“A spot on the Traveling Market,” Gandalf says, pouring him another glass.
The Traveling Market is one of the safest places to live, even with the threat of theHighwaymen. Its dwellers are protected by the guild of merchants, and they’re at the center of the trade routes. They never lack anything.
Jude’s eyes widen. “Oh, shit. He really wants me dead.”
The old merchant nods. “Dead, yes. But he said, ‘preferably alive.’”
Jude snorts. “Or maimed. For the hell of it.”
“And you,” I say to Gandalf. “Don’t you want a spot on the Traveling Market?”
He could have put drugs in the bottle of whiskey and be waiting for us to fall unconscious or dead. Then he could send a radio signal to his little friends in the market.
Gandalf offers me a wrinkled smile. He’s missing half his teeth. “I’ve been a member of the guild since the day it was founded. I always had a spot. But I prefer to be out there.” He gestures to the wastelands and beyond. “There’s so much to see and explore. The world is beautiful, even now. Especially now.”
“The market might be the beating heart of the trade routes,” says Jude. “But Gandalf IS the trade routes.”
The old merchant cackles. “Well said, boy. Well said.”
Shortly after, he announces that he would like to rest and lick his wounds. He retires to his hovercar.
Jude is now on his fourth mug of whiskey. I’m only at my second. The sun is high in the sky, and the wastelands are quiet. Even the animals have found places to hide from the relentless heat.
Jude is playing with his gun. He’s trailing the barrel over his calf. His eyes are feverish as he looks over at me. He’s drunk.
“Why did you steal from the King of Merchants?” I ask. “You were lovers.”
This question has been haunting my mind since our mad flight from the Traveling Market. If he were the King’s paramour, he could have had the best life. All the luxuries that can be had in our harsh new world could have been at his request.
Jude smiles lazily. “That’s the reason, isn’t it? We were lovers. We were getting close. Too close for comfort. And I panicked. He was asking questions about my life. My past. He was getting impatient to dig deeper. It was only a matter of time before he learned about my family. Even then, theHighwaymenwere already a thorn in his side. Alastair is… strong, to say the least. He’s leading the guild with a powerful grip. What would he have done to me as soon as he realized I could be working for his enemies?”
“Were you?” I ask.
He chuckles. “Of course not. You know that I hate those fuckers. I was just there for a good time. But I’m a survivor through and through. I know how to fight, and I know when to run. So, I stole a car and food, and I ran before he could catch me unaware.” He takes a sip of his whiskey.
“Did you love him?” I ask.
Even though it’s none of my business. I shouldn’t be asking that. Not to my captor.
Jude’s eyes float toward me. “The only love I know is tough love. And no one wants that.”
It’s not an answer. Annoyance surges through me, taking me by surprise.
Jude gets off his folding chair and drops to his knees in the sand between my legs. The gun is still in his hand, but it’s pointed to the ground. He grabs the front of my Hawaiian shirt and pulls me to him. His kiss is urgent and wet. He tastes like spices and smoke. Like whiskey. Need rises from my core, and electricity travels through my veins, ready to lash out.
When he finally stops kissing me long enough to breathe, his lips are red. But his eyes are glassy, and he drops his head over my thigh, sighing deeply.
“You’re dead drunk,” I say.
He doesn’t answer.
I push him off me and lay him down on the sand. He’s already asleep. I could take his gun now and kill him. Be done with all this. I would let the old merchant live. And with some luck, he might even take time to burn Jude’s body.
“All I know is tough love, too,” I tell him, caressing his sweaty ginger hair. “Ask Helios.”
He was the only one who ever loved me, and I hurt him over and over again. I hunted him down and tied him naked to a wall when I finally got my hands on him in Bunkertown. I don’t think it can even be called love, tough or not. I’m as bad as my father.
Jude snores in the sand, and I pour myself a mug of whiskey.
