If Gandalf dealt with my father, it means that we met before I killed him. I was a teenager. I remember seeing a few traveling merchants over the years. Sergeant Kang always found things to trade in exchange for their goods. Once or twice, we even worked as mercenaries to help a few of them trade with difficult communities. I never paid close attention to any of them. They were just a part of the wastelands’ landscape.
My father told me where to go and what to do. I was never allowed to be anything other than a dutiful soldier. I didn’t learn how to think for myself. Not before that fateful day with Aurora.
Before falling asleep, Gandalf gives us the coordinates of where he left his vehicle, the said hovercar.
“Dumdumb, we’re making a quick detour to the following coordinates,” says Jude, followed by the long string of numbers.
“Understood,” answers Fyfe.
From the frown nestled between Jude’s eyebrows, it’s evident that he’s annoyed by the detour. He just wants to go to the Hoover Dam and learn about his parents’ killer.
“We could leave him with supplies somewhere safe,” I say.
Jude shakes his head. “Gandalf is an old friend and a valuable ally. He’s one of the most respected merchants of the Traveling Market. I want to make sure he gets back to his hovercar safely. The dam will still be there when we come back, and Marika can wait one more day.”
It takes us a few hours to fly to the coordinates. By then, theFirefly’s solar power is almost depleted, and I have to give it juice.
Jude whistles as the gauge indicates a full recharge again.
“That’s why it was kept hidden for me,” I say, “before you stole it. With me on board, it can almost go on forever as long as you feed me.”
Jude snorts. “Aren’t you a handy little monster?”
I glare at him, and he offers me a grin.
The sun rises over the wastelands as Gandalf pulls out the invisible tarp covering his hovercar. I stare in awe, and some long-forgotten memory resurfaces from when I was younger. I remember an invisible floating car. We must have met when I was no older than ten. Back then, I thought he was a wizard from one of the old books I used to read when my father had his back turned.
We set up camp for the day near the river, hidden at the bottom of the canyon. Gandalf pulls out another tarp, this one paper-thin but larger. We tie it between theFireflyand his hovercar to provide shade. The wind is slightly cooler near the river. The water level is high; it must have rained up north, at the origin of the Colorado.
Once we’ve set a table and chairs on the sand—Gandalf has quite the equipment in his hovercar—the old merchant pulls out enough food for a feast.
“Let’s eat!” he announces.
There is canned meat, pickled vegetables, beans, jerky, and, to our surprise, frozen fruits.
“Where did you get those?” Jude asks, biting into a strawberry.
Gandalf chuckles. “I don’t kiss and tell. A good merchant always keeps his best providers a secret.”
I was already impressed that he had a functioning fridge in his hovercar. It’s small and fits in a wooden compartment he has built over the passenger’s seat.
The two men exchange stories while we eat, and I listen. They’ve known each other from the time Jude lived on the Traveling Market. After eating, the old merchant pulls out a bottle of whiskey and puts it on the table.
“A thank you gift,” he announces, “for saving me.”
Jude grabs the bottle and takes a sniff of the liquor. “I won’t say no to that.”
Gandalf brings three mugs out of the back of his hovercar.
“I’ve heard that you went back to the market,” he says. “You’re a crazy, boy.” He laughs good-heartedly. “The King is enraged that you managed to slip between his fingers again. He put a price on your head.”
Jude smiles lazily. “Oh, yeah?”
But as soon as the merchant has poured the honey-colored liquid into his mug, he drinks it all.
I prefer to sip my own. I don’t know when I’ll be able to taste good liquor like this one again.
“What’s the price over my head?” Jude asks. “What am I worth?”
