Valthorpe wasn’t a fan of taking a day off to go stock up.
“But we only have two floors to go!” He leaned a little too close to our faces, his eyes wide and a little crazy. “You’re close to getting us through the fourth floor, right, boys?”
Warcry and I exchanged a look. If by “close” he meant “still beating your heads against a wall,” then yeah, we were real close.
But the simian academic wasn’t looking for an answer. “You can just share supplies with us until it’s done. We’ll go into Tikrong to resupply once we’re finished with the temple.”
“Food’ll run out too fast with all five of us gobbling it,” Unu said. “And I’ll riot if one of them brats touches my booze.”
Smoky grunted. “I’m going to riot if I don’t get to visit the saloon gals. Nothing here to stare at all day long but your ugly mugs.”
Valthorpe couldn’t believe it. “It’s worth going all the way to Tikrong to you? Losing a whole day of progress?”
“Worth all that and more,” the jackal said, shooting him a lolling dog-grin.
“But we planned for two weeks out here minimum,” Valthorpe said, a whine creeping into his voice.
“Didn’t know we’d be fighting around the clock when we set that up, did we?” Warcry let red flames of Burning Hatred roll down his head and shoulders. “We need a day off before some meat roach with a short temper goes mad and burns this jungle to the ground.”
“There you go,” Unu said, gesturing with this liquor bottle. “Even the brats’re gonna revolt if you don’t let ’em go into town, Val.”
We left for Tikrong early the next day, stopping along the way at the Technol cache and retrieving the buried valuables to sell off. Before we got back on the road, I checked the spot where the corpses had been laid out. There were some shreds of bloodstained material, tufts of hair, and a chewed-up boot with a pair of meaty leg bones sticking out crawling with maggots the size of my thumb, but that was it.
“Get your eyeful of death?” Warcry asked when I came back onto the trail.
“Not much left to see.” I hefted a bag of Technol loot onto my shoulder. “Scavengers in the jungle work fast.”
Unu nodded, white crystals breaking off his neck. “It’s a good place to dump a body if you need to dispose of some evidence.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said. I was being sarcastic. Either Smoky didn’t catch it or he just wanted to make sure I didn’t forget where Death cultivators ranked on the People-You-Can-Trust-o-Meter.
“So will we, Death brat,” Smoky growled, shouldering past me with two huge bags of loot on his back. “So don’t get any ideas.”
Tikrong Hustle
AFTER A WEEK IN THE jungle, I thought I’d gotten used to the claustrophobia of vegetation constantly pressing in from all sides, but stepping out under the open sky was like suddenly being able to breathe again. Everybody seemed to feel the difference, even Sushi. She giggled and did a bunch of happy swoops through the empty air, not bothering to make herself invisible.
As soon as we made it to Tikrong’s western gate, the hooligans split off.
“Don’t find us, we’ll find you,” Smoky said.
Valthorpe rolled his eyes. “I’m going to find someone who might know more about the history of cultures in the area. Everyone keep your HUD notifications on.”
“Nope,” Smoky called back over his shoulder without stopping.
Valthorpe sighed and took off in the opposite direction, while Unu followed the jackal.
“Sushi goes with Unu,” she told me, making to swim after her Broken Mirror pal.
I looked at the rock guy. “You need to ask first, Sush. Unu might already have plans.”
“Nah, it’s all right, I got nothing too grown-up for a little gal on the agenda,” Unu said, waving her on. “The saloon has a big piece of looking glass behind the bar. Come on, I’ll show you this Refraction trick I learned when I was just a nugget.”
While they wandered off to do Mirror Spirit stuff, Warcry and I headed for the market at the center of the city to restock.
After a week of mostly unoccupied jungle, the cram and hustle of people in Tikrong was as jarring as the open sky. Vehicles packed the roads, people mobbed the sidewalks—new arrivals coming in from the spaceport, locals working and running their daily errands, and kids splashing around in the canals. Everybody was talking and yelling and laughing at once.
Warcry and I were at an intersection, waiting for a break in the river of vehicles, when a rat-spider-dog thing shot past us into oncoming traffic, followed by a little six-armed girl.
“Wait!” I grabbed her by the back of her saree, yanking her to a stop.
A pair of motorcycles roared past, the muffler of one knocking her right sandal off.
She didn’t notice.
“Mutsu!” she screamed, reaching for the rat thing, fingers clawing at the air like she could magically drag it back.
Warcry cussed, eyes darting both ways, then with an extra-strength dose of Ki-speed, he blurred into the stream of traffic. Horns blared and brakes screeched. A huge cargo-container-type truck blocked our view.
The little girl kicked and clawed at me with her extra arms, trying to break loose and go after her rat. I picked her up before she tore loose and held my breath. I knew Warcry could survive being hit by a car. Probably. People on Earth did it all the time, and they didn’t have Spirit-hardened bodies or script tattoos to heal themselves.
It probably only took a second for the container truck to pass, but it felt like forever. Then the world opened up in front of us, and smaller traffic was rushing past again.
No bloody smears or human speed bumps in the middle of the road.
Red hair caught my eye on the other side of the street.
