When she got back to the wagon, Peter was nowhere in sight. Instead an older woman Temperance hadn’t seen before sat on the buckboard. She hopped down and held out a hand. “Greetings lass, name’s Estaba. My husband Alaron sent me to prepare you for the festivities.”
“Prepare?” Temperance glanced around. “Where’s the marshal?” She had a sudden vision of Alaron and some of his men leading Peter out of the camp and abandoning him to the waiting bandits.
As if sensing her thoughts, Estaba held up her hands. “He’s fine, my grandson is trying to get him into something other than that beastly white coat of his. Never understood what the Federation had against adding a bit of color to their lives.”
Temperance still felt on edge, but there was no reason for the Ta-tet to break its agreement at this point. She decided to take the other woman at her word. “What do you think I need to do to ‘prepare’?”
“Stripping you out of those bland travel clothes, for starters.” Estaba guided her inside the wagon, which, much to Temperance’s dismay, had been filled with all manner of bright cloth in a variety of cuts.
Estaba took down two pieces that looked like they belonged on some exotic bird and held them out. “These are my two personal favorites. Which do you like better?”
With no small amount of horror, Temperance realized that the garish pieces of cloth were dresses. “Oh no, that’s not happening. I haven’t worn a dress in my life, and I’m not about to start now.”
The older woman pouted, but returned the dresses to the pile and extracted a roll of multicolored cloth. “What about a saran, then? We can wrap it around you, perhaps show a bit of skin to attract the attention of a certain someone?”
Temperance could see that Estaba would give her no quarter. She brushed by the other woman and grabbed the first article that didn’t make her want to bleed from the eyes. “If you insist, I’ll just wear this. Should be enough color for me.”
“That?” Estaba gestured at the shirt between Temperance’s fingers. “That’s a man’s shirt! I don’t even know how that got into my pile.”
“Well, it’s this or my travel clothes.” With her other hand, Temperance gently pushed Estaba from the wagon. “Thank you for your help, I think I can take it from here.”
She dropped the flap, and the sputtering woman disappeared from view.
Temperance got changed, the shirt a size too large for her and long enough it covered past her hips. Wearing it with the bandoliers didn’t work, so she left them next to her mattress. After a moment’s consideration she removed her revolvers and set them there as well.
By the time she stepped out again from the wagon, the bonfire had been lit, the light a beacon against the growing gloom. Several people stood nearby playing instruments, a handful of onlookers already dancing to the unfamiliar tune.
Others gathered around rough tables made from the sides of a wagon that Temperance had watched several men disassemble earlier. Now all manner of bowls and plates covered their surface, a well-earned feast for the day’s hard work.
She found Peter standing near the fire, a circle of space around him that none of the Ta-tet members seemed interested in entering. Despite knowing it was him, Temperance was rather taken aback at first glance. Dressed in a colorful shirt that rivaled her own, the marshal was clean shaven, his hair slicked back and tucked behind his ears. He looked an almost different man.
“Evening, Marshal.” Temperance nodded as she stepped into the empty circle.
“Miss Whiteoak! You look . . . stunnin’.” The marshal gave a small bow, and Temperance suddenly felt rather self conscious of the fact that her own hair was still a mess from traveling. She gave it a quick pat as Peter glanced away.
They stood there in silence a moment, Temperance feeling more foolish with each passing second. She still didn’t know where the two of them stood. There was always the chance he would hold her accountable for killing Lalaish’s men, but she wanted to believe that there was something more between them now. It was time to set things right.
“Marshal, we . . . .” Temperance paused, then started again. “I owe you an apology. At the beginning of this journey I thought the worst when you had done nothing to deserve my ire. I apologize for that.”
“No offense taken. I think we both agree I deserved some of that. If I hadn’t been such a fool handlin’ Lalaish in the first place, we wouldn’t be in this mess right now.” Peter glanced away, rubbing his neck as he spoke. “Besides, I think apologies are owed on both sides. I’ve let my tongue run wild frequently and said things I should not have.”
“In that case, shall we start this whole acquaintance over from the start?” Temperance held out her hand.
Peter looked at her a moment. At last a wide grin split his face, and he took her hand in his. “It’s an honor to meet you at last, Miss Whiteoak.”
He gazed into her eyes, and Temperance grinned back. “Please,” she said, “call me Temperance.”
The marshal froze, then grinned even wider than before. “A pleasure, Temperance.” Hearing Peter say her name sent a little shiver down her spine. “Would you care to dance?”
“Thank you Peter, I would—” She cut off as a scream tore through the crowd. Conversations died around them, and everyone turned as one towards the bonfire.
There, standing on a bench next to the roaring flames, stood Lalaish. The sorcerer’s clothing was even more disheveled than usual, and blood streaked his face. He held a closed fist before him, as if whatever lay inside was too precious to risk loosening his grip. Temperance’s blood went cold. She reached for her guns, only to curse when she remembered they were back in the wagon.
One of Alaron’s men took a step forward, but before he could get any further the sorcerer flung his hand backwards. Black smoke swelled out of the fire, pouring through the crowd and hiding everyone from sight. Even Peter disappeared as it rolled over them.
The smoke worked its way inside Temperance’s mouth and nose. Despite her best efforts, it wormed its way insidiously down into her lungs. The blackness swirled faster and faster, and the last thing she sensed was her head striking the dirt before an all-consuming nothingness smothered out even her thoughts.
Chapter Thirteen
When Temperance awoke, the camp was in chaos. Men ran in every direction, children screamed for their mothers, and more than a few people still lay inert upon the ground where they had fallen.
Despite that, the Ta-tet camp seemed in good shape. A single table lay knocked over, its contents spilled upon the ground, but otherwise nothing appeared harmed. The wagons still glowed with their warm lantern light, and if not for the sounds around her Temperance might have thought the party continued on uninterrupted. Even the bonfire once again roared with intense heat. No sign of the foul smoke remained.
Next to her, Peter sat bolt upright. “Lalaish, where is he?”
“Long gone, I suspect. The smoke was meant to knock us out and give him time to escape.”
“Escaped how?” The marshal jumped to his feet and extended a hand to her. She gripped him tight and pulled herself up.
“Don’t know, but I reckon I’ve got a few ideas.” Temperance brushed herself off and looked around. “First, let’s find Alaron.”
The Ta-tet leader stood in a tiny circle of calm, the men and women around him facing outward as if they expected an attack any second. After a moment’s thought, she realized that was exactly what they were waiting for. This likely seemed the fulfilled promise of everything they feared the Federation might do to them.
She approached the group, arms held wide to show she was unarmed. Peter, showing wisdom for once, remained hidden in the panicked crowd.
“Miss Whiteoak!” It was difficult to tell if the Ta-tet leader was angry or not, but Temperance paused several steps away, just in case.
“Peace, Alaron, I mean you no harm.”
“I should hope not.” Alaron pushed through his men and stood scrutinizing her. “You are unharmed, this is good. What
happened?”
Peter appeared at her arm. “I would like to know as well.”
“Our prisoner managed a bit of sorcery, is all. Somehow he got his hands on some honeysuckle and lotus seeds, they can create a smoke that induces sleep in all who smell it. The real question is, how did he get free in the first place?”
“That I do not know.” Alaron rubbed his chin. “We found his guards incapacitated. Perhaps the men following you used our festivities to strike at the camp?”
Temperance shook her head. “They had no way to know where we were keeping him.” She paused, then turned back to the Ta-tet leader. “Who brought Lalaish his last meal?”
Alaron shouted a few commands, and some minutes later a girl perhaps a year or two younger than Temperance stepped forward. She glanced around nervously as she spoke. “Yes, I was the one who brought the stranger his meals, but I swear I never spoke with him or did anything else.”
“You didn’t bring him anything besides porridge?” Temperance asked. “Nothing else to eat at all?”
“Of course not!”
Temperance gave her sternest glare, and a moment later the girl continued, almost too soft to hear, “Um, except . . . .” She trailed off.
Alaron seemed to draw up to twice his normal height. “Out with it already! The honor of our Ta-tet is at stake here!”
“I . . . he said the porridge was too plain. I only brought him something to add flavor.”
Temperance had that cold sensation in the pit of her stomach again. She already knew what the girl would say, but had to hear it herself. “What did you bring him?”
“Nothing, I swear! Nothing he could escape with!”
Drawing a deep breath, Temperance repeated herself, drawing out each word. “What. Did. You. Bring.”
“Just some spearmint leaves! He said they consider it a delicacy in Cieste. I don’t see what harm—”
Temperance held up her hand and cut of the girl mid-sentence. Turning to Alaron, she asked. “Your wagons, they’re made with cedar boards, correct?”
The Ta-tet leader looked at her, surprised. “They are. Why, is that important?”
“Only if you’re a sorcerer.” Before Alaron spoke, she turned to Peter. “Gather the animals, we’ve wasted enough time here already.”
“Sure, but don’t blame me if that beast of yours won’t listen.” Peter disappeared into the crowd again, several of the Harmonists following him.
The Ta-tet leader turned back to her. “Miss Whiteoak, I apologize most profusely. I promised you the protection of my Ta-tet and have failed to uphold my end of the bargain.” Alaron bowed.
She waited until the man stood straight again. “I don’t suppose your shame includes loaning us men to track down our prisoner?”
Alaron shook his head. “As much as I hate to lose our agreement, I cannot send my people to aid in upholding Federation law. They would have my head before sunrise.”
Temperance ground her teeth, but it was only what she had suspected. She and Peter were on their own.
A few members of the Ta-tet waved as they rode out of camp, but it seemed most of the Harmonists were glad to be rid of their “guests.” Temperance couldn’t blame them. Alaron had taken the sorcerer’s escape as a mark against his honor, but most of the other members likely remembered who had brought such trouble in the first place.
“So, Lalaish got his hands on some spearmint and cedar again.” Peter’s words broke Temperance from her thoughts. They had cleared the wagons and were back on the open plains once again.
Temperance smiled at the marshal. “You remembered.”
“Of course! I try to learn from my mistakes, though it didn’t do much good in this instance.” Peter studied the horizon ahead. “Where are we headed? By my estimates Benson is further to the west.”
“We’re going after Lalaish, obviously.”
“What?” The marshal looked at her with surprise. “Y’know where he is?”
She nodded. “Remember the brand on his back? It’s not just Lalaish’s men that can track it; any sorcerer can follow the trail.”
“Hell, that’s the best bit of news I’ve heard all day. What are we goin’ to do when we find him?”
“One problem at a time, Peter, one problem at a time.” She kicked her heels up, and Astor let out a whinny. They tore across the plains, the Ta-tet wagons disappearing behind them in the dark.
* * *
They found Lalaish and his men a little before noon the next day. At least, Temperance thought she had found them. An old fortress of rotting timbers stood in the distance, disrupting the otherwise barren landscape that stretched away towards the horizon. It was the only thing large enough to hide two dozen men. If the sorcerer wasn’t inside, he must have buried himself in the ground.
“Any idea what that place is?” she asked the marshal, leaning back against the boulder which hid them from anyone keeping watch. A short distance off, Astor milled about with the other animals behind a large sand bank.
Peter nodded. “It’s an old Federation outpost, the precursor to the one up near Benson. They abandoned it for a more strategically valuable location, or some such nonsense. Not sure why Lalaish and his men would hole up in here, though, instead of stayin’ on the move.”
“Likely they didn’t expect us to follow. After all, why would a marshal and his lone deputy try to take on ten times their number to retrieve one prisoner?”
The marshal grinned at her. “If Lalaish thinks that, he didn’t get to know you very well on this journey, did he?” A moment later the grin faded. “Still not sure how we’re gettin’ him out of there. If anythin’, the problem is worse now that they have fortifications to hide behind.”
He paused and studied the fortress again. This time when he spoke, the words sounded forced, as if through gritted teeth. “Is there . . . any chance you might . . . ?”
Temperance knew what he was asking, but wanted to hear him say it. “Might what?”
“Y’know, somethin’ like . . . sorcery?”
“Ohhh. Well yes, there are a couple spells I could use that would get us in there.” The marshal gave a relieved smile, and she continued, “But I won’t.”
“What? Why not?”
“Because the minute I cast a spell, Lalaish will sense it. You remember how he was before. It’s why I haven’t spoken to Astor all morning either.” She shot an apologetic look back towards the sand bank, even if the horse couldn’t see it from here.
“So if magic is out, what do we try?” Peter did not look hopeful.
Something akin to an idea started fixing inside Temperance’s skull. “I reckon the only options left to us are either dangerous or crazy.”
Peter’s look did not improve. “What kind of crazy we talkin’ here?”
“The kind that’s likely gets us killed.”
* * *
Temperance crept along the outer edge of the fortress. She had slithered on her belly most of the way through the prairie grass, and her knees and elbows ached from the effort. Now that they were in the shadow of the wall, they had to find a way inside.
Behind her, Peter tried to imitate her quiet steps, but stones still cracked together under his feet, and it was all Temperance could do not to wince with each step.
She reached a spot where the timbers of the outer wall had rotted away enough they could slip in. Testing several handholds, she climbed over the broken supports and tumbled inside.
A moment later Peter dropped next to her. “Now what?” he whispered.
“Now we wait for—”
She froze as the feel of cold steel pressed against the back of her neck. Raising hands above her head so as not to spook whoever was behind her, she tried to speak without any quivering in her voice. “Don’t shoot. We need to talk with Lalaish.”
“Oh yeah?” the bandit behind her retorted. “Why didn’t ya come through the front?”
“So you could fill us with lead as we walked across the plain? That doesn’t
seem smart.”
“Coming here at all wasn’t very smart, neither.” The bandit hauled Temperance to her feet. Peter was restrained by a second man wearing a bandana about his neck. “C’mon, Lalaish will know what to do with ya.”
The bandits led them through several buildings that were half collapsed with age and disuse. They arrived at one that appeared reasonably whole, a small structure attached to the wall, likely a stable.
Some twenty men sat around a fire outside and watched their approach with wicked grins and laughs. Several of them stepped aside, and Temperance saw Lalaish seated in their midst.
The sorcerer sat stripped bare to the waist, his face contorted in an expression of agony. As Temperance watched, one of his men withdrew a red-hot bar from the fire and pressed it to Lalaish’s back. There was a soft hiss, and the sorcerer let out a dull moan. She took a moment to realize what was going on: Lalaish was changing the pattern of his brand. Already her ability to sense it was fading.
Now why didn’t I think of that? she mused to herself.
“Ah, Miss Whiteoak, how good to see you again.” The sorcerer stood and pulled on his shirt and jacket. “You’ll forgive me if I do not let you see the latest addition to my artwork.”
“That’s why you stopped here.” Temperance couldn’t keep herself from speaking.
“Indeed. There can be no pursuit if there is nothing to pursue. Where are the rest of your men?”
“Men?” The question caught her off guard until she realized what the sorcerer was talking about. “It’s just me and the marshal. The Ta-tet felt that assisting us would be too close to aiding the Federation itself.”
“You don’t expect me to believe that, do you? This is all part of some plan, and they are waiting outside for your signal. Do not lie to me.” Just then Lalaish glanced down, and his frown deepened. His gaze flicked to the men behind her. “Why didn’t you take their weapons?”
“Sorry, boss.” One bandit stepped towards Temperance.
“There’s no need for this, Lalaish.” She locked eyes with the sorcerer as his man withdrew her revolvers. “We only have one question for you, then we’re leaving.”
The Delivery of Flesh Page 9