Free Dark Tempest by Manda Benson

you like it, morran, of I were to throw this torch into your stinking den with it switched on?”
    The morran paused for a moment, and appeared to consider. Round, forward-set eyes glinted in the dark as it stooped, knees folding over its back like a spider’s articulated limbs. Lithe, muscular tentacles wormed over the fabric of Wolff’s trousers to prise the trap open. He felt the weight of the blood-soaked fabric as the trap was reset. The metal had bitten in just above the protection of his boot.
    “Gaahhh—” said Wolff.
    Rh’Arrol scuttled back with a clanking of armour, its body lowered beneath tensed legs in a wary posture. Wolff descried whippy tentacles and glowing bristles in the quick movement. The creature let out a rapid succession of clicks, merged into one long sound.
    “Now, if you wish to barter. I want to speak to whoever’s in charge,” Wolff told it. “Will you take me to that man?”
    “I might.” Yellow and mauve flickered over the quill-like olfactory cilia growing from the creature’s hindquarters.
    Wolff felt in his pocket. He found a small end of bread from the meal he’d eaten with Jed, and proffered it to the morran.
    Rh’Arrol’s head jerked back in disgust as it sniffed it. “You thinks me some urchin of poverty?”
    “All right,” said Wolff, and put the bread back in his pocket. “Do you care for devices?”
    “What kinds of devices?”  
    Wolff thought he heard a hint of curiosity there. He put his hand in his other pocket and pulled out an assortment of rubbish.  
    The morran craned its neck up to look at the things in his hands. “String?” it snapped.
    “Not just string.” Wolff fumbled at the things in the gloom. “I’ve got, well, a few washers and screws and things.”
    “I desires not washers and screws and things,” said Rh’Arrol. “What this?”
    “It’s a handkerchief. It’s been used.”
    The morran wrapped a tentacle around Wolff’s thumb and drew his hand down. Another tentacle pulled a metal object about four inches long out from the handkerchief. Gold and platinum glinted in the darkness.
    “Oh, that’s just an expensive toy,” said Wolff. He stuffed the remaining things back into his pocket. “It’s got some sort of antigravity motor in it, see here.” He took hold of the insect-shaped object, and pressed the switch underneath the thorax. When he dropped his hands, it remained suspended where they had been. Rh’Arrol’s eyes glittered with avarice.
    “That suffices.”
    “I’m not giving you this in exchange for just services as a guide. If you accept this you’ll owe me more.”
    “Is it yours to gives to me?”
    Wolff sighed. “Yes, it is mine. How I came about it may not have been honourable, but it’s mine.”
    “I takes this, I does something for you. Yes?” Rh’Arrol pulled the toy down with its dextrous tentacles, and hid it down the front of the dull indigo smock that covered its torso.
    “So we have an agreement?”
    Rh’Arrol hissed, and reversed into the docking pipe. Wolff followed the morran, each pace bringing fresh pain gnawing at the wound in his leg.
    His escort scuttled into a compartment at the end of the corridor, and it wasn’t without trepidation that Wolff stepped into the dark with those tentacles, as well as the spitting and clicking.
    As soon as a door closed, the floor lurched and the compartment tipped up. Wolff put his hand out to steady his balance and accidentally struck Rh’Arrol. The morran shrieked and thrashed tentacles in his face.
    Gravity returned to normal, and the door slid open to let them out into a better-lit corridor. A few men passed quickly, as though going somewhere. One, a brutish, lumpy female, swarthy because of genetics and a grubby lifestyle, glared at Wolff as she shambled past.
    “Bastard!” Wolff cursed, putting his hand to a stinging ear.
    “Keep appendages to self!”
    The docking pipe was fixed to the floor, and a thick vitreous alloy plate in the ground