Just Cause Universe 2: The Archmage

by Ian Thomas Healy

  “Where is it, uh, parked?” asked Juice.

  “There’s a shop just up the street. Ace is supervising while the owner finishes outfitting it for us.”

  “How much money is left?”

  Will extended his hand and dumped a handful of coins into Juice’s upturned palm. “Enough for souvenirs. Not much beyond that, I’m afraid.”

  “This magnificent feast represents the last of the petty cash,” quoted Sally, turning to Jack’s favorite standby movie Ghostbusters. She missed him terribly, as well as Sondra and Jason and everybody else. Now that they were so close to reaching the end of their journey, she really felt the rift of time between her and her dearest friends.

  “Let’s go have a look at this wagon,” said Shannon.

  They hurried up the road, keeping well away from the deep, ruts lined with frozen mud and horse dung. They passed several shops and a couple taverns on the way, all cheerfully lit with hanging lamps and the smoke pouring from chimneys promising warmth and comfort within. Sally shivered, wondering if she’d ever be warm again.

  Benchley and Rowe was a large building with a tall façade and a lot fenced with split rails. Numerous horse-drawn contrivances were parked within it from basic haulers all the way up to fancy coaches. The proprietor was a fat man with a fringe of oily black hair, a gleaming bald pate, and cheeks reddened from exertion. A deeper, more pronounced redness around his nose spoke of much strong drink.

  “Ah, good day t’ ye, friends!” The man had a rich Irish brogue that immediately made them feel at ease. “Yer lovely companion said ye’d be arrivin’ momentarily. Ay’ve just been takin’ care o’ last-minute adjustments. If ye’re sure ye’ll be travellin’ in such weather as this, ye’ll need the best that Patrick Benchley can provide. Sure an’ that’s me name…” He rushed behind the counter and emerged with an armful of leather tack and hurried into the back of the store.

  Shannon grinned. “He sounds exactly like my grandmother.”

  “He sent his assistant to go fetch the horses from the stables. Aren’t Clydesdales the really big horses?” asked Ace.

  “Yep,” answered Shannon. “They’re the SUVs of horses. We should get where we’re going with them doing the hard work.”

  Benchley stuck his head through the door. “Young Thomas just arrived wi’ yer horses. We’ll have ye ready in two shakes o’ the lamb’s tail.” He vanished again.

  “He’s certainly eager to help,” commented Sally.

  “I kind of get the impression that this is his slow time of year,” said Will. “I think we’ve spent more money here than anyone in months. Now all we have to do is find the right spot.”

  “Not much in the way of landmarks or GPS to help us, unfortunately,” grumbled Juice. “We’ll just have to get there by dead reckoning. Ace, I’m going to count on you to figure the distance and direction. You’re probably the most experienced that way.”

  The diminutive Israeli woman nodded.

  “Shannon, you’re driving the team. I’ll ride up front with you and keep watch. Sally, stay under the tarp and keep that horseshoe safe. Will…” Will’s face broke into a cheerful, slightly zany grin. “Will, do whatever it is you need to do to prepare. I’d like to have a hot shower and sleep in a bed tonight.”

  “Amen to that,” said Shannon.

  Benchley came bustling back into the front room of the shop. “All ri’, gentles… yer wagon’s all loaded an’ the team is hitched. Ay’m certain ye’ll find it all in order. If ye’ll follow me? Bundle up, though… it’s ri’ cold out back, and the snow’s pickin’ up.” His bald head shone with a fine sheen of sweat from his hustling. He wrapped a thick wool scarf around his neck and jammed a beaverskin cap down over his ears. Thus accoutered, he led them through the cluttered back of the shop into the yard beyond.

  The snow was really starting to fall and the wind likewise had picked up. Benchley beamed like a kid at Christmas as he cuffed the boy who fiddled with the horses’ harnesses. “Well? What d’ye think?”

  Painted in a fine, glossy black, the wagon seemed to glow in the darkness of the day amid the snow. Fine filigree in gold leaf decorated the panels in between the vertical supports holding up the large canvas cover. The wheels had small steel rivets nailed into them for increased traction in the snow.

  The wagon would have seemed overly large if not for the gigantic horses harnessed to it. “Look at the size of those things,” whispered Sally to Juice. “I bet they weigh a ton each.” She stepped up to one of them hesitantly. She barely came up to its shoulder. It lowered its head and blew out a lungful of steamy breath which smelled sweet, like hay in the summer.

  “Go on, miss… ‘e won’t ‘urt ye!” The boy grinned.

  “Uh, what do I do?” Sally looked up at the massive beast that regarded her with some sort of equine interest.

  “Give ‘im a lump o’ sugar, or an apple, if you ‘ave one.”

  “Oh… I don’t. I’m sorry.” Sally felt crestfallen as she looked into the mournful eyes of the horse. The boy stepped over to her and pressed an apple into her hands. He nodded as she held it up gingerly. The behemoth stretched his neck down and took the apple gently from her hand. Sally looked at the others and grinned. “What are their names?”

  “Whatever ye want, miss,” said Benchley.

  “But I calls ‘em Sampson and Delilah,” said the boy. “Sam and Delly for short.” He ducked a poorly-aimed blow from Benchley.

  “Well, everything seems to be in order,” said Will. “I suppose we’ll be on our way then. Thanks for doing such a bang-up job on short notice, Mr. Benchley.” He handed the last of their cash to the proprietor, who made it disappear.

  “My pleasure, sir. I hope ye have a safe trip. The weather’s not much good for travelin’ now.”

  “We’ll be fine, Mr. Benchley, and thanks again.” said Juice.

  Shannon swung up onto the driver’s bench. Juice joined her. The others climbed up the short ladder in the back of the wagon and under the canvas cover.

  The boy ran to pull open the barn doors while Benchley shouted some last-minute suggestions at them. “Light the lamps; they’ll give ye a bit o’ heat for those inside. There’s blankets and furs aplenty for ye too.”

  Sally waved at the boy as the two horses pulled the wagon out of the barn into the lazily swirling snow. He waved back. She drew the flap at the back of the wagon shut. Will lit the oil lamps hanging from the overhead frame with a single strum on his guitar. Ace grabbed one of the blankets from the floor and wrapped herself in it as tightly as she could, then pushed out through the front to stand behind Shannon and Juice, squinting into the wind.

  “That way,” she said in a moment, pointing to the right. “I saw bridges across the Platte as we came into town. Once we cross one of them I’ll have a better sense of where we are. What I wouldn’t give for a decent modern landmark.”

  “Yeah, we’ll have to complain about that if this doesn’t work,” chuckled Will as he lounged back against the sideboard and ran his fingers quietly across the guitar frets.

  “Don’t even joke about this not working,” admonished Sally. “We’ve got to get back.”

  “Don’t worry, Sally. All we have to do is get that horseshoe to the right location and then it’s sayonara, 1876.” Will smiled.

  The Clydesdales were sure-footed despite the accumulation of snow and had no problem pulling the wagon, although they didn’t move fast enough to please anyone. Sally, especially, felt impatient and Juice banished her to the back of the wagon after the fourth time she’d popped out of the front flap to check on their progress.

  “Are we there yet?” she grumbled to herself.

  A couple of hours passed and the sky darkened as the sun dropped behind the mountains. Soon it was dark enough that Juice called a halt for the night. “Without landmarks and the sky clouded over, we’ve got no way of knowing where we are for certain. It would be foolish to flounder around in the darkness out here. We’ll camp here and find our d
eparture spot in the morning.”

  “Early morning, I hope,” muttered Sally. “I’m ready to shave my hair off as it is. I’d kill for a bottle of detangling conditioner.”

  Shannon laughed from the driver’s seat and stood up.

  Suddenly Sally’s perceptions accelerated until the world seemed to be frozen in place. She didn’t understand why; something had happened that she’d missed, at least on a conscious level. She looked around the wagon; nothing out of place. Will’s eyes were half closed and he was locked in a loving embrace with his guitar. Ace was rummaging around in the bag of food. Juice had pushed aside the flap and was moving into the back of the wagon. Shannon was standing on the driver’s seat, an odd expression on her face.

  A slender feathered shaft protruded from her chest.

  Sally screamed and pushed past Juice in a blur of motion. Shannon was already starting to topple off the wagon as Sally reached her. She slapped two more arrows out of the air before they could strike her friend. Another arrow splintered in slow motion against Juice’s tough skin.

  Ululating yells echoed around the wagon as several horsemen rode in on them. Sally dragged Shannon into the comparative safety of the wagon, and ducked under another hail of arrows. She forced herself to slow down enough to make herself understood. “Help her!” she hissed at Will, who looked stunned at the sudden turn of events.

  Frustrated at her inability to move in the thick layers of clothing, Sally shrugged out of them until she only wore her corset, shift, and pantaloons. When she and Shannon had shopped for clothes, she’d made a special effort to find a corset compatible with physical activity. She took the extra half second to lace her boots back up, because she was going to need protection for her feet. She figured that she could act fast enough not to freeze to death for the seconds she’d be in the snow. To the others it would have seemed as if Sally’s clothing simply exploded off her as she jumped through the flap and off the wagon.

  She tucked and rolled as she hit the snow and kicked up a big cloud from the speed of her impact. She took a moment to look around and mark the opposition: seven men on horseback, all with long dark hair and various feathers, beads, and baubles decorating their garments. Three of them carried long rifles and the others were armed with spears and bows.

  She scooped up a handful of snow; it was good, wet stuff, the kind that sent kids off building forts and snowmen. She ducked underneath the wagon, compacted it, and hurled it at 300 miles-per-hour at one of the riders bearing rifles. The snowball caught him high on the chest and sent him flying backward off his horse. She picked off the second in quick succession but missed the third as the snowball disintegrated in midair. He snarled and raised the rifle in apparent slow motion. Flame belched lazily forth from the rifle’s muzzle. Sally easily stepped aside as the bullet smacked into the side of the wagon.

  A wallop of sound burst the seams of the canvas wagon covering as Will unlimbered his guitar in preparation for some kind of magic. The Native Americans stopped short from the sound. One of them, braver than the others, loosed an arrow at her. Instead of slapping it aside, she grabbed it out of midair and flung it back at him. It whipped across the intervening air to pierce his forearm as if it were a bug to be put in a display case. He yelled in surprise and pain.

  The wagon shivered as Juice leaped off it. Electricity crackled all around his body. Will must have generated a powerful charge to boost Juice’s strength to Herculean levels. One of the riders yelled something incomprehensible and charged on his mount. Juice widened his stance and opened his arms. The young man leaned hard to one side and reached out as if to touch Juice. Ignoring him for the moment, Juice sidestepped right into the horse’s path and dug in his heels, leaning forward, pushing his chest against the horse. The great animal’s muscles quivered as Juice brought its momentum to a halt. The Indian flew up and over the horse’s head to land in an undignified heap in the snow.

  “Go away!” screamed Sally, and reached for another snowball.

  A blast of music tore the wagon’s canvas into shreds.

  It was enough to convince the Indians that they were out of their league. The injured ones hobbled back to their mounts and swung their legs over their horses’ backs, and they rode away to disappear into the blowing snow.

  “Shannon?” Sally asked Juice.

  He shook his bowed head.

  “No!” She climbed back into the wagon where Will and Ace knelt over Shannon. Her form seemed translucent and Sally realized she could see the wagon’s floorboards through her friend’s body. The arrow still protruded from her chest. “What are you doing?” she screamed at Will. “Why aren’t you fixing her?”

  He looked at her, sadness in his eyes. “I can’t. I’ve been trying. Nothing I’m doing is working.”

  “No pulse,” said Ace.

  Juice poked his head through a tear in the canvas. “I don’t know how long those bastards will stay away from us. I’m sure to them we look like easy pickings.”

  “Wait…” cried Sally, barely able to see through the tears coursing down her face. “Can’t we do something? We’re superheroes!”

  Will frowned. “I’m not a doctor, and I don’t even think a doctor could bring her back. The arrow went in between her ribs. I think… I think it hit something really important.”

  “Maybe we can use the snow to keep her cold, while I go find a doctor in town!” Sally said in a rush. “People come back from death all the time!”

  “Sally…” Juice put a massive hand on her quivering shoulder.

  “No! She can’t be dead! It was supposed to be me!” Sally collapsed onto the floorboards. “It was supposed to be me!” she whispered.

  Juice didn’t see any need to travel further. He found a shovel in the wagon and dug a grave in the frozen earth beneath the snow.

  Sally laid her horseshoe on her friend’s chest, knowing that in a hundred and thirty years, a few months ago, she would find it again. “I forgive you,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.” She couldn’t watch as clumps of frozen dirt began covering Shannon.

  They cut loose the horses from the wagon. Juice figured they’d have enough sense to find their way back to civilization and shelter. They watched the large animals trot off in the general direction of Denver. “All right then,” said Juice. “Let’s go home.”

  “Sally, concentrate on your horseshoe,” said Will. “You know it well enough to picture it in your mind. Every notch, every place it’s been rubbed smooth by your hands. Everyone else, concentrate on Sally. Better, put your hand on her. When she goes, the rest of us should be pulled along with her.”

  “Should?” asked Juice. “Are you sure this will work?”

  “Nope, but it’s got to be better than the alternative.” Energies swirled around Will in the snow as he played and his music warped the very fabric of reality.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Parahuman problems generally require parahuman solutions, and it is because of that need that we come before you today. The laws as they stand now do nothing to prevent parahuman criminals from perpetrating their crimes against individuals and society at large. But those same laws make it illegal for those parahumans who would protect us to do so. The time has come for those laws to change, and this esteemed body has the power to effect that change.”

  -Adrian Crowley, addressing the House of Representatives, August 14, 1969

  July, 2004

  Denver, Colorado

  Just Cause Headquarters

  It was a much gentler magic that transported them than the storm which deposited them in 1876, thought Sally. She felt a sense of motion that had to be her body’s response to traveling through the dimension of time at an unaccustomed speed. Despite being blind, deaf, dumb, and unable to breathe or move, she felt no sense of panic. She could tell the others traveled near her as they drifted through the fields of magic.

  Gradually, her senses began to come back online, as if she’d been a computer going through a reboot. She no longer sto
od in snow, but on carpet. The freezing wind which had blown around them had been replaced by quiet warmth. A strange yet familiar smell permeated the air. It took her a moment to place it. It was hair spray. Her hair spray.

  The room was pitch black except for the Happy Puppies screensaver on her computer. “Juice? Ace? Will?” she whispered.

  “We’re here, Sally,” came Juice’s deep voice. “Can you turn on some lights in here?”

  “Yes, sir.” She tripped over the edge of the couch and sprawled on the carpet. She picked herself up and got to the light switch by the door. A moment later the room was bathed in light.

  Suddenly Sally realized just how incongruous they all looked in their Old West garb, as they stood in the middle of her suite. She longed to run to the bathroom and leap into a steaming hot shower, to use real soap and shampoo, and to wrap herself up in the thickest, softest towel she could find.

  “Check your computer.” Juice scratched at his scraggly beard, shot through with gray that he normally hid by shaving his whole scalp. “Let’s find out when we are.”

  Sally slipped into the chair and wiggled her mouse. She entered her password at the prompt but the computer rejected it. She frowned and typed it in again but to no avail. She took a deep breath and typed very carefully, making sure the CAPS LOCK key was off and concentrating on hitting each and every key correctly.

  Nothing.

  She turned to Juice. “My password isn’t working.”

  The door to the suite banged open. Three soldiers in full combat gear rushed in, P-90 assault rifles raised. “Freeze!” they shouted.

  Juice raised his hands. “Easy there, son, we’re not here to cause any trouble. Who’s in charge?”

  More soldiers took up positions in the doorway and the hall beyond. Sally felt very nervous with so many guns being pointed at her.

  One of the soldiers spoke into his helmet microphone. “Command Center, you might want to page Ms. Goodwin.”