Stitching Snow (4 page)

“You can tell me if you have anything valuable on board that we can trade for parts.”

“Some merinium.”

I couldn’t help a laugh, but felt no humor. “That’s the one thing we
don’t
need in Forty-Two. We’ve got a mine full of it.

Exactly what kind of treasure hunt are you on, Dane?” When no answer came, I stared, daring him to remain silent.

His eyes had changed, darkening, like they hid as much as mine.

“It’s a story I heard.” He spoke carefully, watched me as though my reaction would dictate each word that followed.

“Something about a treasure big enough to change things.”

“Change what kinds of things?”

“Things on Windsong, maybe.”

Memories shuddered through me at the mention of that planet—sunlight dancing on the mountains, rainbow orchids, birds singing every morning . . . shadows looming over me, pain and silence and must-keep-quiet—

“The rule on Thanda is to do what keeps you fed and warm 24

R.C. ll E WI S

and avoids interference from Windsong,” I said grufflly. “From what I hear, your lot on Garam is spans better than ours, so what do you have to complain about?”

“We may not have to work in the mines, but we’re not free.

Not really. We create, and King Matthias and Queen Olivia take, giving just enough back to keep us complacent and working.”

“And you think this mysterious ‘treasure’ of yours is enough to change that?”

He crossed his arms. “Wealth and power
do
go together, don’t you think?”

“You’re a blazing fool. No one stands against Windsong.”

“Some people do.”

“What, the Exiles? And you see all the good it’s done
them
.

Kicked out of their kingship on Windsong and relegated to the far side of the solar system for a few centuries, and now with their military battling in Windsong’s outlands.
That
war’s been going eight years, and no progress.”

“The Exiles aren’t the only ones who’ve stood against the crown. We’ve had rebellions on Garam, even uprisings on Windsong itself.”

I scoffed. “Not in ages.”

“Then maybe it’s time for another.” He exhaled sharply, then winced. “Not that any of this will happen if I can’t get off the ground. What about the repairs? I’ll fi nd a way to get whatever parts we need—there has to be a way.” I looked at the readout again. Some things already in my lab might help, but trading for the rest would take more shares than I had at the moment, and blazes if I was going to go broke right before the snows for some strange boy.

25

S T I T C H I N G S N O W

My mind clicked through possibilities, trying to fi nd another option. Petey might spot a loan if I asked, but I couldn’t. He had family to support in the Bands. The easiest choice was to just tell Dane he was on his own and good luck to him. The next settlement was nearly fi fty links away, though, and they certainly didn’t have anyone who could handle tech like the shuttle’s.

Especially the new code that’d have to be written.

That’s not my problem.

Mother wouldn’t have thought so. She would’ve helped without worrying about what was in it for her.

I’m not Mother.

A chill seeped through my spine, telling me how true the thought was. But it didn’t matter. All I wanted was to keep safe and keep to myself.

Then again . . . I could do this one thing my mother would’ve approved of. And as unhinged as Dane’s idea sounded, maybe it could work. Maybe there really was a treasure, and he could fi nd it, and it would be enough wealth for the Garamites to risk uniting against Windsong. And maybe with the Garamites’ tech turned against the crown, Windsong would be defeated. The war would fi nally end, and the crown’s lies would die with it.

No more killing on either side.

That would be a good thing, even if it rested on some very shaky threads of “maybe.” I sighed and prioritized the list of needed repairs.

“Give me and Ticktock an hour or so to fi nish stitching the electrical so you won’t freeze through the night in here. Then we’ll go to the Station, see if Petey can rig a spur.”

“What’s a spur?”

26

R.C. ll E WI S

“You know, spur of the moment.”

“But a spur-of-the-moment
what
?” I grunted and shouldered past him on my way to the forward compartment. “There are only two ways to earn extra shares in the settlements, and I already told you—I’m no one’s good time.”

27

3

BY THE TIME DANE AND I got to the Station, the midafter-noon crowd had packed in. Most of the men were drinking, a few over card games. Others picked up deliveries from MineNet . . .

then picked up a tankard and joined everyone else. If the staggering drunks weren’t enough to knock Dane over, the stench was ready to do the job.

“What are we doing here?” he shouted over the din.

“I told you, getting enough shares to get you back in the air. Now shut it.” I shoved my way through the crowd, drawing plenty of glares that turned wary when they saw a strange boy with me. Clearly word had spread about the crash and the settlement’s visitor.

Should’ve made him stay with his shuttle.

“Essie, there yeh are.”

I turned at the voice, the gravel as recognizable as the crooked nose. “Aye, here I am, Hawkins.” R.C. ll E WI S

“I hear yeh’re not willin’ to fi x up the botched transmission on the old pulverizer.”

“Unwilling and unable. My hands are full with things the mech-bots
can’t
handle.” He opened his mouth, probably to repeat what Petey had said about the mech-bots only doing half a job, so I cut him off. “I’ll get one of the drones on it when I have the time. Best I can do.”

Hawkins protested, something about my having a fi ner touch than the drones, but I stopped listening and continued to push my way to the bar. The men didn’t understand. There was no puzzle to solve when it came to mining equipment, just replacing worn-out parts and kicking it until it worked. No real challenge like Dane’s shuttle offered.

“Petey!”

The old miner spotted me and waved for us to follow him into the storeroom, where the noise was more muted. “Our new friend’s up and about, I see.”

“In better shape than his shuttle, anyway,” I replied.

“Still no alerts from Immigration Control,” Petey said, shifting his gaze to Dane. “Listen, boy, yeh got in undetected, and no one here wants Windsong’s watchdogs sniffi n’ around. But if yeh’re here to make trouble—”

“I’m not,” Dane said. “I just want to get where I’m going.”

“And where might that be?”

A good question. Where
did
he think he’d fi nd this treasure of his?

“The Umbergild Ascetics.”

I stiflled a laugh at the answer, and Petey did the same, letting a snort slip through. If Dane thought he could get information from the Ascetics, he didn’t know nearly enough about them.

29

S T I T C H I N G S N O W

“They like to grow them delusional on Garam, and who are we to argue?” I said. “Repairs’ll be steep, though. Think you can rig me a spur?”

Petey’s mouth always had a bit of a frown, but at my question, the corners turned down even more. “Y’know I wish yeh wouldn’t. Men from other settlements are one thing, but to fi ght spurs—”

“Fight?” Dane cut in. “What does he mean, fi ght?” I spun on him. “What do you think that cage out there is for, storing jack-ale?” Turning back to Petey, I continued, “There are always men willing to fi ght me in a spur, so don’t lecture me.” After a long scratch behind his ear, Petey sighed. “Lawrence Moray’s been askin’ for the next time yeh take one. I’ll see to it.” Moray was far from my fi rst choice, but I couldn’t very well change my mind after all that. I gave Petey a nod and made my way to my usual washroom to prepare. Dane kept on my heels as doggedly as Dimwit usually did, shoving his way into the small room before I could slam the door.

Close quarters, no escape route, what weapons could I—?
I snipped the thought and ignored him instead, taking off my coat and twisting my hair up to secure under a scarf.

Dane didn’t feel like being ignored, it seemed. “You’re going to fi ght one of the miners? In that cage? It’s madness.”

“Don’t think a girl can handle herself? You wouldn’t be the fi rst to make that mistake.”

“I’m sure you can, but it’s still insane. How will this earn shares?”

“Those men out there are looking for some fun, and the good-time girls don’t come through near often enough for some.

30

R.C. ll E WI S

So the jack-ale starts said fun, and gambling on fi ghts fi nishes it. Only sport we have on this planet.”

“Fun . . . Why are so many of them here having ‘fun’ in the middle of the day? Shouldn’t they be working in the mine? I heard Forty-Two had the highest merinium output of all the Thandan settlements. That’s why I aimed to land my shuttle here when it malfunctioned; I didn’t want to be stranded without help.”

“Highest output is right, thanks to my great miscalculation.

Tell you all about it later.”

He puzzled over that, failed to understand, and shook his head. “Fine. I’ll do it, then. I’ll fi ght.”

“What, so I can patch you up again?”

Dane raised an eyebrow. “Don’t think a Garamite boy can handle himself?”

I looked him over. He was more than half a head taller than I was, broad-shouldered and fi t. Something about taking in his build made my mind blank for a moment, but none of that changed my answer.

“You want your shuttle repaired? We need all the shares we can get, preferably in a single fi ght so we can get you on your way that much sooner. The men will bet more to see me take some hits, particularly after what I cost them in my last fi ght.

Nothing like watching the legal beat-down of a girl.” His jaw tightened. “That’s sick, Essie.”

“Welcome to Thanda. Don’t worry so much, Dane. I never said I’d give them what they want.”

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S T I T C H I N G S N O W

Lawrence Moray was the kind of man I typically kept well clear of—the kind whose gaze set off right nasty jitters under my skin. He’d tried sweet-talking me a couple of years ago, when I’d stopped looking like such a child. After I told him I preferred the look of him from half a link away, his attitude shifted from repulsive to spiteful. It was no surprise that he was looking for a spur with me.

It did surprise
him
that I landed the fi rst hit.

He didn’t move as well as Thacker had the night before, but he had more mass. When I went in for a second hit, he blocked it and grabbed my arm. I tried to slip him, but he socked a kidney-punch. Pain sparked through my torso, and he took advantage of the distraction, shoving me face-fi rst against the cage wire and pinning me there.

The crowd cheered, banging their tankards on tables and shouting at Moray to let me have it. Through it all, I made out his voice snaking into my ear.

“Yeh shoulda been nicer to me, Essie.” His weight pressing on my back . . .

His ale-drenched breath spilling over me . . .

A shout ripped through my throat, and I thrust my head back, banging it into his eye. His grip loosened, and I slipped free. I embraced the rage and went at him with a knee to the groin. His elbow slammed into my gut, knocking the wind from me. The next swing clipped the side of my head when I didn’t move quickly enough, and the world spun.

Moray’s fi st impacted my ribs, right on the bruise from the last fi ght. I gasped and staggered away, trying to stay clear. A whooping roar fi lled my ears. This was much better entertainment than the Thacker fi ght.

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R.C. ll E WI S

“Yeh’ve got her, Moray!”

“Yeah, show her what yeh’re made of!”

“We’ll get our shares back from her now!”

“Take that animal down, Essie!”

Dane’s voice cut through the others. Calling attention to himself in that crowd was several sniffs from smart.

“Found yerself a pet, I see,” Moray sneered. “Does he roll over when yeh tell him?”

I never wasted time with words midfi ght. When Moray opened his mouth to continue taunting me, I punched him in the trachea. Not hard enough—only a glancing blow. He tried to counterattack, but I twisted him around into an armlock. A little more pressure and something cracked or popped. I danced with him as he tried to maneuver his free arm to grab me and kicked the side of his knee. He went down, and I pinned him.

“Stay down, Moray,” I said, “because this is the nicest you’ll ever get from me.”

Petey called the count and declared me the winner amidst the boos. I got out of the cage and crossed to the washroom quick as I could, but Dane still managed to trail after me.

“You’re hurt.”

“A little banged up is all.”

“Bleeding is not ‘banged up.’”

“What? Where am I bleeding this time?” I checked the mirror. A ribbon of blood trickled down my temple where Moray had clipped me. “That? I’m fi ne.”

He stared at me, caught on something. “How often do you do these fi ghts?”

“Once or twice a week, mostly.”

33

S T I T C H I N G S N O W

“That’s
beyond
madness. Look at you—you can’t even stand straight.”

The compounded bruise on my ribs ached every time I breathed, so he had a point. His concern put me on edge, though.

He didn’t know me. He had even less right than Petey to lecture me.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” I said, pushing him back out of the washroom.

He opened his mouth to continue his protests.

I slammed the door in his face.

By the time I patched myself up and calmed down, I realized leaving Dane among the miners hadn’t been too sharp. The lack of noise hit me as I left the washroom. The men who weren’t too drunk to stand had already stumbled home. Maybe I’d been in there longer than I realized.

“How’s the take, Petey?” I asked, sliding onto a barstool.

“Solid. Most were confi dent Moray would fi nish yeh, knowin’ how eager he was and that yeh had no rest from the last one. They’re none too happy with yeh right now.”

“They’ll get over it.”

“If yeh say so.” He worked the MineNet terminal and nodded. “That’s fi ve-seventy-one over to yeh.” I ran the numbers in my head. That’d be enough to fi x the shuttle without leaving me broke. “Good, I need to place an order.”