Bats of the Republic

by Zachary Thomas Dodson

  Zeke scanned the crowd for Raisin. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ “Thirsty?” a voice whispered beside him. ∧∧ ∧∧ Zeke turned. A young fellow dressed like a Deserter. Hand-kerchief pulled up, shirt torn, and boots stained. He was making the hand signal for laudanum. ∧∧ Zeke gave a slight nod. He dug in his jacket pocket and palmed a wad of greenbacks to the fellow. ∧∧ ∧∧ He glanced up at the watchposts around them. None had an angle. The fellow had picked a good dead zone to ply his trade. Inside his handshake was a full phial. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Zeke tensed, listening for a Law whistle, but none sounded. The transaction had been successful. The fellow slunk back toward the square. ∧∧ ∧∧ Zeke slowly sucked half the phial into his glass dropper and shook it for good measure. He dropped seven beads of laudanum on the back of his tongue. The familiar warmth spread through him. He slipped the paraphernalia inside his jacket. He closed his eyes. Thick, syrupy air entered his lungs. His thoughts slowed down. He retreated into them. ∧∧ ∧∧ Zeke had considered spending his remaining days in the warm comfort of the drug. On it, he was an observer, composed only of thoughts. He was no longer the force that contracted muscles, that blinked eyes, that ate and drank, that talked and worked, that was a pair or a grandson or a Khrysalis. He no longer had to decide what to do about the letter. ∧∧ ∧∧ It was nothing to press his hands against the plankway, nothing to lift himself to standing. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ It was nothing to straighten his legs, nothing to walk back into the square. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ It was nothing to push open the wooden doors, nothing to walk into the saloon. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Zeke elbowed his way up to the polished bar. Low phosphor lights made the bottles twinkle menacingly. A long-dead chandelier hung from the ceiling like a cluster of stalactites. Dust blew in each time someone walked through the door. Entrances were watched by everyone. Young folks gossiped behind fans and hand-kerchiefs. He ordered a drink and paid for it with the last crumpled greenback in his pocket. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Outside he sat on the wooden planks a distance from the saloon crowd. He sucked on ice cubes and spat them back into his glass. The crowd started to murmur excitedly, and Zeke could see Law flashers just beyond the square’s edge. An arrest. Whispers and hand signals sparked through the crowd. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ A loud conversation at the table nearest to him surged. The Law was here for a body. A young girl. She had been tossed off a roof. He spotted Raisin. He was standing, shouting at a table of folks. He advocated opening the barrier. His rant sounded like a Deserter pamphlet. Zeke didn’t move. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ “Down with the claustrotopia,” Raisin shouted at another fellow. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ “You’d be dead without the barrier.” His opponent maintained the cadence of civilized speech. “If the Queers want to live without it, let them.” ∧∧ “Total integration. Now.” Raisin slammed his fist on the table. Zeke cringed. “Or the folks in the storm country are going to destroy us.” ∧∧ “How, by killing all the young girls?” ∧∧ ∧∧ “That’s not the Deserters. That girl is probably a suicide. When you’ve been here long enough, you’ll see.” Raisin was twitching. They had the attention of the saloon. Fans had stopped fluttering. The crowd tensed for a fight. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Two Lawmen slid down on handwheels from the nearest watchpost and advanced toward them. They looked young in their pressed brown uniforms, weapons holstered across their backs. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ The laudanum held Zeke hypnotized. He wanted to call out but could only watch what was happening. The other fellow stood up. Raisin had made him mad. ∧∧ “You’ve been here too long. There’s clearly no pair for you. Tram over to Atlantas. Go join all the other lonely wolves.” ∧∧ Raisin pushed the fellow’s chest with both hands, hard. “I’ll show you a wolf,” he shouted. ∧∧ One of the Lawmen blew his whistle. Raisin’s opponent made a break for it. The Lawman shot a bolo-catch at his ankles. The whizzing rope caught his feet up, binding them together. He fell face-first into the dirt. The Lawmen ran over and wrestled his wrists into a bolo-tie. Then he tied Raisin’s. Zeke stood up, without thinking. ∧∧ ∧∧ The Lawman pointed at him. ∧∧ “You, come here. We need a witness.” ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Zeke gave Raisin a look of exasperation. His friend was tied, still panting. ∧∧ “Come here.” The Lawman unlatched his holster. He reached over his shoulder and pulled his steamsabre out by its hilt. Zeke walked over. The laudanum sloshed in his head. “What did this Deserter say? You were listening.” The Lawman pointed the weapon at Zeke. The steam was switched off. ∧∧ ∧∧ “I wasn’t really.” Zeke remembered that he needed to stay away from the Law. ∧∧ “You were sitting right there. You are a witness.” ∧∧ “He said he’s got a dustbomb strapped to him, and that the barrier is coming down.” Zeke thought a joke might lighten the mood. The Lawman frowned. ∧∧ ∧∧ “What?” He jabbed his dead steamsabre into Zeke’s side. The Law wasn’t going to give them a break. ∧∧ ∧∧ “Why don’t you just throw us all over the barrier?” Zeke mumbled. It was loud enough. He was surprised at the forcefulness of his words. ∧∧ Muscles along the Lawman’s jawline tightened. “I’m arresting this one too,” he called to his partner. ∧∧ The Lawman grabbed his shoulder. Zeke’s glass shattered on the wooden plankway. The Lawman twisted Zeke’s arm behind his back. He fastened a bolo-tie around his wrists. The rope twisted into a configuration that made it impossible to escape. It burned. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ The three of them were brought out to the main street. The Law had called their movable jail cell, a glass cabinet mounted on a steamcarrier with blinding Law flashers on top. The Lawman punched their names into the typowriter mounted on the side. The door hissed closed, sealed by the carrier’s supply of steam. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ The prisoners sat in the back on rough benches. The Lawman called up a watchpost to have their files pulled. The Recorder reported back down that Zeke was a Khrysalis. This made the Lawman nervous. He put in a call for the Major. The other fellow sneered at Raisin. His chest puffed up and down. Raisin sat still and looked at the floor of the cell. Zeke could hear the Lawmen talking about him. He knew it would be best if he and Raisin pretended not to know each other. Eliza was asleep at home. A call from jail would wake her up. ∧∧ ∧∧ Finally Daxon arrived. ∧∧ “Two days in a row?” His eyes swam as he tried to focus on Zeke. His face was sallow, with dark bags. He pretended to flip through their files. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ The Major produced a pointed blood dropper and pressed it against Zeke’s forearm. The sharp pinch left a red mark. Zeke wondered what the Republic did with all the blood they collected. The Major stumbled toward the junior Lawman with the evidence. He seemed drunk. ∧∧ ∧∧ “I’m not a Deserter. I don’t want outside the barrier,” the other fellow mumbled. “I want other folks to be able to get back inside.” ∧∧ A deafening whistle sounded. Everyone jumped up. It blared through the streets. ∧∧ “Who pulled an all-quad alert?” Daxon shouted above the whine of the whistle. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ One of the Lawmen approached quickly. “Sir, seems the cannon has gone missing.” ∧∧ “Missing?” He lowered his voice into a menacing hiss. “Don’t say a thing to anyone. And turn that bloody alert off! Now!” ∧∧ ∧∧ They were left alone in the cell while the Lawman went scrambling up a watchpost to phone in the order. ∧∧ ∧∧ “The jails are full.” The fellow with them was despondent. “We’ll all be thrown over the barrier. The whole city-state will watch as we’re blasted by the steammoat.” ∧∧ Zeke kept silent. ∧∧ “I’d rather that,” said Raisin. “You can outrun the steammoats. That’s how Speed earned his nickname. He taught other Deserters how to do it. They’ve got an army out there. Of men and hounds both.” The fellow looked terrified. ∧∧ ∧∧ The Major pulled a valve on the jail cell, releasing pressurized
steam. The door swung open. “Get out,” he shouted. ∧∧ They clamored out of the cell, wrists still tied. Zeke felt unbalanced. “Not you.” The Major shoved the other fellow back in the cell. ∧∧ ∧∧ Abruptly, the whistle sounded again. The Major sighed heavily. “Will nothing in this tinpot city-state function properly? Now everyone knows we’ve got a murder.” He removed his brimhat and mopped at his brow. ∧∧ ∧∧ “That cell,” he said to the Lawman, “goes back to the jail.” He took the bolo-ties off Raisin’s wrists with difficulty. He grabbed him by the hand-kerchief around his neck. “Don’t show up on record with those folks again.” Raisin shot Zeke a look, and scurried off into the dark. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ The Major pointed at Zeke’s wrists. The Lawman untied them. ∧∧ “The girl’s got no blood, sir,” he said to the Major. “Completely drained. How are we going to ID her?” ∧∧ The Major grunted. “Another one.” He waved Zeke’s file in his face, like he was tired of all the paperwork. “Just trying to keep the peace. How can I get anything else done around here while this is going on?” The Major heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Somebody opens the neck of every girl he can get his claws on, and I’m up all night. I should be looking for a knife, not a letter.” ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ The steamcarrier let loose a hiss. It chugged down the street toward the city-center. The fellow sat inside like a captured animal. The carrier would slide right into the jail building, and he’d be surrounded by other prisoners in glass cells. ∧∧ ∧∧ The Major turned to the Lawman. “If that fool hadn’t been sitting in a mob of witnesses, we could pin the whole thing on him. Get me a drink from that saloon. Before I strip you of your uniform.” He ran off to fulfill the order. The Major continued, “My Threaders are all looking for loose animals. My suspect doesn’t exist. Tricks of the light.” ∧∧ ∧∧ “Look,” the Major said. His speech was muddy. “I just want the uncarbon’d document. To close the thread. So here’s the deal. I’m going to let you go, and you go back to your filthy little nest and get me that letter. Understood?” ∧∧ ∧∧ “I don’t have it.” Zeke could still feel the laudanum in his system. ∧∧ “Hh, yours is a generation of liars. I can play that game too. I’ll pin a note with your name on it to the next girl we find. Our handwriting always holds up in court.” ∧∧ “I have my deadline.” ∧∧ The Major shuffled away, his neck cranked back at Zeke. “We’re recording every move,” he said. ∧

  MR. BUELL MAKES LOUISA A DIORAMA. SHE RECEIVES A NEW DOLL. TALES ARE TOLD OF ZED BLACKFOOT AND THE BLACK-EYED SHUCK. MR. BUELL BADLY FRIGHTENS LOUISA.

  rranging various branches, Mr. Buell knelt on the polished wood floor of the large salle. He poured little piles of sand and fixed pebbles at their edges. He felt foolish, playing dolls with a girl half his age, but when Louisa entered for her fencing lesson, her face lit up. She saw the sand and leaves, lit by the morning sun streaming through the windows, and knew immediately it was a miniature landscape, set for her.

  Louisa skittered across the floor, clasping her hands together. She smiled at him. ‘It’s a truly marvelous setting.’

  Mr. Buell hunched over his landscape, stiffly arranging a last twig. He stood laboriously, dusting off his large black coat. It was old but of a fine make, and carried the heavy scent of cologne.

  ‘I thought we might tell stories,’ Mr. Buell said. He studied his pupil closely. ‘Or would your rather drill your riposte?’

  Louisa gave him her most crestfallen look, her green eyes batting back crocodile tears. Mr. Buell had large set features and a thick complexion, but his face softened at this.

  ‘As I thought. Fencing is a pastime for men, anyhow. I’m not sure why your father insists on lessons for girls who are clearly more suited to the feminine arts.’

  The upstairs floor had been arranged by the girls’ mother as a ballroom meant for entertaining any number of guests who might care to dance. Mr. Gray had argued that the space could be put to better use, and had managed to install a fencing cabinet and some drilling targets. After his wife’s death, he could not bring himself to change the room at all. He decided to build new rooms instead. Dancing lessons had ceased but the fencing lessons continued.

  ‘Well, then. Did you bring Maryposa?’

  Louisa fished the doll from its usual home in her dress pocket. ‘I shall go get her house, and furniture, and her babies…’

  ‘I don’t know if she needs all that. What if she had another adventure in the western wilderness?’

  ‘I did fashion a new bathing cap.’

  ‘Ah, we shall need a river then.’ He took his blue silken scarf and snaked it around little hills of dirt and between branches. ‘There we are. A Rio Grande. Maryposa might have a place to bathe. And perhaps a partner.’

  ‘Zed Blackfoot?’

  ‘If he appears.’

  Louisa flung herself down onto her front and stood Maryposa at the edge of the river, tugging the pink bathing cap, made from the tip of the gardening glove, over her blonde hair.

  ‘My sister says I am too old for dolls.’

  ‘These are merely props. For a more elaborate form of storytelling. Hasn’t your sister always fancied fiction? And your mother?’

  ‘Will you read me The City-State?’

  ‘I don’t have your mother’s book. But I remember the story well. It was set in Texas, not far from the Rio Grande. The name means “big river” in Spanish.’ Mr. Buell sat down beside her and arranged the blue silk, pinching its folds into little waves. ‘Do you know how this Rio Grande came to be so big.?’

  Louisa wrestled Maryposa’s fragile limbs through the holes of a pink bathing costume that had also appeared from her pocket.

  ‘It was Zed Blackfoot himself who made it,’ said Mr. Buell.

  ‘A whole river?’ Louisa looked at him in anticipation.

  ‘Really truly. He wrote of it to Maryposa in his letters when he first made his way to the wilds of Texas. He came by steamboat, but found that the land was much too dry, and the river became smaller and smaller as he traveled south. The boat was getting stuck because the river was too small. So what did he do?’

  Louisa raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

  ‘Well, he pulled up the anchor of that steamship, and used it like a pickax. It was so big and heavy that every stroke made the riverbed that much wider and deeper. So deep that it became the biggest river in Texas, and they named it the Rio Grande. It could only have been accomplished by way of him being so tall. His limbs were long, sinewy, and tough, like the branches of a pecan tree.’

  ‘How tall was he?’

  ‘Let’s see.’ From behind his back Mr. Buell produced a figure carved of wood. He was dressed in a brown city overcoat, not unlike Buell’s, but he had the chaps of an Indian scout, and his feet had been blackened with ash. Mr. Buell stood him up next to Louisa’s doll. ‘About that tall, I suppose.’

  Louisa gasped. ‘He’s beautiful! Where did you get him?’

  ‘I fashioned him this very morning. He is yours to keep, my dear.’ She took the carved man and turned him round and round in her fingers, admiring the workmanship.

  ‘After all that effort he was so thirsty he took a mighty gulp out of the Rio Grande, but the water was so muddy and full of swimming numrats that he spat it back out. And when he did, everyone saw that the water had been changed and cleaned by the white teeth of Zed. Giant drops of the purest mineral water were splashed all about Texas, landing in small groves of brush and tree. They say if you find one and drink from it, immortal life will be yours. From that day forth numrats never plagued the land again. The filthy cities are overrun by their cousins, but Texas waters are free of such creatures.’