8. Uncle

“I like her,” said Bones.

The girl in question gave a loud snore.

“She’s very charming. You two would make a fantastic couple. Why don’t you invite her out for some drinks, maybe spend some time overlooking the waterfalls at Barushka?”

Bones sighed. “Must every relationship with a female be about romance for you?”

“Hey, who said anything about romance? I’m not matchmaking; I’m just being a good wingman. I’ll bet you won’t find it so tedious once you’ve tried it.”

“I disagree.” Bones sighed, a sound like wind through a copper tube. “Shall we continue to make inane conversation, or shall we plan? As you are captain, it is of course your prerogative.”

Hank rolled his eyes. “Roith’delat, Bones, what’s got your cogs in a twist? You played the honesty card with the girl and I’ve gone along with it, insane a plan as it may be. What more do you want?”

Immediately, the ticker’s face shut down, his eyegleam dimming. “Never mind. It is irrelevant.”

“Say it anyway! I think you could do with a bit less relevance in your life. What are the calculated odds this girl is going to get our ship back?”

“As of this moment, eighty-three point four percent.”

Hank snorted. “Do something spontaneous, Bones. Just once, I’d like you to do something spontaneous.”

“I am a ticker, Hank,” Bones said quietly.

Hank ran a hand through his hair. “I know, Bones. I know.” He slid down the bars until he reached the floor, then tucked his chin to his chest, preparing to catch a catnap.

“Why’d you tell her my real name, anyway?”

Bones didn’t respond and Hank looked up to find the ticker’s eyegleam alternating between blue and red, a sure sign he was troubled about something. “Was it because you knew it would annoy me?” Hank prompted. “Or because you calculated the likelihood of her recognizing me and thought it a worthwhile risk?”

After another long moment, Bones finally replied. “I am not entirely certain.”

Hank’s eyebrows lifted, but he left the ticker alone to his internal musings. Prodding the ticker now would just cause him to close up worse than a miser asked to give to charity.

Still. The prospect that Bones had done something without calculating it beforehand was just interesting enough to make their current situation worth the trouble.

He closed his eyes and didn’t open them again until a guard appeared, rapping sharply against the bars next to his head with his baton. “Oy, you! To the back of the cell, and be quick about it!”

Hank scowled and glanced through the bars. Not a polite awakening. Two men stood, waiting for him to move so they could open the cell. The first was a guard—a short, bearded man with a look of smug self-importance that would have labeled him as the warden even without the extra gold braid at the shoulders of his uniform.

A tall, broad-shouldered man in full dinner dress stood next to the guard, his face obscured by the most ornate mourning mask Hank had ever seen. Most folks just made do with a small, disposable cloth mask during the week of mourning after the death of a loved one. This man wore a molded porcelain mask with an elongated nose, painted black with gold leaf detailing, and a fan of long black feathers trailing nearly to his waist.

Hank stood and moved to the back of the cell, eyeing the two men carefully. Bones moved to stand in his shadow and the girl stirred, lifting her head and blinking owlishly at the visitors.

A gentry guest escorted by the warden himself. Hank hadn’t been entirely certain the man wasn’t here to see him, but his concern faded as he noted that the man’s gaze remained fixed upon Remora.

The masked man clucked his tongue chidingly as he gestured to the guard to unlock the door. “Remmy, dear-heart, you do manage to get yourself into the most appalling situations, don’t you? Shall I post a guard on you round the clock to guard you against future infractions?”

Remora laughed, an unabashed smile of joy splitting her face. “Uncle! You came!” She stood and ran through the now-open cell door, throwing herself into the man’s embrace and wrapping her arms around his torso.

He hugged her tightly in return. “You mustn’t frighten me so, Remmy,” he murmured.

“I am sorry, Uncle. I should have left you a note.” She stood back, brightening. “But this means my gadget worked! You did get it, didn’t you?”

In reply, the man opened his jacket and pulled a familiar copper chain from a buttoned pocket. As he lifted the necklace from his pocket, the device began frantically sputtering, all eight legs scrambling at the empty air. The blades kicked in and it regained flight immediately, heading directly toward Remora. As it reached the end of the chain in the man’s fingers, it came to an abrupt stop. Like a frustrated dog, it strained against its bonds, trying to reach her.

Remora clapped her hands together and spun in a circle. “It worked! It found you, then it found me, precisely as intended!”

The man smiled, then released the chain. The spiderbot completed its task, returning to Remora and landing in her outstretched hand. The moment it touched her skin, it sputtered once and collapsed in her palm. She tucked it in her pocket, giving it a gentle pat.

“Remmy, Remmy. Just look at you! Where did you find such clothing? And you are not wearing your mourning mask! He was your father, Remora. You could at least wear it the full week. The scandal you will cause!” He reached forward and lifted the leather aviator’s cap from her head, grimacing distastefully as he tossed it to the side.

Released, her hair fell down her back like water from an urn. Red. Hank stared. Remora’s hair was red. Gleaming and pin-straight down to her waist, it was the color of an expensive foreign spice—cinnamon or cayenne.

Mentally, he did the math. Red hair. Named Price. Mourning the death of her father in the past week.

She wasn’t from one of the multiple Price branch families. She was from the very root of the Price tree. Magnus Price had been the caretaker of this entire city before he’d died in a plant explosion five days ago. Bael’s Roith’delat’en tail, they’d hit the jackpot! She could buy and sell their ship a dozen times over without so much as batting an eyelash.

“Come then, Remmy. Let’s get you home and into some more suitable clothing. You haven’t forgotten about our dinner with the leader of the docking guild, have you?”

“Oh, Uncle! He’s such a bore! All he talks about is ship manifests and profits,” said the wealthiest woman in the city, her lower lip jutting in a pout.

“It’s only for one evening, my dear, and we need his continued good favor.”

“Very well,” she said, lacing her fingers with his and moving out of the cell. As the guard locked the door, she glanced back at Hank and Bones. “Do try to stay out of trouble while I’m gone, boys? I promise I will be back for you,” she said with a wink.

“Good heavens, Remmy, just what sorts of friendships are you making?” her uncle asked, glancing back at them. His eyes drifted over Bones without truly seeing him, as most people did. They settled suspiciously on Hank’s face. Hank concentrated on looking as innocent as possible. “You haven’t let that one talk you into anything unsavory, I trust?”

“Good heavens, no, Uncle. The scruffy-looking one is a ship’s captain.”

“Hmm,” was the only reply the man gave before they continued walking down the hallway and out of earshot.

Scruffy-looking! Frowning, he rubbed a hand along his beard stubble. He hadn’t shaved in the past few days, but most women found a few rough edges attractive. Charming, even!

“That went well,” said Bones.

McCoy turned on his first mate. “Tell me you didn’t know she was the daughter of Magnus Price.”

The ticker said nothing, but his eyes whirled pale blue-green, a combination Hank had come to associate with smugness.

McCoy snorted and moved to the cot, landing heavily on the thin cushion. Roith’delat, he should keelhaul Bones for mutiny, keeping something like that a secret. He glanced over at his first mate and found him peering intently at a downy feather in the palm of his hand. True to character, the ticker had already moved past the conversation about the girl once his point had been made.

Hank sighed and laced his fingers behind his head, leaning back against the mattress. Hopefully the girl would buy back their ship soon and he and Bones would be away from this forsaken city and back out doing what they did best; making money. Then he’d never have to see her again, except to pay back the debt as quickly as possible.