Chapter 11
Furious beyond belief at the Resistance, I wanted to do nothing more than chase down the bastards who’d set fire to the airship yard and pummel them into a bloody heap. But after my impromptu healing attempt, I was running on fumes, and I was going to be good to no one if I didn’t take a break.
Resigned to the fact that I needed a nap, I managed to drag myself into a small, abandoned house.
After determining there were no squatters hiding in there, I dragged a blanket and pillow into a closet and crashed for a good hour.
It wasn’t enough to recharge me completely, especially not without food, but it was enough to give me a little boost.
The fridge in the house held nothing but sour milk and rancid beef, so I changed back into the teenage boy and went out, searching for food.
Most of the market shops in Maintown had closed down, their storefronts smashed in and their innards cleaned out by desperate looters, but I eventually found a small store on the eastern section that was still open.
The left side had been boarded up, and the wooden stands that had probably once held fruits and vegetables had been smashed to bits, but a beam of light cut through the door and onto the street, a glimmer of hope in the darkness.
I pushed open the door, and a bell jangled as I stepped inside.
There were only a few aisles, and a row of glass refrigerators on the right wall.
A quick glance told me supplies were running low – many of the shelves were empty.
To my left, behind the counter, stood a man in a grocer’s apron.
His shoulders stiffened momentarily before he realized I was a harmless teen and relaxed.
He was a stocky, balding guy with brown hair and a ruddy, tough-looking face.
But the lines in his face suggested that he was more accustomed to laughing than scowling, even if he was shaped like a barrel and looked like he had no problem being intimidating when he wanted to be.
“Hey old man,” I said easily, wandering up to the counter. “Got anything to eat around here?”
He gave me the beady eye. “You payin’?”
I pulled a pandanum coin from my pocket – the shifter-friendly version of silver. “Sure, if the price is right.”
The man sighed, running thick, stubby fingers through what was left of his hair.
“I ain’t got much,” he admitted, scanning the store with his mud-brown eyes.
“What with the Port being closed off, and local farmers afraid to bring their wares up to town, supplies are scarce. But we’ve still got some tins of mystery meat. ”
Ugh. I resisted the urge to wrinkle my nose. “I’ll take them.”
“Right this way.” The man led me to the third aisle and pointed to a small stack of cans on the top shelf. “That’s all we’ve got left.”
“It’ll work.” I plucked one of the tins off the shelf, then paused as I caught sight of the company name.
Timbran’s Gourmet Food. I snorted – there was nothing gourmet about mystery meat – then remembered where I’d seen the company name before.
It was on the much larger cans of food Annia and I had served to the Resistance camp back in Mexia.
“Any idea where this company is located?” I asked, tapping the front of the tin.
The grocer squinted at the label. “Timbran’s? They’ve got a factory up north, about ten miles from Turain. Why?”
I shrugged. “Just curious.”
I grabbed the rest of the cans, then returned to the counter so that the grocer could bag them and ring up the sale.
As he did so, I drummed my fingers on the counter, considering.
Was Timbran’s a clue of any kind? I had wondered how the Resistance was getting their supplies.
They’d seemed to have ample food at the camp, which was surprising considering its remote location.
‘Follow the money’ was a phrase Roanas had often repeated to himself when he was on a case, and that applied here too.
How was the Resistance being funded and supplied?
Might it be possible to follow their money trail back to the source through the distributors they dealt with, like Timbran’s?
Just as I was accepting my change from the grocer, the front door crashed open, and three human thugs stormed in, wielding bats.
“Give it up, old man!” shouted the one in the lead, a thickset blond with bulging biceps.
He smacked his bat in his meaty palms as his two cronies split up, shoving food and supplies into large burlap sacks they’d brought in with them.
“Looks like your son isn’t here to help fend us off this time, is he? ”
“You scum,” the grocer roared, pulling a bat of his own from beneath the counter. He lifted it, clearly prepared to defend his store, but fear shone in his eyes, and his ruddy face had turned pale. “I’m not going to let you take my stuff!”
“Oh yeah?” The thug moved in. “And who’s gonna stop us?”
I stepped between the two of them, squaring my thin, teenage-boy shoulders. “I am.”
The thug laughed. “Get out of the way before you get hurt, kid.” He swung at me with the bat.
I shot forward, closing the gap between us too fast for him to hit me with the business end of the bat, then grabbed both arms and pivoted, throwing him over my hip.
He slapped his left hand on the ground, dispersing the blow, but I had his right arm with the bat clutched in his fist, and I brought his elbow down on my knee, bending his arm the wrong way.
There was a loud crunch. He screamed, and the bat clattered to the ground.
“What the fuck?” Crony Two yelped as their leader began wailing pitifully. “Who the hell is this kid?” His half-full burlap sack had slipped from his hands, and his bat was trailing on the floor as he gaped at me.
I grinned and dropped my illusion, allowing them to see who I really was. Crony Three actually gasped, then dropped his bag and made a run for it. Before he could take more than three steps, I snatched one of my mystery meat cans and flung it at the back of his head.
He dropped like a stone.
“I’m not a kid,” I said to a now-shaking Crony Two. I grabbed the bat Crony One had dropped, jumped across the row of shelves separating us, and started swinging.
***
“I really appreciate you beating up those hooligans,” the grocer said as he snapped the reins of the cart he was driving. He’d introduced himself as Gorden Matthes after the little incident with the looters.
The dappled grey horse let out a snort, then picked up the pace, hooves clopping against the pavement as it dragged the cart behind it.
“No problem.” I looked back at said hooligans, who were securely trussed up and tossed into the back of the cart. “You said this isn’t the first time they’ve come to your shop?”
Gorden shook his head. “They’ve tried it once before, but, luckily, my son was there, and he’s a big guy, bigger than even them. They’re bullies, not used to an actual challenge, so they backed off pretty easy once they saw we meant business.”
“Yeah, no kidding.” I shook my head a little.
Those thugs – little more than overgrown kids, really – had been ridiculously easy to beat.
They were used to scaring their opponents into submission, and had little fighting experience that didn’t consist of simply throwing their weight around.
“So I’m guessing you’re not the first store they’ve hit, then? ”
Gorden snorted. “Not even close. There’s a reason so many shops in Maintown are closed now. With the Enforcers Guild essentially deciding to go on strike, there was no one to answer our calls for help. Until you, anyway.”
“That’s changed now,” I said, trying not to grit my teeth in anger at the selfish decision the Guild had made in Iannis’s absence.
“The Enforcers Guild has just agreed to police the looting and start going after criminals again.” Which was, of course, why I was having him drop me off at the Guild with the thugs I’d apprehended.
I fully intended on cashing in on that double bounty Iannis was offering.
“I can see that.” He glanced sideways at me. “Why are you disguised like that, by the way? I don’t see how you can do your job as an enforcer if you don’t look like one.”
I sighed a little, leaning back against the bench seat. “The Resistance is determined to kill me for getting in their way. It’s not safe for me to go out in public wearing my own skin.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “You’re not going to rat me out, are you?”
“Nah. I’ve got bigger things to worry about.”
I relaxed a little – the man was being truthful. “All right. I’ll make sure the Guild sends extra enforcers your way to patrol, so that guys like this don’t bother you again.”
“Appreciate it.”
Using my claws, I sliced open another can of mystery meat – I’d gone through three already – then chowed it down, doing my best to ignore the taste as we finished the journey.
To my sensitive nose, the contents were no real mystery.
Half mutton, half pork, with a lacing of chickpea and seasoning. Not exactly tasty, but filling enough.
I asked Gorden to pull up at the back entrance of the Guild, where criminals were usually received. Five enforcers stood guard outside the metal door, more than twice the usual number, and they eyed us with suspicion as I jumped out of the cart and went around the back of it.
“Stop right there,” one of them called. He stepped away from the building, his hand on the hilt of his sword as he approached the cart. “Who are you, and what business do you have here?”
“I’m a licensed enforcer bringing in some thugs I caught in the middle of a robbery.
” I grabbed Crony Two by the back of his collar and hauled him upright.
He groaned, cracking open a black eye to stare blearily at us, then whimpered when I dropped him back into the cart.
“Mind giving me a hand with these guys and signing for the receipt?”