It was easy enough for Mads to retrace her steps, to make it back to Commodore Leroy's door before she thought better of it. The two guards waved her through with raised brows but no questions, and she wondered if the fancy invitation and heavy security of before had all been for show.
When she walked into the abandoned dining room, the Commander was waiting for her, and she realized that the guards must have alerted him somehow.
"Miss Capot," he said. "Come through to the parlor. It's more comfortable. And there's tea."
Mads eyed him warily, feeling like the person who brought a knife to a gunfight. But he just stood, waiting, his hand on the farthest door.
"I have no intentions of hurting you, girl," he said, his melodious voice dropping to a calming low. "But I take it you have something you wanted to say, without your men-friends present?"
"They're not—" Mads began, but then she decided it wasn't worth it. "Tea sounds good." She said instead, following him into a smaller room. A parlor, I guess?
There were smooth, dark, soft couches lining the walls, and a giant window facing out into the smoggy clouds, but no other decorations. Mads sank onto the couch and accepted the mug of steaming liquid from the Commodore's giant hand.
But she didn't drink it. Instead, she set it down on the couch beside her and looked up at him with tired eyes. "What's the price?"
His laugh startled her. Not because it was loud - it wasn't - but because it bubbled up, spilling over into a choking sound that she couldn't identify for several frozen moments.
Finally, she allowed herself to smile a little too. "What's so funny, sir?"
"I don't know what you did to Phelan," he said, ignoring her question and taking a seat. "I don't know why you're with those 'twins of misfortune and ruin,' or where they found you, but no one has ever assaulted one of my Suits in my own dining room because he tried to do a little skin trading."
Mads scowled. "Can I be honest with you, sir?"
The Commodore waved a hand. "Please. Whatever you say here stops here."
Mads looked from the Commodore to the tea. "Clubs is a despicable piece of garbage, sir. The fact that he can trade in people, and 'younger girls' . . . that's just disgusting. And you didn't tell me what I owe you for the tea?"
The Commodore finally sat down, sinking into the couch farthest from Mads. "You're already paying for it, with your . . . refreshing honesty. I'm surrounding by cons, murderers, rakehells, gamblers, whores, liars, and those are just the nice people. It's been too long since I heard an honest word, or had something to laugh at. Hell, it's been years since I had a good conversation." He leaned back, taking a sip of his tea and sighing with satisfaction.
His brow furrowed, as if he'd just tasted something nasty in the tea. "Despite what it looks like, there's only so much I can do. But we have an age limit on whores and entertainers here. Have to be old enough to consent. I'll have my people look into it."
The Commodore took another sip of tea, and then glanced at Mads. "Drink your tea. And tell me, why are you here, spilling fires of righteousness?"
Mads, who had just picked up her tea, proceeded to choke on it, and then glower at the Commodore. "What do you mean?"
"You've been judging us all since you stepped off your ship. It was written on your face. You despise us and our way of life. But I am curious. What did you have to say to me that you couldn't say in front of Phelan or Peck?" He leaned forward, his lips twisting a bit at the corner. "Your business partners."
A lot of responses raced through Mads' mind, but none of them were appropriate things to say in front of this man. Instead, she took a sip of tea. It was sweet and spicy, and it warmed her down to her toes. "I won't let Luc fight for me." She clenched the cup, hoping the Commodore couldn't see how her hands were trembling.
"It's my problem, my fight," she continued. "And I'm not some helpless kid like you all seem to think. I'm an adult, and I know my way around a boxing ring. Just set up a match, and I'll fight for myself. And if I die in there . . ." Mads met the Commodore's gaze, holding it and wishing she really could read minds. " I guess I just die," she finished with a shrug.
The Commodore studied Mads over the rim of his cup, his dark eyes sharp. "I suppose you told him you would do it?"
Mads nodded, scowling. "He dared to tell me no." She couldn't keep the outrage completely out of her voice. "Like it's his choice to make. So I came to you. They say you're the one who's actually in charge."
The Commodore's brows rose. "I think he's trying to be responsible. I think he made the offer because he thinks it's the right thing to do, not to insult you somehow. I don't know him all that well . . . but the Luc that wants to fight for you isn't the Luc I usually meet."
Mads' scowl deepened. She couldn't read anything but sincerity coming from the big man in front of her. He actually believed what he was telling her. "I didn't ask for that. My fight, my business. Now if only I could waste that Clubs creeper instead."
The Commodore laughed again. "You shouldn't say things like that in front of me, you know."
Mads jolted, almost spilling her tea, as she realized he was right. She had gotten far too comfortable. But still, whenever she looked at the powerful man, she couldn't feel any menace. Not aimed at her, anyway.
"Don't worry," he said, as if replying to her thought. "I'm not your enemy. But I do think you should watch your tongue. This is a cruel world and it takes more than strength to survive. You can't win just by being right. And are you sure you don't want Phelan to fight for you? Death is a big possibility, you know. You could get rid of him, for good."
Mads stared, feeling her eyes widen with shock. She tried to read the Commodore's expression, but it was bland and calm.
"I hate Luc," she said at last. "And I don't understand him. But I don't want him . . . to die." It was true. She didn't hate him because he'd kidnapped her, and she didn't want him dead. It was far more complicated than that. "I certainly don't want him dying for me. That's preposterous." She smiled at the Commodore. "He's just an arrogant jerk."
The Commodore's teeth flashed in a grin. "And you think getting yourself killed in the cages is better than putting aside your pride and letting him be an 'arrogant jerk'?"
Mads put down her cup and frowned at him. "I don't intend to die."
"I see." The Commodore rubbed his chin and stared into his tea. "I see . . . Okay. I'll let you fight. And I'll oversee the match myself, to make sure it's as fair as it can be. But if you die, your blood's on your own head."
Mads clenched her mug. "I won't die." And this isn't about him.
"Meet me here at the first bell, and we'll keep Phelan out of it."
Mads leaned back. "Thank you."
The Commodore raised a brow. "You won't thank me if you're dead."
Mads shrugged. "But I won't care either."
He smiled, but it was humorless. "Good point."
Mads drained the last bit of tea from her cup and rose. "Thank you for the tea, sir. And the conversation."
The Commodore reached out to take her cup, but he didn't rise. "First bell, Miss Capot. Don't be late."
"I won't."
Mads made it all the way back to the lift before she realized that she had no clue where she was headed. Where was she supposed to sleep? She didn't know how to get back to Estrella's place (and she wasn't sure if she wanted to go back). And she certainly wasn't going back upstairs.
Mads stood by the lift, torn by indecision.
Maybe the Commodore could see her, or maybe he had already prepared for this, but just as Mads was going to try the bottom floors, a black-coated female security officer hailed her.
"Miss Capot. A word."
Mads nodded. "Uhh, sure."
"The Commodore has offered you the use of a suite in neutral territory. The Clubs aren't above foul play, and if you went near their place. . ."
Mads blinked at the officer.
The woman's lips twisted a bit, as if she found something amusing.
Mads didn't think it was funny, but this offer was more to her liking. "Is there a catch?"
The woman shook her head. "No, but the Commodore recommends that you accept his generosity if you'd like to live until morning."
Mads didn't need to be told again. Cost or not, it seemed like the best solution. "Right," she said. "He's the boss."
The woman did a perfect pivot and headed back the way she'd come, not checking to see if Mads followed. The officer didn't slow until they'd been through several decrepit-looking and unfamiliar passages. It did occur to Mads that the woman could be leading her to her death, but it wasn't likely. If the Commodore had wanted to hurt her, he'd had plenty of opportunities.
Just as Mads was starting to feel nervous, the woman stopped at a metal door. "The door has a triple lock on the inside, so make sure they're all fastened. I'll be here to collect you at the first bell."
"Wait," Mads said as the woman pivoted again, ready to charge back down the hall.
"Yes?" The officer raised a pale brow.
Mads looked down at her stained and crumpled green dress. "I don't have anything to fight in."
"Hmm." The woman's eyes flicked up and down Mads' frame, calculating. "If you'd like to trade, I can probably find someone who has something more appropriate."
Mads nodded. "Of course. They can have the dress." It wasn't really hers to give, but she wasn't about to ask Luc or Graynard for permission.
"Then I'll arrive at half-bell instead, with clothes. Anything else?"
Mads shook her head. "No, no thank you."
The officer bobbed her head, and then continued on her way back down the corridor. Mads watched her disappear around a corner, and then opened the creaky door. A light flickered on as she walked in, fizzing and popping, but it didn't go out. Mads carefully fastened all three locks, and then examined her surroundings.
It wasn't anything like Estrella's elegant (yet threadbare) quarters. There was a small bunk, bolted to the wall, a table, one chair, and another door that probably led to the bath chamber. It was a small space, but clean enough. Probably crew quarters, back when this ship had had almost three times as many people.
Mads sighed, realizing how thoroughly exhausted she was. She only washed her face before she flopped onto the bunk and kicked off her shoes.
Half bell came far too soon.
Mads felt like she had just fallen asleep when there was a brisk knock at her door. "Capot, half bell."
Mads groaned and rolled over.
"Miss Capot." The knocking continued.
"Coming," Mads managed, falling over her feet as she stumbled to the door. She wrestled with the locks, and managed to swing the door open.
It was the female guard from the night before. Her eyes were bright, her hair neat, and her uniform sharp. It made Mads a little self-conscious.
"Here." The woman thrust a bundle of clothing into Mads' hands. "But I expect that dress in return." She pointed a thumb at Mads current outfit.
Everything came back to Mads in a rush: Clubs, the fight, clothes. "Yes," she replied, absently. "Of course. I'll change now."
"Quickly," said the woman, looking at her watch. "The Commodore is waiting for you."
Mads scurried into the bathroom, where she washed her face and stripped off her rumpled dress. There were several worn shirts, what looked like prison-issue undergarments (at least what she imagined them to look like), and a pair of leggings in the pile of clothing, and they all smelled like old sweat and dust. Nothing was ideal for fighting, but it was all better than the dress.
Mads squeezed into the leggings and added a compression tank that was obviously meant for a slight man. Then she topped it with a men's button-up that had a suspicious brownish stain along the hem.
Mads glanced at her reflection, noting the circles under her eyes. Her dreads were mostly still up in Luc's intricate knot, and the emerald pin winked in the dingy light. If her hair had somehow stayed put when she was sleeping, it would probably stay up while she was fighting, so she saw no need to change it. No sense in giving someone another place to grab her.
She took a deep breath, and then spared one last look down at the too-tight leggings. Idiot, she thought as she collected the dress and went out to meet the guard, I doubt anyone will care how big your hips or thighs look. Still, as she handed over the dress, fancy shoes, and the rest of the discarded clothes, she couldn't help thinking that the lady guard gave her a look of disdain.
We can't all wear perfectly tailored uniforms, Mads refrained from giving the woman a venomous glare. "Well?" she said, instead. "Are we good?"
The woman gave Mads another once-over. "You don't have shoes."
"Oh." Mads looked down. Her bare feet were stained black around the toes. "I'm more comfortable without them." A pair of badly fitting shoes would throw her off more than no shoes at all. Besides, she'd trained barefoot. It will be fine.
The guard shrugged. "Suit yourself." She executed her perfect pivot again and headed back out into the hall.
Mads trailed behind, contemplating the dry chill of the floors on her bare feet. Honestly, this escapade had been an unusually long period of wearing shoes. Normally, she worked barefoot in the store (as long as the health inspectors weren't around) and she always did her gardening barefoot. It was a relief, in a way. It made her feel more herself. Now, if she'd had a steaming cup of dark roast, she might have been excited about the fight.
Well, maybe not "excited."
Mads shook out her arms and rolled her shoulders. She had been a junior boxing champion. She had another path that she could have taken if she hadn't chosen the store and her grandfather's legacy. Though she had never admitted it to Grandmere or even Krill, the reason she kept her bags, gloves, and gear wasn't just to keep herself from getting rusty: it was to banish her doubts and regrets when they inevitably flared up.
Granted, her years of training hadn't helped much against Luc, but his reflexes seemed to verge on the superhuman. Whatever opponent they picked for her, Mads would have one advantage: a reason to fight. She was going to make it home and tell every person in Springs Village how much they meant to her. And she was going to have at least one more good cup of coffee before she died.
The guard left Mads as soon as they reached the Commodore's parlor. It was empty, but there was a tray piled with food and a note that said "Help Yourself."
Mads thought about the cost for all of five minutes. After that, her growling stomach and aching head won out. She wouldn't be much good without fuel.
When Mads was starting on her second roll (filled with what she guessed was synth-pork (40) and gen-veggies), the Commodore entered the parlor. His dreadlocks were tied back with a bright purple cord, and he wore a black jumpsuit with heavy boots. If anything, he looked even more imposing than he had the night before.
Mads quickly dropped the half-eaten bun to her plate and gulped down her mouthful. "Good morning, sir."
The Commodore's mouth twitched, but he didn't give in to the smile. Instead, he fixed Mads with a severe frown before helping himself to a plate of food.
Mads picked at her bun, not wanting to eat with him staring at her.
Finally, the Commodore sighed and leaned back. "How did you sleep?"
Mads blinked, and then answered in a rush. "Fine, I was so tired, I mean after everything . . ." she trailed off, wary.
"Eat. You need your strength." The Commodore took a bit of rubbery-looking egg-lites and made a face. "It's better to die in a cage than to be poisoned by this imitation food."
Mads tore her bun into strips, finally looking at what she was eating. It was all brownish stuff, with the flavors engineered in alongside the nutrients. "So," she said, cautious. "You've had better?"
"I was born on Helen's Point, but it's not the only place I've known."
Mads looked back at her mysterious companion. He was studying his own plate, his eyes faraway.
"You've been out there? In space?" Mads rarely asked the spacesiders about the galaxies beyond Ithir's burnt shell. She'd never really been interested. For one, there wasn't any real coffee. Still, the traders and pilots who streamed through The Last Coffee Shop had certainly had some crazy stories. Not that Mads believed any of them.
The Commodore sighed. "Yes, I've been to several planets, and traveled from end to end of Ithir. But Helen's Point suited me." He smiled, all teeth.
Mads frowned. He has to have been to Springs Village then. It's a tourist destination. There's no way he wouldn't have heard of it. So why . . . ? She realized she was staring at him and dropped her gaze, her thoughts spinning. Who was this man, really, and why did he choose to stay here if he'd seen other places?
Mads forced herself to meet his gaze again. "So Commodore, when is the fight?"
"Call me Leroy. That's what our mutual friend calls me."
Mads frowned, confused. "Friend?"
Leroy made a little humming sound, as if Mads had just confirmed something for him. "Phelan. Luc. He visited me last night, did you know?"
Mads blinked twice. "Huh, no!? How should I know, or care what he does?" She exhaled loudly, exasperated. "Why does everyone assume that we have anything to do with each other? It's just . . . fate!"
Leroy just raised a dark brow.
Mads frowned, as her mind caught up with the last part of the Commodore's sentence. "Why'd he come to see you?"
Leroy's lips split again, flashing his white teeth. "The same reason you did, my dear. Only you were first. He said you'd probably try to do something stupid, or at the very least, you'd play into Clubs hands. So he wanted me to keep you with me during the fight."
Mads shot to her feet. "No! I'll fight Luc myself, before the original match." Mads regretted the words the minute they were out of her mouth. She hadn't fought Luc, but she was no fool. If it was a fair fight, Mads knew she'd have zero chance of winning. It made her furious, but it was the truth.
It took Mads a moment to realize that the Commodore was laughing at her again. "Miss Capot," he managed. "I see why he likes you. You're obviously not from around here." Leroy didn't bother to elaborate, and he continued, "I told him that you'd decided to fight your own battles, and that as the Commodore, I'd decided to let you. I'll spare you the rest of the argument – I had half a mind to beat him senseless myself – but I'm not a fool either."
Commodore Leroy's smile disappeared and he leveled Mads with a frown. "Don't underestimate him. Phelan's an insolent, cocky, arrogant bastard. But his blood is so cold, he might as well be a corpse, and I suspect that none of us have ever seen how dangerous he can be. So. Be. Careful."
Mads bristled. "I know he's dangerous. I've seen him kill people without a thought, or even breaking a sweat. He's a monster. But this is my fight."
Leroy stared at her, his eyes tracing every inch of her face, as if he was trying to read under her skin, her skull, to her brain.
Mads forced herself to hold his gaze. She had nothing to hide.
"That's what I told him. And he accepted it. I think he finds arguments fatiguing. But he did have a message for you."
Mads' brows rose. "Really?"
"He said, and I'm quoting here, 'I'm not watching, and I won't be there to stop them. Your blood is on your hands, and no one will tell your friends what happened to you. If you can live with that, suit yourself, throw it all away.'"
Leroy cleared his throat. "He has a flair for drama, I think."
Mads shot to her feet. "I'm not going to die." She glowered at Leroy. "Seriously! I'm ready right now."
Leroy smirked. "Calm down. If you can't keep calm, you probably will die. I want you to center yourself, do some stretches, whatever will help you focus. Don't think about Phelan – just remember what you're fighting for."
Mads nodded, but she wasn't planning on not thinking about Luc. Are you kidding? His face is one of the ones I'll be punching.
"In that case." Leroy put his plate aside. "This food is making me nauseous. Shall we head down? There's a prep room there, with everything you might need. And though Phelan has refused to 'watch you be pounded to pulp,' –his words, not mine—you'll find that Master Peck volunteered to be your attendant."
Peck . . . Mads blinked. Wait, Graynard? "Really?"
Leroy shrugged and headed for the door. "Peck said he was on your side with this one, and Luc could go sulk if he wanted. I edited that a bit, it wasn't quite so mild."
Mads trailed after the Commodore, her thoughts spinning. Graynard and Luc had seemed at odds. Would that make things more difficult later, or could Mads use it to her advantage? After all, Graynard had seemed the better man of the two.
Later, she shushed her thoughts. Before she worried about her companions' relationship issues, she had to survive.