by Steve Rzasa
Lysanne was dressed in her training garb: a simple white blouse and brown work pants, the same ones she wore when she was busy in the family greenhouse. She had auburn hair and freckles. Her eyes were blue-grey. Winch could gaze into them forever, but at the moment they were turned ninety degrees to him. She stood still, the curves of her body framed like a portrait in the doorway.
Miss Plank put her hand on his shoulder. “Watch.”
He frowned. What could she be…?
A man came into view. He pointed a gun at Lysanne.
Winch bit his lip to keep from hollering. Training—this is all part of her training. As he well could tell, judging from the thick swaths of cloth padding wrapped around the man’s arms, legs, and midsection, all tied down to his clothing. He even wore a cap that had padding hanging down across the sides of his head and the bridge of his nose. Winch found him a menacing yet ridiculous sight.
“Yer comin’ with me, lovey.” The man cocked the lever of the gun, a Thundercloud Asp, by Winch’s eye.
Lysanne raised her hands at her side. She looked scared. She turned away from the man. He closed the distance between them until the gun touched her back.
Miss Plank nodded. “Good. And… now.”
It was a mere whisper but, judging by Lysanne’s reaction, Miss Plank had drilled this into her head. Lysanne’s right hand snapped down and seized the man’s wrist. She yanked the gun away, bending the wrist at what looked to Winch like a very sharp angle. The man shouted in alarm. The gun went off, the blast startling Winch.
Lysanne flinched but didn’t let go her grasp. She yanked his arm forward until he pressed against her. She stomped down on the instep of his right shoe with her right boot. The man yelped. Lysanne hit him in the cloth padding around his jaw with her left elbow. His head snapped back and he dropped the gun.
Lysanne spun around and hit him twice more—a knee to the groin which caused him to bend over, and a chop with the back of her left hand to the side of his neck. The man collapsed. Lysanne scooped up the gun and pointed at his prone form.
Winch’s eyes were wide. His…wife? His Lysanne could do this? “Your training has been fruitful, I see, Miss Plank.”
“Women are just as intelligent and cunning as men—”
“I’m well aware of that.”
“But we are frequently underestimated. That is our greatest advantage.” Miss Plank nodded. “Come along. My pupil is finished for the week.”
Lysanne looked up as they approached. She breathed heavily. Her cheeks were flushed with exertion. There were those bright eyes. “Oh! Winch, you’re early!” She cast a glance at the gun and tossed it aside.
“Well done, Mrs. Sark. You have learned to adapt well to an improvised situation.” Miss Plank retrieved the weapon. “Constable Hammersly, do get up. You can’t be that badly damaged.”
“The lady knows her proper defense, I’ll grant.” The man removed his padded cap, revealing the constable with the exquisite handlebar mustache. Winch knew him from his patrols along Pine and South Streets. “Good day, Mr. Sark.”
“Constable.” Winch tucked his arm around Lysanne’s waist and kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll thank you not to manhandle my bride.” He meant it as a jest, but the very idea irked him. Jealously? Oh, indeed.
Lysanne laughed. “The good constable has taken many a beating at the hands and feet of the women Miss Plank trains. One would think he’s in it for the sport.”
“Oh, don’t be telling that to my missus.” Hammersly shook his head. “I’ll take my leave, by the by, ladies. Mr. Sark too.”
Miss Plank smiled. “I’ll leave you two alone, then. Same time next week, Lysanne?”
“Of course, Miss Plank. Thank you.”
As soon as she left, Lysanne kissed Winch back. She was salty with sweat. “So, Trouble, what brings you here early? Are you a spy come to learn my defenses and find a way around them?”
Winch grinned. “I think I can navigate without espionage. I do know where you live.”
“True.”
“No, I brought this.” He handed her the tulip.
Lysanne breathed deeply of its scent. “Lovely.” Then she frowned at him. “Have you done something wrong to warrant such a gift?”
“Of course not. Do I need a reason?”
“Usually.”
Winch drew the letter from his pocket. “But there’s also this.”
“Aha, I knew it!”
He smiled and handed it to her. “An old friend wishes me to come calling.”
Lysanne’s frown melted away as she read. By the end of the letter she looked as astonished as Winch had felt. “My word. The Golden Desert. El Brazo. And he needs us to get him this book? Winch, we must go to his aid.”
“Us? We?”
“That’s why you rushed to see me, isn’t it?” Lysanne put her hands on her hips. Funny. She used that body language when she told the children to stay in their place. “You didn’t think to leave me behind, did you? Not if Brin is in some danger.”
“My dearest, I wouldn’t dream of it.” Winch gestured at the empty floor where Hammersly had lain. “Not after that performance.”
Lysanne blushed. “Flatterer. You are trouble, you know.”
“Certainly.”
She sighed and perused the letter once more. “Will Gil let you go?”
“If I promise him a fantastic story, probably. Our circulation has gone up steadily as of late. No small thanks to coverage by yours truly of a certain conspiracy and conflict.”
“And Ifan be praised you weren’t hurt. So many others were.”
Winch smiled.
“What?” Lysanne wrapped her arms around his neck. “Tell me your thoughts.”
“I was thinking, what with the busy traffic in the skies this Octaron,” Winch said, pausing to brush a strand of hair from her face, “that I’m thankful I have Cope for a brother.”
*
Making Of…
For exclusive “making of” content for Crosswind, scan the QR code below with a smartphone or visit http://steverzasa.wordpress.com/the-making-of-crosswind-a-strange-earth/ with a Web browser.
Acknowledgements
For me, Crosswind is more than another book—it is a grand experiment. It is not the space opera I spent most of my youth and adult life writing. But it is an adventure that demanded a lot of me, just as everything I write does.
My goal? To serve God the best I can, and to give readers adventure in strange new lands.
My wife and children were extraordinarily patient as I rambled on about this city-state of Perch. My parents, living on the other side of the USA, were likewise good listeners as I regaled them via Skype and phone. Your love means the world to me.
Thanks to Tim Joseph and Elizabeth Leight, my editors in the UK, for their insight and encouragement, and to Jeff Scott, who’s never stopped being a buddy despite our two thousand miles of separation.
Closer to home, I’m grateful to Howard Ohr and Connie Norton for being my manuscript editors. They picked up on the little things that could have meant big mistakes, and left fewer for me to correct.
As always, my co-workers at the Johnson County Library in Buffalo, Wyoming, have my gratitude for their support and friendship, especially those who listen to my description of my characters’ foolish shenanigans.
Of course, my editor/publisher/boss/mentor Jeff Gerke deserves thanks for giving me this opportunity to branch out. And the crew of authors at MLP have all been a great resource and network of online friends, whom I hope to meet in person one day.
More Science Fiction by Steve Rzasa
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