Marshal Law

by Adam D Jones

  “Have you been away from the Republic so long? Dae water, of course.”

  They pulled back, out of sight, and leaned against the building. “Won’t all that Dae water dilute his poison?” asked Marshal.

  “No more than oil would dilute a fire. If its alchemical poison, then Dae water will make it stronger. No one will be able to drink from that well for years.”

  Marshal peered around the corner again. At Sloane’s order, a pair of husks left the courtyard and kicked down the door of a nearby house.

  “Harding, they’re starting to search houses. We’re gonna have to hustle.”

  There wasn’t time to wait for a response. Marshal scampered to the nearest house and hid behind it. Harding joined him. They moved to the next house and then the next, working their way to the outside of town. When they reached the edge of Whitesand, Marshal led Harding in a wide circle around the settlement, running quickly around the outskirts and hoping the buildings kept them hidden.

  When his house was close, Marshal held up a hand for them to slow down. They crept between houses, walking further into Whitesand with each silent step, until his white door was only two houses away. From the courtyard came sounds of Mayor Sloane barking orders and the heavy footsteps of the husks as they worked.

  Crashing sounds. Marshal realized the noises were coming from the house in front of them. He whipped his head around and locked eyes with Harding, who nodded in grim agreement. He put a finger to his lips and slid his pistol from its holster without a sound.

  They stopped to toss every house along the way and still got to here first. Marshal fished a bullet from a belt pouch and thumbed it into the pistol’s chamber. It was a task he didn’t often perform, but his fingers hadn’t forgotten their way around his weapon.

  Marshal heard the door handle turn. “Get ready.”

  In front of them, the door flew open and a pair of husks emerged. Marshal and Harding fired at the same time. The husks fell dead, falling away from one another in an eerily quiet manner.

  The noise from the courtyard stopped. Guess that blows our cover.

  The silence was broken by Sloane yelling, “Shoot them!” just before gunfire exploded around Marshal and Harding. Both men jumped behind the nearest house for cover while bullets kicked shards of stone and glass past them.

  “I can already hear them reloading,” said Harding.

  “Let’s make them come to us,” said Marshal. “Only eight of them left. We’ll pick ‘em off.”

  “Nine, including your good mayor,” added Harding, as both men loaded their guns and eyed their chambers. “But we’re in a good position here.”

  They held in place, expecting an onslaught, but, to Marshal’s frustration, the only sound came from the wind.

  6

  Say something, Sloane. Marshal tried to hear what was going on in the courtyard. Say something, you cocky idiot. I know you want to brag.

  He looked at Harding, who only shrugged.

  Finally, the mayor shouted from the courtyard. “What are you thinking, Marshal?” Sloane called. “Come out here, you and your family, and you’ll be safe. You can trust me.”

  “Your neighbors trusted you!” Marshal shouted. “Are you gonna kill every last Lodi until you’re the only one left? Is that your plan?”

  “Kill them?” Sloane yelled. “I’m saving the Lodi! the Sovereign has been very generous with the Lodi in the city.”

  “What’s he talking about?” Marshal whispered.

  “Too much to explain right now,” said Harding. “But your mayor thinks cooperating with the Sovereign will keep the Republic from killing the Lodi who work in the cities. This...he thinks is the lesser of two evils.”

  “News travels slow out here.”

  Marshal waited, mentally grasping for a plan. He’d expected the hot-headed Sloane to order a charge, allowing Marshal and Harding to pick off the husks as they ran through the buildings. He hadn’t counted on the mayor doing something intelligent.

  Sloane broke the silence again. “Marshal, I’m not sending my men over there. Instead, I’m just going to have these husks shoot at your house. That’s where you were going, isn’t it? Checking on your family?”

  “Sloane. Let’s talk—”

  “FIRE!”

  A pair of rifles fired and glass shattered. The window to the main room of Marshal’s house crashed to the ground, revealing a billowing curtain. No sounds came from within. The room inside was dark.

  “No talking.” Sloane’s voice came in a sneer. “Just come out here or we keep shooting.”

  Erianthe had enough sense to keep herself and the girls away from the windows and down on the ground, Marshal was sure of that, but enough bullets and enough ricochets would make that little wooden house a useless place to hide.

  “Fine,” said Sloane. “Take aim—”

  He was interrupted by a new voice coming from the roof of the Bookhouse. “Now, would you look at those barrels!”

  Marshal risked a glance. On top of the Bookhouse, stepping out from behind the wide chimney, came a familiar face.

  “Rion!” Marshal whispered. “What are you thinking?”

  “You know him?” asked Harding.

  “Town alchemist.”

  Sloane pointed an angry finger up at Rion. “Shoot him!”

  On the roof, Rion took cover, jumping behind the wide chimney just ahead of the bullets that exploded against the bricks around him.

  With every eye trained on the Bookhouse, Marshal saw an opportunity to even the odds. He pointed his gun around the corner and squeezed, and one of the husks fell. Marshal reloaded, keeping his eyes on the scene. What are you doing up there, Rion? The husks looked toward Marshal again, taking aim but waiting for an order to fire.

  Marshal turned to Harding. “We’re running out of time. I think we’ve got to run for it. Next time Rion opens his mouth—”

  “Like I said,” shouted Rion from the rooftop, “interesting barrels you got down there!”

  Half of the guns in the courtyard swiveled up to the roof of the Bookhouse, but Rion remained hidden behind the chimney.

  “Why does he keep talking about those barrels?” asked Harding.

  “Because...” Marshal turned to glance at the Bookhouse again. This time, he noticed something in Rion’s hand. “...because he’s clever.”

  Behind the chimney, Rion clutched a small, red box. One of his silly traps. Well, Rion, you’ve always wanted to work with Dae water. Here we go.

  “Shoot the box.” Marshal raised his gun.

  “What box?” said Harding. “I don’t see—”

  “Harding—just trust me!”

  From atop the Bookhouse, Rion looked down and winked in Marshal’s direction. Taking a deep breath, he tossed the box behind him, high and over his head. It sailed over the chimney and fell in the direction of Sloane’s barrels, spinning end-over-end all the way down.

  “Now!” Marshal crouched and stepped out around the corner, pistol in both hands. Harding leaned out over him and the pair fired at the falling box.

  Marshal couldn’t tell whose bullet had hit home, but the box immediately disappeared in a small, red explosion.

  Is that it?

  The confused husks had a moment to step away before the fiery edge of the alchemical explosion reached an open barrel and touched the surface of the Dae water.

  Marshal and Harding spun back around as an explosion deafened their ears and rattled every door and window in town. Glass shattered in crystalline explosions while the sand all around them rose with the blast and filled the air in a choking cloud.

  The moment the noise died down Marshal stole a glance at the courtyard. Bodies littered the ground. A few husks, as well as Mayor Sloane, struggled to their feet.

  “I’m glad I explained the Dae water to you,” said Harding.

  “So am I.” Marshal coughed as the sand continued to swirl around them. “Come on. Before they get up.”

  They covered their eyes
and ran through the rising dirt in a straight line for Marshal’s house.

  Marshal threw open the door and stepped inside, crushing broken glass beneath his boots. “Erianthe! Girls!” Wood splinters littered darkened rooms, covering furniture and floors. A pair of bullet holes had found their way through the back wall, letting in two stray shafts of daylight, like yellow fingers poking into the room. Marshal and Harding hurried through every corner of the wooden house.

  “Girls!” Marshal repeated.

  “No blood on the ground,” said Harding. “That’s a good sign.”

  “They must have run for it.” Marshal peered out through the big broken window in the main room. “Why aren’t your husks coming after us?”

  “Maybe they’re injured?”

  “No, they ought to be swarming us by now...”

  Marshal held up a hand and listened. The wooden slats of his home thrummed and the floor shook, all in time with the growing din of the sandship. Dishes from the kitchen rattled in the cupboards. On the windowsill, a shaking teacup gyrated off the edge and shattered on the floor.

  Marshal holstered his pistol. “I’d say he’s given up on trying to shoot us.” He could imagine the approaching sandship pushing through each house like they were made of paper.

  “He’ll mow us down,” said Harding.

  “Out the back.” Marshal hurried through the back door, praying his wife and children had found a good hiding place.

  The pushed through the back door while the din of the engines filled the air. A few houses sat behind Marshal’s, and just past them was Keld’s stable, sitting at the town’s edge. If they moved fast, they could get the horses ready and take the wagon out of town.

  “C’mon!” Marshal yelled, screaming over the sound of wood splintering behind them as the sandship began to roll through the town.

  They dashed between the houses and emerged in a sandy clearing at the edge of Whitesand. Marshal felt a hand his shoulder and he immediately crouched when he heard Harding scream, “Down!”

  Bullets flew overhead.

  Three husks, sent ahead by Sloane, stood in front of the stable. They walked toward Marshal and Harding, reloading rifles.

  Marshal drew his pistol. His shot went wide. Harding clipped one in the leg; it hit the ground but continued reloading its weapon.

  Marshal glanced behind them. Sandship’s almost on top of us. He fumbled for a bullet, but the husks were reloading too fast. While Marshal thumbed a bullet into the chamber, he saw the husks taking aim. He clenched his jaw, waiting for the bullets to fly.

  “Look!”

  The doors to the stable burst open. A pair of horses raced into the courtyard pulling Keld’s wagon. The husks spun around and pointed their guns, but none could find the trigger before being trampled by horse hooves and wagon wheels.

  The wagon halted in a cloud of dirt. When it cleared, Marshal smiled at the sight of his wife holding the reins, her face covered in a kerchief.

  The wagon’s side door opened, and Rion leaned out and said, “All aboard!”

  “Harding, get up there and ride shotgun,” said Marshal as he rushed to sit in the wagon with his children.

  Marshal pushed himself through the narrow door. When he turned around in the cramped cabin to shut it behind him, he saw his house shudder and collapse. The sandship pushed through, leaving a path of rubble in its wake.

  Marshal shut the door and shouted toward the front of the cabin. “Go! Go! Go!”

  “Thanks for the instructions,” came Erianthe’s voice from outside. “I was thinking about sticking around.”

  Marshal put his arms around his girls while the wagon bounced. “Hold tight.”

  Rion slid open a small window at the front of the cabin. On the other side, Erianthe gritted her teeth and whipped the reins. Harding was turned around in his seat, facing the sandship and trying to line up a shot.

  “Thank the Almighty that fool doesn’t know what he’s doing,” said Harding. “The sandship doesn’t fly over wood and glass like it does sand.”

  “Sounds like that bought us some time,” said Erianthe.

  “Not enough,” said Rion. “I can already hear the engine’s getting closer. We can’t outrun a Republic sandship.”

  “Then we’ll die tryin’” said Erianthe.

  Harding took a shot just as the wagon bounced, then shook his head. “I might as well be throwing dice. Be lucky if I even hit the hull.” He reloaded and pointed his gun at them again. “If I could only hit the controls…just one shot, right in the center…”

  “Why aren’t they shootin’ back?” asked Erianthe.

  “Takes his whole makeshift crew to run a ship a full blast like that,” said Harding. “Running over us is easier than being a good shot.”

  The sandship’s engines grew louder than their voices. The boards of the wagon and even the wooden benches rattled in time with the sandship engine, and Marshal didn’t need to look at Harding’s wide-eyed face to know the sandship was just out of arm’s reach behind them and gaining speed.

  Harding fired again. He frowned and pulled out another round from his gun belt. “I’ve got one more bullet, and one more idea.”

  Marshal put his face next to the window and watched Harding stand up in his seat to straighten his clothes and tuck in his shirt.

  “Been a pleasure, Marshal.” He tipped his hat toward Erianthe. “Ma’am, if you’ll just keep it straight for a few seconds.” He stood tall, found his balance, and then stepped on top of the wagon.

  “Harding, no!” screamed Marshal.

  Harding’s footsteps thundered atop the carriage. Marshal opened the side door and leaned out in time to see Harding land squarely on the front of the sandship.

  The husks scrambled to stop him, but Harding was faster. He pointed the barrel of his pistol at the control panel, smiled, and pulled the trigger.

  Sparks flew and a scorched, blackened hole appeared in the back of the control panel. The husk at the controls furiously slammed levers down and wrestled with the ship’s sudden change in course, but Harding’s shot had done too much damage. The ship jerked hard to the left and sputtered, slowing down. Harding lost his footing as the deck tilted. His sidearm flew from his grasp while he staggered helplessly, stumbling backward toward the rail.

  Get off that ship, Harding.

  A pair of husks grabbed him before he could fall overboard. He struggled while they pulled his arms wide and held him in place. As the sandship slowed to a stop, Sloane, his mouth spread in a snarl, picked up a rifle and pointed it into Harding’s chest.

  “Daddy!” Agna screamed.

  He hadn’t noticed his oldest daughter looking out the door next to him. He pulled her inside and shut the door as they heard the gunshot.

  7

  The sandship stopped moving and faded into the horizon; Harding’s shot had done its work.

  Erianthe kept them moving in a straight line until Sloane’s sandship had been out of sight for nearly an hour. “I need a heading if we’re gonna keep going.”

  “Closest thing is the port to the north, along the Vole River,” Marshal said through the window. “From there, we can take a boat to the Divide and then sail across the continent.”

  “I got my telescope,” said Rion, “and an old map. I think I can keep us on track to get there. But, Marshal, that’s a day’s ride.”

  Marshal settled into the hard, wooden bench. “Yes, it is.”

  ◆◆◆

  The girls sat quietly while the wagon bounced them toward the Vole River. Overnight, they slept on the seat across from Marshal, always quiet. Marshal and Erianthe had kept them from seeing too much of the violence, but this was their first brush with death, and tragedy; Marshal had hoped they would be older before their minds would be darkened by this kind of personal loss.

  After a day, Rion spotted a few buildings in the distance along with a tall sail of a riverboat. Hours later, they could all see the river. Not a wide, rushing waterway like the Divi
de or the Elari, but something narrow and quiet.

  “See any big ships?” asked Marshal, peering through the small hole.

  “One. Bigger than that sandship.”

  “Sounds like the right place. I’ll see if I can get us on a boat going downriver. Not sure where we’ll go, but anywhere is fine for now.”

  Rion cleared his throat. “There’s a place...a few bends down the Divide. Full of my people.”

  “I’ve never heard of it,” said Marshal.

  “We keep secrets,” said Rion. “Don’t look at me that way. I know you hate it, but, look, we can’t trust anyone. We keep up with the locations of our own cities and keep the Republic from finding out.”

  “We have to warn them,” said Erianthe. “What’s this place called?”

  “Engle,” Rion said it reluctantly.

  “Well, then, I think our job is to get to Engle. Sloane might be on his way there now, unless he’s still trying to catch up to us. We need to start warning the Lodi about him, about all of this, so it doesn’t happen again.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” said Marshal. “Stop up there by the stable.”

  “Can we afford passage?” asked Erianthe.

  “We'll sell the horses and the wagon.”

  The girls perked up when the port town came fully in view. It was smaller than the city where Marshal grew up, but more than twice the size of Whitesand. The shops and inns were small, and half of the buildings leaned and creaked from years neglect.

  The girls sat up taller to view the only other city they had ever seen, but it only took a few moments for them to settle back in. The people of Whitesand had prided themselves on their craftmanship, and the girls could tell this river settlement was nothing special.

  “Rion,” said Erianthe, glancing at the tell-tale spots along his arms, “I'm sorry to say this, but you'd better roll down those sleeves. Looks like a few Republic flags flying.”

  When the wagon stopped, Marshal reached through the window and gripped his wife's shoulder warmly for a moment before opening the side door and stepping through. He stopped to enjoy a stretch and noticed a few onlookers chuckling at the sight of a tall man emerging from the small door. Laugh it up.