stories they'd provided her. She didn't see any red flags. Tiant let her know that someone from something called the Hall of Purity had been by to speak to her, but that he'd run the guy off.
If people were noticing them, coming around to question them, that meant they were running low on time. But short of collecting a DNA sample from all recent immigrants and comparing it to Toman's profile of DuPrima, Rada wasn't sure what else they could do.
That evening, as Rada sat around the temple patio with Webber and MacAdams, Kerns strolled up, guitar slung over her back.
"Good news." She winked at Webber. "It worked."
Webber clapped. "Hell yes!"
Rada's blood cooled. "Please tell me the 'it' in this discussion refers to the job I gave you."
"You're looking for a man named Harl Nunez," Kerns said. "Showed up here seven months back. Xenoist, but a quiet one. As soon as he heard someone was after him, he took off like a bullet."
"Where to?" Webber said.
"Where do you think? Bartertown. He's hanging at the Dome right now."
She described him, provided directions. Webber thanked her. Kerns grinned and strolled off into the night.
"So?" MacAdams glanced between Rada and Webber. "Should I beat it out of him?"
"Don't ask me where she heard it," Webber said. "But I think Kerns has been spreading this terrible rumor that a FinnTech assassin is on his way here. Some thin, creepy guy."
"And you thought this would flush out DuPrima," Rada said.
"You can be mad I took a risk. Or you can be happy it paid off."
"It was a good call." She surged to her feet. "But now we've got to grab him before he flees the city. Ready to move?"
MacAdams drew to his full height. "Been ready for days."
They climbed down the steep steps and jogged toward the city plaza that served as a no-man's-land between the other two districts and Bartertown. Rada still knew little of the Wrath besides the fact they venerated the insane prophet Max. The few written records said he was a former policeman who, in the chaos that came after the plague, turned vigilante against the rampant gangs, helping bring some measure of peace to the land.
From what she'd heard, though, the Wrath wasn't big on peace. Instead, they saw lawlessness as mankind's natural state.
Drunken laughter reeled across the plaza. Torches flapped above the gates to the third district. Beyond, men and women staggered around dressed in strips of textured rubber. Metal spikes protruded from their shoulders and wristbands. Their hair stuck up in garish dyed plumes.
At the gates, a man with leather belts crossing his bare chest moved to intercept them. "What brings you to Bartertown, little lady?"
"Business," Rada said.
"Is that so? Of what kind?"
"Our own."
He tucked down the corners of his mouth, tangled beard bristling. "Don't mean to be nosy, ma'am. Just hoping to be able to point you in the right direction."
"Angling for a tip? We'll be fine on our own."
The bare-chested man smiled and removed a small black hat she'd initially mistaken for part of his hair. "I can see that. By all means, be on your way."
He swept his hat across his body, bowing low. She brushed past, smelling stale sweat. As she moved down the dim street, the bare-chested man ambled toward a knot of six people passing around a glinting glass bottle.
"Better hurry," MacAdams said. "Before they decide to roll us."
Past the gates, fires flared from barbecues and fire pits. The smell of grilled fish, clams, and sweet fruit fought with the odors of sweat and yeasty beer. They got a few stares—just about everyone else was dressed in garbage and hair dye—but either Bartertown's meanness had been exaggerated, or they looked sufficiently mean themselves.
The Maya ruins were scrawled with graffiti. A handful of two-story houses stood back from the street, fenced in by razor wire. Most of the newer structures were ad hoc jumbles of metal drums, reinforced pallets, corrugated metal, and scrap wood. Some were no more than four
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