by Ben Galley
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Merion told the dust at his feet.
Rhin attempted to flash one of his old trademark grins, but it quickly withered. ‘Excited to be getting out?’
‘Mmm,’ was all Merion said in reply.
Rhin kicked his boots together, and sighed.
Lurker soon rounded the corner, listing slightly to the left. Something sloshed in his pocket as he walked. He made no apology, and simply sniffed, rubbed his nose, and looked around. ‘Where’s Lil?’
‘Yet to arrive,’ Merion answered.
‘Think this’ll work? It’s failed the last three nights,’ Lurker grunted, looking between the boy and his faerie. ‘We’ve been lucky to get away with it so far. Now the soldiers are back, and Mayut’s drawin’ ever closer. They’re tightenin’ security.’ He was always more loquacious when he’d had a few, and Merion had to smile wryly. The mildly pickled prospector was right. They had been caught, or almost caught, three times since roasting the jackalope. Escape had been snatched from their hands like a starving dog deprived of its bone.
But tonight was the night, Rhin had promised. Tonight was none other than Brigadier General Lasp’s birthday, and there were to be celebrations in the mess hall, war be damned. With half the soldiers ordered to attend, smiles firmly plastered on their faces, escape would be theirs at last.
There came the sound of voices along the thoroughfare, and their heads snapped up. Rhin shivered out of sight, and Merion stood a little straighter. Lurker just sniffed as always.
‘As I was saying, Major, he’s right here. Aren’t you, Tonmerion Hark?’
‘I am indeed,’ Merion replied.
‘Like I said, up to no mischief.’ His aunt flashed him an urgent look with her eyes, and Merion stepped forwards.
It was Major Doggard. His face was more flushed than usual, stress glinting in his eyes, a sure sign that the general had given him forty lashes with the tongue. ‘Be that as it may, Ma’am, the Brigadier wants a word with the young man.’
‘For what reason?’ Merion asked.
‘What reason?’ echoed Lurker.
Doggard looked Lurker up and down, and his grip on his rifle visibly tightened. ‘What with all the suspicious goings on, and finding you three all about the fort at night, the Brigadier’s got to wondering. Wants to set the boy straight.’
‘He lays a hand on …’
‘Not like that, Ma’am,’ Doggard hissed. He ran an exasperated hand through his hair, which burned orange in the torchlight. ‘If it makes you feel better, I’ll be there the entire time.’
‘That it does, Major,’ Lilain said, jabbing her crutch into the ground, another flash of the eyes for Merion. ‘Nephew, come along.’
‘Fine,’ Merion mumbled, and followed Doggard up the path.
Merion waited until they were out of earshot of Lilain and Lurker before interrogating the major: ‘So what is he bent out of shape about now?’ he asked, casually.
It could have been a snigger, it could have been a cough, Merion wasn’t sure, but either way Doggard suppressed something. ‘I already told you.’
‘Tough fight, was it, the other day?’ Merion found himself saying, his boyish curiosity leading the way. It is a trait that all boys of Merion’s age and older are prone to, the desire to bask in the horror of some reality they cannot touch. Yet Merion had taken one step further: he had already tasted the horror, and wanted to understand more of it.
Doggard mulled over that for a while, replaying some vivid scene behind the eyes.
‘Tough as it gets.’
His reply was gruff, full of ice. They were coming up to the lodge, and the major fixed his eyes on the door as though his gaze could drag it closer.
‘Shamans, I imagine.’ It was a question, cleverly disguised, and Doggard nodded, eyes still locked ahead.
Merion sighed. ‘You have to attack them from all angles. Surround them,’ he commented, almost idly. He remembered crouching on his aunt’s roof, staring through the spyglass at the chaos.
Doggard raised his hand to the door and offered Merion a bitter look. ‘And what would a high-born Empire boy know of magick and battle?’ he whispered, before knocking.
‘Enter!’ somebody barked. No prizes for guessing who.
Merion combed his hair back with his hands and flashed a sweet smile. ‘Oh, I have quite a bit of experience, Major. Don’t forget where I crawled out of. Fell Falls still smoulders, or so I’ve heard,’ he retorted, before pushing his way through the door and leaving Doggard standing on the step.
‘Ah! If it isn’t Master Hark, our little escapee,’ Brigadier General Lasp hissed, striding out from behind a desk swamped with papers and leather-bound reports. It was a desk of war. The general had managed to pour himself into his finest formal uniform. A bright yellow sash and a swathe of medals, some of questionable origin, splayed across his chest. All he lacked was a magnificent steed and a painter to capture it all—something for the wall behind his desk, perhaps.
Merion’s smile tightened. ‘It’s actually Lord Hark, General, and correct me if I’m wrong, but to be an escapee, you actually have to escape at some point.’ Both were cheap shots, but Merion was never one to waste an opportunity.
With much flapping of the jowls, Lasp drew himself up to his full height and strode forwards to stare down at Merion. But the boy was taller than he looked, and the effect was not as intimidating as he had clearly hoped. He used his belly instead, forcing Merion to step back or be knocked to the floor.
‘Twice now, my men have caught you at the northern gate, near the stables, putting your noses where they aren’t wanted!’
Merion shrugged. ‘We were simply trying to find better accommodation. The horses seem to sleep better than us. We thought they wouldn’t mind a few humble refugees sharing their hay.’ He was not in the mood for this pompous man’s opinions. Lasp was a boulder in his path, which he wanted to hammer to pieces.
‘Why you ungrateful …!’ Anger choked him, and for a moment, Lasp looked as though he would slap the boy around the face, but Doggard crept forwards to clear his throat. The general snarled and walked a circle around the room, like a portly shark swimming around a seal pup. ‘Ungrateful little Empire whelp. You would rather be out there with the savages than in here, safe under the protection of my soldiers? I bring you under our wing, shelter you from the fighting …’
‘Stuff us all into a shed,’ Merion interjected.
Lasp turned a darker shade of beetroot. ‘I gave you bed and board! I will not be interrupted, Master Hark,’ Lasp barked. His voice had gained an edge.
‘And I will not be cooped up in a fort, kept as a prisoner instead of walking east like the free soul I am, Brigadier General!’
Lasp had only one piece to play. ‘You are under military jurisdiction, Hark. If I find you attempting to escape the confines of my fort again, I shall have you put in the jail.’
Merion inwardly thanked his father for his tiresome lectures on the military. ‘As I’m not an enlisted man, and far too young to be so, and as I do not even belong to this country, I do not believe you have that right.’
Lasp just boiled on the spot. He had obviously not planned for such fierce resistance. Merion imagined that his men usually just quailed in his ample presence. To the Brigadier’s right, a slim man in a uniform stepped forwards to whisper in his ear.
‘Your speech, Sir, it’s almost time,’ were the words Merion caught. Lasp smoothed his hair back, baring his teeth in a strained smile.
‘If my men find you near the stables again …’ He wagged a finger.
‘Do not fear, General. They won’t,’ Merion promised him, and he meant it. He did not wait to be dismissed. He simply turned and walked out of the door, leaving Doggard standing on the threshold.
‘I want that boy followed, Major. That is your only duty tonight.’
Doggard drew himself up and saluted. ‘Yes, General,’ he replied, and swept from the lodge, leaving a blood-red Lasp to curse an
d moan about jumped-up lordlings and foreigners.
*
‘What did he want?’ asked Lurker, as Merion loomed out of the darkness, hands stuck firmly in his pockets.
‘To satisfy his own need to feel important.’
‘Sounds about right,’ his aunt said.
Merion pulled a wry face. ‘Though he did order us to stay within the confines of the fort for our own safety, and said if he found any of us near the stables again, we would be thrown into the jail.’
‘Ah,’ she added.
‘The key word being “if”, however,’ Merion smirked.
‘Boy’s got a point,’ Lurker sniffed.
Merion looked around their little torch-lit circle, even glancing at Rhin for the briefest of moments. ‘I say we take the chance. Lasp will be busy giving speeches and swaggering his fat arse about. We won’t get another.’
‘If you’re certain, Merion?’ Lilain looked at her nephew.
Merion’s voice was firm as a brick. ‘Absolutely,’ he replied.
Lilain nodded, thumping her crutch in the dirt. ‘Rhin? Lead the way,’ she said.
The faerie rattled his wings. ‘Right you are.’
Half-faded and just barely visible, Rhin led them down the main path that sliced the fort in two, heading for the northernmost corner. Lurker brought up the rear, sniffing quietly to himself, his boots occasionally scuffing the earth.
Rhin held them at a small crossroads as a group of soldiers passed. Two of them were dragging a drunken comrade, grumbling between themselves about how unamused the Brigadier would be in the morning, with a hangover as sharp as a fresh-cut lemon. They’re right about that, Merion thought, as they waited for them to pass.
With the coast clear, the four walked on. Soon they caught sight of the familiar angles of the stable, dimly lit by the torches staked along the path. Merion silently cheered to note that there was no movement, nor any lights burning nearby.
Rhin held up a hand, and the others waited by the path as the faerie crept forwards to investigate. Long minutes rolled painfully past. All they could do was stay quiet and peer into the shadows around them. None of them particularly fancied a few days in jail, and now that it had been declared the prize for failure, it made them even more nervous. Even Merion, so determined to see this fort behind him, could not help but clench his jaw tightly.
‘It’s clear,’ a hushed voice said, and the other three moved forward, deeper into the darkness and closer to freedom.
The stables were empty, save for a trio of horses idly wandering their pens and snuffling gently. A few fireflies flashed like lost stars here and there in the darkness. Merion kept close behind his aunt, who in turn, kept close behind Rhin.
‘Stop right there,’ hissed a voice, loud in the silence. A figure in uniform stepped out of the darkness, holding a rifle low. It was Doggard. ‘I see you didn’t listen to a word the general said.’
‘Was I supposed to? Forgive me, all I heard was a buffoon blowing off steam,’ Merion muttered, his tone darker than the shadows.
‘He is the superior officer of this fort …’ the major began, but it was obvious from his own tone that the words were just mechanical. Any passion they had previously held was now gone, and the major could hear it in his own voice. He began to chuckle.
‘Maker, you’re a stubborn little fellow,’ he said.
‘These are stubborn times,’ Merion replied, searching Doggard’s eyes for a hint of a chance. ‘All I want, all we want, is to be back on the road, heading east. We have no interest in the war, or going anywhere near it, I assure you.’
‘Please, Major,’ Lilain spoke up. ‘I can see you’re a reasonable man. That’s rare in these parts. All you have to do is say you didn’t see us.’
Doggard wrestled with himself. ‘Lasp’ll have my guts for bootlaces.’
It was Lurker’s turn. ‘If losin’ a handful of refugees is more important to him than havin’ his men fit for war, then that should tell you all you need to know, Major,’ he said, rather poetically for a man of few words. ‘From one soldier to another, that ain’t right,’ he added.
Doggard looked at the man and met the dim glint of his eyes under the dark shadow of his hat. Lurker nodded, as if affirming some silent question. The major made an exasperated sound. ‘For Maker’s sake,’ he grunted. ‘Go, and go now. It better be something important, Hark, whatever it is that’s taking you east.’
‘Revenge,’ hissed the boy.
Doggard seemed a little taken aback, as did Lurker and Lilain for that matter, but the major nodded all the same. ‘At least that’s a reason I can understand,’ he replied grimly, and waved his rifle at them. ‘Go, before I change my mind.’
‘You’re a good man, Doggard,’ Lilain told him as she hobbled forwards.
The major stepped back into the shadows. ‘Don’t know what good it’ll do me.’
Without another word, they rushed to the door set into the wooden walls. Rhin had already been at the lock with a steel dagger, and it lay in the dust.
‘That was too close,’ he said, as they joined him.
One by one, they slipped through the doorway and out into the night. The desert was dark even with the starlight, a rolling, jagged rug of dust and rocks. Despite its monochrome bareness, the wind’s chill, and the howls and cries that floated to them on the breeze, no sight was more welcome, save maybe an ocean and a waiting steamer.
Merion hovered by the door as Rhin wedged it shut behind them. When he was done, he found Merion looking down at him, working his lips, unsure of what to say.
‘Good work,’ the boy finally muttered, before turning away.
Rhin bowed, gave him a smile, and followed the others.
Merion took a breath of the night air. ‘And here we go again,’ he whispered.
*
The morning sun came quick and fierce, scorching the earth as soon as it had hauled its weight above the horizon. Out on the meandering road, there was no shelter but for their hats.
The ground buzzed with heat and insects. A few dun desert birds flitted about from rock to rock, from cactus to sagebrush, catching mosquitos on the wing. Their songs were as drab as their feathers, but somehow this pinch of life helped to alleviate the monotony of walking and sweating, reminding them that life was indeed possible in this desert.
And sweat they did. By noon, their tongues were lumps of sand in their mouths, and sweat dripped down their brows in buckets. Lilain felt it the hardest, and several times her sweaty hands slipped from the crutch, and she pitched into the sand. Rhin was the only one who escaped the heat, sitting half in, half out of one of Lurker’s larger pockets. Rhin highly doubted Merion would have suffered to carry him in his bag.
The rough road traipsed through the desert as if it were in no hurry to get anywhere. It was a complete contrast to the railroad, which carved its own straight path through the rocks and hills, never more than a mile or two away from the wandering road. Once or twice, locomotives rattled past, heading towards the frontier, their carriage windows filled with grim-eyed soldiers and Cathayan workers. The four stayed low and watchful as the trains rattled on. The war with the Buffalo Snake was clearly more important than a few escaped refugees.
Their flasks were almost empty before Lurker found them a lake. Lori, he had called it, and it was cold and fresh. They spent an hour there, maybe longer, washing the sweat from their skin and clothes, drinking their fill of lake water, and eyeing the halo of vultures they had collected, The vultures had been circling since noon, hoping for a little morsel by sunset. They soared high above on the rising afternoon heat, winged blotches against the empty sky.
The landscape seemed lost for creativity, had barely changed since they had left the fort—or even Fell Falls for that matter. The sand was perhaps yellower, and there were more plants, but it remained as bare as a beggar’s plate, and devilishly hot as always. Merion found himself praying for something four-legged, saddled and lost by the time the sun was beginnin
g to slip away towards tomorrow.
*
That night, they made camp in a ring of boulders at the foot of a scrubby hill, where the fire could crackle quietly to itself without attracting too much attention. Lurker had led them on a winding path on and off the road, to confuse their tracks, but a fire is a beacon, one that is wise to keep out of sight. There were other things in this desert besides Lasp’s soldiers—more dangerous things.
Lilain knew this, and sat at the edge of the firelight cleaning their only two guns. They had managed to break down Long Tom II, as Lilain had affectionately dubbed her new, or rather stolen, rifle, and stow it in Lurker’s pack shortly before being taken in to Fort Kenaday. The Mistress, the pistol that had taken the lives of the Serpeds, had been hidden in his coat. Lurker had commandeered it after losing that cannon of his to the sheriffsmen of Fell Falls. The forfeiture clearly still irked him, obvious in the way he stared at the gleaming gunmetal in Lilain’s deft fingers, and in the way he kept taking short sips from his flask. It was not lake water he was drinking.
Rhin was sat beside the letter, sharpening his sword and knives on a tiny whetstone. His pointed ears twitched every time a howl or a screech rang out in the darkness.
Merion was oblivious to it all: the cleaning, the staring, and the night-noises. He just stared at a sliver of dried jackalope meat pinched between his finger and thumb, counting the days in his head. It must have been the hundredth time that week he had totted them up, and every time the total pulled the knot in his stomach a little tighter. Fifteen days.
Fifteen days since he had sent Castor Serped to his well-deserved grave.
Fifteen days for the news to reach London.
Fifteen more days for greedy hands to strengthen their hold over his father’s estate.
The realisation had struck Merion the morning after the fire, while they were rooting through the Serped train that Rhin had stolen for the Wit, finding nothing but a few forgotten coins. As the others had cursed and muttered, he had perched on the edge of the driver’s cabin, his legs dangling over the tracks, sullen and still reeling from the events of the night before.