The Lost Puzzler. Eyal Kless
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happens.”
I swallowed. “So, you’re out?” I asked. “Should I have hired the big boy with the big gun?”
“No, I’m in,” he responded a bit too quickly. Clearly, he needed the coin. “But on two conditions.” He waited for my full attention before continuing. “I get fully paid two streets before the Den—” he saw my expression and raised a metal-wrapped, claw-shaped hand to stop any protest “—no negotiations. That place is dangerous and I’m only going in there with hard coin in my pocket.”
I had no choice.
“Fine,” I capitulated. “And what’s your second condition?”
“I’m hired to protect you. I watch your back and peel off trouble, but I am not finishing off a fight you start.” His tone suggested previous experience. “If you’re one of those mad tower-heads, wanting to bleed your knuckles in the Den just so you can boast about it to your friends, you’d better learn to fight for yourself.”
“I assure you I have no intention of initiating a fight,” I promised. “Just take me to the place as quickly as possible.”
He didn’t look convinced, but he nodded and we resumed walking, me at the front, him at my side but slightly behind me, covering my back while ordering me to turn left or right. Before I knew it, I was completely lost. I could hear the noise of the ever busy main street ahead of us, but Galinak directed me to walk down small, half-deserted streets, where there were no shops or taverns, just a never-ending series of hovels containing the poorest and weakest. The only source of light was the occasional reflection of the lamps high above us in the Central Plateau as the Tarakan lifts crisscrossed the skyline, creating a disorienting display of light and darkness. The stench was close to unbearable. I began to suspect he was leading me somewhere quiet to rob me, but just as I was about to get really nervous we emerged into Downtown Alley, the Pit’s most notorious street.
Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of people were walking up and down the narrow street, moving between street vendors and food stalls, passing scantily clad prostitutes, drinking houses, and gambling dens. “Walk casually and avoid eye contact,” instructed Galinak from behind me, “especially the women.”
I nodded, feeling Galinak tense and move closer to me. With every step we took, all around us, a dozen things were happening at once. Throwing my instinctive caution to the wind I enhanced my vision, and every movement, every gesture, became achingly sharp. A nude hooker haggled over a price with two customers. Three heavy Trolls accepted a sweet-smelling pipe from a young boy, their own hands too clumsy and weapon-loaded to fill the pipe themselves. A robed soothsayer argued over turf with a mental-witch. A smiling, half-naked fat man gestured for visitors to enter his gambling den. A juggler threw apples in the air, cutting them with a machete and catching them as they fell. There was a part of me that wanted to stop and take it all in. Bukra’s balls, when was the last time I touched a woman? I was a newcomer, a first-timer, and what was wrong with slowing down and sampling a little of Downtown’s famous pleasures?
Whether he was aware of my inner turmoil or just wanted to get on with the job, Galinak pushed me forward relentlessly, and soon we turned away to a side street and were enveloped again in relative darkness. I used my sight without fear of reprisal. In Downtown Alley you were a freak if you didn’t have tattoos or augs. If Galinak had or was using enhancements I couldn’t tell, but he kept pace even in near darkness.
“Can I ask you a question?” I asked, suddenly curious and trying not to think of the red-haired hookers that we passed.
“Ask, but I might not answer.”
“How old are you?” I felt foolish the moment I said the words.
“Old,” he chuckled.
“So were you—” I hesitated, but decided to complete the question “—a Salvationist?”
“What are you, one of those religious quacks?” His voice rose in annoyance. “Going to lecture me how I brought this on us, eh?”
“No, not at all, I’m just curious.” I turned my head but could only see his shoulder.
“Well, you’re not paying me to satisfy your curiosity, so keep walking.”
“It just seems to me that you are a bit—” I hesitated again, feeling I might be pushing my luck too far, but to my surprise he laughed again, softly, as if to himself.
“—too old for this rust?”
“I was going to say ‘too professional for an escort job,’ but ‘old’ will do.”
He was still behind me, but I had a feeling he shrugged to himself.
“I am old,” he admitted, “too old, but with all my age and wisdom, I never learned to play my cards right and when to call it quits. So I need to pay my debts.”
“But you were a Salvationist,” I said. “Those must have been glorious days—”
“Pha,” he cut me off dismissively, and stopped. “If any Salvationist tells you the old days were one long, glorious adventure, know that he’s on a Skint trip or serving you liquid metal for a drink.”
I turned back to face him, “But the stories? The books—”
“Guild-dictated crap. They were running out of troops so fast they were shipping fresh recruits every day in crews of five to eight, sometimes thirty crews a week. We used to call them ‘spare parts,’ if you know what I mean.”
He looked straight at me, but his eyes were seeing something else entirely. “Most of them survived till the fifth or sixth outing, then they would get cocky. ‘This isn’t too hard,’ they would say to each other at the bar, ‘ just popping lizards and collecting heads for rewards.’ With the metal they earned from Lizard popping they would upgrade their weapons and Tarakan augs or use the coin on purer Skint and other drugs, which would make them even more arrogant. Then they would chase a Lizard down the wrong rusting shaft or get too close to the City within the Mountain, and suddenly they would be surrounded by a hundred of those fucking buggers. A solid crew can probably walk away from that with only two or three casualties. But a new crew that barely knows each other and carries weapons and augs they haven’t learned to use properly? One would bolt and try to run away, he’s a goner; one or two would try to save the runner, they’re goners, too. The rest would be overwhelmed so fast you wouldn’t have time to pinpoint their screams.”
I felt an involuntary shudder running up my spine as the veteran Salvationist added, “And that was just Lizard popping, easy clean-up stuff to make way for the experienced crews who went into the actual City within the Mountain. When you entered that place, there was no telling how you might die. Those traps reset themselves or somehow appeared in places where they previously weren’t, and if you stumbled upon a nest, well, even if you survived the encounter you never wanted to go back there again. Oh, and I must apologize.” There was the sudden sound of a power buildup.
“For wha—” I began to say, but then he hit me hard in the chest with open palms. It felt as if I’d been slammed by a power hammer. As I flew backwards I was blinded by a flash of searing light that passed through the space I’d occupied only a heartbeat beforehand, followed by a deafening explosion to my right. I was grasping at empty air in panic, knowing I was about to hit the ground and hurt myself. Galinak somehow managed to jump back while pushing me out of the way of the energy blast. His right hand was raised, already aiming at whoever shot at us from the dark street on our left. Something thin and silvery shot from his gauntlet.
I hit the ground hard as pieces of stone, burning wood, and hot, bent, metal debris rained down on me. My only piece of luck, under these circumstances, was the fact that most of the ground in the Pit was soft muck, so I wasn’t knocked out. For a while all I could do was shield my head and roll from side to side, praying I wouldn’t get squashed by a large slab of stone. I was already on my knees when a strong arm gripped me, and I was hauled to my feet. When I could take in my surroundings I saw a gaping hole to my right where a makeshift house used to be. The