The Delivery of Flesh

by Francis James Blair

  With a burst of energy she jumped up and set about saddling the horses while Peter rekindled the fire and cooked something over it in a dented tin can. Despite several attempts, Temperance couldn’t seem to catch his eye.

  Not that she blamed him for being standoffish. Finding out about her true nature had clearly shaken the man.

  Well, the cat was out of the gunny sack, and she would just have to make peace with that. Still, assuming they survived the next few days and made it to Benson City, there were several questions for which she needed to learn the answer.

  Technically, sorcery wasn’t an arrestable offense under Federation law, but judges could add it to other charges to increase a criminal’s punishment. Now it occurred to her that the two men she had killed back in the cave might come back to haunt her once they reached civilization. The marshal would be well within his rights to arrest her as soon as they turned Lalaish over for prosecution.

  As if sensing her thoughts, Astor raised his head and clicked his teeth. Nothing to stop us from cutting and running the second we’re on the other side of the canyon, he pointed out.

  Temperance opened her mouth to reply, with what she didn’t right know, but Peter appeared next to her elbow and handed her something.

  It was a chipped cup. Dark liquid swirled about inside, the aroma of it both mouth-watering and instantly recognizable.

  “Coffee?” she asked, breathing in deep. “How long have you been keeping this to yourself?”

  Peter gave her a thin smile. “I thought we might need somethin’ to help with our nerves today.”

  “If you were hoping to feel calmer, coffee is entirely the wrong drink.” Still, she gulped it down gratefully.

  There was little talking for the next few hours as they followed crumbling paths just wide enough for the horses to traverse. Nothing but rocky overhang above them—too low to risk riding the horses—and sheer cliff to the canyon floor below. A few scraggly trees grew from cracks in the rock, but otherwise their world shrank to a strip of sandy path, with death never more than a half step away.

  To make matters worse, Lalaish did everything he could to harry their progress, stopping at random intervals and getting his rope tangled on every obstacle in their path. Peter tried tying him to the mule’s back, but soon the shelf above their heads drew too close, forcing them to endure his tirades once again.

  Near midday they reached the Gap, which Temperance had been dreading ever since she had suggested this route. Part of her had held a small hope it might have fallen apart over time, or been destroyed by some natural disaster. No such luck.

  The Gap was a pair of rocky outcroppings in the canyon walls, leaving them perhaps a hundred yards across. Someone with at least a few bushels short of a harvest had seen fit to string up a rope bridge, connecting the path on one side to the other. The only alternative to crossing here would mean taking a long and winding path to the canyon floor and following it until they reached the far end.

  Even though she knew the answer, Temperance still glanced over at Peter when the bridge came into view. “Don’t suppose there’s any chance we can take the extra two days following the safer route?”

  The marshal grunted but didn’t respond, didn’t even bother to look in her direction. Whatever shred of camaraderie they rekindled over coffee that morning appeared to have blown away in the wind. Temperance hardened her heart and forced herself to focus on the task ahead.

  The only saving grace was that the bridge appeared well made, wide enough for two people to walk across it side by side with ease, if somewhat cramped. The boards looked a little weathered, but none were rotted out, and that was likely the most she could hope for. Still, just the sight of the thing swaying in the breeze sent visions of an endless plummet coursing through her brain. There were worse ways to die, but at the moment Temperance couldn’t think of any.

  Peter glanced over at his prisoner. “So Lalaish, are you goin’ to be a good little boy, or do I have to strap you back on that mule? I promise, it won’t be a fun experience if I do.”

  The sorcerer’s eyes flicked across the bridge, and Temperance thought she caught a hint of something in them. Fear, maybe. “I’ll behave, Marshal.”

  They set out, Temperance leading the way, Peter bringing the horses up at the rear. Astor had rolled his eyes when the marshal took his reins, but after a bit of coaxing he allowed the man to lead him, the other animals trailing behind.

  Temperance moved across with slow steps, testing each board with her foot. Everything appeared solid, the rope underneath her fingers unfrayed. Still, she knew better than to let her guard down. That was a mistake you only got to make once.

  In some ways, she was almost thankful for the bridge and canyon both. They at least were straightforward problems, with simple solutions: step carefully, don’t die. What she would do once they passed those obstacles continued to gnaw at her mind. More and more, it was looking like trailing after Peter into the gates of Benson would mean a hangman’s noose, or jail time at least, and yet she couldn’t just abandon him before she knew they were safe.

  There was also the small matter of the daemon in her pocket. Even assuming she got the marshal to safety, and even assuming he didn’t send a posse after her, where would she go to turn in Belial? The next nearest city was Arkton, base of operations for the Federation government itself, and somehow she reckoned going there would be an even worse idea than stepping through the gates of Benson.

  Well, she still had another two or three days to think about it. If she was going to run, better to do it sooner rather than later.

  Too late, Temperance realized she had gotten lost in her own thoughts. Peter’s sudden curse was the only warning she got before something slammed into her. She had a moment to see Lalaish stumbling by before she found herself pitching over the side.

  She opened her mouth to scream, and her hands snatched onto one of the ropes holding the bridge together. She clung to it with all her might, adrenaline and euphoria flooding through her in equal measure as her brain registered how close she had just come to death.

  Her elation lasted for all of a single breath before the rope snapped.

  Once again she fell into open air. A scream bubbled out of her throat as she continued to grip the useless piece of rope. Her cry cut off as the line went taut, nearly wrenching her arms from their sockets.

  Temperance looked up. The other end of the rope still clung by several strands to the bottom of the bridge. Above that stood Peter. He glanced at her for the briefest of moments before turning his attention to Lalaish, who had already stumbled his way to the far end of the bridge.

  With a sudden, cold realization, Temperance knew she was dead. Already she saw the decision in the marshal’s eyes, weighing the value of his prisoner against the life of the witch dangling beneath him. It wouldn’t take much to get a measure of her worth right now. Whatever bond they might have formed on the journey had shattered last night. Now she was nothing more than another sorcerer fouling up his pristine Federation view of the world. She closed her eyes and waited for the final drop.

  Grandpa, I hope wherever I’m going you’re there waiting for me. Please don’t be disappointed that I didn’t finish what I set out to do. I tried my best.

  When it came, she tried not to scream, but even with her eyes closed she felt the canyon floor yawning towards her, waiting to devour her like some hungry titan out of legend. The last rope strand snapped with an audible pop, and then there was nothing but whistling air around her.

  Except that it stopped, again. The lurch was far less sudden this time, leaving her swinging. She opened her eyes and Peter stared back into them, his one arm wrapped around the rope, the other clinging with a white-knuckled grip to the bottom of the bridge. With a strength she wouldn’t have believed the marshal possessed, he pulled her back up, swinging her onto the relative safety of the boards.

  A moment later he crawled back over the edge himself, and they both lay there, panting as i
f they had run a hundred miles. The bridge swung in the breeze, but Temperance found it no longer held any fear for her.

  She glanced over at Peter. “You saved me.”

  “Of course. Was there ever any doubt?” He gave her that thin smile again, then frowned. “Lalaish is a good distance ahead of us by now. It will take forever to catch him, shufflin’ along the cliff line.”

  “I might have a solution for that.” Temperance put her fingers to her lips and blew out a single note. Astor sailed over their heads, sending the bridge swaying wildly when he landed. A moment later he reached the far end and disappeared.

  By the time Temperance and the marshal had regained their feet, he was back again, Lalaish hanging by his belt between the horse’s teeth. Peter just stared a moment, mouth hanging slack. He turned when Temperance reached a hand out and patted his shoulder.

  “One of the perks of a familiar,” she said, trying not to grin too much. “They’re smarter than your average animal.”

  Peter glanced at the sorcerer. “Can’t believe that daemon worshipper slipped the line like that. Never can take your eyes off a sorc—” He turned the rest of what he had been about to say into a cough.

  The grin slipped from Temperance’s face. She turned away so the marshal couldn’t see her face. “We should get going, before any more of the ropes break.”

  She made her way to the other side as quickly as dignity would allow. Astor watched her approach, and although she couldn’t see with Lalaish blocking her view, she guessed her horse had a rather smug expression.

  After that they kept the sorcerer on the mule, even when the path dipped dangerously low. On the one occasion Lalaish complained, Peter merely scowled at him. “You can either ride the smelly beast or I can have him drag you along. Your choice.”

  Lalaish did not complain again after that.

  Chapter Nine

  The temperature in the canyon climbed at a lightning pace, the walls so hot Temperance couldn’t rest her hand for more than a brief second. There was no shade to speak of, and they lost as much of their water to foreheads as to parched throats.

  It wasn’t long after the bridge that the marshal had his coat and shirt unbuttoned, both stained dark with sweat already. Lalaish had turned as red as a merrybell flower, his once fine suit now little more than a rumpled and soaked rag. Despite his obvious distress he kept his mouth shut, perhaps fearing the marshal more than heatstroke.

  Temperance for her part shed her grandfather’s coat, but soon even that proved insufficient. Releasing the top few buttons of her shirt, she caught the slightest hint of a breeze sending shivers of relief coursing through her. She squeezed her eyes shut and allowed herself a moment to enjoy the simple pleasure of it.

  Opening them again, she saw Lalaish looking at her. A most noxious leer replaced the scowl he had worn most of the afternoon, and he wiggled his eyebrows as their gazes met. Without breaking eye contact, Temperance snapped the buttons on her shirt back up. The heat settled over her again immediately, but she reasoned that was preferable to giving the sorcerer any kind of satisfaction.

  Evening came early to the canyon, and the sight of the sun slipping over the cliff line left Temperance with rather mixed emotions. On the one hand, the heat dissipated almost immediately, but on the other, so did the light.

  They came to a shelf in the canyon wall, wide and deep enough for several dozen men. A blackened firepit in the center and the neat pile of timber near the back implied it was a popular rest stop, or had been before the road made this passage obsolete.

  Despite the fire and the relative space, they passed their evening meal in quiet. Temperance kept glancing at the marshal, but he seemed to be avoiding her attention. While her worries that he might arrest her had diminished since they left the bridge, everything still felt tense between them. Peter was a man who believed what he believed, she supposed, and at the end of the day he was still a Federation employee.

  Evening fell, and Temperance was first on watch again. As the embers of the fire died away, the moonslight replaced them, their blue-green glow lighting up the canyon all the way to its bottom.

  She sat near the edge of the path, feet dangling over nothing, wondering if staying awake was even worth the effort. By now, Lalaish’s men should be well on their way around, hoping to cut them off on the open plains. Between the sorcerer’s stalling tactics and his attack earlier today, she gave his men even odds of catching them before they reached Benson.

  The hours of nothing allowed her brain to turn on itself, and Temperance considered Astor’s advice once again. She was risking much for so little gain. Even if she only cut and run once Benson City came into sight it might still be to her advantage. There was a branch of the church down in Messinai that also accepted bounties, she could always make the long journey there. Expecting a man she barely knew not to obey his rigid sense of law and duty was a fool’s gamble.

  Despite this, she wanted to trust him, even if she couldn’t define why.

  Perhaps it was the fact she had been alone for such a long time—not counting Astor, of course. Even when she was younger, it hadn’t been easy keeping friends, and after . . . afterwards, it had never been of interest. Every ounce of her concentration these last five years had gone into learning how to fight, how to wield hexbullets, and how to survive. Even Martin had seen what was happening and had tried to warn her against it.

  She recalled the last time she had seen him, standing in his kitchen. They had not grown particularly close over the years, and yet when she stood in his doorway that final morning, the idea of leaving had grown unbearably terrifying.

  “So, you’re leaving, then? You still aim to go through with this?” He didn’t look at her as he spoke.

  “You know I got to. Otherwise, what have these last five years even been for?”

  Martin grunted, but didn’t say anything more. They stood there in silence, Temperance resisting the urge to scratch an itch crawling along her arm. Somewhere outside a cow started lowing.

  At last Martin spoke. “Temperance, you’re a strong person, possibly the strongest I’ve ever met.” His gruff voice always sounded like it was angry, even when he was speaking kind words. “Just remember, you can’t let yourself become an island. You keep forcing yourself forward no matter the cost, one day you’ll break, and no amount of magic is gonna be able to fix that.” Then he shrugged, and went back to washing dishes, as if nothing more important had transpired than Temperance bringing in the milk.

  His words had rung in her ears for days after she left, and even now she was still dwelling on them. Probably she would until the day she finally laid down her guns.

  The scrape of boots on gravel pulled Temperance from her memories. She turned and saw Peter approaching. He sat down next to her and gave a curious look.

  “What are you doing awake?” she asked.

  “My turn at the watch, if the position of the moons are any indication.”

  Temperance grimaced, glad for the shade of the moonslight to hide her embarrassment. At some point she had lost track of time. She started to rise, but stopped as Peter touched her hand.

  “Miss Whiteoak, I . . . .” He paused and glanced over to where Lalaish lay sleeping. “You must think me a heartless monster.”

  Temperance wasn’t sure what to say to that, so she remained silent. The marshal continued, “I hope I haven’t upset you too greatly.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mister Scrimshaw.”

  “After everythin’ I said about sorcerers, I don’t want you to . . . you and Lalaish are completely different. It’s clear you’re an honorable person, and I don’t want you thinkin’ I wasn’t aware of that.”

  “Yet the fact remains: I practice sorcery.” She looked the marshal straight in the eyes; what she could see of them, at least. “I find it hard to believe that’s no longer a problem for you.”

  Peter scrubbed at his face. “I know, and truthfully that still rubs me the wrong way
. It’s just the way my parents raised me, I suppose. I’ve always been a strong believer in the church teachin’, and the gods are rather clear about such practices.”

  “Personally, that always struck me as rather crude. Why are Pistol Warlocks sanctioned by the church, but other forms of magic aren’t? It’s all the same power, in the end.”

  “I suppose that’s true.” Peter nodded, then shrugged. “Hell, if your grandfather of all people was a sorcerer, maybe it’s not so bad.”

  Temperance couldn’t help but smile at that. “You admire him, don’t you? I suppose that’s why you wanted to be a Pistol Warlock.”

  “Naw, that’s where you’re wrong,” Peter said with a mischievous grin.

  “Oh?”

  “I admire the Brimstone’s legend more than just about anyone, but I never cared about all this Pistol Warlock stuff. All I ever wanted was to help people, like he did. For me, that is what’s important. I’m glad his granddaughter is keeping that memory of him alive.”

  Temperance sat in silence a moment, choosing her next words. “How can you be so sure about that? For all you know, I was robbing trains before we met.”

  Peter let out a little laugh. “I imagine I would have heard about that, given my line of work. I’ll bite though: what were you doin’ out in Rosea, anyway?”

  She considered lying, or outright refusing to answer. It was none of the marshal’s business, and after how callously he had spoken earlier about Cold Valley . . . even so, they were finally on good terms again. If that meant baring a little of her own soul, it would be worth it to keep this moment alive a little longer.

  Reaching into her pouch, she withdrew the silver vial and handed it to Peter. He took it with a curious look on his face. Curiosity faded away to a mixture of amazement and horror as he held the container up to the moonslight. “Is this what I think it is?”

  “If you think it’s a daemon worth around two thousand kos, then yes, it is.” She took the vial back and returned it to her pouch.