Maybe too weak? It made me wonder why the smugglers didn’t take better care of their cargo. Why go to all the trouble to bring in fey, and then not feed them? And for that matter, why bring in selkies at all? What the hell were they supposed to do? Kill with cuteness?
“I bet they ain’t even talked to them,” Fin muttered. “That’s why we have all these problems. Nobody talks to each other. They don’t know nothing about the other guy. They just assume he’s bad ’cause he’s different. And if they meet one who ain’t, well, he’s gotta be the exception, right? When we’re just people—”
He broke off, scowling.
“Can you talk to them?” I asked.
He frowned some more. “Maybe. Depends where they’re from. Faerie’s like Earth; we got a lot of languages.”
“But you could try. It looks like they’ve been here a while. They might know—”
“Gah!” Fin cut me off, suddenly running in front of me and waving his arms. “What the hell? Did you see it? It almost took my head off!”
I looked around, but didn’t see anything. Except for glowing holograms and startled-looking war mages. Until something that was definitely not a hologram came zooming right at my face.
Chapter Thirty-five
I ducked, spun, and pulled a knife. And slashed at something that looked like a cannonball, what little I could see of it, because it was zooming around like a crazed drone. Until one of my strikes connected, sending it careening off into space—
Where it was promptly turned into a fireball by a nearby mage.
“What the hell?” Fin squeaked.
“Not again,” James said in disgust, as a few bits of charred metal and a clouded lens clattered to the floor.
Several war mages went striding out the door, looking pissed.
“Check the roof!” James called after them. “That’s where they were last time!”
I walked over to where he was glaring at the remains. The best I could tell, considering the state of the thing, it had looked like a smallish black soccer ball, with lenses fitted around the sides. One of which appeared to still be operational. Because it focused on James like a curious cyclops, whirring to get him in focus.
And blinked a few times, recording successively larger pics of the boot he brought down on top of it.
“The damned press,” James said, before I could ask, while further stomping the thing into the dust. “They’ve got their panties in a twist, thinking we’re concealing some great underworld war. When, from what you tell me, it’s just an escaped slave on a spree.” He looked at me again. “Unless there’s anything else I should know?”
“Not about him.”
I hesitated, suddenly wondering if this was a good idea. The Circle’s attitude toward illegals was well-known, but so was their network and resources, and they’d been battling the smugglers far longer than the Senate. They could be a real help—if they wanted to.
“But about something else?” James asked pointedly.
“A kid—a troll kid—was at the fights three nights ago,” I told him. “You know, the same ones where your current problem cropped up?”
He nodded. “Ugly scene. Slavers were killing the slaves, to shut them up. We rescued some, but others . . .” He shook his head.
“Well, the kid was one you missed.”
“Dory—”
“Relax. He died of his wounds. He’s not one you’ll have to find a portal for.”
James scowled, but he didn’t deny it. We all knew what happened. “What about him?”
“He said something, right before he died. Three words: ‘fish,’ ‘tracks,’ ‘door,’” I enunciated carefully. “Tell you anything?”
“No. You?”
I shook my head. “But there’s a chance that, on his deathbed, the kid wanted to give a clue about where he was brought in, or where other slaves were being held. But he was fresh out of Faerie, and didn’t know any Earth languages.”