“And it is with profound sadness that Tinjouki mourns the loss of First Lady Eliza, Bearer of the Drifting Veil. The First Lady was no stranger to achievement. While not the most flamboyant Bannerman, often working subtly behind the scenes to ensure the safety of the city, it was her expression seven summers ago that repelled the Egg Man Bartleby; her act of grand healing which saved so many souls in Zone Two after the ’56 muster went so disastrously. We remember her as the mother to Isaac Shordach, as well his personal tutor and mentor in the weilding of his crucial Mantle, and of course we remember her as the young wife to Chief Executive Rajore: the woman who warmed the heart of a leader that lived in solitude, after so many lifetimes of celibate service to the city. Currently the cause of her passing is being kept as a private detail by the Executive Branch, although the TBS have been informed that the event is not being regarded as suspicious or hostile. She leaves us behind as she passes down the sand and into peace, and it has been asked that the city observes a-”

“Turn that shit off,” groaned Wisely. He slapped his thighs with his palms and leant back into the sofa. “Who cares? She was a cunt. Everyone knows she was an uppity cunt that seduced the CEO because she wanted the Mantle of the Drifting Veil. Why the TBS tart her up as a heroine I don’t know. She didn’t do shit to repel Bartleby, that was all Crybaby and FR.”

No No had the remote. He flicked the channel over and muted it.

“You don’t have to be a dick about it,” muttered Underarms. “She’s still a woman dead.”

“She’s a cunt dead,” said Wisely. “Fuck the TBS. I can’t listen to their propoganda. Why don’t they report the fucking news honestly, like they pretend to?”

“You know why,” said Mateo, tossing back his coffee and giving the mug to Glow. Glow wandered off to refill it, wordlessly, looking sad.

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it, Smoke,” said Wisely.

“Not asking you to,” said Mateo. “Just quit your moaning.”

“Who’s that?” asked No No, gesturing at the TV.

“Well that’s Lantern Man,” said Jake.

“Obviously that’s fucking Lantern Man, Jake” said Wisely. “Who’s the Sly?”

“No idea,” said No No. “I don’t recognise him.”

“It says,” gestured Underarms. “They’re calling him Crevice. Says on the screen.” Glow passed Mateo his coffee.

“Looks like a tough mother fucker,” commented Jake.

“Sure. Lantern Man will have him though. Lantern Man is sick,” said No No.

“You’re such a simp for the Bannermen, No No. It’s cringe,” said Wisely.

“No I’m not. I just think Lantern Man’s cool. Everyone does. Anyway, fuck the Kid. Rooting for evil is some made up shit. The Kid is the one getting my family addicted to heavy metals. I’d happily see this new kid go splat. Lantern Man will have FR with him soon.”

“You are an idiot,” said Mateo, glancing over and smiling at No No. “You know that, right?”

No No was a good looking kid of seventeen, with feminine, model cheekbones, tan skin, a brass nose ring, hair down to his nipples, and a gold tooth. He winked at Mateo.

“Sure I do,” he said.

“FR won’t send help unless there’s Lumin or an Egg Man,” said Mateo. “Or unless the Kid is doing something big scale that breaks the rules. A fight between factions they won’t get involved in. How do you not know this?”

“I don’t know anything,” said No No proudly, smiling. He flicked open a pack of Rolbos and offered one to Mateo, who took it happily. They both lit up with a finger. “Why are you smoking Puffems?” asked No No.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Mateo.

“Puffems taste like toilet water,” observed No No. “Oh shit, look at that! The new kid’s getting some work in.”

On the screen, two Mantled were fighting. One was Lantern Man, a member of the Executive Branch and a Bannerman under CEO Rajore. The other was a cape they didn’t recognise, presumably a Slyguy sworn to the Kid if he was fighting Lantern Man. Lantern Man continued to summon spells out of the lantern that floated over his shoulder, flying through the air, his eyes glowing yellow beneath their mask. Crevice broke these apart with his fingers, jumping from the tops of buildings at lightning speed to try and hit Lantern Man with his hands. So far, Lantern Man had successfully dodged every attempt and they’d been at a stalemate. But then Crevice slapped his hands together, splitting the street in half and pulling Lantern Man to the earth in a sudden rush. It was as if Crevice’s expression had multiplied gravity many times over and Lantern Man was hit hard. The Slyguy launched at him, camera struggled to keep up. By the time it did Lantern Man had dissolved his lantern and was instead bathed in a beam of yellow light, Crevice trying to crack through by punching it over and over. It was working.

”Whatever,” said Mateo. “Who cares. I don’t wanna watch this.”

No No shrugged and flipped the channel. On the TV, a handsome looking man—in a slim white eye mask, a baggy suit and sneakers—sat on a comfortable chair in a lounge having a conversation with an ageless, immaculately beautiful woman. He was slouching back into the chair, one foot on the other knee, gesturing with his hands and talking as he smiled at the room. Everyone groaned.

“Not this armpit,” said Thrift. “No offence, Underarms.”

“None taken,” said Underarms. “Turn it off, No No. I don’t wanna listen to Guy Radiant.”

“Come,” said No No. “Let’s see how long we can last. I love listening to Guy Guyly.”

Glow sniggered, sitting down on the floor with his back to the sofa arm and locking his fingers around his knee. Wisely put his foot on his shoulder.

”I’ll listen,” said Wisely. “Unmute it.”

The proud voice of Guy Radiant filled the derelict swimming pool.

“Well here’s the thing about heroism, that people don’t get,” said the smart figure, flashing his perfect white teeth. “They just don’t get it. Here’s the thing: is it an activity? A few noble deeds, a few lives saved? No. That doesn’t make a hero, not if you ask me. Is it incredible power, health, agility, strength? No. The bad guys have all that. Some of them have a lot of it.” He paused, looking smugly around at the audience. “Is it a set of dashing good looks?”

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

The audience laughed.

“Well, okay, maybe,” said Guy Radiant, chuckling to himself. “Maybe, maybe. But perhaps it’s something more than that. Maybe, just maybe, it’s an attitude.”

No No switched the tv off and threw the remote onto the far sofa. It sailed over Thrift’s shoulder and landed in a plant pot.

“EW,” he said. “I’m out.”

“Good,” said Underarms. “Smoke, welcome. How’s your new rubber?”

Underarms was a stocky boy of twenty two, muscular and lean with round cheeks, who kept his head shaven, read widely of literature and scientific theory, and secretly wrote poetry. He dressed in loose fitting suit pants, a white ribbed tank top, and suspenders. He was widely considered to have excellent moral character and generally be a top guy, but he was a fairly average rider. He looked at Mateo, shifting, and everyone turned to watch them talk. Glow and Dove stood and turned and sat on the floor facing them.

“Gone,” said Mateo.

“Gone? Already?” Underarms stood and looked at him, then wandered over to a pack of cigarettes on a side table and lit one, remaining standing, ashing it carefully in the crystal ashtray. The chapter did not toss stray cigarettes in the pool pit. Doing so was one of the few ways you could surely bring Underarms to wrath.

“Yeah. Burnt it all up riding last night.”

“Up the Wall again?” asked Thrift, walking over from the other sofa and taking one of Underarm’s cigarettes. No No came and stood next to him, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“Yeah. Getting good too.”

Paunch shook his head, communicating distaste from the far sofa and not rising. Paunch rarely spoke.

“Swarming Beetles?” asked Thrift, his eyes alive.

“Sure. Up the Wall? Always Beetles around there. And a zus, this time.”

Glow and Dove gasped. The others nodded in respect, and even Wisely shot Mateo a surprised look.

“Woah, no way,” said Thrift. “You slipped it?”

Mateo shrugged his shoulders and looked over at the tall fern in the pot beside the sofa. It was browning. Prince had been the one to water them.

“Sure, I slipped it. No big deal. Had my new wheels. I was turning like a jack rabbit.”

“Nice,” said Glow, nodding his head and mooning up at Mateo, overdosing on awe. Mateo stood and wandered over to the side of the pit, where assorted items were kept in orderly piles and in stolen furniture.

“Where’s the watering can?” he called over his shoulder. Jake came and got it and passed it to him. It was half full. Mateo approached the withering fern and watered it, realising as he did that he had no idea how much water the plant needed.

“Does anyone know how much to give these things?” he asked the room. There was no response. He turned around. Everyone was looking at their shoes, at the sky light, at the tips of their cigarettes. “What? No?”

There was no response.

“We should talk about him,” said Mateo.

“Nah,” said Wisely, standing and taking the watering can out of his hands, briefly catching his eye. “We shouldn’t.” Wisely went and watered another plant. He passed the can to Dove and sat back down on the sofa.

“Why not?” said Mateo. “It’s been three weeks.”

“Because I don’t want to,” said Thrift, analysing his sneakers.

“Nor I,” said Wisely. Glow, Dove, Jake and even No No remained silent, looking awkward. It would not be appropriate for them to speak here.

“I’d like to,” said Underarms. He went and sat on the arm of the sofa, running his thumb under one of his suspenders. “But I don’t know if I can.”

“Fine,” said Mateo, spitting into the plant pot. He took a step forward, then stayed in place. He looked at the rest of the chapter, eyeing them up, chewing it over. He fidgeted with his hands. His finger was still feeling painful, and slightly hot. Then he said it.

“I’m riding point now.”

This statement hung in the air between them all. No one met anyone’s eyes. Finally, Wisely spoke, forming the words at an odd cadence.

“That has not yet been established.” He stood, slowly. Underams jumped up after him, sliding in front of Wisely and blocking his view of Mateo.

“Okay, boys,” said Underarms. ”We need to talk, no avoiding that.” He paused. “Leave it for a moment. Who’s seen the job?”

Thrift and Wisely said they had. Wisely was still watching Mateo. Mateo grunted his assent. Underarms coughed, rubbed his fingers along his eyebrows, shot a quick glance at everyone. Spoke.

“Looks lovely, no? 600 X. We know the plates, and the line. Can do it all in the Gwae Sleek District. Going through Gwae is the only way that makes sense if it’s coming off the J-way in Six and it want’s to get to the Executive Line. We know Gwae. We also know the competition in Gwae and can handle it if anyone else is looking to get rich. We won’t want a full company, just the good riders and maybe a bit of muscle. Others can lean back and ride in if another chapter shows up, play interference. We’ll probably have to crack the car, whatever that is. Thrift, you good for that?”

“Sure. Probably, depends on the whip,” said Thrift. He thought about it. “I’m sure I can do it.”

Thrift was a tall boy of twenty, who wore spectacles, had curly hair and freckles. He was the only one here who could repair an F-bike, now that Prince was gone. He rode well, had been with them from the start, didn’t pick a fight easy.

“Executive Line?” No No asked what they were all thinking.

“Yep. Doesn’t mean much,” said Underarms. “The Es lease out the Line all the time these days. Could be anyone.”

“Could be a Bannerman,” said Paunch.

“Could be the Kid himself in a pink padded limousine, escorting his personal collection of baseball cards,” said Wisely. “Could be anyone. All sorts of wheels take the E Line, doesn’t mean shit. I heard they were gunna open it to the public on a toll soon. It’s no biggie. Anything worth jacking these days is gunna be headed too or from the E line. There’s no avoiding it if we have any ambition. We can’t keep stealing handbags.”

“I agree,” said Mateo. With his share of the X, he could pay off Leitz and his Dayzl would be his.

“Me too,” said Underarms. “It’s a good hit. We’re a good fit for it. We need to shake the dust off. Any objections?”

There were none.

“So, there it is Arms,” said Wisely. “We’re in for a good ol’ spot of crime. Yippy. Can we have an argument now, please?”

Underarms stood a moment longer, looking into space, slowly breathing. Then he sagged, sighing, and sat back down on the arm of the sofa. He pulled out a cigarette and gestured around his head with it. “Go for it,” he said.

At the same time, Mateo said: “I ride point.”

Wisely roared and shook his hand. “Fuck you, Smoke. You’re a liability. You snap the bike nice, sure, but you’re too hot. You’re too fucking hot man! Prince never let you ride point. Why’d you think that is?”

“I‘m too hot?” said Mateo. He took three quick steps towards Wisely. They were a meter and a half apart. Everyone watched. Paunch stood up and took the watering can from where Dove had put it at his feet and calmly took over the watering. “I’m too hot?” repeated Mateo. A bolt of fire shot out of his finger pore. “That’s your argument? You’re the hottest guy here, Wisely, and there’s no arguing it. Button your lip up. I ride better than you. Deny it.”

Wisely remained silent. Mateo went to speak, and Wisely interrupted him.

“I know what you’re going to say.”

“You spill,” said Mateo.

“I don’t spill any more.”

“Sure you do. You spilled at the races five nights ago.”

“That’s different. Everyone spills at the races. It’s normal, it’s expected.” He rubbed his arms self-consciously. Wisely wore a baggy, untucked pinstripe shirt rolled at the wrists, a pair of loose jeans, biker boots and a thick gold chain. He was lanky and slightly clownish but still handsome. He had his hair in a short mullet. “Even-”

“Shut the fuck up,” said Underarms.

Everyone froze. Wisely nodded, lightly, gently. He lifted a hand towards Underarms to say sorry. Underarms pushed his hand aside.

He said: “But you’re right. Even Prince spilled. Once is enough, no?”

Wisely continued his nodding, watching the floor. Underarms bit his lip.

“You’re also right about Smoke. Smoke, Prince never let you on point. Tell me why?”

Mateo didn’t answer.

“Say it,” said Thrift, watching Mateo gently.

“Cuz I’m hot on the bike.”

“Wisely’s cool on the bike,” said Underarms. “He’s just hot off it. It’s different. No?”

Mateo squeezed his hand into a fist, then slowly opened it. He walked over and sat back down on the sofa. The group adjusted to stay watching him. He shrugged.

“I’m better now. Going up the Wall, it’s different. If I get hot up the Wall I’d die. I done it six times now. I can ride point.” He shrugged again. “Wisely can’t whip it like I can. Prince never put me in point, but he was always there to do it. I’m the only one that can ride like him. I outran a zus last night. A job spins on the point, he said that too. I can do it.” He looked up at Wisely, who was staring at him intently. He gulped. Suddenly, both of them looked close to crying. “Sorry Wisely, but it’s true. You can’t.”

They voted. It was unanimous. Mateo would take point.