Brother to Dragons, Companion to Owls - Jane Lindskold [85]
Still, despite my lack of enthusiasm, Abalone’s pride has been piqued by Jersey’s achievement. She delves into the library banks of a dozen networks, copying every article that he ever published, no matter what the subject.
“Weird man, your friend Jersey,” she says, rubbing her eyes as she looks up from her tappety-tap. “I sure wish you hadn’t busted up his machine.”
“Veni, vidi, vici,” I reply, more calmly than I feel.
“What did you conquer?” she says with frustration. “I understand that there were drawbacks to his system, but I’m sure I could have worked them out.”
“I am cabin’d, cribb’d, confined, bound into saucy doubts and fears,” I answer.
“You doubt it?” She tries to smile and fails. “Sarah, don’t you wish that you could just tell me what you want without all this roundabout hunting for words?”
“Even a fool, when he holdeth his peace, is counted wise.” I pat her hand, pushing her tappety-tap away, offering her pipe.
“You really don’t want me messing with this, do you?” she says, accepting the pipe. “Grab the dragon and come outside.”
Our new Jungle is a burned-out high-rise which Head Wolf has outfitted with a new Web. Where a solid fragment of floor remains, Professor Isabella has set up her own residence, claiming that she is too old for ropes and hammocks. The Free People no longer rate her as one of the Tabaqui, not since she helped to free both Head Wolf and me. Since she refuses to let Head Wolf direct her, she is called Wontolla, the Outlier, and everyone is content.
When we pass by, she makes her way to join us.
“Going out for some air? Good, Abalone is looking pale. Some moonlight will do her good.”
“Very funny.”
Edelweiss smiles and waves as we head out. She’s no longer antagonistic toward me, but she’s still happier to see me heading out. Most of the other Free People are hunting.
We amble to a park that is little more than the overgrown rubble of a building destroyed in the same fire as our own Jungle. As we settle among the weeds and vines, Abalone distractedly draws her pipe to life.
“Late, late yestreen I saw the new moon,” I comment, pointing upward, “wi’ the auld moon in hir arms.”
“Pretty,” Professor Isabella replies. “Abalone, relax and take a look around. You’re too quiet, child.”
Abalone leans back against a bit of shattered cinder block and looks at the sky. Her smoke rings drift to join Athena, who snaps at them in lieu of moths. In my shoulder bag, Betwixt and Between grumble to each other about the possibility of a late-night snack.
“I’m a mess over Jersey’s project,” Abalone admits. “I’ve scrounged for every article I can, cross-referenced, plowed into obscure databases, and yet…”
“You do your job too well, Boca Blue,” comes a voice from the darkness, “and now they looking for you. And for her.”
Margarita steps out to where we can see her. She’s dressed in a grey coverall that whispers uniform, but her sidearm is holstered and her smile is friendly.
“Hey, Sarah,” she says, “bet you not plan on seeing me again. How’s the fish?”
“Oh health! health! The blessing of the rich!” I reply, miming a swimming fish with one hand.
“It’s fine,” Abalone interprets dryly, “but I doubt that you hunted us out to find out about Sarah’s goldfish. Why are you here?”
“And how did you ever find us?” Professor Isabella adds.
“That’s what I was trying to tell you,” Margarita says, “before I stop to say ‘hi’ to my amiga. You’ve looked too hard after Jersey’s stuff, Boca Blue, and now the Institute has got a line on you and they’re going to use it to reel Sarah in.”
I shrink back, my gaze darting into suddenly unfriendly shadows. In response to my fear, Athena wings out to survey the area.
“Easy, chica,” Margarita soothes, “I’m more than a jump ahead of them, this time. You’ve got a