long wooden sidewalk from the harbor to the center of town with his leather satchel over his shoulder. He was tired and bruised, but he was glad he was back in town, safe and alive, and carrying the ticket to his future. Now he just wanted to go to his room to recover and lay low for a while.
He had caught a ride to the port on a horse and wagon after he’d talked the Jungle Patrol into driving him to the main road. The officers were so astonished by the collapse of the bridge and his story about how it had happened that they hadn’t even bothered asking him what he was doing out there. Quill had told them that the Phantom had shoved him out of his truck and driven it wildly onto the bridge, causing the collapse.
The Jungle Patrol rarely came much closer to Zavia than its outpost, headquartered a few kilometers outside the town. Off-duty patrolmen were warned to stay out of town for their own good. On rare occasions when they came into Zavia, it was usually to deal with a problem related to the tribal population. The bonos were left alone unless they made trouble with the tribal population, and even then the Brotherhood often intervened before the patrol arrived.
Now that he was back in Zavia his confidence was returning. After all, he’d not only found the silver skull and made it back to town with it, but he’d killed the Phantom. Again. That alone was cause for celebration. He also wanted to keep an eye out for Morgan and Breen. So instead of going to his room, he turned into one of his hangouts and ordered a whiskey at the bar.
By the time he ordered his second shot, he saw trouble coming his way in the form of a slender young woman with short hair, wearing pants. She wore a sleeveless white undershirt and an unbuttoned khaki jacket over it. He figured she was between twenty-five and thirty, but she had a mouth on her like an old sailor.
He nodded to her, grinned, and ordered her a drink. Like himself, she worked for Drax. He’d been hoping that connection would make her a willing companion, but so far she had a mind of her own.
“Hey there, Quill,” she said, running a hand through her hair. She gave him a suspicious look. “Haven’t seen you around for a couple of days. Where you been?”
“Hiking in the jungle. Enjoying the scenery.”
She laughed. “Yeah, sure. You hate this place. Why did you come back?”
“The same reason you’re here. That’s what the boss wanted.”
She waved a hand. “I’m not his slave. I do what I want. I kind of like this rot-gut town.”
He shook his head and laughed. He wanted to tell her about the crypt and the jewels and show her the skull, but he thought better of it. There were a half dozen guys at the bar within hearing range, so he decided to keep his thoughts about that matter to himself.
He swallowed his second shot in a single gulp. “I’m doing just fine, Sala. Just fine.”
She looked him over. “You don’t look like you’ve been doing just fine. You look like you’ve been playing in the mud, and you were limping when you walked in here a few minutes ago.”
“I’m flattered that you noticed.” After a moment, he added: “I had a little trouble out there in the jungle today.”
“Oh, what kind of trouble?” she asked, leaning closer to him.
“Unexpected trouble. I ran into someone I killed about ten years ago. Killed him again today.”
“Say what?”
He smiled as he thought about the story. While it was on his mind, it was a good opportunity to impress Sala, to get on her good side. “You ever heard of a strange guy named the Phantom?”
She frowned. “That’s just some old native superstition, isn’t it?”
“I used to think so, too. I thought the Phantom, the Ghost Who Walks, whatever they call him, was some kind of joke, just a stupid story about some masked man who was supposed to be hundreds of years old.”
He rolled up his sleeve and displayed the Sengh Brotherhood logo. “But the Brotherhood wanted him dead, and
He had caught a ride to the port on a horse and wagon after he’d talked the Jungle Patrol into driving him to the main road. The officers were so astonished by the collapse of the bridge and his story about how it had happened that they hadn’t even bothered asking him what he was doing out there. Quill had told them that the Phantom had shoved him out of his truck and driven it wildly onto the bridge, causing the collapse.
The Jungle Patrol rarely came much closer to Zavia than its outpost, headquartered a few kilometers outside the town. Off-duty patrolmen were warned to stay out of town for their own good. On rare occasions when they came into Zavia, it was usually to deal with a problem related to the tribal population. The bonos were left alone unless they made trouble with the tribal population, and even then the Brotherhood often intervened before the patrol arrived.
Now that he was back in Zavia his confidence was returning. After all, he’d not only found the silver skull and made it back to town with it, but he’d killed the Phantom. Again. That alone was cause for celebration. He also wanted to keep an eye out for Morgan and Breen. So instead of going to his room, he turned into one of his hangouts and ordered a whiskey at the bar.
By the time he ordered his second shot, he saw trouble coming his way in the form of a slender young woman with short hair, wearing pants. She wore a sleeveless white undershirt and an unbuttoned khaki jacket over it. He figured she was between twenty-five and thirty, but she had a mouth on her like an old sailor.
He nodded to her, grinned, and ordered her a drink. Like himself, she worked for Drax. He’d been hoping that connection would make her a willing companion, but so far she had a mind of her own.
“Hey there, Quill,” she said, running a hand through her hair. She gave him a suspicious look. “Haven’t seen you around for a couple of days. Where you been?”
“Hiking in the jungle. Enjoying the scenery.”
She laughed. “Yeah, sure. You hate this place. Why did you come back?”
“The same reason you’re here. That’s what the boss wanted.”
She waved a hand. “I’m not his slave. I do what I want. I kind of like this rot-gut town.”
He shook his head and laughed. He wanted to tell her about the crypt and the jewels and show her the skull, but he thought better of it. There were a half dozen guys at the bar within hearing range, so he decided to keep his thoughts about that matter to himself.
He swallowed his second shot in a single gulp. “I’m doing just fine, Sala. Just fine.”
She looked him over. “You don’t look like you’ve been doing just fine. You look like you’ve been playing in the mud, and you were limping when you walked in here a few minutes ago.”
“I’m flattered that you noticed.” After a moment, he added: “I had a little trouble out there in the jungle today.”
“Oh, what kind of trouble?” she asked, leaning closer to him.
“Unexpected trouble. I ran into someone I killed about ten years ago. Killed him again today.”
“Say what?”
He smiled as he thought about the story. While it was on his mind, it was a good opportunity to impress Sala, to get on her good side. “You ever heard of a strange guy named the Phantom?”
She frowned. “That’s just some old native superstition, isn’t it?”
“I used to think so, too. I thought the Phantom, the Ghost Who Walks, whatever they call him, was some kind of joke, just a stupid story about some masked man who was supposed to be hundreds of years old.”
He rolled up his sleeve and displayed the Sengh Brotherhood logo. “But the Brotherhood wanted him dead, and
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