Interlude: Grasp of the Eagle

She’d gotten there at 6:45, figuring that being early would make Hans happy…or at least make sure he wasn’t unhappy. Sapphire Street was nearly swallowed by darkness when she’d arrived, the last parts of twilight already giving way to pure night.

Hans was waiting in an alley. He’d smiled his usual discomforting smile, and then introduced her to one of Mr. Redbeak’s other employees, a guy named Eggbert, or “Egg,” as everybody called him. Gilda had seen him around at the society meetings, but she’d never actually talked to him.

Egg was a stocky sort of guy, though the bulk of his body didn’t seem to be solid muscle like Hans, with dull brown eyes and thin, sandy hair. When she’d seen him at a distance before, she remembered thinking that he had the sort of face that looked like someone had taken a meat tenderizer to it at an early age. Now that she was seeing him up close, her assessment hadn’t improved in the slightest.

He’d raised an eyebrow at her arrival. “You brought the kid out here?”

Hans had simply shrugged. “Figured she’d be a good lookout.”

Gilda had wondered what exactly she was looking out for, but Hans had brushed aside her questions, and his raw intimidation kept her from asking anything else. Instead, she’d followed directions and packed into Hans’ car, an old black van, and, to Gilda’s confusion, driven around the neighborhood, leading to her current position in the backseat, feeling disconcertingly lost.

She watched the darkening buildings go by through the front windshield.

Lookout…lookout…off the top of her head, she could only think of one thing you’d need a lookout for. But that couldn’t be it, could it? Hans wasn’t a nice person, but he wouldn’t drag her into…she turned a nervous glance towards the larger of the two men.

“Hans, what are we doing? I thought you called me for a job.”

Hans shrugged casually, not taking his eyes off the road. “Just killing a little time, small fry.”

“But—”

“Shut up. I need to concentrate.” He smirked at her through the rear view mirror. “Unless you want me to have an accident.”

Gilda was fairly sure he wouldn’t have an accident, but she got the message anyway, snapping her mouth closed and letting her insides stew in ever-increasing fear. Her arm began to itch horribly, but with Hans in the car, she had no choice but to ignore it.

Finally, Egg declared it to be time, and the van parked back in the alley where they’d started. The two men got out, each carrying a small backpack. “Stay here,” Hans said, turning to Gilda. “Text if you see anybody approaching.”

Gilda settled herself into the front passenger seat, watching with trepidation as Hans and Egg silently moved to the building across the street. According to the sign, it was some kind of antique store. In the darkness of the adjacent alley, Gilda could just make out the two men snaking their way up the fire escape to the second story.

The teenager shifted uncomfortably against the old leather. She’d thought this was a repossession or something. Mr. Redbeak did that sort of thing, among others. But this? This was feeling almost like a burglary. Except without the almost.

Once again, her tattoo began to itch as if the ink in her skin were some kind of flammable. Free of Hans’s disapproval, Gilda scratched furiously. Why were they doing this? Mr. Redbeak was legit. He didn’t need to do this sort of thing. Okay, sure, he dealt partially in junk. Literal junk, in fact. But he wasn’t shady. He wasn’t…

**********

It had been early winter when she’d met him. Back then, Gilda had been desperately hunting for a job to take some of the pressure off her dad. She’d already been at it for weeks, but nobody had wanted her, and those that did, well, she hadn’t lasted long.

It had been the afternoon, and she’d been leaving her last job, dog walking, having gotten into a rather loud argument with the stupid, prissy woman who’d tossed her four dog leashes at once and expected her to handle them. The insane mutts had slipped loose and Gilda had chased them down, but not before the dogs had assaulted one mail carrier, knocked over three potted plants, and the chase had ripped a large hole in Gilda’s right pants leg.

When it was all said and done, the four little terrors had been showered in kisses and treats. But Gilda? She’d gotten fired without even a single cent for the whole ordeal.

Distracted by the guilt of telling her father about her ruined jeans, Gilda hadn’t paid any attention to her path down the sidewalk, and ended up colliding into someone, and landing flat on her butt.

“I’m sorry,” a voice had called down to her. “Here, let me help you up.”

The man that helped her was a big man, maybe in his mid-thirties, with a thick lion’s mane of deep black hair, and a pair of sharp blue eyes. He was dressed immaculately in a suit and tie, hardly a thread out of place, and as a consequence, made Gilda feel even more pathetic. The only thing that threw off the image of wealth and class was his nose, which was very slightly crooked.

His hand took hers in a firm grip, and Gilda found herself hauled to her feet. “You’re not hurt, are you?” he asked, looking her over. His gaze rested on her exposed right knee. “Did I do that?”

“N-No,” Gilda stammered. For a moment, she felt like she was in Junior Flight Camp again, shrinking into her shell as she was crowded out of the flight simulator.

The man led her over to a nearby bench. “Let me guess,” he said ruefully, “It had something to do with her?” He pointed to the house Gilda had just stomped away from. “Her mutts give you trouble?”

Gilda was taken aback. “How’d you know?”

The man smiled, more genuinely this time. “Wasn’t hard to pick up on that fight, kid. You two were pretty loud. And from what I gather, you were right to leave. That woman’s nothing but garbage.” He shot the house a disgusted look. “No girl like you should be working for someone like her.”

Gilda felt her face go red. “Y-Yeah,” she said.

And before she knew it, she was unloading the entire dog disaster right then and there, and then, the problems with her mother. The man listened through it all, nodded in agreement as Gilda relayed her anger at her mom’s betrayal.

“She just left dad! She left and now she’s divorcing him when Dad lost his job and he can’t even afford an attorney! But she just won’t stop!”

“Your mother sounds like a real traitor,” said the man sagely. “It’s such a shame you’re going through that. But tell you what, you’re looking for a job, right? How about I give you one?”

Gilda was taken aback. “W-What?”

The man smiled. “I’ve got my fingers in quite a few pies, so to speak. Why, just today I was out here for a custom car delivery. But one of my other businesses is a junkyard. How would you feel about helping sort of the real junk from the salvageable stuff? I’ll pay you well.”

Gilda’s eyes threatened to roll free of her skull. “Are you sure? I…I’ve never sorted stuff like that before.”

“Sure, I’m sure,” replied the man. “We could always use fresh, young faces around the yard. And as far as experience, don’t worry. You’ll be working under someone the whole time. We can take it slow while you learn the ropes.” He held out his hand. “So, is that a yes?”

“I…” Gilda was glad she was seated, because she might have fallen over. Instead, her hand shot out to grasp his, shaking it vigorously. “Yeah! Yeah, I’ll take it!”

The man in the suit chuckled. “Good, good.” He got up, smiling down at her as he took out a small card from his jacket pocket. “My name is Gerard Redbeak, and here’s where you’ll find the junkyard.” He tilted his head. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Gilda,” she supplied eagerly. “Gilda Ironclaw.”

“Nice to meet you Gilda.” He smiled again. “See you in, say, a couple days?”

For the first time since her parents’ divorce, Gilda found herself smiling, too. “I’ll be there!”

And she was. Two days later, she was at the junkyard, working her first shift, learning how to sort out the parts, what could be used and what couldn’t. The size of her first paycheck made her jaw hit the floor. It had been more than her last two jobs combined.

More than that, Mr. Redbeak treated her like she was somebody. And after a little while, he introduced her to the society, people that, minus guys like Hans, had really seemed to be happy to have her around. In the society, she’d found something she hadn’t had since Rainbow Dash.

She was an eagle, flying high above the world, ruling the kingdom of the sky.

**********

And now here she was with Hans and Egg at what seemed to be a burglary. Was this really Mr. Redbeak’s idea? Maybe this was all Hans. She could believe that. The guy was seriously unfriendly. How Mr. Redbeak put up with him, she didn’t know. But the fact that he did just proved that Mr. Redbeak was a good guy.

Filled with nervous energy, Gilda got out of the car, standing in front of it to better scan the darkened street. Not a single person greeted her, let alone a policeman to bare her soul to. All she had were shadows and streetlights, and neither were going to help her.

A sudden gale slapped against her face with the chill of a winter storm. The teenager shivered, pulling her jacket tighter as she braced against a wall, protecting herself from the sudden blast. Where the hell had it even come from? The air had been still just a moment ago, and nowhere near that cold.

That was when Hans and Egg came barreling back to the alley. Hans was running, but Egg seemed more like he was staggering. The fact that both men were wearing ski masks only stoked the fires of anxiety within her.

“Can you drive?” barked Hans, barging into her personal space.

“I, uh, I’ve got a permit…” Gilda answered weakly, doing her best to edge away.

“Then drive! Get us out of here, now!”

Gilda wanted to argue, but an angry Hans was not someone she wanted to mess with. Hopping into the driver’s seat while Hans and Egg sat in the back, Gilda turned on the engine and made a hasty exit away from Sapphire Street. Her nagging desire for a policeman found itself inverted into a prayer about not getting caught.

“You awake, Egg?” Hans called from the backseat.

“Yeah…” groaned the other man. “Head hurts…stupid rodent…why was he even…”

“Forget about it,” interrupted Hans. “We got what we came for.”

Gilda had just been ready to turn a corner when Hans caught her wrist in his hand. “I’ll take over,” he said. It was not a suggestion.

Quietly, they changed positions, and Gilda settled herself uncomfortably back in the front passenger seat. She cast a glance at Egg, slumped in his own seat, but still breathing. “Is…he okay?”

“Just a knock on the head,” Hans replied. “He’ll be fine.”

Gilda turned her attention to the large bag that sat on the floor between them. “Why…” she swallowed hard. “Why did you…?”

“They had something of Mr. Redbeak’s,” Hans told her, “something he’s been trying to find for a very long time, and they weren’t smart enough to give it up.”

“But—”

“They were nothing but rodents, small fry. Thieving little mice.” He turned, taking his eyes off the road to glare down at her, seeming to tower over her, even when seated. “Is that a problem?”

Gilda shook her head vigorously. “No, Hans.” Something uncoiled in her gut. Now things made a bit more sense, she supposed. Sure, it was burglary, but, well, if they were rodents…who cared all that much? And if they’d really stolen something from Mr. Redbeak, or kept it from him, as the case may be, all the better.

Her tattoo began to itch again. Gilda suppressed a curse. She’d have to see a dermatologist if the stupid thing kept this up.

As they continued the drive, Gilda felt her wild heartbeat begin to slow down, her anxiety replaced by guilt for wanting to call the cops. She decided then and there that she’d have to work extra hard on her next junkyard shift.

Her eyes drifted back to the bag. “What is it?” she asked quietly.

Hans flicked his eyes over to her, seeming to have some kind of mental debate. “Mr. Redbeak didn’t want anybody touching it, but…” he shrugged. “I suppose I can let you look. But be careful, got it, small fry?”

Gilda got the message. Slowly, she reached inside, searching until her fingers brushed against something hard and metallic. Almost reverently, she pulled out the object, revealed in the car’s internal light to be a metallic eagle’s talon. Or at least she presumed it was an eagle’s talon. And, not that Gilda had much experience, it was the strangest talon she’d ever seen.

By all appearances, it seemed to be forged from solid gold. But that was stupid. Gold-plated, sure, but solid gold? No way. Not for something this size. And size was the right word, because the thing was huge. Again, Gilda wasn’t a zoolog or whatever the word was, but she was fairly certain this thing was too big to be modeled on an actual bird. The stump was thicker than her wrist, for crying out loud!

It was also strangely human. Instead of four claws, which Gilda was a little more certain of because of her tattoo, this thing had five. One of them was even connected off to the side rather than the back. Had somebody modeled the thing on their own hand? It was about the size of a man’s hand. Larger, even. And yet, the surface was rough and bird-like, and each digit ended in long, deadly-looking claws.

Gilda also couldn’t help but notice the small red stains that glittered at the ends of those sharpened points.

“Not exactly a looker, I know,” said Hans with a chuckle, possibly the friendliest thing he’d ever said to her. “But Mr. Redbeak wanted it.”

Gilda turned it over, examining every line and crevice, spotting the outline of knuckles and the bend of each joint. Misshapen or no, it still somehow evoked a sense of being lifelike, that those curved, grasping talons, almost fingers, were mere moments away from reaching out to grab their prey. The whole of it seemed to tingle with energy, too, jolting her fingertips ever so subtly.

She couldn’t fathom why he’d want it, but if it made Mr. Redbeak happy, who was she to complain?

For the rest of the trip, Gilda was silent, staring blankly out the window, the talon returned to the safety of the bag. She took no notice of the streets outside the vehicle, nor the scattered people they passed. She took no notice of the chilly whirlwinds that sprouted as they drove by, violently buffeting against innocent people, or making them huddle in their coats as she had only a short time ago.

But why would Gilda take note of any of that? After all, it was only the wind.

And in the recesses of the bag, tiny currents of air swirled slowly around those sharp, bloodstained claws.

Author's Note

Gilda is in so much trouble…

Just a quick note here, in case anyone who’s been reading asks, yes, the name of the street did change. It used to be Ruby Road, but I altered it. I occasionally make small tweak to the story when I find something I missed, spelling errors, unclear sentences, grammar, fixing a reference to a leather jacket that actually shouldn’t be leather…

At this point, I don’t do anything major, which is why I don’t usually comment on it. So, don’t panic. In the case of a name, however, be it a piece of literature or a location, if I change it, I’d say something, as I’m doing now. I’ve been putting in a lot of effort into making sure I don’t have to do that anymore, because I don’t like doing it, period.

But with the street name…I came up with it before the Fifteenth Doctor existed, and I have this thing in my head from a fic I saw (and can’t remember the name of) where a lot of streets in Canterlot are named after gems.

“Ruby Road” was not a reference to Fifteen, and I didn’t want it to be mistaken for one. Thus, I tweaked it. Also, if in the event I end up putting another interlude in this story, not that I have any plans for that, this one will, naturally, be relabeled Interlude 1, because I have to keep track of this stuff in my files.