Page 174 of The Space Between Stars

As Fankalo searched, her eyes met with another’s: a young man’s. He looked to be Mitek’s age, crouched on the ledge of a second-floor balcony like a vulture. Had she hackles, they would have risen. The boy put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. More young men stepped out from the openings into side streets or craned their necks down from the flat rooftops.

Heart hammering, Fankalo began counting.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” The boy hopped from the balcony, catching a jutting structural rod to slow himself mid-fall, and dropped to the ground. He landed in a crouch in front of them. “Y’see, kids from Shrokan know that half o’ any haul what passes through these streets goes to Kashaan.”

Kashaan, presumably, rose to his full height and puffed out his chest.

Fankalo scowled. “Hands to your hats, boys. There’s a foul wind blowing.”

Kashaan’s face mirrored her sentiment.

“Who’s Kashaan?” Cam asked. Mitek smacked him in the back of the head.

Fankalo eyed the thug’s mid-sized frame, his chewed-up sirwal, his unkempt black curls. His bare feet bore the callouses of one who seldom wore shoes. Not a strong threat, then. But a damn good farce. She’d choke on a cosalt before giving up half a score to some young slumlord’s intimidation tactics.

“I think there is a misunderstanding.” Fankalo lifted her chin at him. “We have no haul.”

Her eyes shifted from shadow to shadow as they creeped closer, analyzing their options. Her Luck did not predict a disastrous outcome, so long as they moved quickly.

Kashaan crossed his arms over his bare chest. “My tracers followed yer lot since Korshuva.” Then he laughed. “As if they needed to. One look at yeh speaks otherwise.” He tilted a chin at Zeb and Cam and the sacks slung over their shoulders. Their pockets were still stuffed just full enough to not look comically obvious.

Fankalo lifted two hands and grinned. “You got me.”

Face smug, Kashaan extended his palm in the universal gesture of ‘pony up’.

Eleven. There were eleven of them to their four. She could take them out with the tanka—she and Mitek both kept them holstered beneath their tunics—but was it worth the scene and the cost of blood? None of them appeared to hold long-range weapons, though one or two brandished daggers as if to prove that they weren’t just a load of neighborhood children out for a wander.

Fankalo moved, as if to pull notes from within her sleeve. It had been a shitty day, sure, but there was no need for her to bully some slum rat with bits if it wasn’t entirely necessary. Evasion was a charity really. And they weren’t far from the port, where her own numbers could quickly overwhelm this lot. The more she leaned into her Luck, the more she determined the best option for all parties was to—

“Dodge,” she whispered.

With a tag of Luck, Fankalo released a tanka bit into the rope securing the mud pallet overhead.

“My pleasure,” Mitek chimed, tail already turned with all the bolt of a fox in an open field.

Kashaan leapt for cover as the plummeting mass leveled everything in its wake. A flock of startled doves took flight in a flurry of wings. Fankalo darted at Zeb’s heels as pallet and debris splintered in every direction from the spot they’d stood in moments before.

They zig-zagged down the sloping street, dodging the odd pedestrian, cart, or cat at a full tilt. The diversion only gave them a lead of a matter of seconds. Numerous heads popped up behind them in pursuit.

“Separate?” Mitek queried from ahead of her, amidst the pattering of their boots on cobbles.

Fankalo posed the question to her Luck again. Separating did not bode well for any of them.

“No!” she screamed. “Next left.”

Without question, Mitek dodged down the following side alley with Cam in step. These urchins had the advantage of knowing these streets—and running empty-handed. Her crew had the advantage of weapons, nutrition, and really good fucking luck.

Left put them on a crowded street laden with merchants selling spices and fruits, trinkets and fabrics. They weaved through the throng, who grunted or shouted after them as they pushed their way toward the port. Fankalo looked to the rooftops, where the sure-footed band prowled the ledges around them.

“Still on us,” Mitek growled.

“Just keep for the ship, you mouse,” she muttered, now at his side. She slipped a hand around his waist and slowed them to a casual walk. “Blend in. They won’t rob us bloody with this much traffic around.”

Mitek’s lips pressed into a line. “You underestimate Shrokan, and you underestimate Kashaan—this guy is trouble. We should keep running. They will keep eyes on us like it’s life-or-death, because it is to them.”

Fankalo stiffened. Mitek rarely challenged orders. That said, this wouldn’t be the first time he’d demonstrated all the backbone of an earthworm. “If you’re so chummy with Kashaan and you know Shrokan so well, why don’t you just stay here?”

“Trust me on this one, Brat.”