Sky Raiders (37 page)

Cole walked along, sword in hand, watching the
skeletons ignore him. Some skeletons wore the remains of burial wrappings. Some wore filthy military uniforms. Many wore nothing. Of those that wore nothing, some were more polished and in better repair than others. Most carried some sort of weapon.

The Shaper’s Flail followed along behind them, links clinking softly. The skeletons paid it no attention.

They passed many wonders. A three-level carousel rotated to calliope music, ornate statues of horses pumping up and down on their brass poles. A herd of massive Brachiosaurs waded through swampy terrain, tearing long strands of string cheese off white trees. A banana split the height of an office building threw long shadows as chocolate syrup and caramel seeped down creamy slopes.

Cole didn’t feel like talking. Neither did the others, apparently. They just followed Mango and tried to stay out of the paths of the aimless skeletons.

The cockatiel led them well. The only monsters they encountered were skeletons, which roamed in such ridiculous numbers that they were unavoidable. Plastic dinosaurs could occasionally be seen in the distance. Cole glimpsed far-off flying creatures a couple of times, and once he saw some shambling mounds moving across a remote field. Otherwise the long march was uneventful.

Late in the day, Cole tore a piece from a glazed doughnut that was larger than a tractor tire. The others claimed handfuls as well, carefully eating the morsels under their masks. None of the skeletons showed interest.

As the sun sank, they reconnected with a path and shortly
came upon the autocoach, waiting just off the path near a stream. Mask still in place, Mira led the way inside. Cole found his bow where he had left it.

“You kids shouldn’t wander off like that,” Bertram scolded warmly. “We have places to go. Still bound for Middlebranch?”

“Yes,” Mira said.

“We’ll arrive late tomorrow morning,” Bertram said. “Off we go.”

The autocoach started rolling forward. They took off their masks. Body scraped and bruised, feet sore, eyes drooping, Cole found the coach much more comfortable than the night before.

29

M
iddlebranch was a larger town than Cole expected. The bustling community made him realize he hadn’t seen a real town since coming to the Outskirts—just Skyport, Declan’s hidden castle, and the empty country where the slave caravan had traveled.

The typical buildings in Middlebranch had stone foundations that stuck up above ground level to support wooden walls. Several main streets crisscrossed the town. Not including the outlying farms they had passed in the last hour before reaching the town, Middlebranch had dozens of buildings, maybe hundreds, some of them four stories tall.

They reached a stone-paved street featuring several mansions with gated grounds. Cole craned to view the impressive homes. The strangest one of them boasted many turrets and gables, and was partly constructed from glossy black stone, partly from bricks of various shades of blue, and partly from golden-hued wood. The end result was quirky and visually confusing, not helped by the spacious quartz fountain out front.

“Look at that crazy house,” Cole said.

“Probably belongs to the lead shaper,” Mira guessed. “Only shapers would build so eccentrically.”

“I kind of like it,” Twitch said. “It’s original.”

“Should we talk to the lead shaper?” Cole asked.

“Usually the lead shaper is tight with the local government,” Mira said. “That often equals being tight with my father. This street is probably all government officials. We should look for Gerta the herb woman. Bertram? Could you take us to the town’s main inn?”

“There are two of significant popularity,” Bertram replied.

“How about the one the local officials visit least often?” Mira said.

“That would be Spinner’s Lodge,” he said.

“Let’s go there,” Mira said.

Jace was rooting around in the storage space under his seat. He looked up, a brown sack in his hand. “This is full of ringers,” he said.

“They told us they gave us money,” Mira said.

“I remember,” Jace explained. “But this is full! Copper ringers, silver, gold, even platinum. We could buy a ranch and have money to spare. We could buy one of those mansions.”

“We have to be careful not to show it,” Mira said. “Nothing draws trouble quicker than flashing money around.”

Grinning, Jace started sliding simple rings of equal size onto one end of a leather cord. “I’m free and I have money.”

“That’s too much,” Mira scolded. “No gold. Certainly no platinum. Use mostly copper, and a couple silver if you must.”

“I won’t show it off,” Jace promised. “I just want an
emergency fund. We already almost lost the coach once.”

“Your coins are rings?” Cole asked.

“Most people in the five kingdoms use ringers,” Mira said. “They’re officially called ringaroles. I guess it’s new to you. Ten coppers in a silver, five silvers in a gold, ten gold in a platinum. There are also copper bits, worth a quarter of a copper, and silver bits, worth half a silver. Those are smaller and square.”

“No bits in here,” Twitch said, adding ringers to his own cord.

“It’s against the law to shape ringers,” Mira said. “Some shapers are employed to check if ringers are authentic. My guess is Declan shaped these, and I suspect nobody would be able to tell.”

“I should grab some,” Cole said. “You know, in case of emergencies.”

“Don’t get caught with too much on you,” Mira warned. “They’ll think you robbed a money house.” She claimed a small handful and began threading a cord through them.

Cole took a short cord from the bag, loaded it with gold and platinum ringers, then tied it around his leg inside of his sock. Satisfied, he started loading a longer cord with mostly copper ringers to wear around his neck.

“You’ll jingle,” Twitch said.

“What?” Cole asked.

“The ringers on your leg will jingle,” Twitch said. “It won’t fool anyone.”

“How should I do it?” Cole asked.

“Use less and spread them out,” Twitch said. “A few
ringers in one boot, a few in the other. A couple inside your belt. Use knots to separate some on a cord and bind that around your leg.”

“What are you, a smuggler?” Cole asked.

“I’ve traveled,” Twitch said.

“Or you could sew some secret pockets,” Jace mentioned.

“You sew?” Cole asked.

Jace shrugged.

Cole untied his cord and started rearranging his ringers. He noticed an autocoach similar to theirs pass them heading the opposite direction.

“There’s the lodge, up on the left,” Mira said.

“Correct,” Bertram affirmed. “I’m afraid I’ll have to wait in the autocoach.”

“Wait,” Jace said. “I see something I need. I’ll catch up.” Before anyone could respond, he opened the door and jumped down from the moving coach.

“Want me to follow him?” Twitch asked.

“We have to trust one another,” Mira said. “He’s a big boy. He’ll stay out of trouble.”

“It’s his first real day of freedom with his pockets full of money,” Twitch reminded her.

Mira couldn’t quite hide a look of panic. “He has to get used to the idea at some point.”

The autocoach halted smoothly. “We have arrived,” Bertram said. “I’ll wait nearby.”

“Thanks,” Mira said, climbing out of the coach. Cole and Twitch followed.

Cole noticed people glancing at them. Down the street
he saw another autocoach, so they couldn’t be too rare. Maybe the people weren’t used to strangers. Or maybe it was because of their ages.

Spinner’s Lodge contained a long, rectangular room full of plain wooden tables, all of them empty. A stone hearth on one end housed a large black kettle. Heavy beams spanned the space overhead. A hallway led farther back into the building, and a kitchen could be seen beyond the stone counter.

A bald man limped toward them as they entered. His crooked nose had probably been broken more than once. “What do you want?” he accused.

“Food,” Mira said. “Did we come to the wrong place?”

“Can you pay?” the man questioned.

“We have plenty,” Mira said.

“You don’t mind showing me?” the man asked.

Sighing, Mira pulled her necklace out of her shirt so he could see the copper rings. He gave a nod. “I don’t know your faces.”

“We’re traveling with our uncle,” Mira said.

“These boys don’t speak?” the man asked.

“Not before lunch,” Cole said.

“Pick a table,” the man said. “You’re early for lunch, late for breakfast. Must be nice to have no responsibilities. What do you want?”

“What’s cooking?” Mira asked.

“Egg soup, skewers of chicken, bread, potatoes, bacon, pork chops, and some porridge from this morning. Cook’s specialty is sugarbread. He has frosted and apricot today.”

“How’s the egg soup?” Mira asked.

“Exactly like it sounds,” the man huffed.

Cole noticed the bondmark on his wrist. The man certainly wasn’t trying to make friends. Maybe he felt like kids were the only people he could treat rudely.

“Some of the soup for me,” Mira said.

“Me too,” Twitch chimed in. “And chicken skewers.”

“I’ll have the skewers and bacon,” Cole said.

“How am I supposed to skewer bacon?” the man replied.

“The chicken skewers,” Cole said slowly. “And bacon.”

The man started walking away. “Will, you filthy weakling, get water to these customers.”

A thin boy a couple of years younger than Cole hurried over to the table with a platter of cups and a wooden pitcher. He had a bondmark as well. He filled three cups, distributed them, then scuttled back to the kitchen.

“Is everyone this rude here?” Cole asked.

“Depends on the town,” Twitch said. “Depends on the establishment. Depends who you are. Doesn’t help when you’re young.”

“Where I come from, people treat customers nicely,” Cole said. “They want your business.”

“It can be like that here, too,” Mira said. “We’re in a remote town. Not many options.”

Jace walked into the room wearing a felt top hat, gray with a black band. It wasn’t very tall, but it had a brim all the way around.

Mira buried her face in her hands.

Jace came over to the table, grinning wide. “Saw it in the window.”

“It’s . . . something,” Cole said.

“Isn’t it?” Jace said. “I mean, what’s such an amazing hat doing in a place like this?”

“How much?” Mira asked.

“Two silver,” Jace said.

Mira reddened, her lips pressed together.

“I’ve never bought anything before,” Jace whispered proudly to Cole. “What’s for lunch?”

“They have chicken, pork, and egg soup,” Twitch listed. “And sugarbread.”

“Sugarbread?” Jace asked, perking up. “Any flavors?”

“Apricot and frosted.”

“I know what I’m getting,” Jace said.

The young slave called Will returned with two bowls on a platter. He placed one in front of Mira, the other in front of Twitch.

“You blundering good-for-nothing!” the bald slave yelled, exiting from the kitchen. He hobbled up to Will and cuffed him on the ear. “I gave you bread! Where’s the bread?”

Will looked scared. “I must have set it down in the kitchen.”

The bald slave cuffed him again. “Don’t write me a speech. Fetch it!”

Will scurried off.

Hands on his hips, the bald slave turned to face the table. “You’ve picked up a tagalong. Quite the gentleman, it appears.” The sarcasm was apparent.

Jace looked at him hard. “Ever buy a hat, bald man?”

The man squared up and stared at him flatly. “If I ever bought a hat, I’d have an outfit to match it.”

“Then you’d buy a rag,” Jace replied without humor. “But it wouldn’t hide that nose or your mark. Who taught you to talk back to your betters?”

The man glared, fuming. “You better watch yourself—”

“I better watch myself?” Jace laughed, standing up. “You’re a slave, you dimwit! You keep opening your mouth with no idea who you’re talking to!”

Cole tried to signal Jace to mellow out, but there was no reaching him. He had his game face on.

Jace took off his hat, turned it upside down, and dumped Twitch’s soup into it. “I bought this as a joke.” He walked up to the slave and, reaching up to the taller man, put it on his bald head. Oily soup cascaded down the man’s neck and shoulders. “It’s yours now.”