Part 5 (1/2)
”I know.” She was determined not to be sidetracked into being upset. ”We get through this, and then I'll worry about the mess.”
The hospice was two miles in. Luckily the road remained too narrow for the EIA cars to try cutting them off. She geared down to make the turn into the hospice parking lot, swung the flatbed around, and backed up to the hospice's door as the EIA cars swarmed about her like gnats, hemming the truck in on the sides and front.
A moment later, and EIA men clung to every surface of the truck, pointing guns at her through the windows. Tinker raised her hands.
They hit her with a police override, and the door locks thunked up. They jerked the door open.
”I've got a wounded elf in-” she started to say, but finished with a yelp of surprise as they plucked her out of the seat.
”Tinker!” Oilcan shouted from the back.
”There's a wounded elf in back!” she said.
They pushed her up against the flatbed's hot hood, face down, and twisted her hands behind her back. Pain flared from her wounded hand. She couldn't bite back the cry of hurt.
”Tinker!” Oilcan threw open the back door and was yanked down himself. A moment later he was slammed up against the hood beside her. ”She's hurt!” he growled. ”Be careful with her!”
There were elves among the men. She could hear the rapid bark of Elvish. A man was leaning his weight into her back, while frisking her.
”She's got a shoulder holster on!” the man shouted in warning. ”They've got a pistol someplace.”
The gun! Where had she dropped it? It was lost in a blur of events.
He reached her pants pockets and started to upload them onto the high hood. ”d.a.m.n, she's carrying a household.”
”We haven't done anything except protect our patient,” Tinker said, trying to turn to face him.
”Shut up, punk.” He pulled her backwards and then slammed her against the hood again.
”Leave her alone!” Oilcan shouted.
The guard turned, nightstick upraised. Tinker shouted wordlessly in protest.
Then everything went silent and still. An elf had hold of the nightstick, and there were others, armed and hard-eyed, ringing them.
”They're not to be harmed,” the elf said in Low Elvish. ”Wolf Who Rules has placed them under his protection.”
”Naekanain,” Mr. Nightstick said, slurring the word as if he'd learned the phrase by rote. I do not understand. I do not understand.
”They have brought Wolf Who Rules here to be cared for,” the elf clarified in Low Elvish. ”He asked me to protect the young humans. I will not let them be harmed.”
”What's he saying?” Mr. Nightstick asked the woman beside him.
”He's saying, 'Hands off the kids or we'll break your face.' Get the cuffs off them.”
It quickly became apparent that there were two types of armed elves present. Hospice security appeared to be laedin laedin caste, in camouflage green and browns done with elfin flare for fas.h.i.+on. They carried bows and spell-arrows and interceded between the humans of the EIA and Windwolf's personal security-which was all higher-born caste, in camouflage green and browns done with elfin flare for fas.h.i.+on. They carried bows and spell-arrows and interceded between the humans of the EIA and Windwolf's personal security-which was all higher-born sekasha sekasha caste, armed to the teeth and thoroughly peeved. Even the hospice healers seemed intimidated by the caste, armed to the teeth and thoroughly peeved. Even the hospice healers seemed intimidated by the sekasha sekasha, taking care to make no threatening moves as Windwolf was s.h.i.+fted off the worktable onto a stretcher and then handed out the trailer. The cousins were kept back, out of the way, as the healers and the sekasha sekasha carried the injured elf into the hospice. carried the injured elf into the hospice.
By then, news of the cousins' arrival with Windwolf must have reached the enclaves that lined Elfhome's side of the Rim; elves drifted out of the darkness to gather in the parking lot. They were largely ignored by everyone, but seemed satisfied with swapping information among themselves. Only one rated attention from the guards; she drifted out of the woods like a will-o'-the-wisp, a gleaming beauty who made Tinker extremely aware of how short, dirty, and scruffy she herself really was in comparison. Obviously one of the high caste, the female crossed the parking lot and stopped one of the hospice guards with a touch of her luminous hand. The two made an effective roadblock, preventing the cousins and their joint elf/human guard from entering the hospice.
”Wolf Who Rules has been found?” the female asked in High Elvish. The guard bowed low and answered in a rapid flow of high tongue that Tinker couldn't follow. (Tinker had always found the more formal language to be too tedious and pretentious to become fluent in it.) She did catch, however, the female's name: Saetato-fohaili-ba-taeli. Roughly, it meant ”Sparrow Lifted By Wind” though the ”Saetato” could indicate soaring rather than lifted. While the female did not seem the type to take a human nickname, she would probably be called Sparrow.
As if collateral damage from Sparrow's beauty were not enough, the guard indicated the cousins, and Sparrow turned her stunning regard their way. From ankle-length hair, so pale blond it was nearly silver, with ribbons and flowers worked through it, to her tall lithe body encased in softly gleaming fairy silk of pale green, she was perfection taking humanoid form.
”These two wood sprites?” A soft musical laugh as eyes of deep emerald studied the cousins.
The guard clicked his tongue, the elfin way of shrugging, and added something about Windwolf putting them under his protection.
”Yes, of course.” Sparrow clicked her tongue against straight pearly teeth and drifted away.
Minutes later the cousins were alone, under joint human/elf guard, in a waiting room, holding mugs of hot chai. Oilcan was quietly shaking off the adrenaline, which left Tinker plenty of time to think. They had done it-kept Windwolf alive all of Shutdown Day and delivered him to safety. With all of Pittsburgh, why though, had he ended up in her sc.r.a.p yard? Just stupid luck, or had the life debt between them somehow guided him to her? And now what? Did he disappear out of her life again, until the next monster and the next life-or-death fight?
She touched her breast pocket to feel the spell within. If she got a moment alone with Windwolf, it might be the last time she could ever cast the spell. Even if she was sure the spell wouldn't harm him, did she want to sever the link? She scoffed at herself; what did she know of him except that he was arrogant? Strong. Brave. Altruistic. Honorable. Beautiful. That he was capable of wit and patience even while enduring great pain, facing probable death. And he was possibly a great lover.
The door swung open, and a man came in as if he ruled the place. He could nearly pa.s.s as an elf. He was tall, sleek, had blond hair drawn back into a braid, and was stylishly dressed from painted silk duster to tall, polished boots. He checked himself at the sight of the cousins huddled on the couch. Finally, the man let out his breath loudly and glanced at his PDA. ”Which one of you is Oilcan, and which is Tinker?”
”I'm Tinker,” she answered. ”He's Oilcan.”
He crossed the room to tower over them. ”Brother and sister?”
”We're cousins,” Tinker said.
”I'm Maynard.” He didn't need to say more. Everyone knew Director Derek Maynard, head of EIA. In Pittsburgh, it was just short of saying ”I'm G.o.d.”
Oilcan moaned softly and sank deeper into the couch.
”You are in luck that elves believe that the ends justify the means, as long as it's done with honor. We've been told that the court would be most displeased with us if we press charges.” He said it almost like the royal ”we.” ”So the question is, what all do we need to pardon you of? Are you citizens, or do we have to draw you up papers? Is that truck yours, or did you steal it?”
”We're citizens,” Oilcan said. ”But we need our papers back. Your men never gave them back.”
”We didn't do anything wrong until your men attacked us,” Tinker said.
Maynard looked at her, eyes narrowing. ”Was this before or after you destroyed the checkpoint?”
”We were waiting for Startup about a mile from the checkpoint when they forced their way into the trailer,” Tinker said. ”They were going to kill Windwolf. I had Windwolf's gun, so I pulled it on them. I made them get out. Then we rammed the gate.”
Maynard studied her, all expression going from his face until he was unreadable. ”What made you think they would kill Windwolf?”
”The one who got into the trailer called Windwolf 'sitting duck' or something like that.”
” 'Easy prey.' ” Oilcan mimicked their thick rough voices. ”He said 'He is here-easy prey.' Then the other said, 'Do them all. Quietly.' They were going to kill all of us.”
”Yeah, no witnesses,” Tinker said.
”What makes you think they were EIA men?”