Good Intentions - Chapter 2
Jack spun around, trying to spot the vanished pair in the river of townspeople flowing in and out of the square. But they moved too quickly and in too many directions and soon they were nothing more than a mass of shifting colors before his eyes. He crossed his arms and sat down on the lip of the well with a sigh, ignoring the water monger's irritated stare.
"Great," he groaned. "The last thing we need right now is to get lost in this place."
Willy continued to fill the remaining flasks with water and calmly secured them around his neck and at his belt. Jack looked up at the man, more than a little confused.
"You're awfully composed. Aren't you a little worried about what Mick might be up to?" he asked.
"He won't be that hard to find. The last two towns we've passed through have been Supressionist. I'd say he's pretty riled up for a drink, by now."
"He's at a tavern?"
"That'd be my guess."
"Well, that narrows it down, at least. What about Ikira?"
Unexpectedly, Roselyn's hand shot up and she waved it around excitedly. "I know! What about that temple we passed near the city entrance? It was a bit gaudy if you ask me but I suppose a spiritual place remains spiritual in spite of it's decorator's intentions."
Jack blinked at her for a moment and then looked at the others. "It's worth a shot," he said. Roselyn smiled back at him sweetly and glanced at Anakonda, pleased to see an angry flush in the reptilian girl's cheeks.
"Alright, then. You two go back and check out the temple and me and Ana will look for Mick," Jack said, oblivious to the suddenly sour look on the princess's face. "We'll meet back here at sunset." The two teams split up and left the plaza in opposite directions.
*****
Jack wearily made his way through the door of yet another tavern- the ninth bar they'd visited in less than an hour. He hadn't been well received in any of them; apparently, the barkeeps in this city only catered to patrons who were actually planning to buy something. He'd been thrown out of each taproom- bodily in one case. But this latest venture was already looking up, for Mick's auburn hair stood out sharply in the room full of dark-haired townsfolk.
Jack sighed, irritated and relieved at the same time, and strode up to his crewmate. Mick was leaning over the counter as he loudly related a story to the barman, who was laughing just as loudly in return. Perched beside him, a skinny girl shook a head covered in ringlets and pushed Mick's shoulder playfully. The barman was just sliding another glass toward Mick when Jack stepped in and pushed the shot away.
"You could've at least told us where you were going, Mick," Jack said in the sternest tone he could manage.
"Yeah. And I'm sure you would've been happy to oblige, right?" Mick replied. "In any case, I thought it would take a lot longer for you to find me. I haven't even got a buzz, yet!"
Jack bit back a nasty comment and pushed the shot glass closer to the curly-haired girl. She smiled at him slightly but her eyes kept flicking to the Xyber strapped across his back. He dismissed her curiosity and returned his attention to Mick.
"Well, now that we know where you've been, got any ideas where Ikira might be?"
Mick raised an eyebrow cynically and grinned. "Uh, try behind you?"
Jack whirled around to find his mentor at the opposite end of the tavern placing bets at the gaming tables. Ana trailed behind him in a futile attempt to break the gambling spell but he kept waving her away and muttering something about bad luck.
"I thought he was over this!" Jack growled.
"Apparently not," Mick said, clearly disinterested. "You better go assist Snake Girl with her intervention before he blows all of his cash."
As Jack rushed off to the rune tables, Mick turned back to the girl beside him. He smiled at her and pulled the shot glass back toward him. "So, where were we?"
Jack squeezed his way through the crowd at the gaming tables and caught Ikira's sleeve before the old man could escape to another table. "What are you doing?" Jack demanded.
"Well, I would be winning if she'd just leave me be," he answered with a curt nod in Ana's direction. "You're distracting me, both of you!"
"It's been months since you've gambled. I thought you had beaten this problem."
"I don't have a 'problem'. I never did. I just didn't have the necessary funds to continue placing bets- now I do. So, if you'll excuse me..." Ikira said and broke away from Jack's grasp. He sauntered over to the next table while Jack and Ana watched with worried expressions.
"What do we do now? Drag him away?" Ana asked doubtfully.
"Ikira? Taken somewhere against his will? Never happen. Not without a lot more of us, anyway. And a bat."
"We can't leave him here," she pressed.
"I know," Jack sighed. The tavern door swung open as another customer entered the bar. As the door slowly shut itself Jack was surprised to see that the sun was hanging low in the sky and that the streets were already lost in shadow. "It'll be sunset before we even get back to the fountain. Maybe Mick can watch Ikira while we get the others. There's got to be an inn somewhere around here."
Jack turned back to the bar to call Mick over but his chair was empty. Jack's eyes darted back and forth across the tavern but Mick was nowhere in sight. Angrily, he slammed his fist down on the gaming table, earning some startled looks from the gamblers around him. "Now where'd he go?"
*****
Mick smiled to himself as he followed the skinny girl from the tavern through the twisting streets of the city. He'd always enjoyed the heady rush of a clever get-away. Of course, escaping Jack's attention wasn't much of a challenge but Ana was usually a little more diligent and he'd slipped easily past her gaze tonight. Twice! He laughed lightly and the girl turned around to give him a quizzical look.
When he'd first entered the bar he thought she had been striking. But upon closer inspection it was clear that she was nothing extraordinary- pretty but rather plain. Her hair was tightly coiled into neat, springy ringlets but the blackness of them was more a dull charcoal than the sleek ebony of her fellow natives. Even her eyes and skin, both varying shades of olive, were tinged with an unhealthy greyness. On top of everything else, she was beyond slim. Her cheekbones, vertebrae, shoulders, collarbones, and elbows protruded sharply under her skin and her droopy, oversized wardrobe didn't help appearances.
When he only smiled in response to her questioning gaze she turned around again and led him down another sidestreet.
"What's your name, anyway?" Mick asked.
"Ilsa," she said and pointed to a dilapidated, sandstone building. "It's up there."
"I'm Mick."
"You already told me at the tavern, remember?" she asked, smiling. He didn't really but it wasn't weighing heavily on his mind. Ilsa pulled a tattered drapery aside and revealed an uneven, stone staircase that led to the dwelling's second floor. She took his hand and pulled him up after her. The stairwell was dangerously dark and after smacking his forehead roughly against a ceiling beam he was careful to stay crouched down as they made their way upstairs.
"This is wonderful," she told him. "It's just been sitting up here for years. My father was a mechanic, too, but he never really had any use for this type of motor. If you want it, we could certainly use the money."
Mick nodded. He'd stumbled into a conversation about the C.L.O.D. over his third shot of liquid fire and had gone off on a rant about it's latest trauma- a kaput motor that nobody seemed to have in stock. Ilsa had then excitedly described the machine that sat in her greatroom as the base for a table; it matched Mick's description of the motor perfectly.
But now she expected to be paid for it? Traveling with a naive goody-two-shoes for six months had admittedly changed Mick's perspective on the topic of loyalty but he was still a long way off from respecting the virtue of an honest trade. She'd get paid but not until after a long and involved haggling ruse had reduced the motor's price to a fraction of it's value. If it had any value at all.
At the top of the stairs she pulled aside another curtain and led him into a candlelit sitting room. It was sparsely furnished with a large rug on the floor, a small table in the corner, and two ratty cushions that served as chairs. She motioned for him to sit down but he politely declined.
"Wait here and I'll go get it," she said and stepped into another room through a doorframe hung with strings of beads.
Mick laughed. "You'll go get it? Those things weigh as much as a person! I better help you."
He was just walking through the beaded veil when something heavy crashed down on the back of his head. He fell to the floor and rolled over onto his side. As the room spun around him and his vision blurred into darkness, he saw Ilsa standing over him with a heavy spike of wood. He didn't see the motor she had promised him.