by S. Cushaway
“The hell got up your ass? Why didn’t you wake me up earlier? It’s almost noon.”
“I tried.”
“Didn’t try very hard. I’m a light sleeper.” Gairy drained the last of the whiskey from the bottle. With his headache under control and his stomach settling back to its normal—if slightly queasy—state, he felt ready to face the day. What remained of it, anyway. “You let me sleep on that dead s’rat.”
“I tried to move it, but you’re too heavy and wouldn’t wake up,” Senqua replied. “You should drink some water, Gairy. I have some fresh in my canteen. Maybe clean some of the piss off your pants, too.”
“There ain’t no piss on my pants.”
“There is. You got some on your leg and didn’t even notice.” Pushing against the stick, Senqua turned the haunch so it rolled against the coals. She sprinkled some of the hot spices from the pouch onto it. “If we had some hare to go with this, I could make a stew. I have some dried beans in my field pack.”
“Stop talking about food. Hell, I thought Shyiine weren’t supposed to eat much.” Gairy tossed the bottle into the sand and stood again. This time, he didn’t sway or feel lightheaded. “My Pumer still in the back of the rover?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Go and get it.”
“Why? What do you need your rifle for?”
“I’m gonna teach you how to shoot it. It’s a Pumer. Best guns in the world. Designed by the same guy who wrote that field guide I gave you to read.” As Gairy neared the fire, beads of sweat popped up along his brow. The sight of those flames made him thirsty all over again, and he regretted walking away from the whiskey crate. He’d have to go all the way back for another bottle, and he didn’t want to retrace his steps. “Hell, how do you sit by that fire in the middle of the day? You’re crazy.”
“I’m not crazy. Not any crazier than a Druen. Especially not a Druen who sits around drinking all day.”
“I’m not a—”
“You are. And what makes you think I need to learn how to shoot?” Senqua asked, striding toward the Draggin. Leaning over the back, she shoved aside the bits and pieces of field gear piled there. “I’ve known how to shoot for years. Guns and bows. My father taught me.”
Gairy almost laughed at that. The thought of old Anaz’dalo—Senqua’s father and Dogton’s resident leatherworker—teaching anyone how to shoot a gun was ridiculous. ’Dalo was as mild-mannered as anyone he had ever met, and had probably never held a gun in his life.
Senqua grunted as she hefted the heavy rifle from its case. The gun was almost as long as she was tall.
“You’ll break your shoulder if you try to fire that. Give it over here. I’ll shoot you a hare, or a lizard, or whatever. You can’t eat that half-rotten antelope you found. Even a Shyiine can die of bad food, I guess.” Gairy held out his hand, waiting.
“I shot that antelope and I’ll shoot a hare, too. There’s one a few hundred yards away, resting in the shade of some brush. It’s been there all morning. It’s skinny—”
“Like you?”
Senqua didn’t even crack a smile. “But there should be enough meat on it for a stew.” She jerked her head in the direction of the western horizon. “See him over there?”
Squinting, Gairy followed her gaze, his mouth tugged down into a frown. He saw nothing except endless desert, dotted with scrub and rocks. It was ugly, and it made him want a drink so badly he turned toward the shack, steeling himself for the journey. Without bothering to watch and see what Senqua might be doing—she could do as she pleased and break her damned shoulder for all he cared—he meandered back and halted in front of the box of whiskey. The crate looked far away from his massive height, but the twinkle of amber liquid caught the sunlight. Saltang was well worth any effort.
Gairy stooped, his six-foot-eight frame bent at the waist. Just as he touched the bottle, the big Pumer rifle boomed behind him. He jumped, lost his balance, and landed on his ass in the dust. His big hands clutched the precious cargo so hard he thought the glass might shatter. The growling echo following the shot drowned the loud thud-thud of his heartbeat.
He sat there for a moment, smelling the dust, smelling the rising sweat of his own body, listening to his pulse drum on.
“I got him,” Senqua announced. She had the rifle propped firmly against the nose of the rover, holding it steady as she peered over the dusty horizon. Gairy noticed she hadn’t even uncapped the Veraleid scope.
“But I don’t think there’s much left,” she said. “This gun is too big to use on hare. I think it’s too big to use on anything but threk or sand hogs.”
Slowly, Gairy got to his feet and slid the whiskey bottle into his duster pocket. He imagined each footstep making the ground shake beneath his boots as his shadow fell over the Shyiine woman like a coming storm. But, save for the clouds of dust that rose as he walked, the earth didn’t shake, and the sun directly above afforded very little shadow to herald his coming. Worse, Senqua did not cower as he drew close, nor did she seem even slightly unnerved. Big as he was, towering over her by a foot and a half, she should have been at least a little disconcerted. It annoyed him that she didn’t even bat an eye.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked.
“Proving to you I can shoot a gun.” She slid the rifle back into the case. “I’d rather you teach me to use the Veraleid. I’ve never had to before and I don’t want to—”
“Did you scratch the rover? If you scratched that Draggin, it’s coming out of your water, and scouts don’t make very damned much to start.”
“The rover?” Senqua gaped. “Gairy, this rover is so dinged up even if I did scratch it, you’d never be able to tell.” She put the rifle next to the field packs once more before walking away.
“Where are you going?”
“To get the hare. You go sit on the porch and drink. Pass out again. I like it better out here when you’re not awake, anyway. I liked you better before you became Gairy Reidur, the drunk scout. When we go back to Dogton next week, I’ll save you the trouble and ask Neiro to let Kaitar train me instead. He might be hard to work with, but at least he won’t have me sitting by some well.”
She stalked off toward the dead varmint. The one Gairy still could not see.
Nothin’ out there. She just shot the gun off to be a bitch and prove me wrong.
Yet, somewhere beneath his indignation, shame lurked, raw as a sunburn. He felt thirsty again, too. Even as Senqua knelt near a line of thorny scrub and picked up the sorry carcass of something furry, Gairy plucked his own prize from his duster pocket. By the time the Shyiine woman came back, he’d already managed to wash some of his irritation away with a few gulps.
“Can you get my hat from the rover?”
“Get it yourself and leave me alone.” She tossed the hare near the fire, found her knife again, and began skinning the scrawny beast.
Gairy smirked. “You drive a man to drink, you know that?” He wiggled the bottle in her direction. “Why don’t you stop screwin’ around with those dead animals and just sit here and have some. Might lighten you up a little.”
“Why don’t you get off your ass and help me make this stew? Or, better yet, why don’t you go back to Dogton, and I’ll stay here and figure it out myself? You can go sit in the Bin all day, drinking that poison and telling lies with Hubert about the size of your Pumers.”
“Drinkin’s just a hobby. Lots of people do it. And stop bitching about the Veraleid. Nothin’ important anyway. Just routine call-ins. Get them all the time.” It sounded convincing enough, even to himself. Unbidden, his gaze flicked to the blinking transmitter perched on the Draggin’s dashboard. Covered in dust as it was, the blue light flashing on and off could easily be ignored, if Senqua would just drop the subject.
“Senqua, c’mon. Just have a drink and you’ll feel less bitchy about—”
“Fuck you and your stupid whiskey!” She hurled a pile of bloody rabbit entrails in his direction. They splatted against the sand.
&nb
sp; Gairy recoiled, a wave of nausea bolting all the way up his gullet. “Fine, stay out here with your carcasses then. But when we get back to Dogton, I’m tellin’ Neiro you ain’t cut out for this work.”
“That might be later rather than sooner,” a voice that was not his own whispered in his mind. “You two might be stuck out here camping for quite a while, until things settle down back in town after it’s all said and done.”
Senqua continued to gut the hare with angry, jerky motions. She didn’t reply, and after a moment, Gairy wandered back inside the shack where he wouldn’t have to see her, the dead animals, or the Veraleid.
Alone and out of the sun, he could drink in peace, and forget almost everything else.
Almost.
Salt Tea
The mule slowed her all-out gallop to a controlled canter as they neared the gates. A sign, made from rough-hewn acacia planks and painted in plain letters, hung on the makeshift archway:
Welcome to Dogton
Est. 977 A.T.
Kaitar wiped the grime from his face and spat to clear his mouth, squinting against the dust Molly had kicked up. The fine drift of powdered earth made it nigh impossible to see who was on gate duty that morning, and he didn’t share Molly’s enthusiasm at the homecoming; the sight of the little border town nestled up against the foothills of the Senbehi mountains gave him the urge to rein the tired mule right around and gallop south. It was too late for that, though. As he rode near and the gate duty Enforcer became visible through the haze, he recognized the guard with a stab of relief. The man there was not Zres Corrin, but Vorensi.
Eli Vorensi—Vore to his friends—had something of a reputation for being a sharpshooter, boasting the slowest drawl and the fastest draw in the entire desert. Slouched up against the gates, he looked anything but dangerous, though Kaitar had seen his skills a multitude of times over the years. He reined Molly to a halt, slid from the saddle, and waited for the routine check-in.
“Not much luck out there, I hear tell.” Vore pushed away from the gate post. “Orin’s about foamin’ at the mouth. Neiro’s been ridin’ him something fierce about this. I’ve never seen either of them so riled. You really think it was those Sulari squatters in Bywater that got Gren?” He ran long fingers through his ash-blond hair in a languid gesture, his gray eyes razor sharp.
Kaitar didn’t meet that piercing stare. “Sounds like you heard already, so I won’t waste your time explaining it.”
“The captain told us a bit, but we’re worried. First Broach . . . now Gren.”
“Yeah.” Kaitar motioned to the two long yatreg daggers and the revolver at his belt. “This is all I have on me, same as always.” Molly stamped, impatient for the stables and a good feed. He scratched her neck. “Can we go in?”
“Well, I suppose you’re not apt to ride in and kill anyone. Go on in. Mi’et’s probably gone rabid waitin’ to shove food down your throat. He’ll have to wait longer if Orin finds you first. Best get it over with.”
“Appreciate it.” Kaitar swung into the saddle. The gates jerked open with a grinding squeal that never failed to set his teeth on edge. Just beyond the sturdy chain-link and wire mesh, several people meandered about their business. Molly trotted forward, ears pricked up as she belted out her peculiar neighing bray, announcing her arrival.
“Wish it was my noon break already so I could hitch a ride behind you,” Vore said, mimicking a salute. “Suppose that’d about send Orin into a froth though . . . walkin’ off gate duty like that.”
“Uh-huh.” Kaitar waved as he rode past.
The gates creaked shut behind him. A few people stopped to watch their approach; he and Molly were something of an oddity in the border town. No other scout still did their work horseback, and the sight of a full-blooded Shyiine riding in from the hostile Shy’war-Anquai brought curious glances from visitors. The locals paid him far less attention. After two decades, they’d grown used to his comings and goings and rarely fussed over the novelty.
The harvest always brought enough travelers to fill the town to bursting. Merchant stalls and caravan wagons, all stocked for the autumn season, lined the dusty road. Colorful and decorative, they marked out the half-mile stretch measuring Dogton’s humble niche in the vast desert. Bright cloth, homespun wool, and imported cotton had all been stretched out for display. Trinkets of every style winked in the dawn. Revolvers, knives, and rifles hung from display racks, gleaming with a new coat of polish. Cells and tobacco were for sale everywhere he looked, and though the sun had just peeked over the eastern mountain ridge, people already milled about, bartering. Some rubbed their arms against the chill as they stood in the shadow of limestone brick shops, sipping tea or coffee. The tantalizing odors of spice and corn cakes, barbecued s’rat, bean chili, and peppers wafted in the morning breeze.
Kaitar’s stomach growled; it had been days since he’d eaten more than a few bites of salted jerky. He never needed to stuff himself as often as a human, but the notion of a square meal made his mouth water. Exhaustion settled hard on his shoulders. It would be good to rest in a real bunk, if only for one night.
As he rode toward the stables at the eastern edge of town, Dogton’s single cantina came into view. Once, the expensive planks had been painted a fine green color, but the green had faded to a sorry gray over the long years. A sign flashed its eternal proclamation above the door: The Dust Bin. Best Beans in Town.
Near the bar, a Drahgur loaded a caravan wagon. The neon light from the Bin shone against his curly black hair, casting a dark rainbow along the shoulder-length strands. A Drahgur in town was almost as much an oddity as a Shyiine scout, and Kaitar recognized the short, routund man at once. He was glad for the chance meeting; Sokepta usually had pepper bloom for sale.
As the Drahgur turned away from his wagon, a grin broke across his tawny face. “Ah, Kaitar! It is good to see you back in town, friend.”
Kaitar reined Molly across the road, and Sokepta reached to pat the mule’s soft muzzle as she halted before him.
“Your mule is tired, Kaitar. The desert looks like she’s had her way with you, too. You are not eating or sleeping enough. Even Shyiine need to eat and sleep.”
“I never have time. I’ll probably be going back out tomorrow.”
“So I heard.”
“You hear everything.”
Sokepta chuckled, eyes bright as a crow’s. “The Sulari in Bywater think they’ll have a new empire one day, but it won’t happen. They are all mad with pepper bloom and whiskey half the time, crazy for more the other half.” One stubby hand rubbed his hooked nose as the other continued to stroke the mule. “You should take care if you go down that way again, friend. If you think the old Sulari masters were cruel . . . heh, their offspring are worse. Life as a squatter does that to people, yes?”
“Yeah, I suppose it does. You heard anything about that area from the other caravaneers?”
“I will not even go to the Harpers’ Trail anymore. Too dangerous now. They have no respect even for me, the man who used to tend them in their sick beds.”
“Tell it to Neiro. He seems to think I should have ridden right into Bywater myself without backup.” Kaitar shifted in the saddle, his scowl twisting into an equally sour smirk. “Speaking of pepper bloom, do you have any?”
Sokepta’s teeth flashed in a quick grin. “Don’t I always? A Pihranese caravaneer bought some from me last night. I tried to tell him humans cannot smoke it like a Shyiine or Drahgur, but do humans ever listen?” He shook his head, feigning a great sadness as he leaned against the wagon, rifling through one of the many crates. “No. Never do they learn. He will wake up with a headache and stomach problems, and want me to cure him.”
“I guess you had that all planned.”
“No, I would never think of doing such a thing to a human. You wound me by thinking so, Kaitar," Sokepta said, sounding anything but offended. "Here, I saved this one especially for you. No tobacco, just straight-cut pepper bloom, as you like it.” He produced a
small bundle and tossed it.
Kaitar caught the package and clutched it to his chest. As he sniffed it and the sharp, spice-and-earth odor hit his nose, the tension in his shoulders melted away. “You don’t know how bad I’ve needed a smoke the past few days. You want the water for this now or later?”
“Later, friend. I know you are always good for it. Let us hope those squatters don’t kill you, but if they do, I won’t even charge you for it.” Sokepta patted Molly’s nose a final time. “Get some sleep and be safe out there, Kaitar. Find Gren. He owes me a few gallons for all the card games he’s lost.”
“I’ll let him know how thirsty you are.”
He left Soketpa in a cloud of dust as Molly trotted a beeline for the stables. Kaitar didn’t hold her back. She needed a good brushing and a long rest; far be it from him to deny her that respite any longer.
Once at Dogton’s only boarding stable, Kaitar gave the mule a final, affectionate pat before leaving her to the stable hands. Molly nickered her usual farewell as he strode toward the Enforcer barracks. Each step made his legs ache and his body feel stiff from days in the saddle with little rest. As he neared the big canvas structure, he paused, listening to the morning wind beat against the thick, grimy fabric. Inside, there would be food and water to wash should he be so inclined, but the thought of making a face-to-face report to Orin filled him with a sharp dread. If he had been a day closer, he might have been able to catch up with Gren and spot any ambush the Enforcer had walked into. If he had been in the area a month ago, he could have possibly even saved Broach from getting shot.
The ifs didn’t change the reality, though.
Steeling himself to that fact, Kaitar shoved aside the flaps and stepped inside the dim interior. A stuffy odor of bodies, coffee, tobacco, and food permeated the confined space. Two weapon lockers, several crates, a camp stove, and three small tables cramped the area. He shrugged off his duster, tossed it over the back of a chair, and lowered himself into the seat.
The canvas flaps near the bunks rustled briskly. A broad, hawk-nosed man peeked out, his coppery face mottled by paler patches that gave him a distinct, piebald appearance. Mi’et had inherited the prominent brow and massive build of a Druen, but had the high cheek bones and pointed ears of a Shyiine. Many of Dogton’s citizens boasted he was the ugliest creature east of the Sand Belt. Kaitar considered that opinion to be a rather stupid one.