The Drowned Cities (Ship Breaker #2)(53)

If she had been born in another place, during another time, he supposed she might have been the sort of girl who concerned herself with boyfriends and parties and fashionable clothes. If she had lived in a Boston arcology or a Beijing super tower, perhaps. Instead, she carried scars, and her hand was a stump, and her eyes were hard like obsidian, and her smile was hesitant, as if anticipating the suffering that she knew awaited her, just around the corner.

A little ways off, a dog was picking through the ashes, hunting for prizes. It started to nip and tear into a dead goat. Finally succeeded in ripping out the goat’s intestines. Another mongrel approached, teeth bared. It snarled, and the first sped off with its prize of guts.

The girl watched.

“That was Reg’s dog,” she said. And then she said, “That was his goat, too.”

Tool wondered if the girl was going mad. It happened to people. Sometimes they saw too much and their minds went away. They lost the will to survive. They curled up and surrendered to madness.

Tool decided there was nothing he could do for the girl, but he wouldn’t leave good meat to feral dogs. He left the girl standing by the grave and headed for the goat.

The new dog lowered its head and bared its teeth. Growled as Tool approached.

Tool’s own lips peeled back.

Oh? You think to challenge me, brother?

He snarled, and the dog fled, cowering. Tool almost laughed at the pathetic mongrel. He gathered up the goat, feeling increasing satisfaction. He was healing, and he would eat well. Soon, he would be himself again.

It had been a mistake to drift close to the Drowned Cities, to think that there would be a place for him in its chaos.

But now he was healing, and soon he would be gone.

Mahlia watched Tool stalk the dog. The half-man’s snarl echoed in the ruins, full of blood and challenge.

The dog fled, its tail between its legs, looking back in fear to see if it was being followed. Beyond the half-man, Mahlia caught sight of something else: a person scuttling through the ruins. Hiding.

For a second Mahlia hoped it was Mouse, and then she was afraid it was soldiers returning, and then she realized it was neither.

A woman emerged into the open and stopped short, staring at them. Amaya. Her clothes were torn. She was nearly naked. Bloody streaks marked her body. Beatings or forest scratches, Mahlia couldn’t tell. She froze at the sight of Mahlia and Tool.

“Amaya?” Mahlia whispered.

Horror filled Amaya’s expression. To Mahlia, she looked like a dog that had been beaten. Amaya’s frightened eyes flicked to Tool, then back to Mahlia.

“You,” she whispered. “You did this.”

Mahlia took a step toward the woman, wanting to help, or apologize, to do anything at all. “What happened?”

“You did this,” Amaya said again. And then, with hatred. “You did this!”

Mahlia took another step toward her, but at her approach the woman’s face filled with fear, and she fled.

Mahlia stared after the ragged woman stumbling away. Was she supposed to go after her? Amaya wouldn’t stand a chance on her own. Did she owe Amaya something for everything she’d lost?

“You cannot help her,” Tool said as the woman disappeared into the jungle greenery.

“She won’t make it on her own,” Mahlia said.

“No. But there are a few other villagers who escaped. More like her. They are returning.”

“If I hadn’t riled the soldiers, none of this would have happened.”

Tool snorted. “Do not overestimate your own importance.”

“But it’s true. If I hadn’t set the coywolv on them, the soldiers wouldn’t have done this!”

Tool growled. “Soldiers have been looting and burning for generations. Perhaps they burned the town because of you, or perhaps they did it because they disliked the whiskey. Soldiers kill and rape and loot for a thousand reasons. The one thing I am certain of is that neither you nor I did this burning.” Tool reached down and turned Mahlia’s gaze to meet his own. “Do not seek to own what others have done.”

Mahlia knew that Doctor Mahfouz would have disagreed with everything Tool said. She could practically see the doctor shaking his head at the creature’s words.

Tool seemed to wall himself off from any responsibility at all. Like nothing he did mattered. Doctor Mahfouz would have said that every action connected to every other action, and that was why the Drowned Cities was the way it was.

The Drowned Cities hadn’t always been broken. People broke it. First they called people traitors and said they didn’t belong. Said these people were good and those people were evil, and it kept going, because people always responded, and pretty soon the place was a roaring hell because no one took responsibility for what they did, and how it would drive others to respond. Mahlia wanted to argue with the half-man, but he suddenly stiffened. His ears pricked up and he sniffed the air.

“It’s time we were on our way,” he said. “I smell more villagers returning.”

“I still can’t find Mouse,” Mahlia objected.

“No. And you will not.” The half-man paused, regarding her. Seeming to consider his words. “There are tracks on the far side of the village. Not just the boots of soldiers. Bare feet, too. Sandals. All sizes. They took prisoners.”

Mahlia felt a sudden rush of hope. “So you think they took Mouse? You know where they went?”