"Did he?"
She set the tray on the oven and wiped her hands on her apron, unable to look at him. "Perhaps he said something about not wanting to touch food prepared by a whore, but I wasn't really paying attention."
Halladay sniffed and shook his head.
"He has principles, Doc. I respect that, and so should you."
"He's an ungrateful, delusional, spoiled little shit and if I had any sense I'd go upstairs and slap some of it into him."
Winnie slumped down at the table beside him and looked at his empty plate. "At least you ate all your food. How was it?"
He patted his stomach and said, "It was a revelation. Do you know how long it has been since a woman prepared a meal for me?"
"Well, if you're still hungry, you can have the rest of his."
Halladay patted his stomach and said, "If I so much as look at it, I will burst."
Winnie was distracted, looking up at the staircase. "At least he's awake now. You know what he said to me? The prophets allowed whores into the temple and permitted them to wash their feet."
"How kind of them," Halladay said.
"I told him I ain't washing his damn feet, so forget it. Bad enough I had to scrub all that tar off him." She looked around the kitchen at the pictures and utensils and religious statues. The kind of organized clutter people accumulate when they stay in one place, she realized. "It's weird to see him all grown up. He owns his own house. It's more than I have."
"I hardly think that anyone who knows you would agree with that."
She looked at him then, truly looked, where their eyes met without diverting or pretending to be distracted by anything else. She looked at him and into him and he did the same. Her hands were resting on the table and he covered them with his. Winnie looked down at their hands and then back up at him and said, "If you get any blood in my mouth, I'll kick you,"
Winnie stood up from her seat and wrapped both her arms around the back of his neck and pressed her lips against his. The kiss was long and it was good, and Halladay never coughed once.
Even after twenty-five years, the Proud Lady still looked and smelled the same. Places like that never change. The women and customers and barkeeps get swapped out sometimes, but quickly enough the new hires absorb enough of their surroundings to blend into the background. It was the smoke and the clinging of bottles and the curses of frustrated gamblers that did it. The men sitting at the bar with faces caked with grime from a long day spent in the severian mines, speaking to no one.
"So what happened to her, Doc?"
Halladay settled back in his chair and raised an eyebrow at Bart Masters, as if he'd forgotten the younger man was sitting there. "Come again?"
"The woman who my father made that promise to."
Halladay lowered his empty glass to the table, "That is not what I said, Bartholomew. At least have the decency to pay attention when I speak if you are going to insist on interrupting my drinking."
"I'm sorry, sir."
"I said that your father and Sam Clayton made a promise to one another, and that he told this woman about it. The promise being that if anything should happen to either one of them in the course of their duties, the other was obligated to step in and care for their families."
Bart looked down at his beer and said, "Who'd have guessed they'd both be killed right around the same time? Pretty damn unlucky if you ask me."
"Yes, indeed," Halladay said. "Almost as damn unlucky as the fact that my glass is now empty and you still owe me … one moment while I do the calculations … seventeen and a half more."
Bart laughed and said, "Those must have been some expensive stitches you put in my old man's head."
"He was lucky I consented to use anesthesia."
Bart raised his hand for the barkeep to bring them more drinks. "Why didn't you two get along, anyway? It always seemed like you were pissing him off about something."
Halladay waited for the new drinks to arrive and as he picked his up from the bartender's tray, he said, "You might as well begin pouring another."
"You should slow down, if you don't mind me saying so," Bart said.
"In point of fact, I do. So piss off."
Bart tapped his fingers on the table, trying to be patient. "Were you and my father ever friends?"
"Not that either of us would care to admit."
"Then I give up," Bart said. "You told me you came back because Jem told you we were in trouble, all because of some damn promise between my dad and his dad. Then you tell me there was some woman, but all she did was overhear it. I'm going home. When you sober up, if you ever sober up, feel free to come see me."
Halladay watched Bart push away from the table and head for the door. He nonchalantly slid Bart's unfinished whiskey across the table and poured it into his drink. "That boy is as stubborn and stupid as his father was," he said.
The transport's launch pad was empty, except for the luggage that the baggage handlers were tossing into the ship's cargo hold. Winnie stood next to a cart, with only four bags that totaled everything she owned. The area surrounding the launch pad was empty. "You son of a bitch," she whispered.
"Ma'am?" the conductor said. "It's time to board. We are initiating liftoff in five minutes."
"Fine," she said, still staring out at the desert.
"I'm closing the doors behind me. If you're still standing out here, you will not be allowed on board."
"I'm coming," Winnie said sharply, "take these bags and put them with the rest." She walked through the door and squeezed between the passenger car's narrow seats. A family of four was crowded into the two seats across the aisle from her. The father was holding an infant, trying to rock it back and forth to keep it from screaming. A little girl sat on her mother's lap, swinging her legs back and forth, her hair done up in curls and bows for the journey.
Winnie sat down in hers and looked out the window. The ship's rockets fired, creating enormous billows of smoke that blurred the landscape. The conductor sealed the doors and liftoff was initiated. No one was getting on and no one was getting off. Winnie looked across the aisle and said, "I have a spare seat if your daughter would like to use it."
The parents looked at one another and decided it was fine, and the little girl slid down from her mother's leg. Winnie helped her up into the seat and to buckle her seat belt. The ship was starting to shudder then as the large engines whined. The little girl's hands slapped down on the arm rests and squeezed, her teeth gritted together.
"It's okay," the mother said. "You'll be fine."
Winnie leaned down to the little girl and said, "Can I tell you a secret? This is my first flight too. You want to hold hands?"
The little girl nodded and stuck both her hands to Winnie's holding on for dear life. The mother looked across the aisle and mouthed, "Thank you." Winnie shook her head and said, "I'm more scared than she is, believe me."
Once the ship was off the ground, the shaking stopped. They rose so quickly that their ears popped and the overhead fans kicked on, blowing cool air on their faces as the ground dropped beneath them. The launch site became a tiny square connected to other tiny squares around the settlement. The settlement became an uneven mass of interconnecting roads and buildings, surrounded by canyons and rivers. The canyons and rivers became small threads strewn along the massive surface of red Seneca clay.
They entered the stratosphere and Winnie's eyes widened. "Oh my Lord, look!" she said, squeezing the little girl's hands. "Look! Isn't that amazing!"
Both of them pressed up against the ship's windows as they flew past both of the planet's sister moons, massive and glistening, so majestic and close that Winnie felt hot tears streaming down her cheeks at their sight.
She reached into her pocket for something to wipe her eyes with and found a folded piece of paper with Edwina written on the front of it in scrolling letters. Winnie sat back in her chair and unfolded the letter, trying to steady herself before she began reading.
My darling,
As I am sure you have discerned by now, I will not be accompanying you on your new adventure. I know I said I would be there, and as much as I would prefer to tell you that I have fallen ill, or make up some other excuse that prevents you from despising me, I cannot.
With you, it seems, I am cursed to tell only the truth.
Nearly every fiber of my being wishes to be at your side at this very moment, flying high above the planet, taking off to see rare and exciting things. Nearly, I say, because there is still some small shred of decency left within me and it would never forgive me if I were so selfish.
You deserve a chance, Edwina. A chance to find true happiness, away from all of the blood-suckers and thieves who have plagued you all these years. Although you are too good a person to admit it, if I were to burden you, I would simply be one of them.
My wish for you is to go. Go anywhere. See anything. Do everything. My wish for you is to live.
Doc.
The little girl leaned forward against the glass again and said, "My daddy says all those stars are a sun, and that every sun has planets. How many do you figure there are?"
"Lots," Winnie said.
"And all of them are like Seneca?"
"I don't know," Winnie said. "I don't think so. With so many, there's probably all different kinds of people and things to see."
"I want to see all of them!"
"You do?" Winnie said. "That's sure gonna take a while."
"Yep, but that's okay."
"It certainly is," Winnie nodded as she turned back to look at the small red planet below them, now no bigger than a severian coin. "It certainly is."
The Artwork of Seneca 6
Jem Clayton's Colt Defeater
Sam Clayton's Colt Defender
Interview with Bernard Schaffer by David Hulegaard
The following interview appeared on DavidHulegaard.com 7/11/12
Q: Thanks for stopping by during this exciting time to talk to us about your new book, Magnificent Guns of Seneca 6. First of all, congratulations! How are you feeling?
A: David, thank you for having me back. Congratulations to you as well. One of the best things about the Kindle All-Stars is that the core group of people involved have stuck together and evolved. I'm proud of you for all your hard work this year.
I feel good. I'm really looking forward to releasing this book. It's strange to love something you create, not as a product but as a place. I write about Seneca 6 because in my heart, I wish it were real. Someday I'd like to ask JK Rowling if she felt depressed every time she finished one of the Potter books. I always feel bummed out when I have to leave.
Q: Readers might remember from earlier interviews that you’re always working on multiple projects at the same time. How long had you been working on MGoS6?
A: I officially started work on it April 30, 2012. I only know that because Word says that's when I created the file. I have earlier notes that go back to last year.
Q: Upon the completion of Guns of Seneca 6, how long did it take before ideas for a sequel started coming to you?
A: Probably right away, but not many of them got used. I needed time to let everything gel into a coherent story. The ideas rolled in like trains and I'd greet them at the station and dutifully record whatever they were carrying. Eventually, I figured it all out.
Q: So, Magnificent takes place a year following the events of the first book. Give us a quick overview of what’s happening in Seneca 6.
A: Guns ended with Jem Clayton taking over for his father as the Sheriff. Jem is a pretty badass character and as I sat down to write about him being in his office, all these little townsfolk kept coming in to bug him with their petty grievances. As I wrote it I realized that Jem would be thinking the same thing I am. "Get me the hell out of here."
Ultimately, Magnificent Guns of Seneca 6 is about following our own destiny. Jem starts off as a Sheriff because he thinks it's what he's supposed to do. Haeinwa'tha goes off on a quest because it's what he's expected to do. Ultimately, their interpretations of their "perceived destinies" is what gets them into trouble.
Q: If I had to describe this book in one word, it would be “scope.” There’s a lot going on in Seneca 6 and a large cast of characters in motion. Was expanding its figurative universe a conscious decision going in, or did it just sort of develop that way as you went along?
A: I realized early on that Seneca as a planet is much bigger than one little settlement. Look at Earth. We've got arctic regions, deserts, rain forests and more. Life of all different varieties exists everywhere you look. You can see drastic change just by jumping in your car and driving for a little while. Seneca is a lot more remote than we are, but I have yet to fully explore it in my mind. Who really knows what lies beyond the wasteland?
That being said I wanted to fully develop the area we're focused on. I wanted to explain exactly who the Beothuk are as a rich and varied people of multiple tribes, much like our own Native Americans.
I also like the idea of bringing Bob Ford back. In the first book, he's pretty much a patsy for Jem's Gentleman Jim. Something that gets thrown away. I wanted to explore what happens when you throw someone away and they come back.
Q: In the original Guns of Seneca 6, Jem Clayton was the clear lead character. In Magnificent, it appears as though Seneca 6 itself has become the real star. Talk about what you learned from writing the first book and how that played into your creative process with the sequel.
A: Each of the characters was already a living, breathing thing by the second book. If you notice, I didn't introduce anybody we've already met. There's no preface. If you're reading Magnificent Guns, I assume you already know whats going on. We just get down to business.
Q: Speaking of your creative process, is it different for each series that you write? With Whitechapel, you maintained a painstakingly detailed timeline on a whiteboard next to your desk. With Superbia, you were able to draw from your own personal experience on the force. How does Bernard Schaffer prepare for a book rooted almost entirely in fiction?
A: It's by far the easiest because I can just let fly. The Whitechapel books are difficult because they are constrained by reality. Timelines, vernacular, anachronism, all must be considered. Not always followed, as some of my British reviewers so kindly pointed out, but yes, considered.
Superbia is more a case of saying, "All right, I know what happened. A whole bunch of other people know what happened. How do I tell the story but tweak it enough to keep it interesting and fictional?"
For the Guns books, I just need to be in the mood. I included my Guns iPod playlist in the Acknowledgments section to pay homage to the songs that kept my fires going.
Q: Guns of Seneca 6 was described by many reviewers as a steampunk/western hybrid with elements of science fiction. MGoS6, while still steampunk, appears to have left the sci-fi elements behind in favor of a more traditional Wild West flavor. Did you find that your influences varied a bit between the two books?
A: It was more of keeping the story consistent with who the people in the story are. The stars of this book don't really have access to too much technology, so it doesn't play that big of a role. And generally, when they do get their hands on some, it goes badly.
Q: Readers got a taste of the native people of Seneca 6’s culture in the first book, but the Beothuk are at the heart of the story in Magnificent. Giving life to that culture, including language, must have been exhausting. How did you go about its creation?
A: I've spent an ample amount of time with Native Americans. My old partner is a Seminole, and through him I've been exposed to their culture in ways that I could never have imagined.
Anything you see about the Beothuk in the Guns series begins with what I believe to be true about the American Indian.
Most of the language in the books derive from Native American words, including the names of the main Natives who are based on real people.
The seed for the Beothuk involvement with this story began a long t
ime ago with one of my mother's friends.
It's a common joke among Natives that every white person they meet has a grandmother who was a Cherokee princess. I've seen it happen.
My mother's friend is kind of daffy, I mean, she's a sweetie and would do anything for you, but you understand what I mean. So, long story short, I was telling her how we'd just gotten back from a powwow and her eyes kind of glazed over. "Those are my people," she said. "All of my life I've felt a special connection to them and have visions of being one of them. I bet if I went to a powwow and TOLD them that, they would take me in as one of their own."
Yeah. Because the Native Americans have nothing better to do than adopt needy old white ladies, right?
History has really done a grave disservice to the American Indian. We've turned them into some sort of fairy tale. I suppose that's better than the Scary Red Injun John Wayne preferred, but I'm not so sure all this post-Dances With Wolves casino wealth myth is any better.
Ask any average American if people are lucky to be Native American. I bet they say yes. I bet they say all Natives got rich off casinos. Meanwhile poverty, unemployment, and substance abuse is running rampant on most reservations.
Christ, I sound like Marlon Brando. I can't apologize for it though. It's a serious issue.
Q: Your ability to create rich, entertaining characters is well-documented. Readers always have a hard time identifying their favorites. What about you? Is there a personal favorite for you within MGoS6?
A: I love Sam Clayton. It's one of those things because I killed him off so early in the first book but he just looms over everything. I'm still not done writing about Sam, though. Or Tom Masters, for that matter.
The other character I adore is Bug. It's funny but I call them their nicknames in my head. To me, he'll always be Bug, the daredevil child doing tricks on the back of his destrier.
Q: Since you love to bury hidden references within your books, any hints to the readers as to what area of knowledge they should brush up on in preparation?
Guns of Seneca 6 Box Set Collected Saga (Chambers 1-4) Page 53