by Logan Jacobs
“What?” I turned around, but I was ready to keep running even though my lungs were struggling to suck in any air.
Sorcha was panting, and her hair was plastered to her forehead. She tried to speak, then gave up and sucked in several more lungfuls of air.
“Where are we going?” she wheezed when she could speak.
I looked around, but aside from a mangy mutt and a tired horse, we were the only people on the street. There was a cross roads up ahead, but it was another broad, tree-lined avenue, and I saw several people turn toward the sound of the sirens.
“Here.” I pointed toward a dark alleyway between a pair of buildings. We darted into the shadows and picked our way between the broken crates, rotting food, and the homeless folk huddled beneath moth-eaten blankets.
Near the end, a smaller, dirt-packed road cut across the alley. The buildings along it were a jumble of brick, wood, and stone salvaged from other sites. Everything had a fine coating of soot, and a man delivering coal at the end of the block explained why. The people here looked unconcerned about the noise from afar, and it was easy to see the deputies rarely made it this deeply into the less pleasant neighborhoods of the island.
“We need to get back to the river,” I said as we walked quickly along the road. It wasn’t a straight path, and we were soon winding in and around even seedier sections of the city. I’d lost all sense of direction, and with the sun blocked by the close set buildings, it was hard to judge where we were.
“Maybe we should ask someone,” Sorcha suggested.
I glanced at the people we were now surrounded by. The only person who looked even remotely friendly was a man with a mass of unkempt hair who carried on a conversation with a battered hitching post.
“There’s a store on the corner,” I noted. “Let’s ask in there.”
Sorcha nodded as we started to cross the road. We dodged around a mean looking dog on a chain and stepped inside Pearlman’s General Store. It wasn’t much of a store, just a few shelves filled with dusty cans, a crate of wilted spinach, and a group of men with racing sheets gathered around the counter. A larger version of the box used by the deputy to summon the mages sat on the counter, and someone on the other end relayed the latest horse race from the track.
Everyone in the place turned to look at us as soon as the bell tinkled over the door, and there wasn’t a friendly face in the lot. Sorcha and I both froze in the doorway, and my hand drifted toward the jacket pocket where I’d left the gun. Several of the men caught my move, and I saw them shift their own hands closer to the knives they no doubt carried.
“May I help you?” the clerk asked in a surly tone.
“We need to get to the river,” I replied.
The men stared at us for several heartbeats before the clerk pointed back toward the street.
“Go left on Clinton until you hit Union, then take another left,” the clerk grunted. “That will take you to the old docks.”
We stepped back outside without saying another word, and we stood on the corner for a moment while we tried to determine which street was Clinton. There were no street signs here, but someone had thoughtfully painted the street names on the corner of one of the buildings. I shrugged and hoped the artist was correct as we turned onto an even darker street that smelled like horse manure and mold. There were even fewer people here, and Sorcha nearly plastered herself against me as we moved deeper into the neighborhood.
“What is that smell?” Sorcha asked as she wrinkled her nose.
“Rendering plant,” I replied.
The odors of the meat processor gave way to something that reminded me of cat piss as the street narrowed even more, and the buildings took on a more ramshackle look. I was starting to think the men in the store had deliberately misled us when Sorcha squeezed my hand and pointed toward the side of a building at the next corner. “Union Street Tannery” graced the side of the building in large Gothic letters.
We turned left, past the tannery and the blacksmith. Union Street widened as we drew closer to the river, and the crowds started to return. We passed a small restaurant and a farmstand with fresh food, and we both sighed in relief. I could even detect a hint of freshness to the air, a sure sign we were closing in on the river.
Union Street came to an abrupt end at a padlocked gate. Beyond the bars, I could see the old docks the clerk had mentioned. Most were little more than a few old pylons sticking up from the water, but a pair of dilapidated warehouses still clung to their pilings. Seagulls swarmed the area, along with a few other shorebirds, but there were no boats or any other signs that anyone still used this stretch of coast.
“Let’s just follow the fence until we can find a spot to get to the river,” I suggested.
We tramped alongside the fenceline and waded through the thigh-high grass and the broken bottles that littered the ground. The docks must have been enormous in their day, if the length of the fence was anything to go by. We finally reached the end of the fence and found ourselves staring at a brick wall.
“Should we climb the fence?” Sorcha asked as she eyed the barrier.
It was ten feet, at least, with barbed wire coiled along the top. Injuries were guaranteed unless we found another way in.
“Let’s just see what’s on the other side of the building,” I suggested.
We followed the wall to the corner and found ourselves at the loading dock for a distillery. My stomach growled at the smell of hops and barley, and I realized breakfast had been a long time ago.
“I’ll bet they have a pier or something,” Sorcha said as we watched two men load up a wagon. “It would make it easier to send and receive large shipments.”
“Shall we find out?” I asked with a grin, and Sorcha responded with a smile of her own.
Our happiness was short-lived, however.
As we walked casually toward the brewery and debated the best way to reach the river, seven men stepped away from the shadows near the far side of the building and walked toward us. My palm itched as the men strolled in our direction, but I tried to ignore the sensation. I figured it was just the call of the gun and a reminder that it was there if I needed it.
“Some sort of security?” Sorcha asked when she saw the men walking toward us.
“Maybe,” I muttered doubtfully as I scratched at my palm.
The men reached us and spread out in a line, a move designed to cut off our access to the brewery and the river just behind it. The men loading the wagon barely glanced in our direction, but they disappeared inside the building once we were forced to stop in the center of the yard and confront the armed men.
“You look lost,” the man in the center of the line noted. His features were Asian, though he’d dyed his hair a golden wheat color. His clothes reminded me of something I’d seen on a group of Chinese settlers I’d met, but the fabrics he wore were of better quality.
Then there was his gun.
It was a pistol, like mine, though it was hard to see any more details while he had it stowed. It sat in a special holder, made of leather, that hung from his belt. It was a clever design, and it gave him quick access to the gun. It also put the weapon on display so everyone would instantly know he was armed with man’s most dangerous invention and that he had no fear of the authorities.
The itch to hold it was driving me crazy, and as I stared at the weapon, I could almost feel it in my hand.
I glanced at the other men, but they all carried sabres and knives. If there were any more guns in the group, they were well hidden from view. I looked back at the Asian’s gun and decided it was the only one. Somehow, I could sense guns, the way Sorcha could sense what people wanted. I fought the urge to tap my own weapon and returned my gaze slowly to the Asian.
He smiled, clearly aware that I’d spotted the gun and then checked the other men for similar weapons.
“You recognize the firearm I carry,” the Asian man noted coldly.
“It’s a gun,” I replied. I tried to sound nonchalant, but i
t was hard to keep the tension from my voice.
“Not just a gun,” he replied with a note of satisfaction. “A snub nose three fifty seven magnum revolver. It was the weapon of choice in the pre-magic days.”
He nodded when he thought Sorcha and I looked appropriately impressed, though he had no idea what I really thought. The itch in my palm was driving me crazy, and I tried not to scratch it or to stare at the weapon at his waist.
“Keep focused,” I whispered to myself. “Ignore the gun.”
Sorcha gave me a quizzical look before turning her gaze back to the men. They radiated angry menace, and it was easy enough to look scared. My only real advantage in any fight with these men was the gun still hidden from view, and I had to resist the urge to pat my pocket again. I forced myself to keep my hands at my side, so the Asian wouldn’t suspect I had a gun as well.
The Asian man stood in a relaxed stance as his gaze raked across us, and I could see him evaluate the clothing we wore and the boots we had on. He was calculating how much money he thought we had, and I scowled as his gaze lingered on Sorcha.
“You were right,” Sorcha suddenly declared. “We are lost.”
I stared at her in disbelief, which drew another smile from the apparent leader. The last thing the pretty mage needed to do was draw more attention to herself. Men like these would do terrible things to her before they killed her, and I’d rather they kept their focus on me.
“Sorcha,” I warned as I tried to pull her closer and force their attention back to me.
“We thought we’d take advantage of the weather and walk to my sister’s,” Sorcha continued as she shrugged off my arm.
I wasn’t crazy about the idea of letting her speak, but her voice had taken on the deeper cadence of her power. I released her arm and moved my hand as casually as I could toward my pocket. I knew now manipulating more than one person at a time was difficult, but I realized all she really needed to do was convince the leader to let us through. Or if she couldn’t get us passage through the brewery, at least buy me time to draw the revolver and shoot him. So, I tried to keep an eye on the other men as Sorcha turned her emerald gaze and hypnotic voice on the leader.
“We thought it would be easy to get ourselves back in the right area if we followed the river,” Sorcha continued, “since she lives close to the water. But we’ve had nothing but bad luck.”
The Asian man was focused on Sorcha with an unnerving intensity, and even his own men shifted uncomfortably as he stared at the beautiful woman.
I stepped closer to her again, concerned about the odd light in his eyes, but the Asian never blinked.
“Perhaps if you were to help us find the right neighborhood, we could pay you,” Sorcha continued. “I’ll give you what I have now, and then, when we reach my sister’s, I’ll give you the rest.”
The men lit up at the prospect of money, but by the way they caressed the hilt of their sabres, I didn’t think they were willing to wait for future payments. The usual process would clearly be to kill us and simply take whatever money we had on us.
But the leader was still staring at Sorcha, who returned his look with a calm and even stare of her own.
The sabres were drawn from their sheaths at that moment, a sound that sent a ripple of fear down my back. I glanced at Sorcha, who was still locked in a strange staring contest with the Asian. I tried to remember how many bullets were left in my gun and wished I had an easier way to get to it. I would have to take out the Asian man first, I decided, assuming I could get to my own weapon before he could shoot me.
I started to map out the best spots for cover when the Asian man gave a quick nod.
“A toll,” he finally said.
“A toll,” Sorcha agreed.
I heaved a sigh of relief, but I wasn’t sure moving the looming battle to another part of town was any better. At least we had more time, though, and maybe Sorcha could still convince the man to let us go. If not, I would need to become the gunslinger Arthur and Bunda had talked about, and I wasn’t sure that was possible after just one day.
“Very well,” the leader declared, much to the obvious surprise of the others in his group. “We will take you as far as the Hook. That’s the edge of our territory. Your … husband will remain with us while you continue to your sister’s to retrieve the rest of the toll.”
“That’s acceptable,” Sorcha consented as I started to protest. “I can find my way quickly from the Hook.”
“Pay the first half now,” the leader ordered.
Sorcha opened a small money pouch on her belt and handed over a wad of bills and a handful of coins.
The Asian man flicked through them, then nodded to his men. After a few quick orders, we were suddenly moving down the street, surrounded by a group of armed men.
“Sorcha,” I whispered as we started off.
“Trust me,” she said with a smile. “I have a plan.”
Considering how well our plans had worked out so far, that wasn’t very reassuring.
Chapter 7
“You know they’re just taking us somewhere to kill us,” I whispered in the mage’s ear.
“That was their original plan,” Sorcha agreed quietly, “but I’ve convinced the leader to take us to the edge of their territory. That’s when they’ll attack.”
“Does it make any difference where they kill us?” I asked in an amused tone.
“This buys us time,” she explained under her breath, “as well as safe passage across their territory. If we’d fought them back at the distillery and won, do you really think the rest of the gang would have just let us cross safely through here?”
“The river … ” I began.
“Is part of their turf,” she replied. “At least, along the river’s edge.”
I thought about her plan for a moment, then nodded.
“I don’t suppose you know who controls the area around the Hook,” I mused.
“If we survive this, we’ll know soon enough,” she muttered.
The leader led us on a twisting path along narrow streets, and we moved further away from the river and deeper into the heart of the city. The people we passed refused to look at our group, and the one man who accidentally made eye contact with the Asian couldn’t run inside a doorway fast enough.
As we passed a stable, I saw the leader signal to the man on his right. The man leaned in and a tense conversation took place. Then the second man ran off at the end of the conversation, and Sorcha grabbed my arm.
I didn’t need the mage’s skills to know what was about to happen. We were near the Hook, and the gang was prepared to strike. All we had to do was make it past the six remaining men before the back-up arrived, though I did wonder why they saw the need. Then I noticed Sorcha frown as well, and we exchanged quick looks.
“Why did he send for more men?” I whispered.
“He may suspect I’m a mage,” she said quietly. “He senses something is wrong, even if he’s not sure what it is.”
“Like he has magic?” I pressed. That could be a problem if he could throw fireballs and shoot bullets.
“No,” Sorcha murmured, “but I think someone has trained him to recognize it. I’m not sure how much longer I can hold him.”
“He’ll try to kill you first then,” I grunted. “With the gun.”
Sorcha took a shaky breath and glanced at the weapon on the man’s hip. Anyone brandishing a gun this openly certainly wasn’t afraid of the sheriff or even the mages, and that made me even more worried.
“What should I do?” she asked.
“Duck when the shooting starts,” I instructed as I moved my hand slowly inside my pocket. “And stay low. I have a feeling there will be a lot of bullets flying around.”
“We’re here,” the blond Asian declared as we came to a halt in the middle of the road.
We were at a triangular intersection, where three roads cut across each other. It was busy, but I noticed that as soon as the leader stopped and surveyed the area, the re
st of the people quickly disappeared. A man unloading a horse-drawn wagon and another man leading a mule quickly vanished as well, which left just the people in our group alone in the center of the junction.
“I’ll go to my sister’s house now,” Sorcha announced as the leader turned to face us, “and I’ll return with the rest of the toll.”
“I’ve changed my mind,” the Asian drawled with a smirk. “There will be no toll.”
The sound of steel being drawn filled the air, and the Asian’s hand moved to his waist.
I yanked the revolver from my pocket just as the Asian pulled his gun from its holder. He managed to raise his snub nose, but I already had the hammer cocked on the revolver as I pulled it from my pocket.
Then I pulled the trigger while the Asian was still aiming, and I felt the jerk as my gun sprang to life. The revolver roared in my hand, and a cloud of smoke bellowed as the bullet cleared the chamber. I was ready for the kick this time, as well as the vibration that tickled up my arm, so my aim was true.
The Asian’s chest exploded in a cloud of crimson as the bullet penetrated deep inside him. I could smell the odor of charcoal and sulfur once more, and then the other man’s blood splattered outwards and painted the ground a brilliant red. The Asian gurgled, and I could hear him struggle to draw a breath. I thought for sure he would keel over, but he tried to raise his gun one more time.
I fired again, this time toward his head, and his face collapsed as the bullet found its mark, just between the eyes. The bridge of his nose disappeared in a fountain of gushing blood and shattered bone. I thought I heard the thwack of the bullet as it smashed into his face, but the crack of the revolver still resounded in my ears, so I couldn’t be sure. Then the Asian’s body finally flopped to the ground, and the gun bounced out of his hand.
I really wanted to hold the snub nose, and I nearly wept when it bounced out of sight around the curb of the street. For a brief moment, everyone else seemed frozen in place, and I started to move toward the spot where I’d last seen the gun.
“Shit, he’s got a gun, too!” one of the gangsters yelled out.
