Streets of blood

21

For a second that stretched out for hours, both groups stood frozen, weapons readied and pointed at each other. The leader of the trolls had some respect for them now, Rani could see, and he was looking to her. He realized she was a local, not some cross-town rich kid who’d be easy to fool, easy to catch off guard in a fatal instant of vacillation. Still, he was drooling slightly, a stringy glob of mucus hanging from one corner of his mouth. The other gang members were looking to old black-snout now, not quite so arrogant but still eager for the fray. Rani prayed they weren’t high on some of the crazier stuff around; if they were, reason would never get her group out of here alive.

“We’re very grateful for your hospitality,” she said as steadily as she could manage. “I imagine you’ll want some reward for that. Guess we can come up with something for you.”

The trolls chuckled inanely, gripping their weapons tighter. Black-snout leered at her.

“I’m rakking sure you can, girlie. Looks like you got some nice weapons there. Not the kinda gear to stop a troll, of course. Probably got some real money in that suit, slick kid, huh?” He slid his shotgun across to point at Geraint. “Poor little pixie there, he don’t look too good to me. Don’t think we’d get too many bullet tokens for his scrawny body. Rest of you worth a few nuyen, though. Hey, don’t look so sad and dismal. You ain’t gonna die! Different bits of you gonna be alive everywhere from Seattle to Tokyo!”

The trolls laughed among themselves, but none of them made a move. Yet.

Serrin’s shaking suddenly stopped, but he hardly knew his own state. His mind was lucid and calm, but his skin was clammy and he felt as if he might simply keel over at any instant. Fixing his gaze on the troll with the shotgun seemed to help him focus his attention and stay on his feet.

“The guns we have might not stop you. but they could do some unpleasant damage,” the elf said. “But I’ll tell you one thing, brother, if I’m going to die here, first I’m going to pump some hellfire so heavy even your thick butt-skins will go up in smoke. I mean, what the fraggin’ hell, what’ve I got to lose?”

Black-snout stared hard at Serrin, mentally gunning him down with his eyes but not daring to do more. He could see the strange stones the elf was clutching. Magic was the one real edge these intruders had. The weapons didn’t frighten the trolls, but a suicide strike by a mage with a serious death wish was another matter entirely. It wouldn’t be the first time one of his gang had ended up on the wrong end of a corporate combat mage. Many of them also had friends who’d suffered the same fate, and hadn’t lived to discuss it. The atmosphere began to change.

Please keep me standing up long enough to get us out of this, Serrin prayed mentally as Geraint and Rani began the negotiating. Geraint was listening to the flow of Rani’s clever comments, taking his cue from her as she told him implicitly what the trolls might accept for their release. Credsticks they wouldn’t touch; they had no way of verifying them. Geraint’s high-denomination sterling and nuyen notes did, however, speak to them in another language. Dumping slap patches and a pile of shiny equipment out of his bag, Geraint upped the ante even further.

Slowly the trolls began to move sideways, while Rani and the others did the same. It might have been hilarious had it not been so desperate, both groups circling around each other. Geraint covered their retreat through the far door with his heavy pistol. The trolls had one final challenge.

“Hey, ken-boy, why don’t you leave the woman here?” one of them smirked, rubbing his greasy crotch. The low chuckle that rippled through the group was a most unpleasant sound, but Geraint didn’t dare scratch the itch burning in his trigger finger. When the others reached the street, Geraint covered their final exit, then he backed out too. They still couldn’t relax yet, though.

“Where the hell are we? Got to get to Aldgate, the Shaking Samurai,” Geraint told Rani. She moved into action immediately, grabbing Serrin’s hand and guiding them as they ran up the Street.

The trolls had changed their minds, two of them firing from the upper floor of the house as the fleeing figures disappeared into the darkness. The group had almost reached the end of the road when Geraint drew up with a yelp of pain. He clutched the back of his leg just below the hip, but kept on going, limping around the corner as best he could. He’d taken a bullet, and when he took his hand away it was smeared with blood.

“They won’t follow. They’ve heard the sirens by now,” Rani tried to reassure them.

“Who are you?” Francesca gasped out at last, trying to conceal her disgust at the ork girl’s ugliness.

Rani scowled. “This isn’t the time for questions.” She pointed at Geraint. “He’s just been shot and elf-face is completely rakked. Look at his eyes. You got wheels?”

“Parked outside the Shaking Samurai. A troll’s guarding it. Owe him money,” Geraint managed to force out through the pain. “Ngh! I’m not going to get that far.”

“I can go for the car, but you gotta give me something the troll will recognize.”

“Give him this,” he said, handing her all his remaining notes, “and tell him the gas won’t be a problem if you touch the car. He’ll remember that. “Oh, and tell him this includes a bonus for the noses if he’s managed to collect any.” She looked at the nobleman as if he were mad. “He’ll understand. Honest.” He handed her the keys.

“Geraint. is this wise?” Francesca was alarmed. “It’s our only way out of here. We could make it ourselves.”

Serrin collapsed down to all fours and began to cough, great racking heaves that convulsed his body. Geraint hung on to his shot-up leg, looked at the elf, and back to Francesca.

“You want to walk it alone, Fran?”

“Got to get you safe while I get the car.” Rani was staring urgently about her. “Yeah, got it. Can you make it a couple of streets? Three minutes?” With Francesca holding up Serrin’s long, slim form, and Rani helping Geraint get along on one good leg, it took eight, but they made it.

“Through here.” she said. “Saw it this afternoon. There may be some little Street kids about, but they’ll be scared off if you point a gun at them.”

With Geraint’s flashtube lighting the scene, they saw that it was an abandoned house whose ceiling had collapsed. A couple of rats scurried out of sight among the piles of rubble and excrement strewn over the floor. The stench was overwhelming, but compared to the danger on the street. the place seemed deliciously inviting. There was no one inside it.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Rani was about to skip off into the night when Geraint called out to her.

“Oh, hey, you! The keys!” He took them back and showed her the plaque that slid out of the key-ring. You need to put that into the green slot, right? This’ll get you past the ID checks, but you’ll still need the password sequence to activate the controls.”

“Phew! What kind of car's this?” She was impressed.

“One that’s hopefully in one piece. The password, er is-he gestured her closer to whisper in her ear-Queen of Heaven.”

Rani stood back from him and smiled. Her face broke into a wide grin and she felt almost euphoric. She imagined these people were heavy-duty shadowrunners and she was saving their lives. That made it an adventure, the very thing she’d always wanted.

“Hey, lady, you wanna know my name? Call me the Queen of Heaven!” She ran off giggling into the night.

Francesca turned to Geraint in the darkness. “You almighty fool! You’ve just handed the car keys to a complete, bloody lunatic. And a sodding ork on top of it.”

“Like 1 said, you want to walk the East End alone at night?’

Again Francesca had no answer.

By the time the car came veering unsteadily along the road, Serrin had slipped into unconsciousness. Geraint’s leg felt sore as hell, but the slap patch had staunched the bleeding in what looked to be only a flesh wound. He looked up quickly at the sound of a car door slamming and the crunch of boots over the frosty ground.

It was the ork girl. “Got it,” she said. “I had to give that Emil everything. He really strung me along even though he knew I was from you.” She was angry, but obviously excited too. She grabbed at the elf s comatose body.

“Be careful with him,” Geraint said quickly. “Fran, help her.”

The American’s nose registered her repulsion at the ork’s distinctive body odor. The girl smelled strong. musky, and Francesca imagined that if not for the oil on her body she would probably have smelled even worse. Between them, they picked Serrin up and deposited him in the back seat of the car. Francesca nicked herself into a corner with the elf’s head in her lap.

Geraint took the driver’s seat, and the Indian girl climbed in beside him. “Hey, we owe you.” He held out the credsticks. “They’re worth ten thou. I’m sure you’ll get a good deal on them. But I don’t feel right leaving you out here alone.” He winced as he tried to press his foot against the pedal.

Rani waved away the proffered money and said she didn’t want it. “Take me with you.”

Geraint grinned as he used his hands to shuffle over into the car’s passenger seat. “See how the other half lives, huh? Can you drive this for me?”

She looked unhappy. “Um, it was a bit difficult getting here. I’m not used to driving, I don’t get the chance much. You really can’t manage?”

He held her arm briefly to reassure her. “It’s all right. Fran, you better act as chauffeur. We can put the walking wounded in the back.” They changed places, and Francesca pointedly avoided looking at Rani as she placed her hands on the wheel. She needed directions, however, so she was forced to speak to her.

With Rani navigating, it was only minutes before they hit Gracechurch Street, heading west. Geraint was briefing Francesca on what to do when they got back to Chelsea. She would have to bring down a coat and a change of clothes for him, because he couldn’t walk in wearing clothes covered with blood.

She followed the Embankment around as far as Geraint’s street. driving smoothly down the ramp into the underground garage. It took fifteen minutes to get changed and emerge looking passably like occupants and guests of a nobleman’s penthouse. Rani pulled the hood of the dark velvet cloak over her head as she emerged from the car, keeping her head down as if that would somehow prevent detection. She and Francesca draped Serrin’s lifeless arms around their shoulders while Geraint limped along on his ebony walking stick. Then they were into the elevator at last, and then staggering into Geraint’s flat.

Rani gazed speechless at the evidence of the meal they'd eaten so many, many hours ago. Geraint tried to bow to her, bidding her welcome to his home! but his face betrayed the pain and impossibility of the gesture.

“Let me look at your leg. I know about cleaning wounds,” she volunteered eagerly.

“You sure about that?” he said, alarmed. On the other hand, he didn’t want to call Careline about this one. They had to notify the Lord Protector’s minions automatically when called upon to treat bullet wounds, whether the injured party was a noble or not. And that would start a lot of awkward questions being asked.

“At least let me look,” Rani urged.

He hobbled into the bathroom, showing her the medical kit that boggled her mind. Where she came from, people would kill for a tenth of what this man had in the kit alone.

Geraint had been lucky, as far as it went; the bullet had passed right through the big muscle at the back of his leg, doing no serious damage. Rani gave him a local and cleaned away the dried blood. Lying on his stomach, he watched her work in the big mirror at the end of the room. Her hands were hard-skinned, almost gnarled, and the last word anyone would have used to describe them was delicate, but her touch was gentle even though he was anesthetized.

Finally, the cumulative stress of the night caught up with him, his mind clouding and his vision beginning to blur. He had just managed to ask what her name was and to hear her reply when his muscles gave up the effort in a final bodily sigh and he passed out.

Rani left him on the floor, putting folded towels under his belly and calves and laying a pillow from the huge bedroom under his head. The mage was lying comatose on a sofa, his breathing shallow, but he seemed peaceful enough. The woman hadn’t even undressed before crashing out in the second bedroom.

Rani skipped around the room, very pleased with herself. Then, guiltily at first, but with a growing sense of delight, she began to stuff her mouth with truffles from the remains of the meal on the table.

If only Imran could see her now.