Sword of Dreams (The Reforged Trilogy) (59 page)

Logan finally found what he was looking for. When he came around the crumbling brick corner, he was suddenly face-to-chest with a tall teenage boy. Behind him, Logan could see the younger one he had followed and seven or eight other boys. A pair of girls, little more than children – much like the boys – lounged against a door and watched as they rubbed runny red noses.

The boy before Logan didn't look anything like Sullis, but he didn't have to. He held himself with the same defensive, suspicious hunch. His breath carried the same reek of cheap rollers. He was exactly the same as Sullis.

"What do you want, you little prick?" he asked Logan.

"I want in. I want to fly with you and your boys."

"You've heard of Elson and my boys, eh? And you want a piece of the cuttings," laughed the boy, who must have been Elson.

"Yes," said Logan simply.

Elson crossed his arms. His jacket had only one sleeve, showing off a sloppy falcon tattoo on the other bared bicep. The ruffian leaned in close to inspect Logan. "You're a bit of a starling, aren't you? Got a piece? A knife or gun? No? Can't say you're impressing me much, little lark."

Logan didn't back away from the looming boy. "I've got even better. I live across town. There's another gang there, run by a boy called Sullis. Do you know him?"

"No. And why in the sooty hells should I care? This is my patch," said Elson.

"They hit a house not very long ago. They stole some things. Some antiques from Axis. They're really expensive, worth a lot of colour."

The lie sat uneasily in Logan's stomach, as though he had swallowed a live snake. Sullis had stolen some food and his mother's computer, but had been too stupid to recognize the real prize. He and his boys had smashed all of the pretty dishes one by one as they ignored Logan's pleas to stop. The memory of the shattered blue glass hardened his resolve. Elson's almost colorless brows shot up.

The girls squealed at something and called for Elson's attention, but he waved them off. "You can show us where?" he asked.

"Yes. I know all their favorite places."

"And what do you want, little lark? Just a cut or something else?" Elson asked. He was a little sharper than he looked. He must have guessed that Logan wanted more than a few cen in stolen goods. "Something personal?"

"They said things," replied Logan shortly. "They lied about my mother and ruined her house. I don't want them to ever do it again."

"You want yourself some revenge?"

"Yes."

Elson grinned lazily like a self-satisfied cat. "And that's why you want in. All right, lark. Let's say what you've got in mind sounds good. Even so, you can't just ask your way into Elson's boys, eh? You've got to prove yourself."

Logan frowned impatiently. "Fine. What do you want me to do?"

Elson gestured to one of his boys. "You got some paint on you? Yeah? Give it here."

The boy plucked a pressure-tube of lumapaint from his jacket pocket and tossed it to Elson, who held it out to Logan.

"What do you want me to do with it?" Logan took the tube in his small hands, turning it over.

"All this," Elson swept his arms across the alleyway, "is our nesting, isn't it? How about leaving a little reminder for all the other little pricks who want a piece?"

The alley was layered in graffiti, all colors and sizes, from insults to lewd pictures to any number of gang tags. Elson's wasn't the only one to claim this area. Logan hefted the paint and flicked back the cap. He looked up at his new leader.

"My name. Big as you can, lark."

Behind Elson, the girls called out again. The rear door of the palaestrum banged open and a man stomped out into the alley. It was the same short, thick-bellied man Logan had seen inside. Elson turned to face him, forgetting Logan in an instant.

"What do you want, Vorus?" he snapped. "Tail it out of here, you wing-clipped sod."

"You seem to have missed the front door again," the old man answered pleasantly. "You can come in for classes any day, Elson. Why do you insist on vandalizing my back door instead?"

"Not interested," Elson spat. "Go away!"

The gang leader prodded Vorus in his wide chest. With a sad-sounding sigh, Vorus caught Elson's wrist and twisted, driving the tall boy to his knees on the alley floor. "You must learn respect, boy."

Elson shrieked and his gang skittered back like frightened deer. "Let go of me!"

Vorus released the boy, who stumbled back. But instead of running, Elson pulled a snub-nosed laser pistol from his belt and waved it in the air.

"How dare you touch me, you mud-sucking old coot?" he screamed, leveling the gun at Vorus.

The old man lashed out with a surprisingly high, agile kick that cracked against Elson's hand. Elson dropped his laser with a howl and cradled his broken fingers against his chest. He stumbled and ran, scattering his own gang in his haste to escape. The other boys fled down the alleyway, shouting and shrieking. Logan turned to follow, but Vorus grabbed the boy's thin arm.

"No, not you," he said.

"I didn't do anything!" Logan protested.

Vorus looked at the tube of paint in his hand. "You were about to, weren't you?"

Logan dropped the lumapaint, but the old man didn't let him go. Vorus hauled Logan easily through the door and into the palaestrum. They were in a back room, not the one Logan had seen through the front window. There was a square table and a few chairs. Vorus pushed the boy down into one of these. A brown and black falcon perched on a stand under the window and chewed contentedly on his thick braided leash.

"What do you want?" Logan asked petulantly

"What did you think you were doing out there? Why aren't you at school?"

Logan didn't answer.

Vorus sighed and dropped heavily into a chair across the table. He leaned back and rested scarred hands on his belly. "What's your name, little hawk?"

"Logan Centra."

"I heard you talking out there," Vorus said, "about your mother and another boy. Sullis? Is that his name?"

"You were spying on me?" Logan bristled indignantly. He jumped to his feet, but Vorus gave the table a sharp shove. The feet scraped loudly over the bare concrete floor and the edge hit Logan hard in the stomach. He dropped back into his chair, suddenly winded and a little nauseous.

"What did this Sullis kid say that made you come all the way across Highwind to join another gang?" asked Vorus.

"He… he called my mum a whore," Logan panted. "It's a lie! She's not! And then he came to our house and… and broke her things…" He trailed off and looked down at his lap, hoping that Vorus couldn't see the angry tears that stung his eyes.

"He dishonored your mother and your home," Vorus said. He actually sounded as though he agreed. Logan looked up again and found the old man nodding at him. "Tell me, little hawk, why did you want to take Elson and his boys to fight Sullis' gang? Was it out of revenge?"

"I just want Sullis to stop! I want him to leave me and my mother alone! He broke her favorite dishes and sent me to the hospital," said Logan hotly. He had found his breath again. "It was expensive and now mum has to pay for it. It's not fair!"

"This boy, Sullis, is a criminal. What he did was wrong and against the law."

"I know that!"

"But what about what you were doing? If you defaced my palaestrum, if you joined Elson's gang, you would be a criminal, too."

"But…" Logan protested. Vorus beetled his smooth, shiny brow at the boy.

"No. If you want to fight for honor, you must fight with honor, little hawk. Do you want to learn how?"

"I'm not very good at fighting," replied Logan sullenly.

"No, I can see that," Vorus said, eyes lingering on the boys many bruises. "But you can be, if you work hard, practice every day and come to all of my classes."

"Your classes? Are you any good?"

Vorus laughed and slapped his hand on the table. "Me? Of course I'm good! I'm one of the best. I was a cop for most of my life, Logan. I still teach police and anyone else who wants to fight for the right reasons."

"You think I could be any good?" The idea was tantalizing.

"You need a lot of training. You're small and more than a little skinny, but when Sullis dishonored your mother, you went in search of allies and convinced them to do your work for you," said Vorus. He shook his finger at Logan. "It was very bad idea, and an even worse one for a little boy."

"I'm not a little boy!"

"Yes, you are, but I think we can remedy that," Vorus chuckled. His round face became deadly serious. "But I don't teach criminals, little hawk. Do you understand? I train men of honor and integrity. Are you a good man, Logan?"

________

"Welcome to my palaestrum, Mrs. Centra. I'm Arctan Vorus," he said, extending his hand. "I was hoping we could have a word about Logan."

"You stay the hell away from my son!"

Lynn Centra's face was pale. She was taller than Vorus, but still managed to look small and frightened. Her high heels clacked on the age-scarred wooden floor as she moved to leave.

"Please, Mrs. Centra…" Vorus put a gnarled hand on her shoulder. "Logan needs help."

"Not from you!" Lynn gripped her purse tightly against her knotting stomach. "I don't want you encouraging him, Master Vorus. Please, just leave him alone!"

"Logan's a fighter, Mrs. Centra. He's got fire in his heart and you should count yourself lucky that he's got something to fight for."

Lynn laughed shortly. The sound was sharp and unpleasant, full of bitter pain. "Whether you fight for something or nothing at all, you still end up dead."

"He's shown promise, Mrs. Centra. He's small for his age, but he'll get his growth. Logan's fast and he's clever. I think he has what it takes to be one of the best, maybe even good enough to join the force. Don't you want the best for him?"

"I don't want Logan to be a cop!"

Vorus frowned deeply. "The Prian police are a very thin, very fragile line between civilization and bloody anarchy here. Prianus needs good men."

"No! I wanted better for Logan. His father was a cop, too, and died before he could even hold his son." Lynn was still afraid but her eyes took on the fierce, hard cast of a mother hawk defending her nest. "He left us alone. And for what? Honor?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't know. Logan never mentioned it."

"He doesn't know," Lynn said. She could not meet Vorus' gaze. "I don't want Logan to know. I don't want to lose my son, too."

"I found Logan in the alley out back, trying to join a gang. Is that any better? He wants to fight for you and he'll find a way to do it."

"He sings, you know," answered Lynn quietly. "And plays the guitar. He's amazing, really. I don't know where Logan gets it. Neither his father nor I ever played. I always hoped that maybe he would get away from Prianus."

"Maybe he will. Or maybe he'll stay and fight for all of the people who can't or won't fight for themselves. That's not our decision. That's between Logan and God. I just want to teach him. What he does with the knowledge is up to him."

"What if he breaks his hand in your class?"

"Then he'll learn to play his guitar with crooked fingers."

Lynn sighed. "I can't pay for classes, Master Vorus."

"Then I won't charge. He can wash the mirrors and sweep the floors. We'll work it out."

She shook her head, scattering the tears that had gathered in her lashes. Vorus was right, no matter how much she hated it. Slowly, she went to the door and pushed it open. Logan jumped up from where he had been sitting against the wall outside. She brushed the grit from the seat of his pants and took a steadying breath.

"Logan, you can study fighting with Master Vorus. Pay attention and be sure to behave yourself," Lynn said. She smoothed her son's hair and smiled. "I'll see you tonight for dinner, my brave little hawk."

He kissed his mother on the cheek then looked up to see Vorus waiting just inside the palaestrum door. "Are you ready to begin?" the old man asked.

"Yes," Logan answered.

________

The End