Ray put his arm around Sally, and she leaned back against him. “Yeah,” she said. “I want to help. Are you going to get a train again, Ray?”
“No train this time,” Ray said.
“How we going to travel?” Hethy asked.
“Lorene’s working on it,” Ray said.
“Who’s she, again?” Hethy asked.
Sally flashed her eyes at Hethy. “The Pirate Queen.”
“Oh, her,” Hethy said a little anxiously.
“We’ll meet Mister Everett,” Ray continued. “Once he’s gathered the children from Shuckstack, we’ll join them at—”
“Ray.” Quorl came from the dark behind Ray and knelt beside him. “Come with me.”
Ray looked up curiously at the rougarou. “What is it?” he asked.
Quorl cast his silver eyes around at the others, lingering on Sally. Then he tapped Ray’s shoulder. “Just come with me. Alone.”
Ray rose and followed the rougarou. When they got outside the campfire’s glow, Quorl stopped and looked down at Ray. “It’s your father. He waits for you on the Great Tree. He asked to speak to you alone.”
Ray ascended the crude passage that encircled the Wolf Tree’s enormous trunk. After rising several hundred feet, he looked down at the little ring of light where the campfire shone on the dark prairie.
“Ray.”
A shadow stood on the rise before him. Ray climbed to his father. Li’l Bill smiled as they met, and he put his hand on Ray’s shoulder. Ray’s eyes fell for a moment to the other hand, the missing one, the old scar that kept his father from joining the living gathered below at the fire. The rabbit’s foot, his father’s hand, was gone. It had cleaved the heart of the Machine and freed the enslaved from the Gog.
“I’m leaving soon,” Li’l Bill said. “Nel and the others will ascend to the next world. But I ain’t to join them. Not yet, anyway. I’ve got others to attend to. Lead them to that fair land beyond.”
“Will I see you again?” Ray asked hesitantly.
Li’l Bill gave a lopsided grin, both playful and melancholy. That grin, so familiar from Ray’s memories as a child. “That’ll be for you to figure. One day.”
Ray nodded.
Then Li’l Bill said, “I spied them.”
Ray frowned. “Who?”
“In the heights of the Tree.” Li’l Bill squinted. “I seen two ascending. Without a guide. Together.”
Ray’s voice barely came from his mouth. “Who were they?”
“A big fellow,” Li’l Bill said. “And a smallish girl, I reckon. I couldn’t make them out. They were far above. Climbing ever higher. Hand in hand they went.”
Ray shuddered as warmth grew in his chest—bright and wondrous. His father then said, “Your sister and I already said our good-byes. She’s a clever girl, Ray. And good. Full of goodness. Like you and your mother.” He smiled, and Ray could see the memories sparkling in his father’s eyes. “Go back to the others. Tell Nel I wait for him when he’s ready.”
Li’l Bill turned and climbed. After a dozen steps, he stopped and looked back over his shoulder. “I’ll wait for you too. Might be years and years. You might be an old man. But I’ll wait for you if you want to go.” Then he left. His shadow rounded the curve in the trunk and disappeared.
They gathered at the mountainous roots of the Wolf Tree with the golden light of dawn spread out across the prairie. Nel said his good-byes. Water Spider helped support Nel as he embraced and spoke kind words to each of the children. When at last he reached Ray, the old Rambler turned pitchman, who had returned once more as Rambler, laughed.
“Never thought when I met you,” Nel said, “that I’d be relinquishing my ‘mystifying medicine show’ over to you. Are you up for it?”
“I’m no performer, Nel,” Ray said. “You know that. I’ve no gift for words either.”
“And you think Peter Hobnob can handle the hawking,” Nel said. “Does he have the proper disposition for leading the tabernacle?”
“He’s so excited,” Ray said. “I don’t think he’d consider anything else.”
Nel grumbled, “Your cast of performers hardly compares to my ensemble.”
“Mister Lamprey is working up some new songs,” Ray said. “And Piglet swears she has ideas for how that scruffy crew can be entertaining. Obviously the talent won’t be tachycardial, but Lorene … the Pirate Queen, she’s calling on old favors. Gathering funds to purchase a new steamer.”
“She’ll never be happy with this line of work.” Nel shook his head fretfully. “Next thing you know she’ll be robbing the tips at gunpoint.”
Ray laughed. “We’ll see. She’s promised to help us. After that, who can say where her crew will wind up.”
“In prison, if we’re all lucky,” Nel said, wringing his hands.
Ray said, “We have the tonics. The siren water. We just need to get them out to those who still suffer from the Gog’s Darkness.”
“It might take years.”
Ray shrugged. “Then years it will be.”
“And then?” Nel asked.
Jolie took Ray’s hand, and he smiled at the old Rambler. “You worry too much, Nel. We’ll be fine.”
Nel’s careworn smile creased his face. He nodded to Water Spider, and the Cherokee elder helped him hobble over to join Iron Tail and the others preparing to ascend the Wolf Tree.
The rougarou stood at the Tree’s base, Sally and Hethy nestled between Quorl and Renamex. The pathway’s stewards raised their hands in blessings as the group began slowly up the trunk. Ray looked up the Wolf Tree to where a faint figure stood high above. His father waited to guide them to the world beyond.
Ray and Jolie and Marisol and Redfeather and Hobnob and Sally and Hethy and the rougarou watched as the band of travelers rose higher and higher up the towering trunk to where the bark began to fade into luminous mist, higher still past the ghostly distant branches until the old Ramblers were gone from this world entirely.
Bringing to life the world of the Clockwork Dark has been a labor of love and a dream that never would have been realized had it not been for the support and hard work of many people, only a fraction of whom are named here. I would like to thank my brilliant editor, Jim Thomas, along with Chelsea Eberly, Meg O’Brien, and all the rest of the wonderful team at Random House; my enormously talented agents, Josh and Tracey Adams, for their enthusiasm and guidance; my wonderful critique group of Jennifer Harrod, Stephen Messer, and Jen Wichman; John Gorely, my cowboy research assistant; Bill and Claudia Bemis, the Butcher family, Randy and Marge Bye, Pat Gorely, and the Bauldree family for all their love and support; Margaret Henderson, Carol McLaurin, Sharon Wheeler, and all the rest of the thoughtful people in my hometown of Hillsborough for their kindness and invaluable support; Peter Kramer and Susan Gladin, for my inspiring writing cabin; Greg Hanson, my partner in all manner of things old-timey and creative; Rose, for making me laugh every day; and most especially Amy, for all your love, encouragement, and inspiration.
JOHN CLAUDE BEMIS grew up in rural eastern North Carolina running around the swamps and forests, reading fantasy and science fiction, playing violin, and having his head filled with his grandfather’s stories of train hopping and rambling around the country. Writing the Clockwork Dark trilogy, John wanted to create a world that captures America’s myths, draws on American legends and tall tales, and turns Southern folklore into epic fantasy.
A musician and former elementary school teacher, John lives with his wife and daughter in Hillsborough, North Carolina. Visit John’s website at JohnClaudeBemis.com.
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