He was not alone, though.
Men came and went around him, past him, and sometimes bumped right into him. Rector was absolutely not interested in a fight, but conversation might get him somewhere—so he looked for someone who might be friendly … or at least not actively hostile.
With no idea where Houjin was or if the kid had even stuck around, he was short on allies—but eventually he found an oversized room at the back of the Station line.
More like a hangar than anything else, the vast, open space was filled with balloons. They weren’t flying balloons, and they weren’t the sort that worked with an airship: They were collection balloons, stuffed fat and round with Blight. The balloons stretched and rolled, the seams of their treated canvas straining and squeaking as men bundled them up like bales, then stacked, shoved, and pushed them into a holding corner. They lumbered together like barrels, ready for processing.
At one end of the room, a small clot of workers wearing oversized gas masks moved swiftly and smoothly, driven by the confidence of long habit, despite the dangers of the substance they managed.
Rector fiddled with his gas mask, but didn’t put it on yet, in case he didn’t have to. He didn’t draw any closer than was necessary to call out, “Hey fellows…?”
Three of the five men turned to look at him. One of those failed to show any further interest and went back to his task, but the other two kept staring at him, so he went ahead and asked the rest of his question.
“Where can I find James Bishop?”
One of the masked workers nodded and said, “Next hallway down. Try the second door on the right. ” He gestured with one thickly gloved hand, then turned back to the valves at his station. He drew one of the bulbous bags into position and located its release stem before hooking it onto a set of pipes.
Rector was fascinated. If he’d had any more energy, he might’ve stuck around to ask questions. These were the source sacks, their contents almost certainly collected from the deepest Blight-hole, down by the old financial district. Every pathetic little powder-runner knew that much. Rector also knew there was some system, or apparatus, or device … something that concentrated that soup-thick air down to something thicker still, until it could be poured like water.
Raw, unrefined Blight.
He’d never seen it before, and a lingering curiosity made him want to. But no, the exhaustion wouldn’t let him. He struggled to recall the directions he’d been given mere seconds ago and remembered enough to find that other hall, and the second door on the right. There wasn’t really a door th
ere at all, which was fine by Rector, who knocked on the wall beside it to announce himself.
A dark-skinned man looked up from a desk covered in small glass vials and pots, many of which were bubbling effervescently. The lower half of his face was covered with a blue cotton bandanna, but even with this treacherous work, he didn’t bother to put on a gas mask.
“Hey there, Bishop. You look like you’re ready to take up train robbing. ”
James Bishop pulled down the bandanna so it sat around his neck. He pushed his chair back and viewed Rector with no small measure of surprise. “Wreck, what are you doing inside the wall?”
Rector grinned, and hoped it didn’t look forced. “Working. For Yaozu. ”
“Really. ” Bishop said. It was a counter, not a question. “Yaozu. ”
“That’s right, the man himself. I’m on a mission, but that mission don’t start until morning, and I’m not sure where I’m supposed to go tonight, or what I’m supposed to do. And the truth is, I’m god-awful tired. ”
“Not to mention a bit banged up, by the look of you. ” He pointed at Rector’s leg.
“Yeah, I had a hard time getting inside. Fell down a chuckhole. ”
“Brilliant. ”
Rector was determined not to take offense. “Well, it was dark and all. Anyhow, here I am. I thought maybe I’d look you up, see if I could bother you for a little favor. ”
Bishop scratched at a spot behind his ear where the goggles he often wore had rubbed a track in his curly black hair. “I just bet you did. ”
“It ain’t no big favor, I promise. ”
“They never are. ”
Exasperated, Rector threw his hands up and limped into the room uninvited but unopposed. He found an empty chair and flung himself into it. “Man, I don’t know why you’ve got to be like that. I’m tired, and I need a place to bed down for the night, and I don’t know hardly anybody down here. ”
Bishop’s eyes narrowed. The grooves in his forehead dropped to a very pronounced V, suggesting he was not convinced. Through this sharpened gaze he paused to stare at Rector, which Rector did not like at all. But what was he going to do about it? Nothing, that’s what.
In his own sweet time, Bishop spoke. “You’ve been in the city a few days now, haven’t you? Those scratches aren’t fresh, and that rash you’re getting on your hands … looks like you’ve been running around without any gloves like a right moron, I must say. ”
“So?”