by Sarah Gailey
“We’ll have words later, you and I,” he muttered to her. She flapped her ears at him, and he was struck with a sudden sense of unease. “Archie, do you mind staying down here to keep an eye on her? Lord only knows what’s gotten into her this time.”
Archie saluted from her perch atop Rosa’s back. Houndstooth returned the salute, and began to climb.
He reached the top of the ladder and shouted another greeting to the ranger, not wanting to startle the man with the rifle.
“Hello up here? I’m coming up, but I’m unarmed!”
He crested the top of the ladder and found himself inside the little box of a sentry tower. His eyes adjusted to the dimly lit outpost, and he realized that there were two men in the tower with him. The ranger, in his wide hat, was silent. It was the other man who spoke.
“Oh, good,” came the second man’s smooth, soft reply. “I was worried you’d bring weapons with you, and then I’d have to kill you myself.”
With that, Travers shoved the ranger over the edge of the tower. The utter lack of resistance the man showed to being pushed told Houndstooth that he had already been dead when they’d arrived. Travers turned to face Houndstooth, a thin smile on his face and a revolver in his hand.
“Well,” Houndstooth said, raising his hands slowly into the air. “I know when I’m outmatched. Are you going to kill me, Travers?”
“No, no, certainly not,” Travers drawled, advancing a few steps. “The ferals will take care of that for me. They take care of most of my problems for me, you know. Cheaters, thieves, nosy inspectors. Mercenary hoppers who don’t know when to go home with their tails between their legs.” He took another step toward Houndstooth. “I’ll have that detonator in your pocket, if you don’t mind.”
Houndstooth kept his hands in the air. His voice was cold as he watched Travers advance. “I don’t know what you mean, Travers. Hero had the detonator.”
Travers laughed—a sound like molasses dripping into the bottom of a barrel. “Oh, don’t play games with me, Mr. Houndstooth. The house always wins.” He pointed his gun to Houndstooth’s bulging breast pocket. “Right there. Quickly now—before my men have to motivate you.” He gestured down to the water, and Houndstooth leaned as far toward the ledge as he dared. Travers’ goons held Archie at gunpoint. She looked up at Houndstooth, disgruntled.
“Four on one, eh, Travers? None too sporting of you.”
“Oh, Miss Archambault could easily take on two of them—perhaps even three, I wouldn’t put it past her. I play to win, Mr. Houndstooth. Now, let’s not waste any more time. Give me the detonator, and I’ll let you go down to her. You two can try to escape! Or at the very least, you can die together.” He cocked back the hammer on the revolver. “Come now. I don’t have all day.”
Houndstooth held up the detonator, and before he could say a word, Travers had taken it from him.
“Thank you, Houndstooth. You know, I’d been expecting someone sly? Not you, though,” Travers said, flipping the detonator in his hand. “This really does make my life so much easier.”
“Fat lot of good it’ll do you,” Houndstooth laughed despite himself. “That’s one detonator. You do realize who hired us, don’t you? The federal government won’t be deterred by one little weasel of a man with a revolver. They will get these hippos out of the Harriet, Travers. Your tiny kingdom will crumble.”
Travers grinned, a dark joy spreading across his face. “Oh, Mr. Houndstooth. I want the hippos out of the Harriet, too! Just, not quite the same way.” He began to pace. “My little kingdom will become an empire. Just me, my riverboats, and the ferals, from Minnesota to the Harriet.”
Houndstooth watched Travers like a mouse watching a snake. “And how exactly are you going to get your riverboats over the dam, Travers?”
Travers held up the detonator. “Your little crew of hoppers helped with that, Mr. Houndstooth.” Houndstooth frowned, not following Travers’ logic. “Oh, yes! Yes, you see, Adelia told me all about the bombs you planted in the river. How handy! A whole passel of bombs, already rigged for my convenience.” He paused in his pacing, his face shining with excitement. “Last night, while you were crying over your poor departed little lover, I was out on the water, moving the buoys they set up. All sixteen! Oh, it wasn’t easy,” he hastened to add, mistaking Houndstooth’s dawning horror for unbelief. “But I’ve always been a determined man, Mr. Houndstooth. Determination is everything.”
“You’re . . . you’re going to blow the dam,” Houndstooth breathed, his head swimming with implications.
“Oh, yes, Mr. Houndstooth,” Travers replied fervently. “I’m going to blow the dam. I’m going to send a flood of ferals up the Mississippi, along with all their little hops. I’m going to seed the water with teeth and reap my reward.” His voice descended to a harsh growl. “I’m going to own this river.”
He raised the detonator high, and Houndstooth knew that he was going to press the button, destroying the dam. Destroying Hero’s legacy. Destroying his chance at vengeance.
Houndstooth launched himself at Travers, knocking the man off his feet. They landed at the very edge of the ranger’s platform. The revolver spun off, splashing into the water thirty feet below. The detonator clattered to the floor just out of reach. Houndstooth pressed his arm against Travers’ throat.
“Do you remember when I said I was unarmed, Travers?” Houndstooth pulled the ivory-handled knife from his belt; Adelia had sharpened it so finely that the edge was very nearly invisible. “I lied.”
Travers grinned savagely. “Do you remember when I said I wouldn’t kill you, Houndstooth?” Houndstooth felt a pain in his side. “I lied, too.”
Houndstooth’s vision went briefly red. He slashed wildly, and when his vision had cleared, Travers’ face had been slit from brow to lip. Blood flowed into his eye and mouth and ran hideously down the side of his face.
“That,” he spat with grim satisfaction, “was for killing Cal before I had the chance.” He slashed again, leaving another gash across Travers’ face, marking him with a bold bleeding X. “And that was for my ranch—the ranch you couldn’t burn down yourself, you fucking coward.”
He went to step forward, to deliver a killing blow, but he found that something was tugging at his side. He reached a hand down to free himself. All the wind seemed to leave Houndstooth’s lungs as his fingers found the hilt of the tiny knife that protruded from his side. Just like Hero, he thought.
Travers took Houndstooth’s moment of distraction as an opportunity. He hit the hilt of the knife with the heel of his hand, shoving it farther into Houndstooth’s side. As Houndstooth roared in pain, Travers scrambled for the detonator. Houndstooth tried to reach for him—tried to stop him—slipped in Travers’ blood, and fell hard.
Travers had the detonator.
He raised it over his head, and pressed the button.
Houndstooth half expected to die right then and there. He half expected the entire Harriet to blow up. What he didn’t expect, not even for a moment, was for the detonator to fail, because Hero had made the detonator, and Hero was the smartest person Houndstooth had ever met.
And he had been right. The bombs didn’t fail.
A rumble like thunder sounded in the distance. Houndstooth looked out of the ranger’s outpost, and saw a cloud rising through the pink morning light in the distance. He yanked the blade out of his side—it was a short one, too short to have done serious damage, but it hurt like hell. He threw the knife over the side of the tower as Travers laughed. When he looked, Travers was clutching his face, holding the flap of his lip in place with one bloody hand.
“You’ve done it,” Houndstooth whispered. “You crazy bastard, you’ve done it.”
“I’ve done it, and there’s not a damn thing you can do to stop those hippos from filling the Mississippi.”
Houndstooth looked over the edge of the ranger’s tower and into the rippling water. His heart stopped for a moment.
“Travers, open the Gate.”<
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Travers remained on the floor, laughing hysterically.
“Open the Gate, damn you, open it!” Houndstooth made for the large lever that would start the Gate opening, but Travers grabbed his leg.
“Don’t bother,” Travers gasped through his laughter. “I’ve disabled it. Cut the cable. It won’t open. The hippos can only go North, now.”
“Look outside, Travers,” Houndstooth urged the bleeding, cackling man. “Look at the water.”
Travers rolled to one side. He was close enough to the edge of the platform to look over. His laughter stopped abruptly.
“Do you see that?” Houndstooth asked, pointing down at the debris that was rapidly collecting against the Gate, battering Archie and the hippos. “That’s the front of the wave. You blew the dam, Travers. All the water that was behind that dam is headed our way, and it’s going to carry everything with it.”
Travers grinned, pulling himself to his feet. He needed both hands to do it; when he dropped his hand from his face, his skin fell open in a ghastly gash. “Well,” he said, “good thing I’m up here, isn’t it? The waters won’t be rising above thirty feet. Looks like all those ferals will be trapped against the Gate, hmm? And I’m sure they’ll be hungry.” He placed a hand firmly on Houndstooth’s back. “Enjoy the flood, Houndstooth.”
He pushed hard, and Houndstooth flipped over the railing, falling into the rising waters of the Harriet.
Chapter 14
ARCHIE WATCHED THE CLOUD of dust billow across the horizon as the dam blew. A wave emerged out of the spray falling detritus, a huge ripple that didn’t crest but instead grew as it approached. Even at a distance, it was big enough that she could see the shadows it pushed ahead: boats, buoys, ferals.
She watched as Travers shoved Houndstooth over the edge of the ranger’s outpost. She watched as he fell.
In the moment before Houndstooth hit the water, the wave hit the Gate. Archie, Rosa, Betsy, Abigail, and Ruby all rode the swell, slamming into the Gate as the wave broke against it. Betsy let out a pained roar before the water crested over her head.
Houndstooth slammed into the Gate next to Ruby. Archie suspected that this was no accident—the Cambridge Black had watched her hopper closely as he fell. A moment later, he was on Ruby’s back, looking dazed and sodden but whole. Archie breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of Houndstooth, safe.
Then she realized that none of them were safe at all.
Behind her, two of Travers’ goons screamed. Archie turned to see their mangled bodies, trapped between the Gate and a weather-beaten canoe. The current—fast, now, and relentless—kept the canoe pressed against them, and the water rose intermittently over their heads. They struggled in vain to free themselves.
Archie urged Rosa forward with only a moment of hesitation, but before she could reach the men, a shadow loomed overhead. She wheeled Rosa around and saw Houndstooth, already fleeing along the length of the Gate. Archie followed him, pressing Rosa forward, trying to get out of the path of the fast-approaching Sturgess Queen.
Travers’ other riverboats were tethered, docked, anchored hard; they would have flipped over and sunk under the wave. But the Sturgess Queen was designed to tool around the Harriet, providing gamblers with a constantly changing view of the scenery. The huge wave had swept it to the Gate, and it nearly filled the narrow passage. Archie looked over her shoulder and could see nothing but the planks of the boat as it rushed toward her.
Rosa slammed into the sentry tower with all the force of her three thousand pounds. Archie pressed herself against the hippo’s back as the boat barrelled toward her. In front of her, Houndstooth did the same, pressing one hand against the stone of the tower as if it could steady him.
And then the boat was passing them. Not missing them—the leg of Archie’s breeches tore open and she felt half of her skin go with the fabric—but not striking them. Not killing them.
The boat slammed into the Gate with a deafening crash.
The current was strong, and the Sturgess Queen was massive—but the Gate was bigger. The Gate was stronger. It groaned under the impact of the riverboat, but it held. The water at the base of the boat flushed pink with the pulp of the two men who had been crushed against the grate. The debris that the current pushed toward it gathered against the hull of the Sturgess Queen: sticks and leaves and a half-rotted rowboat. As Archie watched, a tiny, squirming hop poked its head out of the water, scrabbling against the side of the boat.
Travers’ two remaining goons eased around the corner of the sentry tower. They didn’t seem to notice Archie and Houndstooth as they splashed in the water, arguing over who would be first up the ladder and into the ranger’s tower, to safety. One of them managed to dunk the other, and clambered over him toward the ladder. The man in the water reached up an arm to grab his colleague’s leg.
With a jerk and a splash, the man disappeared under the water. He came back up again, sputtering. Then he was airborne, flipped by the nose of the first adult feral to reach the Gate.
Archie and Houndstooth watched as the man flailed between the feral’s jaws. The man screamed in ear-splitting agony as his blood ran down the hippo’s jowls and into the water. His colleague scrambled up the ladder to safety, not looking back even as the screams died with a wet crunch.
“Archie,” Houndstooth said, his voice thick. “I think this might be it.”
“You may be right, ’oundstooth,” Archie replied grimly. “But I am determined to live. And determination is everything, is it not?”
She swung her meteor hammer in a wide circle over her head and watched the water as the ferals surged toward them, borne on the swell of the current. The heavy metal head whipped through the air as it gained speed.
At first, the ferals didn’t notice Houndstooth and Archie. They were smacking into each other, into the Sturgess Queen. They bellowed and bit as the water shoved them into each other. One of the bulls let out a roar that rattled Houndstooth’s very bones.
The first feral to notice them was a small female with a long crack running through one of her fangs. She whipped toward them, fury in her wild eyes, and charged.
Rosa fled left, carrying Archie out of the path of danger and far from Houndstooth—but Ruby did not follow. She let out a roar that put the raging feral bulls to shame. She turned her wide mouth toward the attacker and opened it, ready to fight. Her golden tusks glinted in the sun. Houndstooth unsheathed his knives, bracing his knees in the saddle, and bared his teeth, echoing Ruby’s stance.
Water fanned in front of the feral as she bore down on Ruby and Houndstooth, her own jaw yawning wide—but then a brown blur slammed into her from one side, knocking her into the water. Betsy—sweet, small, battle-scarred Betsy—bowled the feral over, sinking her fangs into its flank before it had a chance to recover from the impact.
“Betsy!” Houndstooth cried as the little brown hippo disappeared into the roil of ferals. He looked around for Archie, but she, too, seemed to have vanished in the fray. A grey-backed hippo brushed up against Ruby, and Houndstooth jumped, prepared to fight—but it was Abigail, cowardly Abigail, Hero’s Abigail, trying desperately to hide between Ruby and the tower.
A roar drew Houndstooth’s attention back to the roiling mass of ferals, who were savagely fighting each other as the water buffeted them into the Gate. Houndstooth’s safe shelter against the tower was keeping him and Ruby out of the worst of the current—but it was too much to hope that they would completely escape notice, and Abigail’s flight had drawn the attention of a huge, one-eyed bull.
It was that bull whose roar had shaken Houndstooth’s bones—a roar that was directed at cowering Abigail. The bull began to move toward them, parting a path through the seething mass of grey that was the feral melee. Houndstooth went cold with fear. The bull was easily half again as large as Ruby. His massive head swung to and fro as he snapped at other, smaller ferals. He was coming for them, and they wouldn’t stand a chance.
Houndstooth tried to steer Rub
y out of the way—tried to maneuver her out of the path of certain death—but she wouldn’t budge. Houndstooth cast his gaze frantically around for Archie, but he couldn’t see her, and there was no time because the bull was free of the tangle of ferals and he was charging at Ruby with all the fury of a freight train.
Ruby did not bellow at the bull. She stared at him dead on, and Houndstooth could have sworn he felt her tremble. Time seemed to Houndstooth to have slowed to a crawl. He patted Ruby’s flank with an unsteady hand. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, trying to accept that there was no way out of the path of the bull—but he realized that closing his eyes did not make it easier to face his death. He would never see Hero again, and he couldn’t swallow that with his eyes closed.
His eyes flew open just in time for him to see Rosa. She galloped around from the other side of the ranger’s tower, water shearing before her, a white blur with Archie standing atop her back. Archie yelled, a thundering cry that made even the feral bull hesitate for a moment in his charge. Archie, magnificent Archie—she swung her meteor hammer hard and released it, and it flew true and straight, and it hit the bull hard between the eyes with a crack like lightning. Blood stained the water. The bull stood in the water and swayed like a drunk, his eyes still locked on Ruby. He made a single, unsteady movement forward. Houndstooth threw a knife and it sunk deep into the hippo’s remaining eye—a surreal echo of Adelia’s strike back at the islet where Neville had died.
The beast fell.
Archie crowed as Rosa crowded beside Abigail and Ruby. “That makes ten times I ’ave saved your life, ’oundstooth! No more of this nine-and-a-half nonsense, eh?”
“Where’s Betsy?” Houndstooth asked her. Archie pointed to a small brown smudge on the other side of the water—Betsy had gotten herself out of the fray. Houndstooth blew an exasperated sigh. The hippo would have to be retrieved. As he watched, the smudge made its way onto the bank across the water from the sentry tower.