Lex Trent: Fighting With Fire

by Alex Bell

  Carey East’s uncle − Nathaniel East − had been the loony of the family. Cracked in the head, so they said. But the Easts had always had money and influence so, rather than sending him to an asylum, they packed him off to conquer the Wild West. One might argue that that was something of a cruel thing to do considering the fact that Nathaniel was, after all, a complete nutter. But it was better than an asylum. And Nathaniel did have moments of lucidity. Which was why the East family were − just about − able to get away with referring to Nathaniel as an eccentric. So he had gone out to the West and, as the East family had no doubt secretly hoped, he eventually came to something of a sticky end there. But not before he built a house in Dry Gulch. It had been constructed to Nathaniel’s own special, secret specifications and was therefore . . . something of an oddity, to put it mildly.

  Lex had seen drawings of it. He had also, during one of his many visits to the Wither City library, looked at a grand total of five sets of building plans for it. They were all different. Try as they might, no architect seemed able to pin the building down on paper. It was full of secret passages, and it was generally agreed that they probably hadn’t all been discovered yet. There were staircases that led nowhere, and doors on the top floor that opened right out on to nothing. There were windows set into the floor, and corridors that started out a normal size but gradually narrowed to the extent that the only way a grown man could get to the end of them was to crawl on his hands and knees. The furniture was nailed down in practically every room. Even the individual billiard balls were nailed to the snooker table. This may have been an interim measure before Nathaniel found a witch to cast a sticking spell over the contents of the house. After that, almost nothing could be removed from the walls or the floor. The house looked just as it had done for over a hundred years.

  Nathaniel lived alone in the house for five years before, one fateful day, he was ambushed by a savage gang of outlaws. The group killed Nathaniel and took over his house, but not before Nathaniel had time to hide his most precious possession-a magical double-bladed sword known as the Sword of Life that he had supposedly been given as a reward for some service he had done a witch. The sword was said to be capable of cutting any material and killing any creature. It was a hero’s sword, made for noble quests and daring adventures. And − most importantly of all − it could give life, as well as take it away. All the years of life that the sword took from the men it killed were stored within the blade itself − until the day when someone took them out. The sword could not bring people back from the dead. Nor could it heal grievous wounds. But if a person was already alive and healthy then it would extend the natural period of their life. They would still die if they, for example, walked off the edge of a cliff, or had their head chopped off, but the natural period of their life would be extended and some of their youth would be restored.

  Lex wanted that sword. He’d wanted it ever since he first heard of it. It was rumoured to have a hundred years of life stored within the blade. Just think how invaluable such a thing would be! For the Games and for his thieving and scams. He could extend his own life by a century or more, and carry on adventuring well past the age he would otherwise be able to.

  The problem, however, was that the sword was hidden somewhere inside Dry Gulch House and had not been found in over one hundred years of searching, despite the fact that the house had been combed through from top to bottom. Many people said the sword wasn’t there at all and possibly never had been. They said it was a myth. Lex didn’t believe it. He thought the sword was there and he’d always intended to go and look for it one day. Now that the Game was to take them directly to Dry Gulch, the opportunity was just too good to miss.

  But the problem was that only cowboys and outlaws were allowed inside the house now. After Nathaniel East had been killed, the leader of the gang who’d attacked him − one Elijah Deadwood − had claimed ownership of the house and since then it had been passed down through the Deadwood family to this day. It was a rough, tough sort of place. Not at all the kind where Lex could just stroll in as himself if he didn’t want to get his teeth knocked out. So, if he was going to make it past the front doors, he would have to learn how to be a cowboy − or at least pass himself off as once convincingly − and he had a sneaky feeling that that was probably going to be easier said than done. Some things you can teach yourself, but others you need help for, and Lex was certainly astute enough to know the difference.

  ‘I suppose I absolutely have to have a companion by the time the Game starts, do I?’ he said, without much hope.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ the Goddess said at once. ‘You won’t be allowed to start otherwise.’

  ‘That’s what I thought.’

  The question, therefore, was how on earth was Lex going to find an outlaw from the Wild West in the Wither City within the next few days? Although the odd cowboy passed through from time to time, they were certainly not common for the simple reason that cowboys did not tend to have much money and so could not travel across seas very easily unless they went as stowaways.

  The next morning, however, Lex was aware of a flurry of activity as soon as he stepped out on to the harbour. Something was obviously going on, but then something usually was so he didn’t pay it much heed as he pushed his way past the closed-up stalls, being careful to keep his arms tucked in and not touch anybody.

  He was in a little winding street about five minutes away from the Chroniclers’ Guild when there was a shriek and someone yelled, ‘It’s him! It’s the outlaw, Jesse Layton! He’s getting away!’

  Lex’s ears pricked up and his head snapped round just in time to see a palomino horse come galloping around the corner, hooves skidding on the cobbles, nostrils flaring, eyes rolling. It was a magnificent creature quite unlike the workhorses Lex was used to with their dull eyes and lowered heads.

  And the man on its back was just as conspicuous for, in his flared trousers, checked shirt and wide-brimmed hat, he was a cowboy straight out of the pages of a Wild West novel.

  Lex only had time for a brief look before he had to jump back against a shop, flattening his back against the wall to avoid being trampled by the huge horse. They fled past and, without a second’s thought, Lex raced after them. When he reached the square with the Chroniclers’ Guild and the Royal Monument he saw a whole lot of policemen rushing off in the direction of the city gates. He was about to follow but he stopped. It was too obvious. To escape the police, you had to do what they weren’t expecting you to do, and, if this cowboy had ever been chased before, he would know that. Lex looked around the square. What would he have done? Sent the horse off in the direction of the road leading out of the city, that much was obvious. And then . . . His eyes swept the square until he found what he was looking for: The Old Bear pub wedged in beside the Monument Restaurant in the far right hand corner.

  Lex headed straight for it, went inside and − because he knew what he was looking for − found him at once. Right at the back, at a table all to himself, sat the cowboy, his hat pulled down low over his face and a pint of ale in his hand already. Lex walked over, pulled up a chair and sat down opposite him.

  ‘Are you really an outlaw from the Wild West?’ he said.

  The cowboy looked up slowly, tipping his hat back with his thumb. Now that Lex could see him properly, he judged him to be about forty years old, with an unshaven face, a nose that had clearly been broken at some point in the past, crow’s feet at the corners of his blue eyes and a long pale scar that stretched from just below his right eye all the way down to his square jaw.

  ‘Is it that obvious?’ he asked. He spoke with a drawling accent Lex had never heard before.

  ‘Take your hat off!’ Lex said urgently.

  The cowboy stared at him. ‘Now why ever would I do that? This here is my lucky hat.’

  ‘It’s going to get you caught!’ Lex replied, forcing himself not to glance nervously around the bar. ‘They probably won’t recognise your face but they’ll be looking for your hat.
Your best bet would be to give it to someone else. Preferably someone who’s of a similar height and build to you.’

  A gleam appeared in the cowboy’s eyes. ‘The old decoy gag, eh?’ He whipped off the hat to reveal untidy, longish brown hair. ‘You’re not as honest as you look, are you, friend?’ he said. ‘I take it you’re not thinking of trying to turn old Jesse Layton in to collect the reward money?’

  ‘I think you can help me,’ Lex said.

  ‘Probably, but I don’t help anyone but myself for free.’

  ‘Perhaps we can help each other.’

  ‘Can you make the sheriff and his men disappear into thin air?’ Jesse asked, staring out of the nearby window.

  ‘No, but I can—’

  ‘Then I don’t think you can help me much, kid,’ the cowboy said. ‘Just keep your mouth shut, eh?’

  And with that he grabbed his hat and ducked under the table. A moment later the door opened and five police officers walked in, staring suspiciously around the room. Everyone fell silent at the realisation that there was about to be trouble.

  ‘Listen up,’ one of the officers said. ‘We’re looking for a dangerous outlaw by the name of Jesse Layton. Someone said he came in here. Any of you lot seen ’im? He’s a big fella with one of them cowboy hats, spurs on his boots and the like.’

  ‘He was here,’ Lex said before anyone else could speak. ‘But then he left. Went out the back door not five minutes ago. If you hurry, you can catch him.’

  The police were halfway to the door when a nearby woman pointed and shrieked, ‘There’s a man under the table!’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about him. He just can’t hold his drink—’ Lex began, but it was no good. The police were doggedly coming over to check it out.

  Sensing what was about to happen, Lex jumped up from his seat and hurled himself to one side, thereby narrowly missing getting hit in the face with the table as Jesse burst out from under it, knocking two policemen down before they even knew what had happened.

  And then there was a bar-room brawl.

  Lex had seen fights break out like this before but he had never seen anyone as quick on their feet as Jesse Layton. Despite the fact that there were five policemen there, he very nearly got away. Lex ducked behind the bar as soon as the fighting started, whilst all the other customers headed straight for the doors. Lex was rather disappointed that no one got thrown along the bar, knocking all the glasses off to smash on the floor, for it was the kind of thing you expected in a brawl. Jesse got cornered against it at one point, though, whereupon Lex promptly handed him a glass bottle.

  ‘Thanks, kid,’ the cowboy said. He actually took a swig from it before smashing it down on the counter and then wielding it in such a threatening manner that the advancing policemen took a few nervous steps back.

  ‘I ain’t going back to Cactus Valley! You hear me? Not now, not ever! I’m dangerous and I’m desperate and the first guy who tries to arrest me is going to be eating broken bottle for dinner!’

  Oh yes, Lex thought, this is the man I need, no doubt about it. He was perfect! What luck that he should have come to the Wither City right at this particular time! Lex even wondered whether Lady Luck herself may have given a helping hand in bringing the two of them together. The cowboy certainly looked like the sort of person she would choose.

  ‘I’m going to back out of here nice and slow,’ Jesse said. ‘You goons stay there and we won’t have any upsets.’

  He made it right to the doorway when a sixth policeman appeared behind him and whacked the cowboy so hard round the head with his truncheon that Lex wouldn’t have been surprised if it had actually come off his shoulders. He couldn’t help but wince as the bottle fell from Jesse’s hand to smash at his feet and, still looking faintly surprised, the cowboy thumped down on to his knees to crumple, face down, on the floor.

  The policemen all started cheering and congratulating themselves but Lex was livid with anger. ‘You better not have done him any serious injury!’ he fumed at the officer with the truncheon.

  But the policeman just shrugged and said with a grin, ‘The reward poster says, “dead or alive”.’

  ‘Clearly you don’t know who you’re dealing with,’ Lex said coldly. He pointed at the prone cowboy. ‘This man is a companion to one of the players in the upcoming Game.’

  ‘Huh. What would you know about it, boy?’ the officer sneered.

  Lex drew himself up to his full height − which still wasn’t really all that impressive − and said, ‘I am Lex Trent, sir, and as you no doubt know, Lady Luck is my patron. This man was supposed to be my companion and your idiot henchman has fair near bashed his head in! If he’s not fit to play I will be very unhappy indeed and, what’s more, Her Ladyship will be extremely upset with all of you! And you’d be simply amazed at just how unpleasant your life can become when Lady Luck is upset with you! I hope the reward money turns out to be worth it!’ And then, because these were policeman who couldn’t be counted upon to understand sarcasm, he added bitingly, ‘But I doubt it very much!’

  Lex was pleased to see that they were now all looking rather worried.

  ‘I had no idea,’ the officer with the truncheon said, dropping the thing as if it had suddenly burnt him. ‘None at all. I’m ever so sorry, Mr Trent, truly I am. Please give my apologies to Her Ladyship, too. We’ll take your friend to the hospital straight away—’

  ‘Hospital?’ Lex interrupted. ‘Don’t be silly. It was only a little knock on the head; I’m sure he’ll be fine. Take him to a prison cell.’

  The policemen exchanged uncertain looks.

  ‘But . . . sir . . . you said—’

  ‘Look, I’m not going to ask you again. Put him in a cell and send for me as soon as he wakes up. And don’t say anything to him in the meantime.’

  The officers still looked rather confused but they readily agreed to what Lex had said. No one wants to be plagued with bad fortune for the rest of their days and everyone knew that Lady Luck was one to hold a grudge.

  Lex wanted Jesse Layton as his companion for the Game and he was certainly not averse to forcing him into it using the Binding Bracelets, but he would much rather that the cowboy came willingly. He knew from experience that unwilling companions tended to complain an awful lot, and if there was any complaining to be done then Lex liked to be the one to do it. Besides which, Jesse teaching Lex how to be an outlaw was probably going to work much better if the cowboy didn’t hate his guts for dragging him along on the Game against his will. So the trick was to make Jesse believe that going with Lex was a good thing − something that was most definitely in his own interests. And that was likely to work better if he believed the alternative was getting shipped back to Cactus Valley in handcuffs, ready to face the noose. So Lex had him packed off to the police station and didn’t even feel the tiniest bit guilty about doing so.

  When word was sent to his ship about an hour later that Jesse Layton had woken up, Lex did not rush down there straightaway but left it several hours until the evening. Better to let the cowboy stew a while, thinking about the fact that he’d been caught and was going to be sent back home for the reward money and then hanged by his neck until he was dead. A few hours spent dwelling on that was bound to make any alternative that didn’t involve getting strung up seem extremely attractive.

  When Lex turned up at the police station at about six o’clock that evening he was slightly disappointed to find that Jesse Layton did not appear to be as distraught as he’d hoped. Lying on his narrow bed in the cell, his hands were clasped behind his head, his hat was pulled down over his eyes, his long legs were stretched out with his ankles crossed and he was singing a rather cheerful little song about a bandit who killed an awful lot of people before setting fire to a village and riding off into the sunset.

  ‘He’s been singing like that for the last hour,’ the policeman whispered.

  Lex gave him a cold look. ‘Perhaps that whack on the head from earlier has left him brain damaged. Go awa
y. I want to talk to him in private.’

  The policeman hurried off and Lex stopped outside the cell. ‘Hey,’ he said, looking through the bars. ‘You in there. Remember me?’

  Jesse stopped singing and tipped back his hat. ‘ Why, if it isn’t the kid from the bar come to visit me.’

  ‘I’m not a kid. I’m seventeen. My name’s Lex Trent.’

  ‘Jesse Layton,’ the outlaw replied pleasantly.

  ‘Haven’t you heard of me?’ Lex demanded.

  ‘Should I have?’

  ‘You do follow the Games in the Wild West, don’t you?’

  ‘Oh, sure. If it’s anything to do with gambling, we’ve got it.’

  ‘Well, I played in the last Game and won it.’

  Jesse raised his eyebrows. ‘And you still have both arms and legs. Good for you.’

  ‘I’m about to play in another one. I’d like you to be my companion.’