Page 27 of Ship of Smoke and Steel

I tense up, and Meroe turns. The rag curtain parts, and a slim figure enters. The newcomer has an Imperial complexion, with a long, wild half head of hair dyed bright purple and flopped over the other, shaven half. A boy, I assume at first, but I quickly correct myself; she’s a woman, close to my own age, though with no chest and only the slightest of curves about the hips. She’s dressed in the colorful silk that seems so common on Soliton, and her broad grin has a touch of madness about it.

“Hello, fresh meat,” the newcomer says, without taking her eyes off me. “You’re Isoka, is that right?”

“I am,” I say, cautiously. “Who are you?”

“They call me Jack,” she says, with a shallow bow. “Wide-eyed Jack, Quick-Fingered Jack. Mad Jack, if they don’t fancy living much longer.”

“Do you work for the Butcher?”

Jack giggles. “I wouldn’t stoop to bowing to that oversized turd if I was reduced to begging in the street. No, I serve the most honorable Zarun, and gladly. He has heard of your exploits, you see, and wishes to buy you a drink.” She brushes past Meroe, leaning forward on the bed, a little too close to me. “Are you game?”

“We can’t leave,” Meroe says. “One of the Butcher’s people is keeping watch outside.”

Jack turns to her as though seeing her for the first time. “Was keeping watch,” she says. “Now I rather suspect he’s scuttled off with the purse I gave him to enjoy his good fortune. But may I ask who you’re supposed to be?”

“Meroe,” I say. “One of my pack mates. She’s new to the ship, too.”

“More fresh meat,” Jack says, licking her lips. “How delightful. She’s welcome to join us, of course. But hurry, hurry. Zarun gets so sad when he’s kept waiting.”

“What about the Butcher?” I say.

“Leave the Butcher to me,” Jack says. Her eyes are a bright sapphire blue, not a common color in the Empire. “What say you, Isoka, slayer of crabs? A drink?”

Options. As usual, not enough information. Zarun wants something, obviously. Going with her might anger the Butcher, but I think I’ve burned that bridge already. So what’s left to lose?”

I glance at Meroe. “I could use a drink.”

Jack bounces again and claps her hands, smile growing even wider. “Lovely. Let’s, then.”

I get dressed—my clothes have been cleaned but are still torn and ragged—and stretch, working out the residual ache of powerburn. Whoever Sister Cadua is, she does pretty good work, because I feel better than I’d expect to after that bad a fight. I join Meroe and Jack outside.

Jack leads the way, with an odd gait that’s halfway between walking and skipping. There’s another metal corridor with doorways on either side, and another curtain at one end. Jack hurries ahead, and I’m about to follow when Meroe grabs my elbow.

“Isoka, what are you doing?” she hisses.

“What does it look like?”

“She wants you to meet with Zarun,” she says. “You remember what he did when we came aboard? That little girl?”

“I’m not likely to forget.”

“Then maybe,” Meroe says, “this isn’t a person we should be getting friendly with.”

I pull my arm away from her, irritated. This is what I was worried about—I saved her life on a whim, and now she thinks we’re sworn companions.

“First of all,” I tell her, “it’s not we. I am going to meet with Zarun. You can do what you like.”

Meroe stares, as though I’d slapped her. Her expression tears at something in my chest, but I push the feeling down ruthlessly.

“Second,” I go on, “if you want to survive here, I promise you’re going to have to do a lot nastier things than have a drink with someone who chops off little girls’ heads. Zarun has power here. If I can use that to help myself, I will. I don’t care if he slaughters his way through an orphanage.”

For perhaps the first time in our acquaintance, Meroe seems at a loss for something to say. I give her my best nasty smile, and try to take some pleasure in the way she flinches.

“I’m just trying to stay alive, Princess,” I say. “You might want to think about doing the same.”

Jack clears her throat, an exaggerated harrumph. She’s standing by the open door, one arm extended like a faithful servant welcoming the master home. I turn away from Meroe, certain she’ll follow. Where else does she have to go? And, indeed, after a few moments I hear her footsteps on the deck.

I’m prepared for a lot of weirdness when I step outside—if Soliton has taught me a lesson so far, it’s to be ready for strange things. What I’m not prepared for, apparently, is sun, and I take a half step back, eyes watering. As my vision clears, I discover we’re standing in the center of a slanting shaft of sunlight, streaming down from an irregularly shaped hole in a metal roof several hundred feet overhead.