Steal the Sky by Megan E. O'Keefe Page B

leaned.
    The face of the cart driver went red, sweat sluicing down his cheeks. Ripka made her decision, and sprinted.
    Her knee complained, her shoulders burned, but still she flung herself at the pyramid the man had climbed and heaved herself upward. He saw her, his expression of intense concentration flickering only a moment as he catalogued this new threat. In that moment he lost his tug on the crates threatening her people. It was enough.
    With a roar of effort she leapt upward and threw one arm out, cudgel raised high, and brought it down in a punishing arc against the side of the sweating cart driver’s head. He slumped, a leaf cut free of its branch, and began to slide down the stacks. Ripka scrambled, gathering the fabric of his coat in one numb fist, and leaned her weight against the mountain, breath coming in sharp gasps.
    â€œCaptain!” Banch called from the ground below, his expression a mix of bewilderment and fear.
    â€œGet ready to catch this sonuvabitch, because I can’t hold him much longer,” she called back.
    The five scrambled to get into position, and she tossed the cart driver so that he wouldn’t bounce all the way down the sharp corners of the crates. When he was safely in hand, she let herself down with care. By the time her feet touched the ground they had bound the blasted man.
    Taellen offered her an arm of support. She was grateful to take it.
    â€œThe others?” she asked Banch.
    â€œOur rear guard detained the woman, but the man made it out.” Banch glanced away as he spoke, a flush of embarrassment mingling with the fresh bruise on his cheek.
    â€œThat will have to do.” Ripka ran her hand through her hair, then immediately regretted it as her hair stuck up in a mass of sticky spikes. She sighed. “I need a bath.”
    Banch chuckled and clapped her on the shoulder. “I’ll secure the area, don’t you worry captain.”
    Shrugging off Taellen’s support, she directed the loading of the prisoners into the donkey cart, making sure to offload all the selium-enriched bottles of liqueur just in case the sensitive were to awaken. The last thing she needed was another avalanche of overly sweet booze coming her way.
    Taellen grabbed the reins to the cart and she took up guard in the back with another of the Watch. Her sticky crossbow she kept close to hand, but it was one of the smuggled blades she held, turning it over in the slim light as Taellen drove the donkey back to the station house.
    The metal was smooth, the forging done well enough to keep any pits from marring the surface of the blade. It had been oiled recently, an unctuous film coating her finger as she stroked the length of steel. Ripka sniffed the smear on her finger and frowned when she did not recognize the scent. Where had these weapons come from? And why so many? Importing weapons was not illegal in Aransa, but clearly someone wanted to avoid raising suspicions.
    Someone. Hah. She knew full well who had done this, even if she couldn’t prove it.
    â€œCaptain.” Taellen’s voice drifted back, soft and uncertain.
    â€œYes, watcher?”
    â€œHow’d you know?”
    â€œKnow what?”
    â€œThat he was a sensitive… That there was even sel in the liquor.”
    She smiled to herself. “Simple observation. As you commented yourself, the man was unusually strong.”
    The watcher keeping guard alongside her snorted, shifted his weight. Ripka raised her brows at that, but the man didn’t look at her, just kept his gaze tight on the prisoners. As he should. And yet… Something in the stance of his shoulders, in the purse of his lips, set her ill at ease. What was his name, Jetk? She shook her head. The Watch was getting too big – too fragmented.
    â€œOh. Thought you might be sensitive yourself,” Taellen said.
    A cold knot formed in Ripka’s belly. “No. Not even a little bit. Don’t forget it.”
    Taellen