“Yes sir, that’s what they tell me.”
“I hear you were dealing sap on the Outskirts. Is that why you came inside the wall, for better access to business?”
Rector may have been burned out in the brain, but he wasn’t completely stupid. “No sir, I’m leaving those ways behind me,” he said, wondering if he was lying. “I came inside the wall because I’m eighteen now, and the orphan’s home threw me out to seek my fortune.”
“Not a lot of fortune to be found around here, son.”
“I don’t need a lot of fortune. I just need a roof over my head and some supper once in a while.”
The captain didn’t say anything, only held his steady stare. Rector gave it back, mostly because he was too tired to be flustered, not because he was feeling particularly brave. Eventually, Cly sighed. “Zeke says you were good to him in the Outskirts, and that’s worth something. But he also told us you’re the one who gave him the maps that led him in here. I’m not sure how good a friend that makes you.”
“I was trying to help.”
“Maybe you’re young enough to believe that, and maybe you know better. But if Zeke likes you, I guess…” If he had more to say about the value of Zeke’s endorsement, he changed his mind. “Anyway, welcome to Seattle. If you want to hang out around the Doornails, stay out from underfoot and find ways to make yourself useful. Otherwise, maybe you’ll find that minimal fortune you seek out at the Station.”
His closing words were spoken in a friendly tone. Somehow, they still sounded like a threat.
The captain gave the boys a tiny salute, barely a dip of his head, and went back underneath the dirigible. From under there, he added, “Zeke, if you want to run off and show this kid whatever Houjin hasn’t showed him, that’s fine with me. Houjin, I might require your assistance here in a few minutes.”
“Yes sir,” Houjin said, sounding only slightly disappointed. Then he perked up. “Are you almost done with the engine upgrades?”
“Yes.”
“Can we move on to the hydrogen setup next?”
“Yes.”
“Did you get all the parts you needed from Portland?”
“Yes.”
“Even the thruster you weren’t sure you could find?”
“Got one that’ll do in a pinch.”
“Can I have the old one?”
“I suppose.”
“Do you care if I take it apart?”
Wearily, the captain said, “No, I don’t care if you take it apart. Hey, Huey? Never mind what I said just now; how about you run off with those two for the afternoon? We can get started on the hydrogen tanks tomorrow. I think I’d rather take my time on the engine than have you rushing me.”
“Didn’t mean to rush you, sir!” he chirped, then grabbed Zeke and Rector by one elbow each. As he hauled them away from the craft, he whispered, “Quick, before he changes his mind.”
Once they were out of earshot, back by the Chinatown entrance—a black, gaping hole in the ground that could’ve gone anywhere, for all Rector knew—Zeke used that same elbow to jab Houjin in the ribs. “You did that on purpose.”
“I’d rather work on the tanks than the engine. But I knew he wasn’t going to start on the hydrogen until tomorrow.”
“I wish I had your knack for driving him crazy so he’d send me away.”
Houjin grinned inside his mask. “Apparently you do.”
“Not on purpose.” He sighed. “I’m no good at ship work, and I don’t like it. I don’t know why he insists on trying to teach me.”
“Yes, you do,” Houjin argued.
Rector asked, “Why?”
Zeke preempted him. “Shut up, Huey.”
Before Rector could press for details, a voice drifted up from the Chinatown entrance, and something at the edge of his vision moved. At first it looked so much like a ghost it almost stopped his heart. It was barely a flicker, and then it was something larger and fuller. It moved with purpose. The shadow was person-sized and it was masked.
Rector took a step back just as Houjin dropped to his knees. “Hello?” Houjin called down the hole. Then, clearly seeing someone he recognized, he lapsed into Chinese.
Rector and Zeke looked at each other, and Zeke shrugged. “I don’t know any of that Chinese talk. Huey tried to teach me, but I didn’t pick it up worth a damn.”
“I don’t get how anybody understands it.”
“Me either, but he says there are millions of people who speak it just fine, so it works for somebody, someplace.”
The flash of motion down below swished again, and with it came the shape of a man wearing loose-fitting black from head to toe, though the edges of his garments had white hems that made him appear outlined—if horribly insubstantial—in the dark. He rose up the stairs (always, more stairs) with a smoothness that once again knocked up against Rector’s fear of ghosts and the way they hovered as they approached.
His masked head emerged, just high enough so he didn’t have to yell when he spoke to Houjin. Whatever they discussed, it involved Rector. He knew it easily, same as he knew Kirby Troost was to be watched and worried about, by instinct or suspicion. Houjin kept peeking at him, and his mood became precise: polite, but reluctantly so. He was arguing, and losing.
Finally he stood up, and the speaker disappeared back down below.
“What was that about?” asked Zeke. Rector would’ve asked himself, except that he didn’t think he wanted to know.
Houjin said, “Rector, we have to go down to the Station. Yaozu wants to see you.”
“Yaozu?”
“He’s the man who runs the Station. And everything that happens down there.”
Rector swallowed, hoping the mask hid his nervousness. “I know who he is. I’ve heard all about him.”
“Have you heard it ain’t a good idea to tell him no?” Zeke asked.
“I heard that much, yeah. I still don’t want to go visit the Station.”
Zeke took a stab at reassuring him. He slapped a hand on Rector’s back and told him, “I’m sure it’s no big deal. Sometimes he wants a word with people who are new here, that’s all. Maybe he heard about you selling in the Outskirts. Could be, he wants to talk business. Maybe he wants to offer you a job.”
“Zeke, you’re full of shit.”
“No. I’m not. There are rules down here, is all.”
Houjin cleared his throat and suggested, “Let’s go across the bridges. It’s faster that way, and we’d have to wear masks underground anyway, thanks to that cave-in.”
“Right!” Zeke said more brightly. “We can take in some scenery.”
“I’m not sure I’m up to more stairs yet, fellows.” Rector waggled the cane for emphasis.
Zeke slapped his arm again. “Get up to it, Rector. Yaozu isn’t a teacher, or one of them nuns at the orphan’s home. And no matter how big you talk, he won’t excuse you with a sick note.”
Nine
Rector very badly wanted some water, but he knew better than to ask for it, because since they’d left the serious, sturdy confines of Fort Decatur there’d been nothing to drink but the thick, smoky air. Nobody would remove a mask in this permanent state of terrible weather, and even if there’d been a spot to do so, there was no water topside that didn’t run yellow.
“I don’t know,” he whined. He hated himself for sounding so weak, but there it was. “This is tougher than I’m ready for. I can’t do this, not so fast.”
“We’ll slow down when we get to the third-level bridges,” Houjin promised. “For now, we’re still within grabbing distance.”
“Grabbing distance?”
“Rotters. You know,” Zeke told him, urging him forward, around a corner, and up a ledge—even being so kind as to give him a boost. “Sometimes they pile up on top of each other, and they can get higher than you think. Anything within the first floor is grabbing distance.”
“Still haven’t seen one.” Rector clutched his side, where he felt a sharp, stinging stitch from all the exertion. “I only seen or heard one thing, and Huey tells me it wasn’t a rotter.”
“Come to think of it”—Zeke scratched at the spot where his mask strap wrapped behind his head—“I haven’t seen too many of them myself—not lately. But we’re underground a lot,” he considered, “and we go out of our way to avoid ’em. Come on up, Wreck. We’re almost high enough to dodge ’em.”
Rector took Zeke’s outstretched hand and let himself be hauled atop a carefully placed stack of debris. At the pinnacle, Houjin rummaged under an old fire escape and turned up a hook on a rope. He threw this hook up into the air—once, twice, a third time, before it caught—and it snagged a metal rung. As Houjin coiled the rope around his arm, the rung slid down and brought a rigged set of painted iron stairs with it.
“It’s on a spring,” he explained. “Hold it down, would you, Zeke?”
“Got it. Rector, you go on ahead. We’re right behind you. Hold the rail if you feel the need. Ain’t no shame in it, ’cause these things are slippery sometimes.”
Rector cringed, but stepped up onto the bottom stair and gripped the skinny metal rail. Under his bare hands, it felt coated in slime. “Wish I had some gloves.”
“Aw, shit. I didn’t notice,” Zeke said, climbing onto the structure and following Rector. “We’ll get you some back in the Vaults, or maybe we can beg some off Yaozu if we ask real nice. You can’t run around like that—the air will burn you if you let it go too long. There’s a lot to learn about living down here. Not everybody’s up to it.”
“I’m up to living here, or anywhere else,” Rector boasted, but the squeak of exhaustion in his voice undid his claim.