by Moira Young
Save the spiel fer the mugs, says Maev. You young ’uns, hop in back.
Emmi scrinches her face. Do we hafta? she says.
Don’t squawk, git in, says Maev. I’ll drive.
No, I’m drivin. Lugh pushes past her an climbs in the front. You can ride shotgun.
You ever drove a camel before? she snaps. He shoots her a death look, but slides into the shotgun seat.
We ain’t no savages, sir, Maev says to the driver, we’ll leave you water an a weapon up the trail a ways.
Much obliged, he says.
She says, Fer a man about to lose his livelihood, yer calm does you credit.
He shrugs. Occupational hazard. No point gittin my knickers in a twist. Not that I wear none.
No hard feelins?
Not on my part. Say la vee, sister.
That’s it, she says, slick as a whistle. We’re outta here.
Emmi an Tommo clamber inside the Cosmic Compendalorium. I swing myself onto Hermes. Maev jumps in the driver’s seat next to Lugh. She picks up the reins, an slaps ’em down on the camel sayin, Gee up there, Moses! Gee up!
He turns his head. Gives her a long, hard stare. Then he turns back an starts chewin calmly on his cud.
Lugh looks at Maev. Slick as a whistle, he says.
They climb down. They haul on the bridle. Pull the reins. Then they put their backs into it. They lean aginst his rear end an shove.
An all the time, Lugh’s goin, Yer the boss, Maev. Yer the daddy. Maev knows what she’s doin, Lugh. Hijackin an horse stealin’s her business. Newsflash, girls. This ain’t no horse. It’s a gawdamn camel!
Shut up an push! she yells.
Fergawdsake, I says, how hard can it be? Emmi! Tommo! Come help!
They pile outta the back. Tracker barks. Nero dives an shrieks. But Moses don’t budge. He bawls his head off, spittin an snappin with his vicious yellow teeth.
Ow! Lugh yells. He reels away, his hand clamped on his upper arm. Damn thing bit me! He curses an stamps his foot in pain.
The driver’s jest standin there, watchin. Let me know if you need any help, he calls.
Gawdamn sonofabitch, I mutter. I leap offa Hermes an go fer the driver. I walk fast, loadin my bow, aimin it straight at his face. He throws his hands up. I stop three paces away.
Yer wastin my time, big man, I says. Git this beast on his feet. Yer gonna take us where we wanna go.
Okay, okay, he says, keep yer shirt on, sister.
Move! I keep my bow trained on him as he waddles over to the camel.
Moses! he says, flappin his hands. Stand up, sir! Arise an walk, ye son of Egypt!
Right away, the stupid thing starts to git to its feet.
Yer drivin, I says.
He clambers onto the driver’s bench. I squeeze in beside him.
Maev’s pink-cheeked. Humiliated. The hard-girl hijacker, suckered by a camel. Without a word, she tosses me her bolt shooter an climbs into the back with Tommo an Tracker.
I don’t believe this, says Lugh. He swings hisself onto Hermes. Lifts Emmi to ride in front of him.
I look at the driver. What’re you waitin fer? I says. Move.
If I’m gonna take you where you wanna go, he says, you’ll hafta tell me where that is. His one good eye blinks at me, pale an watery.
Oh no, you don’t catch me that easy.
Where was you headed jest now? I says. My sheema starts to slip back from my face. My tattoo. Don’t let him see. I yank it into place, scowl at him. Well? I says.
East, he says. We got a delivery to make in the storm belt. A tavern called the Lost Cause.
My stummick flips. That’ll do to start with, says I. How far?
Three, maybe four days, says he.
Make it two, an I’ll let you keep that eye of yers.
Two it is, he says.
The Cosmic Compendalorium rattles along. After we cover a couple of miles, the driver clears his throat.
You got me at a disadvantage, he says, moniker-wise, that is. You know my name. Doctor Salmo Slim TPS at yer service. Feel free to call me Slim. Might I have the pleasure of knowin who’s hijacked me?
I says naught. I got one boot braced aginst the buckboard. Nero sits in my lap. He’s bin givin the driver the beady eye since we set off.
That’s a handsome bird, says Slim. Tame crow’s, uh . . . unusual. Don’t s’pose he has a name.
Nero, I says.
Nero stretches over. Flicks the pink dress with his beak an croaks.
Ha! says Slim. You wanna know about the dress, do you? I admit, it ain’t every day you see a fella in a frock. It’s a cautionary tale, friend Nero. A story of laundry an hard likker. Must be a week ago now. I warshed my clothes, britches an shirt, once a year like I always do. Rigged up a couple of branches, y’know . . . to hang it on, right next to the fire so’s it ’ud be dry in the mornin. Well, you know how it is. I must of necked a little too much pop an passed out. Next thing you know, the gawdamn sun’s up an my laundry’s burnt to buggery. The whole shebang fell on the fire. Lucky I had the dress – it was my late mother’s, bin keepin it fer sensamental reasons – otherwise I’d be sittin here in my birthday suit. Mind you, if I was, you might of thought twice about hijackin me, eh? Ha ha! Wouldn’t that of bin a sight! Hooee!
Slim hoots an wheezes an cackles. Nero copies him, bobbin up an down, crow-laughin.
Well, don’t lay a egg, I says.
Thing is, he says, in my line of work, you spend a lot of time sittin. A dress lets the breeze up . . . cool yer dingles down. There’s a lot to be said fer a skirt.
I give him a look. We go on fer a bit, then he says, So, yer all headed to the Lost Cause.
Yer headed there, I says. We’re jest hitchin a ride that far.
You know these parts pretty well? he says.
I says naught.
New Eden ain’t no place fer travellers, he says. Let’s hope we don’t run into the Tonton.
Oh? I says.
New Eden’s their land, they control it top to bottom, includin the roads. There’s guardposts an pretty regular patrols. They stop everybody, check you got the right marks. Quartered circle brands fer Stewards of the Earth, slaves wear iron collars, an the rest of us git one of these. He shoves up his right sleeve, shows me a line of five small circles on the outside of his arm. Naw, he says, we don’t wanna be stopped by them boys.
I aim my bolt shooter at his temple. Then you’ll jest make sure we don’t, I says.
We’ll take the back roads, he says.
We go on fer a bit more. Then he says, They cleared out all the old folk, the sick, an the weak. Some people packed up an left – I know a fair few that headed out west. There’s always one or two prepared to stand their ground, try to keep their land, but they’re all worms’ meat now, so much good it did ’em.
How come they let you stay? I says.
I’m useful to ’em, he says. I got special skills, knowledge handed down the ages. On the medicine side there’s me, Doctor Wong an a sawbones called Hollis. We divide the territory between us. By the way, if you ever git gangrene, don’t let Hollis nowhere near you. Cut off yer own leg, you’ll be better off. Let’s see, who else . . . ? A bunch of junkjimmies, of course – it never ceases to amaze me what them boys can make outta Wrecker junk. Uh . . . that’s about it. Yuh, strong workers an healthy breeders is what they want most.
Breeders? I says.
Of course, he says. The Pathfinder’s makin a new world. An only the right kinda people’s allowed to live in it. If you don’t wanna find yerself workin the land an breedin fer New Eden, you better watch yerself, you an yer friends. Yer jest what he’s after.
The Pathfinder, I says, pretendin like I never heard of him.
That’s the top man, he says. He’s a great thinker, he has, uh . . . whaddya cal
l ’em? . . . visions.
You ever met him? I says.
Me? Not likely, says Slim. Although I heard he rides with his men sometimes, slips in among ’em without their knowin, so maybe I seen him somewhere. Maybe he stopped me at some guardpost. Maybe—
Maybe you could stop talkin fer a bit, I says. You make my ears hurt.
He cain’t stay silent fer long. Five of you, he says, only one horse. Makes me think you might of run into trouble somewhere. You didn’t by any chance come over the Yann Gap?
We might of, I says.
You mean, you made it past them crazy skull collectors? he says.
Uh huh, I says.
Ha! He slaps his knee. Well, I’ll be damned! Yer quite the thing, sister. I tell you, them weirdos has bin causin trouble there ferever an day. They caught my cousin Lister, oh, must be ten year back now. He was okay, Lister, fer a relation, essept he never knew when to shut up. Despitin that, I wouldn’t of minded so much if he hadn’t of bin wearin my best hat at the time. He borrowed it without tellin me. No, somebody oughta do somethin about that Yann Gap bridge.
I did, I says. It’s gone.
He looks at me. Shakes his head an grins. Ha ha! Well, whaddya know! I give you my personal thanks, on behalf of cousin Lister an my best hat. You wanna be at the Lost Cause in two days? I’ll git you there, by gum, I will.
Not at this pace, you won’t, I says. Don’t this mangy beast of yers go no faster?
You ever heard the old sayin, never judge a book by its cover?
No, I says.
Well, hang onto yer girdle, he says. Then he yells, Yeeha! an slaps the reins down.
Moses goes off like a shot. A startled squawk an Nero takes to the air. I only jest stop myself tumblin out by grabbin Slim.
He flashes me a yellow-toothed grin. Grand Champeen of the Pillawalla Camel Race! he shouts. Five years runnin! His bloodline goes back to the Great Pyramid of Egypt!
As the Cosmic Compendalorium rackets along in a cloud of dust, Slim starts to holler out a song. His voice rasps through the day like a rusty saw.
Oh, chase me, Suzie, run around town
Catch me, tickle me, tie me down
If you shiver my shanks, I’ll buy you a gown . . .
But I’ll be gone in the mornin a-rovin!
We leave the red blight forests behind. We ford wide brown rivers, shallow an sluggish. Skirt around the southern end of a giant, dyin lake. The sharp pong scours our noses. Makes our eyes water an our hair stand on end. The sticky white shore’s alive with tiny flies that rise in black clouds as we pass. The iron skellentons of Wrecker buildins litter the shoreline.
We don’t run into no Tonton, on patrol or otherwise. There’s a small garrison at the top of the lake, Slim tells me, some fifteen leagues north. Why they’re here is anybody’s guess. They might of found a Wrecker mine site that’s still got work in it. All he knows is, they don’t patrol this far down. He says we shouldn’t hafta worry about patrols an guardposts till tomorrow. But I’ll keep us outta their way, he says. I know all the byways an I know the ways of the men in black.
I’d sooner be back in the Waste than here. It ain’t till daylight starts to wane that we see the end of it. An then, the sight, the smell of livin trees – juniper, jack pine an fir – the sound of clean, runnin water, come as sweet, merciful relief. Like a cool hand on a brow hot with fever. Slim slows the Cosmic down an turns it off the trail into a little clearin.
What’re you doin? I says. Drive on.
We gotta take a break, says Slim. Moses needs a rest. Yer horse does too, I’ll warrant. We’ll be safe here.
I press the shooter to his temple. I said, drive on, I says.
Slim raises his hands. Hey, hey! Calm down, sister. I said I’d git you to the Lost Cause in good time an I will. I aim to keep this eye of mine.
The man’s right, says Lugh. You know he is. We gotta rest.
I’m numb with tiredness. We gotta keep goin, I says.
Don’t be crazy, he says. When was the last time you slept?
As he says it, I try to think. Must of bin . . . no, I cain’t think when. Weariness circles me, rubs itself aginst me, warm an friendly. I mustn’t give in to it.
You cain’t even remember, says Lugh.
He’s dismounted an plucked Emmi from Hermes’ back. Maev an Tommo’s clambered outta the back of the Cosmic. I look at everybody’s drawn faces.
Okay, three hours, I says.
Four, says Lugh.
At least, says Slim. You gotta be sharp here. Alert. Ready fer anythin. An it’s plain foolish not to rest yer beasts proper.
All right, four, I says. But not a moment longer.
I’m talkin to myself. Everybody’s bustlin around, helpin Slim set up camp an light a fire. I climb down from the Cosmic, stiff an sore all over. As I ease my back an rub my achin behind, I think, gimme a horse over a cart any day. I felt every bump of that damn road.
I stand apart. Exhausted but jangly. Like I don’t know what to do with myself, how to be, once I stop movin.
Maev comes over. She glances at Slim, jibber jabberin to Emmi. He talks a lot, she says, but he don’t say much. Makes you wonder.
I know, I says. Don’t worry, I got my eye on him.
She crosses her arms on her chest. Stubs her boot into the ground.
Somethin on yer mind? I says.
I cocked things up today, she says. Talk about Jack bein a know-all, I take the cake. Any fool could of seen that stupid camel wouldn’t move fer nobody but Slim. What the hell’s wrong with me?
Well, you punished yerself, I says. You rode inside the cart all day.
It’s the least I deserve, she says. I’ve lost my edge.
C’mon, Maev, I says. What about today? Back at the Gap? Gittin everybody across like that, fightin them headhunters . . . that was quite somethin.
She brightens. It was kinda fun, she says. She glances over at Lugh. He crouches, layin the fire. He must feel us watchin him becuz he looks up. Jest fer a moment, then he goes back to what he’s doin. I was showin off, says Maev. Pathetic. Like some kid, wantin him to notice me.
Oh, he notices you, I says, never fear. You saved their lives, Maev. They was in danger – you all was – becuz of me. If anybody’s lost their edge, it’s me. You done good.
Well, at least I got their three lives to my credit, she says. But it don’t make up fer what happened at Darktrees. Fer the Hawks an the Raiders. Nuthin ever will. If only I hadn’t of bin so arrogant. If only I’d of listened to Ash an Creed. They kept sayin we should leave, but I wouldn’t. Forty lives, Saba. My friends. Dead becuz of me. That’s hard to live with.
It don’t serve nobody to keep count, I says.
Oh, but it does, she says. I must. Every single one eats at me. Every time I close my eyes, I see their faces. They walk in my dreams.
I know, I says.
Ruby, she says. Taz. Ash. Creed. Jest thinkin their names feels like knives in my heart. So that’s what I do. I think their names, over an over an over agin. I need to keep the pain sharp. Till I can make amends fer what I did. Maybe then I’ll be able to sleep.
Maybe, I says.
We’re quiet, then I says, D’you ever feel old, Maev?
I was born old, she says.
Her an me look at each other a long moment. Then she nods an heads over to the fire. She passes Tommo on the way.
He stands in front of me. Gimme yer hand, he says. I hesitate. Then I hold out my right hand. The one that Lugh crushed in his anger an hurt. It’s tender. Bruised.
Slim gimme this, says Tommo, as he unscrews the lid of a little pot an scoops out some goatweed unction. He takes my hand an starts to spread it over the bruise. He only uses one finger. He’s so gentle, I feel a lump rise in my throat.
He looks at me. He shouldn’t of hurt you, he
says.
I hurt him, I says.
He gives a funny little smile. Is that how it works? he says. One hurt fer another? He drops his eyes. Concentrates on what he’s doin.
Tommo’s eyes was the first thing I ever noticed about him. Such a deep brown, they’re almost black, with long dark lashes. Eyes like a deer.
When I first met him, back at Ike’s, he was a boy. A pale bony jumble of elbows, knees an feet. He ain’t that no more. Somehow, over the past months, he’s growed to his man’s body. He’s tanned an lean. Thick, dark hair tied back from his face. Strong cheekbones. He’s good-lookin an no mistake.
The deaf boy. Take heed, Saba. He’s in love with you.
He stops what he’s doin. He knows I’m starin at him, he can feel it. A flush creeps along his cheekbones. He don’t lift his eyes as he raises my hand to his lips. He touches ’em to the bruise. I feel his breath on my skin.
I would never hurt you, he says.
Now he looks at me. He holds my eyes with his. Intent. Serious.
No. No no no no no.
Tommo, I says.
He takes in a breath.
Jest as Slim calls out, How many eggs? One or two?
One of Slim’s patients gave him a cured leg of bristleboar in trade fer yankin out his ingrowed toenail. He carves thick slices an fries ’em up with pigeon eggs. Everybody waits, eatin tins at the ready, mouths waterin, while he tends his big frypan. Tracker crowds so close that he sits on Slim’s foot. He don’t move his eyes as Slim turns the meat, spoons fat over the eggs. His nose twitches. Drool hangs down in long strings.
Hungry, eh, my friend? says Slim. Don’t worry, there’s plenty fer everybody, man an beast. Never heard of a tame wolfie before. Never heard of one with blue eyes neether. You had him from a pup?
No, says Emmi. He belongs to our friend Mercy, but we think she must be dead.
Well, we all gotta die, he says. You jest gotta hope you die good. Some folks wanna go in a blaze of magnificent splendour, like the sun itself. Others pray to go in their sleep. You think about these things when you git to my age. You know when I wisht I’d died?
When? says Emmi.
In my twenny first year, on a soft summer night, by the side of a sweet-runnin stream. I lay with a beautiful girl in my arms. An she told me that she loved me. A moment of pure joy.