Extra Content 9: A Man Of His Word

A smug grin split Bricktop’s face. Hank wanted to punch it.

Bones nodded agreement. “He is correct, Hank. The agreement, as stated, included only your crew.”

Hank scowled. “Thanks so much for helping, Bones.”

“You are welcome.”

Hank bit off the retort on the tip of his tongue. Bones’s understanding of sarcasm seemed to vary depending on the situation, and it wasn’t Bones he was angry with. “Fine,” he said, backing off.

Bones stepped forward. “I wish to clarify, if I may?”

Bricktop nodded. “By all means.”

“Anything that is currently in this warehouse which Montgomery and myself can take, becomes ours, correct?”

“Assuming Montgomery is that little wingless shonfra,” Bricktop said, lighting his cigar with an easy gesture, then exhaling a thick puff of smoke, “then yes.”

Bones’s eyebeams gleamed. “Understood.”

Hank nodded at Hackwrench, who zoomed through the room in his little ship, taking inventory of the bits and pieces laid out on the shelves. Bones waited for the shonfra to return, no sign of impatience or irritation in his demeanor.

Hackwrench returned, chittering. “There are a lot of valuable things we could use here, Hank, but Bones and I aren’t going to be able to carry very much of it, and certainly we can’t lift any of the very heavy things.”

Bricktop’s grin grew so wide that Hank saw the flash of gold capping some of his back teeth.

Hank cleared his throat, drawing Hackwrench’s attention. “Hackwrench, would you like me to carry your craft, so that you can examine the tools and parts more closely?”

The shonfra chittered, “That makes no sense, Hank. My ship cannot carry much, but it can certainly carry more than I —”

Hank lifted an eyebrow, and the chittering and translation stopped. “There was a particular tool that you said you needed in order to do your job on the Miraj better. I think you’ll find it more quickly without your ship.” He nodded his head to the right, where a row of empty cogwork suits lined up against the wall, clearly waiting for their shonfra pilots to come back from break.

Hackwrench’s wide eyes grew even wider as understanding dawned. Immediately, he dropped his ship into Hank’s arms and launched himself to the ground.

Bricktop only had time to bark out, “Now see here!” before Hackwrench was in the cogwork suit’s cockpit, flicking switches and powering it on.

“That’s not what I meant!”

Hank grinned. “We’ve already established that in this particular deal, it’s not what you mean that matters, it’s what you say. Hackwrench can take the suit, so it counts.”

Moze laughed, the rich sound of her mirth slashing through the tension between the two men. “Oh, Bricktop, he’s got you there. This is fun. I’m so glad I decided to stay and watch.”

Whatever Bricktop had been about to say, the reminder that he had an audience beyond just Hank and his crew stilled him. “Fine. Whatever. I thought you were in a hurry, Hank?”

The not-so-subtle hint that he wanted the Miraj’s crew gone was not lost on Hank.

“Why don’t you fill that bin over there with any of the small things we want to take,” suggested Hank, pointing to an empty metal container next to a workstation.

Hackwrench chittered and the craft in Hank’s hands translated. “The empty bin is already quite heavy. If it is filled, this suit will not be able to handle it.”

“That will be what Bones carries,” said Hank, smiling. Bones’s eyebeams flashed green with amusement. “He’s a ticker, not an invalid. He can handle it.”

Bones spoke, “You fill it, I will calculate when it reaches a weight I cannot handle.”

Hackwrench giggled, a sound that needed no translation. Moving quickly in his new cogwork suit, he began to fill the bin with tools, parts, and a number of other things that Hank did not recognize.

With each item that dropped into the bin, Bricktop’s scowl deepened and Moze’s delight grew.

“I do believe,” said Moze as the items piled higher, “this is the most I have ever seen anyone win from you in a bet, Bricktop.” On her shoulder, Xerxes wheezed with laughter.

“That is enough,” said Bones, when the bin was almost full.

“I don’t suppose that new suit of yours can hold a few grappling hooks to replenish our weapons system?” asked Hank.

Hackwrench didn’t bother replying, he just laughed giddily again and moved to the back of the warehouse.

“Is there anything else?” asked Bricktop.

“Actually,” said Bones before Hank could respond, “there is.”

The ticker unbuttoned his jacket and drew one side open, revealing his skeletal metal body. Wedged between his hip joint and the protective ribcage that curved around his glowing cogsmithing source was a glass container.

Hank’s eyes widened as Bones pulled the item from his chest and laid it gently atop the other items in the bin. Inside its glass prison, the little copper cogwork butterfly flapped its wings. “Bones, what did you —”

“THEIF!” snarled Bricktop. “That was not part of the deal!”

“The deal,” reminded Bones, “was for anything ‘currently’ in this warehouse, was it not?”

“Bones, what in the Roith’delat’en hells are you doing?” Hank was shocked. They’d be lucky enough to get away with the gear they were already planning. He didn’t know much about cogsmithing, but he knew the gleam of greed and pride in Bricktop’s eyes when he looked at that butterfly. Stealing it was madness.

His first mate turned to him and answered, “It’s for Remora. I think she will like it.”

“I’ll have you killed. All of you!” shouted Bricktop.

Moze slipped behind Bricktop, sliding an arm across his throat, a knife that she’d pulled from somewhere pressed against his neck.

Hank looked back to see that Xerxes had a similar knife clutched in his tail, wrapped around the muscular body guard’s neck. The yellow shonfra’s eyes looked wide and avid, as if he truly hoped the man would struggle.

“Come now, Bricktop,” said Moze smoothly. “I thought you were a man of your word. Why, if anyone knew you went back on an agreement just because you ended on the upside down from it, your business as a racing boss would be over. No one would trust you to do business with you.”

A bead of sweat rolled down Bricktop’s forehead. Everyone stood very still until Hackwrench came back, laden with a tower of weapon system equipment. He stopped just shy of the bin, then chittered uncertainly. “What happened? Is there a problem?”

Hank repeated the question slowly. “Is there a problem, Bricktop?” Moze wasn’t exactly stable. He had no doubt she would kill the boss. If he fled Loggerhead with a ton of Bricktop’s gear just after the race boss’s murder, he’d be banned from any of the turtle islands. Besides, Hank didn’t want that on the man’s death on his conscience. He was a pirate, but he wasn’t the worst of the lot.

The race boss didn’t reply at first, so Moze took up the litany, purring in Bricktop’s ear. When she said it, it was more of a velvet-wrapped threat than a question. “What do you say, Bricktop? Do we have a problem?”

“No,” Bricktop finally bit out. “No problem.”

“A pity,” said Moze, who sounded genuinely disappointed. She released Bricktop and snapped her fingers. Xerxes regretfully released his prisoner and flew back to Moze’s shoulder.

Bones picked up the bin, which had to weigh almost as much as he did. The cogsmithed butterfly clicked its wings against the glass as its prison rolled around to settle into a better position on the pile of parts.

“Thanks, Moze,” said Hank, as Hackwrench left the building, heading for the Miraj.

“Are you thanking me for saving you or for not killing him?” she asked.

He smiled. “A little of both.”

“You aren’t this soft, Daniel.”

His smile faded. “Things change.”

Moze shook her head. “Things change, but people don’t.”

Hank looked to Bones, carrying the bin through the door as easily as if he were lifting a bouquet. “Sometimes they do,” he said. Moze clearly didn’t understand, but he didn’t want her to.

Bricktop snarled at them, “Don’t come back to Loggerhead, Hank McCoy.”

Hank took a deep breath. “Don’t worry. I wasn’t planning on it,” he said, stepping into the sunlight.