Rook Winters - Weight of Ashes

The bartender eyed the copper coin again. “Who’s that you’re looking for?”

“A man named Polk.”

The woman’s laugh sounded like someone had dropped a handful of stones on the bar. “You must be confused. Polk ain’t got friends.”

“I suppose that’s true. I have business with him.”

She eyed Marsh again and waggled her finger. “Yes. You’ve been here before. Your beard’s longer and grayer, I almost didn’t recognize you.”

“Is he around?”

“Leave that copper and I’ll pour you a drink while I send for him.”

“For a copper, I’ll want a proper beer and a cup of clean water.”

The bartender clucked but pulled out two glass mugs, both heavily scratched. She pumped a plunger on a metal canister and used a hose to fill one mug with amber beer until the foam threatened to spill over the lip. The other she filled with water from a jug.

“Give me a minute. My son will go fetch Polk.”

She slipped out through a frayed curtain tacked over a doorway. When she was out of sight, Marsh reached over the bar and topped up his mug with the hose.

“A whole copper coin and she doesn’t bother to pour a full pint. Unbelievable.” He pushed the water in front of Walker. “Drink. Good water’s hard to find here.”

The bartender was back in seconds. “My boy’s off to find him.”

Walker had finished the water and Marsh’s mug was nearing empty when the slap of the screen door slamming shut behind them grabbed the attention of all but the man sleeping on the bar.

A stout man entered; he was oddly proportioned, like his legs were too long for the rest of his body. The whites of his eyes seemed to glow. Those eyes troubled Walker. They were small and radiated disdain.

“I told you to water down his hooch.” He tilted his head toward to the unconscious bar guest.

“I did but he can tell. I watered it down more as he drank but he doesn’t stop. I been pouring a long time, and I ain’t never seen anyone get sober by being tricked.”

The man snarled at the bartender and she moved away to check on her other guests.

He turned to Marsh. “I hear you have business to discuss.”

“I do. Something requiring a more private venue.”

Polk nodded to the curtain behind the bar and led them through.

“I don’t forget faces. You’re from one of the little villages. March, I think.”

“Close. Marsh.”

“How’s that water purifier working for you?”

“Humming along nicely. Three years and counting.”

“Good, good. Always happy to see a satisfied customer. What can I find for you this time?”

“Not looking to acquire anything. A friend gave me a piece of tech that I can’t make work.”

“Why not ask them for help then?”

“Because he died.”

“He died or you killed him?”

“I didn’t kill him. He was a friend.”

“In my line of work, those aren’t mutually exclusive.” Polk laughed at himself. “I suppose that’s why folks like you live far away from us.”

Marsh smiled at the comment but Walker could tell it was forced.

“So where is this tech?”

The bone fragments clinked as Marsh pulled the necklace out from under his shirt. “Embedded in a piece of bone.”

Polk stuttered a little when he replied, “A piece of bone?”

“Yes, we think it might be a data chip of some sort but we don’t know how to access it. Is there a problem?”

“No problem. Not exactly a water purifier this time though, is it?”

“Not exactly.”

“And you have payment? Real coin?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s go take a look then. Follow me.”

Through an old door, they descended stairs that groaned with each step and Walker feared one would give way before he made it to the bottom. In a dark corner, Polk picked up a metal rod with curved ends. Walker sucked in a breath and he felt his chest tighten as fight-or-flight instincts kicked in. He bent his knees, memories of lessons with Court buzzing through his mind. But Polk turned his back to them and slid the rod between the dusty glass jugs on a shelf of a wooden cabinet. With a twist of his wrist, something clicked and Polk pulled on the rod, leaning back to use his weight for assistance. Sounds of wood scraping on stone accompanied the shifting of the shelf.

“Old moonshine room. The main reason I bought the tavern in the first place.”

“Fascinating,” Marsh said.

Walker followed the older men into the room, which seemed to be made entirely of metal and glass like the tablets used by the village council members.

Marsh removed his wire necklace and gave it to Polk. “This one.” He tapped the chunk of bone from Clint Donovan’s leg. Polk winced as he took it and placed the fragment between a pair of metal panels.

An image appeared on a wall-mounted tablet. Polk manipulated the image, stretching and sliding while he examined the magnified 3D image.

“Looks like an Aldebaran data vault to me.”

“Aldebaran…” Marsh repeated.

“Yeah, biggest company there is for hybrid human-Qyntarak tech. Was your friend associating with Qyntarak?”

“It seems likely.”

“A collaborator?”

Marsh shifted his weight and adjusted his grip on his walking stick. His body language seemed to answer Polk’s inquiry.

“Let me try pinging it.”

“What’s that mean?” Walker asked.

“Basic challenge-response type protocol signals. We’ll see if it responds to any of the standard stuff. If I’m right and it’s Aldebaran, we should get something back.”

While they waited on Polk, Walker studied the room. It was not, in fact, all metal and glass even though that was the dominant impression. Their chairs were white leather. In addition to metal and glass, Walker saw wood and the material that villagers called plastic but that Marsh insisted was called restin—an organic polymer, whatever that was.

“I’ve got something,” Polk said.

“Just line up the two sights and squeeze the button.” Court let go of the mag gun and Elle held it in front of her eye. She drew in a slow breath and squeezed.

The gun whirred and snapped. The projectile, a wooden arrow not much longer than her index finger, shattered against a slab of shale behind the apple she was aiming for. Dr. Donovan had let her train with a lot of weapons, high and low tech, but she’d never shot something like this.

“A good first try,” Court said.

Give me an hour and I’ll outshoot you with your own weapon , she thought.

Aloud, she said, “Let me try again.”

She pressed another arrow through the gun’s reloading slot. Wooden arrows were a clever choice given how easily villagers could make new ammo in the forest.

“It uses magnets to launch the arrow. Marsh designed it himself.”

“Magnets? But wood isn’t magnetic.”

“Yeah, I’m not good with all the engineering and inventing stuff. Marsh can explain it when he’s back.”

She aimed and fired again. The arrow brushed the left side of the target and it wobbled on the tree stump.

“Nice shot.”

“Again.”

Elle reloaded and fired, clipping the apple’s upper right curve. Her next shot struck a little left of center, sending the apple flying off the stump. She fired once more, this time at a rotting apple on the ground, and it exploded into a pulpy mass of brown mush.

She held out her hand for another arrow.

“That’s all I brought. I was just giving you a feel for it. I didn’t expect you to take to it like that.”

Elle did like the weapon. It was quiet and surprisingly accurate. Sure, it was primitive with a limited range and wouldn’t take down anything serious, but she respected the ingenuity. She could imagine Dr. Donovan and Marsh Lapin being friends.