The Daughter of Geth, A Prequel to The Guild Series Page 4

  Chapter Three

  Elimination Balo

   

  Thad closed the door behind him, and the top of a faded red barn loomed in the distance. The place wasn’t far, but difficult to get to. He checked the com’s map again. They would have to zigzag through Gethite neighborhoods in order to find it. The street the barn stood on dead ended and had limited access.

  As he towed Nassi, Thad glanced at him. “How’d a barn get in the middle of town?”

  The Gethite shrugged, and his lazy eye drifted toward the red structure standing behind a maze of stone houses. “This was a farm years ago. The city just kind of swallowed the thing, and nobody bothered to tear it down.”

  As they neared people, Thad stopped just before an alley connecting the street he was on to the one for the barn. He yanked Nassi into the shadows of a corner building and thumped Morse on the back. “Keep an eye out. Captain Thorn gave me enough liquid mask to work for a couple of hours. We need to go ahead and use it before someone stops us and asks too many questions.”

  Morse leaned against the wall, blocking any curious stares. Standing behind him, Thad reached into his pocket and retrieved a tiny metal box. He held Nassi against the wall, squeezed the thing, and held it over the Gethite’s head. “Hold your breath.”

  Nassi did as instructed. Thad poured a drop or two of a rubbery, blue substance onto his head. The stuff grew in mass, bubbling and foaming, then it ran down Nassi’s face and slowly solidified.

  Thad sculpted the clay-like substance, pushing it under the Gethite’s chin and behind his ears. “Hold your breath just a bit longer, Nassi. Don’t try to talk, it might crack the stuff.”

  Thad kept working until the blue substance morphed into the color of the Gethite’s skin. Soon it formed a mask and gave the appearance of an older, more weathered face.

  Thad stepped back and eyed his work. “No one will recognize you now. You look twenty years older.”

  “Someone’s coming,” Morse whispered.

  “It’s okay.” Thad led the Gethite from the shadows as a couple of women, scarfs over their heads, shuffled past them without looking up.

  Morse’s lower lip popped out and his hairy brows arched. “He looks completely different.”

  “It should last a couple of hours. Let’s get moving. Once we get inside the Balo, you keep him very close.”

  “I’ll guard him like my life depends on it, Commander.”

  According to the map, this alley offered them a shortcut. Leaning tenements stood on each side of the alley, facing the mud trough-like street. Most appeared vacant. Thad and his group stayed close to the sagging buildings on their right, keeping Nassi between them. About halfway along, Thad spotted the rounded roof of the barn poking above the tenements at the far end.

  “For a shortcut, you’d think there’d be more people along here,” he said. “Especially with a Balo just around the corner and not many ways to get there.”

  Nassi peered at his surroundings and slurred as he said, “Uh, oh. We took a wrong turn. Better go back and go down to the next street before she sees us.”

  Thad snarled. “What are you talking about?”

  Nassi frowned. “This is the witch’s alley. Geez, am I having a stretch of bad luck. Better hold your noses.”

  In the doorway of a crumbling stone tenement, an old woman stood on the other side of the rutted thoroughfare. She wore a tattered, black dress and a gray shawl draped over her hunched shoulders. Her stiff, silver hair poked out from under a black scarf, and her nose twisted down like a bowed gherkin. Bent at the waist—almost to a ninety degree angle—she chattered to herself. She had to crook her neck to look up at passersby, and she currently had her gaze locked on two burly Gethites coming down the alley from the opposite direction.

  In a shrill voice, she yelled at the two men, “How about I read your futures, you buttholes? Just five hundred thousand krachnards.” She belched, then cackled.

  They stiffened, the color draining from their cheeks as they hurried along.

  “How about a date then, sailors?”

  Nassi slowed. “I told you we took a wrong turn. There she is. We’re going to get it now.”

  When the old woman still didn’t get a response, her eyes narrowed and a pointed tongue darted out of her mouth and snaked along her lips. “I suppose they’ve let some more dimwits out of the asylum. Look at you…walking like a couple of pregnant women looking for a toilet. What say I curse the both of you just for the fun of it?”

  The Gethites stopped, and one turned with his head low, almost bowing. His lower lip trembled. “No, mother. Don’t do that.” He pitched her a coin. “For your trouble. See? Just for you.”

  They hastened away, and one of them croaked at the other, “I told you we should never come this way.”

  “I thought she was dead by now, okay?’

  The hag scooped up the coin and examined it. She licked it with her tongue; her eyes brightened as she tucked it away in some hidden fold of her dress. “The next time you two heifers pass this way, you bring my five hundred thousand krachnards, or I’ll curse you anyway.”

  Nassi dug his heels in. “Don’t let her see us. Let’s go back, before she curses us.”

  “We’re going this way,” Thad said. “All this is a dream, so don’t worry about it.”

  “I hate it when I dream about witches.”

  Another Gethite followed the first two. Tall and thin, he wore ragged trousers and a wooly vest with the clasps fastened unevenly down the front. He staggered, and when he got near the woman, his eyes rounded. Almost tripping over his feet as he darted forward, he crossed the alley, giving her a wide swath. “I don’t want no trouble, mother,” he muttered. “I got lost, is all.”

  She cackled again. “Well, well…what do we have here? Drunk in the middle of the day, are we?” She sniffed the air with her long honker. “Drinking the cheap stuff too.”

  He dropped his gaze to the ground, ambling indirectly toward the trio.

  The old woman intrigued Thad. Morse tugged at Nassi to get him going, but Thad stretched his arm out and stopped them. “Hang on.”

  “I’m not even going to waste my breath reading your future…you won’t remember it, bean sprout. Come back here and pull my finger.” She farted. “Oops, too late.”

  The staggering Gethite moved faster, pushing his way past Morse and croaking, “Watch out she don’t curse you.”

  Her gaze drifted to Thad. “Read your future…Guild officer?”

  Thad’s eyes narrowed. How does she know me? “We’re Gethites, old woman. You should have your eyes checked.”

  She grinned, revealing a single brown tooth hanging in the center of her, prune-like mouth. “Come, and I’ll read your future, Thad Cochran.” She popped out a squeaky fart and then grinned again. “Don’t judge me. I’m an old woman with a condition.”

  Thad grabbed Morse by the shoulder. “Stay here and keep an eye on him. I need to speak with her.”

  Morse’s eyes got real big. “She’s a Gethite witch. I’ve heard they boil babies and eat them. Let’s get going.”

  The old woman chortled. “You’re fat and brainless, aren’t you? Just like the first two. You see, porky, we don’t eat babies…anymore. They’re high in carbohydrates, and I’m on a health kick. Anyway, I don’t have time to follow every pregnant Gethite waif around until she drops a screamer. I make my living reading futures. Lucky for me I’m so pretty or I wouldn’t get any business at all during these difficult economic times.” She lifted her chin and showed them her profile.

  “Pretty, my rear end,” Morse said.

  “I heard that, mono-brow. That stuff is so thick birds could live in it. Anyway, I’ll have you know I’m the only child of Geth’s third wife, Amethyst—the beautiful one of the bunch.” The old woman batted her eyes. “Geth had a thing for magical females who practiced the black arts so he married fourteen of them. I figure he must have been in pretty good shape. Anyway, we prefer to be calle
d, sorceresses, because it sounds prissy.” She glared at Morse. “We don’t care for the word witch—it’s demeaning.” She belched. “Does that sound right to you? I’m thinking of having it tuned.”

  Morse drew his mouth up. “Let’s get out of here before someone lights a candle.”

  Nassi cocked his head. “Who’s tooting?”

  “No one,” Thad said. “You’re still dreaming. Now stay quiet.”

  “Oh, my mistake.”

  “Another genius,” the old woman said. “Take that one with you back to your spaceship and the IQ of the entire planet will increase exponentially. Did you hear that? I used a big word.”

  “Not so loud,” Thad said. His gaze shifted to Morse, and he scowled. “There’s no such thing as witches and black magic. Keep an eye out.” He crossed the alley and stopped with his foot on the bottom step. “Are you Guild? Is that how you know me? Who told you we have a spaceship? Give me names, and I’ll pay you well.”

  Because of the bend to the woman’s back, they were at eye level. She had pale blue eyes and wasn’t quite the hag she first appeared to be. She studied him, and her lips thinned. “Handsome and stubborn. You had a little sister, and she died of the fever. You were never nice to her, and your conscience keeps you up at night because of it. Who do you suppose could tell me that, if not the spirits?”

  He stiffened. “Are you Guild?”

  She shook her head slowly and her eyes were like two deep, bottomless pools. “The spirits show me things, but only when they’re important. This must be very important.”

  “If you’re not Guild, then who are you? How do you know me?”

  “Come inside. My price is one million krachnards for a reading.”

  “You told those two five hundred thousand krachnards.”

  “They didn’t have it. You do. It will cost you one million.”

  He frowned. “I’ve got better things to do with my money.”

  She hissed. “You’re about to piss it away. May as well give some of it to me first.”

  “How long’s my father been dead?” He stared at her.

  She pointed a long, crooked finger at him “He’s not dead…you are. He’s already buried you, because you’re Guild.” She withdrew her hand and rubbed her chin.

   Thad turned to Morse. “Give her what she wants. We’ll still have half left for wagering. You can have my share.” He faced her. “When I left the Confederation, he told me I was dead to him.”

  She curtsied.

  “The money is mostly yours anyway, Commander. We’ll split it like we planned. But I don’t think we should trust her.”

  “It’ll be all right. If she was going to turn us in, she would have already done it.”

  Morse trotted across the alley, handed Thad the cash then returned to Nassi, who leaned against the wall talking to himself.

  She lifted her chin. “The wide one has courage he doesn’t know about. And you are afraid of things you cannot see or learn about in books.” She hobbled inside, and he followed her.

  Stopping in the doorway, he cast a glance at Morse. “Don’t let him talk to anyone. I’ll be right back.”

  Cramped and dark, the house had very little furniture, most of it thin wood with rickety chairs covered in something like burlap. There were no photographs on the walls and no techno. A rocking chair with a blanket draped over it rested against the far wall. A wooden pump handle stabbed up from a tin sink, and empty pales for carrying water littered the floor.

  She sat at a small, round table shrouded with a black tablecloth. There were two old, high-back chairs situated around the table. Bending slightly, she lifted a wooden box from the floor. The case was painted white and decorated with red flowers, like a child had drawn them. She set it on the table and nodded to the other chair.

  “Sit down, Commander Cochran. You are someone who has done interesting things. Therefore, I won’t curse you. My curses are real, and they never lift. That’s why men fear me and give me money.” A hard look crept into her eyes. “For six months I’ve had a recurring dream, Thad Cochran. I see a nameless, formless, black-eyed monster coming to destroy everything. Then I see a tall, handsome Guild officer, and I hear the monster call his name, Thad Cochran.” She motioned with her bony hand. “Sit.”

  He sat.

  “In the dream I see you coming to Geth, but I cannot tell if you are friend or foe.” She peered at him in the dim light. “I have inquired about you. It is said you are the greatest star pilot to ever live, but also you are a Thieves Guild hoodlum.”

  She opened the box and poured out its contents. Several small bones and a few colorful rocks landed on the table. She spread the items on the tabletop and then stared at each object, whispering beneath her breath.

  Glancing at him, she said, “Put your hands over these things, and we shall see if you are friend or foe.”

  When he hesitated, she assured him, “Go on. It won’t hurt. You must cover every piece with your hands.”

  He did as she said, and she placed her cold, clammy hands on top of his. In a moment, she said, “Now place the things inside the box.”

  Thad did, and she shut the lid. She held the box above her head, shook it several times, then set it down and opened it again. She stared inside, and a shadow crossed her eyes. A glint, like a yellow flame, shone above her sunken cheeks. “You will become someone you detest. You will bathe in blood, and many will die for you.” She closed the box and leaned back in her chair. “I can’t see the end of these things, only their progress. There is a mountain on a cold planet far from here. On that mountain the last one will die for you, and then we shall see how much courage the brave pilot really has.” She stretched out her hand.

  Thad handed her the bills. “Who told you my name? Who told you about my sister?”

  She shook her head slowly. “You still don’t believe. But you will. You only think of yourself. You brought the fat one with you today because you are greedy. He thinks you’re a hero.” She sneered at him. “You’re selfish, like most men. Try looking in your heart for the answer to your questions.”

  Thad pushed back from the table. “You’re making all this up.”

  “Did I lie about your sister?”

  Standing, he studied her for a moment. “Someone could have told you.”

  She cackled. “It doesn’t take a lot of brains to become a star pilot, does it?”

  He turned to leave, and when he reached the door she spoke in a sing-sing tone.

  “They will name you Lazarus.”

  He frowned. “Who will call me that?”

  “The people who will follow you. Deep down you know what I say is the truth.” She pointed a crooked finger at him. “The price for your dream will be paid in blood.”

  “I just wasted a lot of money. I suppose I should kill you, to be sure you aren’t going to talk about our presence here.”

  She smiled. “The one you will become, he would kill me, but you will not.”

  He returned to Morse and Nassi, mulling just how the old hag knew those things about him. It’s definitely not magic…what a crock.

  The old woman called to him from the doorway. “Be careful your dream doesn’t lead you, and others who care for you, into a nightmare of your making.” She farted a long, rattling fart. “I thought that needed a bit of punctuation.” She puckered and winked at Morse. “Give us a smooch, fatty.”

  Morse cringed. “It’s like she can pass wind whenever she wants. And I’m not fat…I’m big boned.”

  Thad twisted his mouth up. “She’s full of more than just gas, and I just blew half our money for her to look at a bunch of chicken bones and make up stuff. I need to get my head examined.”

  They each grabbed an arm of the Gethite, but Nassi lingered, looking at the old woman. “That’s Morning Toill. She’s the daughter of Geth’s third wife…what’s her name? Sounds like a gem. She’s the last of Geth’s children.” They pulled him along, and he looked at Thad. “She’s never wrong. She has the
magic in her. Where are we going?”

  “Nowhere. We’re going nowhere. And the only thing magical about her is her farting prowess.”

  Nassi pursed his lips. “I suppose her magic could be in her farts.”

  Morse let out a guffaw.

  When they stepped out of the alley, a line of Gethites waited to enter the old barn through tall hinged, double doors, painted red and standing open. The place had a dirt floor, a growing crowd, and splintering benches. The electric atmosphere of a Balo oozed from the timbers. Thad pushed the old woman from his thoughts. His nostrils flared, and he clenched his teeth.

  Morse nudged him with his elbow. “No one beats you at Balo…no one.”

  Once inside, Morse left Thad and Nassi and hurried to a wooden table where a fat, bald Gethite took money and shoved it into a black metal box. Morse opened his coat and laid down their ante, then unfastened the satchel and wagered their own cash. He returned quickly, his eyes lit with excitement.

  Leaning in close, he opened his stumpy hand and showed Thad a silver coin. “Baldy said not to lose this…we’ll need it.”

  Thad nodded. “That’s proof we anteed up. Did you put it all down?” He scanned the crowd. There’s a big payday here if I win it all.

  Morse nodded. “He’s giving us two to one on the first bout. You’ve been doing this a long time, haven’t you, Commander?”

  “I fought in my first one when I was fourteen.”

  “Have you ever lost?”

  “No.”

  Morse shook his head. “I told him your name is Almett Zode, from the western city.” He spoke with awe. “If someone quits, you have to stop pounding them. No other rules. Fight until someone is either knocked out or gives up. You have to win three fights to get a peek at the champion and a shot at the big pot. The final bout is timed.” His gaze scanned the crowd. “Must be three or four hundred here. They’re all putting down money.”

  “Timed?” Thad grumbled. “Why would they time it?”

  Morse shrugged, and Nassi murmured something.

  “What’s that?” Thad said.

  As if aware of his presence for the first time, Nassi looked at him. “You’ll be good and tired if you make it to Numbot, and then they time it to make it that much harder—impossible really.” He looked around blinking. “Hey, how’d I get here? Wait a minute, I remember you two, and I’m supposed to be fixing that chair for his highness.”

  Morse casually looked around, then stuck Nassi in the neck with another dose of Paxithol, as he patted the Gethite on the shoulder. Immediately the Gethite’s eyes glassed over, and he resorted to mumbling.

  “If he got a good look at himself in a mirror, he’d probably have a heart attack,” Morse observed, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

  “Get pictures,” Thad said. “Don’t let anyone see you.”

  Wearing something resembling buckskins, a tall, neatly trimmed Gethite stepped out of the crowd and rang a triangular bell with a flat length of metal. His jacket slipped open when he lifted his arm, and Thad saw the handle of a light weapon briefly. The noise in the place subsided.

  Buckskin seemed to catch where Thad looked, and he tugged his jacket closed. “We’ll be fighting the first round in three rings. The winners of those rounds will then pair off against three waiting fighters. You fighters were all given a coin when you signed up for the Balo. Silver means you fight, copper means you sit out the first round. The final round will be a three-for-all to determine who fights our champion for the chance to win ten million krachnards!”

  A cheer arose from the crowd, and they stomped their feet.

  “I hate three-for-alls,” Thad muttered. “You gotta have eyes in the back of your head.”

  “We got a silver coin,” Morse said. “That means you fight in the first round.”

  “Yeah, we’d have to slip him a thousand more to sit it out. Money talks at these things.” Thad glanced at the woozy Nassi leaning against Morse. “Keep him close to you.”

  Morse nodded. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

  Thad stripped down to the waist. He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, eyeing the emerging competition as the crowd settled onto long wooden benches surrounding the dirt fighting rings. Five large Gethites made their way into the center of the barn. Thad scooped a handful of dirt. He tossed it down, rubbed his hands briskly together, and then ambled to join them.

  “This is full contact Balo,” the buckskin clad Gethite said. “No weapons and no time limits, except the final round. No killing. It costs too much to bury you. If you want to quit, say so and I’ll stop the match.” He pointed at two fighters. “Ring one.” He motioned to Thad and a Gethite fighter a foot taller than him and heavier by fifty pounds. “Ring two.” He motioned to the remaining fighters. “You two are in three.”

  The rings looked like they’d been drawn unevenly by someone dragging their heel through the dirt, and each had a number dug out crudely in the middle of the circle. Thad squared off against the big man. The top of the man’s right ear appeared to have a chunk bitten out of it. He wore a gold band for a nose ring, and he had a tattoo of a half bare woman on his chest. Thad’s gaze drifted back to the half consumed ear.

  The Gethite scowled. “My woman did it to me. I was late for dinner.” He grinned. “I make sure I’m on time now.”

  “I’ll try and get you home early.”

  The grin vanished. “We’ll see, pretty boy.”

  “I prefer to be called handsome.” Thad rolled his shoulders and popped his neck side-to-side.

  Half-ear glared at him.

  Thad glanced at the Gethite wearing buckskins. “Is it all right if I grab his nose ring and pull his face off, Pocahontas?”

  The Gethite shrugged. “The only rule is no killing. Who’s Pocahontas?”

  “What happens if we leave the ring? I might want to order take out.”

  “If you stay outside the line too long I’ll disqualify you. Are you writing a book on this or something?”

  Thad shook his head. “I’m the curious type.”

  “I had a curious type friend once.” He scowled darkly. “I shot him through while he slept.”

  Thad grinned, and Half-ear’s lower lip popped out. “Can we get on with this? I want to stomp pretty boy’s face with my heel, and I’m all aquiver.”

  The fighters were ready in all three rings. Buckskin raised his hand, preparing to give the go-ahead, but paused and frowned at Thad. “You look familiar.”

  I’ve got to learn to keep my mouth shut. Thad shrugged. “It might have been my doppelganger—everyone’s got one you know. Mine does bad things, and then I get blamed for it.”

  The Gethite’s eyes narrowed, but he looked away and raised his voice. “No wagering during the bouts. If you haven’t placed your bet, do it now.” In a moment, Buckskin dropped his hand. “Fight.”

  Half-ear ran at Thad in a head down charge. He stepped aside, and the big Gethite stumbled out of the ring. He quickly jumped back in, lifting fists as big around as Thad’s head.

  “You want to fight or run?” Thad said. “How can I whip you if you’re wandering around outside the ring?”

  Half-ear growled and charged again. This time he kept his head up. Thad dug in his heels and nailed him with a stiff jab to the jaw. The punch surprised Half-ear—he went wobbly, and a stream of blood flowed from his lips. He straightened, eyes blinking, and covered his chin with his fists. Thad hit him with a straight right to the ribs. He grunted and his hands dropped.

  Swinging a vicious left hook, Thad clocked him on the point of the chin.

  The big Gethite dropped to his knees and fell on his face with his arms at his sides. Many in the crowd, who hadn’t been watching, turned toward the gasps at ring two, as the well-chiseled fighter, who hadn’t yet broken a sweat, knocked out his larger opponent.

  Thad immediately shadowboxed, trying to keep warm for the tougher matches coming. Those near the ring got quiet as they dragged out t
he unconscious fighter.

  An old Gethite with thinning gray hair and a grayer beard sat in the front row with his mouth open and eyes wide. “He’s fast…damn fast. Better watch out for that one.”

  Morse trotted off and retrieved their winnings. Thad left the ring to join him and Nassi. “We just tripled our money,” Morse said, returning. “We got back what you gave the old hag plus a little. I was told the next fight pays two to one also.”

  Thad lifted his chin. “In that case, take it back and let it ride.” He bounced on the balls of his feet to stay warm.

  Morse grinned. “You got it.”