Britton framed a retort but was cut off by the girl’s quavering voice. “Sarah Downer,” she said, extending a hand.
The gesture took all the fight out of him.
Shamed by her bravery, it took him a moment to take her hand. “Oscar Britton,” he said, overwhelmed.
Harlequin chuckled at Britton’s stunned expression. “Take a lesson from young Downer here. She seems to have figured out some things you’d do well to imitate.”
Downer lit up at the compliment, her pale cheeks blushing as she studiously avoided looking at him.
Britton stared at his lap, speechless. Was it possible that Harlequin was right? The SOC hadn’t killed her. Was there a method to their madness? Could they be the good guys after all? He shook the thought away. His anger returning at the sight of her reaction to Harlequin’s compliment. “She’s just a kid,” he said. “You scared the crap out of her. You’ve probably been interrogating her nonstop since I ran. Are you surprised she’s supposedly ‘come around’?”
Harlequin shrugged. Downer blanched, and Britton’s anger immediately gave way to shame again.
“You know, for a so-called kid, she’s a hell of a lot smarter than you, Oscar,” Harlequin said as he leaned down to help the Goblin onto the stool beside Truelove. Downer rushed to help, her eyes fixed firmly on the Aeromancer. Truelove grinned, slapping it lightly on the back and turning to the bartender.
“You know I ain’t gonna serve him,” the bartender said, gesturing at the Goblin.
Truelove looked studiously at his lap, but Harlequin folded his arms over his chest. “And you know I’m not going to ask you twice, Chris.”
The bartender bristled, but Britton could see the fear in his eyes. “I’ll leave. You can serve him your damn self.”
“I think we can manage opening a couple of beer bottles. If you’d care to take your useless ass off to bed, I’d be delighted to oblige,” Harlequin said.
Chris threw down his bar cloth and strode around the bar. He thrust an angry finger at the Goblin, who sat passively on his stool, ignoring him. “You know he’s a damned spotter. Hell, he’s probably running weapons out to the tribes. I can’t believe they let him work in the cash. Who knows how many people he’s poisoned?”
“Entertech and the army seem to feel differently,” Harlequin said. “Now get lost before Simon brings your great-grandma out here to lecture you on the pitfalls of bigotry.”
Chris turned purple but shuddered at Harlequin’s words. He stormed out, the last of the marines on his heels.
Harlequin groaned and shook his head. Truelove slid off his stool and went behind the bar. He rummaged around, producing two long-necked bottles of cold beer and a cup, which he set in front of the Goblin.
“You’ve got to cut Chris some slack,” Truelove said haltingly, clearly uncomfortable from the confrontation. “The tribes don’t take kindly to our presence here. Most folks at the FOB have a tough time distinguishing between the Goblins that work for us and the ones trying to kill us.”
Britton grimaced as Truelove found a container of sugar and filled the cup halfway, following it with water until the cup brimmed — a soupy white mess. The Goblin reached forward, grinning like a child, and grabbed it in his wrinkled, three-fingered hands.
“Okay, Sarah,” Harlequin said. “I’ve got to get to the flight line before I miss my helo out. You all set?”
“Yes, sir,” Downer replied. “I’m good, thanks.” She didn’t sound good at all.
“Don’t stay up too late.” Harlequin winked. “You’ve got to be up bright and early tomorrow now that you’re all here.”
“I won’t, I promise,” she said, sounding so young that Britton felt like his heart would break.
Britton marveled at her girlish obedience. This was the Selfer who’d taken on an entire assault force? Who’d almost killed him? He looked over Harlequin’s smart uniform, pressed and polished to perfection despite the mud that spattered them all. Britton could only see the man who’d hounded him, but he guessed that man would do for a confused teenaged girl. Nothing could make a kid turn her coat like puppy love.
“Jesus, Harlequin, she’s just a kid,” Britton said, instantly regretting it as Downer’s face curled into a frown.
“She’s a kid who can teach you a thing or two,” Harlequin said. “Magic forces us to grow up faster than normal. If I were you, I’d stop thinking I was so damned smart and start paying attention to how things are done in this brave new world. Otherwise, you’re in for a rough adjustment.”
He went out into the night, leaving the OC to Truelove, Downer, Britton, and the Goblin. They sat in silence before Truelove shrugged and tapped Britton’s knee.
“Welcome to Shadow Coven,” he said. “The new Shadow Coven, anyway. We’ve just been reconstituted.”
“Reconstituted?” Britton asked, scarcely able to take his eyes off Downer, to believe she was alive. She sat silently, looking lost. Britton wanted to talk to her but didn’t know what to say, and was grateful for Truelove’s nattering, which kept the shocked silence at bay.
“The last outfit apparently deployed to a bad end. They won’t give us the details,” Truelove said, smiling grimly. “We’re still short, unfortunately. You’re looking at all of us. Well, there’s Richards, but he’s passed out right now.”
“Him, too?” Britton asked, indicating the Goblin, who snorted busily at his cup of wet sugar.
Truelove smiled indulgently at the creature. “Nah, Marty’s just a friend.”
“Marty…?” Britton asked.
“His real name is tough to pronounce,” Truelove said. “Nearest I can figure it’s Mardak Het-Parda. Everybody calls him Marty.”
Marty snorted again, looking up at the sound of his name. “Umans no talk me,” he said. “Only you and Doctor Captain.” His voice hissed from his nose, harsh and nasal.
“I’m Oscar,” Britton said, unsure if he should shake hands. “Nice to meet you.”
“Uskar…” the Goblin said, sounding so much like the demon-horses that Britton started.
“You speak English pretty well,” Britton said to the Goblin, who smiled, wiggling his long ears.
“Better than any other Goblin we’ve got,” Truelove said, beaming with pride. “They use him sometimes to do ’terp work, you know, interpreting, with detainees and tribal delegations. But most of the time he works in the cash. He’s really good with the local flora, and I swear a feel a slight current off him. I think he’s got a touch of Physiomancer in him.”
Britton concentrated, but felt no current coming from the Goblin. Perhaps it was overwhelmed by Downer’s and Truelove’s strong magical tides.
“Of course, they don’t call themselves Goblins,” Truelove said, embarrassed. “I really shouldn’t, it’s not nice. But you start to fall into it since everyone around you does.”
“No angry,” Marty hiss-whispered. “Goblin okay.”
“What do they call themselves?” Britton asked.
“Water baby!” Marty said.
“Like that,” Truelove said. “Near as I can tell, he means children of the stream. I think it means they came from magic.”
Marty nodded, slurping the last of the solution in his cup. Britton frowned.
Truelove smiled at his reaction. “They didn’t have sugar before we came here. They absolutely love it. We keep them clear of alcohol, they can’t process it. Even one sip makes them falling-down drunk. A full glass can kill them.”
Britton shook his head. He looked down at his beer, then cracked it open. “Nothing for you?” he asked Downer, trying to break the silence between them.
She shook her head. “I’m not old enough to drink.”
“I’m not going to tell anyone.” He looked a question at Truelove, but the smaller man only looked down at the bar.
“It’s against regs,” Downer said, frowning. “Harlequin says we’ve got stick to the regs from now on.” Again that wooden voice.
“Harlequin’s not here,” Britton replied. “When I last saw you, the regs didn’t mean a lot to you.”
