Ash and Quill(31)

They'd been careful to keep a good distance away from the wall itself; there were Philadelphia guards posted at strategically effective distances, so that one was never out of sight of the others on either side. Jess had observed the guards along the western side yesterday, and Dario was right: security had been tightened all along this eastern wall. Here, near the center, there were four guards in attendance, all close together. They seemed less than relaxed, and when they spotted Jess and Dario walking parallel to them, one of them-the largest, Jess noticed-came stalking out to meet them.

Jess stopped. Dario did, too, and they both turned to face up to the newcomer. He was a Native American, like Askuwheteau; he wore his hair in a stiff, short brush down the center of his skull. Broad across the shoulders and chest, with the build of a born wrestler. And he had scars-burns, mostly. Almost everyone in Philadelphia had burns.

"Leave," he said flatly. "You can't walk here."

"Beck said we have freedom to move around the town," Jess said.

"Not here. Go."

Their guard caught up to them, red-faced. "I'll move them on," he said, and turned a raw, furious look on Jess and Dario. "When you're told to go, don't argue!"

"We didn't argue," Dario said. "We're looking for a dealer in glass. We were told to look near the wall around here."

"Glass?" their guard said, and then his face slid into a twisting sneer. "You need mirrors to look at your pretty faces?"

"Well, yes, personal grooming is a virtue," Dario said, without so much as a flicker, "but I understand that's a foreign concept here. Is there a glass vendor?"

The native guard, who was looking at them with eyes that Jess thought were almost on the verge of catching fire, said, "Sev sells broken glass." He jerked his chin toward a row of partially demolished buildings a street farther on. "Maybe we'll feed it to you for dinner."


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"Thank you," Dario said, "but I'm trying to cut down." It was just enough of a pun that Jess had to control a laugh. Sometimes-very occasionally-Dario was good for that. But there was nothing casual about the tense set of the Spaniard's muscles. He looked relaxed, but he was ready for a fight, just as Jess was. They didn't even have to exchange a look to be in agreement. "We'll move on, then. Jess? If you're ready?"

"I'm ready," he said, and together, they turned and headed off. His shoulder blades itched, waiting to feel any hint of movement behind, but when he glanced back, the native soldier had gone back to take up his post against the wall.

However, their trailing guard had decided to greatly close the gap. Inconvenient, and it kept Jess from talking to Dario until they were in the next street and the rattle of a passing cart-drawn by a single, exhausted horse, the poor creature-loaded with scavenged materials provided enough noise to cover it. Jess spoke fast, and to the point. "Couldn't see the tunnel, but look there." He pointed quickly toward a weathered, half-burned old tree that grew in the no-man's-land between the wall and the street. "See the mark?"

"No," Dario whispered back, and then the cart was past them, and they had to go quiet again. It wasn't until they were inside the cramped, reeking confines of the shop-a generous word for it; Jess thought repurposed privy might have been a better one-and looking at sad piles of broken glass sorted by color on the warped floor that they had another chance to talk. The place held no attraction for their guard; he stayed outside, in the fresher air. There weren't any other ways out. "What mark?"

"Two parallel lines and a circle," Jess said. "Means a tunnel controlled by the Comprehensive." Dario gave him a blank glance. "Group of smugglers."

"Run by your family?"

"No. Rivals. It's a problem." Jess crouched and looked at the clear glass pile. The largest pieces were the size of his hand, but those were rare. Most were just barely better than slivers.

He stood up and gestured at the tiny woman who stood half asleep at the back of the shop. "How much?"

"For what?"

"All of this. The clear."

She blinked. "In exchange for what fortune?"

Jess looked at Dario. Steadily. Until the Spaniard sighed and produced a very fine money pouch. A fat one. "You're taking my roach-racing winnings, you know." 

"Why do you think I brought you along, for pleasant company?"

"Ass." Dario handed over the pouch, and when the woman opened it, she gave an audible gasp and clutched it to her chest. She pushed a threadbare bag across with her foot.