20

The road curved in three pins up the hill, so steep Wenthi thought the cycle might flip back with a rider hanging on. But he gunned it up while lowering the gear, burning more fuel than he would have liked to get up to the temple. As he reached it, two autos—both junkers that dated to Second Trans—buzzed around the curve, astounding him that they were able to get that kind of speed on the incline. He was amazed either of them had that kind of engine power, given that both cars looked like they were held together with paste and hope.

“You all right?” he asked Partinez. The man clutched tight to Wenthi’s waist when the autos buzzed by.

“Just spooked me,” Partinez said as Wenthi pulled onto the curb. He hopped off the cycle to stand in the shade of the temple. “You think they were racing?”

“Be a waste of fuel,” Wenthi said. “You burn enough getting up the slope. I wouldn’t want to do it if I didn’t have to get up here.”

“Yeah,” Partinez said. “This patch of the ’hez is a pain to get to, but that’s part of why the urka likes it up here.”

“This is your patch, not mine,” Wenthi said. Not Nália’s either. She lived at the bottom of the 14th, on Street Farama. He shouldn’t go there at all, he knew. He had her clothes, her cycle. Her neighbors would smell him out quick. No damn good. Canwei had acted like it was a perfect choice, but riding this cycle could be an issue. He needed to think up a story if someone recognized it. And if he knew anything about cycle cats, they would.

“Where are your people?”

“Not here,” Wenthi said. “I had family in Tofo before the purges—”

“Yeah,” Partinez said. “So why come to Ziaparr now?”

“I wasn’t given a choice,” Wenthi said. “I got put on a train and brought here. I’d prefer to take my cycle and ride out to Tofo, but right now I’d run out of fuel before I got to the Southway. So I’m here for now.”

“Feel you,” Partinez said. “Second time out of Hanez, they released me to Uretichan. Hated that town.”

“Never been,” Wenthi said, glancing around the street. Other than the temple—which was a stone fortress looming over a small, quiet zocalo of cart vendors—it was all squat, crumbling houses and shops, crammed on top of each other with narrow stairwell alleys plunging down between them. The one road with the dead-eye curve was the only one an auto could get through up here, as it wound around the temple and split into a fork farther up. There were no proper places to park, but quite a few autos and cycles were on the curb, wedged in wherever they would fit. “I suppose I can just leave the cycle here.”

“Probably,” Partinez said.

Wenthi locked down the engine and pocketed the keys.

“You got any coin on you?” Partinez asked.

“Just the ration cards and housing vouchers.”

“Shit,” Partinez said, glancing over to zocalo. “That taco cart is lighting up my nose, and I’m ravenous.”

“Same,” Wenthi said. He hadn’t eaten anything since the tortas on the four-prop, and that was yesterday.

“Let’s see who’s cooking it,” Partinez said.

“Don’t we need to—”

“It’ll wait,” Partinez said. “My stomach won’t.”

They crossed up into the zocalo, passing the carved niches in the temple wall with the usual skull-face spirit icons and flower garlands around tinplates, clearly from a few generations back, of people dressed in traditional clothes from before even the First Trans.

There was almost no one in the zocalo, save the cart vendors themselves, and three old jifoz folk dozing lazily on the cobblestone.

Towering over the zocalo, almost as high as the temple, was a grand billboard on a giant pole—every temple in Ziaparr, even the solemn, dignified ones in Intown, had a grand pole in front of the doors—with a bright representation of several Ziaparrian people of each caste, standing together with broad smiles. “HAPPY TO PAY THE DEBT! GRATEFUL FOR OUR FREEDOM! GIVE WITH AN OPEN HAND!” There were plenty of posters just like that in Intown, but none of them had been as defaced and vandalized as this one had. The faces of the llipe and rhique folks on the poster had been shredded and defaced. And the words “nix xisisa” painted across the official text.

[We have paid too much.]

Partinez’s face lit up as they went to the taco cart, where a weathered woman was grilling onions and chiles and greasy cuts of meat over coals.

“Lajina,” Partinez said. “I hoped you were still here.”

“It’s always me here,” she said tartly. “Where else would I be? Where were you, hmm?”

“Hanez,” he said gravely.

“I thought,” she said coarsely. “You look awful. Too skinny.”

“Help me out about that,” he said.

“What you got?”

“Nothing but vouchers right now,” he said. “About to see urka about a place to sleep, but we can’t do that if we faint first.”

“We?” she asked. She pointed her tongs at Wenthi accusingly. “I don’t know that one.”

“Llionorco,” Partinez said. “He’s all right. Off the Hanez train like me.”

“At least you got off the train,” she said. “Llionorco. You from here? You got people?”

“No, ma’am,” Wenthi said. “Unless you count him.”

“Help us out, zyiza,” he said.

She scowled, but pulled a piece of meat off the grill and dropped it on her board, slicing it with practiced, racing movements. In moments, she had two pairs of tacos rolled, filled with meat, chiles, onions, and spiced tomatillo.

“I’ll put credit onto Miss Niliza,” she said as she handed them over. “You best hope she’s in a mood to deal with you all.”

“Runjé, Lajina,” Partinez said. “Saved lives, you did.”

“Thank you, miss,” Wenthi said.

“Just eat and shut your mouths.”

Wenthi bit into the first one, and maybe it was just because he was so hungry, but the flavors exploded in his mouth, a joy he was not expecting. Even though the cut of the meat was greasier than he cared for, it still was smoky and spicy and everything he needed right now.

Or was it Nália who felt that?

He wasn’t quite sure. He certainly had never loved a street cart taco like that before.

“Come on,” Partinez said while he was eating his. “Blue house across the street.”

Another junk auto—this one with half sedan parts, and no hood covering the engine—whipped around the dead-eye curve in front of the house. They both waited for a moment, finishing the last bites of taco, before they carefully crossed.

The blue house had a wall with an iron gate, and a small garden beyond the wall before the house proper. This house stood out on the street for that; most of the rest seemed to just have a broken wooden door, cloth curtain, or some other thrown-together measure to separate the inside of the house from the street. This was easily the nicest place in this patch. That made sense—from what Wenthi had heard, Niliza Dallatan was a queenpin in these parts, her fingerprints on quite a few robbery rings and shakedown gangs. Of course she lived better than her neighbors.

As they approached, a trio of dogs came racing up to them, barking and jumping all over each other.

“Hey ladies,” Partinez said, holding his hand through the iron bars. “How are you, yes? Are you good to your auntie, yes?”

The dogs scrambled over each other to try to lick the taco grease off his hand, and then started growling and nipping at each other.

“Who’s out there?” a woman called out. “Who’s got them riled up?”

“Urka,” Partinez called out. “It’s Anjedaro.”

“Daro!” The woman came out of the house proper to the gate. She was a small woman, about Mother’s age, perhaps a bit older, with a similar pudgy figure hidden in a loose blue day dress. Her dark hair was sun bleached and streaked with gray, her rich complexion leathered and lined, her dark eyes partly hidden by thick, brass-rimmed glasses. “How is it you’re here, I’ve not seen you in, I don’t even know how long, it’s been at least a year, and look at you, so skinny, where have you been, you haven’t come around, oh, that was right, you were arrested, of course, xo mirod, what barbarity, that’s where you have been, I have missed you—yes, yes, calm, calm, away—come let me look at you.” All those words fired out like an autogun in the few seconds she took to walk from the door to the gate, shoo the dogs to the side, and open the gate. Wenthi wasn’t even sure he heard them all.

“Missed you, too,” Partinez said, taking the short woman into a warm embrace.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here. Did they have you in Hanezcua again? Spirits watch over, that is no place for a body, but look at you, you look good and strong, if too skinny. But I know what you need. Good meal, good bath, and good fuck, am I right?”

“You are,” Partinez said. “Though Lajina gave us a couple tacos to start.”

“To start, but that’s just a start.” She grabbed Partinez’s face and pulled it down to meet hers, kissing him on the lips. “She put you on my credit? Fine, fine. Let’s get you inside, it’s so good to see you, oh—” She looked at Wenthi for the first time. “Who’s your friend? Is he who you’re going to fuck?”

“Not yet,” Partinez said, though his face told Wenthi he wasn’t against the idea. Wenthi hadn’t given it too much thought, though he certainly hadn’t minded double-riding the cycle with him. “We just met after the prison train, but he needs a place to stay and—”

“Oh, yes, the housing vouchers. I cannot believe they are even bothering with those things, almost no one but me is going to even take them, and I only—but it doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter. Let me look at you.” She came closer and peered at Wenthi up and down. “You are a handsome one, aren’t you, though? If he doesn’t fuck you, I will. Unless you’d rather fuck Lajina. Lajina!” She shouted across the road to the zocalo. “Do you want to fuck these boys who just got out of prison?”

“I’m working!” Lajina shouted back as her only answer.

“She’s busy. Maybe later. Whatever you need, though, any friend of Daro is—what was your name again?”

“Llionorco,” Wenthi said. “Renzi Llionorco.”

“Renzi,” she said. “That’s a pretty name for a pretty boy. All right, all right, come in here—mind the dogs, don’t let them in the street—let’s get you all set up.”

“I, uh, have a cycle,” Wenthi said. “Should I leave it there?”

“Oh, spirits, no, don’t leave it there. Some auto will rip around and clip it. But you have a cycle, that’s good. Are you a good rider?”

“Pretty good,” Wenthi said.

A wicked grin crossed her lips. “I bet you are. Oh, my spirits, you are pretty.” She grabbed both sides of his face and kissed him. “So good looking, such a good match for Daro—no Pathé, not in the street—” One hand moved like lightning and grabbed one dog as it darted out. “Bring your cycle down the drop alley, right over there. I’ve got space in the back shed down there. Close it up in there and come up through the dirt door. Come on, Daro—get Bisque there—let’s get things started. I have rice and some cold chicken and we’ll get the water going—I’m so happy to see you and I already like this Renzi friend of yours, we’ll get you both set up very nicely, I’ve got rooms to let out for each of you, or one for both if you want, though we’ll figure that out—”

She and Partinez went inside as her rapid-fire monologue continued, escorting the dogs into the house with them.

Wenthi didn’t quite know what he was expecting from Niliza Dallatan, the crime queenpin of the 14th Senja, but it certainly was not all that. He dashed across the street—checking for anyone careening around the corner first—and went to the cycle. He unlocked the engine and put it into zero gear, then pushed it back across and down the steep alley next to the house. No need to waste any fuel for this.

He would need to get more fuel soon, and that was the key to the assignment. Once he was well established here—and he seemed to be on the start of a good road for that—he would ask questions about getting more petrol than his ration card allowed. That, hopefully, would lead him to the train robbers, and from there, to the—

There was a flash of memory—Nália’s memory—of a denim jacket. An image of a flaming fist embroidered on the back. A woman’s face, mouth and nose covered with a bandana, eyes dark. A hint of a name. Nic?

As soon as those images flashed through his mind, a flurry of angry emotions came up from Nália. She had let that slip, and given it to him. Something to work with.

Wenthi chuckled to himself, but almost slipped down the slope, nearly losing control of the cycle. It was absurdly steep, and he focused on holding it steady while minding every step until he reached the bottom. As Miss Dallatan said, there was a back shed, and a screen door leading into the basement of the house. Both were just open—no locks or latches engaged. That was surprising.

He rolled the cycle into the shed, taking a look around to see what else she had in there. Tools, chairs, boxes, various odds and ends. Some of it was probably contraband or stolen goods. So many reports of recovered goods, of cracked crime circles, involved properties she owned. It stood to reason she would have that here in her shed.

And she let a stranger just come in unsupervised.

A stranger she had welcomed into her home, with no hesitation.

That was not at all what Wenthi had expected. But it would, hopefully, make his job easier.

He closed up the shed and went in the house, climbing the rickety wooden steps. He emerged into a common room where a large metal tub was prominently in the center. Partinez, already stripped to the waist, was pumping water into the tub while eating a chicken leg. Now that Wenthi had a good look at him, he was decidedly fetching. Lean body, strong arms, piercing dark eyes.

“Are you going to bathe first?” Wenthi asked.

“It doesn’t have to be first,” Partinez said, putting down the chicken leg. “The tub is pretty big.”

“That it is,” Wenthi said, taking off his jacket and undershirt. “I mean, I know Miss Dallatan suggested it, but I didn’t want to presume.”

“Presume away,” Partinez said, getting closer to him. “I spent four seasons in the solitary cell.”

“Yeah,” Wenthi said, wrapping an arm around Partinez’s skinny waist. “I imagine that’s leaving you pretty anxious.”

“That’s one word for it,” Partinez said before putting his mouth on Wenthi’s. This kiss was hard and rough, which Wenthi welcomed, grabbing Partinez by the belt loops of his denim pants and pulling his hips toward him. It was immediately evident that months in Hanez had left Partinez more than ready. Partinez’s hand slid down Wenthi’s body and caressed his crotch.

“Not wasting any time,” Miss Dallatan said. She came into the room carrying a loaded tray, which she quickly put down. “Whatever you need, go ahead.”

Partinez turned to her. “You want in on this?”

“That what you want, Renzi?” she asked. Partinez looked at him with expectation.

A pang of guilt washed through Wenthi—he knew neither of them would be interested in him if they knew who he really was. But he was here for a reason, and part of that was to fully insinuate himself into this part of the city, get people to know and trust him. He had to play the part as best he could.

“I’d be honored to have you join us,” he said.

“I knew it was going to be a good day,” she said, rubbing her hands together. She took one vial from the tray and sprinkled the powder on her tongue.

The myco.

Wenthi had known this would come up, but he didn’t think it would be this soon. He bottled down the fear, all the stories he had been told in school about what the mushroom would do to one’s brain. There was no way to object without giving himself away. His heart had already been pounding with excitement, lust, and fear melted and swirled into each other. He almost froze from panic.

It’s fine.

A surety, a calm, surged from within him. From Nália. She had done this. She had done this many times.

It’s fine.

Miss Dallatan came over to them, and her blue dress was off by the time she reached them. She took Wenthi’s face in her hands and kissed him deeply, traces of the bitter mushroom dancing over his tongue. As the sensation filled his mouth, she kissed Partinez as well.

Her hands quickly found their way to the buttons of Wenthi’s pants as Partinez resumed kissing him. She started kissing Wenthi’s chest as she got his pants off, and then helped Wenthi do the same to Partinez.

All the while, Wenthi was filled with warmth and connection—feeling her hands on him, her hands on Partinez, feeling himself through her hands, his lips through Partinez . . .

He stepped back, the entire sensation far too intense at first.

“It’s been a bit,” he said.

“I can feel that,” Partinez said, his hands—which Wenthi felt as his own—caressing Wenthi’s arm. “We can take our time, I think.”

Miss Dallatan grinned. “I definitely want to take my time with you two.” She took both their hands—Wenthi’s touch extended beyond his own hands, through her, through Partinez, their hearts drumming in a syncopated rhythm with his own—and led them to the tub. “Let’s get into the water, and into each other, and we’ll get everything out of your systems.”