Zhi didn't go back to the little temp-flat in the Reach. She went to one of her numerous hidey-holes instead -- after much doubling back and taking circuitous routes to ensure she wasn't being followed -- and shucked Joz's clothing in favor of tighter garments that suited climbing. Zhi was going to be doing a lot of climbing, that night.
First though, she made a stop in at the room Galleon had rented for her. Brindle wasn't in (which was good; she wasn't paying him to sit on his ass, assuming he was actually doing work), so she sat and waited for him.
She ate most of the food he'd stored in the room as the bells passed, and was playing dice when he arrived. He showed no surprise to see her sitting there, which was good.
"Ye'll need t'leave here in six -- ah, nah, four suns. Four suns from now, go t'ground."
He sat into the chair opposite her own, slinging a sack down under the table. He smelled like blood. Faint. Two days old. at least.
"Got news on Galleon," he said.
Her head came up, ears pricked forward. That was unexpected. "What, that he's plannin' on killin' me?"
Brindle was distracted away from his news. He met her eyes. "Fer true?"
"Gut feelin'."
He rolled his eyes and looked away. "I think he's got ties t'the Edge."
"How?"
"He ain't in town but someone wi' his description meets up wi' one o' th' Edge's smugglin' vessels every moon'r so, goes an' meets wi' a marked member. Y'know, actin' like a boss. Don't know if he's in it, but th'way I heard it, there's a link."
"From who?"
Brindle went quiet for a long moment. Zhi glared at him. "Skinner," he said, finally. Then, "An' ol' One-Eye."
"Shit," Zhi muttered.
"Yeah."
"Shit."
Brindle's mouth twisted. He was staring at her, anxiously awaiting the answers to the posed difficulty. That was going to hurt him later, she knew. He was going to have to learn the hard way that he'd have to start figuring out what to do on his own.
Not until after this job.
"Go t'ground in four suns. Don't try t'find me. Go dark. An' check about afore y'hit any o'yer regulars. After that ye can keep up wi' yer gig as a doxy --"
"I ain't a doxy."
She smiled, humorless. "Hit th'green hole in a fortnight. If I'm still kickin', it'll be standard. If not. . ."
He shrugged, one-shouldered and sullen.
She stood. Her dice were pocketed in a single clean motion. "If I ain't, go t'Thatcher. Do what ye can t'finish th'job. Clove'll know th'score. He'll see y'take over th'contract. Take over wi' Jager, too. He'll bitch, but he'll settle. Got anythin' else fer me?"
Brindle ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. He was staring at some spot along the bed. "Should I give it t'ye, or. . ."
She frowned, "Tell me."
He did. Once they'd talked it over, discussed what he was to do in the next four days, she moved to the door.
"Fair winds, kid," she said.
"Gods save ye," he muttered, long after she was gone.
First though, she made a stop in at the room Galleon had rented for her. Brindle wasn't in (which was good; she wasn't paying him to sit on his ass, assuming he was actually doing work), so she sat and waited for him.
She ate most of the food he'd stored in the room as the bells passed, and was playing dice when he arrived. He showed no surprise to see her sitting there, which was good.
"Ye'll need t'leave here in six -- ah, nah, four suns. Four suns from now, go t'ground."
He sat into the chair opposite her own, slinging a sack down under the table. He smelled like blood. Faint. Two days old. at least.
"Got news on Galleon," he said.
Her head came up, ears pricked forward. That was unexpected. "What, that he's plannin' on killin' me?"
Brindle was distracted away from his news. He met her eyes. "Fer true?"
"Gut feelin'."
He rolled his eyes and looked away. "I think he's got ties t'the Edge."
"How?"
"He ain't in town but someone wi' his description meets up wi' one o' th' Edge's smugglin' vessels every moon'r so, goes an' meets wi' a marked member. Y'know, actin' like a boss. Don't know if he's in it, but th'way I heard it, there's a link."
"From who?"
Brindle went quiet for a long moment. Zhi glared at him. "Skinner," he said, finally. Then, "An' ol' One-Eye."
"Shit," Zhi muttered.
"Yeah."
"Shit."
Brindle's mouth twisted. He was staring at her, anxiously awaiting the answers to the posed difficulty. That was going to hurt him later, she knew. He was going to have to learn the hard way that he'd have to start figuring out what to do on his own.
Not until after this job.
"Go t'ground in four suns. Don't try t'find me. Go dark. An' check about afore y'hit any o'yer regulars. After that ye can keep up wi' yer gig as a doxy --"
"I ain't a doxy."
She smiled, humorless. "Hit th'green hole in a fortnight. If I'm still kickin', it'll be standard. If not. . ."
He shrugged, one-shouldered and sullen.
She stood. Her dice were pocketed in a single clean motion. "If I ain't, go t'Thatcher. Do what ye can t'finish th'job. Clove'll know th'score. He'll see y'take over th'contract. Take over wi' Jager, too. He'll bitch, but he'll settle. Got anythin' else fer me?"
Brindle ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. He was staring at some spot along the bed. "Should I give it t'ye, or. . ."
She frowned, "Tell me."
He did. Once they'd talked it over, discussed what he was to do in the next four days, she moved to the door.
"Fair winds, kid," she said.
"Gods save ye," he muttered, long after she was gone.
