He skirted Mesilla and rode two miles north until he came to a small farm crouched along the riverbank. A horse path cut through the fields to an adobe house and a weathered barn. An overhang shaded the house’s door. Hanging from it, on either side, were two brightly colored paper balls. Billy was used to seeing strings of chilies drying near doors, but he found this a strange sight.
He turned down the path. “Hello, the house!” he called as he approached. Not hearing a response, he climbed from the saddle and led his horse to a water trough.
Just as he was about to turn around, something poked him in the back.
“Who are you and what do you want here?” came a deep, gravelly voice.
Billy lifted his hands where the person behind could see he was unarmed. Then, fast as he could, he spun on his heel and grabbed for what he thought was a gun. Instead, it proved to be some kind of sword. He yelped in pain and pulled his hand away, blood dripping from his fingers.
The man behind him wore a flowery dressing gown. What hair he had was tied back from his balding pate in a ponytail. His long, thin mustache drooped past his mouth, enhancing his scowl. The man pushed the sword at Billy again. “Who are you and what do you want?”
Billy swallowed as he examined his bleeding hand. “Are you Mr. Hoshi?”
The man gave the briefest of nods. “Mr. Masuda would be more accurate.”
“My name’s Billy McCarty. Luther Duncan said you might have work.”
The man sheathed his sword in a scabbard that hung from the sash around his waist. He gave another curt nod. “Come inside and let’s talk.”
<<>>
Professor Maravilla and Larissa met in the San Xavier’s lobby after they had cleaned up so they could get some supper and see if they could learn anything about the mystery of the phantom camel rider. The sun had just gone down and a man ignited the gaslights that lined the street. Two doors down from the hotel was a brightly lit, smoke-filled saloon containing a mix of cowboys, miners and businessmen.
“This looks acceptable,” said the professor as he strode through the doors. She watched him, still not quite sure what to make of the man who dressed like a dandy, but was equally comfortable out in the desert photographing javelinas as he was building machinery in a hidden cave at the Grand Canyon.
No one turned to look at the professor as he entered the bar. Larissa wondered if that stemmed from the professor’s self-confidence or because Tucson was big enough with a sufficient mix of businessmen and working class people that no one took notice of his clothes. She followed the professor in, aware that some heads had turned her direction. She patted the gun at her hip and projected the air of someone who would blow the head off anyone who tried to make an unwelcome advance.
The professor sat at a little round table and scanned the room until his eyes fell on a chalkboard near the bar. He scowled as he read, even though there were a couple of choices.
A few minutes later, a barmaid approached. She cast a brief glance at Larissa, then gave Professor Maravilla a knowing look. Oblivious to her expression, the professor ordered one of the house specials and a brandy. “What would your… daughter like?” asked the barmaid.
“I’m perfectly capable of ordering for myself.” Larissa’s voice carried further than she expected and she became aware of people looking her direction. She swallowed and composed herself, then ordered one of the house specials. She then beckoned the barmaid a little closer. “Do you have ginger beer?”
“We have sarsaparilla.”
Larissa gave a curt nod. “I’ll have that… in a beer mug.”
The barmaid winked. “Right away, sweetie.”
The bounty hunter rolled her eyes. She didn’t like to cloud her mind with alcohol, but she didn’t want it to be too obvious that she refrained from drinking beer. As she looked around, it seemed as though some of the other patrons were drinking a darker stout in addition to a lighter summer ale. Her father had brewed beer when she was younger and she was familiar with different types of beer even if she didn’t like them.
Professor Maravilla leaned forward. “Did that young woman really think you were my daughter?”
Larissa removed her coachman’s hat and sat it on the table next to her. “No… I think she thought you were entertaining a… much younger lady friend.”
The professor’s eyes widened and he sat back, mirth and confusion both in his expression. “You are a friend and a lady,” he said after a moment’s pause. “Although I can assure you I have no other intentions.”
Larissa patted her six-gun again. “And we’re going to keep it that way.” The shocked look on his face made her realize she’d made her point stronger than necessary.
The barmaid returned and delivered the drinks. Professor Maravilla removed his bowler and sipped the brandy. Larissa left her drink untouched and studied him. “So Professor, do you have a family? You’ve never talked about them.”
Another series of expressions crossed Maravilla’s face. “It’s complicated,” he said at last, “but, of all people, I’d think you would understand.”
“Why me of all people?”
“I presume Crimson isn’t your real surname...”
Larissa’s eyebrows came together. “Why do you ask?”
“Maravilla means marvelous or miraculous.”
“Oh.” Larissa sat back and formed more questions. It was natural enough for a bounty hunter to travel under an assumed name. After all, someone she apprehended might decide to seek out her family for revenge. She was less certain why a professor would take on an assumed name.
Before she could pursue that line of thought, dinner arrived. She took a drink of the sarsaparilla. It was refreshingly cold. The saloon must keep an icehouse in the back.
The meal was a simple affair of beef, beans and spring vegetables. She dug in. The professor eyed his own plate with suspicion before sampling the food.
As she ate, Larissa caught snippets of conversation. She thought the miners near the bar mentioned something about Apaches and the Mule Mountains. She drank down her sarsaparilla in one gulp, then excused herself and moved toward the bar.
“It’s a shame, too. I’ve seen traces of silver as well as copper down there,” said one of the miners as Larissa approached.
She set her mug on the bar and turned to face the miners. “You boys hear tell of that spook story about the spectral camel rider?”
One of the miners looked around. “Ain’t no spook story, little lady. I seen it. It’s a man… or what’s left of a man… all rotted and decayed on the back of a camel. He turned and looked right at me. I tell you, I about soiled my britches.”
A shiver went down Larissa’s spine despite her skepticism. “Whereabouts did you see that?”
“North end of the Mule Mountains, about five, six miles east of the San Pedro River.”
“What about the camel? Was he all skeletal and decayed, too?”
The miner pondered the question for a moment. “No, he was just a plain ol’ camel, right out of Araby.”
“Why a camel?” asked Larissa. “Why not a horse or a mule?”
Another miner spoke up. “Well, they brought over some camels during the war between the states to use out in the desert. They finally let ’em go ’cuz the beasts were damned near impossible to train.” He narrowed his gaze. “Why are you so interested, anyway? You ain’t thinkin’ o’ goin’ there are you?”
Larissa shook her head. She reached back and grabbed her mug, which had been refilled. “Just interested in spook stories, is all.” She took a sip and had to force herself to swallow and keep the surprise from her features. The bartender had replaced her sarsaparilla with dark ale. She lifted her mug to the miners, then returned to the table, light headed from both the news about the spectral camel rider and the ale. She sighed and took another sip. At least she would sleep well that night.
Chapter Three
Revising Hypotheses
Larissa dreamed about Christmas.
The aroma of roasting goose wafted through the homestead. Her young cousin, Alethea, sat on a wooden chair cradling a porcelain doll in a beautiful red dress.
“What’s her name?” asked Larissa.
“Her name is Lyssa. I named her after you.” Alethea never quite managed all the syllables in Larissa’s name. “I call her Lyssa Crimson because of her crimson dress.”
The next thing Larissa knew, Alethea and the chair had vanished. The doll wafted toward the floor like a feather. Larissa tried to catch it, but the air around her was like molasses. When the doll reached the floor, it shattered. Porcelain shards rose through the air in slow motion. Larissa sank to her hands and knees, desperate to repair the doll, but knew there was nothing she could do. The crash and tinkling continued to ring in her head until her eyes flew open and she realized she was hearing the alarm clock next to her bed at the Hotel San Xavier in Tucson.
She reached over and shut off the clock, then took several deep breaths to still her heart and calm her trembling.
The sun had not yet risen. Professor Maravilla wanted to get an early start. He planned to make some changes to his mechanical wolf, then start their ride to the last place the phantom camel rider had been seen. Reaching for a match, she lit a candle by her bedside.
Larissa stepped over to the pitcher and basin that sat atop the room’s dresser. She washed her face and ran water over her hair before brushing it out. The routine actions calmed her after the unsettling dream. The night before, she’d availed herself of the hotel’s bathhouse. For the first time in several weeks she felt truly clean.
After dressing, she straightened her bed, then went next door to the professor’s room. When she tapped on the door, it fell ajar. From the glow, Larissa could tell the professor had already lit the room’s gas lamps. Tools and mechanical parts clattered. She also heard the professor speaking.
“This would be so much easier if you could just persuade someone to give me the money for my research.” There was a pause, as though someone responded in a voice too quiet to hear. “I thought you said you influenced the minds of the Russians.” After another pause, Maravilla continued. “Yes, it’s true I gave my ornithopter design over to the military, but I didn’t feel I had a choice. I don’t dare return to Mexico.”
Larissa’s brow furrowed as she listened to what seemed like one half of an exchange. She knocked louder. The professor fell silent. A moment later, he appeared at the door and smiled. “Good morning, Miss Crimson. I trust you slept well.”
“Aside from a bad dream, yes. Thank you.”
The professor stepped aside and allowed Larissa to enter. She gasped and reached for her pistol when she saw the wolf in the middle of the room. The professor put his hand on her elbow and she looked closer. The wolf stood absolutely still with a hatch open on its side. She walked around the animal and saw gears, rods and a strange, spherical whirligig inside. The clockwork mechanism had been removed and now sat on the writing desk. On the floor sat a steam engine from one of the professor’s ornithopters.
Larissa crouched down next to the engine parts and peered around the room, paying particular attention to the curtains and the bed.
“Are you looking for something, Miss Crimson?” asked the professor as he crouched down beside her.
She shook her head. “No. I just thought I heard something is all.”
The professor gave a curt nod, then turned his attention to the engine. “I suspect you recognize this. I plan to replace the clockwork spring mechanism with the steam engine. It should increase the lobo’s range of travel.”
Larissa nodded, fascinated by the wolf as much as the professor’s earlier one-sided conversation perplexed her. She looked at the engine, then peered into the wolf itself. She stood and examined the clockwork mechanism on the writing desk. “It looks like we need to move the transfer coupling from the clockworks to the steam engine.”
“Very good,” said the professor with a smile. “We also need an exhaust port so the lobo won’t build up too much pressure and explode.” He peered into the wolf. “I was just trying to figure out how to make it all fit when you knocked.”
Larissa looked into the wolf again. “We could run a small pipe down through the center, so it exhausted out the back.” She picked up the engine. “It would help if this were mounted in a smaller housing.”
“That’s what I thought, but I’m not sure we can afford the parts.”
She cast a glance toward the writing desk. “Why not strip the gears out of the clockwork mechanism and use that housing? It’s designed to fit in the space.”
The professor nodded slowly. “Brilliant. Why didn’t I think of that?” The professor’s usual cheer sounded strained, as though he was rather annoyed with himself. “Let’s get to work on the engine.” He stood and walked to the window. The sky was brightening. “By the time we get that done, we should be able to find an open mercantile store where we can get the pipe.”
“And someplace to get breakfast, I hope.”
“Indeed.”
The two set to work on the engine. The professor donned spectacles with a series of lenses that he could flip into position for varying degrees of magnification. He skillfully connected the delicate engine parts one after the other. Larissa knew he was well practiced, but it seemed as though some external force guided his hands.
Within the hour, the engine had been mounted in its new housing. The professor checked his supply bag and found a handful of fuel rods—chemical bars that, when brought together, would heat the water, producing steam which, in turn, would push a piston within the engine. That motion would then cause the rotary transfer coupling to spin, driving the attached gears.
Satisfied with their work, the professor and Larissa went downstairs and ate a hasty breakfast in the hotel’s dining room, then asked directions to the nearest mercantile store. A short time later they returned to the room with a satisfactory length of pipe. The professor fit the pipe within the wolf’s body, then inserted the engine. Larissa bolted everything in place.
The professor inserted the fuel rods. A moment later, the engine coughed and sputtered. The wolf took several steps forward. Every few steps, a small puff of steam would appear from under the wolf’s tail.
Larissa chuckled behind her hand. “Perhaps you shouldn’t feed your lobo so many beans.”
The professor looked up and blinked. “What do you mean?”
“It seems to have a bad case of gas.”
He rolled his eyes, but seemed pleased with the lobo nonetheless. He knelt beside it, opened the hatch, and turned off the engine before it ran into a wall. “I think we are ready to seek out our mysterious camel and his phantom rider.”
<<>>
Sergeant Michael Harris emerged from his quarters at Fort Bliss in El Paso on his way to check the duty roster, then grab a cup of coffee, when a corporal approached. “Sergeant, Colonel Johnson would like to see you in his office right away.”
Harris sighed, wondering how he managed to screw up and come to the new commanding officer’s attention this soon. “Thank you, Corporal.” He cut across the parade ground, and noticed a strange machine, which looked a little like an owl in flight. It was teardrop shaped with a pair of wings that fanned forward and a raptor-like tail at the point. One of those wings lay on the ground, limp and useless.
This was just one of the strange machines Lt. Colonel Johnson had brought with him to Fort Bliss. Harris wondered if the thing could actually fly. He turned a corner onto the main courtyard and passed in front of the mess hall. His stomach rumbled as he smelled the coffee and bacon from within. He hoped the meeting with the colonel would not take long.
The sun rising over the buildings highlighted water stains and small chunks missing from the bases of the walls—flood damage from last summer’s rains. The sergeant frowned as he considered the war in the northwest. It had changed so many plans. Not the least was the army’s plan to build a new fort. Now they had to make do with the one they
had. He hoped it would last.
Sergeant Harris’s knock on the colonel’s door was promptly acknowledged and he stepped into the room. Lt. Colonel Johnson sat at a desk, reviewing a sheaf of papers. As far as Harris knew, Johnson was a young man, but he looked worn and ragged. Unruly hairs jutted out from his long mustache and his blond-gray hair needed a trim.
“Thanks for being prompt, Sergeant Harris, please take a seat.” The colonel indicated a chair across from the desk. “What do you know about the situation in Washington and Oregon?”
Harris furrowed his brow. “When the Russian army invaded a few months ago, they landed troops in Sitka, Alaska and Seattle, Washington. Their airships then flew to Denver where our forces destroyed them.”
“That’s certainly part of the story,” said the colonel. “We had help from an inventor who evened the odds. Professor M.K. Maravilla designed owl ships like the one out on the parade ground. They can out-maneuver the airships. I want you to remember the professor’s name.”
“Yes sir. Professor Maravilla,” echoed the sergeant.
“This Maravilla was brought into the fight...indirectly, you might say... because of his association with a private under my command in the battle, Ramon Morales. He was sheriff of Socorro before he joined me.” The colonel walked over to a wood stove, retrieved a coffeepot and poured himself a cup. “Would you care for some coffee, Sergeant?”
“I would love a cup, sir,” said Harris.
The colonel poured a second cup and passed it to the enlisted man, then returned to his seat. “The Russians in Denver seemed to be the main assault force. When we destroyed those airships over Denver, we fully expected that would end the invasion. The army would just capture the small forces in Seattle and Sitka, presuming they didn’t retreat first.”
Lightning Wolves Page 4