Page 68 of Mongrels United
“And I’m trying to piece together his affairs, as he didn’t leave anything behind that could tell me.”
“Everyone’s life is laid out on the Forum,” Daubney said dismissively.
“Not everything is on the Forum.”
“Your father had secrets, then? I’m shocked.” Daubney shook her head. “I didn’t know him. I didn’t like what I saw of him. And I wouldn’t speak to him if you paid me. Stop asking me about him and go away. I won’t answer your questions.”
A pink flush touched her cheeks.
Nash considered her. “Nason said something to you, once. Something nasty, I think. It’s stayed with you.”
Daubney’s whole face and neck flushed red. “Get out!” she cried, stalking to the lab door. She wrenched it open before the sensors could respond. “Out! And don’t come back!” There was a hysterical note to her voice, which was loud and high. Through the thin dividing wall of the lab, Nash heard a man in the next lab say with a startled voice, “What’s going on over there?”
He wasn’t going to get anything out of Daubney. Certainly not now. And not later, either, for she would have gathered her defenses together later, and they would be impenetrable.
Nash moved over to the door. “For whatever my father did to you, I’m sorry. He had…issues.”
“I don’t care.”
Nash nodded. “I wish I didn’t, too.”
He stepped out and the door shut behind him, before he recognized how truthful his response had been. It wasn’t Nason Wheelock he cared about, but all the people he had hurt, one way or another, over the long years of his life. What other damage was Nash going to uncover before he reached the bottom of the well?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
It was still early morning when Nash reached the Aventine markets. The markets were just opening for business, raising their colorful awnings, laying out food and goods for sale, and talking to each other with the ease of long familiarity.
Nash had never got to know any of the Capitol market stall owners. He’d never been handed a free apple, the way some of the kids did. He’d never been allowed out of the apartment, when he was smaller. Later, he’d been too shy. Grady would laugh over that if he told her.
And suddenly, the need to see her rose in him the way the sunlights brought daytime to the ship each morning. It stuck in his chest and made his throat ache.
Grady had a full day ahead of her before he would see her again. He should go and complete the next interview.
Instead, he moved through the Aventine markets, heading for the path that ran alongside the mag line. No one used that path—they caught the train if they were on the starboard side of the ship. It would be quicker for Nash to head home via the passage through the Field of Mars, which would be empty of everyone but working mechanical engineers at this time of day.
But that would mean walking through the Wall District. The path to the Field of Mars crossed between the Second and Third Walls. He wasn’t going near that place this morning. Not even if it meant doubling the length of his journey, which it likely did.
Nash let his legs stretch out, chewing up the meters, which also discouraged anyone from talking to him. He kept his gaze straight ahead, too.
It took long minutes to walk the length of the ship to the elevator up to the Palatine hub. The walking helped wear away the worst of the sensations swirling in his gut.
It left him thoughtful.
At the hub, he stepped onto the docking platform, only to find all the taxiboats were gone. He looked around, somewhat perplexed. It was rare for him to be up and about this early. Usually he spent daylight hours at home, only venturing out at night and returning very late. There were always taxiboats available at those hours.
Nash waited on the platform until the first taxi-boat arrived and was mildly annoyed to see it wasn’t an auto-boat. The driver was middle-aged, silver-haired and wore a friendly smile as he nudged the boat up against the dock and held onto the anchor post while Nash stepped into it.
“And good morning to you!” the driver said. “Where can I take you this morning?”
“The Tavern on the Meadow, thanks.” Nash settled on the well-worn, but clean seat at the back of the boat.
“The Happy Nightingaleit is.” The driver got the boat going. It drifted out along the invisible spine of the Palatine, twisting a degree at a time, so the spin to orient the boat over the correct portion of the drum was nearly unnoticeable.
Nash admired the deft touch the driver showed. The auto-boats could sometimes leave his stomach lurching with their instant spin to orient, which was the last thing he wanted right now. “You’re good at this,” he observed.
“Been driving this boat for near thirty-five years,” the man said. “I should be. Hadlotsof practice.” The driver glanced over his shoulder, one hand on the controls. “You know the Tavern is closed right now, right? I mean, it’s none of my business, but you don’t look like a man who likes having his time wasted.”
“It’s okay. I live in the apartment over the tavern,” Nash assured him. And he really wanted to be back there, alone with his own thoughts.
