darts down an alley and stills, eyes darting from the flames eating his coat to those that dance on the goat’s tail, careless of the other less pressing dangers that surround them. The sword comes down once, twice, and strands of tail float to the ground, burning bright.
Without his usual care the Vagrant puts down the baby and the sword, rolling on the floor until the fire is out.
He gets up, picking up the baby in one hand and clamping the goat’s mouth shut with the other. Both give him reproachful looks.
He waits for himself and them to calm before continuing, putting away the sword and pulling out the scope to check behind them, lenses piercing the night.
No one follows.
Engines hum softly in the gloom, waiting. Like the rest of the city, they hold their breath, poised for Darktime, when the Usurper’s forces will command the city. When it comes, lights stutter to life, haphazard in their arrangement, illuminating unfairly. The signal brings people from their homes. Shops reopen, curtains of chain slide back out of sight, doors grind sideways, groaning. Signs lift, are turned by grimy hands and dropped with a bang. A hundred banners to the Uncivil wink, vanish and convert to the Usurper.
Soon, voices call out; exaggerations and lies masquerade as hope. Others join them with offers and bargains. Unbeatable prices for the belongings of the beaten.
People spill like vomit onto the streets, congealing into crowds.
The Vagrant weaves through, oblivious, till the leash pulls tight, yanking his arm backwards. The goat strains to look back at the charred thing on its rear, still smoking.
The Vagrant stops, and in Verdigris’ marketplace stopping invites attention.
‘Trouble with your beast I see? Yes, getting old now isn’t she? Old and tired, I know how she feels!’ The patter is only punctuated by laughs that come thick and fast and fake. ‘Funny things these, only get more stubborn with age, not less, like my children!’ More laughter. ‘But forgive me, where are my manners, I am Ezze. And you are?’
The Vagrant blinks. Ezze’s hand snakes around his shoulder, guiding him through sweaty bodies towards a set of wide open doors.
‘And a truly noble name it is! I am pleased to make your acquaintance, from this moment on you should consider Ezze your friend. Verdigris is a grand city, full of wonders but many of them are shy, not like the women! Ah, come now, don’t be like that, it is just Ezze’s joke. A gift to you. Enjoy, it’s the only thing you get for free tonight, that I promise! Now step this way my serious friend, I know a place where we can solve all of your problems.’
The shop is cramped, broken tech and old skinsuits compete with encroaching filth in the limited space. Jammed between twin cog stacks is a half-breed, shoulders bare, purple tinted. In his hands is a needle, potent and smoking. On his face a paid-for smile.
‘Welcome to my shop,’ says Ezze. ‘Be at home here. You’ll like Bruise—’ a scrawny arm indicates the smoker. ‘He’s like you, not one for the words. Ugly too, eh? Well you cannot all be beautiful like Ezze!’ He laughs into the silence. ‘Not one for jokes, I see that. Now tell me, what do you think of this?’ From the chaos a cylinder appears, scarred metal, topped with tubing, like wild hair. ‘It may not look it but this beauty is fresh from Wonderland, the very finest Deadtech. She’ll produce milk just as well as your beast but without the complaints.’
The Vagrant shakes his head.
‘You are thinking Ezze is mad but he is not! Let me explain how it works. We simply extract the required organs of your beast and place them in the tube. The miraculous device will sustain them and stimulate them to produce milk whenever you need it. You look like one who travels; imagine how it would be to have drinks on tap, even in the middle of the Blasted Lands? Truly we live in an age of wonders!’
The Vagrant says nothing.
‘You are worried about the
Without his usual care the Vagrant puts down the baby and the sword, rolling on the floor until the fire is out.
He gets up, picking up the baby in one hand and clamping the goat’s mouth shut with the other. Both give him reproachful looks.
He waits for himself and them to calm before continuing, putting away the sword and pulling out the scope to check behind them, lenses piercing the night.
No one follows.
Engines hum softly in the gloom, waiting. Like the rest of the city, they hold their breath, poised for Darktime, when the Usurper’s forces will command the city. When it comes, lights stutter to life, haphazard in their arrangement, illuminating unfairly. The signal brings people from their homes. Shops reopen, curtains of chain slide back out of sight, doors grind sideways, groaning. Signs lift, are turned by grimy hands and dropped with a bang. A hundred banners to the Uncivil wink, vanish and convert to the Usurper.
Soon, voices call out; exaggerations and lies masquerade as hope. Others join them with offers and bargains. Unbeatable prices for the belongings of the beaten.
People spill like vomit onto the streets, congealing into crowds.
The Vagrant weaves through, oblivious, till the leash pulls tight, yanking his arm backwards. The goat strains to look back at the charred thing on its rear, still smoking.
The Vagrant stops, and in Verdigris’ marketplace stopping invites attention.
‘Trouble with your beast I see? Yes, getting old now isn’t she? Old and tired, I know how she feels!’ The patter is only punctuated by laughs that come thick and fast and fake. ‘Funny things these, only get more stubborn with age, not less, like my children!’ More laughter. ‘But forgive me, where are my manners, I am Ezze. And you are?’
The Vagrant blinks. Ezze’s hand snakes around his shoulder, guiding him through sweaty bodies towards a set of wide open doors.
‘And a truly noble name it is! I am pleased to make your acquaintance, from this moment on you should consider Ezze your friend. Verdigris is a grand city, full of wonders but many of them are shy, not like the women! Ah, come now, don’t be like that, it is just Ezze’s joke. A gift to you. Enjoy, it’s the only thing you get for free tonight, that I promise! Now step this way my serious friend, I know a place where we can solve all of your problems.’
The shop is cramped, broken tech and old skinsuits compete with encroaching filth in the limited space. Jammed between twin cog stacks is a half-breed, shoulders bare, purple tinted. In his hands is a needle, potent and smoking. On his face a paid-for smile.
‘Welcome to my shop,’ says Ezze. ‘Be at home here. You’ll like Bruise—’ a scrawny arm indicates the smoker. ‘He’s like you, not one for the words. Ugly too, eh? Well you cannot all be beautiful like Ezze!’ He laughs into the silence. ‘Not one for jokes, I see that. Now tell me, what do you think of this?’ From the chaos a cylinder appears, scarred metal, topped with tubing, like wild hair. ‘It may not look it but this beauty is fresh from Wonderland, the very finest Deadtech. She’ll produce milk just as well as your beast but without the complaints.’
The Vagrant shakes his head.
‘You are thinking Ezze is mad but he is not! Let me explain how it works. We simply extract the required organs of your beast and place them in the tube. The miraculous device will sustain them and stimulate them to produce milk whenever you need it. You look like one who travels; imagine how it would be to have drinks on tap, even in the middle of the Blasted Lands? Truly we live in an age of wonders!’
The Vagrant says nothing.
‘You are worried about the
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