The moon mocked me with its dull light as I trudged across the sand. Behind me, Hao tagged along in Tomlin’s trike. The kid walked by my side.

  “It ever get bright around here?” I asked.

  Tomlin looked up.

  “Dawn in five cycles,” he said, without consulting his com. “Moon will be up half a cycle more.”

  His words made small puffs in the cold air. Surprisingly, mine didn’t. Of course, my mageshield kept the mist from showing. I would have to re-ward my hat when I had the time. It was a tell.

  I’d never been anywhere this cold before. The sand stuck to my nostrils when I breathed, held in place by moisture and ice.

  Someone had taken my hatchling.

  Void this entire place. I hoped whoever had taken the hatchling knew what he was and had the sense to protect him from the weather. Sleeping reptiles and cold don’t mix well. But maybe it was better if they didn’t know. Then they might grow careless, and I’d be able to get him back. Anyone who knew they’d captured a live wyrm could do all kinds of bad things to him. There are still people who think drinking dragon blood can make you acquire magic.

  Behind me, the trike’s horn buzzed twice.

  “Aren’t you gonna get in?” Hao yelled.

  I shook my head. The walk was turning the rest of my mind to ice. It was doing me good, letting the hot rage drain away. I kicked at a low sand dune, scattering dust into the air, and watching it float away in the low gravity. That did me some good, too.

  There had been a lot of boots here, going forth to the Bucket, then withdrawing back to the mines.

  I’m not much of a tracker, but even I can see the depressions when someone walks out of a tunnel across loose sand. There’d been at least two of them, judging by the size of the boots. One set was distinctly smaller than the other. Others, plural. For every small bootprint there were several big bootprints.

  Baylen had brought friends.

  I wondered why I hadn’t seen the traces when we arrived. The loader’s lights had shone high and wide, rather than low and in front. There had been the steel shield around the driver’s platform, making it hard to look down. And I’d been focused on talking to Hao.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  The prints went into the tunnel, keeping close to the left-hand wall, as if the lot of them had bunched up. There were more tracks here: the trike, the loader, other tracked and wheeled vehicles, lots of boots. I stopped, looked back, realized I’d lost sight of the ones who’d invaded the Bucket and taken the hatchling.

  Walking further wouldn’t do me much good. I knew they’d taken the hatchling inside. Hopefully, they’d keep him warm from here on.

  Also, I hadn't spotted any blood. They hadn’t killed him outright – another good sign.

  Who were they? Why had Baylen brought cronies instead of a loader? I would have kept the operation small and simple. Just Maurice-the-dirt-mage to blow the door open, and a truck to take the vanilla.

  Crudmucking dumb way to steal. Fit what I knew of Baylen, which wasn’t much. I waved for Hao and she obediently stopped the trike. Her face was pale in the bubble’s light. Almost getting killed by a flameblade tended to do that to you.

  “Tell me about Baylen,” I said, getting in and waving Tomlin inside the bubble. “Place for everyone here.”

  “Young Baylen’s a crud arse,” Hao said. “Thinks with his nuts.”

  “Not that one,” I said. “Old man Baylen, whatever you call him.”

  “Da Baylen?” she said, keying the trike into motion. “Where to now?”

  “Think your ma will still put me up in the inn?” I asked Tomlin, and he nodded. “Then I’m going to get one of her bottles and do some thinking. Tell me about the Baylens.”

  The trike whirred through the tunnel, its engine quiet enough for comfortable talk, the bubble keeping the cold at bay.

  The Baylens had come to Jackson Depot some ten years earlier. They’d bought into the mine, bringing modern digging equipment, employing a lot of the local men in the dig, but not getting much out of it. Tomlin didn’t think they ever intended to, only used it as a front to make their arrival look good. Hao thought they’d used dirty helion to pay for it all, kilos and kilos of it, stolen or embezzled. Neither of them thought very highly of the Baylens.

  “Why not?” I said. “Old man comes here, starts up a business, shares money around.”

  Hao glanced at me, or maybe at Tomlin, who sat on my other side.

  “There were... accidents.”

  “Aren’t there always?” I said.

  Tomlin didn’t comment, staring straight ahead at the tunnel walls.

  “Not like this,” said Hao. “You lose a lot of incompetents to the mines. These were experienced men, and a lot of them didn’t like the Baylens.”

  “Still worked for them, though,” I said.

  “Everybody worked for the Baylens,” Hao said. “The Jackson Consortium bought up shares in everything that was for sale. Now they run Jackson.”

  “Then what’s the Emporium?” I said, pointing to the spaceport logo on my com.

  Hao nodded across me.

  “Him?” I said. “The kid’s the Emporium?”

  “My ma,” Tomlin said. “My da used to run it, but he got killed.”

  He pronounced it kilt, like the garment. I got the impression there was a lump hidden behind the word, one that never managed to get past his throat.

  We rode the rest of the way in silence.