The little prick! Pierce thought angrily. How dare he say such nonsense!
“Pierce?” Nona gasped. “Is this true?”
“No, Mum,” he quickly said. “It isn’t. None of it is.”
“Liar!” Taisia shouted, pushing him away. “You have been hiding this from me!”
She was gushing tears. The agony in her expression made it difficult to look at her.
“I gave you all that I am, Pierce Landcross! My love, my soul, and you’ve betrayed me!” She took off her wedding ring and threw it at him. “I hate you!”
Never had three words wounded him so. He honestly believed that if she uttered it again, he’d keel over dead from a broken heart.
Nona rushed over to Taisia and wrapped her arms around her. “It’s all right. Don’t cry.”
Pierce picked the ring up off the ground and looked at it a moment before trying to approach her. “Taisia. Let me explain.”
“No, son,” Jasper intervened, suddenly appearing in front of him.
Now Pierce’s eyes were misty. It happened when he saw the crestfallen look in his father’s face. It didn’t help that his own mother was glaring at him, shaking her head as Taisia wept against her shoulder. He wanted to tell them the truth and explain what really had occurred, but what was the point? Apparently, they had made up their own minds about his guilt. His eyes stung with tears, but now they were tears of rage. The heartache of their conviction crushed his will to try to defend himself.
“The hell with this,” he grunted, turning to leave.
“Son, wait!” Jasper called out to him.
Pierce turned a deaf ear and marched to his hut where his horse was. He mounted up just as his father reached him.
“Pierce, where are you going?”
He glared down at him. “Back to Guaymas.”
With that, he kicked his horse and rode swiftly out of the village. He couldn’t get away from them fast enough. After everything he had been doing to set things right, how was it that everyone he loved had turned against him? The pain fueled him with such fire that it scorched his soul. He would ride to Guaymas and stay there until the job was done, and then . . . then? Who knows? Suddenly, his island dream seemed very far off.
* * *
The day was ending, and Sheriff Flores’s shift was almost over. It had been a fulfilling day for him. That morning, his wife had prepared his favorite breakfast, he said goodbye to his son before sending him off to school, and afterwards, he paid a visit to his longtime mistress. He had gone to the post office where the telegraph message had been waiting for him. What he found out had truly brightened his day.
He’d always had a loathing for the British, and that bastard, Landcross, with his trying ways, had stoked his hatred even more. The mayor even took a jab at Flores, saying that Landcross should run for sheriff since he’d been impressively quick in capturing the thieves. Sheriff Flores was not amused. He cared about his job and the city he served. Carrying that torch of responsibility came with being a good lawman.
The reason the bandits had initially escaped was due in part to the timeframe in which they had struck. During the races and festivals, the whole city had ballooned with people—people who had brought all kinds of trouble for him to deal with. Fights, drunkenness, scammers, pickpockets, hustlers . . . it never ended. The only reason the public had demanded justice this year was because the teller had gotten shot.
Flores hadn’t expected the bandits would rob the same place a third time, but they had, and then they had blended in with the rest of the people who had come in from everywhere. It was actually a blessing the stupid Apache boy had crashed the racing contraption in the square. Even though Flores had never believed the Englishman was any kind of bounty hunter, dragging the gringo into the fray was simply icing on the cake. And if he failed, not only would Landcross hang, but Sheriff Flores would finally be able to run those damn natives off the land that his bleeding-heart mayor had given them. Such a wonderful dream seemed off the table now that Landcross had so far kept up his side of the bargain.
It mattered little anymore. He knew the truth about the gringo, and when Flores returned from Germany with the reward money, he would resume his work, keeping his city safe, but as a richer man. Perhaps he’d run for mayor himself and finally rid the territory of the Apache tribe altogether.
His deputy stood from his desk, clicking shut his pocket watch. It was time for the evening check on the prisoners before lights out. Deputy Ortega unlocked the iron door leading to the cells and vanished inside. When the heavy door shut, it rattled the windows as it normally did. This time, the vibrations knocked Ortega’s bag sideways over the chair it sat on. The same old leather purse he always brought with him to hold his lunch or extra pairs of clean shirts to change into when the day’s heat caused him to sweat too much.
Flores heard a clanging sound hitting the floor. He couldn’t see what was causing it because the desk obscured his view, yet the sound did spark his curiosity. He stood and walked over to investigate. What he found confused him. Spilling from the bag were coins. Dozens of them lay on the floor, and when Flores lifted the flap, more tumbled out. Inside there was a sack filled with money and banknotes.
The bank money!
It became clear why no funds were found where the native woman said they’d be. His deputy had gone ahead to the hotel after Flores left for home that night. His own man was nothing more than a wretched thief, stealing from the city they’d sworn to protect! This act of treachery angered the sheriff more than he had been in a long while. And to think he was willing to split the reward on Landcross’s head with him!
Flores picked up the purse and dropped it on his soon-to-be-ex-deputy’s desk. He then lit a cigar to keep himself calm while he waited.
* * *
Andrés Ortega couldn’t wait to end his shift. Using a pinch from his small fortune, he wanted to do a little discreet celebrating. He planned to visit the outskirts of town and find a tavern and a brothel. He hadn’t considered stealing the money when he’d gone alone to the hotel, but when he saw the amount, he couldn’t resist. And after he helped Emmanuel deliver Pierce Landcross to the European authorities, he would receive even more loot. Perhaps, after collecting the reward, Andrés would go to Spain, where his ancestors had come from. If he liked it enough, perhaps he would move there. That appealed to him. He had never been anywhere outside his own country before. He could leave his fruitless job and settle down in the old world.
It all seemed so appealing.
Every prisoner was accounted for. The drunk who was brought in earlier was sound asleep on his cot. The pickpocketing youth was also on a cot, looking bored. These two were all there were. A tremendous reduction from the prior week.
He was about to leave when he spied someone in the very last cell. It was a woman. The bars obscured her face, preventing him from seeing her clearly.
“Señorita?” he said, approaching the cell. “What are you doing in there? How did you get in—?”
His voice was cut off when the native woman, Nata, stepped into his line of sight. She stood in the center of the cell. She was wearing the same torn gown she’d died in. Her face was pale and battered. Her long hair hung freely down to her waist, and her fingers were spread out almost claw-like. Her eyes were angry, but her grin was full of wickedness.
“No,” Andrés gasped. “You’re dead!”
“I am,” Nata agreed, her voice sounding like it was ricocheting all around the room. “And soon you will be, too.”
Nata did nothing but stand there in the middle of the cell that once imprisoned her, but it was enough to drive mortal fear into him. Andrés ran toward the exit, confusing the youth. He flung open the heavy door and darted into the other room. He stopped short on seeing the sheriff standing by his desk. In one hand, he held a cluster of coins, and he let them fall into the money sack stored inside his bag.
How did the money get there? Andrés wasn’t stupid enough to tote it around
with him, and yet, there it was. The last he’d seen of the sack was when he’d taken what he needed for his night out before leaving for work that morning. How the hell did the whole amount just show up?
Emmanuel pulled his cigar from of his mouth and blew out that terrible-smelling smoke.
“You rotten bastard,” Emmanuel growled. “You’re going to hang for this.”
Andrés hardly heard him. Nata appeared, looking exactly as she had inside the cell. She stared directly at him in the same malevolent way.
“You’re dead,” she told him.
Panic overwhelmed Andrés, causing him to react without thinking. He reached for his gun, aiming to shoot at Nata, but just as the pistol slipped out of its holster, a sudden blast, followed by a stabbing hot pain to his chest, dropped him to the floor. He didn’t feel the impact.
Emmanuel stepped over to him, his boot spurs clanging over the rumbling sound of the generator below.
Andrés felt himself fading.
“Try to kill me?” the sheriff growled, gripping his smoking pistol.
The gunpowder mixed in with the smell of cigar smoke.
Andrés didn’t understand how he was able to do it in the state he was in. It almost felt like someone was guiding his wrist, but, in a blink, Andrés aimed his gun straight at Emmanuel. The bullet caught him straight in the eye and burst through the top of his head, splattering blood and brain matter all over the ceiling. Andrés’ arm dropped, and Emmanuel pitched backward. Just before Andrés shut his eyes for the final time, he saw Nata standing over him, looking down. Beside her was a dwarf in a gasmask.
* * *
“Your death is avenged, my sweet,” Chibi said to Nata before shooing her away. “You can leave to wherever you dead people go.”
Chibi cared little about what happened to Nata. He only wanted to bring her in to add more fun to his plan. And it was fun!
Nata glared at him, snarled, and then vanished.
Chibi tutted. “Ingrate.”
He gathered the money and left the bodies to be discovered by those who had heard the shots. Besides, Chibi had a pretty gun to find.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I Like Your Gun
Pierce arrived at the square and found Captain Geming Xiong on the deck of his airship, which was loaded into its large wagon. The hot air balloons were deflated and rolled up tightly inside their nets, which hung over the side of the ship.
“Ahoy, Cap’n!” Pierce called up to him.
The man looked over the railing. “Ah, Landcross. It is good to see you again.”
“The square looks mighty vacant tonight.”
“Everyone has received their claims money. People are having their machines and whatever else repaired and have been leaving.”
“How have your own repairs been coming along?” Pierce asked, noticing the new mast.
“We got the mast replaced, patched up the holes in the balloons, and managed to salvage the sails.”
“Brilliant. What about the rest?”
The captain let out a hiss and started climbing down the ladder running down the starboard side.
“As I feared, we came up short. We were unable to receive enough money to repair the hull or buy the composite drive leg for the propulsion. I resubmitted my claim, and we have been waiting for an agent to come have a look.”
“You don’t say?” Pierce said, reaching into his rucksack. “Well, on behalf of the City of Guaymas . . . here.”
Pierce handed out a pouch full of loot, taken from Javier’s cut.
The captain’s eyes widened, and he seized the pouch. “Zhè shì shénme?”
“There’s over three hundred pesos in there. That ought to cover the cost of all your repairs, eh?”
The captain scurried over to the nearest streetlamp. As he gawked at the amount, Pierce causally strolled over to him.
“I don’t believe it,” the airship captain gasped out. “Where did this come from?”
“Doesn’t matter, but I wouldn’t be advertising that you have it, if you get me.”
“I won’t, young man. With this, I can buy us the drive leg and do the rest of the repairs on the hull back home. Xièxiè, Landcross.”
Pierce smiled. Everyone had finally been paid for their damages. Things were being put to right. Knowing all his hard work and struggle had started to mean something gave him some peace.
“No worries,” he said to the captain. “Good luck at next year’s races, eh?”
Pierce went to the Chinchilla Cantina to have a quiet drink. When he arrived, he was greeted by the same barkeep who’d tended bar on Pierce’s last visit. The barkeep laughed on seeing him again. He spoke to him in Spanish. It sounded like a question.
“Eh?” Pierce asked peevishly.
“He’s asking if you want another Rosemary Delight,” came a voice next to him.
Pierce looked over at Jaxton, leaning against the bar.
“Is this your second home when in Guaymas, chum?”
“They have fabulous oysters,” Jaxton answered.
“Ah.” Pierce returned his attention to the cheeky barkeep. “Quiero tequila y una cerveza, por favor.”
The smart-arse grin on the barkeep’s face vanished. “Sí, señor.”
“Impressive,” Jaxton praised. “What brings you here? I thought you weren’t returning until morning?”
“I wanted to get an early start tomorrow,” he quickly lied.
Jaxton seemed to buy it well enough.
“I see. I suppose you still have people counting on you, eh?”
“Aye, I do. The Apache aren’t out of the woods yet.”
The barkeep returned with Pierce’s tequila and a pint of beer.
Jaxton raised his own beer mug. “To getting shit done and moving on.”
“Aye!” Pierce said, raising his mug. “I’ll drink to that.”
They clinked glasses and took a drink. The warm brew tasted mighty fine after the day he’d had.
“Where’s Leonardo?” Pierce asked.
“He left for home shortly after I returned. We’ll meet up here at the bar next year. Where are you staying?”
Pierce aimed his thumb behind him. “At this little ol’ hotel on the next street over yonder.”
“Oi, the Bosque Inn?” Jaxton guessed.
“That’s the one. It’ll do for a couple of nights, I reckon.”
It felt grand to be able to sit and chat with someone over a pint. It helped sooth his sour mood, which was still bubbling acidly in his stomach.
“Jaxton, I want to apologize for the other morning. For putting a gun to your head and all.”
“The gun wasn’t the worst of it,” Jaxton retorted.
“Aye, s’pose it wasn’t. The way I’ve acted toward you has been bollocks.” He looked Jaxton dead in the eye to drive his point across. “You’re a good man, and I’m fortunate to have known you.”
Jaxton considered him while rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
“Hmm.” He smirked. “The hell with it. Apology accepted.”
They clinked glasses again, and as Pierce took a long drink, Jaxton said, “Emma is meeting me here.”
The beer caught in his windpipe and gagged him. He coughed and swallowed it down in a large gulp.
Recovering, Pierce squeaked out, “Is she? Erm, lovely.” He reached into his coat pocket. “Well, I’m absolutely beat.” He tossed pesos on the bar. “Think I’ll turn in.”
“Oh,” Jaxton said, startled by his abruptness. “Er, all right. See you in the morning, then?”
Pierce hurried out of the cantina, collected his horse, and headed for the Bosque Inn. He ordered a cheap bottle of wine and some food from the kitchen. The clerk gave him a wine bottle, telling him that the food would be up momentarily. Pierce went upstairs, locked himself inside, and drank to forget.
* * *
Jaxton took a seat at a booth to enjoy his oysters and stew. He had just placed the napkin on his lap when Emma sat down across from him.
>
“Sorry, I’m late,” she apologized, taking up the menu. “I was studying.”
“Javier’s notes?”
“Sí. I have learned many interesting things from them.”
He enjoyed Emma’s company. She was clever, compassionate, understanding, and—Jaxton had to admit—a beauty. They had discussed many unrelated topics throughout their short travel together, and because of that, he felt a kinship toward her. That being said, when it came down to the Spaniard’s experiments, Jaxton wanted to hear nothing about it. He decided to change the subject.
“Pierce was just here.”
She snapped her head up from the menu. “He was? When?”
“A few moments ago.”
“I thought he was at the Indian village. Is he staying someplace?”
Her question seemed harmless enough. Her tone was casual, as if she had simply inquired about the time.
“Aye. He’s at the Bosque Inn.”
Her demeanor changed. She stiffened, her eyes grew wider, and her cheeks flushed red. “Was he alone?”
“Yes, but I highly recommended leaving him . . .”
She scooted out of the booth.
“. . . alone.”
When she was gone, Jaxton only shrugged and returned to his meal.
“Ain’t my problem.”
* * *
While waiting for his food, which seemed to be taking longer than the desk clerk had promised, Pierce used the washbasin to clean up as best as he could. He washed his face and days’ worth of sand out of his hair with the available soap, and then scrubbed his torso. He dumped the dirty water out the window. He refilled the washbasin with what water remained and scrubbed his dirty shirt while drinking his wine. He wanted to dull what he felt.
I hate you!
His chest tightened whenever Taisia’s words screamed inside his mind. He glanced at her wedding band on his pinkie finger. How could he face Taisia again? Why did Tarak tell her such lies? Was the lad jealous? Pierce was aware Tarak had fancied Emma, but was the youngster just spiteful enough to cause a rift in his marriage?
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