or her personal bubble.

  Every so often, a car would pass him on the street. Even fewer cruised by in the air above. A few blocks ahead of him, a flattop barge lifted into the air in a cloud of dust and loose trash. Several people ducked away from the turbulent engine wash, cursed, and threw up arms in outrage. As the barge cleared the rooftops a man leaned over the bow and shouted curses of his own.

  As Oak made his way through the blocks, each busier than the last, he became acutely aware of increased Regency soldiers. The odd patrol here and there was normal, a constant reminder that the Regency was present and in control. But there seemed to be a patrol on every corner in the form of two heavily armed soldiers wearing full combat armor.

  Twice, a patrol skiff passed over the street and spotlighted the ground. Soldiers moved in, contacted a group of citizens, and after several minutes moved off again, allowing people to continue on their way.

  Oak watched all of this from the shadows. If there was one thing Marb always told him, it was to keep an eye out for Patrols. Marb drilled it into Oak’s head; do not get caught. Oak made sure he was extra careful. He did not like being out alone.

  Two boys darted across the street, almost running into him. He stumbled to keep his footing.

  “Hey, w-watch it!” he called after them.

  They pointed and laughed, but offered no apology and continued running. He grumbled under his breath, watched them disappear in the crowd, and then continued on his way.

  After fifteen minutes of navigating his way through the crowded streets, he stopped and reluctantly decided he was not going to find Marb after all. He gazed around at the buildings and people, hoping on the off chance that his friend would appear out of the masses and they could go home.

  Marb did not.

  A small door opened in the center of a non-descript store front, the windows on either side boarded over and covered in unreadable graffiti. Oak watched as a man stumbled out and almost slipped on the sidewalk before continuing into the street. Tires screeched as a small car stopped short, inches before hitting him.

  The man just stood there weaving like tree branches swaying in the wind, gazing back at the angry driver with uncaring eyes. The driver stepped out and shouted at the drunk, who listened for a few moments, waved him off, and then continued on his unsteady way across the street.

  Another skiff appeared over the street down the block, its spotlight sweeping back and forth across the street as it moved toward the stopped car. A loud crackling voice boomed, “There is no loitering in this area. Move along or you will be subject to detainment and arrest.”

  The message repeated as the skiff moved closer, and Oak instinctively pressed into the side of the building, trying to will himself through the brickwork. He glanced sideways, saw the door the drunk had just stumbled from, and then yanked it open.

  The door shut behind him, muffling the voice on the loudspeaker, and the distinct smell of stale smoke and alcohol reached his nose. Smoke hung in the air, swirling around slow turning fans on the ceiling. The dark-wood floor looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in years.

  A slight vibration, caused by the passing skiff outside, encouraged him to move away from the door. He stepped through a group of empty, round tables, to the bar, a took a seat on a stool at one end. The legs creaked and shifted under his weight, but held firm. Oak let out a long breath, relieved both to be away from the skiff and that he wasn’t laying on the floor among pieces of a shattered stool.

  The woman behind the bar approached and smiled. “Hi, there.”

  Her voice was sweet and musical and every single bit of fear and nervousness inside him faded away. She had the most beautiful brown eyes he’d ever seen. Her long brown hair was tied back in a side-ponytail, and her thin lips seemed to sparkle in the dim light of the bar.

  Oak swallowed hard. “H-Hello.”

  Damn it, he cursed himself, fist clenched underneath the lip of the bar. Don’t stutter.

  She draped a towel over her shoulder and leaned down onto the bar with her elbows. “What’s your poison, sweetheart?”

  “Huh?”

  “What can I get you to drink?”

  “Oh,” he said, feeling his face flush. “I’ll, uh, I’ll have a, I th-think it’s called a W-Wilson Twist.”

  She cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. “High roller, eh? Okay, but I have to warn you, it’s been a while since I’ve made that. Give me a minute, I’ll see if I’ve got the stuff.”

  Slightly embarrassed, he said, “If you don’t h-have it, it’s okay, I don’t w-want you to have to go to any trouble.”

  She laughed. Oak’s heart seemed to flip inside his chest; it was the sweetest laugh he’d ever heard.

  “Oh, honey,” she said, “its no problem at all. Give me one second. I’ll be back in a snap.”

  She gave him another quick smile then disappeared through a narrow door.

  His heart pounded hard against his ribcage. He looked around for something to distract him and found a half-empty bowl of bar nuts just a few stools down. He grabbed a handful and popped one in his mouth. He bit down and heard loud crack. At first he thought he had chipped a tooth, but after spitting out two pieces of the nut he let out a breath and put the rest back in the bowl.

  No more of those or I will lose a tooth.

  The woman appeared a few moments later, just as he wondered how many other people had had their hands in the same bowl.

  “You’re in luck, friend,” she said, setting a bag filled with colorful orange and red fruit down on the counter. “Last bag of ommarts in the house.”

  “Oh, t-that’s good.”

  “Should charge you double for these,” she said, pulling one of the first sized fruits from the bag. “No telling when I’ll get another batch in, with the Regency staking claims again.”

  Oak opened his mouth to respond, only to realize he didn’t know what he wanted to say.

  “What’s your name?” she asked, not seeming to notice his hesitation. She pulled a small knife from behind the counter and sliced the ommart into six equal slices.

  “I’m…my name’s, Paul.” He ran a finger along the bar. “B-but, everyone just calls me Oak.”

  She pointed at him with the knife. “‘Cause you’re so big?”

  Before he could stop himself, he said, “No, because I’m so dumb.”

  His face immediately flushed and he looked away.

  For the briefest of moments, she stopped and stared, then went back to preparing the drink. “Oak, huh? Well, I
’ll just call you Paul. I like that name better.”

  “Okay,” he said, unable to bring his eyes back to her. No one had ever liked his name before.

  “I’m Mary. My friends call me Mary.”

  He glanced at her briefly and said, “Hi.”

  Mary raised another eyebrow and for some reason Oak was relieved that she didn’t respond. He watched as she mixed two different liquors together, combining to make a light blue mixture in the clear tumbler then shook it vigorously. The light blue changed to dark and she poured the mixture into a small glass and squeezed an ommart slice of over it.

  “Hope it’s how you like it, I’m a little rusty,” she said, grabbing a napkin and setting both down on the bar in front of him.

  Something about the color didn’t look right, but he didn’t know exactly why. He took a sip, let the drink roll around his tongue for a moment, and then swallowed. It was the worst he’d ever tasted.

  “It’s good.” He coughed, desperately trying to mask his distaste.

  “Liar.” She poured herself a glass, sipped it and made an awful sound. “Oh, Graft!”

  She promptly emptied the glass and mixer into the basin in front of her. “That’s awful. Here, gimmie that.”

  Someone at the far end of the bar called out as she dumped his glass into the basin. She looked toward him and said, “Don’t lose your shit, Don, I’ll be there in a second.”

  She turned back to Oak, frowning. “Sorry, I’ll just be a minute.

  Mary made her way out from behind the bar and over to one of the tables, where two new patrons had just sat. She took their order, seemed to exchange some banter, then returned to the bar to pour their drinks. He looked down and traced the wood lines in the bar top.

  Marb would like this place, Oak thought. He always liked the more low key places. They’d never drink at the bar itself, always opting for a side booth or table. Better for privacy that way, Marb had explained. Remembering that, Oak began to worry that he’d made a mistake sitting at the bar. He was just about to get up and find a table when he heard that sweet voice again.