Page 92 of Gunslinger Girl
“Well…” Sheridan looked equally surprised, though he hid it quickly. “Good morning.”
“You remember Max, right?” Pity said quickly. “He was the one who showed me around the city when I first arrived. I thought he could come with us.”
Beside her, Max tensed. “No, I shouldn’t. I’d only be in the—”
“Of course.” Sheridan’s face lit up with a smile. “Please join us. I’d be delighted to get to know one of Pity’s friends better.” Bodyguard in the lead, he headed for the waiting vehicle.
But Max didn’t move.
“This isn’t funny,” he said so only she could hear. “I don’t want to go with… with the two of you.”
“One hour,” she said. “That’s all I’m asking. Get to know him a little. Is that asking so much?”
He frowned and stared after Sheridan, teeth tugging at one of the rings in his lower lip.
The gesture weakened something in Pity’s gut. “Please?”
Aversion filled his gray eyes, but he nodded. “Fine. I’ll try.”
Outside, Pity slid into the vehicle’s sprawling backseat, beside Sheridan. Max unenthusiastically joined them, while Santino took the front passenger seat. Sheridan’s bodyguard drove. His name was Elgin, but Pity had privately nicknamed him Hook, for the shape of the thick pink scar on the back of his head. He steered them away from Casimir and onto Cessation’s main avenue.
The city, awash in the bone-dry daylight, encompassed them. It was only the second time Pity had seen Cessation from a wheeled vantage point, but she could still recall the concurrent feelings of her awe and Max’s enthusiasm when she’d first arrived. That moment stuck out in stark contrast to the current one. Next to her, hands knotted in his lap, Max looked like he’d bitten into something sour.
“Where to first?” Santino called back. Unlike Max, there was a pleasant set to his features, as if he was enjoying the outing as a guest, not charged with Sheridan’s protection. Pity felt a flutter of jealousy at his ability to keeps his emotions sorted. Any interrogation—no, torture—Daneko was being subjected to was his duty, yet he appeared his usual temperate self. “A loop of the city, yeah?”
“An excellent idea,” Sheridan agreed.
They made their way to Cessation’s main entrance, where Hook turned onto an avenue that ran between the Reformationist settlement and the city’s boundary. As they passed, the group’s members dutifully fell to their knees in prayer.
“Ever persistent,” said Sheridan with a hint of amusement.
“Has the camp gotten bigger?” Pity eyed the tents. They seemed more numerous since the last time she’d seen them, sprawling further into the desert. She turned to Max, but he only shrugged halfheartedly in answer.
“They come and go like the tide,” Santino said. “When the heat comes back, they’ll recede again.”
As they traveled around the perimeter of the city, a heavy silence fell. Trapped between Sheridan and Max, Pity searched for a way to break it but couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, she thought. Discomfort hung in the air like incense.
“So,” Sheridan said finally, “you’re with the Theatre, too, Max?”
“Yes.” Pity jumped on the opening. “Max makes the costumes and sets. He’s very talented.”
“As I’ve seen. I know Pity is a relatively new addition, but how long have you been in Cessation?”
At first, Max didn’t say anything, his gaze locked on the window. He sat on the side away from the city, and beyond him, the desert stretched relentlessly toward a pale horizon.
When he did reply, his voice was cool. “A while.”
“I remember when he first came to Casimir,” Santino rumbled. Hook turned again, and they reentered Cessation from another side, plunging back into the jungle of concrete and color. “Even skinnier than he is now. Hard to believe he’d survived the streets on his own.”
“Impressive,” said Sheridan. “Then you must know the city well. What would you suggest seeing?”
Max finally turned toward them. “Pity says you used to be a Patriot. Maybe you’d like to visit some of the people you fought with, like the Ex-Pats.” His voice tightened. “Do you know that CONA’s military shoots them on sight? Or maybe you’d prefer some of the dissidents CONA has driven from their homes.”
“Max!” Pity hissed.
“No,” Sheridan said. “Let him speak. I know there’s more to this city than what goes on in Casimir. And I’m sure there are as many mixed feelings about visitors like me as there are about Cessation itself in the east.”
“Something like that,” Max muttered. “Then again, there’s nothing here I could show you that compares to the slums in Columbia.”
