Steph Bennion - Paw-Prints of the Gods

“Ravana stole a book,” she said at last. “I was sent to find it and bring it back.”

Ostara’s eyes narrowed. “What book?”

“The one she took from Taranis.” Bellona’s expression suggested she had decided that honesty, if not the best policy, was easier than inventing a convincing lie. “The Isa-Sastra .”

“The Book of the Greys?” Endymion frowned. “Who sent you?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking the questions?” asked Ostara. “I am the detective here.”

Endymion gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “Be my guest.”

Ostara looked at Bellona, who tried not to smirk. Ostara’s distracting performance as the Dandridge Cole ’s security officer during their last adventure had been somewhat erratic.

“Well?” the woman demanded. “Who sent you? People from your church?”

“A girl named Selene,” Bellona confirmed. “She said I would be rewarded.”

“That’s nice for you,” muttered Endymion.

“I’d forgotten about that book.” Ostara looked thoughtful. “Is it valuable?”

“Maybe,” Bellona said warily.

“Well, Ravana doesn’t have it anymore,” retorted Endymion. “Verdandi ordered it to be confiscated as evidence when there was talk of an investigation into your crackpot church. I have no idea where it is now.”

Bellona glared and stuck her tongue out at him, but otherwise looked downcast.

“You seem remarkably well-informed on the subject,” observed Ostara.

“I helped Ravana make a copy before she…” Endymion started, then bit his lip.

“There’s a copy?” exclaimed Bellona, brightening.

Endymion quickly shook his head and turned to avoid her excited stare.

“Where is it?” asked Bellona. “I know! I bet you used the scanners at school.”

“No, I didn’t!”

“A copy?” asked Ostara. “Why would she want that old thing?”

“Ravana probably has it on her slate,” reasoned Bellona. “But you hide all your programming stuff on the servermoon! I bet you kept a backup file!”

“Lies!” cried Endymion, but his guilty expression gave him away.

“Your secret is safe with me,” Bellona said solemnly.

“Drat,” muttered Endymion. “Anyway, you’re the one who broke into Quirinus’ cabin. I could report you to spaceport security!”

“And say what? That you caught me looking for stolen church property, which you had secretly copied using school equipment and dodgy hackware?”

“I helped raise the funds to buy that equipment!” argued Endymion.

“You set up an illegal holobooth scam,” Bellona reminded him. “You rigged the school’s network so any telesales AIs that called would be put through to a premium-rate answering service.”

Endymion scowled. Ostara grinned, having heard the story before from Ravana. He had been severely reprimanded at the time, but the school head later confessed to not being sure whether to expel him or award him an honorary degree in business studies. Bellona slid from the bunk without another word and with one last glare pushed her way past her brother, slipped through the doorway and was gone. Endymion watched her go and sighed.

“I told you that church was a bad influence,” he grumbled.

“Is that book important?” Ostara moved to the door to see where Bellona had gone, but was distracted by the sight of the café owner walking towards their table with their order. She blushed as her stomach rumbled again.

“Maybe,” Endymion said thoughtfully. He glanced towards the holovid unit on the wall. “There might be something about it in that BBC report you mentioned.”

Ostara looked hungrily towards the food awaiting them at the table.

“It can wait,” she said. “Detective work is no fun on an empty stomach.”

Fornax arranged to meet Philyra at noon, but it was a good ten minutes past the hour before the young girl finally arrived. The section of Hockley Market between Queensway and the dome wall was a hive of activity and possibly the most dirty, noisy and frantic place in Newbrum, with an incredible array of goods constantly being shunted between vehicles, storage sheds, shops and stalls. Many of the male workers nevertheless still found time to stand and leer as she stood at the roadside, feeling lost and alone. When Philyra finally appeared, fiddling with her wristpad as she walked, Fornax almost hugged her in relief. She was touched to see the girl wearing a similar tunic and leggings outfit to herself, even down to styling her hair the same way. Fornax smiled, pleased that she had made a lasting impression upon her young apprentice reporter.

Philyra looked up from the screen of her wristpad and gave her a critical look. “You shouldn’t try to copy my style,” she complained, instantly dampening the woman’s revived spirits. “It doesn’t look right on you at all.”

Fornax gave Philyra a suitably withering smile. “What are you watching?” she asked. The girl’s wristpad screen was alive with flickering holovid images.

“ Gods of Avalon ,” she replied and lowered her wrist. “The contestants get dumber by the week. Some guy fell off a rope bridge into a river, tried to fight off robot piranhas with an electric lance and electrocuted himself.”

“Charming,” muttered Fornax, who was not a fan of the show. “Couldn’t we have met somewhere else?” she asked and winced as a nearby stack of crates toppled and crashed to the floor. “As in anywhere else but here? This place is giving me a headache.”

“You wanted to know about black market stuff,” Philyra said. “I asked Endymion and he told me about this guy at the spaceport who does a bit of trading on the side. He wouldn’t give me the man’s name but did tell me where to find him.”

“Sounds promising,” said Fornax. “Where do we find this mysterious stranger?”

Philyra pointed to a nearby shop, which had a large sign above the grime-covered window inscribed with the legend: ‘OUTER LIMITS EMPORIUM’. As if to confirm the shop’s dubious credentials, the nearby street security cameras had at some point been a victim of targeted arson and were now not much more than congealed lumps of metal and plastic.

As Fornax and Philyra approached the door, they were surprised by the appearance of Ostara and Endymion, who had chosen that moment to exit the very same shop. Endymion, who carried a small and new-looking holovid unit of a design not usually seen in Newbrum, greeted them with his usual easy-going grin. Ostara glared at Fornax as if the reporter had just kicked a lame puppy across the street.

“Who do we have here?” sneered Fornax. “The great detective, no less!”

“Still looking for your scoop?” Ostara asked, mirroring her mocking tone.

“Are you still totally clueless?” retorted the reporter.

Endymion rolled his eyes and gave Ostara an impatient nudge with the holovid unit in his hands. Ostara shot Fornax a final wounded look and led Endymion away through the bustling market and out of sight. Fornax scowled, then glanced across to Philyra, who stood with hands on hips and a look of weary irritation upon her face.

“Coming?” asked Philyra.

The inside of the shop was exactly what Fornax expected. Almost every square centimetre of floor space was taken up by a bizarre mix of cheap furniture, obsolete electrical equipment, dusty storage boxes and a dormant electric sheep. A couple of clothes racks displayed a shabby collection of out-of-date fashions in the far corner.

A narrow walkway wound through erratic stacks of merchandise to a small serving counter towards the back. There was a rail hanging at head height above the counter, upon which Fornax was bemused to see a ragged green parrot stalking up and down, eyeing them with interest. It looked like it had been in a fight with an electric fan and in places the feathers had fallen away to reveal the tarnished robot skeleton beneath. The proprietor was nowhere in sight, but faint sounds of activity and recorded music could be heard from a nearby half-open door. The ceiling light panels were off and the red daylight spilling through the door and dust-smeared window did little to dispel the gloom.