Page 5 of The Only Way Out Is Up

The pause before he answers tells me all I really need to know.

[Regret: seventeen.]

All red?

[Further regret: yes.]

Seventeen red sigils, probably the most common types like MOVE and RESIST. A decent haul under other circumstances, but not when I’d had to burn two EXPLODES to get hold of them, not to mention two of Star’s legs. It certainly isn’t going to solve the bakery’s financial troubles.

[Consolation: also 3.4 meters of threading wire and several interesting joints.]

I smile. Star hates stripping wire, so if he bothered to take it he must have known how badly this trip was going to set us back. It’s a drop in the bucket, but he’s helping as best he can.

The fight is in three days. Two days, really, since it’s basically tomorrow already. Seventeen might be just enough to fix up new legs, but not for any of the upgrades.

[Hesitation: perhaps you should forfeit.]

That would mean abandoning the entry fee, which I’d scraped together across several hunts. Not to mention giving up any chance to wipe that pitying look off Somi’s face.

We’ll have to do the best with what we have.

[Frustration: I wish I could take part.]

I know.

[Gloom: the idiot will wreck my body.]

I close my eyes and give a mental sigh. Probably.

THREE

Hey!” Spike says when I emerge into the upstairs hall. “Since when are you up and about?”

“Since now.” In fact I get a jolt of pain every time I put weight on my bad leg. I’d like nothing more than to go back to bed, but the fight is today and Rekas is nothing if not punctual. “Things to do.”

“Well, in that case you can get your own breakfast.”

Spike gingerly touches her hair, making sure it has stayed in today’s preferred shape of a long front-to-back crest. It’s still green at the tips, the rest slowly fading back to her natural light brown. My little sister has light brown skin, a hatchet nose, and dark eyes brimming with world-weary sarcasm beyond her twelve years. She wears a too-large apron, particolored with dozens of patches.

“If you’re going out,” she says, courteously waiting for me to limp past, “Somi has a grocery list. You could spare me a trip.”

“Sorry. Things to do.”

“What things?”

“Things.” I wiggle my fingers mysteriously. “I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

She rolls her eyes. “If you’re going to a brothel you can just say. I’m not a kid.”

“Nothing so grand.” I’ve never had the bits to spare for amorous adventures, anyhow.

“Fine. Be cryptic. You’re probably just going to a physicker to ask why your poop smells weird.”

“What? It does not.”

“Does too,” she calls over her shoulder as she stomps downstairs.

“How would you know, anyway?”