“Never have seen the fun in that,” Left Ned complained, like he always complained. “But if it pays extra . . .”
“It doesn’t. Same pay as every day: food, roof, honest work. And the pleasure of my conversational company.”
“Speaking of which,” Left Ned said. “Isn’t it about time we converse about a raise?”
“When we clear a profit, you’ll get your share,” I said.
Right Ned slid me a smile, and I grinned back. Left Ned and I had had that conversation daily since they’d wandered up the lane and shook on the terms and job. My answer had never changed, but it didn’t stop him from asking.
Lizard wasn’t hard to spot since it was approximately the size of a barn and was napping behind the electric fence. It was harmless as long as you didn’t move fast around it, didn’t look it straight in the eye, and didn’t poke it.
“Always meant to ask,” Right Ned said. “Where’d the lizard come from? Did your dad make it too?”
“Yep. Stitched it up piece by piece.” We stopped dragging, and Neds and I bent to the task of pulling the net free of the beast.
“What’s it all made of?” Right Ned asked.
“Iguana, if you’d believe it,” I said. “Of course, bits of other things too—crocodile, kimono. No boars.”
“And how do you explain the wings?”
“No idea. Mom said Dad had a whimsical side to his stitchery. Said if he was going to make living creatures, he may as well make them beautiful.”
I threw the last of the net off the crocboar and straightened.
The lizard stirred at the commotion and shifted its big shovel-shaped head in our direction.
“You stand on back with the tranquilizer,” I said, handing Neds my rifle. “I’ll heave this into the corral. Plug it twice if it gets twitchy. Takes a lot to put it down. Are we gold?”
“We’re gold,” Right Ned said. He stepped back and set my gun down while he pulled his tranq gun.
“You know no one says that anymore,” Left Ned said. “Gold isn’t what it used to be.”
“Gold is just the same as ever,” I said. “People aren’t what they used to be.”
I hefted the front half of the dragon kibble up off the ground, dragged it a little closer to the fence. It was heavy, but I was an uncommonly strong girl. My brother had made sure of that when he’d stitched me together.
“Did you ever ask your father why he stitched a dragon?” Right Ned asked.
“Lizard.”
“Four legs, four wings, reptile the size of a house.” He raised the tranq gun at Lizard who opened its yellow slitted eyes and then raised its head and rose onto its feet. “Dragon.”
“All right, dragon. Who knows? Mom said it was during his scatty years, shaking off his time after he left House White. Maybe just to see if it could be done.”
“So your dad gets a pink slip from House Medical and stitches together a dragon?” Right Ned shook his head, admiration in that smile. “Wish I’d met him. He aimed high.”
“I don’t mind high, but I wish he’d aimed smaller.” I heaved the first half of the crocboar over the metal wires. “Then maybe Lizard would go catatonic every couple of months like most stitched creatures of a certain size.”
I heaved the other half of the lizard’s breakfast over the fence. It landed with a squishy thump.
“And maybe Lizard wouldn’t be such a big, smart, pain in the hole to deal with.” I stepped away from the fence, but did not turn my back. Lizard was cobra-fast when it caught sight of something it wanted to eat.
“Do you think it could survive on its own, if it were set free?” Right Ned’s voice muffled just a bit from holding the gun ready to fire if the fences failed.
“I suppose. Well, maybe not in city. It’s never been on dead soil. Large things unstitch there, don’t they? Not enough mutant nano to keep them going?”
Left Ned answered, “Can’t keep a stitch that big alive in the city. Hard to keep the smaller bits alive unless they are very, very expensive and very, very, well made. It’s not because of the soil, though.”
