The First Book of Ore: The Foundry's Edge (26 page)

Micah snatched up the Lodestar, reversed the polarity, and sucked up a spouting stream of bullets. He fired at the Watchman, and the purple shotgun blast folded his head like a tin can. Something moved inside the fractured remains of his skull, a thrashing and wriggling belt gone haywire.

The sparking Watchman collapsed, and Micah let out a whoop. But the victory was short-lived. Outside, lights flared as figures rappelled from above.

Mr. Pynch and the Marquis caught up, and the fat mehkan gritted to his partner in Rattletrap. The Marquis adjusted his opticle, changing its light to a deep purple color that made the growths fluoresce brightly.

“Here!” Mr. Pynch hurried toward a big blob of brilliant white on the side of the mottled wall. The others gathered around it, and the Marquis changed his opticle back to normal—the radiant blotch vanished.

Mr. Pynch touched the area where they had seen the white glow. The hard metal surface gave way to his touch, melting into a spongy gel.

The Aero-copters slung low, blasting a tide of bullet rain off their shuddering blades. The clacking boots of Watchmen soldiers raced into the shadows behind them.

“Inside, now!” Mr. Pynch ordered.

With no room to second guess, Phoebe pushed her arm into the mushy surface. The wall slurped around her, slowly sucking her in.

It felt like being consumed.

She held her breath and dove in.

 

he gelatinous wall squeezed Phoebe on all sides, blotting out her vision and cutting off her air. Just before fear of suffocation set in, she spilled out on a ridged floor.

She pulled away her hood and mask to catch her breath as the others tumbled in after her. The Marquis's opticle dimmed and brightened in rapid succession as if he were panting. His light reflected off the glass-smooth cavern walls. She looked back at the jellylike barrier as it hardened, mimicking the texture of the wall until no trace remained.

They sat there for a long while, unmoving. The shudder of Aero-copters, the crash of bullet rain, and the stomp of soldiers were scarcely more than whispers. It was as if the chaos had already faded into distant memory.

The silence was broken at last—by Micah's laughter.

“That was…the best thing…EVER!” he wheezed.

“It was sheer insolence,” Mr. Pynch grumbled, mopping his brow with his necktie. “Utterly temerarious. In fact, it be the most capricious, fatuous, suicidalizing behavior I ever did…” His tie flopped apart in his fingers—a rip up the middle had split it in half. He inflated and barked a barrage of Rattletrap curses, which made Micah laugh all the more. The Marquis shook with silent giggles and pointed to his partner's shredded tie. Even Phoebe broke into helpless laughter. It was like releasing a long-held breath.

Dollop, however, just watched in sullen silence.

“Ah yes. Kudos! Touché! It be one great big jocundity to you all,” Mr. Pynch snipped, pointing at the Marquis. “I don't know what yer cachinnating at. You think the Foundry will do business with observated saboteurs?”

The Marquis shrugged and flickered out a rapid response.

Mr. Pynch scoffed. “I hardly see how that—”

The Marquis nodded insistently and pointed at the kids.

“Absolutely not,” Mr. Pynch said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I won't be tellin' 'em that. It'll go straight to their cockamamie heads.”

“Tell us what?” Micah asked.

The Marquis's light got brighter, forcing Mr. Pynch to shield his eyes.

“All right, all right! Shutter that pesky peeper of yours.” Mr. Pynch angled his wonky eyes at the kids. “Me exceedingly indulgent associate congratulates you on yer victory and admires the demonstrable merit of yer characters.”

“Hey thanks, chum!” Micah grinned.

Phoebe looked at the Marquis and felt a gush of pride. He was right—it
was
a victory. She beamed at him, and the light dimmed a little as the Marquis sheepishly hid his opticle.

“Meself, on the other hand,” Mr. Pynch said, yanking off his shredded necktie and flinging it to the ground, “I believe you two be more trouble than yer worth.” He stomped off, deflating flatulently with every step. As they all got up to follow, Phoebe paused to scoop up the discarded scraps of green silk.

The Marquis illuminated the cavern, revealing shining blue-gray walls that looked cauterized, as if something had melted right through the ore. The passages were ridged and irregular, some only a few feet across and others wide enough for a liodim. There were countless pathways branching off in every direction, so that it felt like wandering through an enormous ant farm.

“Say, where's your big bag of junk?” Micah asked.

“If you must know, we was forced to ensconce our precious valuables in one of me many hidey-holes.” Mr. Pynch shot a disgruntled glance over his shoulder. “Including yer proffered payment, I might add.”

“Oh no!” said Phoebe.

“Oh yes,” retorted Mr. Pynch. “Which means me associate and I be fulfilling our end of the contract speculatively, presuming some vagrant doesn't absquatulate with me ‘junk,' as you so gracelessly put it.”

“You're a man of your word, Pynch. And so am I,” declared Micah. “You saved our butts back there, and I'm gonna make sure it's worth your while.”

“I'm sure you will,” he muttered. The Marquis turned back and mockingly mimed a grumpy Mr. Pynch, which cracked the kids up. “Not like me loot bag would fit in these accursed plasm channels anyway.”

“Plasm channel?” Phoebe asked.

The Marquis nodded excitedly and rotated the housing of his opticle to flood the cavern with deep purple light. Scattered throughout were dozens of the same luminous white-violet shapes they had used to enter these tunnels.

“Yes, yes, plasm,” Mr. Pynch grumbled, annoyed at the distraction. “Lazy but harmless mehkans. They be blubbulous globules that live for thousands of phases and do nothing but eat mountains, albeit imperceptibly slow. Lucky for you, the Vo-Pykarons be saturated with such digested capillaries.” He swatted at the Marquis. “Now put the light back on, and no more interruptions. I need me full concentration so we don't all rust in this blasted goo tube.”

The Marquis switched the light back, and they quietly continued on their way, trying not to bother Mr. Pynch, who grumbled in irritable Rattletrap. She thought about asking Dollop what he was saying, but their little friend was so far behind he was just a pair of glinting amber eyes in the dark. All the talk about Mr. Pynch's bag made Phoebe long for their abandoned rucksack. The familiar ache of hunger pulled at her stomach, and her throat was dried up. It wouldn't be long before the need for sustenance dominated her thoughts again.

They marched in silence for hours, wandering through wide corridors and squeezing through steep passages. They wound around the plasm channels until Mr. Pynch stopped so abruptly that the Marquis collided with him. He sniffed at the air, and they heard the whir-click of his nozzle. The Marquis's opticle blinked rapidly as he pointed to a tunnel on his left. Mr. Pynch responded and motioned insistently to the right.

“Lost,” whispered Micah to Phoebe.

“Don't worry,” she said. “They'll get us out of here.”

Micah gave her a surprised look.

After a brief spat, their guides turned around and started marching back the way they had come. Mr. Pynch wore a puckered scowl and didn't acknowledge them as he stomped past. The Marquis just shrugged apologetically. They backtracked through the channels and came across Dollop, huddled against the wall and hugging his knees.

“Dollop?” Phoebe said gently, “What's wrong?”

“M-m-m-me. I'm wrong.”

Micah helped Dollop to his feet, and the three of them followed after the Marquis's light, which was vanishing down the glossy tunnel.

“Aren't you proud?” Phoebe asked. “Of what we did?”

“Wh-what
you
did, not m-m-me. I d-didn't do anything.”

“
'Course you did.” Micah clapped a hand on Dollop's shoulder. “You were our lookout. Hey, come to think of it, maybe that's your function!”

“It-it's not, and you kn-know it,” he whimpered. “I pr-pray every night for Makina to reveal my p-p-purpose in Her infinite and infallible plan, err, for s-s-some sort of sign. But n-nothing. I don't have a f-f-function.”

“Come on, don't say that,” said Micah.

“You were brave,” Phoebe offered. “That's what matters.”

“All I did was, um, fall apart and alm-m-most get you two k-k-killed. I'm ho-hopeless. Always w-w-was,” the little mehkan moaned. “It's prob-b-bably why I was abandoned, why I don't have a cl-clan.”

“No way,” replied Micah. “You don't know that.”

“We never would have gotten this far without you,” she reminded him. “We need you.”

“You w-won't once you find your f-f-father. Uh, m-m-my service will be done. Then, in a couple cycles, I'm so stupid I'll f-f-forget all about you.”

“You ain't stupid, all right? Now cut it out,” Micah argued.

“Even at the housing of the W-Waybound where I—I was raised, I always m-m-messed things up. I-I'd get the prayer of thanks mixed up with, you know, the prayer of m-m-mourning. I'd, um, fall apart in the middle of s-s-sacred rituals, and the axials would have to stop the ceremony to r-r-reassemble me.”

“Everybody messes up sometimes,” Phoebe reassured him.

“But n-nobody messes up
all
the time. Just me.” Dollop slowed his step and began to lag behind again. “Please, just…just let me be alone.”

Phoebe went to comfort him, but Micah grabbed her arm and shook his head. She looked back until Dollop was once again shrouded in shadows, just a pair of reflective eyes lingering in the dark.

“Huzzah!” came Mr. Pynch's reverberating cry.

The kids followed his voice down the winding canals, feeling the air grow fresh as they approached. The passage opened up to a series of lofty chambers like interconnected ventricles in the heart of the mountain. The floor was littered with bullet rain, some of the pellets softening and splitting like beads of mercury as they were absorbed into the ore. The ceiling fifty feet overhead was dotted with irregular skylights, which cast glowing pools across the glassy surfaces.

Mr. Pynch and the Marquis observed the night sky.

“An auspicious development,” Mr. Pynch grunted. “By our constellular calculations, we be closer to Sen Ta'rine than I suspected. As your reluctant employee, I advise you to respite here a spell while we arbitrate the most desirable route.”

“I could use a rest,” Phoebe agreed with a sigh.

“Sounds like a plan,” said Micah.

Behind them, Dollop quietly slipped in and found himself a dark, secluded pocket. The Marquis fussed about, found a comfy little alcove, and drew his collapsible pocket brush. He fastidiously swept the bullet rain away and beckoned the kids to come over and sit.

“Thank you,” Phoebe said politely as she settled herself.

“Aw, man,” groaned Micah in relief as he plopped down nearby and began to peel off his boots. “Are my dogs barkin'! You're the best, Marq.”

This took the Marquis aback, and his opticle light turned a warm and rosy color. Mr. Pynch ambled over and grabbed his partner by the collar, dragging him away. His voice and the Marquis's light faded, and the kids were left in silence, illuminated only by the dim, fluctuating glow of stars.

A wave of stink assaulted Phoebe's nose as Micah started cleaning out the gunk from between his toes. She held back her comments and glanced over to the darkness where their depressed little friend had disappeared.

“I'm worried about Dollop,” she said.

“Yeah,” agreed Micah. “Hopefully he'll just forget he's bummed out.”

After a moment, he began to chuckle and shake his head.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothin'. It's just…That was pure wicked. You got guts.”

It was probably the greatest compliment he could muster, even if it did sound suspiciously like a catchphrase from
Maddox
. Smiling, Phoebe avoided his gaze and noticed that her skirt had been torn by the bullet rain. She dug in her sniping pockets for the needle and thread and set about making her mends.

“Randy and his stupid cadet buddies never pulled off anything half as sweet,” he said. “Nice to see you prank someone who deserves it for a change.”

It took her a few seconds before his meaning sank in. All those bullies she had sniped throughout the years—Candice, Tennyson, even Micah—at one time, cutting them down to size had been the most important thing in the world. That was a different life. The Foundry was the only enemy that mattered now.

“Can I ask you something?” she said.

“Shoot,” he said, cracking the knuckles of his toes.

“Why did you lie to me?”

“I didn't!” he said defensively. “About what?”

“In Fuselage. About you and Dollop keeping watch.”

Shock registered on Micah's face. “Look…I just,” he said, searching for an answer. “I mean, here's the thing. I didn't…I only—”

“I'm not mad,” she said.

“Really?” he said, unsure. “Then why you askin'?”

Phoebe squinted at her stitching, holding it up to the dim light. “We're almost to the Citadel. We don't know what we're going to find when we get there.” She looked up at him. “I—I need to know I can trust you.”