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Chapter 4: The Deal
Part 2
“Your tent is this way,” said one of the guards.
“What’s the girl’s name, back there?” Junelight asked.
“Mossalea of Ran Got-ran-pal. Her grandfather is Head of Root, Got-ran-pal.”
“Thanks. As it were, we’re going to see the big Head.” The briefing had her concerned. Something was off about what happened. Also, she needed to get out of this place before she went mad from inaction.
The bodyguards took a minute to understand what she had said. “Bettine? She has requested to see you?”
“Uh huh.”
Silent, they trudged on. Junelight felt she could get used to having blindly compliant assistants like these. A ridiculous curiosity jumped across her mind, as she wondered what bedding such a brutish and obedient creature might be like. She shooed it away.
Drown me, I need to get out of this camp, she thought, and returned her focus to the task at hand.
Falsesparkers liked to travel light, and arranged their dwellings to support a quasi-nomadic lifestyle. The big camps, like this one, were usually situated in places that offered a proximate river, a nice big flat area (for bigger tents and semi-permanent buildings) and a wide, sparse tree line for the smaller stuff.
It was a good setup, though it made the triadic groups easy to track. If one wanted to.
Like any Roythan city built of stone or steel, the density and size of the dwellings increased as they made their way to the middle. Tiny tents like the one she’d spent the morning in became less common, replaced with more thoughtful constructions of multiple rooms, sturdier supports, and the like.
Sporadic expanses of grassy field gave way to loose corridors of dusty vegetation, which gave way to well traveled, hard packed streets of dirt. The smell of canvas and town-stink closed in. As did the population.
The full All-bit-tel encampment hosted some three thousand Falsesparkers, though only about a third of them were officially part of the core triadic group. From what Junelight understood, another full third belonged to smaller triadic groups that were looking to win favour or interbreed with triads under All-bit-tel. The remaining third were true nomadics or independent triads who passed through for trade, protection, procreation, whatever.
No matter their affiliation, they all stared her down as she made her way to Bettine’s tent. At first, it was only hurried glances from tent flaps or sullen gazes from further away, but as word traveled, people appeared in cautious clusters, whispering and glaring. June kept her sights fixed straight ahead.
By the time they'd reached the big, orange structures that stood in the camp’s hub, Falsesparkers had gathered wide-eyed in unbroken lines outside their dwelling entrances. Gawking children clasped their parents arms, all watching as if she might burst into sapphire flames at any moment.
Then: a blur on her right—a rock came lobbing toward them. Even without her Artwork, June could tell it would land short and to the left, but that didn't stop her leftmost bodyguard from lunging out to swat the projectile down. There was a whup-whup-whup noise from her right as her other guard threw some kind of weighted-rope contraption.
The thing whirled into the crowd, and out came a resounding clonk and squeal. Lefty went bounding after the victim while June and Righty drew close to the first of the orange tents.
“Keep going,” advised Righty.
“I don't know, I think these folks could use a little wonderment,” she said, but kept her pace.
Once among the orange tents, the crowd felt a lot more restrained, almost professional. They looked at her, but they didn't goggle. Most sported the orange baubles of the All family. There were few, if any children to be seen. A few more paces and they came to a wide, rough circle, ringed by maybe twenty tents. A huge fire pit marked the camp’s true centre, and closest to it was her destination—the biggest, most expensive looking canvas castle.
She stopped between the pit and the Head of Spark’s front door, electing not to barge in and push the boundaries too far. June figured an annoyed Bettine would do more than fling a rock at her.
“I'll let Head of Spark know you've come, stay with Pell,” said Righty, nodding past her to Lefty, who had caught up. Lefty aka Pell dragged some runty looking teenager with him. When he got to her, the kid was thrown at her feet like an offering. A patch of wetness grew in the crotch of his roughspun shorts.
“You can decide punishment,” Lefty said.
“Rock thrower, huh?”
Lefty grunted an affirmative. The boy shook on the ground.
“What’s the usual punishment around these parts?”
She seemed to have tapped into one of Lefty’s passion points. He adopted a rather thoughtful pose and seemed to be running through an extensive mental catalog. After a moment, he said, “Tough to say. I’d assign labour, or sparring with a superior. But we never have witches here, so...”
“Right, of course. Let him go.”
“Go?”
“You don’t want your people to think you’re that terribly concerned with me and protecting my, what, honour? Plus, he’s pissed his pants… his peers will take care of the shame, regret, etcetera.”
Lefty took some time to process this, his big ole brow contorting. The little thug looked between them, wide eyed.
“No, then it would be me who would get punishment,” concluded Lefty.
“Fine. Boy, listen to me.” The kid stared up with renewed terror. She cycled up a touch, and said, “If you ever pull a stunt like that again, I’ll find you, your family and, uh, curse them… so that you all... melt. It’ll hurt.”
She snapped her fingers and let her Bodyanchor Artwork loosen for a second, which made her eyelight flash. The kid wailed and fell backwards, scuttling then colliding with Lefty’s legs.
“Now go!” she said, and the brat was off like a frightened hopjack.
Pleased, she looked up to find Lefty bathing her in a disappointed glower.
“What? You don’t believe in psychological torment? Must everything be physical with you people?”
“You threatened his family.”
“I’m not going to melt anyone.” She left out the fact that she probably couldn’t actually do that.
“Punish individual, fine, but to punish a family…”
“Well next time maybe lend me a copy of your punishment rulebook, okay?”
Lefty looked like he was going to protest, or at least inform her that their library was a work in progress, when Righty reappeared in the entrance. “Head of Spark, All-bit-tel, will see you now.”
“Thanks,” she said, and strode into the tent.
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