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“Is there anyone we can actually trust?” asked Gutsy.
They took a long time with that. “Well . . . us,” said Ford.
“Your friends, Spider and Alethea,” added Urrea. “As long as you think they can keep their mouths shut.”
“They can.”
“Would you risk your life on that?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation. The Chess Players nodded.
Ford shook his head. “Offhand, I don’t know how many others I would trust.”
“Trust is hard to come by in this world,” admitted Urrea sadly.
“That makes three teenagers, a scruffy dog, and two scruffier old men,” said Ford. “Hardly what I would call a force to be reckoned with.”
“It’s what we have,” said Urrea.
Gutsy kicked the desk hard enough to move it six inches. “What do we do about it, though?”
“You shouldn’t do anything,” said Ford. “You’re fifteen and you’re likely to get hurt. Or worse.”
She gave him such a withering look that he held up his hands in surrender.
“Oooo-kay,” he said slowly, “can you at least promise us you’ll be smart and careful?”
Gutsy nodded. “Guess I’m going to have to be. Otherwise they’ll stop me, and I don’t want to be stopped. They killed my mother. They disrespected her. They tried to use her to kill me. Or hurt me. Or something. Whatever it was, whatever they meant to do, it was cruel and . . . and . . .”
“The word you’re looking for,” said Ford quietly, “is evil.”
Gutsy looked at him and at the word, as if it hung burning in the air.
“Evil,” she said, tasting that word. It was bitter and wrong and didn’t fit comfortably in her mouth; and yet she knew it was exactly the right word. A thought suddenly occurred to her, and she knelt and held out a hand for Sombra, who came over and allowed her to scratch his head. She felt herself smile one of those smiles that made people flinch.
“What is it?” asked Ford. “You have an idea. I can see it.”
“You won’t like it.”
“Would you like a comprehensive list of all the things I don’t like?”
“No, thanks.”
“What’s your idea?” Urrea asked her.
Gutsy leaned her head forward and touched her brow to the coydog’s. He allowed it and then leaned in. The way Gordo so often did. Without breaking contact, Gutsy said, “When we were in the cemetery last night, Sombra wanted to attack those soldiers. He was afraid of them, but he wanted to hurt them too. I think he knows them. I think maybe he used to belong to one of them.”
“I don’t like where this is going,” said Ford.
Gutsy stroked Sombra’s smoky fur. “I bet he knows how to find them.”
“That’s insane,” gasped Urrea.
“Maybe.”
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“You’ll get killed.”
