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CHAPTER 1
Lottie ducked around a fast-talking street vendor and slipped between two market stalls, almost colliding with a floating tray offering samples from a nearby bakery to bypassers. She rolled her eyes and wiggled past it. Although, she was willing to bet that most of the samples would be consumed by the beggars and pickpockets that frequented the market, it wasn’t any of her business - and they probably needed the food more than the colorful assortment of local residents, domestic servants, and crew members from the nearby spaceport who thronged the area.
A bell began to chime sonorously from the administrative building at one end of the market, an old-fashioned contrast to the large digital time display, and she swore under her breath as she tried to move even faster. She couldn’t afford to be late for her waitress job again. The tavern owner, Grisham, had already threatened to fire her the last time she was tardy. It wasn’t that she ever intended to be late - she prided herself on being a responsible person - but things always seemed to happen at the worst possible time.
The last time she’d been late it was because her neighbor Caralt had begged her to run and pick up a prescription for her sick daughter. This time it had been a tiny creature mewling pitifully in the alley next to her rundown apartment building. She’d finally located the fluffy ball of fur and found that its leg had been trapped in some debris. She had no idea what type of animal it was - probably an escapee from one of the spaceships - but she couldn’t leave it there. Once it calmed down enough for her to free its leg, it clung to her so tightly she thought she would have to carry it with her all day.
Instead, she snuck it back to her rooms, thankfully avoiding her landlady in the process - Mrs. Harper would not have approved. As she carried it upstairs, it kept trying to chew on her long brown braid, so she pulled out some of the leftovers she’d brought home. As it devoured everything she put down, she made a quick bed of towels, put down a bowl of water, and pushed a few boxes across the entrance to the tiny kitchen area. Hopefully it wouldn’t destroy anything before she could get home and figure out what to do with it.
The second bell chimed and her heart pounded anxiously as she wove around yet another food stall and turned down the street leading to the tavern. The bustle of the surrounding market faded into insignificance, drowned out by the thought of Grisham’s scowling face, but it came rushing back when a group of three men in faded uniforms ambled up the street towards her. She came to a jolting halt to keep from crashing into them, only to realize with a sinking feeling in her stomach that they were spaceport guards.
The spaceport attracted a rough element and the city of Port Cantor had resorted to hiring private security firms to patrol the area. The results were… mixed. Some of the guards took the job seriously; others considered it an opportunity to run their own little empires. These men stood out as being particularly intimidating. With their broad shoulders, muscular builds, and the swirling tattoos on their temples and arms, they looked like soldiers. Their presence certainly seemed to be affecting the market crowd, people hastily ducking away in an attempt to avoid attention.
Damn. She usually did a better job of staying aware of potential dangers but she’d been in such a rush that she hadn’t paid as much attention to her surroundings as she normally did. She considered fleeing too, but the alternative was to work her way back down the market to the next street over and that would take time. Grisham would definitely fire her if she didn’t show up soon and her rent was due tomorrow. Then what would she do?
After a lightning fast debate with herself, she bowed her head and hunched her shoulders as she edged as far away from them as possible. She was neither particularly young nor particularly attractive. Most likely they would ignore her.
She hadn’t taken more than two steps when a hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.
“What’s your hurry?” one of the spaceport guards said with an unwholesome leer on his narrow face. His eyes were fixed on her chest, and she realized with a sinking heart that age and beauty didn’t matter - the fact that she was female was enough for him. “Why don’t you join us for a while?”
“I can’t. I’m late for my job.”
She did her best to keep her voice low and calm, but when she tried to pull away from him, he just laughed and tightened his grip. His friends moved closer and she started to panic as she realized they were surrounding her. She cast a desperate look around, but everyone passing by was studiously avoiding looking in their direction.
“We’ll give you a job, ain’t that right, boys?” The man gripping her arm pulled her closer. “If you please us enough, we might even pay you for it.”
When she shuddered, he laughed again and turned his head to say something to one of the other men. As he did, his grip loosened slightly, and she took advantage of the momentary distraction, twisting her arm out of his grip. She darted around him and managed to gain a couple of yards before the three recovered from their surprise enough to give chase.
Her heart racing in her chest, she dodged past a trio of startled shoppers and cut through the middle of the street, almost colliding with a cart piled high with fruit. The driver yelled and tried to avoid her but the wheel of the cart caught on the ragged pavement and started to tip, the mountain of oranges and apples tumbling across the street. Shouts and curses filled the air behind her but she didn’t look back.
A quick duck down an alleyway, around a corner, and then she was through the backdoor of the tavern. She slammed it behind her, leaning back against it as her heart pounded frantically. Samta looked up from where he was lazily stripping the legs off the small crustaceans native to Cresca and shook his head.
“You got a death wish, girl? Grisham’s on the warpath already. Tax collector came by this morning,” he added and she groaned as went to hang up her cloak and fetch her apron.
Grisham hated tax collectors even more than he hated everyone else and he was going to be in an even fouler mood than usual.
“Tell him you were helping me,” he added and she gave him a brief, startled smile.
Although she’d been working in the tavern for almost a year now, they weren’t exactly friends. None of the employees were - not only because Grisham strongly discouraged it but because most of them didn’t last long enough for more than a casual acquaintance. Samta was the only one who had been here when she arrived and was still here. A lanky Caradan with pale green skin and long white hair, he was nonchalant enough not to react to Grisham’s outbursts - and he was an excellent cook.
She’d lasted because she worked hard, kept her head down, and didn’t complain. Something shriveled inside her each time Grisham dumped another litany of insults on her head but his tavern was one of the few that was just that - a tavern, not a thinly disguised brothel. He only paid her a minuscule wage but the tips were enough to get by on, and it wasn’t as if she had a lot of marketable skills. Caring first for her elderly grandparents and then for her worthless ex-husband had left her ill-prepared for life on her own. At least he was finally out of her life, even if he had taken her small inheritance with him.
Still, she was grateful for the job. She’d managed to clear the rest of her ex’s debts and with any luck she’d be able to save enough to take some type of training course - as long as Grisham didn’t fire her.
As if her thoughts had conjured him up, Grisham came barreling through the swinging door separating the kitchen from the bar. He was a big brute of a man with ham-sized fists and a perpetually red, scowling face.
“Godsdammit, you’re late again. I won’t put up with it, I tell you. And what the hell are you doing back here?”
“Just helping me with some lunch prep, boss,” Samta responded before she could open her mouth. “When are you gonna hire someone to replace Jarvis?”
Grisham opened his mouth to blast the cook, then thought better of it. Samta wouldn’t care what he said and despite his irascible temper, Grisham wasn’t fool enough to fire him. Instead he rounded on her again.
“I don’t pay you to hang around in the kitchen. Get out front and start on the silverware.”
Too grateful that he hadn’t fired her to protest that it was already done, she scurried out of the kitchen. The bar had opened earlier and a few of the regulars were already staring down at their beers. Even at this hour the tavern was dark, the wooden walls stained almost black by years of smokestick fumes. Only a few dim lights penetrated the gloom. Grisham claimed it was for atmosphere, but she knew it was because he was too cheap to turn them up - and probably reluctant to reveal the overall dinginess resulting from years of neglect.
Nate, the bartender, jerked his chin at her without any great degree of enthusiasm. He was a good-looking man a few years older than her and he’d put the moves on her when he first arrived. She might even have fallen for it if she hadn’t held him off long enough to realize that he used the same lines on every unaccompanied female customer.
