Bored, usually spoiled, tourists' kids got out of hand constantly, running wild through the station like feral dogs through a butcher's shop. Skeeter found himself caught up in their midst while they darted in mad circles, shouting, "Bang, I got you!" and "No, you didn't, you louse, you missed me clean!"
Several caromed off his shins in their antics.
"Hey! Watch the toes!"
"Sorry, mister"
They darted away, still shouting and playing their idiotic game. Those boys were too old to be playing cowboys and Indians. They were at that uncertain age when their games should've been more like "who can look up the prettiest girl's skirt first?" He muttered under his breath-then halted mid-mutter.
The next words out of him were so foul, an ichthyornis took offense, shook out its oil-free, sodden feathers, and flopped over to another bush to finish drying its wings.
There was no mistake. Skeeter felt nothing but emptiness inside the waistband of his pants. Disbelieving, he actually jerked his shirt out of his slacks and stared. The handkerchief was gone. So was his own wallet, from his back pocket.
Those murderous, conniving little
The boys had run in the general direction of Goldie Morran's shop.
That she'd stoop to bribing tourists-tourists kids, to roll him, right there in public ... The humiliation was unendurable. Bet or no bet, Goldie was gonna pay for this one. Skeeter stormed toward her shop in a towering rage, not even certain what he meant to do. A dark-haired girl stepped into his path, barring his way. Skeeter tried unsuccessfully to step around, felt his mind go strangely grey and distant, then blinked and found himself staring into Ianira Cassondra's bottomless eyes. The exotically beautiful girl who lived with Marcus took hold of his arm, her grip urgent.
Skeeter saw the self-styled acolytes who followed her everywhere closing in through the holiday crowds.
"There is no time to explain properly, Skeeter. Just let it go," she murmured softly. "Goldie Morran is not the only one on this station with supporters. She will not win her bet. This I swear by all I hold sacred."
She was gone so fast, he wasn't certain for several moments she'd actually been there. He stared after her, wondering what in the world she had meant, and confirmed that his senses hadn't lied, because there went her entire retinue of acolytes clutching cameras, notepads, vidcams, and sound recorders in eager hands, trailing after her like boy dogs after a svelte little bitch in heat. Skeeter really didn't know what to think. Sure, he'd given` Marcus that money, which meant he and Ianira must be grateful to him, and he'd been donating money to The Found Ones for months and months, but even if they were serious, what could Marcus and Ianira do against Goldie Morran? The Duchess of Dross had powerful allies and agents everywhere.
Still, Ianira's impassioned words disturbed him. They could get themselves thrown off the station, interfering with an uptimer's business which Skeeter profoundly did not want to happen: the only place they could be sent would be an uptime prison. Without their kids. Skeeter gulped. Things were getting too far out of hand, much too fast, all because that purple-haired harpy couldn't content herself with putting into motion her own scams.
No, she had to do everything possible to destroy Skeeter's.
Another part of him, the scared-kid part of him hidden down inside, desperate to stay on TT-86 at any cost, actually prayed Ianira had cooked up some scheme that would cause all sorts of hell for Goldie Morran-just one that wouldn't put Marcus and his little family in danger. Whatever she'd meant, she'd diverted Skeeter's dangerous rage long enough to cool into sensibility. If he'd actually gone into Goldie's shop, there was no telling what he might have done.
Standing for murder charges would certainly get him kicked off the station.
Rubbing his chin speculatively, Skeeter decided to kiss goodbye the lost bankroll and wallet. He could always get the station ID cards replaced, even the Residents Only ATM cards, allowing access to onstation bank accounts. Not that his had much in it, currently. Most of his winnings from Rome were already gone. He grimaced, realizing he'd have to eat his pride to go into Bull Morgan's office and admit a vividly edited version of what had happened so he could get replacement cards. As for the lost bankroll he'd stolen, he'd just try again somewhere else, with some other scheme or maybe just some other restroom and mark. He didn't have much choice. Even if he did face Goldie down, he couldn't prove anything. And she'd make him a laughingstock for falling prey to one of his own tricks. Ianira was a smart girl. Skeeter owed her more than he'd realized.
He sighed philosophically and changed course, heading for Bull Morgan's office before trying the Prince Albert Pub to see what action he might pick up there. If he didn't score something big soon, he was a lost man. As he took the lift to the station manager's capacious office on the second floor, Skeeter realized Ianira's comments had shocked him in another way: he did have people rooting for him, friends among the downtimers he hadn't realized would back him so staunchly.
Very well, he would try harder. For their sake as well as his. It was comforting to know he wasn't entirely alone.
Kynan Rhys Gower had no love for Skeeter Jackson.
It was said by those who knew that Skeeter had attempted to seduce the grandchild of Kynan's liege lord, Kit Carson, by passing himself off as something he was not. Kynan had not been a resident of Time Terminal Eighty-Six when Skeeter Jackson had lied about being a time scout. But during the period when Kynan was struggling hardest to adjust to his new life, he had very nearly been killed protecting the lady Margo. Therefore, any man who would stoop so low as to besmirch her honor was-and had to be-a sworn enemy.
However, life in this place he had been forced to call home was never as simple and straightforward as it had been in his own time. He began to realize the depth of that truth when Ianira, a Greek beauty some called the Enchantress, but who seemed to Kynan a very devoted wife and mother, called for a Downtimers' Council meeting in the bowels of the time terminal. There, she revealed word of the latest development in the bet between the Scoundrel and Goldie Morran-and what he heard made Kynan Rhys Gower's blood sing.
Goldie Morran was stealing from the Scoundrel. But Ianira wasn't pleased. Instead, she was asking their help. Ianira Cassondra was actually asking them either to steal back from Goldie, or to ruin as many of her schemes as possible, to pay a debt she and Marcus, unbelievably-owed the Scoundrel, along with all other Found Ones. He'd missed the last meeting due to his work schedule and hadn't had a chance to catch up on Council business since. Everything he heard amazed him.
A thief had actually given money to a downtimer, to the whole community of downtimers, keeping his word. Kynan despised the philandering Scoundrel. But the chance to act against Goldie Morran, with the Found Ones' full Council blessings ...
Kynan Rhys Gower, too, had a score to settle, one it would give him great pleasure to set right. The scars on his back and chest were mute testament to what Goldie Morran's greed and persuasive, silver tongue had wrought mute testament to the near loss of his life in the fetid, steaming heat of an African twilight, with witch hunters hard on his heels and a crossbow bolt aimed dead at the lady Margo's breast.
Goldie Morran had lied to him about the conditions under which he was to work for her, had lied to him about the extensive, potentially fatal dangers, then had arrogantly refused to pay him because their "adventure" had failed. It was his liege lord, Kit Carson, who had risked death in more ways than even Kynan could understand, Kit Carson who had rescued Kynan from the clutches of the Portuguese witch hunters, Kit Carson who had made certain that the wounds Kynan had sustained were mended by the great magic available to healers here. And it was Kit Carson who had paid him solid coin for his part in the work Goldie Morran had hired him to do. And paid him, moreover, twice the amount Goldie had named.