“The tower guard says that you quieted Tully and got Hooper inside the gate while he was still alive.”
“I didn’t quiet him, though,” said Morgie. “The other guards—”
“I know,” interrupted Strunk. “I’m not criticizing you. Just laying out the facts.”
Morgie said nothing.
“Your supervisor tells me that you only took the fence job because you were too young for the town watch.”
“Yes, sir.”
“How young?”
“I’ll be sixteen in eight months.”
Strunk glanced at Gorman, who smiled faintly and shook his head.
A shadow fell across Morgie, and he turned to see someone standing just behind him, a person he had only ever seen on the painted fronts of Zombie Cards. The man wasn’t tall, but he was powerfully built, with a shaved head and a gray goatee. He had dark-brown skin and he wore a red Freedom Riders sash across his chest. He wore a pair of matched machetes in low-slung scabbards that hung from crossed leather belts.
Morgie’s mouth went absolutely dry.
The man nodded to Strunk. “This is the boy, Cap?”
“This is him. Morgan Mitchell.”
The newcomer studied Morgie. “You trained with Tom.”
“Yes, sir,” Morgie said.
“You friends with Tom’s brother? You one of Benny’s friends?”
The question was worse than a knife in Morgie’s guts. It took him a long time before he trusted his voice enough to answer the man.
“Benny was my best friend.” His voice almost—almost—broke. “I wish I’d gone with him and Tom.”
The man nodded. “From what I heard just now, Morgie, Tom would be proud of you. Benny, too.”
Morgie turned away to hide his eyes.
The man put his hand on Morgie’s shoulder. “I don’t think you have a future in the town watch.”
Morgie snapped his head around and stared in hurt and horror at the man. But he was smiling. So were Strunk and Gorman.
“I think you need to come and train with me,” said the man.
“W-what . . . ?”
“Do you know who I am?”
“Yes, sir. You’re Solomon Jones.”
“I’m building something important. Something Tom would approve of,” said Solomon. “And I’m looking for some real warriors.”
Morgie stared at him.
Solomon held out a muscular hand.
“Want to join me?”