by Becca Mills
“Yes, ma’am. He’s already down there loading up the packhorses.” He took a last drink of coffee and stood. “You come on down when you’re ready, and I’ll show you how to groom and tack-up a horse. Mr. Williams might need a little help, now and then.”
The assumption that I didn’t know such things set my teeth on edge. I reminded myself that Mr. Gates didn’t know I’d grown up in a rural area. Plus, he was an old-style southern gentleman — there were probably things ladies just weren’t expected to know how to do.
“Okay. Thanks. Has anyone else gotten here?”
“Nope. It’s just Kelly and me, at the moment. And the two you saw yesterday, but they’ll be heading out soon.”
“To the S-Em?”
“No, ma’am. They’ve just come from there.”
I nodded, shrugging off the issue of the team. Somehow or another, Cordus had it all set up. I didn’t have to worry.
I ate a bowl of cereal, fetched my pack from upstairs, and headed down to the barn.
As I approached, I saw the man and woman who’d been in the kitchen the day before. They’d backed a horse trailer up to one of the outbuildings and were loading crates into it. They were transferring the crates from a large wooden cart, the kind of contraption you might see at Ye Olde Renaissance Faire.
I wondered what was in the crates. Some of the interworld commerce Mr. Gates had mentioned, probably.
The S-Em was largely pre-industrial, so I could see the Seconds wanting to get ahold of F-Em technology. Especially weapons. But what would they have that we’d want over here?
Williams had four packhorses tied to hitching posts in front of the stable. He and a short red-haired man were loading the packs. Copper and Bertha weren’t among the pack horses. Apparently, we’d be riding. The additional animals must’ve come from Mr. Gates’s stock.
Williams glanced up at my approach, then went back to work.
The man helping him straightened up, smiled, and came over, holding out his hand to shake.
“Kelly McLeod.”
“Hey. I’m Beth Ryder.”
“Nice to meet you, Beth.”
“McLeod,” Williams growled.
“Sorry,” Kelly said. “Duty calls.” He leaned toward me conspiratorially. “And ‘Duty’ got up on the wrong side of the bed, if you ask me.”
I smiled. He seemed like a nice guy.
I headed into the stable. As my eyes adjusted, I saw Mr. Gates working on Copper, who was cross-tied in the aisle.
“Hey, Mr. Gates. Where’s Bertha? I can get started on her.”
Mr. Gates turned to speak to me, and Copper took the opportunity to nip at his side. Fortunately, the cross-ties kept him from making contact.
“This pony isn’t so nice, Miss Ryder. You’ll be okay on him?”
I shrugged. “He does tend to dump me, but there’s no barn to run back to where we’re going.”
Mr. Gates did his eyes-only smile. “All right, then. The big girl’s right there — three down on the left. You okay with her on your own?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve been around horses a good bit.”
He nodded and turned back to Copper.
I got Bertha out and gave her a thorough going over. Compared to Copper, Bertha was easy. She was one of those sweetheart horses who pick their feet up for you at a touch.
Once both horses were tacked up, Mr. Gates showed me how to put on saddlebags. I’d never used them before. Copper was carrying one set below the saddle’s cantle and another smaller set in the front. Mr. Gates explained I should put daily essentials in them — things like a hoof pick, my traveling clothes, ammunition, and toiletries. The rest of my stuff would go on the packhorses.
When I went to put my weapons in the pommel bags, Mr. Gates told me I was better off keeping them on my person.
“No good having weapons if they go running off with your horse.”
“I’m not really going to need them, am I? Lord Cordus said this route was safe.”
Mr. Gates lifted his foot and tapped a hoof pick against the heel of his boot, dislodging a clump of dirt.
“Well, now, I don’t know anywhere in the worlds that can’t pose some danger, once in a while. Better safe than sorry, I say.”
I nodded. Sure. Just a precaution.
Mr. Gates stashed the pick in his back pocket. “You got holsters?”
I didn’t, so he went into one of the outbuildings and came back with a big crate. It was full of brand-new holsters of different types and sizes. I guess I was right about the Seconds’ interest in F-Em weaponry.
Mr. Gates first pulled out a nylon dual-pistol shoulder holster that looked badass and would’ve held both of my guns, but when I tried it on, it was too bulky. Plus, drawing the weapons took forever, especially the one I had to get with my left hand.
I ended up with belt-mounted holsters. My knife’s sheath was also designed to slide onto a belt, so it all worked well — but only after Mr. Gates went back to the house and got me one of his old belts, which he cut down to size and punched with additional holes.
I was a little embarrassed not to have a belt, but really, you don’t need one if you don’t tuck your shirt in, right?
He also gave me an ankle holster that would fit the .38. It’d be easy to reach when I was mounted.
After the weapons were finally set, Mr. Gates helped me go through my stuff and put each item in a big Ziploc bag. At the same time, he made a little pile of things I should carry on Copper.
“This all right, Miss Ryder?”
I looked over what he’d pulled. It was all hot-weather gear: the sun screen and bug spray, a poncho, long-sleeved cotton shirts, and so forth.
“Where does it go? The strait, I mean.”
“Town by the name of Free.”
I’d never heard of it.
“Where is that, exactly?”
“Rainforest stratum. South American landmass. We call it ‘Gold Rush,’ on account of all the mines. It’s not that old.”
In S-Em terms, “not that old” probably meant Cretaceous.
The S-Em wasn’t a single, coherent sphere, like the Earth. It was a massively layered collection of strata that had been created at different times by different essence-workers. Most of the strata were connected to others haphazardly at points known as “ligatures.” That meant you could travel around. It just tended to be a lot less direct than going somewhere in the F-Em. Sometimes you had to take a very roundabout route to avoid no-go areas. Some strata predated the oxygenation of the atmosphere, and some ligatures were in the deep oceans — not so workable for humans. Some strata were so full of dinosaurs that people avoided them.
Not for the first time, I wished Yellin’s lessons on the S-Em hadn’t been so narrow. It’d been hard to get him to talk about strata that weren’t dominated by humans or that had no great powers in residence. He didn’t think they mattered. He’d never so much as mentioned Gold Rush, even though Lord Cordus held a strait that led there. That was nuts.
“Can you tell me about the trip from Gold Rush to Fur? Lord Cordus said it’d take about two months.”
“Well now, that depends,” Mr. Gates said, rubbing his chin. “Gold Rush connects to Ancient Inland, and Ancient Inland connects to Fur. With good luck, you can go that way in two, three months. Blue Seas is doable, but a good deal longer. There’s also Ants, but you surely don’t want to go there. No ma’am. Ants is no good at all.” He glanced at my face. “You’ll be all right. Mr. Williams’ll keep you safe. He knows what he’s about.”
“I thought there’d be more people coming along.”
“There might well be. There might well be.”
“You mean from the other side? Seconds?”
Mr. Gates shrugged, smiling. “You just wait and see how Mr. Williams wants to handle things. He’s got a good head on him, that one. He’ll get you where you’re going.”
I nodded. It was a little frustrating, but I knew it’d work out. Not because of Williams. Because of
Lord Cordus.
By 9:00, everything was ready. Mr. Gates and I led Bertha and Copper outside and tied them to the hitching posts south of the paddock. The packhorses were already out there waiting.
Williams was leaning against the paddock fence. He had a handgun in a hip holster on the left and a short sword on the right. A small pile of loaded saddlebags sat at his feet. And more guns. Once we’d tied up Bertha, he came over and put the bags on her. Then he hung a rifle scabbard along her near side, so that it slanted back under the saddle’s fender. A shotgun scabbard went on the other side, attaching near the pommel in a more upright position.
I’d felt pretty butch with my knife and two pistols, but I didn’t feel so tough standing next to the mounted armory.
That’s probably the point, I thought. He wants to feel important.
He took no notice of me — just stood there, contemplating the empty paddock.
I turned and looked as well. It seemed utterly ordinary. I wondered what a closed strait felt like to normal Nolanders. Was it really obvious, or more of a spot of possibility?
“Any news of the road?” Williams asked Mr. Gates.
“Turkey problem’s getting worse. Could put a real hitch in the trade.”
Williams grunted. Then he turned and looked at me. Not just a glance, but a real up-and-down examination. Unlike with the guy in the kitchen, there was nothing sexual about it. It was more like a parent checking to make sure their preschooler wasn’t headed out the door pantsless.
I gritted my teeth. “Do I pass inspection?”
Mr. Gates chuckled. “This one’s not gonna be any trouble. She knows her way around the vitals.”
Williams didn’t answer, but he shot Mr. Gates a look that said, This one is nothing but trouble.
Mr. Gates smiled and shook his head. “Well, I’ll just take the pack string up for you.”
He untied the first packhorse and headed up to the paddock.
I turned to follow him, but Williams stopped me.
“How much do you know about where we’re going?”
“Nothing.”
Williams regarded me silently. Maybe he didn’t believe me.
“Yellin’s taught me a little about the S-Em, but I don’t think he ever mentioned this stratum. He never talked about where the ice men live, either.”
“He teach you Baasha?”
“Yeah.”
It’d have to be enough to get us to the rest of the team, I guess. Good thing I’d worked pretty hard on the language.
Williams pondered me in silence for a minute. I stood there trying to ignore the skin-crawling feeling he gave me.
“The places we’re going are dangerous. You need to stick close to me, do exactly what I say.”
“Dangerous? Lord Cordus said —”
“Don’t tell anyone who you are,” he continued. “What you can and can’t do. Nothing about your capacity. No skin-to-skin contact with anyone.”
“But —”
“Just do what I say.”
My annoyance flared. “Don’t talk to me that way. You’re supposed to be helping me on this mission, not ordering me around.”
He stepped right up to me. I jumped back and was immediately furious with myself for acting scared.
“My job is to get you to the ice men alive. I can do that fine with you gagged and tied to a horse. Got it?”
I gaped at him, totally taken by surprise.
How dare he treat me like this?
He stepped in again. “Answer me.”
My pulse shot up. The urge to step back again was overwhelming.
“Fine,” I ground out. “I got it.”
He grunted and turned away.
“So what are you going to call me? Do I get a code name?”
“Her.”
He headed toward the paddock with Bertha.
I stood watching him, my fists balled up in fury. I wanted to drop Copper’s reins, march back into Mr. Gates’s house, and call Lord Cordus and tell him I couldn’t work with Williams.
Lord Cordus values this mission so much he’s given me his strongest fighter, and I can’t make it work? Am I really going to make that call?
I stood there, struggling.
He believes I can do this, and “this” includes handling Williams.
Lord Cordus was right — I could handle this. It was going to test my patience, but I could do it. Clearly, Williams was the kind of person who made himself feel big by demeaning others. But so what? His opinion didn’t mean anything to me, and it sure didn’t amount to a hill of beans when compared to the fate of humanity.
I took a deep breath and headed up to the paddock.
Even standing inside, I couldn’t sense a thing.
“I’ll go through first with one horse,” Williams said. “You come next with another. I’ll come back for the others one at a time.” He glanced at Copper. “Leave him for me.”
I was only too happy to oblige him on that one. The little appy was already shifting around nervously. He was going to be spooky about the strait.
Williams led Bertha forward.
His cell phone rang, and he stopped to dig it out of his pocket.
Beats me why he still had the thing on. Mine was turned off and buried at the bottom of my pack.
“Williams,” he said into it.
He listened for a minute.
“Okay, thanks,” he said, and turned to me, holding the phone out. “Callie.”
Oh for god’s sake.
I took the phone and brought it to my ear. “Hi, Callie.”
“Beth. It’s good to hear your voice.”
“Yeah, you too.”
She paused for a long moment. “I didn’t see anything about you. I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” Her voice broke. “So sorry.”
I reminded myself that from Callie’s point of view, I was about to step into hell.
“Thanks, Callie. Hey, I’ll be fine over there.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
I could tell from her voice she didn’t believe me.
“I’m giving you back to Williams, now. Take care, okay?”
“I will. You too, Beth.”
I handed the phone back to Williams. He held it up to his ear briefly, but Callie must’ve already hung up. He snapped it closed and pocketed it, eyeing me. Then he turned back to the strait.
“Did she have a vision about you?” I said.
He paused, apparently considering whether or not to share.
“She said, ‘Water will save you.’”
“What water? Save you from what?”
He shrugged. Whatever their relationship, apparently it didn’t make Callie’s predictions any clearer.
Williams stepped forward and disappeared. Bertha went readily behind him.
Huh. There really was a hole in the world right there. Part of me hadn’t quite believed it.
I took a deep breath of the warm morning air. Good smells — grass and horses, dirt and creosote.
I looked back at Mr. Gates. “Thanks for your help.”
“You’re welcome, child. Take care of yourself.”
He dipped his head once in farewell, and I smiled back. Then I chirruped to the packhorse and walked into another world.
Chapter 9
I expected it to be hot. And it was — like a steam bath.
I expected an exotic otherworld of lush plant life and strange creatures.
I was wrong about that one. I stepped into something more like a prison exercise yard: a sixty-foot ring of gray pavement surrounded by high stone walls. There were guards watching me from the walls, and they had guns.
Williams was standing off to the left, near the only gate. He looked impatient.
When I joined him, he handed me Bertha’s reins and walked back through the strait. He returned with another of the packhorses, then repeated the process three more times, finishing up with Copper, who came through jigging and snorting.
The guards on the walls watched us si
lently. They gave me the creeps. No matter which way I turned, there were always some behind me.
Williams didn’t seem bothered by them, but his barriers could easily deflect bullets. I had no such defense.
Once all the horses were through, Williams mounted up.
“We’ll each lead two,” he said, nodding at the packhorses. “Led a pack string before?”
I shook my head.
“Don’t tie the rope to your saddle. If something spooks them, let go.”
I mounted Copper, remembering to keep the off rein tight so he couldn’t turn his head and bite me. The ass-chomp was one of his favorite moves.
Why hadn’t I asked Mr. Gates for a different horse? He’d practically invited me to.
I found my other stirrup and got the reins and the packhorses’ lead sorted out. It felt awkward to have something extra in my hands.
Williams had sidled Bertha right up to the heavy wooden gate. He was leaning toward it, as though studying the fine grain of the wood. I went closer and realized he was speaking to someone on the other side through a tiny window.
I took a moment to look back toward the center of the ring. Home was right there, just on the other side of something I couldn’t see.
Come to think of it, who’d opened the strait for us?
I looked around. It was hard to believe one of the rifle-toting guards was a power.
Mr. Gates.
He’d been the only one there. It was his farm. He’d said he’d been there a long time. And, I realized, he projected a subtle authority. He’d introduced himself first name and last, but it had never occurred to me to call him “Bill.”
But Lord Cordus letting another power live in his territory and operate one of his straits — that ran counter to what Yellin had taught me about the way powers related to one another. Plus, I’d never met anyone who seemed less like a power. He was low-key, kind, human. He used contractions. He even let himself look short and old.
Like Miss Sturluson.
A shiver ran up to the base of my skull.
I heard a loud scrape and turned. The wooden gate was opening.
Williams chirruped to Bertha and rode through into a corridor of stone — a narrow paved road contained by high walls. I could see that it stretched some distance away.
Whoever lived in this stratum, they were really paranoid.