Page 22

“Moi?” Zee preened and stepped to the front of the stall, barely fitting among a few other people browsing the goods.

“I see you have a fantastic pair of horns.”

“Thank you.”

“You know what you need for those horns?”

“Oh, please, do tell.”

“These!” Jim produced a handful of rusty bolts. “They’ll slide right on. Paint them, and you’ve got instant horn-rings.” Zee picked up one of the bolts, and showed me. “Kinda retro, I guess.”

“Hey, there, uh, Jim?” I cleared my throat. “Do you have any AI bartenders left?”

“I don’t sell those. AI, bro, too risky, yah know. Wards don’t like tech.” Jim smiled and gave me a discreet once-over appraisal. “Have I seen you before? You look familiar?”

“Adam has one of those faces,” Zee agreed. “Generic, boring white guy.”

“Yeah,” I explained. “A few months ago, you sold me one of those AI bartender units you don’t sell. Remember?”

“Oh. Right. Sure.” Jim bolted like a ball from a slingshot.

“Ugh, and now I gotta run in heels.” Zee sprinted after him. “Stop that Jim!”

CHAPTER 6

With no chance of catching either of them, I hung back, loitering with the other customers. One of them, a short, plump man, picked up a broken clock and stuffed it into his pocket.

“Hey,” I said. “C’mon.”

“Well, he’s not here, so, seems fair,” the man argued.

“At least leave some money?”

“Where?”

I stepped behind the stall. There had to be a box for cash or something. Most markets used electronic payments, but the stalls here all took cash, as many Lost Ones didn’t have bank accounts. I spotted an old tin, and popped the lid.

A screeching, howling, needle-tipped thing flew at my face. I got a glimpse of a creature that resembled what might happen if a butterfly mated with a gremlin. The bright wings were beautiful but the twig-like, leathery body slung between them was the stuff of nightmares. I screamed, ducked, and the pixie flew over my head, vanishing somewhere among the boxes of junk behind me.

“Close call, man,” one of the customers said, then tossed me a few bucks. “For the reading light.”

“Oh, erm . . . this isn’t my stall.” But he’d left, taking the light with him. Had he even paid the correct amount?

“How much for the tricycle?” someone else asked.

“I don’t⁠—”

“Wait, says on the tag. I’ll give you ten bucks.”

“Eh. Sure?”

He handed over ten bucks.

A few more customers paid for goods, leaving with smiles on their faces and junk in their pockets. After fifteen minutes, I’d earned an agreeable sum.

Zee reappeared a little while later, dragging Jim by the back of the neck. “Stall’s closed, folks.” He dumped the dejected looking Jim in the tired, sagging chair behind the stall. “Tell my friend what you told me.”

Jim raised sorry eyes. “I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t know they’d been hacked.”