11. Ally

Remora looked up to see another Shinra’ere leaning against a nearby wall, skin the same slate gray as Jinn’s and eyes just as red. Where Jinn’s wrappings were black, this other Shinra wore pure white bindings. The tassel dangling from the hilt of her weapon was tied with a different knotting pattern than Jinn’s and was red where his was yellow.

Once again, Remora cursed the tight-lipped entries on the Shinra’ere found within the pages of her Ardelan Encyclopedia. Surely those differences in color meant something, but she felt certain that it was an inappropriate time to inquire about them.

“Nolan,” said Jinn, voice even and unsurprised.

“You’re back sooner than expected,” the new Shinra’ere said.

Remora’s eyebrows rose. Back? So Jinn had been here before?

“I am not here for that. It is not yet time,” replied Jinn, shooting a warning glance to Remora.

The new Shinra’ere followed the glance to Remora, red eyes assessing her only momentarily before clearly dismissing her. Remora wasn’t sure if she should be insulted or relieved.

“That doesn’t matter. There’s been a problem with . . .” a quick glance to Remora “. . . the package.”

Immediately, Jinn animated, straightening his posture and dropping his hands to his side, one hand brushing against the yellow tassel attached to his arcblade’s hilt. “What problem?” he asked.

Nolan stiffened. “Stand down, Jinn. We have known each other a long time, but this is my territory and you are Exile.”

With visible effort, Jinn relaxed, crossing his arms over his chest. Nolan nodded. “I take a risk even speaking to you. You are here overnight?” she asked.

Jinn dropped his chin.

“Good. Seek a room at the Lion’s Pride. I’ll be in contact.”

Nolan took a step away, then paused, looking back. “Lose the human. Bad enough that you came back at all, let alone with a dirtsider.”

Dirtsider? A terribly derogatory term to apply to someone she hadn’t even bothered to greet!

“I cannot,” said Jinn, voice level. “She is my charge.”

Nolan’s eyes narrowed. “You are a sell-sword now? A sell-sword to dirtsiders?”

Jinn said nothing.

Nolan curled her lip and spat once to the side. “Your brother is not worth a handful of living earth, let alone all you sacrifice for him. By the Mark, he will be the death of you in truth one of these days, Jinn.”

With that, she was gone.

Remora shook the folds of her skirt, dislodging a few specks of sand. “I must say, Jinn, I do not much care for your friends.”

“She risks much for me,” he said, and no more, despite several plaintive looks cast in his direction as they continued their stroll to the marketplace. Truly, the man kept his thoughts to himself more than any other being she had ever met! She would almost have preferred the company of McCoy over this brooding silence.

Remora adjusted her parasol and forced her lips into a smile. She would not allow Jinn’s sullen attitude to spoil what might be her only trip to a Shinra city. Nor, for that matter, would she allow Nolan’s rudeness to darken such a wonderfully sunny day.

A tantalizing smell met her nose, yeasty and sweet. Pastries from some nearby vendor? Surely so! That would be just the thing to salvage the mood. She had never known Jinn to refuse a pastry. She could purchase a cupcake with extra sprinkles and perhaps coax a smile to his eyes.

Snapping her parasol closed, Remora turned darted up a side alley, following the scent. It couldn’t possibly be far.

“Remora, wait!” called Jinn, but Remora ignored him with dogged determination. He would no doubt try to dissuade her, but she was in no mood for it. She would have her pastry, and she would regain her gracious, if quiet, bodyguard in the process.

The alley turned a corner then stopped abruptly, no longer an alley but a wall, grayed with shadow.

She put her hands on her hips. She could have sworn the smell came from this direction. Perhaps she should have taken the next one up. No sooner had she turned to leave, than a wolf-dresl stepped from the shadows. His eye gleamed and his paw-hands curled around a rough-hewn wooden bat.

She did not like the way he was eyeing her. She glanced around, stomach dropping as she realized her ploy to outrun Jinn had been more effective than she had intended. She was alone, in a strange city, confronted by an armed stranger.

Though, of course, that might be a somewhat hasty assump­tion. Perhaps the dresl was as lost as she. “Do pardon me, I seem to have lost my way,” she said with a smile, making as if to step around him.

He gestured with a paw-like hand. Two more dresl stepped from the shadows, a sinuous cat-man and a powerfully built bull-man. Both were armed and neither looked particularly like a pastry vendor.

Remora gave a nervous laugh and slipped her hand into her skirt pocket, where her tiny derringer was.

Her heart froze. Where her derringer used to be.

Her hand fumbled through the folds of her skirt, but the familiar weight of the little gun was nowhere to be found.

The cat took a step forward and held out his hand. There, on the thick paw-pad of his palm, was her gun, pearl-inlaid handle and all.

“Why, that’s my gun! Where did you get it?” she asked, amazed. Could she possibly have dropped it?

The cat began to choke. It wasn’t until the wolf started huffing that she realized the odd sounds they were making were laughter.

Remora knotted her hands in her skirts. It was becoming increasingly obvious that these dresl were not here to forge a friendship.

More desperately this time, she looked around. Smooth limestone walls rose on all sides. No handholds for climbing, even if she felt she could accomplish such a feat. No doorways for ducking into or debris to launch toward them as weaponry.

The bull-man strode forward, nostrils flaring. He gestured at her, his hoof-like fingers opening and closing in a pattern.

She took a step back, feeling the cold stone of the wall press into her back. “I . . . what is it you want?” she asked, throat dry.

The bull-man repeated the gestures, more sharply this time. She stared dumbly at him. The wolf-man yipped once, then gestured in a different pattern. The bull-man snorted and gestured in return.

Speech. The hand gestures were speech.

For a moment, Remora’s enchantment at a language made entirely of hand gestures so consumed her she quite forgot her situation.

So that was how the dresl and Shinra communicated with each other. It made sense. With so many different types of mouths and throats, a spoken language would be impossible.

The two finished their silent conversation and the bull-man turned back to face her. “Please, I only wish to leave. I want no confrontation,” she said. Again the choking cat laughter from behind the bull-man. They could certainly understand her perfectly well.

The bull-man reached toward her with obvious menace. Her heart clattered fearfully against her chest as she stepped away. Where was Jinn?