Green Jack Page 13
Chapter 13
Saffron
Being in the Rings was like eating cake for breakfast. You knew it would make you sick but you did it anyway, and it seemed worth it. And sometimes Saffron just couldn’t help herself.
Today wasn’t one of those times. She was only here to be seen. Argent spent a lot of time here and she needed to found. Quickly.
Fire breathers and dancers spinning devil-sticks poured into the street. If the cheerful carnival atmosphere was strained, it was better than the cold wet streets of the Core and protein paste bars. Vid screens clamped to the sides of buildings espoused Directorate values and gossipy dramas without any kind of resemblance to real life. Commercials for the Garden reality matchmaking show played endlessly. Announcements interrupted, encouraging people to get tested and tagged so they could join the Numina if they qualified, followed by fearsome warnings about Numen poisoning and the harm it could do if left unchecked. The same Elysians were who encouraged to get tagged were encouraged to turn in their neighbours, friends and families, for their safety. Numen poisoning caused physical illness as well as aggression and only Tagging and study at the Collegium could prevent it. Saffron had thrown a can at the screens once and a soldier had broken three of her fingers. That was months ago, she wouldn’t risk it now.
She passed the Art Lofts across from the Libraries. She always knew where she was in the Rings in relation to the Art Lofts, like a sunflower tracking the sun across the sky. The warehouse was made of red brick with acres of glass to let in the sunlight, when there was any to be had. She had a favourite easel on the third floor, tucked into the corner where she could pretend she was alone. The pottery wheels and kiln were on the ground floor, the printing screens on the second. It almost seemed worth it when she was surrounded by paintbrushes and art.
Argent finally strolled out of a bar, blocking her way. He smiled, showing off his silver tooth. “Evening, Saffron. How’s your granny?”
“Bite me, Argent,” she returned, throwing the pouch at his head. He caught it reflexively. “Consider my debt paid.”
He opened the drawstring and glanced inside before tossing it to his current tag-along Emmett. “Count that.” Saffron’s smile was a snake unfurling in the sun. Argent tilted his head. “How’d you manage it?”
“What do you care?” Saffron asked. “You got your money.” She took a step forward, a dagger in her hand. “You’ll leave Oona alone now.”
“Will I?” He caught the pouch of coins when Emmet tossed them back with a nod.
“Lettuce seeds, one battery.”
Argent tucked them safely in his pocket. She smiled. “It’s not smart to anger a witch, Argent.”
Emmett shifted nervously. “What? No one said nothing about a witch.”
“If she’s a witch, shouldn’t I do my duty and alert the Protectorate?” Argent asked. He also shifted from foot to foot, but it wasn’t nervous. His hooked his fingers in his pocket. “Numen poisoning is serious business.”
“You can try,” Saffron sounded unruffled, even though the thought made her throat burn. Emmett scraped his palms on his pants. Argent scowled, scratching through his pocket. Saffron nodded at him. “That itch?” She said. “The one crawling through your balls? That’s courtesy of Oona’s cursed payment.”
Emmett made a small sound, scratching his palms more furiously. Argent hissed. “Come at her again and they’ll drop right off.” She raised an eyebrow at Emmett. “Your hands too.”
“You little bitch,” Argent lunged for her. He smashed at Saffron like she was the whack-a-mole game at the sideshow. One of his blows caught her on the shoulder, nearly jarring it from its socket. The edge of her blade scraped his elbow. Someone leaned out of the bar widow, shouting encouragement. Someone else threw Mardi Gras beads.
Argent grabbed Saffron by one of her braids, yanking her off her feet. She fell, nearly stabbing herself with her own dagger. Argent’s boot slammed onto her sleeve, pinning her to the ground. He was still scratching at himself, sweating into his collar. She fumbled for another dagger but his other boot was on her shin, pressing down savagely. A bruise exploded along the bone, claiming her breath. Something cracked in warning. He was going to break her leg. Pain was a lion’s jaw, snapping together over her shinbone.
Two Protectorate soldiers on horseback came around the corner, four more soldiers marching behind them. Metal leaf masks glinted like knives. People leapt out of their way. “Enough.” Rifles pointed toward them, the black metal glinting. Argent didn’t move his boot away, but he stopped pressing down. Saffron wasn’t sure which was worse: Protectorate soldier or broken leg.
The captain raked a condescending gaze over them. Saffron felt as if the leaf mask was painted on her face, as if she could smell the radishes and beets and potatoes on her hands. The captain’s dark eyes bored into her. She knew. She knew.
“Him,” she finally barked, as sweat trickled between Saffron’s shoulder blades. She jerked her chin at Argent. “Bring him.”
Argent cursed, stepping off Saffron’s leg. “Man, I didn’t do anything.” He turned, blades flashing in his hand. The soldiers closed in.
The captain glanced at Emmet. “That one looks like he wet himself. Leave him” She nodded at Saffron. “And she’s scrawny.”
“And untagged,” one of the soldiers said.
“Call it in,” the captain said. “And catch up.”
They rode away with Argent swearing and struggling. Saffron waited until the soldier reached for the radio at his belt before leaping to her feet. She darted into the crowd, knocking over three girls in glitter lipstick clearly stoned on Gingerbread. They tumbled into each other, blocking the soldier, now shouting behind her. Fire breathers and stilt walkers scrambled out of her way. The cobblestones were slippery and her leg hurt from Argent’s boot. Adrenaline pushed her on.
It wasn’t enough.
She crashed into cart selling onion pasties and lemonade. She hit the ground hard.
“There’s always one,” the Tagger said, right before the dart slammed into Saffron’s neck.