Shadowmaster

“Why?”

“They said he could get me out of the city.”

“He wouldn’t,” Drakon said. “You were given very bad advice.”

“Can you help me?”

“If you’re running from Aegis or the Enforcers,” he said, “you’re not my enemy. If this is a trick, you won’t get out of this alive.”

“A trick?” she said with a burble of choked laughter. “What kind of trick?”

Drakon considered that he might have jumped to conclusions a little too quickly. Something about this woman almost convinced him that her fear was real.

“What can you pay for my help in getting out?” he asked.

“Information. But you won’t get it until I know I’m safe and none of your Fringer friends are going to hurt me.”

The sound of fast-moving vehicles thrummed from less than a quarter mile away. Whether she was leading them or running from them didn’t matter now. Drakon seized her wrist again, and they ran until Lark—if that was really her name—was panting hoarsely and beginning to stumble. Drakon turned a sharp corner into an alley. She leaned against him as if she might fall without his support. He wasn’t thinking at all when he put his arm around her.

He could still smell her blood. Almost feel it inside him.

He reached inside his jacket pocket with his free hand and pulled out one of the blindfolds he and the crew had used on the emigrants. “Turn around,” he said.

Her gaze fell to the cloth in his hand. “You’re kidding. If you think I’d ever—”

“I’m not letting you into my Hold without this. I give you my word that you’ll come to no harm.”

“The word of a—”

“Criminal, a fugitive from justice? Enclave justice?” Drakon turned her and tied the blindfold around her head before she could even think of struggling.

“I must be crazy,” she said, her voice rasping with exhaustion.

“No,” he said. “You’ve made the only possible choice.” Taking her arm again, he led her alongside the building, constantly listening, and took a very circuitous course toward the Hold, dodging the sounds of approaching troops. They didn’t seem to be gaining ground, perhaps more concerned about ambush than moving too recklessly.

He continued on by one of the many hidden pathways he and his crew had devised over the past year, frequently doubling back to make certain they weren’t being followed. Dawn was beginning to break when they finally negotiated the last obstacles and entered the Hold.

The building didn’t stand out from the other half-collapsed structures throughout the Fringe, but there were traps set at every possible entrance, and guards at every boarded window. The widely spaced lights were flickering and dim. The common rooms, mess and meeting room were protected by many external walls, like a castle keep. No one could reach Drakon and his crew without the use of explosives. Like so many other of the black-market items Drakon and the other Bosses dealt in, those were hard to come by.

Repo was crouched right outside the inner door. He sprang to his feet and stared at the woman in astonishment.

“You brought her?” he asked.

“No questions now.” Drakon pulled Lark through the maze of corridors, passing the occasional crew member without pausing for explanation, and took her straight to his private quarters.

“Sit,” he said, half-pushing her down on his narrow bed.

She probed the firm surface with her hands. “Where am I?”

“Where no one else will bother us.”

She tensed, and he knew immediately what she was thinking. “I am not The Preacher,” he said. “I have no intention of molesting you. But I can’t protect you until I get more information.”

“Protect me from whom?” she asked, turning her head slowly as if to take in any sounds that might help her get her bearings. “I thought you were the Boss here.”

“Most of my crew have the option of going elsewhere if I seem too soft.”

She turned her face toward him as if she would be staring if he could see her eyes, and he realized he’d just admitted something to her he wouldn’t say to anyone but Brita.

“Soft because you agreed to help me?” she asked.

“I haven’t agreed yet.”

“But they won’t be happy with what you’ve done. Would one of them challenge you?”

It was too late to retreat from the subject now, and he still had complete power over her in spite of her troubling insight. “You seem to know a great deal about the Fringe for a Cit,” he said.

Cocking her head, she smiled. It was a particularly lovely and enticing smile. “You’re unexpectedly honest and well-spoken for a condemned criminal,” she said.

Drakon pulled the room’s single chair close to the bed. “You work for the government,” he said, a statement of fact.

Her smile faded. “I did.”

“You’re on the run from your own kind, and yet you’ve somehow convinced yourself that only the ignorant and deceitful have been deported?”

When she didn’t answer, he pressed on. “Why are you running?”

“Do you think I could get some water?” she asked. “I haven’t had anything to drink in a while.”

Her sudden change of tone put Drakon even more on his guard. “I’ll have to tie you up.”

“I won’t resist.”

Far from trusting her, Drakon removed a heavy pair of shackles and short chain from a locked drawer. “Get up and turn around,” he said.

She obeyed without protest, and Drakon bound her hands together behind her. “Members of my crew are scattered everywhere throughout the Hold,” he said. “If you attempt to escape, they will almost certainly kill you.”

Chapter 3

“Your orders?” Lark said, resuming her seat on the bed after Drakon had her shackles in place.

“No one will take the risk of letting you escape.”

“I came here willingly, didn’t I?”

Drakon didn’t bother to answer. He went out into the corridor—where, as expected, Repo was keeping watch—and sent the man for water. When Repo returned, he was obviously near bursting with questions.

“Be patient,” Drakon said. “Find out what the others are saying, and report back to me.”