Just Cause Universe 2: The Archmage

by Ian Thomas Healy

  Sally estimated the distance in her head. “Maybe three miles.”

  “Let’s move out,” said Juice. “Don’t leave anything behind.”

  They collected their scattered gear, such as it was, and began to walk in the direction Sally had found the camp. The hot sun began to take its toll and sweat dampened their costumes. Juice pulled off his shirt and tied it around his shaved head in a makeshift turban. Shannon pushed up the sleeves and rolled up the legs of her unitard and carried her cloak instead of wearing it. Ace unzipped the top half of her flight suit and tied it around her waist to reveal an olive-colored tank top.

  Stratocaster sighed as he gazed up toward the sun. “Damn all you dark-skinned types. I’m already burning.” Sally nodded; she too could feel the tingling on her face of sunburn to come.

  “Strat, if we are back in time,” said Sally in a low voice. “Can you do anything to get us back?”

  He shrugged. “Without my guitar I’m pretty well useless. I couldn’t do a card trick, much less perform any real magic.”

  They spotted columns of smoke from campfires in the distance. Sally scouted ahead to make sure she was guiding them to a safe vantage point. They reached a hill and she told them they’d be able to see the camp from its crest. Juice nodded and ordered everyone to stay low.

  “I thought you said it was a re-enactment,” said Sally.

  Juice smiled, his teeth white in the growing dusk. “Let’s just say I’m being cautious.”

  They crawled to the top of the hill and stared down into the valley campsite. It was bustling with activity. Men cared for horses, cleaned their weapons, and gathered around campfires to eat, converse, and laugh. A few had struck up an inspired little band of harmonica, fiddle, washboard, guitar. Some men cavorted merrily around and kicked up their heels in a jig.

  “I wish we had some binoculars,” whispered Will.

  “I wish we had another plane,” said Ace. “I feel naked without a cockpit around me.”

  Sally heard a rustle of grass and the unmistakable click of a firearm being cocked.

  “Don’t move,” said Juice before any of the others could react.

  “Heh. You’re quick, black man,” said a voice. “I was going to say that.”

  Sally looked in the direction of the voice and saw a man in the same blue uniform that the others in the valley wore. Instead of boots, he wore buckskin moccasins and had feathers stuck into his cap. His skin was the color of the earth and his face was proud. He had a long rifle leveled at them. “Heh. You must be spies, hey?”

  “No, we’re…” began Juice, but Will interrupted him.

  “We’re a circus,” said the mage. “You know? Entertainers?”

  The Indian’s eyes narrowed under his cap. “Circus? What are you doing here spying on the regiment, hey?”

  Juice opened his mouth, but Will surreptitiously kicked him. “We’re not spying. We saw the smoke from your fires and were hoping to seek shelter. We were, uh, waylaid by Indians. They stole all our wagons and stuff.”

  “Heh. I think you better come back to see the boss.” He pursed his lips and issued a peculiar whistle. A moment later two more men, similarly dressed in uniforms with feathered caps and moccasins, rose up from behind cover to flank the heroes. “Get moving, hey?”

  The scouts escorted Sally and the others down toward the encampment. She wasn’t so concerned about the rifles; she could run away at any time, but she grew uncomfortable as they marched down into the camp proper. Men gaped at her and the others open-mouthed. She realized that if they had indeed traveled back in time, these soldiers might not have seen women in a long time. Sally’s costume, and those of the others, was equivalent to lingerie.

  The stench in the camp was horrible. Horse urine competed with unwashed bodies and dirty clothing, and mixed with a dash of campfire smoke, food, and coffee odors to make a foul miasma. The scouts brought them right to a large tent guarded by a fat man with a thick beard. “What in the Sam Hill?” said the man as he regarded the five heroes.

  “Heh. I found these lost foals in the hills to the south. I thought the General would like to see them, hey?”

  “Like to see what, Curley?” said a voice inside the tent. A man in his mid-thirties pushed aside the flap and stepped out. His cavalry shirt was unbuttoned and Sally saw a trace of lather on his cheeks. A thick mustache all but obscured his mouth and his eyes sparkled with bright intensity. He looked the bedraggled heroes up and down. “Well. Aren’t you a sorry-looking lot? Joe, see if you can round up some decent attire for our guests so the men will stop finding reasons to walk past my tent over and over.” He directed this last to the fat man, who saluted and ran off.

  “Now then… I’m General George Custer, 7th Cavalry, U.S. Army. Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

  Will glanced at Juice, who returned only a stony gaze. “We’re, uh, circus performers.”

  “Circus performers,” repeated Custer. “Go on.”

  “We got lost in the hills, and, our, uh, wagons were stolen by Indians.”

  “I see,” said Custer. “From back East, are you?”

  Will smiled. “Yeah. Chicago.”

  “Tenderfeet.” Custer smiled back “I’m from Ohio myself. Now, I’d find our conversation much easier if I had your names.”

  “Oh…” Will’s gaze locked with Sally’s. Do something! she implored him silently. “This… this is Sally Swift, the, uh, fastest hands in the West.”

  “What?” she said faintly.

  “And this is the Great, uh, Shandini of the Orient, who can escape from any lock with ease.” He waved to Shannon, whose jaw dropped.

  The rock star in Will’s personality took over as he warmed to his subject. “All the way from Deepest Africa, I present to you Jimbo, The World’s Strongest Man.” He pointed to Juice. “And finally, from the golden sands of Persia, uh…”

  “Asa,” said the diminutive pilot. “Dancer.”

  “Charmed, I’m sure,” said Custer. “And you, sir? Who are you?”

  “Oh, me? I’m, uh, William Kramer. I’m the what-do-you-call-it, the ringmaster.”

  “Can’t say that I can really imagine what kind of show the five of you would put on,” admitted Custer. “But I’m not really well-versed in circus life. Now what did you say you were doing out here in Dakota Territory?”

  “We got lost, then robbed, as I said,” replied Will. “In fact, we’ve been wandering for so long, I’m not even sure what the date is.”

  “June twenty-fourth.”

  “1876?” said Juice suddenly.

  “Of course,” smiled Custer. “Now then… we’re going to be performing a major maneuver tomorrow, and I can’t have civilians wandering around where they might get killed. I’m going to do you a great service and keep you here until after we’ve completed our engagement. Then perhaps before we let you go on your way you could provide some entertainment for the troops. Ah, Joe…” The bearded man returned with an armful of clothing.

  “Couldn’t find nothin’ big enough to fit the nigger,” said the man. “But leastaways I got some shirts and trousers for the ladies. Ain’t nothin’ else suitable.” He blushed behind his beard as he stared at them.

  “Well, it can’t be helped. Joe, will you please make sure our guests have food and drink? I’m afraid we weren’t really expecting company and don’t have much to offer beyond bedrolls and tents.”

  “That’s very considerate of you, General,” said Will.

  “I will, of course, post a guard to make sure you’re safe.” Custer’s tone was friendly, but still implied he didn’t trust them.

  “You’re too kind.” Will bowed.

  Joe took them to a stuffy tent and arranged for bedrolls. Soon the five heroes sat down to a meal of bread, baked beans, and salted pork. There was coffee, but it bore more resemblance to the sludge that Sondra drank than anything that came out of a carafe at Starbucks. They stuck to water, drinking from tin cups.

  Shannon sni
ffed at the blanket on her bedroll. “I think there are lice in this.”

  “That’s the least of our problems,” said Will.

  “Still think it’s a re-enactment?” Sally asked Juice.

  “No. It certainly seems like we’ve somehow traveled through time. And Will is right. We’ve got a much more immediate problem than lice in our beds.”

  “Like what?” Shannon brushed her hands fitfully across the coarse shirt she’d buttoned over her costume top.

  “June 24th, 1876. Dakota Territory. I thought things had started to sound familiar. A very big, famous battle is going to happen tomorrow, and most of these men are going to be killed.”

  The others looked at him blankly.

  “Don’t any of you know any history? Little Bighorn. Custer’s Last Stand.”

  “So what do we do?” asked Ace.

  “We can’t do anything. We need to get out of here as soon as possible,” said Will.

  “Yeah,” said Sally. “We can’t risk altering the future. Assuming we haven’t already, that is.”

  “How do you know we are? You’re our resident sci-fi buff. What do you know about time travel, Sally?” Juice kept his voice low.

  “Nothing. There are all kinds of theories. But that’s all they are, theories.”

  “We can’t avoid everyone forever,” said Juice. “Even from a practical standpoint. We’re already here. I think we need to do everything we can to get back to our own time. We have to assume that our presence is not changing the future.”

  “How can you assume that?” asked Shannon.

  “Because otherwise there’s no point in us even trying to get back. Who knows what kind of things might have changed.” Juice folded his arms. “For all we know, our present was constructed from our existence in this time. Maybe it even depends on it.”

  Sally flopped backward onto her bedroll and threw her arm over her eyes. “Time travel gives me a headache.”

  Ace leaned back on her own blanket. “I’ll ask again, because somebody needs to keep their perspective grounded. Funny that it’s me who has to do it. What do we do?”

  “Short term, we need to get away from here as quickly as possible. We can’t get caught up in the battle tomorrow. It will be a massacre. Long term, we need to get back to our time. Will, we were brought here by magic. Can you magic us back home?”

  Will shook his head. “No chance. Not without my guitar.”

  “Does it have to be your guitar? Could you play any guitar?” Shannon asked.

  “I doubt it. I’ve tried to use other instruments and it never seemed to work. I just wasn’t attuned to them. Besides, I wouldn’t even know how to get us back even if I had a functional guitar.”

  Juice finished his beans and pointed his spoon at Will. “Who does, then?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There must be mages during this time period. Don’t you know any?”

  “God, I don’t know.” Will screwed his fists into his eyes. “I can’t think… I’m so tired.”

  Juice sighed. “We’re all tired. Four hours of sleep, starting now. That’s an order. That takes us to…” He consulted the clock on his phone, which he’d secreted deep in a pocket. “One-thirty. That should be after a change in the watch. We’ll make our escape then.”

  “I wish I had your confidence, sir,” grumbled Ace. “You make it sound simple.”

  “Hey, we’re Just Cause,” said Sally. “Making the impossible sound simple is our stock in trade.”

  Chuckles resounded throughout the tent. Shannon turned down the lamp after struggling with the unfamiliar arrangement of knobs for a minute.

  For some time it was quiet inside the tent. Outside, soldiers went about their late night business and kept noise levels down so their comrades could rest before battle.

  “Tesla,” whispered Will in the darkness. “Nikola Tesla.”

  “He was a mage?” asked Juice.

  Sally hadn’t been able to sleep a wink either. She listened but stayed quiet.

  “Damn good one. Nobody but the other mages knew. He mixed technology and magic in ways nobody else ever had, or ever has since. He’s our best bet.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “I’m not sure,” admitted Will. “Somewhere in Europe? Maybe Austria? He’d be young right now. Probably still in school.”

  “Maybe he could build you a new guitar,” piped up Shannon from across the tent.

  “A better guitar,” added Sally.

  “Are any of you asleep?” asked Juice, who sounded like he was smiling.

  “I was,” grumbled Ace. “Until you all started yapping.”

  “Leave the lamp off,” said Juice.

  “Fine,” said Shannon. “I’m not sure how to restart it anyway.”

  “Let’s plan our escape, then.” Juice sat up in the darkness.

  “I wish Jack was here,” said Sally. “He’s good at stuff like this. I hope he’s okay.”

  “He won’t be born for another ninety years,” said Juice. “And for what it’s worth, I wish he was here too.”

  “Speak for yourself, sir. I wish we were back in our own time,” said Ace.

  “Good point. Thank you, Ace. Let’s make sure we stay on task. Oh, and Ace, you can knock off the sir while we’re here.”

  “Yes sir.”

  After much whispered discussion, they had what they thought was a workable plan. Shannon would find five horses for them and make sure they were stocked with provisions, especially a map and compass if she could find one. Then she and Sally would incapacitate whatever guards they needed to so that they could make a clean, quick getaway. Once clear of the camp, they would head south and try to find a railroad or a fort so they could make their way to the East Coast and, eventually, across the ocean. They’d use the traveling circus story as cover and as a way to make money along the way.

  “Heh. Sounds like a good plan,” said a voice and the scout Curley stepped into the tent. He held a hooded lantern which released only a minimal amount of light. “Problem is, you got about ten thousand Sioux between here and your railroad. I think you gonna have trouble there, hey?”

  Everyone froze as they realized their cover had been blown. Sally glanced at Juice, ready to act if he gave the word.

  Juice didn’t move, and Sally could see his attorney’s mind gearing up to go to work. “You’re absolutely right, Curley. Very perceptive of you. How long have you been listening outside the tent?”

  “Heh. Pretty long time now. Heard some pretty interesting tales. Not the usual white man’s lies, hey?”

  “So what do you want to do about it? You’ve got something in mind or you wouldn’t have come to us at all.”

  “Big battle coming tomorrow. You called it Custer’s Last Stand. He’s gonna die, hey?”

  “I can’t answer that, Curley.”

  “Well, maybe I’ll scout the rear to be safe. I have no plans to die for him.”

  “We can’t stop you,” said Juice. “And it’s really none of our business what you do, anyway. We’re not even supposed to be here, now.”

  “Heard that too. I believe in fair trade. You give me good value. I always thought Custer was a stupid white man, now I know for sure. Hopefully I will live through tomorrow’s battle. In return I will help you to get away from here. Good idea, hey?”

  “That’s very honorable of you,” said Juice. Sally wondered when the inevitable but would come from the scout.

  “Heh. I think so too. You better get ready to leave. Scouts coming back already from Little Bighorn valley. We fight tomorrow or Monday at the latest.”

  “What’s your proposition?” Juice clasped his hands behind his back.

  “I already said, I give good value for your trade. You said what happens in the battle. You give me half an hour, I put together your supplies and horses. Meet me up at the hill where I found you, and I’ll show you the best way to go.” Curley smiled at them in the flickering light of his lantern.

 
; “And that’s it? No tricks?” Ace looked doubtful.

  “No tricks, pretty lady. You saving my life, perhaps. Only fair that I save yours, hey?”

  Ace’s mouth dropped open in surprise, as if being called pretty lady was the last thing she’d expected to hear.

  “How do we get up to the hill without being seen?” asked Will.

  “Heh. Do I have to think of everything, white man? Half an hour. Don’t be late.” Curley grinned at them and left the tent.

  Juice looked toward Shannon and motioned for her to follow. She nodded and vanished into nothingness.

  “How are we going to get there?” asked Will again.

  “It’s late, it’s dark, and we’re superheroes. We’ll manage,” said Juice.

  “You know what we really need is a diversion,” whispered Sally.

  A shout from outside the tent echoed through the campsite. “Injuns! In the supplies!”

  The alarm raised, soldiers ran from their tents. Some were yanking on their trousers over their union suits, others just grabbed their rifles and ran.

  “You think they caught Curley?” asked Ace as they watched the ruckus.

  “I hope not,” said Juice. “He seems pretty sharp. Whatever happened, this is our chance.” He ordered everyone to remove anything clearly from the future and to put them on a blanket. They dropped phones, watches, and Ace’s semi-automatic pistol into the pile. Juice rolled up the blanket, tied it around his waist, and nodded. “Let’s go. Sally, watch our flanks.”

  They exited the tent and hurried for the darkness beyond the edge of the camp. With the general alarm raised, soldiers were looking for Indians, not a small group dressed in castaway cavalry uniforms. Shannon rejoined them as they reached the darkness and led them to where Curley awaited them with five packed and saddled horses.

  “Did you get caught?” Sally asked Curley.

  “No way. It was some Sioux or maybe Cheyenne from the village in the valley. So much for the element of surprise, hey? We’ll be fighting them tomorrow for sure.”

  “Thank you, Curley. I’m glad we could trust you.” Juice looked uneasily at the horses. “Are they trained and everything? What I don’t know about riding could fill a couple of books.”