CHAPTER 7
In the Realm of the Black Hats
Nico, the man dressed in black, rubbed his wrists and winced. Edwin Peach, nine years old with a penchant for knots, had bound his hands so tight that it took well over a quarter of an hour to free the man from his bonds; the ropes had left wide red welts crisscrossing his wrists. The man looked around the room, sizing up the children who had gathered around him, all observing him with a decidedly suspicious gaze. The boy with the machete who stood at his side held it threateningly, waiting for the strange man to make any sudden move.
“Can I have my hat back?” was the first thing Nico said.
The black beret was swiped from the head of a child and passed through the crowd to the owner. Elsie walked up to him with the hat; Nico bowed and Elsie set it back on his head.
“Thank you,” said Nico.
Elsie blushed.
The man adjusted the beret so it sat slightly askew on his balding head with its strawlike hair, which he tucked up into the back of the hat. He was a handsome man, possibly in his midthirties, and wore the frame of someone who likely followed a sensible diet. He reminded Elsie of a cashier at their family’s local co-op, the kind of guy who would look down his nose a bit if you hadn’t brought in your own bag. A bit of mustache colored his upper lip.
“So,” said Nico Posholsky, “you’re the Unadoptables, huh?”
“Yep,” said Michael. “And this is our home.”
“Nice place,” said Nico. “Could use some cleaning up.”
“We do our best.”
The man began to amble about the large room, studying the salvaged pieces of furniture, the ratty bedding, and the sad remains of the children’s meager breakfast. “Surprised the stevedores haven’t rooted you out yet.” He pulled away a waxed cotton tarp, revealing a portion of the Unadoptables’ food stores: a few greasy bags of sandwich crusts, what was to be their lunch for the day. “Maybe they know you’re here and they just don’t care.” He pivoted on his heels, gracefully, and glanced up at the high rafters, the light angling in through the tall leaded windows. “Good hiding spot, though. Can’t think of why they’d come out here.”
Rachel was the one who finally interjected, sounding annoyed by the man’s musings. “So we let you go. Now you have to help us. Two of our family. An old man and a girl. They were caught by the stevedores. We don’t know where they are.”
Nico stopped and chewed on this information for a moment before replying. “Old man? Was he blind?”
“Yes!” spouted Elsie.
“And the girl—she’s Asian?”
Rachel nodded. “Do you know where they are?”
“No,” said the man. “And yes. We caught word. There was some serious to-do, not long ago, at Titan Tower. We get intel, occasionally, from inside the Shipping Division. Something about a couple of hostages—a blind man and a little girl. Seemed weird that they were so high priority.”
“Intel, huh?” asked Michael, remaining suspicious of the newcomer’s intentions. “How do we know you’re not working for them—for the stevedores?”
Nico glared at Michael. “This’d be a pretty elaborate ruse, don’t you think? A bunch of angry stevedores chasing me down out here, just to get me talking to a bunch of ragamuffin orphans?”
“Ex-orphans!” one of the children exclaimed.
“Sorry,” said Nico. “Ex-orphans. Unadoptables.” He continued talking to Michael: “A good man died to bring us that information. It’s not easy infiltrating Wigman’s Division.”
“What’s a Division?” asked one of the younger children.
Nico frowned. “You guys are pretty new to these parts, huh? They didn’t tell you much at the orphanage, I imagine.”
“Only how to work,” said another Unadoptable.
“I’d heard that,” said the man. “That Unthank was using his orphans in his machine-parts shop. Pitoyable. There was a plan in place to free you guys, you’ll be pleased to know. Within the Chapeaux Noirs. One of the senior members suggested it—an action to liberate the child proletariat. Operation: Mass Adoption, I think it was called. But other, more pressing actions came up. Got put off. I’m happy to see you guys managed it for yourself.”
The room rustled proudly at Nico’s statement.
“You’re in the Industrial Wastes,” continued Nico. “That much you know. This used to be the old Science and Research Division, back when the Wastes were a sextet. Got pushed aside by the other Titans. Now it’s just a no-man’s-land. The Industrial Wastes was a Quintet for a long time after that, run by the five Titans of Industry, until a couple months ago. You guys brought down the fifth Titan, Unthank, in your little sabotage action. Knocked out a whole Division, something we’ve never come close to achieving. You worked from the inside, though. Brilliant.”
“So what’ve you got against the Titans, then?” asked Michael.