East City, on the border of the Magistrate, had changed a lot since Jace was in prison.
With shawls and hoods and extra blankets to obscure their identities, Jace and Gnarl escorted his family through the streets, heading for the train station at the edge of the city. That train station had been around since Jace was a kid, but he didn’t remember there being four more, each heading off in different directions throughout the continent.
What he also didn’t remember were airships daintily soaring through the clouds, or more cars on the paved roads than horses and carriages. Cores were still an experimental technology ten years ago: colorless crystals believed to have different properties based on their colors that could be used for advanced tech. Since then, as Gnarl had explained, Steamcores powered trains, cars, airships, even the doors back at the prison and some of their more advanced weapons.
A Steamcore also powered the ten-foot-tall contraption pounding down the street on two legs, hissing with every movement, balancing like a man of metal. The pilot sat at the head, pulling levers. Gears moved and snapped like clockwork, with a silver Steamcore visible in its chest. Gnarl called it an Airmech, something the Magistrate only deployed for emergency situations.
Unanimously, they decided to take the first turn they could, to avoid that beast.
The Airmech was only the worst of it. Magistrate Officers patrolled the streets as an announcement blared through the alarm system, calling for citizens to report on any identified escapees, or if they spotted Jace himself. A few officers had stopped them, asking for papers and about where they were going, but Jace used his Talent to pass by.
They never stopped Jace, though. It was always Gnarl they called out to. Sure, even with the hood and the mask covering the bottom half of his face, he still stood out as a six foot tall orc, but it forced Jace to notice that more Orcs were being stopped on the street or taken away than humans were.
When another officer stopped them, Jace gave fake names and took advantage of the man’s closet racism. How could he think they were the same as the criminals Jace and Executioner Gnarl, just because they were a duo of a black man and an Orc? His Master Speech made the bluff strike hard, and the officer profusely apologized.
His father taught him to not be racist. Others weren’t as fortunate.
Before long, they reached the train station, greeted by a storm of bustling activity. Trains sat on the tracks, waiting for dozens out of the several lines of hundreds of impatient passengers hurrying to escape the city. Magistrate guards were set up at every entrance onto the train, checking ID’s and papers before allowing anyone to leave. On the bright side, one lucky entrepreneur took advantage of the chaos, and shouted out from behind a balloon stand, selling to kids.
A sharp whistle screamed above the hustle and bustle. To Jace’s right, a man tried sprinting away from one of the train entrances before several guards dogpiled him, clamping handcuffs over his wrists. They caught one; they’d caught an escapee trying to flee further.
That could be us.
Jace winced. “Looks like they beefed up security,” he whispered to Gnarl as they stood near a bench along the wall.
“This has nothing to do with food,” Gnarl said. “But indeed. Procedure is for the Magistrate to check the papers of anyone leaving the city during emergencies, but I didn’t believe it would be this thorough.”
“There’s no such thing as being too thorough when you’re under the Magistrate’s wing. Just stay here and keep your faces covered. I’m gonna do a little scouting.”
He descended the stairs to the main platform, with two trains on either side and four long lines to their entrances. Jace walked casually, acting natural — he had always been a master at that, during his heist days. Most others made the mistake of thinking “act natural” meant to do anything different, but he knew the truth, to continue like nothing was out of the ordinary.
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A few officers gave him stray glances and stares, but a smile and a wave disarmed their suspicion. What criminal would be bold enough to walk in front of the police and wave? Not him. He certainly wasn’t one of those heathens. He was just a man on a walk, using his Talent to scout any weaknesses they could exploit.
The officer checking papers at the far end of the platform was the meanest, barking for passengers to board or get lost. Jace reached out and read his Nature, feeling the full seething anger of a pissed off old man forced to sit at the same desk for the next few hours.
Mere words wouldn’t be enough to convince him to let them pass, but he could be bribed — yet, that required a Speech of 40. With his current Speech of 38, raised after deflecting a few officers on the way here, a discreet bribe had a low chance of working. The chances would be fifty fifty if it was urgent, like for a pregnant passenger.
Jace smiled, eyeing the balloon stand. The smile never left his face underneath his face covering, as he returned to Gnarl and his family at the bench.
“So? Did you discover anything?”
“Yep. I’ve got an idea that involves your wife, fifty bucks, and a balloon.”
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Gnarl’s wife cautiously held a hand to the navel of her “stomach” as Jace led her in a dash to the front of the line, where the foul-mouthed officer stood checking papers.
“Sir! Sir, please, we have to get through!”
“Hey! You stop right there, you hear?!” the officer shouted, face contorting in anger as he went as red as a tomato. “Don’t you see a line here, idiot? Get back there and wait your turn!”
“[Speech 35]
“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t. My wife here, she’s expecting. If we don’t get on that train today, her water might break today!” Jace said.
The officer sneered, looking Gnarl’s wife up and down, eyes pausing on her round “belly”, and HGnarl’s daughter at her side. “And you expect me to let you skip the line just for that?”
“[Speech 38/40]
Jace inhaled sharply, burying his hesitation as he took a step closer to the officer. “If you can find it in your heart to let her through, I’m sure the Divine will make it worth your while.”
He put a hand on the officer’s shoulder, and he jolted, but he only didn’t react because Jace wrinkled the dollar bills in his hand by his ear. The officer’s angered expression softened, and he rose to his feet, glaring at him before extending his hand.
“Alright, alright, I understand. I can’t let you hold up my line any longer, alright. She can board, but if you wanna get on, you do it fairly. Deal?”
Jace shook his hand, burying the dollar bills in the officer’s glove with a nod. “Thank you, officer. May the Divine be kind to you.”
“Hey! He’s skipping the line — that ain’t fair!”
As the line behind them started to voice their complaints, the officer’s face contorted to that of a wrinkly tomato of fury. “What the hell are you shouting about?! You’re next in line anyway, you animals! Get on board, ma’am. Go on.”
Gnarl’s wife led her daughter onto the train first, and glanced back at Jace with a final smile before boarding the train. That satisfaction stayed in jace’s heart, keeping him warm against the ice-cold scorn of the entire line of families and working men he’d cut in front of.
“Level up! Master Speech is now Level 39.”
With a smile on his face, Jace turned and started towards Gnarl at the train station entrance, but immediately bumped into a woman passing by.
“Oh! I’m so sorry, ma’am, are you—”
His heart caught in his chest, not pounding a single beat.
He could never not recognize those auburn orange dreadlocks framing her dark skin, the sharp eyes behind wide-framed glasses, lips softer than sleep on a rainy day. His hand reflexively went to her shoulder to catch her, but as soon as he saw her face, it felt like home.
“Ishanti.”
“Jace?” Ishanti’s mouth barely moved, barely whispering his name, starstruck in disbelief as tears welled in her eyes.
A second, smaller figure stepped out from behind her, holding her hand. “Mommy, are you okay?”
The boy at her side was like staring in a mirror. Jace could recognize his own jet black hair and pointed chin anywhere, and his heart cracked.
His son was ten years old, and he’d missed every year.