“Again, we’re talking about the Game like it’s a person.” Steven groaned. “It’s a construct, a set of rules, an obstacle to overcome.”
“With Arbiters that may have personally saved our asses at least once or twice.” Archie smiled. “From what I understand from the visions and what I learned subsequently from Grey, the Game must be played at the right time and place with both sides present or the great catastrophes of the past will begin anew.”
“Hm. Maybe that’s what Zed wants.” Steven took another drink. “What’s the saying? Some people just want to watch the world burn?”
“You keep bringing it back to Zed, but I’m not talking about his actions, or even Grey’s.” Archie cleared his throat. “I’m talking about the Game itself.”
“Assuming the Game wants anything, or even can want anything,” Steven raised an eyebrow, “you’re suggesting it wants us to be here?”
“Look at everything that’s happened to this point. Alone and unarmed, you survived your first encounter with the Black Queen.”
Steven scoffed. “Don’t forget about Grey saving my ass. Another few seconds, and I would’ve been Bauer flambé.”
Archie continued as if he hadn’t heard Steven. “Then, you rescued each of us from the circumstances of our own lives despite the constant interference of the Black.”
“Interference.” Niklaus absently raised his hand to his chest and rubbed the spot where months before he’d been skewered by the Black Pawn’s arrows. “That’s what we’re calling it.”
“When Lena was injured, the pouch could’ve taken you to any hospital in the world, but it brought her to me.” Archie ran his hand along the bar’s wooden surface. “The way I see it, Steven, it’s exactly what Grey said. The Game wants to be played, plain and simple.”
“So, nothing I do matters?”
“The opposite, actually.” Archie smiled. “The Game may present opportunity…”
“But it’s still up to us to run the gauntlet.” Steven sighed. “That’s just great.”
“As I see it, there are no guarantees, as any of us could fall along the way. Still, just as Grey and Zed designed, for those of us who are mere Pieces, all roads lead to the Game.”
“It’s like I told you back in Manhattan,” Niklaus said. “We weren’t in New York a day before you ran into Ruth.” He rested a hand on Steven’s shoulder. “Archie’s on point.”
“That the Game itself has an agenda that involves us jumping through hoop after hoop to get back to our own century just in time to go up against a mob of super-powered assassins who plan to do their level best to end us?” Steven downed the remnants of his beer in three gulps. “Excuse me if I’m not jumping for joy.”
“I’m sorry, Steven.” Niklaus raised his hands in mock surrender. “Just trying to make sense of everything that’s happening.”
“Good luck with that.” A blast of cold from the open door accompanied the familiar voice. “Archie and I have been working through this stuff for weeks and haven’t been able to make heads or tails of any of it.”
“Emilio?” Steven turned to find the White Knight framed by the saloon door, his torso wrapped in a woven poncho. An inch or two taller than Steven remembered—in part from the pair of scuffed boots that now covered his feet—he now sported a beard, his voice had dropped half an octave, and he stood tall with pride and confidence.
The boy Steven had met months before on the streets of Baltimore appeared well on his way to becoming a man.
“Emilio Cruz.” Niklaus stood and extended a hand. “Get your ass over here.”
His youthful exuberance tempered with a newfound maturity, Emilio strode over to Niklaus and gave the man a firm handshake that quickly shifted into a hug.
“You found us.” Moisture brimmed at the corners of Emilio’s eyes. “I can’t believe you found us.”
“Hey.” Niklaus held Emilio at arm’s length and shot him a mischievous wink. “You still owe me ten bucks from that last trip to Whataburger.”
“I’ll get right on that.” Emilio’s gaze cut to Steven, his brow furrowed. “What took you two so long?”
“Sorry,” Steven said. “We caught all the red lights.”
“Right.” A hint of a smile peeked through Emilio’s practiced frown. “And I’m the one who should be sorry.” He clasped Steven’s hand. “Thanks for coming for us.”
“What else would we do?” Steven kept his voice low. “And you may want to hold your thanks till we’re back in the correct century.”
“Point taken.”
“So.” Niklaus tagged Emilio with a light punch to the shoulder. “Where’d all these muscles come from? You been working out with the cowhands down at the ranch?”
“Mr. Garringer keeps us all pretty busy and feeds us well. Between moving the cattle from pasture to pasture, keeping them fed and watered, catching any strays, cutting firewood every morning, and a hundred other things, there’s not much down time. Hell, they’ve even let me birth a couple of calves this month.” His face broke into a full-on smile. “Back home, I’d probably be Employee of the Month. Maybe even have my picture on the wall.” Just as quickly as they’d broken, the clouds returned to his features. “Where’s Lena?”
Steven shook his head. “I wish I knew. For a while, it’s just been me and Nik. Now we’ve found you two.”
Emilio raised an eyebrow. “Why did Zed zap us all to 1890 anyway?”
“If only it were that easy.” Niklaus shook his head and laughed. “Steven and I have already spent half a year in the mid-1940s. Caught the tail end of World War II and nearly got taken out by a hurricane. Good times.”
“The 1940s, eh?” Emilio shot Archie a quizzical look. “You’ve known they were coming all along, haven’t you?”
Archie handed him a beer. “Didn’t want to get your hopes up, kid.”
Emilio turned back to Steven. “How’d you find us? Hell, how’d you get here?”
Steven eyed Niklaus. “You want to handle explanations this round?”
As mid-afternoon stretched into evening, the saloon remained surprisingly empty with only the occasional cowhand dropping by for a quick drink before heading back out into the cold. The four men from another century took advantage of the long afternoon together, catching up on the various turns their lives had taken since being sent careening through time and space at the whim of the Black King.
Unlike Steven and Niklaus, Emilio’s time in the past had been, for the most part, uneventful. Hired by a local cattle baron named Cyrus Garringer for his “strong back” and “phenomenal riding skills,” he’d spent most of his time the preceding months working on the ranch and getting into the best shape of his life. The pay had been more than enough to keep him fed, clothed, and sheltered, and though he’d come into town every week or two to keep tabs on Archie, Garringer’s ranch had become, for the time being, home.
When Emilio had finished, Steven and Niklaus took turns catching both him and Archie up on the events of their forced tour of the mid-1940s—the hurricane in Florida, their subsequent journey to New York City, “meeting” Ruth and Arthur for a second time, their reunion with Grey, the borrowing of the pouch, and their fortunate discovery of Ed Leedskalnin’s Coral Castle. Above all, the discussion revolved around trying to parse the circumstances and forces that allowed Steven and Niklaus to travel across time and space to a tiny town at the corner of Wyoming decades before any of them were born.
At the end of Steven’s tale, Emilio rubbed at his eyes as if waking from a bad dream. “And despite all of that, we still have no idea how to find Lena and Audrey or even the first clue how to get us back to where and when we came from.”
“That about sums it up.” Steven let out a long sigh. “I’m just as worried about them as you are, Emilio. Trust me. Unfortunately, till we figure out how to get the pouch to do its thing again and get us all out of here, Lena and Audrey’s location is kind of a moot point.”
“Dammit, Steven.” Emilio slammed his
fist down on the bar in a flash of anger more reminiscent of the young hothead Steven remembered. “You knew going to New York was a bad idea. I even agreed with you for once. Niklaus too. Why didn’t you stick to your guns, man? We wouldn’t be in this stupid mess.”
“In case you’ve forgotten, the deciding vote wasn’t his.” Archie wiped down the bar with a damp rag, avoiding eye contact with Emilio. “We’ve already discussed this a hundred times, Emilio, as you well know.”
Emilio’s eyes drew down into slits. “You really want me to blame you for all of this, Archie?”
“I don’t want you to blame anyone.” Archie steepled his fingers before his nose and allowed his eyes to slide shut. “As hard as it may be for you to believe, this is what’s supposed to be happening. Look at Steven and Niklaus’ experience in the forties and the domino effect of their presence there. If not for their intervention, Ruth and Arthur Pedone might never have met, and therefore, wouldn’t have been available to provide him shelter in our time. In fact, if Steven and Niklaus hadn’t run into Grey some sixty years before Steven met him the first time, it’s possible our mysterious mentor might not have had the first clue to seek out Steven in time, leaving him and the rest of us most likely dead at the hands of the Black.” Archie opened his eyes and fixed Emilio with a dour stare. “I have no idea why the four of us currently find ourselves stranded at this particular juncture, but I believe if we remain patient that all will be made clear in due time.”
“Patient?” Emilio finished off his beer and rested the glass back on the bar with a solid thunk. “You want me—us—to be patient while Lena and Audrey are wherever or whenever they are facing God knows what?”
Archie slid into a smile Steven guessed hundreds of parishioners had likely seen over the decades of the priest’s career. “What other choice do we have?”
“We found our way here.” Niklaus puffed up his chest. “We’ll find a way out.”
“A way out, you say?” Sheriff Post strode in from the street with his deputy, John Ndure, close behind. Post shook the snow from his boots as Ndure shut the door firmly behind them. “I certainly hope the only two witnesses to the murder of a United States federal marshal aren’t making plans to leave town.”
“We’re not going anywhere.” Steven’s eyes dropped. “Trust us.”
“Understatement of the year,” Niklaus muttered.
“What was that?” Post motioned for Archie to pull him a beer. “You certainly seem to like your jokes, Mr. Zamek. I hope that one wasn’t at my expense.”
Ndure pulled up beside Post. “I think he’s just agreeing with that silly rhyme you always say. You’ve got to admit, ‘Wolf’s Bend is a dead end’ has never been truer than the last few weeks. Though with the train arriving tomorrow—”
“Thank you for that, John.” Post glared at Ndure, his eyes filled with vexation. “Thank you so much.”
“What train? And why would there be a federal marshal in your town anyway?” Steven scrambled to come up with any hook in the conversation that might get the heat off him and Niklaus. “Is there something going on in Wolf’s Bend we don’t know about?”
“Just business as usual, Mr. Bauer.” Post shot Ndure another withering gaze. “And about the marshal, I’m afraid I don’t have the first idea. This may come as a surprise, but the United States government doesn’t confer with me on such matters.”
Steven studied Post. “And neither of you had ever met the man?”
“I’d seen him.” Ndure furrowed his brow. “Just once. He perched at that table in the corner yesterday morning like a hawk inspecting the ground below for an errant squirrel. Looked like someone who might bear watching, though I clearly had him pegged all wrong.”
“All wrong?” Niklaus asked.
“Strangers keeping to themselves in this establishment usually fall on the other end of the law.” Ndure’s gaze swept across Steven and Niklaus. “No offense intended.”
“And you, Sheriff?” Steven asked.
Post shook his head and laughed. “Like I told you, Mr. Bauer, the first time I ever saw that man, you two were standing over his dead body.”
“I’m curious.” Steven managed to keep most of the fire from his tone. “Have you sent a telegraph back east to let the feds know about their guy?”
“The feds?” Post narrowed his gaze. “You know, Bauer, you sure ask a hell of a lot of questions for someone who just arrived in town.”
“Just making conversation.” Steven took a slug of his beer. “Figured the old adage about bad news not getting better with age would apply here.”
With a harrumph, Post answered, “If you must know, I’m drafting the letter today.”
“So it can go out on…tomorrow’s train?” Emilio, silent for most of the conversation, asked this question a bit too quickly.
Post straightened his posture and fixed the boy with an accusatory stare. “And what is it you think you know about tomorrow’s train, Mr. Cruz?”
“Trains come through every Wednesday.” Emilio shrugged. “Today’s Tuesday.” He glanced down at the pocket watch dancing between his nimble fingers. “Not much else to talk about out on the ranch, Sheriff.”
“All right. Seems there’s more to this train arriving tomorrow than anyone is letting on.” Steven’s gaze danced between Post and Ndure. “Something we should know?”
“Nothing for any of you to concern yourselves with, Mr. Bauer.” Post studied them all carefully. “Tomorrow is just another day.”
“And the train?” Steven asked.
A flurry of hoofbeats from outside pulled Post’s attention.
“C’mon, John,” he ordered as he rose and headed for the street. “Let’s go.”
Once the sheriff and his deputy were long gone, Archie pulled Steven, Niklaus, and Emilio close, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “Post and Ndure are trying to keep everything quiet, but the murmuring around town is that tomorrow’s train is carrying something special. Nobody knows exactly what this mysterious cargo might be, but there’s a lot of conjecture.” He cast a quick gaze around the saloon. “Whatever it is, though, they’ve moved up all the timetables and are rushing this particular train east.”
“Wait.” Emilio’s eyebrows rose in anticipation. “Wasn’t the California gold rush sometime in the 1800s? Could that be it? A carful of gold?”
“About forty years too late for that.” Steven lowered his voice as the door to the saloon opened again allowing in a blast of frigid air as a collection of cowpokes filed in. “What could it be that’s so important they’re moving up all the stops?”
“Who knows?” Archie motioned the half dozen men entering toward a table at the back, among them the scar-faced man and his pomade-sporting associate from Steven and Niklaus’ first moments along Wolf’s Bend’s main drag. “What I do know is that tomorrow seems like it’s going to be one interesting day.”
And look at us. Steven’s fingernails dug into his palms. Right on time.
18
Song & Dance
“Do not mock the Ghost Dance.” The Arapaho youth, his unwavering gaze electric with pride and unfaltering belief, leaned against the rail outside the general store and ran a shaking hand down the front of his shirt. Long-sleeved and fashioned of blue fabric, the ornate garment was decorated with dozens of stars and a quartet of birds the color of midnight. Green fringe hung from its sleeves and lower hem, the same color as the turtle embroidered above the man’s belt buckle. “The sacred cloth protects us.”
“Protects you?” Emilio asked. “From what?” His breath steamed in the morning chill. “That shirt’s so thin, it’s not even protecting you from the cold.”
“Emilio.” Steven shook his head almost imperceptibly. “This is neither the time nor the place.”
The young man, barely out of his teens, narrowed his eyes at Emilio. “Do not dismiss the teachings of Wovoka.” He raised his hands above his head with palms held outward, his face taking on the enraptured glow a young Steven h
ad seen one too many times at his aunt’s fundamentalist church. “When the earth shakes and the clouds fall and the sun goes dark in the sky, it is the invader who will finally face the truth.”
“And by invader,” Archie gestured to himself, Steven, and Emilio, “I’m guessing you mean us.”
The youth turned to Steven. “Your people came and took everything, pushing the rightful keepers of this great land from the rivers and valleys that had been their home for generations, and all in the name of greed. With more than enough for all to share, your kind chose instead to rape, steal, and murder.” His gaze leaped skyward. “Soon, the Ghost Dance will call the spirits of the countless slain to return and fight, and though the white man and their guns are powerful, both will fall before the justice brought by the risen dead.”
With no idea what to say, Steven breathed a quiet sigh of relief as Archie took the young man’s hand.
“I understand how you feel.” Archie studied the young man with compassion. “How difficult it can be to see your people suffer. To see such oppression and feel powerless to do a thing about it.”
The youth’s lower lip trembled. “I watched my mother die because there wasn’t enough food. For two months, she coughed up blood until the day she didn’t cough again. I dance for her return.” His gaze shifted to Steven. “And the return of many more.”
Emilio shifted on his feet. “So, you truly believe this Ghost Dance will bring the dead back to life. I get that, as crazy as it sounds. Not that different from what my family heard at Mass every Sunday growing up. Still, I don’t see what any of that has to do with thinking your shirt can stop bullets.”
“Good luck talking sense to him.” Sheriff Post approached from the Wolf’s Bend Saloon, his characteristic swagger on full display. “Every tribe between here and California is buying into this ‘Wovoka’ person’s crazy talk about the dead rising up and driving the white man back across the ocean.”
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