The Iron Pillars

Chapter 29

Brant and Hannah wove through the network of alleyways between the colorful buildings. They constantly altered course, sometimes running straight for a time, sometimes zig-zagging, and other times making a circle. Brant constantly felt lost, but also reminded himself they had no clear destination to lose sight of. 

He finally stopped underneath an awning stretched over the back door of a building. The wood appeared black and smeared, as did the ground beneath it, covered in ashes. Cigarette butts lay strewn about on the ground, a familiar sight to Brant. 

He eyed Hannah's shotgun. "Is that loaded?" 

She shook her head. "Ain't dat illegal? Carryin' a loaded shotgun openly like dat?" 

Brant narrowed his eyes at her. "Aren't we supposed to be illegal?" 

"I guess you're right." 

He waited and caught his breath while Hannah removed some shells from her ammo belt and crammed them into the shotgun. When she'd finished, she looked up and grinned. 

Then the door creaked open behind Brant. He spun around and aimed an arrow at a foul-faced old man who reeked of the innards of animals. Upon sighting him, the geezer, whose face had previously appeared incapable of pleasantness, offered him a disarming grin. 

"Ah, son!" he exclaimed, "What're you aimin' at me for? I ain't never done nothin' for ya but good!" 

Brant faked a laugh as he lowered the bow and relaxed the string. He returned the arrow to the quiver. "I guess I just got a little lost." 

"I had a feelin' you'd stop by today, son. Dat's why I've been cookin' up your favorite! Ostrich colon!" 

"Yum." he muttered, hardly convincingly. His stomach violently protested the suggestion. 

The old man lit a cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke from his mouth. Then he glanced at Hannah. "This a girlfriend, or a partner? Heh. I guess it's a partner either way, eh?" 

Brant eyed Hannah and laughed. "I suppose so. Heatwave's still learning the ropes, but doing good so far." 

"She could stand to use some improvement on pickin' her clothin' sizes." the foul-faced man mumbled as he eyed Aaron's jacket draped over her. 

Hannah narrowed her eyes. "Rude." she said in her lower pitch. 

"Nah, what's rude is you assaultin' mah eyes with that wacky eyeliner job. It don't sit right on your face, girl." 

"Okay." 

The man's bony fingers tapped the end of his cigarette. "So, when'd a musician become a mercenary? He kissed ya that good?" 

Hannah frowned. "What?" 

"I remember bein' in Pistoldraw Canyon, back in Odego, a couple years back. Y'know, before I was redistributed an' all. And there was dis lil girl wonder. Could sing and play the guitar like nobody's business. Ya remember, Trickshot? You was there too." 

Brant shook his head. "No, I must've been out of it. I don't remember what you're talking about at all." 

"Oh yeah! Right! You was keelin' over after one too many shots of dat Drastic Calloway's, remember?" 

"I think I do. Those were the good days..." he muttered, injecting a disingenuous nostalgia into his tone. 

"So yeah, there was this young lil lady, looked just like you, a musician. In fact, she is you!" 

Hannah coughed. "You're mistaken." 

"I'm afraid not. I have an eye for faces, young lady, and once I see someone, I remember 'em. There's a whole lotta other things I forget, but I don't never forget a pretty face like yours."