by Adam D Jones
“Not much of a plan,” said Sloane. “Just waiting in there.”
“Well, it’s only so we can buy some time. You see, a few of us won’t be in town at all. Keld, is your carriage in good shape?”
“Always!” Keld said quickly.
“Keep it ready to go, and once those husks are in our town, me and a few others will ride past them and get onto that sandship. Should be just the officer on board, maybe another husk. We’ll outnumber them, easy.” Marshal looked up and saw they didn’t understand. “You see, if those husks hear a retreat command, they’ll drop what they’re doing and get back to their ship. Nice and peaceful. That officer can stop every one of those husks in their tracks with a single order...and I’ve got a feeling it’ll be easy to convince him. We make him shout the magic word and the attack’s over,” Marshal snapped his fingers, “just like that.”
Rion was deep in thought. “Can we make them work for us, Marshal? Does it work that way?”
“Well, yes.” Marshal hadn’t expected this question. “There is such a thing as a control word. It’s a phrase, something so unusual you wouldn’t say it by accident. Throw the control word at a husk and they’re yours.” Marshal shook his head. “We’re getting’ ahead of ourselves. Getting that officer to sound a retreat is all we need to do for now.”
They stood silently, shifting from foot to foot.
“You make it sound easy,” said Keld.
“It won’t be. If you want to succeed, assume everything’s going to go against you. We’ll have a horse throw a shoe, or a kid get lost in the dark, or something else. It’s gonna go wrong from beginning to end, everything important always does, but we’ll make it, because we can think on our feet and they can’t. The Republic’s gonna regret sending a ship full of husks to Whitesand.”
Marshal stood up and dusted his hands, realizing his crude scrawling in the dirt had not helped much. Again, the Lodi turned to Sloane, who advanced on Marshal.
“Marshal, that’s the dumbest idea I ever heard.” He grabbed Marshal’s hand and squeezed it. “But I can’t wait to see the look on that officer’s face.”
“Ha!” Marshal squeezed his hand in return and clapped Sloane on the shoulder. “Now, let’s get to work.”
“They could still come tonight, right?” asked Keld.
“That’s possible,” said Marshal. “If so, we’ll do the same plan, just in a bigger hurry.”
“We’ll stand watch,” said Sloane, looking everyone in the eye. “Starting with me—no, Marshal, don’t protest. You need to rest. We’re a community, and we’re all going to pitch in.”
“And I’ll set out more of my traps, so we’ll hear ‘em if they come at night,” said Rion.
“Good idea,” said Marshal.
Almighty, this could actually work—I almost believe it myself!
“We’ll need another meeting,” said Sloane, turning to Marshal and lowering his voice. “Just the Lodi, I’m afraid. I know you want to be included, Marshal, but some things need to be kept to our old ways. There are ceremonies and songs we know for times like this.”
Marshal nodded. “Have your meeting. I understand.”
“Good, because it’s getting late. You get some sleep, and we’ll take care of things until morning. Come on, everyone.”
Marshal watched them wander into the Bookhouse
◆◆◆
First Light woke Marshal like the touch of a soft hand. Erianthe had asked if he expected to have trouble sleeping, but he assured her that years of working for the Republic had trained him to sleep even when his mind was racing. Her all-knowing smile said she didn’t believe him, and since the moon shone for hours before he drifted off, it appeared she had been right. But he had slept well, eventually, and now all he wanted was to remember how to cook eggs.
Marshal sneaked out into the kitchen and hunkered down in front of the stove. In a small box next to it he found the little brown cubes Rion made for each household. Marshal knew Rion’s alchemical fire-starters were the smartest way to light things, but it didn’t sit well with him. He lit a match and held it to the corner of the cube. I don’t care if it works just as well as real kindling, it’s not right. Marshal dropped the cube in the space under the stove and watched it glow with heat. Just not right. If it wasn’t for the fact he lived in the desert, Marshal would have insisted on using wood scraps and logs like normal folk.
He took a pan from its hook on the wall, placed it on the stove, and tried to remember what came next.
“Lard.” Erianthe leaned against the door frame in her gown. “You always forget.”
“Right. Lard.” He opened the container Erianthe kept by the stove and then grabbed a spoon. “I was supposed to do this before I let the pan get hot, wasn’t I?”
She smiled through a yawn.
Marshal spread the lard, hearing it hiss, and then looked around for the ingredient he rarely forgot. “Should be some eggs by now. Ellie brings ‘em every morning before even I get up.” He glanced at Erianthe and she nodded, signifying he had not skipped a step.
Marshal opened the window and saw the little wood box that every citizen of Whitesand kept outside their kitchen window. He reached in, but his fingers only touched the wooden bottom.
He looked at his wife. “Empty.”
She shrugged. “So, Ellie’s late. It’s happened before. We still have a few of yesterday’s eggs on the counter there. Should use those first anyway.”
Marshal left the window and grabbed four eggs from the counter. He held two in each hand and stood over the stove, staring at the edges of the pan.
“Oh, no, Mr. Marshal. Are you going to try to impress me? It won’t work.”
He looked at her over his shoulder. “You slay me, wife. Just watch.”
He adjusted his grip and then hit both sides of the pan at once. All four eggs split. He raised the eggs with his large, long fingers as the shells opened and dropped their golden contents into the pan.
He raised an eyebrow at his wife.
She clapped once. “Now, where you going to put those nasty eggshells?”
Marshal whipped his head around. “The waste bucket...”
“I don’t keep it inside all night. You know how much that thing smells?”
“Momma has us wash it out in the river,” came a small voice as the girls ran into the kitchen. “We leave it outside on the back porch to dry.”
“Well, well, well.” Marshal looked around for a towel. “Isn’t everyone in my house smart.”
“Most of us,” said Erianthe. “I’ll turn these eggs over while you figure out your mess.”
Marshal stuck his hands out the window and tossed the shells out.
Erianthe laughed. “Thanks, Mr. Marshal, for stinking up my backyard.”
“Oh, hush.” He crossed the kitchen and put his arms around her.
“You let me go. How am I supposed to cook with you holding me like that?”
“I don’t know. You’re the smart one. I’m just the—”
“Can we go?”
The girls stood with their hands on their hips.
“I don’t know,” said Erianthe. “May not be a good day for playing.”
“It’s a great day for playing,” said Marshal. “Let that officer see, just one more time, what we’re all about here.”
“Your father’s right. Go find your friends.”
The girls left through the front door in a blink.
“That’s some weapon you’ve got there,” said Erianthe, “using our little girls to stop a fight.”
“The best way to stop a fight is to remind people that they’re human. It’s hard to hate someone when you see yourself in them.”
Erianthe turned over the eggs. “Get two plates. If you can find them.”
Marshal started to mutter something, thought better of it, and rose to get the plates. Part of him felt relieved when he chose the correct cabinet on the first try.
He put down the plates and Erianthe slid a
pair of eggs onto each.
“I’ll get the forks,” she said.
I was going to do that, Marshal lied to himself.
She handed him a fork and they ate silently. The sound of the wind on the roof and the endless sky and sand beyond the windows was all they had ever needed to enjoy their lives in Whitesand. The ship on the horizon posed a problem, but for a moment Marshal and his wife could quietly savor breakfast.
“Could be our last day like this,” she said.
“Could be.” Marshal had already eaten his eggs. A side effect of a military life was the compulsion to eat everything in one inhale. “Maybe not, though.”
“Marshal. You say anything can go wrong.” Erianthe looked into his eyes. “You’re going into that ship against an armed man and maybe a few husks. It’s not easy for me to be calm.”
He reached across and held her hand. “It’s never perfect, but this is a good plan. Best plan we got.” He leaned back in his chair. “I’m just worried about how long it’ll be until sundown. By lunch time everyone’ll be at their wit’s end with the waiting.”
She rose, her brown eyes on the coffee percolator. “I’m just glad it’s quiet for once.”
“I know what you mean. Everyone morning, lately, someone’s been running up to our...”
He had to suppress a laugh as footsteps approached. Erianthe just shook her head.
“Who is it?” he asked. “If it’s about the sandship, someone already told me.”
The door opened. This time it wasn’t Keld, or Rion, or any of the Lodi.
Agna and Cora walked in, eyes wide and voices low.
“We can’t find anyone to play with,” Agna said.
“They’re probably still asleep,” said Marshal.
“We knocked on Beni’s door and Marla’s, too,” said Cora. “And Keld’s.”
“You know better’n to be waking people up, girls.”
“But it’s late!” insisted Agna. “Both suns are up. Everyone’s usually out by now.”
No eggs waiting for them. No kids playing. No neighbors knocking on the door. Marshal frowned while his mind put the pieces together.
“Stay inside. And wait for me.”
◆◆◆
Marshal put on his vest and his gun belt with practiced speed and flew out the door. The sandship hovered in the same place, resting on the dunes in the distance. The houses were shut up and no voices came from inside. Marshal knocked on the first door, Keld’s, and yelled loud. Then he moved to the next house where he banged on the door and even pounded on the windows.
The quiet of the settlement had eased him into relaxing over his breakfast only a few moments ago, but now that deafening silence shouted away every thought of peace and quiet.
He followed his instincts to the Bookhouse and threw open the doors.
Inside, every Lodi from Whitesand lay dead in their chairs.
5
Marshal walked the center aisle, stepping through dim light, past the slumped-over bodies of every family he knew.
His eye caught movement and he looked up to see someone in the front row. A man bent over in his seat, staring at a row of candles nearly burned down to their nubs. And he wore a uniform. The officer from the sandship.
“You!” Marshal grabbed the man's shirt, lifted him to his feet, and threw his fist into the man’s teeth. The officer fell, and Marshal jumped to pin him down.
The officer raised his hands. “Let me explain!”
“Explain?” Marshal saw red. “How ‘bout I let you explain everything to a Higher Power?”
“You don’t under―”
“I don’t understand? Son, I walked away from these same orders eight years ago. I understand better than―”
“I just got here!”
Marshal wanted to reach for his gun, he wanted to pummel the man’s face until it wasn’t human anymore, but somewhere in the back of his mind spoke the voice of reason: He’s telling the truth.
The officer kept his hands raised over his face. “You have my word. I just arrived...and found them…”
Marshal kept a big fist raised. “What are you doing here?”
“I came because of what you said.” He lowered his hands. “I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t go through with it. Do you understand?”
Marshal shook his head. All too well.
“I decided to find my informant,” said the officer.
“Informant?”
The officer furrowed his brow. “How do you think we found this place? I’ve been corresponding with him for weeks.”
Marshal stood and stumbled back. An informant. While Marshal was trying to help Whitesand plan their own rescue, one of the Lodi was working for the Republic. It was enough to make Marshal feel like he might faint.
“I was supposed to make sure he survived,” said the young officer, getting up and straightening his uniform. “My name is Harding, by the way.”
Marshal returned a hard glare. “Hard to believe there’s an informant in this place. And that you just found everyone here...like this?”
“Exactly like this,” whispered Harding. “All fifty-three of them.”
“Fifty-three?” Marshal shook his head. “Fifty-nine people live here. Minus me and mine, that should come out to fifty-five people who ought to be in these seats. Someone’s still alive. Two people, actually, assuming you’re telling the truth…”
Both men cocked their heads to the side.
“Do you hear that?” whispered Marshal, as a rumble moved through the room from outside.
“Is that my ship?”
They moved to a window. The Republic sandship was on the move, barreling straight for town.
“Your crew’s looking for you,” said Marshal.
“That’s impossible. I ordered them to wait for me. Those husks would starve to death before moving the ship on their own.”
Marshal leaned closer to the glass, trying to see faces on the deck, but the morning light obscured too much of his view. “Could someone else have gone out there and given them an order? One of the survivors we’re looking for?”
Harding closed his eyes. “The informant, maybe.”
Marshal kept his eyes on the steel deck of the sandship. Show yourself, traitor. The ship drew closer, and Marshal finally made out a familiar face looking over the rail.
It was Sloane, standing at the prow with murder in his eyes.
“That must be Mr. Sloane,” said Harding.
“Sloane?” Marshal’s anger flooded back. “But he’s a Lodi! And our mayor!”
Harding sighed. “I should have known. Informants are made aware of the husk’s control words in case they need to defend themselves. By now he’s realized what I’ve done and decided to turn my husks against me. He’s more loyal to the Republic than either of us, it appears.”
Marshal remembered Sloane’s insistence on always getting the mail first, telling everyone he preferred to deliver it to each house personally, and the way he devoured any news from the capital. His letters of recommendation from the other Lodi settlements had probably been forgeries, now that Marshal thought about it.
“I don’t understand why he didn’t wait for the attack,” said Harding. “As far as he knew, I was following my orders.”
“We had a plan,” whispered Marshal. “We were going to stop you.”
Marshal heard the buzzing of flies and turned back to the dead. The bodies of the Lodi were easier to see now that his eyes had adjusted to the dark. Most had fallen onto the floor or each other. A few sat upright, still clutching stone cups, like quiet parishioners waiting for the ritual to end.
It was the ceremony.
“They had a meeting,” Marshal explained. “And, at the end they have a routine where they all drink water at the same time.”
“Poison,” Harding hissed. “He heard your plan and took matters into his own hands.”
Outside, the sandship cruised through the edge of town, past the first line of houses, directly toward the
courtyard at the center of Whitesand.
“Why isn’t he leaving?” asked Marshal.
“Someone’s alive. According to your numbers, one other Lodi, other than him, is still alive. Persistent fellow, your mayor. He’s following his orders and killing every single Lodi.”
“I need to get to my family.”
“The house with the ugly door? That’s across the whole settlement. He’ll see us if we try to get that far.”
“Not if we sneak around the edge. He shouldn’t be able to see us running between the houses that way. Did you bring your side arm, Harding?”
Harding parted his jacket, revealing his pistol. “And after we find your family?”
“Keld was supposed to get his carriage ready to go. Don’t know if we can outrun a sandship, but it’s the best way out of here I can think of.”
Harding responded with a shrug, signaling he didn’t have a better idea.
Marshal returned to the window. The sandship stopped at the clearing in the middle of Whitesand, hovering next to the large well. A ramp was lowered from the deck and a pair of husks descended, carrying a barrel between them.
“I can’t tell what they’re doing,” said Marshal. “But it’s got Sloane’s full attention. Time to move out.”
Marshal led Harding to the small rear door near the Keeper’s quarters. Lorai lay nearby, sprawled out in her yellow robe, and Marshal wondered how many stories died with her.
Marshal put a finger to his lips and turned the door handle. They quietly stepped outside, squinting into the sunlight.
Sloane’s voice could be heard giving orders. “Put it here!”
“Yes, sir,” came a dull voice.
Marshal and Harding peeked around the corner and saw the husks placing a barrel next to the town well. They opened the lid, and then Sloane uncorked a vial and poured its contents into the barrel. “Bring another one down,” he shouted.
“More poison,” said Harding.
“But what’s in those barrels?”