Chapter 2: Securing Strategic Assets

The convention floor was loud, not just in volume, but there was an overwhelming undercurrent of tension that felt like it might snap at any moment if it was wound any tighter. Scarlet strode forward anyway. Tilting her head down, she murmured, “Yeah, buddy, I feel it too.”

The shifting of a small body nestled against her collarbone was all the response she needed. The light press of paws grounded her as she made her way through the river of people.

She wasn’t wandering aimlessly. As she moved, her gaze cut across the vendor’s hall, cataloguing the locations of everything she could see. Props were here. Decorations were there. Materials, booths and people – so many people – turned the floor into an ever-shifting labyrinth. Some vendors she glanced at and dismissed just as quickly. Others she made sure to memorize. That one was a no. That one was a maybe. That one seemed like a good option.

Of course, she also noted where the exits were. It was always good to know where the exits were. If only she were taller, she thought as she solidified her best approximation of a floor map in her head.

In her mind she traced out a path of least resistance, but most efficiency. With her chosen destination in mind, she adjusted her path without breaking her stride. She had long become a master of weaving unobtrusively through a crowd. Occupational necessity as it were. Her cane tapped a steady rhythm against the floor. It was louder than it had been before. That was on purpose, as was her limp being just a touch more pronounced. The minute shift in posture and pace created a subtle effect around her, giving her a bit more breathing room even in the chaos.

People moved out of her way subconsciously, opening space without even realizing they were doing it. It was a neat trick she’d been forced to learn after the doctors had informed her she would never properly heal. A faint soreness in her leg and lower back told her she’d overdone it already. Then again, when had that ever stopped her? The thought of slowing down never even crossed her mind.

Scarlet didn’t stop moving until she was at the first stall she’d marked on her mental list. The space around the weapons stall was busy but not chaotic. That was good. It meant she had breathing room and moderate privacy for this interaction.

She reached out and picked up one of the knives that was resting on the table. Turning it lightly in her hand she acted like she was testing the balance, an action she had no idea how to actually do. Of course she’d mostly only held blades meant for cooking. Then again, there was that weapon throwing club an acquaintance had dragged her to in university. The guy had needed to ‘pad out the numbers Scar’ to which she’d responded, ‘don’t call me Scar.’ He hadn’t appreciated that. She’d attended the club anyway. He really hadn’t appreciated that. It all worked out in the end. She’d learned a cool skill, and he’d found a new hobby. A win-win in her books.

Of course, she’d never much considered the knives they used past making sure they were free to use. Some of her inexperience must have shone through because the vendor eventually approached her.

“You know a lot about knives?” The woman asked. She gave off a friendly if serious energy.

Scarlet glanced up, a small, easy smile slipping into place like a well worn mask. “Not really. Do you make these or resale?” she asked.

The woman behind the stall gave a short laugh.

“I make ‘em. Well, some of ‘em. Some are my dadaji’s. Most, are actually,” the woman said with obvious familial pride. “Does that make me a reseller?”

“No. If I’m not mistaken that would make you a family business,” Scarlet smiled.

“Oh, he’d like that.” The woman grinned, and she was telling the truth. Scarlet could feel it. “I’m Rajveer, by the way, but everyone calls me Raj.” The woman held out her hand to shake.

“Scarlet,” Scarlet responded, closing her fist for a bump instead. Raj laughed good naturedly.

The woman had an ease to her, a lightness and a gentleness that contrasted with a steady presence. It made sense considering her work. Her gut feeling told Scarlet this was a decent person, and she was never wrong about these things. Hopefully she got out of the convention safely. Scarlet could feel the tension ramping up in the venue, and it made her antsy to leave herself.

Scarlet was considering how to give her a nudge in that direction, when the young woman provided her an in.

“I wonder what my grandfather is thinking about all this,” she said. She waved her arm about, her hand moving vaguely through the air in front of her.

Scarlet followed the motion with her eyes. “Yeah,” she said, deliberately pitching her voice slightly higher. Just another interested conventiongoer chit-chatting with the metal smith vendor about the doom countdown the entire world was collectively hallucinating. Girl talk, right?

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“It’s curious the convention organizers are just acting like none of this is happening.”

“Curious?”

“Yeah. No announcement, no notice, no acknowledgement at all. People are freaking out and it’s just, crickets.”

She let the sentence trail off and watched as the woman mulled over her words.

“Yeah. Well. The’ll probably say something soon,” she said, her gaze looking towards the increasingly agitated crowd and then back.

Scarlet nodded before she smiled and got back to topic. “So, do you have anything here that’s actually practical?”

The woman’s expression shifted immediately to business mode. “Throwing knives?” she asked.

“Concealed, if possible.”

The woman raised an eyebrow, and Scarlet just smiled. The woman laughed as she ducked under the table. “Yeah, give me a second here.”

When she came back up, she was holding a rolled-up black leather strip. When she unrolled it, twelve incredibly uniform, incredibly sharp, and obviously well-crafted blades were revealed. These had none of the filigree or decorative flair of the other weapons on the display. To Scarlet they were no less beautiful.

“Oh, I do like these,” Scarlet breathed, her fingers hovering just over the set, a silent question.