The Golden Cut

by Merl Fluin

  Inside the carriage it was pandaemonium. The Star gang were firing and reloading and firing into the floor. Everyone was yelling and flailing. The little boy stood on his seat and howled in terror.

  TJ felt fingers grab at her hair. She looked up, six-gun in hand.

  Lala was reaching for her from the roof the carriage. “Give me your arms,” she bawled. TJ holstered the gun and threw up her hands. Gripping TJ above the elbows, Lala pulled her onto the roof beside her.

  Together they lay side by side, head to thigh, panting, clinging on to each other in the roaring night.

  The train hurtled on, skimming the sky beneath flocks of putrid black birds.

  40.

  First light broke when the tracks ran out.

  TJ rolled onto her back on top of the silent train and stretched sore, frozen limbs. The black birds still circled high above, but they kept their distance. The grey predawn was cold and clean.

  She felt a movement as Lala let go of her and sat up. TJ sat up to meet her. They burst out laughing at the sight of each other’s blackened faces.

  “Sure could use a bath, kiddo.”

  “Aw, I kind of like being dirty. It’s sexy.”

  They slipped down onto the platform at the rear of the passenger car. TJ looked in through the window. The Directrix was stretched across a row of seats, its torn limbs arranged and its hands on its midriff. Its mouth had been tied shut with a strip of cloth, but its eyes were open. Mei-Lin too had open eyes but was now bound and gagged again. Apart from Mei-Lin and the Directrix, everyone in the carriage was sleeping. The Star gang were curled in the seats around the Directrix. Most of the circus folk had clustered together in one corner, and the little boy lay with his head on a clown’s shoulder. Damsol sprawled across the door at the opposite end of the carriage, her hair hanging over her face. The floor beneath them all had been shredded by the night’s gunplay.

  TJ and Lala dropped to the ground and crept towards the cab. Two Theta slept beside the cold firebox. Tracks showed in the earth where the engineer had taken to his heels in the morning gloom.

  “We should get some shut-eye ourselves.”

  “If you can’t beat them, join them.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

  They exchanged a grin and set off, following the engineer’s footprints for want of any better direction. The landscape was fuzzy. When they came to a rock face with an opening barely big enough to squeeze through, they entered and slept.

  ***

  She jumped out of the way of the galloping horses. They thundered past her along the racetrack as if she were not there. She looked behind her, in the direction the horses had come from. Huge animals milled around at the starting gate. Not horses after all, but crocodiles, brown and massive. One of them stood on its hind legs and walked around like a man. At the sound of a pistol shot it swivelled to gaze at her.

  ***

  They were woken by voices.

  “We should wait for the others to get here.”

  “They could be anywhere. With the Directrix gone, there’s no way to find them. The other side could have killed them already.”

  “And which side is the other, exactly?” Damsol’s voice. TJ pressed her ear against the crack in the rock.

  “Ask this numbers whore.”

  Mei-Lin: “I was proud to be a numbers whore once. But it was all founded on a lie. I can never return to the Eleven Twenty-Threes now.”

  “Well, don’t imagine we’ll let you join the Star gang, bitch.”

  “How can we even be the Star gang ourselves,” said one of Theta, “with no Directrix to hold us together? Tell the truth. Haven’t we all been dreaming alone since the night she left us?”

  Nobody replied. The smell of woodsmoke drifted into the rock where Lala and TJ were hiding. TJ peered out and saw the boy fan a campfire into life, tin mugs and coffee pots heaped by his side. In the distance behind him she saw clowns fetching pails of water from the steam engine.

  Damsol leapt to her feet as Lala slithered out of the rock. She raised her hand as if to strike her, but one of Theta caught Damsol by the wrist.

  Theta said to Lala: “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  “Our connection may be broken, but we are not yet animals.” Lala shot a look at Mei-Lin. Mei-Lin glared back at her. “We must mourn the Directrix correctly, together. That’s our duty, and it comes before anything else.”

  “Agreed,” sighed Theta.

  ***

  The little body of the Directrix lay on a high bier of stones. From the basin valley behind the dead train, two of Theta brought desert wildflowers. The perfume carried on a morning breeze that played in their hair and garments. Their arms full of flowers, all of the Theta handed out single stems to the gathered mourners, then placed the remainder on the body, strewing flowers across the legs, torso and chest.

  The clowns sobbed as if they had known and loved the Directrix. Their shoulders heaved and their makeup slid down their faces. Damsol wailed enthusiastically, wrapping her two hands around the Directrix’s big white head. The little boy from Neutrino clutched his flower and looked bewildered. The Star gang’s faces were impassive, but their bodies were clenched and their hands trembled. TJ watched from inside the rock as Mei-Lin too broke down in tears, wiping her face on her sleeve.

  Lala led the preparations for the funerary feast. A chuck box was fetched from the train, along with the provisions that Damsol’s circus folk had brought for the journey. Corn bread, refried beans, bacon, eggs and cold mutton were shared, followed by vinegar pie and a few fresh apples. Someone produced a hip flask and passed it around. The Star gang told heroic tales of the Directrix: its wisdom, its courage, its ferocity in battle, its motherly love for them all. The circus folk too told tales, casting the Directrix in the role of legendary trapeze artist and lion tamer, wily ring mistress and hilariously dumb rube. The clowns remembered its best gags; the little boy recalled the lullabies it used to sing him to sleep with. Tipsy on a stranger’s whisky, Lala confided that the Directrix was the most skilful and passionate lover she had ever had.

  The sun was on the horizon when everyone stopped and put down their food tins. TJ watched them contemplate the Directrix’s body, their faces hidden in shadow. All five of Theta climbed onto the bier. Then with a swift movement all five of her crouched low, swept the flowers aside, and began to tear the body to pieces. She tossed the pieces to the mourners below. Fingers, little feet, an elbow joint, a splintered torso came flying down. The mourners shouted excitedly as they jumped and reached to catch them. The lucky winners crooned over their spoils, to applause and congratulations from the others. Mei-Lin caught an eyeball, Damsol a kneecap, the doctor and one of the acrobats an ear apiece. The boy capered with the yellow wig perched on his elongated skull.

  Theta used a rock to smash the remains of the Directrix’s head into two jagged parts. She tossed the upper part into Lala’s waiting arms. The lower part of the head sailed high and wide, its big toothy jaw flapping.

  TJ stepped out from the crack in the rock, caught it in both hands, and put it on her own head like a tiara. A tree above her burst into a blossom of smoke.

  “Time for a serious talk,” she said.

  41.

  TJ, Lala and Theta lay on their bellies and stared into the canyon below.

  “It worked like a charm the first time,” Theta said, “but what makes you think the Eleven Twenty-Threes will walk into a second ambush in the same spot?”

  “Cantos, that’s what. He’s arrogant, and he’s also desperate. Makes for a good combination from our point of view. He thinks the Golden Thigh has made him well-nigh invincible, but he knows he can’t keep it unless he somehow gets me back inside Alexandria.”

  “So you’re the bait?”

  “And I aim to make him choke.”

  They jumped into the crevice behind them and threaded their way back through the cool rocks.

  The rest of their gang had set up camp i
nside one of the caverns that pitted the canyons. The cavern walls kaleidoscoped in striations, patterns in the rock fluctuating and dissolving into shapes and images, animal heads and human faces. Side by side beneath the wavering figure of a giant bird, the boy from Neutrino and the Companion of the Rosy Hours were cleaning guns and checking piles of ammo spread out on a blanket. TJ inspected the haul. “Is that all of it?”

  “Sí,” said the boy. “We found some extra ammo in the possum belly. Not much, but it’s all forty-five, so it’s good for most of the rifles as well as the six-guns.”

  She left them to their business and went to stand in the cavern’s mouth. Black birds wheeled high above the canyons.

  ***

  The boy ran into the cave and shook the clowns awake.

  TJ sat up on her elbows. “What?”

  “Kid says he just saw a dung beetle rolling a ball.”

  “How far, kid?”

  “Through the meadow behind the train. Not far.”

  Lala pressed her ear to the ground. “I hear hoofbeats.”

  Motioning to the others to follow along behind, TJ pulled on a shirt and pants, shoved her feet into her boots and headed out through the back of the cave.

  Starlight showed above the rocks. She climbed steadily, feeling her way with her fingers until she reached the top and could stretch out flat along the surface.

  The canyon below her was empty. She scooted round on her belly to look across the meadow basin. The bulk of the train glinted darkly in more darkness.

  A half-moon emerged from a black cloud, and the basin opened itself to her sight. A herd of playful horses was running free, twenty of them at least. A handsome grey Shire and a fine black mare stood out from the rest. The horses wore no saddles or bridles, and their spirits were so high that they seemed to dance. The sound of their whinnying sparkled in the quiet night.

  She watched them for a while, then slid back down to where Lala and the others waited below.

  “Eleven Twenty-Threes love happy horses,” she told them, “and it looks like they’ve caught all of ours and turned them loose.”

  “Is Cowhead with them?” Mei-Lin asked.

  “No, she’s not there. I was telling the truth when I said she was at that ranch. Soon as I get what I want from Cantos, we can go get her, and there’ll be nothing and no one in our way.”

  “But what you want comes first, same as always.”

  TJ’s shoulders jerked. “I told you this a thousand times. We can’t just go to Alexandria to get her, not while Cantos still has the Golden Thigh. It’d be like walking straight into jail and throwing away the key – for Cowhead and me both.”

  “If they’ve turned all our horses loose, that means they must have captured the rest of our gang,” said Theta.

  “Or that the Stars who refused to hijack the train with us have joined Cantos of their own free will,” said TJ. “Like I’ve been telling you all along, it was Cantos that destroyed the Directrix. But it would be easy for him to turn your old comrades against us by pretending it was me. You said it yourself, Theta: with the Directrix destroyed, you’ve all lost your connection to each other. If you can’t communicate with the rest of the Star gang through your dreams like you used to, then your ex-comrades are liable to swallow any sufficiently convincing lie. And Cantos can be mighty convincing, as I learned to my cost.”

  “I refuse to believe any of our gang would join forces with the Eleven Twenty-Threes, no matter what,” said Theta.

  “I’m not so sure,” said Lala. “If even the Eleven Twenty-Threes themselves have welcomed Cantos back into the fold, after everything he’s been and done to them, then who’s to say that some of our old gang haven’t fallen under his spell too? Goddammit, if he even managed to destroy the Directrix then I’m not sure about anything any more.”

  “The point is,” said TJ, “Cantos and the numbers are obviously around here somewhere, with or without reinforcements from your former comrades. But that’s ok, because we’re ready for them. Aren’t we?”

  The others shuffled and muttered and returned to their bedrolls and blankets.

  Lala took TJ by the elbow and drew her away into a darker corner, whispering low. “But would Alexandria ever let you go, even if you did have the Golden Thigh? You’re not really planning to go back there yourself, right? You’ll send someone to bargain on your behalf, to trade the thigh for your friend’s daughter.”

  The Directrix’s jaw was still on TJ’s brow.

  “Hell, Lala, I ain’t trading that thigh for anything.”

  They kissed for a long time.

  ***

  He was so close she could smell him, sweat sour and tobacco sweet. His naked torso was wreathed in spirals of ink; his golden hair draped his sunflowered shoulders. Leaning heavily on a scythe that served as a staff, he inspected the pieces of the Directrix scattered at his feet.

  As motionless as the rocks around her, TJ held her breath.

  He straightened and stretched. Black denims and boots hid his legs.

  “Cast your bread upon the waters,” he said in that familiar lazy drawl, “or in this case, your corpse upon the wind. It was vile in life, but in death it’s led us straight to the Star gang’s lair, which is most obliging.”

  “Better get it out of sight before any of our new friends from the Star gang see it and put two and two together,” said Little Dove or False Uncle.

  Cantos snorted. “Ex-Star gang, if you please. But right enough, if we hide all this junk it’ll save us yet another tiresome conversation.”

  Little Dove and False Uncle gathered up the Directrix’s body parts, looked around, then approached the rock face. TJ retreated a couple of feet as they began to push the pieces into the crevice where she was hiding. She could feel Lala’s shallow breathing.

  Cantos watched the twins as they worked, his hand absently rubbing at the greasy fold in the jeans at the top of his thigh. When they had finished he pulled one of them over to him and licked her throat. “Tell the others to start making camp,” he said over her shoulder. The second twin walked away towards the meadow.

  Cantos fell upright against the rock face, the first twin underneath him. They both slid sideways out of view. His fingers appeared at the rim of the crevice, flexed and withdrew. The six fingers of TJ’s left hand pressed their nails into her palm.

  Lala tugged twice at TJ’s waistband and then retreated, leaving her alone. TJ’s heartbeat was hectic but her hands were steady.

  She gathered as many of the wooden pieces of the Directrix as she could carry in her hands. Then she too stepped back inside the rock, stuffing the pieces into her jacket pockets when the space became large enough to move her arms.

  She crept, crawled and climbed to the foot of the smoke-leaved tree. There she stopped, crouched low, and looked down onto Cantos and his gang. He sprawled, drinking coffee, cigarette in hand. A glint of gold was visible at his open fly. Little Dove and False Uncle fussed around him with food and firewood. Five or six others laughed and chatted as they unpacked bedrolls and food packs; a glint of jewellery revealed Lulu among them. Figures that looked like some of Theta were moving around the abandoned train. Others wandered the meadow beyond.

  TJ stood, pulled a wooden foot from her pocket, and hurled it at the dirt between Cantos’s knees.

  Little Dove and False Uncle dropped what they were carrying and immediately had six-guns in their hands. Lulu grabbed a rifle from a bedroll at her feet as the others reached for pistols and bowies. Scattered figures started to run back from the train towards the numbers’ camp. But as his gang tensed around him, Cantos looked more relaxed than ever. Loose-limbed and golden, he smiled up at TJ.

  “I have a bone to pick with you,” she shouted to him. Her voice bounced around the canyon walls.

  He put down his coffee and took a drag on his cigarette and never removed his green eyes from hers. At last he called up:

  “Time was when I might have considered you – well, not a worthy oppone
nt, but a charming one, at least. You really want to make me go through the motions of a showdown?”

  A wooden ear hit this thigh with a clang. Balanced on the rock above him, TJ raised a foot as if she were about to step off the edge.

  He sighed theatrically. “All right, little huck, have it your way. You’ve assembled a gang of your own, I take it? Gunfight at the corral, is that it?”

  “Suck it and see,” said TJ and disappeared into the tunnel beneath the tree.