He looked up and thought of the day ahead and was not afraid. Whatever bad stuff was ever going to happen to Charles Merriman had already happened. Probably. And anyway, there were bigger hands even than his own gravel hands, and it was those big hands that held his fate.
“Berries and thorns,” Orc said to himself, trying to picture what Astrid had told him.
Quinn had spent the night on the island. He ate cheese—actual cheese that Albert’s careful survey of the house had found in a special cheese-aging room. It had apparently never occurred to Caine and Diana, or to Sanjit before them, to look for cellars and subcellars, but Albert, being Albert, had located and cataloged everything of any use in the mansion, and had done it all in just the few days he’d been there.
Quinn had to admit: it never would have occurred to him, either. The concept of a special cheese room was not part of his experience.
Someone had also been growing pot in a small, underground greenhouse, but it had all died off when the power was cut back.
In the morning Albert had Leslie-Ann and Pug help lower a massive wheel of Parmesan cheese in a net down to Quinn’s boat. Alicia would be going back to the mainland with Albert, but Leslie-Ann and Pug would stay behind. Pug had been taught to fire the missiles and use a gun and had strict instructions to fire on anyone who was not Albert.
Anyone.
It took Albert a while to get ready. It was lunchtime when they finally got moving—after crackers and peanut butter, lovely, lovely peanut butter. Quinn was trying hard not to regret the fact that it would now be back to the regular grind of work. It was a long, hard row back to town—harder since Albert and his giant cheese were dead weight and Albert clearly was not going to take a turn at the oars. Neither would the cheese.
Alicia rowed for a while, but she was almost more trouble than she was worth. In the end she just put her feet up on the cheese and added to the dead weight.
“The thing is,” Albert said, “I did the logical thing with my business. Right?”
Albert was in an unusually talkative mood, which just annoyed Quinn. Generally when Quinn rowed, he slipped into a contemplative mood, often pondering the meaning of life, but also less overwhelming questions like Star Trek versus Star Wars, and why people would spend a fortune on some fancy car when any car would get you where you were going.
“I’m used to being criticized, everyone resenting me because I’m successful,” Albert said. “It’s probably inevitable.”
And sometimes, despite himself, Quinn thought about Lana.
Those thoughts never ended well. The thing was, Quinn liked Sanjit. And he was glad that Lana was happy, or at least as happy as Lana could
get.
“They don’t really have a right to hate me, you know: it’s not like I owe anyone anything. Actually, they owe me. Without me they’d all have starved to death by now.”
There had been a time when Quinn had thought he and Lana would end up . . . what, going out together? Hah. Those sorts of ideas were just strange in the FAYZ. “Hanging out.” The phrase made Quinn smile. If they were getting out of here, he would have to adjust to a world where people hung out. A world where there wasn’t really any such thing as a full-time job for a fourteen-year-old kid.
“If they’d all been reasonable instead of panicky and emotional, I wouldn’t have had to offshore.”
That finally penetrated Quinn’s reverie. “You’re going with ‘offshoring’? Good luck. Some people might call it treason, or cowardice, or abandoning ship like a rat, but give ‘offshoring’ a try.”
Albert waited until he was finished, then said, “Obviously none of it is my fault so long as I behaved in my own best interests.”
“Douche.”
“What?”
“I was coughing,” Quinn muttered.
He looked up, avoiding Albert’s suspicious gaze, and saw the same cabin cruiser he’d seen the day before. The captain didn’t look in his direction.
They passed Quinn’s outgoing crews and received some good-natured catcalls for Quinn—mostly on the theme of him shirking work. And there were some less good-natured remarks for Albert.
Edilio must have spotted them coming in, because he was waiting on the dock to receive Albert like some kind of visiting celebrity.
Edilio reached down, took Albert’s hand, and hauled him up onto the dock.
“I’m glad you could come, Albert,” Edilio said, perfectly diplomatic. “We need your help.”
“I’m not surprised,” Albert said. “You want people back at work and you’ve already figured out that begging and reasoning don’t work.”
“Also threatening,” Edilio said.