Home Turf

Tag strode down the noisy street, keeping her head down to blend into the crowds. She burrowed her chin into her collar to keep off the chill, thinking longingly of the grimy boardinghouse and the room she rented there. She had stayed there for two weeks now, and the city felt more familiar than it had at first, but still strange. It was different from what it had been when she was younger. How many years ago was that now? Five? Six? It felt both like forever and like no time had passed.

She stopped on the sidewalk, where sparks shot from an open fire set into the brick wall of a building. It was a blacksmith’s fire, a man who conveniently did his business on the street, and waited for customers to bring their horses up for shoeing. There were fewer horses than Tag remembered, and automobiles drove down all the bigger streets of the city. But the blacksmith must still be doing good business, judging by the clanging of his hammer and the orders he shouted at his two assistants.

The air here was warm, and Tag rubbed her hands together to fight off the chill. She watched her breath disappear as waves of heat hit her. She would have liked to stay here forever, but there was work to do, down by the wharves. She shook her head back, stuck her hands into the pockets of her long, tattered coat, and stomped off down the street. Look assertive, but don’t draw attention. She had the rules of the streets memorized. They had stuck with her through all those years, when algebra and foreign languages had long since evaporated from her brain.

Tag entered the space between two buildings, where a narrow alley led down toward the wharves. She could already hear the shouting of the dockworkers as they loaded and unloaded the last cargo for the day, or made the docks fast for the night. Twilight was falling fast, and Tag walked with quicker steps, hurrying down a flight of stairs that led to the edge of the canal. She wanted to get her business done before dark.

She came out on the wide bank of the Viceroys Canal, where makeshift wooden sheds had sprung up on both sides, to house the business that went on without stopping. Bonfires burned at regular intervals along the canal, and a few people paused around them to warm their freezing limbs. A few, last, flat-bottomed barges pushed off from the docks, with their polemen shouting their direction, in an unintelligible garble, to avoid collisions. Dock workers were moving piles of boxes, crates, and barrels to safety in quick-and-dirty warehouses, and Tag looked up to see dark clouds scuddling across the sky. It would probably rain tonight.

She skirted the dock workers and went down water, headed for the green sign hanging on a gray-slatted building that labeled it as a dry-goods trader. This part of the dockyard was emptier, the workers having already gone for the day. Tag surveyed the few people left with a practiced eye. “He’ll be wearing a blue coat and a red cap,” the man had said. At first Tag saw no one matching that description, but then a figure appeared, walking towards her from one of the nearby bonfires.

She put up a hand to stop him only a few paces away. “Your name?” she asked.

“Seth Ringly,” the man said, his voice thin and reedy. He wore a bright red cap pulled so low over his eyes that she could barely see his face. “I have information for the right person.” He took a step forward.

A worm of unease took hold of her. She had the sudden feeling that she was being watched, that something was wrong. “Who do you work for?” she demanded. The man lunged.

Tag ducked neatly, hooking his ankle with her foot, and sending him staggering. But in an instant, she felt her arms grabbed from behind and pinned to her sides. She snarled and stomped down with her foot, feeling her heel crush someone’s instep with ease. But there were more hands, and they dragged her backwards towards the warehouses despite her struggles. She unleashed every curse she knew as she twisted in a vain attempt to get free, and heard a deep man’s voice say, “Take her out.”

Arms wrapped around her throat and she felt an odd pressure on her collarbone before a numbness came over her and her vision clouded. Damn it, she thought. I should have known. And then everything went black.

Stop by again for part 2 to this story! Coming soon.