One Fell Sweep
Page 46

A short chirping question came from the wall. “Chichi-chichi?”
Cookie launched into a second lecture. He stood on his toes, raising his arms as far as they could go and drew a big circle. He put his arms behind his back and walked around. Then he waited.
The fortress remained quiet.
“I say we storm it,” Sean whispered.
“Hush.”
Another chirp.
Cookie turned to me. “Can I have your shoe?”
I reached for my sneaker.
A chorus of outraged shrieks emanated from the fortress.
“The other shoe,” Cookie said softly.
I took off my left sneaker. Cookie raised it like it was a treasure and deposited it by the toys.
A metal clang echoed through the fortress, followed by rapid thuds. The gates swung open and a horde of muckrats spilled out. About four feet tall, they resembled weasels who somehow walked upright and developed monkey hands. Their sleek fur ranged from rusty brown to black, and they wore little leather kilts adorned with lights. They poured out of the gates, dragging the massive argon tank. The tank was deposited on the ground. A short muckrat dumped a pile of gold coins by the tank, another added a dead scree rat the size of a small cat, and a third put some complex electronic part on it.
The leading muckrat pointed to the pile. “Chi?”
Cookie made a great show of inspecting the goods. “Chi.”
The leading muckrat grabbed my sneaker and raised it up over his head.
“Chiiiiiiiiiiii!”
The muckrats erupted in screaming. The toys vanished and the horde ran back into the fort, as if sucked into it. The metal doors clanged shut.
Sean picked up a gold coin from the pile. “Are these Spanish doubloons?”
“So sorry about the shoe,” Cookie said mournfully as his bodyguard hefted the argon tank onto his shoulder like it weighed nothing, “but they wouldn’t budge on it.”
CHAPTER 8
“You’re not carrying me.” I pulled off my right sneaker and started down the street.
“You have no idea what’s on this street.” Sean wrinkled his nose. “It’s disgusting.”
“Then I will find a shoe merchant and buy a new pair.”
“You do realize that I could carry three of you and it wouldn’t slow me down?”
“You do realize that you can’t even handle one of me? Three of me would be entirely too much.”
Sean opened his mouth.
“I’m walking,” I told him. “It won’t kill me to go barefoot for a couple of blocks.”
Sean muttered something under his breath.
“I heard that,” I told him. I didn’t, but he didn’t need to know that.
Walking barefoot in this part of Baha-char was a bad idea. The big square tiles that lay in the open, baked by the sun, were too hot, which forced me to hug the edges of the street by the buildings, where trash and grime had drifted, pushed to the side by wind and the never-ending current of shoppers. Staring at the ground to make sure I didn’t step on anything that would slice my feet open got old very fast. But letting Sean carry me wasn’t an option. I had to preserve some dignity. Besides, being carried by him would be… nice. I had a feeling I would like it, and we weren’t out of the woods yet. I didn’t need to be contemplating how exactly being that close to him felt until we were back in the safety of the inn.
I looked up long enough to see where we were going. At the end of the block, a grimy storefront under a ratty green tarp had a bright neon sign that announced FOOTWEAR in seven languages. A colorful shell, resembling that of a garden snail but five feet tall and colored in hues of brilliant red, rich brown, and lemon yellow, sat in the doorway of the shop.
“Look, shoes!”
I sped up to the stall. The merchant, a Took, sensed me coming and stretched his wrinkly neck all the way out of his snail shell. Cookie rubbed his hands together.
“I just need a pair of shoes,” I told him.
“Of course,” the little fox answered. “As long as we get them at the right price.”
The inside of the shop contained a single massive pile of shoes made from all sorts of materials for all sorts of feet. It smelled like all sorts of feet too, but I didn’t care. I dug through it, trying to find something made for humans. Sean parked himself at the front of the store, watching the street. Cookie’s shaggy bodyguard stopped next to him.
I rummaged through the shoes. Too big, too small, too slimy, made for someone who only tiptoed like the elephants, too sharp, too… This pair wasn’t too bad. I lifted the two sandals up, little more than soles with a string of cheap beads.
“How much?”
The Took’s tentacles wavered. “Two credits.”
“Two credits!” Cookie staggered back and slumped over, as if punched. “It’s an outrage! Are you trying to murder us?”
Crap. I forgot he was with us. I had to cut this off now, before it devolved into bargaining. “Two credits is f—”
“Financially criminal!” Cookie announced.
The Took’s squid-like eyes flared, changing color from deep red to bright green. “This is genuine okarian leather!”
Cookie plucked the sandals from my fingers and waved them around. “Yes, from the genuine ass of an okarian nifrook. Have you smelled these shoes?”
“The odor adds character!”
“Character?” Cookie bared his teeth. “My friend isn’t interested in character. Do you not see that she is a young attractive female of her species? If she wears these shoes, we’ll have to charge you compensation for all of the potential mates this odious footwear will repulse.”