The Girl Locked With Gold by Megan O'Russell

Author:Megan O'Russell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ink Worlds Press

CHAPTER 16

Studiously ignoring Bertrand, Maggie kept her arm looped through Alden’s as they walked toward the center of the city, finally turning onto the second ring out from the library and the pacel.

A man trundled past on a four-wheeled intet. Cogs clicked together in the center of the wheels where hubcaps should have been. Handles like a bicycle took the place of a steering wheel for the driver who sat in a finely upholstered chair complete with tassels surrounding his perch.

“Glorious.”

Maggie heard Bertrand, but didn’t look at him. She didn’t want to see his eyes wide with barely concealed wonder. Didn’t want to know how brilliant he thought the intets were.

“Are you all right, Maggie?” Alden asked.

“What?” Maggie checked her bandage for signs blood.

“You’re squeezing my arm rather hard,” Alden said apologetically.

“Right, sorry.” Maggie loosened her grip, concentrating on breathing slowly and ridding herself of the urge to punch Bertrand Wayland in his smug little face.

They rounded into the northwest quadrant of the city.

The people in this area were dressed so finely, Maggie’s silk gown fit in perfectly.

Chatter and music poured out of the restaurants lining the streets. Young girls carrying fresh flowers moved from table to table, selling their blooms.

What would it be like to truly live in this world? All the money and comfort you could want.

Maggie breathed in the fresh air, her mouth watering at the warm scent of fresh baked pastries.

Rougher voices carried from around the bend. Men laughing, not caring as the noise bounced off the buildings, ruining the calm of the street.

Four men came into view, trailed by four shining nics. Each man wore a black leather suit. Thick belts held a sword and knife at their hips, but what Maggie couldn’t look away from were the thick cuffs on their right arms, stretching from wrist to elbow―a golden box that took up their entire forearm with a menacing golden needle that trembled and spun like some kind of demented compass.

Alden dropped Maggie’s arm, moving to walk just behind her shoulder. “Keep walking,” he said in a low voice. “I’m your servant here to carry your packages home.”

Bertrand stepped forward, draping Maggie’s hurt hand over his elbow.

“Sniff, sniff here. Sniff, sniff there”―the man at the center of the pack let his voice ring off the buildings―“we give the impi pause.”

The girls who had been selling flowers all scattered as though the man’s words had been a siren.

Dropping her basket, the littlest girl ran, looking over her shoulder at the men and colliding with Maggie’s side.

The girl fell onto the cobblestone street, her face twisting with fear as she looked up at Maggie.

“I’m sorry,” the girl mouthed, her words not making any sound.

“You!” The men ran toward the child.

Maggie hauled the little girl to her feet, stepping between her and the men.

“There is no begging on this street,” the man in the center spat.

“I’m sorry,” the faint whimper came from behind Maggie’s back.

The nics rolled forward, surrounding Maggie.

“Sorry doesn’t change the law.” An awful smile twisted the man’s face.

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