by Sarah Gailey
“So,” Houndstooth said. “You quit?”
“I got all the smoke I needed ten years ago.” Cal smiled around his toothpick. The smile did not extend beyond the corners of his lips.
Houndstooth ashed his cigar directly onto the tabletop. He stayed at the Harriet Inn as frequently as any other hopper, but he felt no affection for the place. It was only ten years old, and it still smelled to him of smoke and burning hops. It rested on the grave of his old ranch: Travers had used the land to build the Harriet Inn, so that anyone too drunk to get home from the Harriet had a place to lose the remainder of their money.
“You know,” Cal said in a conversational tone, “if I didn’t need the money to pay off Travers, I’d just as soon kill you.”
Houndstooth took a pull on his cigar and let the smoke curl out of his nose. “Really?” he asked. “Because I could just as easily not find Adelia for you. I’m sure she’d rather not be found. Especially not by a man she went fugitive to avoid.”
Cal bit his toothpick in half. He did not respond.
Twenty minutes of thick, heavy silence later, toward the butt end of Houndstooth’s cigar, Archie walked in. She sat on the bench with her back against the wall, avoiding the too-small chairs that surrounded the other three sides of the table.
“Well, hot damn. If it isn’t the great Regina Archambault,” Cal drawled, putting unnecessary emphasis on “great” as he fingered the bandage that covered his left ear.
“Call me Archie,” she said, not looking at him. “Winslow, do you ʼave another one of those cigars to share? I’ve been on the road all goddamned day.”
As Houndstooth pulled his cigar case out of his pocket and cut a fresh one, the door eased open. Hero slid in, melting easily into the shadows of the dimly lit bar, and slipped into a chair.
“Well, that’s it. We’re all here.”
“Un moment, s’il vous plaît,” Archie said. She whistled a few short, high notes, like birdsong. A towheaded boy poked his head into the bar. She signaled him, and he perched on the bench next to her.
“This is Neville. ’E is my assistant.”
The table was still for a moment; then, everyone looked at Houndstooth. Archie addressed him directly, ignoring Cal and Hero.
“I trust ʼim, Winslow. The boy knows where ʼis loyalties lie. Plus, ʼe knows that if ʼe ever betrays us, I’ll gut ʼim like a one-legged ʼop. Isn’t that right, Neville?”
Neville nodded strenuously, looking only at Houndstooth.
“Well, if you trust him, Archie, then I suppose he can stay.”
Archie ashed her cigar onto the floor, satisfied.
“Well,” Houndstooth said. “Let’s all get to know each other. You all know me, so I’m not going to introduce myself—forgive me, Neville, you’ll just have to figure me out on your own time.” Neville nodded again, with vigor.
“Archie,” Houndstooth said, gesturing with the stump of his cigar, “is the finest con either side of the Mississippi. Her meteor hammer can take down a charging bull faster than anyone I’ve ever seen. She’s saved my life nine and a half times.”
“Ten,” Archie said, grinning around her cigar.
“Nine and a half,” Houndstooth responded with a smile. “Also, she’s got a connection to a certain U.S. marshal of whom we don’t want to run afoul.” Cal looked as though he had a comment to add. Archie levelled a pitiless stare at him, and he thought better of it.
“Hello, Archie,” Hero said, extending their hand. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
Archie shook Hero’s hand. “Charmant,” she said, and to the surprise of everyone at the table, it sounded for all the world like she actually meant it.
“From what I’ve been told,” Houndstooth continued, “Hero there could blow up a bank vault using a pile of hippo dung and a cup of water, and they could make it look like an accident. Plus, they could poison a hummingbird and it would dip its beak twice before it dropped. They’re smarter than I am, which is saying something. And they’re—” He coughed, took a sip of his drink. “They’re, ah, they’re just a great team member.”
“What kind of a name is ‘Hero’?” Cal muttered around his mangled toothpick.
“It’s my name,” Hero responded.
Cal spat splinters into the sawdust on the floor, then selected a fresh toothpick to maim. Archie raised her eyebrows. “And who is this charming young man?”
“Calhoun Hotchkiss,” Houndstooth said archly. “He’s the fastest gun in the West.”
“I’m the fastest gun anywhere.” Cal responded with the speed of deep-seated bitterness over the title.
“He’s also the only one of us that’s ever dealt with ferals,” Houndstooth added. “Aside from Adelia Reyes, if we can find her. He’s spent years working on the Harriet. He knows everything there is to know about it. He’s stupider than he looks, but he shouldn’t hold us back too much.”
“And what about you?” Cal retorted. “What do you bring to the table, you smug fuck? Who made you the boss?”
Houndstooth was evidently ready for this question. His hand flicked, and before Calhoun could flinch, there was a tiny click on the table in front of him. All the eyes at the table fell on the sliver of wood that suddenly lay in the puddle of condensation left by Cal’s beer.
Cal reached up and felt for his toothpick, which had been sliced cleanly in half.
Houndstooth rested both his hands on the tabletop. One of them held the same stiletto blade he’d drawn on the riverboat.
“I’m the boss, Calhoun Hotchkiss, because I’m faster than you. I’m smarter than you. I’m better than you. And I’m the one who can send the telegram that will get you paid at the end of this. So here’s what’s going to happen: you’re going to get us into the places that only your reputation can get us into. You’re going to shoot fast and you’re going to shoot straight. You’re going to be helpful and respectful. If you don’t do those things, then you don’t get paid. Is that clear?”
Cal drew a fresh toothpick from his pocket and inserted it into his mouth, saying nothing.
“Good,” Houndstooth responded. He glanced around the bar. It was empty but for them and the bartender. “Now, we need to find the fifth member of our crew.” He slid a photograph into the center of the table—the same photograph that Gran Carter had left sitting on the felt of the poker table earlier that day. Adelia Reyes stared unsmiling out of the photograph. Everyone at the table examined the photograph, but it was Cal who reached for it first. He looked at it for a long time, swallowing hard; then he set it back in the center of the table and stared at his hands for a few minutes, clearing his throat every few seconds.
“You’re all familiar with Adelia Reyes. She’s been missing for seven months.”
Cal coughed. “Seven and a half.”
“Right,” Houndstooth said, frowning at Cal. “Seven and a half months. She rides two hippos: a Standard Grey and an Arnesian Brown. She switches between the two so she doesn’t have to rest either one—so we’ll probably find her near the water somewhere. Can’t travel overland with two hippos for long.”
Neville, who had been silent until that point, raised his hand. Archie gave him a quelling look, but he kept his eyes fixed on Houndstooth, who, after a long minute, waved a hand at the boy.
“Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Houndstooth sir, but I’ve seen that woman.”
All eyes at the table swivelled toward Neville.
“You’ve what?” Hero and Archie said at the same time. Cal looked at the boy with an intensity so sharp it put Winslow’s knives to shame.
“I’ve seen her. Just now, outside. She was … well, she was at the tobacconist, sir. She looked … a little different from how she looked in that photo, sir. She spotted me ʼn Archie, and while I was putting Rosa up in the pond out back, she came by the water to visit, and she—” He met Cal’s eyes and paused.
“She what, Neville?” Hero asked gently.
“Um, well.” Neville turned to Houndstooth. “She
came by the pond, and she took a look at Ruby—that’s the hippo with the gold tusks, right? She looked inside Ruby’s mouth and asked if I knew who rode her here, and I said I didn’t, and then she looked at the other grey in the pond, the one with the nasty scars? She talked to that one for a while.”
Cal sucked in a breath at this and looked back down at his hands. A little blood had started to soak through the bandage over his ear.
Houndstooth sprang up from the table and made for the door. Archie gave Neville a little shove. “Go after ʼim, now. Show ʼim where you saw ʼer.”
But before Neville could get up—before Houndstooth made it across the bar—the door burst open. A woman walked in and stood, silhouetted in the doorframe until the door swung closed behind her.
She took a few steps forward, into the light, and looked over the crew assembled around the scarred old table.
“Well,” Adelia Reyes said. “Well, well, well.” The most brutal contract killer of the late nineteenth century folded her hands over her distended belly and winked at Calhoun Hotchkiss, before settling her gaze on Houndstooth. “I’d be willing to bet you’re looking for me, Mr. Houndstooth.”
The crew assembled at the table watched as the outline of a tiny foot pressed at Adelia’s shirt. She pressed a hand to it. “Shhh, mija. Mama’s working.”
Calhoun slid sideways off his chair and fell to the sawdust on the floor, unconscious.
“Hello, Adelia,” Houndstooth said. “How would you like to make eight thousand dollars?”
Adelia pulled out a chair, not minding too closely whether the chair’s legs smacked into Cal’s head. She sat with her legs spread wide to accommodate her belly, resting a foot on Cal’s neck. She smiled at Houndstooth, her hands stroking the shifting mass of her stomach.
“Well,” she said softly, “what’s the job?”
Chapter 7
It was quiet in the swamp. Deep quiet—the kind that’s defined by the buzz of insects and the lapping of water and the thick wet heat of the day. The shade of the willow and sycamore trees that grew along the edge of the water dappled the golden light, but their shade wasn’t enough to cut through the weight of the heat. The hoppers rode slowly, easily—they shared an unspoken need to enjoy the calm of the swamp. It would be their last peaceful day. Soon, they’d reach the Mississippi Gate, and the chaos would begin.
Adelia rode Stasia, her heavily armored Arnesian Brown, without a saddle. She rode cross-legged, one hand wrapped around her belly; the other gripped the pommel of Stasia’s harness. Stasia, an exemplar of her breed, snapped at birds that flew too close to her snout. She grumbled at sticks that bumped into her legs, and squinted suspiciously at the other hippos. And yet, for all her aggression, she seemed devoted to Adelia—Adelia, who swayed with Stasia’s rolling gait, occasionally singing nonsense to her in lilting tones. “Stasia, my Anastasia, Ana Aña, Aña-araña…”
Neville rode next to her on her second hippo, Zahra. He knelt awkwardly in the borrowed saddle, but Zahra—an aging Standard Grey, nearly identical to Abigail save for the livid bolt of white across her brow—followed Stasia gamely, ignoring the way the boy pitched to and fro in the saddle.
“Miss Adelia, this is so hard,” he said, out of breath from struggling to maintain his balance. “How come you can do it without even a saddle?”
“I have been doing it since I was in my mother’s belly,” she replied with a wisp of a smile. “When my little niña is born, she will ride with me, and she will be just as strong as I am. Stronger, perhaps.”
“What if it’s a boy?” Neville asked, clutching at the saddle.
“It won’t be a boy.”
Neville stared at her for a few moments without speaking, his eyes lingering on her belly.
“You are wondering about the father,” she said, unsmiling. Neville stammered an incoherent denial, his blush destroying his credibility.
“There is no father,” Adelia said. “There is a man who gave me the child I wanted from him.”
Neville stared hard at his hands. “Alright ma’am,” he whispered, mortified. She grinned at his embarrassment.
“I am not ashamed, boy. I have no need of a husband. This girl will have no need of a father. Perhaps a second mother, someday—but if not?” She shrugged. “It makes no difference.”
A sharp whistle sounded from behind them, where Archie rode her diamond-white Rosa. Neville twisted in the saddle to look at her, then caught himself on the pommel as he nearly tipped out of the saddle. Adelia whistled back without looking away from the water ahead. Archie’s rich, deep laugh carried over the sound of the hippos’ splashing progress through the shallows of the swamp.
Ahead of them, Cal, Houndstooth, and Hero rode abreast. Ruby slid through the water like a shadow between runty brown Betsy and Hero’s grey Abigail. Shy, sweet Betsy bumped out of the way with a sidelong glance at the sleek black hippo, but Abigail didn’t seem to notice her. Ruby came close enough to Abigail that Houndstooth’s leg brushed against Hero’s. Hero startled.
“I didn’t—I didn’t hear her get so close,” they said, holding their hat on with one hand.
“Well, you wouldn’t, would you?” Houndstooth said. “Some things just sneak up on you like that.”
Hero tried to stop the smile that spread across their face, but it was too late; Houndstooth was already grinning back.
* * *
As dusk settled over the marsh, the hoppers clustered closer together. Houndstooth rode in front. Behind him, Adelia, Archie, and Neville clustered together. Hero and Cal rode behind, occasionally shooting wary glances at each other.
“So, I’ve been wondering,” Adelia said. “What is that for?” She pointed at the coiled chain that Archie wore on her hip. “It looks like the strangest bola I’ve ever seen. I can’t imagine using it to disable a man, much less a charging hippo.”
Archie smiled. “I adore your idea of small talk, Adelia. This is my meteor ʼammer.” She patted the smooth metal ball that swung beside her thigh. “I will show you ʼow it is used sometime. I think you will like it.”
“It’s really somethin’, she showed me on the way here,” Neville piped. “She swings the chain around her whole entire body and then she just turns and whips it and pow!” He slapped Zahra’s flank. The hippo didn’t seem to notice. “It just crunches whatever she aims it at!”
“I hope I don’t have a need to see it in action,” Adelia said, “but I would love to see a demonstration.” She looked at the meteor hammer and for a moment, genuine affection ghosted her features. “At any rate, we should find a place to tie up,” Adelia said. “It’s unwise for us to be in the water after sundown.”
“Oui,” Archie said. “And we should go over the plan for this caper before we turn in.”
“Why?” Neville asked.
“It’s not a caper,” Houndstooth replied, sounding irritated. “It’s an operation. All aboveboard.”
“Well, we still need to go over the plan,” Adelia snapped.
“If you see a dry patch I don’t,” Houndstooth said, slapping at a mosquito, “you go right ahead and point it out.”
“There was a petit island a mile back or so,” Archie mused, “but too small, I think, for all of us.”
“Why can’t we be out after dark?” Neville asked again.
“Too small for your fat ass, maybe,” Cal called from the back of the group. Archie’s fingertips played over the revolver that hung from her hip.
“He’s not worth the bullet,” Adelia murmured to her.
“Why shouldn’t we be out after dark?” Neville piped.
“I could stab ʼim, perhaps,” Archie said, giving Adelia a wry smile.
“Si, but then the blood would ruin your lovely blouse.”
“Excuse me,” Neville said again.
“Strangulation, then. The cleanest death of them all,” Archie continued, ignoring him.
“Ask Hero for some poison, maybe?” Adelia and Archie both laughed. Hero smiled from under
the brim of their hat. Neville looked back at Hero, eyes wide.
“You have a lot to learn, boy,” Hero drawled. “Never stare at someone you’re scared of.”
Archie smiled over at Neville. “Are you scared of Hero?”
Houndstooth chuckled. “I’d imagine he’s scared of all of us.”
Hero fanned themself with their hat. “Oh, son. You shouldn’t be scared of us. Us, you’ll see comin’. No, what you want to be scared of,” they said, looking at the boy with a wicked gleam in their eye, “is the ferals.”
Neville clung to Zahra’s back. “I ain’t scared of hippos.” His voice shook a little.
“Well, young man, there’s hippos and there’s hippos,” Cal said. “Now, Zahra there, she’s a sweet thing. Raised by people from when she was just a little hop. Slept next to her hopper’s raft every night, ate from her hopper’s hand every day. Loyal. Loving. But a feral?” He laughed mirthlessly.
“Let’s not scare the boy,” Houndstooth said. “He won’t be seeing any ferals anyway. They’re all between the Gate and the dam, and he won’t be going in there with us.”
“You never know,” Cal intoned.
“Is … is that why we have to find a place to camp before nightfall? Because of ferals?” Neville asked.
“That, and Cal is scared of the dark,” Archie said loudly. “So let’s ʼurry it up, oui?” She snapped her fingers twice and Rosa surged ahead, nudging her white nose against Ruby’s coal-black flank.
They found an island just as the sun dipped below the horizon. The hum of insects intensified as the last light of the day died, and the hoppers guided their steeds toward the little hump of land that rose out of the water. Archie whistled to Neville. “Would you care to give Rosa’s teeth a brush before we turn ʼer loose for the night?”
Neville grinned, his sweat-damp blond hair falling into his eyes, and he held up a leather pouch. “I’ve already got her toothbrush, Miss Archie!” He splashed down the riverbank, cooing to Rosa. The white hippo had already begun to wander away from the sandy bank of the islet. She had been riding all day, and was reluctant to come back to the shore before she’d eaten. The sound of Neville’s coaxing entreaties for her to come back for a brushing drifted through the stillness of the dusk, blending with the buzz of cicadas.