by F J Blair
“Pardon me.” William peeked over Temperance’s shoulder. He flicked his gaze to the creature still standing in the grass watching them. “But why are we not running away? What is that thing?”
“It’s called an ixtl. Farmers like Mister Dunpeal here use them to clear away redgrass, and harvest the slime they leave behind.”
“Slime?” William puckered his lips several times, like he was getting a feel for the word.
“That’s right. Here, watch it move now.”
The ixtl craned its neck forward, slowly emerging from the redgrass. The creature didn’t have legs, but rather its body ended in a stump that pushed off the ground to keep itself moving forward. On the creature’s back was an enormous plate of rocks and dirt. Moss trailed the edges, and mushrooms grew upon its surface in clumps. A few birds darted among them, or pecked at the soil.
Behind the ixtl stretched a glistening wet trail, like soap scum left in a hotel washbasin. Temperance gestured towards it. “Once that stuff dries the farmers will come along and break it up with these hammers. Then they take it home, grind it into a fine powder, and sell it.”
“Is it for eating?” William blanched at his own comment. At this Benjamin let out another laugh.
“I sure hope not, don’t even want to think what would happen if you put that stuff in your mouth. It’s used for making explosives like dynamite, or so I’m told. I only know they pay me top dollar for every barrel I can bring into Sweetwater.”
The farmer turned and regarded Temperance. “I must say, young lady, I’m rather surprised you know so much about it. Most folks who don’t live around these parts are as surprised as this young fellow here.”
“Yes, well.” Temperance turned away and strode towards the crystalized slime, where Benjamin’s two sons were already hard at work breaking pieces apart. “Let’s just say I’ve become familiar with it in my line of work.”
In truth, she hadn’t known that ixtl slime was used to make explosives, although that explained its presence on the open market. What she did know was that in addition to redgrass the slime was one of the most powerful reagents available. Perhaps she might talk Ben into trading her some of his supply before they left.
She set to work cracking apart the crystal, and a few minutes later William joined her, once again holding that mysterious hammer of his. It was much smaller than the ones the farmers had provided, but appeared more suited to his diminutive frame.
The sun worked its slow path across the sky. Despite the spring air, Temperance was soon dripping with sweat, and William looked even worse off. Benjamin and his sons had long since abandoned their shirts. Their skin glistened in the sunlight as they continued to heave massive chunks of the slime into the wagon.
“I—” William panted for breath, then tried again. “I think the life of a farmer is not for me.”
“Nothing stopping you from stripping off those rags of yours,” Temperance grumbled. William gave her a strange look, and she shrugged. “What? Just saying, some of us don’t get that option. Have to maintain my ‘ladylike dignity’ or some such. Yet if we were down at the local swimming hole not one of them would think twice about how little I’m wearing. Backwards logic if you ask me.”
One of Benjamin’s sons had wandered out of sight around the redgrass. He returned a few seconds later, his face gone ashen. “Pa! Come quick!”
Temperance dropped her sledgehammer and jogged up to Benjamin. Together they followed the ixtl trail around a shrub of redgrass to where Samuel stood waiting.
“What is it—aw, Hell.” Benjamin kicked at the ground where the ixtl trail ended in an abrupt, jagged line. Temperance looked around but couldn’t see anything wrong. Both of the farmer’s sons appeared unhurt, only looking angry like their father.
“Am I missing something here?”
“The slime trail,” Ben said. “Someone else has been working on our claim, stealing from my family. It’ll be days before more has dried enough to harvest, and that damn ixtl doesn’t move but once every few hours.”
“Looks like the thieves weren’t here too long ago, either, Pa.” Edwin pointed to where the dirt had been churned up by several pairs of feet. A set of wagon tracks similar to their own led off towards the east. “Might be they’re still close. We could go after them and take it back.”
Benjamin shook his head. “Don’t talk stupid, boy. You know as well as me this was Whittaker’s gang again. They’d cut you to ribbons before you could even get a shot off.”
“Excuse me,” Temperance interrupted. “What is this gang you keep mentioning?”
“Richard Whittaker and his men. They call themselves the Gunpowder Gang, but most folks around here just refer to them by their leader’s name. They’ve been a burr in me and my neighbors’ saddles for a while. Mostly they just pick off livestock near the edges of our herds, but this is a new low for them. That slime is where all our spare kos comes from.”
The name set off a flash of recognition in Temperance’s skull. I remember now. Those were the same bandits that accosted me and Astor on the bridge. I sure wouldn’t mind paying them back for that particular bit of trouble.
Benjamin spat on the dirt while his boys looked glum. Temperance let the wheels in her head turn a minute before she spoke. “You think they’re still nearby?”
“Probably? Can’t be moving too fast if they harvested this whole section. Not that it matters, though. Why?”
“I’m running a little low on ammunition at the moment, but if you could see fit to resupply me, I’d be willing to chase them off.”
Ben squinted at her. “Didn’t you hear what I just said? There’s got to be twice as many of them as there are of us.”
“I like those odds.” Temperance smiled at the farmer in a way she hoped made her look older than she was. “One of your boys and I can ride out there, figure out where they are. I’ll sneak up on them, hit them before they even know what’s happening. Shouldn’t be too difficult.”
“Let me get this straight: you want me to give you ammunition and my horses, so you can ride off with one of my boys? You gotta admit, girl, that sounds awfully suspicious.”
Temperance sighed. Every damn time I try to help someone, it never goes the way I want it to.
There was an easy way to turn the conversation around. It wasn’t what she wanted to do—never what she wanted to do—but if it meant saving this man and his family . . . .
She reached into her pocket and pulled out her soul symbol. The metal badge was made of black iron, with a leafless white tree burned into its center.
The mark of a true Whiteoak.
Placing it in the farmer’s hands, Temperance waited while he frowned and tried to make sense of this sudden change in fortune.
At last Benjamin glanced back up at her. “You’re a Whiteoak? Why didn’t you say so before?”
“I reckon you know the reason, Mister Dunpeal. My family hasn’t had it easy these last couple of years.”
“No, I reckon they haven’t.” Ben handed the symbol back over. Out of the corner of her eye, Temperance saw William glance at it, a look of curiosity on his face. She slipped it back into her pocket.
“Alright,” the farmer continued. “I believe you mean well. Not sure what you’re hoping to accomplish on your own, though. I won’t let my boys get involved in a firefight, even if a Pistol Warlock is involved.”
“Don’t worry about your sons, I just need one of them to watch the horses. Now, about that ammunition?”
“I’ve got a box of cartridges stored in the wagon from some practice shooting. They should work for those weapons of yours.” Benjamin started walking, and Temperance fell in beside him. “Let’s get the horses unhitched. I only pray to the Three you know what you’re doing.”
Chapter Ten
“You sure those are the bandits?” Temperance asked. She and the older Dunpeal boy lay on a hill, hidden behind several bushes covered in tiny pink flowers she didn’t know the name for. Some distance
away, a wagon laden with pieces of crystal rested beside a small stream. A dozen men sat on logs by a rough campfire or laid stretched out in the grass.
“Sure as I am about anything. Besides, even if it weren’t Whitakker’s boys, everyone around here knows that’s my family's ixtl claim. Stealing is still stealing.”
“Fair enough, just wanted to make sure. I don’t need another bounty on my head for something that isn’t my fault.” Edwin glanced at her. “Nevermind. You get back with the horses while I deal with these fools.”
The men below didn’t appear too concerned about being followed. None of them were keeping watch, and several appeared to be drunk. Temperance eyed the jugs of moonshine they had set around the fire somewhat enviously, then studied the wagon. It sat behind the men from her direction, so they wouldn’t be able to use it for cover without exposing their backs, but she also didn’t like the idea of hitting it with a stray shot–assuming it was as explosive as Benjamin Dunpeal claimed.
She fingered the last of her remaining hex spheres. Would a swarm of bees provide a sufficient distraction to the men below? Should she use it now, or save it for an emergency?
Who am I kidding? A dozen drunken fools, and not a single hexbullet between them? I could almost feel bad about this, if they weren’t a bunch of thieving lowlifes.
Once she felt certain that Edwin was far enough away to avoid the firefight, she checked both her revolvers. Fully loaded, although just with mundane bullets. Another dozen cartridges were tucked into the pockets of her jacket.
She slithered through the bushes until the men and wagon were parallel with her, limiting their ability to use it to hide behind while reducing the chance of a stray bullet setting it afire. No point to all this if Mister Dunpeal lost his family’s earnings, after all.
Now just to wait for the right opportunity. Might be better to hold off until the sun sets a bit, make sure it's in their eyes while they’re shooting. Gives them a bit more time to get liquored up, too.
One of the men started towards the bush where she was hiding, unhitching his breeches as he walked. He reeked of moonshine so strong Temperance could smell it a dozen strides away.
The sight of the man approaching set her heart to hammering. Before she even realized that she’d done it, the bandit toppled to the ground clutching his chest, blood spreading across his shirt. The smell of moonshine was quickly replaced with the tang of gunsmoke. A dark stain spread across the man’s breeches as he lay on the ground twitching. Temperance grimaced.
The other gang members turned in his direction, staring dumbly at the limp figure. Temperance took the opportunity to fire twice more in quick succession, the retort of her pistols like cannon fire. Two of the bandits near the fire cried out in pain and dropped to the ground.
Dammit, I’ve gotten too used to hexbullets. She stared at the figures writhing on the ground even as she fired again into their companions’ midst. One of the pair had managed to roll into the fire, setting his clothes aflame and filling the air with reeking smoke. This feels wrong somehow.
Now the bullets poured in a horizontal rain of lead upon the hapless bandits. Each shot found its mark in a head or chest, and men collapsed with a colorful collection of screams, gurgles, or curses. Several of the gang members grabbed their weapons and began firing back into the bush, while others dove beneath the wagon.
A bullet whizzed past Temperance’s head, almost taking a chunk of her ear with it. She let out a mild curse. Time for a new position!
She burst from her hiding spot, one arm protecting her face, the other continuing to fire as she circled the camp. Several bullets struck her jacket, only to be repelled away. Then she felt the hot kiss of a gunshot on her right leg, and barely managed to dive behind a small boulder. Glancing down, she saw blood leaking through a hole in her skirt. Nothing hurt too bad, though, so the wound couldn’t have been that serious.
More shots rang out. Temperance gritted her teeth and glanced around the rock.
Three men were still standing, while a fourth cowered beneath the wagon. The others lay in heaps upon the dirt, blood beginning to pool around them. One of the bandits had clearly died while trying to push his guts back inside, and still held them gripped in a frozen hand. The smell in the air was appalling, even if she ignored the one man still sending up a plume of blackish smoke.
Or maybe the smell was the man. Temperance didn’t care to dwell on it too deeply.
She fired her last shot to keep any of the remaining bandits from getting too brave, then ejected the empty cartridges from her pistols. Faster than the eye could follow she reloaded, snapping the guns into place about the time she heard gravel shift under approaching feet. She waited for the men to draw closer.
When it sounded as if the first of the bandits were almost on top of her, she burst from behind the rock. Bullets struck her immediately, the pressure of them on her jacket almost spinning her about. Temperance gritted her teeth and fired once, twice, three times. Men collapsed, the final one to fall letting out a gurgle as the bullet pierced his throat. Temperance stood there watching him, face impassive, until the light at last went out of his eyes.
Then the clearing was quiet, but for the bubbling of the small brook.
Temperance placed hands on her knees and sucked in several long breaths. As the adrenaline of the fight ebbed from her system, pain from a dozen different hurts came calling like an unwanted suitor. Her leg throbbed from where that first bullet had passed clean through, and there was an ache down by her gut that worried her but which she didn’t want to investigate just yet. There was another matter to attend to.
Approaching the wagon, she reached a hand down and pulled the last man out. He had a pistol in his hands but dropped it when he saw her. Temperance pushed him against the wagon and tapped her revolver against his chest.
“What’s your name?”
“Ma . . . Matthew.” The man’s teeth chattered. He looked to be about Peter’s age. Old enough to know better than this, but some folks apparently never learned.
“You one of Richard Whittaker’s men?”
The bandit nodded. “That’s right, we’re the Gunpowder G—”
He froze as Temperance pushed her gun into his ribs. “I suggest you don’t finish that sentence. Listen here, Matthew, you’re going to run back to that little boss of yours and let him know the families in this area are now under my protection. If he knows what’s smart, you’ll all pack up and go somewhere far, far away from here. Cause if you don’t, I’ll come looking for you all, and I won’t be as nice as I was this time.”
Matthew glanced over her shoulder at the dead men strewn about the campsite. He swallowed and nodded.
“Good, I’m glad we have an understanding. You go on home now, and don’t let me catch sight of you again.”
Temperance stepped back, and the bandit took off running downstream. She watched him go, and when the sound of his panicked flight had faded into the distance went and fetched Edwin. The farm boy stared in mute horror when they walked between the trees. His two cream-colored horses rolled their eyes, refusing to come any closer to the camp than the edge of the clearing. Temperance noted that the horses the bandits owned had barely glanced up during the firefight. They were probably used to such things.
She collected their lead ropes and hitched them back up to the wagon. Turning to Edwin, she gave a nod. “Saddle up. Looks like we got your family’s harvest back, and a few extra horses to boot. Altogether, I’d say this was a rather successful adventure.”
Edwin nodded, still rather wide-eyed. Without another word they set off towards the farmhouse, leaving the dead bandits for the carrion.
Chapter Eleven
Five Years Earlier
Three days after departing Cold Valley, Martin and Temperance found the gunslinger’s wagon waiting for them at the bottom of the southern pass, straddling the line between the Brisbane and Ozaka Territories. The old man grunted in satisfaction at the sight and muttered something
about finally getting to rest his feet, but for Temperance it was the sight beyond the wagon that almost broke her into tears. Open prairie stretched before them, already turned a deep green from the warm spring rains. Wildflowers shook in the wind, and in the distance a family of rabbits jumped and played amid the grass.
Duchess seemed equally glad for the sight and let out a joyful whinny. Temperance released his guide rope and let the horse go enjoy himself, watching him gallop up and down the gentle slopes with a hint of a smile on her face.
The change in the weather down here compared to the valley was so sudden it felt like stepping into a different world. Already the cold and hunger that had plagued Temperance for months now seemed more like a bad dream. Only the guns at her hips and the old jacket resting upon her shoulders kept her from forgetting entirely.
Nearby, two immense creatures with horns as long as she was tall let out a soft bellow, then returned to grazing. They were covered in coarse, brown fur and had flat faces they pressed to the ground before ripping up immense chunks of grass, clods of dirt still clinging to them.
“What the heck are those?” she asked. Martin glanced back at her as he set off towards his wagon.
“You never seen cattle before?”
“Sure I have. A few of the farmers in Cold valley kept them, though they weren’t anywhere as many as our orak herds. No way those things are cattle though. They’re too big.”
“Those are Stervalkian Browns, and they are indeed a creature unto themselves. Not the fastest, but they’re the best thing for pulling a heavy wagon, and better yet they aren’t in the habit of wandering off when you unyoke them. So long as they have grass around them they’ll hardly move for days. Unlike some animals.”
Temperance couldn’t help but glance at Duchess as he pranced with joy across the field. He let out another loud whinny, and the cattle raised their heads again, chewing slow and thoughtful.