Free The Vagrant by Peter Newman Page B

father.’
    ‘I’ll meet you at home.’
    ‘Yes, father.’ The boy leaves them.
    ‘Ah, he is good boy but stupid, so stupid. More like his aunt than his mother, but Ezze think you not interested in that story. Now we are here and deal is done.’
    The Vagrant looks from left to right; his eyes rove empty streets and buildings.
    ‘You are wondering where they are, yes? Of course you are. Have faith, my friend, they will come. So, Ezze will be leaving you now.’
    The Vagrant’s mouth opens, protesting.
    ‘All endings in Verdigris are fast, yes? But Ezze must go. Please, keep the tentacle. Perhaps it reminds you of our friendship!’ The shopkeeper starts walking quickly. ‘May all your lovers be sweet and may their paths never cross, ha!’
    The Vagrant shares a look with the goat as the suns rise. Starktime has come. Distantly, sounds are heard. Doors close, signs reverse, doors open, the first steps of Verdigris’ daily dance.
    Figures emerge from a ruined building, their clothes grey with hard living, uniform. Size marks them out. A man and a woman tower over the rest. Half-breed teenagers, covered in muscle and greening scars, the common Usurperkin markers tracing their lineage back to the Usurper. Patches of spiked hair decorate their skulls, black flags on a pitted map. Another man, normal sized, holds a gun, ugly and mismatched. It points at the Vagrant’s head. The last is a tiny woman, barely four feet in height, ratbred teeth too much for her mouth to contain.
    A wave of the gun signals the Vagrant to follow. Reluctantly, he does. Giant hands take the leash from him and the group return to the darkness. For a moment the goat resists, then the leash snaps tight and she flies after them, a furry, hate-filled balloon.
    Underground, a chain of hands is formed, leading the Vagrant down, deep, through lightless buildings, then steps, then tunnels, the ratbred finding their way in the dark. More than once, big heads brush rock; curses fall till they are hissed quiet.
    The Vagrant is taken down further, where cold becomes chilling. Objects are hefted, then replaced, a trail of obstacles left for any would-be followers. A torch shines yellow, recycled sunslight perched on the top of a gun. It pokes at the Vagrant’s eyes, making him squint.
    ‘What you make of him?’ murmurs the male Userperkin, unimpressed.
    The other half-breed shrugs. ‘Good for spare parts, maybe.’
    ‘Spare parts?’ says a third voice, the one that belongs to the gun. ‘This here’s the real deal, at least he’d better be. We certainly paid enough to get him.’ The light and the voice come closer still. ‘I see what you mean, but we’ll get our money’s worth, one way or another.’
    The Vagrant’s squint becomes a scowl. Beneath the robe, his fists clench.
    ‘Check him,’ commands the voice behind the gun.
    One of the giant half-breeds restrains him while the ratbred sniffs him over, bony hands probing beneath the robe. He pushes her away, hard, and she stumbles back against the rock. From beneath the robe comes a soft complaint. The Vagrant turns, placing his body between the gun and the baby.
    ‘Try that again, pal, and I’ll put a bullet in you. If you’re lucky it won’t hit the little one.’
    The Vagrant’s eyes widen, despite the glare.
    ‘Yeah, you heard me. We know about the baby you’re carrying. What, you think you can hide one of those squealers in a man’s house and him not notice?’ The gunman snorts. ‘So hand it over, as well as any other weapons, and then we can all make like friends.’
    He shakes his head. Again his eyes seek the sword but it remains bound with the goat, useless.
    ‘In case you’re simple or something, that’s not a request.’
    They rip the robe from him, using it to wrap the tentacle. The ratbred moves to take the baby but he pushes her away again.
    ‘Oh for the love of … Maxi, make our friend cooperate.’
    A thick arm circles the Vagrant’s neck and squeezes. He pulls at