Chapter Ten - Deal

I didn’t just disconnect from Rusty and jump out. That would have been one stupid move too many for the day. I took a moment to glance at every mech around me, making sure that none of them were moving, that none had any crew about to jump out and ruin my day.

More than it had been, at least.

I picked up Rusty’s rifle from the ground and inspected it. The sights were entirely ruined, glass broken and the fine mechanism that made them flip up leaking hydraulic fluid all over. I bet there was sand all over the insides too. I pulled the lever back manually and tipped the gun over, letting a bit of the stuff fall out.

I cycled it a few times, catching each ejected round as I checked the firing mechanism. Still functional, it seemed. So I reloaded it and slung it back over Rusty’s shoulder. One of the back clamps was screwed up, of course, so it hung a little awkwardly, but I could manage.

Bending Rusty forwards so that I could planted my feet on the front of the cabin, I started to yank the periscopes back into place.

Took some doing, but when I sat back down I could see a little better. Things were still out of focus, but I knew a few good mechanics that could look over that.

“Right,” I said. Enough stalling. Time to see what sort of loot I’d gotten.

It had better be worth the repairs I’d need to give Rusty.

I yanked the lock off on Rusty’s front, then shoved it open with a kick. The air outside of the mech was just a little warmer than inside, which meant that it was basically like leaping out of the boiling water and into the fire.

My knees bent as I landed on the sand before Rusty. Reaching back, I found my rifle among the pile of equipment that had fallen to the cabin’s floor when Rusty and I had taken a tumble, then slung it over my back.

I’d need to take a minute to clean that up, but that was for later.

Stepping back, I walked a circle around Rusty, wincing with every step, and it wasn’t just the muscles I’d hit while tumbling. Rusty was in rougher condition than I had thought. I saw a few new scratches, some dents along the back and a few guide rods were bent right out of shape. No more leaking than usual though. A silver lining. A real fine one.

I tugged my hat down and glared across the desert while resisting the urge to cough. I’d swallowed some sand.

Returning to Rusty, I found a flask on the ground, realized it was my whiskey, realized that I didn’t care, and took a good swallow. Mask on, I started off towards the elven mecha.

They were in worse condition than I had initially thought. Good for scrap, and maybe the three together had enough bits intact to make one mech. One very fancy elf-made mecha. I whistled as I walked past the one with the strange back-pack. Its cabin was the least damaged of the lot. The mech had a human--or maybe elven was more accurate--face made of cast steel. It was frowning ahead, but its eyes were hollowed out and there were two vision stones there. Like Rusty’s, but far smaller and set in the centre of a gyroscope.

Bet those were worth their weight in gold.

I tamped down my greed and continued on. The elf that had fallen had been in a hurry when he moved. I could see where he landed easily enough, his robes leaving distinct marks on the sand.

Following those with my gaze, and extrapolating a little where the sand hand already shifted to cover the movements, I found a track leading to some stones a little ways down.

I started that way. “Hey!” I called out. “You alright?”

I saw someone move, green robes shifting behind a stone. “I don’t know who you think you are, assaulting a prince of Lunastum, but you will regret it!”

“Uh,” I said. “Yeah, no, I saw your flares, came over to see what was going on. You look like you’re the only living one around here.”

The elf stood up and spun around, and I flinched as a trio of shots rang out.

When I opened my eyes and looked around, I found the elf pointing the piddliest, most pitiful little three-barreled holdout derringer my way, eyes set and determined until he realized that he’d just missed.

I reached to my hip and carefully pulled my revolver out, then cocked the hammer.

I imagined it was loud, but my ears were ringing too hard to hear it.

The elf dropped his pathetic little pistol and raised his hands. His mouth moved, and I figured he was surrendering, but there was no way to know.

I shoved a pinky in my ear and wiggled it around. Twisting my jaw left and right helped a little too. “Right,” I said. “I’m going to shoot you in the leg now, then I’m going to loot those mechs back there for parts. None of which will fix mine, and then I’m leaving. Good luck.”

Stretching my arm out, I aimed at his legs.

“Wait! Wait!” he screamed. “Wait! I didn’t mean you any harm.”

“You didn’t mean to hurt me when you shot at me?” I asked. Were elves all this stupid, or was this one a unique specimen? I tilted my head down, shading my eyes a little better, and took a closer look at him.

He seemed young, maybe a couple of years my junior. Then again, he wasn’t human. Tall, lanky even, with blond hair that was just long enough to be tied back in a bun, and of course a pair of long, sharp ears.

I’d have called him a good looking man under different circumstances.

He lowered his arms and stood a little taller. “Forgive me, truly. You said you came here to rescue me? Were you sent by the Teast’wood clan? By an ally?”

“Nah, saw the flares, heard the trouble,” I said. I gestured over to the fallen mechs. “You folk here made a racket.”

He nodded. “I see. I didn’t think Rhon’da’s idea would work.” He slumped out of his straight-backed posture a little. “Thank you. Truly. Taking out two gnomish war mechs is an impressive accomplishment. Are you with a garrison from Flattbluff?”

He was high on cactus smoke if he thought Flatbluff would send anyone this far out. Not that they had many folk to send to begin with. “No, I’m a bounty hunter,” I said. “Charlie. Charlie Norwood. Usually out of Galenook, sometimes over in Mortarview when the winds carry me that way.”

“Galenook,” he repeated like someone who hadn’t heard of the place. Which in all fairness, was most folk. “Well, thank you, Charlie Norwood. I’m Clin, of clan Teast’wood. You have my gratitude for saving me.”

I nodded. Never heard of his clan. But his threads were nice, and he had the elven knack for sounding as though he had coin to spare. “You’re still dead,” I said.

“Pardon?” he asked.

I leaned to the side on a cocked hip and tapped my revolver against my thigh. “You’re still dead. You’re about, oh, a day’s walk from the foot of the Shadow Heights. Three from Mortarview. No, more like four, it’s mid-day. That’s if there aren’t any storms between now and then.”

“Ah,” he said.

“And none of these mechs look like they work.”

“I’ve done some mechanical work before,” he tried.

One of the elven mechs chose that moment to tip backwards and crash down with a thud that shook the ground underfoot.

Clin licked his lips. “A day’s walk, you said?”

“In the desert,” I confirmed. “How much water can you carry?” I had to hold back a grin at the look of consternation on his face. This man was pale, and his robes weren’t the sort advised for long days in the sun. He was sweating a river already.

“How much?” he asked at last. At least he was savvy.

“Depends. How much trouble you in?” I gestured to the mecha behind us. “Gnomes don’t stray far from their mountain passes. Not for fun. And I never heard of them picking a fight with the elves.” I pointed to him next. “Now, I ain’t the most observant, or cleverest sort of woman. But you don’t look like a pilot, or any sort of person who ought to be on a battlefield of any sort. So my guess is that those fine gnomes were after your hide.”

Clin grimaced. “They’re double-crossing...” He closed his eyes for a moment, then looked at me. Really looked, like a sober drunkard eyeing a bottle of moon juice. “How good of a person are you, Charlie Norwood?”

“I’m good at what I do, and that’s whatever will pad my pockets,” I said.

He scoffed. “I see. In that case, I’ll say this much. I’m probably worth a fair bit to the gnomes. I’m worth a whole lot more to me and mine, and we have more gold than the gnomes.”

Elves were rich little hoarders, what with their fruits and suchlike. “One thousand gold,” I shot out.

Clin didn’t even flinch. “Deal.”

“That’ll get you to Mortarview. Right up to the gate. Maybe to the saloon if I’m feeling generous.”

Clin nodded. “I can have the money transferred to you.”

That would take sending a bank note to and from the elves and to Flatbluff. Probably a month or more before I saw the first glint of yellow.

But then, a thousand gold. That was nearly half of Rusty’s value, when Rusty wasn’t looking so rusty.

I shoved my revolver into its holster and stepped over to Clin. He hesitated, but when I put my hand out to shake, he took it.

“Deal,” I said.

***