The caravan is in town after the railway grand opening. They do tend to show up places, it's kinda their thing. What surprises you is Rhea's with them this time. She's found you in the poolroom in the back of the Oaken Barrel. Maybe she wandered in the same reason you did, your first time: a newcomer in the city, seeing the sign and thinking "that sounds weirdly folksy for up here." But it's a big-city bar, whatever they call it. When you came in here as a greenhorn you did overpriced shots and had your wallet stolen, but you assume she's working from a different playbook.
"Oh yeah," she says, "I smoothed things over with Nadine. We're fine. She gets salty if I take detours, but no harm done." She has to talk loud, to be heard over the buzz. But she's not straining at all, just casually projecting, like an actor. [] had that trick, too. Nadine would always fold her arms and mutter about grandstanding.
"How," you say, finally. "No, forget it - why?" You shake your head, chalking up the tip of your pool cue. Not being cut from the same theatrical swashbuckling cloth as some, you have to shout. "I told you you don't need those people."
She pushes her hair back out of her face. "Yeah, Elias says that, too." You snort. You remember Elias - wimpy little kid, some relation of the coffeeshop owner, always hanging around being pass-agg at people. She goes on, "And I agree, for the record. But I'm keeping my options open."
"Aha. Then as long as she's useful, keep telling the boss lady whatever she wants to hear. But always have your own plans." You're sure you've told her, in a traveler's life you can't keep everybody happy. You can't be everything to everyone. But if she wants to learn the hard way, that's her right.
She smiles and taps a knowing finger against her temple. "Exactly."
You can't say why, but this encounter is disquieting. You put the chalk down and twirl the cue through your fingers. You say, "Great catching up. If you don't mind, I'm about to make the sickest break shot you've ever seen."
"How sick are we talking?"
You lean in close so you can lower your voice. "People have died."
You lose track of her, not long after that.
Later you wonder: if she's going around being chummy with everyone, how can you know what she's really after? She can talk like the two of you are in on some conspiracy, but - she would, wouldn't she? Could be it's Nadine she trusts, and you're the one she's being fake to.
...Eh. End of the day, everyone's out for themselves. It's not your problem. Not like you ever had much in common.
You wake up one afternoon in Anka and you're not happy.
Normally that isn't something you would notice. Normally it wouldn't represent a change.
Once you're aware of it, you can't leave it alone. Like a hangnail of the soul. Is this a change? Have you been enjoying yourself here? Why aren't you, anymore?
Better question: why did you ever? It's always cloudy, the clouds get this oppressive sick glow on them from all the salvaged neon, the water tastes rusty, your futon's mildewing, you've been renting this little airless cube of a crash pad by the week and they've already jacked up the utility bill, everyone talks so fast when they talk to you at all. Nights at the Oaken Barrel are getting old. If you slip up and say "y'all" you get laughed at. Every building is the same damn shape. You don't even like ska.
Small piece of luck: caravan's in town two days later. You reinvest all your pool winnings in a tote bag of antique electronics from Big Basilio's. You give the guy at the leasing office your key and the finger. Maciej says, "Welcome back, sourpuss," as you sling your pack in through his window and climb aboard.