Free Expatria: The Box Set by Keith Brooke Page A

are. Only, yesterday... You know who I saw yesterday?'
    'Who?'
    'Name's Ngota,' said Alpha. 'Lucilla Ngota. I reckon things are going to turn bad, round here. Reckon it's time I moved the show. Alabama City, yeah!'
    Sukui left Alpha to celebrate the prospect of moving base. He paused in the light of an open tavern window and made a few notes in his diary. Lucilla Ngota. He knew the name. He smiled; things were certainly becoming interesting in the port of Orlyons. He noted another comment in his diary and then walked on, through the darkening streets.

Chapter 7
    Mathias had misjudged Kasimir Sukui's reaction to defeat. He'd offered him money—he knew what it was like to be penniless and foreign in the port of Orlyons—but that had been a bad move. He knew that he should have read the situation more accurately, but he was tired, it had been a long MidNight. Too much concentration always did this to Mathias, left him feeling fuzzy and slow. Sukui shouldn't have kept on playing as he had. Still, Mathias felt guilty; Mono was fond of the old scientist, he should have been easier on him.
    What he had said was true, though. Sukui was too stiff . He'd spent the night writing notes and missing half of the action; Mathias had even thrown him a few chances—for Mono—but it had been no good. Sukui was a moderate player, he probably broke even more often than not but he would never be a grandmaster, like Ilya Borosche or Françime Boucher. Françime had taught Mathias most of what he knew; she had said he was a good learner, he had a feel for the game. Sukui did not have the feel.
    Mathias turned away from Salomo's and headed for the room he kept by the docks. He didn't like confrontations, they unsettled him. He hunched his shoulders and walked.
    'Winning again, eh, Matt?' It was Vera-Lynne Perse.
    Mathias turned. 'Please, Vera-Lynne. I'm tired. You know my answer and I still think you have a nice face, OK?'
    'You're cute too, Mathias. Or too cute. No, I just saw you and we're walking in the same direction.' She fell into step by his side.
    When Mathias had fled Newest Delhi the barge captain had clearly felt his obligation was over as soon as they docked in Orlyons. Mathias had known no one until he met Vera-Lynne.
    His first night in Orlyons had been a MidNight, something he had never heard of before. That night, he had wandered through the maze of streets, confused yet excited by the currents of energy that flowed through the town. There had been people everywhere, drunk and high and laughing and shouting, every single one of them a part of this thing called MidNight. Mathias's spirits had lifted themselves and eventually he'd stopped by a huge street fire and felt that maybe he was a small part of what was happening.
    Vera-Lynne Perse had found him by that street fire. She had warmed her hands on his chest and then engulfed him in a piercing kiss. He had never been so close to a woman before and he had been stunned, too slow to react. Then she had paused and drawn her face away from his. 'Ooh!' she had squeaked. 'I thought you were...' Then she had kissed him again. She had taught him a great deal in the ensuing weeks. He had learnt the ways of the world from Vera-Lynne, and also the ways of some of its inhabitants.
    Since those first weeks they had drifted. They had learnt more about each other and more about themselves and finally Mathias had moved into his small room in Westward Street. 'It's closer to the fishing,' he had told her. She had agreed that it was the best thing. For his fishing, of course.
    The woman beside him, as they walked through Orlyons, had changed. She was more controlled now, less given to partying. She had become involved with politics, what she called the musical underground. 'We're free to play our instruments,' she would say, 'but only in the streets.' 'We play our tunes,' she would say, 'but only on this island of Clermont.' 'We sing our songs,' she would say, 'but we don't have a voice.' The