Stranger

by Sherwood Smith

  “Nhi, Z, Dee, get back to your station,” Indra said sternly. But the crinkles at the corners of his eyes gave him away.

  As Z followed the other two back to the ammo platform, she fired a final, muttered, parting shot: “She only joined the Rangers to be with her boyfriend.”

  Indra waited until they were out of earshot, then said, “That would take some doing, considering that we were Ranger candidates for almost two years before we started dating.”

  “Z wishes I’d stay as her teacher,” Jennie said. “It’s no big deal.”

  His glance was searching. “‘But’? Do I hear a ‘but’? You’re not regretting your decision, are you?”

  “No! I love teaching, but I want to be a Ranger more.”

  She wondered if Indra had overheard the part about Changed people. Jennie knew that Indra agreed that the Rangers themselves were more important than whatever prejudices their boss might be harboring. Indra’s own father was Changed.

  “Glad to hear it.” He sounded like he was trying not to laugh.

  “What are you doing here, anyway? Not that I’m not glad to see you. Are the Rangers riding out now?”

  “Soon.” He shook his head, sending his long braid swinging. Jennie couldn’t resist giving it a tug. He grinned. “I came to fetch you. Mr. Preston is sending us out to search for whoever attacked that stranger. He wants you to come with us. We’re swearing you in now.”

  “Now?” Jennie’s uncertainty vanished. “Let’s go!”

  Indra held out his hand. They ran down the stairway. Then he stopped, leaned against the wall, and glanced up. Jennie followed his gaze, knowing what he was thinking. No nosy little girls were watching. She stepped into the heat of his body and tilted her head back, sending the beads that tipped her braids clattering. He bent to kiss her, then stopped short. His breath was like the lightest of kisses as he whispered, “We can celebrate tonight.”

  Jennie pulled him down for a real kiss. His mouth was hot as the sunlight burning down on them. She held him tight, sliding her arms slowly down his back. Then she reluctantly extracted herself. “Tonight.”

  “Assuming we’re back by then,” Indra added wryly.

  She shrugged. She’d be as happy spending the night searching the desert with Indra and the other Rangers, on her very first mission. They could always celebrate later.

  As they ran down the dusty street, she thought of a headline: “Former Schoolteacher-Candidate Jennie Riley Appointed Ranger in Emergency Ceremony!” On second thought, that was too long to fit. “What do you think about the headline ‘Surprise Ranger Ceremony Shocks Town!’”

  Indra laughed. “If you wait till tomorrow, maybe you can get ‘New Ranger Singlehandedly Captures Bandit Chief!’”

  Jennie laughed too.

  They skirted a burro pulling a cart full of tomato seedlings, and came to Mia Lee’s cottage. Jennie tugged Indra to a halt. “Wait. I have to tell Mia!”

  The door was closed, and the curtains were drawn. Jennie knocked, and was disappointed but not surprised when Mia didn’t answer. She was either asleep after working all night on a particularly interesting or dangerous project, or she was awake and absorbed in a particularly interesting or dangerous project. Jennie wondered what it could be. Mia had long since stopped staying up all night to work on her flamethrower. But if it was something new, she would have told Jennie what it was.

  Or would she? Jennie guiltily counted up how many days it had been since they’d talked. Lately she’d been so busy with Ranger practice and teaching . . .

  “I guess I’ll tell her later.”

  She and Indra hopped a low fence. Grandma Thakrar stuck her head out of the brewery window, calling, “Any news?”

  “Not from the back wall,” Jennie replied as she raced by.

  They found the defense chief pacing on the town hall’s veranda. Along with Jennie’s father, Mr. Preston was one of the few people in town so big and imposing that he didn’t seem dwarfed by the huge double doors.

  He stopped when he saw them. “Sera is on her way.” In a rare note of apology, he added, “I hate to rush you through something so important, Jennie, but rules are rules.”

  “I don’t mind at all. I’d much rather miss the ceremony than the mission.”

  “That’s the attitude.” Mr. Preston gave her a friendly clap on the shoulder. “You’ll be a fine addition to the team.”

  Jennie considered his smile, so bright in his craggy, dark face. She was once again conscious of being the first Changed person invited to join the Rangers since a group of Changed people—including two Rangers—had left Las Anclas ten years ago.

  His heavy brows lifted as he added forcefully, “I wish we had two of you, as well as two of Indra. Three! We need every one of you.”

  It was like he was trying to convince someone that he accepted her even though she was Changed. Himself, maybe?

  “Congratulations, Jennie.” Felicité Wolfe’s voice, instantly recognizable, always reminded Jennie of caramel. She stepped daintily up, leading—

  “Ma!” Jennie exclaimed.

  “I’m so happy for you.” Her mother’s puff of graying hair was flecked with hay and horse hair; she must have come straight from the stables. Jennie hugged her.

  “I thought you’d like to have your mother here, Jennie,” Felicité said, turning so Jennie’s ma could read her lips. “I’m sorry your father couldn’t come, but he rode out to guard the pipeline.”

  Mr. Preston patted his daughter’s shoulder, more gently than the thump he’d given Jennie. “That was very thoughtful, darling.”

  “It sure was. Thanks, Felicité,” Jennie said.

  “I remembered how important it was for me to have my parents there when I became the town scribe,” said Felicité.

  Her pretty rat stood up on her hind legs. Her silk bow matched Felicité’s veil, blue as the summer sky. “You wanted to congratulate Jennie too, didn’t you, Wu Zetian?” Felicité crooned, twirling her fingers.

  The rat dipped her head, bowing. Indra laughed and petted her. Jennie did too, wondering why she felt so sour. Felicité had done her a kindness, but around Felicité and her father, she sometimes felt like she had a fever coming on, as if nothing she heard or saw was quite real.

  “Jennie, I am so glad!” Sera Diaz ran up, strong hands outstretched, gray-flecked hair rumpled. Jennie’s unease vanished as the Ranger captain enfolded her in a fierce hug. “That is, glad for us, but I’m sorry this is so slapdash. You deserve a full ceremony.”

  The other Rangers crowded up. The entire team was there, with the exception of Julio Wolfe, who had been leading a patrol at Lockdown.

  Jennie’s heart thumped against her ribs as Sera went on. “We followed the boy’s tracks, and found a lot of sated blood lizards. They churned up the ground, so we couldn’t find any tracks but his. Once you’re sworn in, we’ll do a wide perimeter search.”

  They headed inside, where Mayor Wolfe waited in a gown of dark-blue silk, composed and elegant.

  “This deserves a fresh page in the record, don’t you all think?” Felicité said in a sprightly voice. Wu Zetian rose on her hind legs to reach Felicité’s outstretched hand. “Do you want to lead the ceremony, Wu Zetian, sweetie?”

  Jennie couldn’t help a flash of irritation at how Felicité was making herself the star of the show. Then she pushed it away. The important thing was that Jennie was going to be a Ranger at last.

  Her gaze skimmed past Felicité, to her ma, Indra, the Rangers, Mayor Wolfe, even Mr. Preston. They all wished her well . . .

  . . . and they were all Norms, except for Jennie. And possibly her ma, though no one knew whether her knack at communicating with horses was a Change or merely a talent. What would happen if Jennie were to reach out with her mind toward the pen on the desk, and pull?

  The Rangers gathered in a circle, their f
aces solemn. They wanted to make her one of them. They wouldn’t care whether she walked over and picked up the pen or pulled it into her hand from across the room. As long as they accepted her, it didn’t matter what Mr. Preston might think.

  Defense Chief Preston said, “Captain Diaz, will you do the honors?”

  Sera had mentored Jennie every step of the way. It felt right that she should be the one to administer the oath. She raised her right hand, and so did Jennie. Sera’s dark gaze settled on her as she said, “Repeat after me. ‘On my honor . . .’”

  “On my honor . . .” Jennie’s voice started to tremble, but she made herself speak precisely, so her mother could understand. She sensed Indra behind her, a supportive presence. Jennie’s ma smiled at her, loving and serene.

  “I will uphold the laws of Las Anclas . . .”

  Jennie knew the oath by heart, but as she spoke it, she felt that for the first time, she truly understood it.

  “. . . protect the citizens of Las Anclas even at the cost of my own life . . .”

  “. . . have the courage to hold myself and others accountable for our actions . . .”

  “. . . and I will never leave a fellow Ranger behind.”

  As she spoke the last line, all the Rangers joined with her: “I swear to protect, defend, and serve.”

  Jennie’s eyes stung as her ma hugged her, whispering so only she could hear, “Pa and I are so proud of you, sweetheart.”

  “Welcome to the Rangers, Jennie,” Sera said. When she spoke again, it was to them all. “We’ve got a mission waiting. Let’s go.”

  5

  Felicité

  ON HER SIXTH BIRTHDAY, FELICITÉ HAD BEEN allowed to play with a necklace of golden coins that her daddy had given her mother as a wedding gift. The sound of gold on gold made a lovely chime.

  This was the sound that Felicité heard inside her head when she paid compliments. Each compliment was a coin of gold that would return as a vote when she was ready to run for mayor. Those that took the most effort—that disguised how she truly felt—rang the sweetest.

  “Congratulations! Have a safe journey,” Felicité said to Jennie, but her smile was for Indra as the two clasped hands and ran out with the Rangers.

  Clink!

  Jennie and Indra. Now, there was a pairing that was wrong in every way. Indra was a Vardam, the second wealthiest family after the Wolfes. And a Norm, of course. Her daddy had said Indra was one of the most promising of the younger Rangers. He could become captain someday, when Sera retired. Later, he might be elected defense chief. That made him the perfect match—for Felicité.

  When Felicité’s father had been both sheriff and defense chief, he’d unquestionably been the most powerful man in town. He still was, even after Elizabeth Crow had used her Change to steal his position as sheriff. Felicité’s parents represented the marriage of military and civil power, far stronger together than each would have been separately. Felicité intended to marry someone who could stand beside her in the same way.

  As her mother always said, a first attraction seldom lasts. Indra was bound to get tired of Jennie Riley. They hadn’t a thing in common, except for the Rangers.

  Felicité chirped to Wu Zetian, who leaped up to perch in the crook of her arm. She straightened the rat’s bow, and noticed with dismay that it was already wilting. She’d have to talk to the maid about cornstarch—

  “It’s also possible that he’s a spy. It looks like he came down the Centinela Pass, and that leads straight into Voske’s territory.”

  Her daddy’s voice was sharp. Felicité glanced up. He sat with her mother at the Lockdown command post, where the council held open meetings. Despite his best efforts to instill discipline, everyone was roaming around. If the Lockdown went to Battle Stations, they’d all have to take their positions. But until then, anyone who wasn’t on duty was free to drift on over and voice their uninformed opinions.

  “Some spy, collapsing half-dead in the arroyo,” scoffed Mr. Nguyen. As if a furniture maker knew anything about spies! “If Eagle-Eye Riley hadn’t spotted him, he’d be completely dead. Can’t do much spying then.”

  “Trust Voske to be the first to put ghosts in the field,” joked Grandma Lee. Everybody laughed.

  Everybody but Mrs. Hernandez. “Maybe he’s a trader, and he was attacked by bandits.”

  “All alone? Traders always travel in groups, because of bandits.”

  Mr. Horst blared over everyone’s heads, as if he was in his forge and needed to shout over hammering: “I’ll wager there’s a war party sent by Voske, hot on his trail. Why aren’t you ringing Battle Stations, Preston? You’re the one always complaining we don’t have proper discipline.”

  “If the Rangers find any sign of a war party, we’ll go to Battle Stations.” Felicité’s mother didn’t raise her voice, but everyone shut up. It was one of her maxims: If you always demonstrate self-control, people will accept your authority.

  Never forget that you are a Wolfe, she said. And nobody else will forget.

  More mayors had come from the Wolfes than from any other family.

  Felicité’s mother said to Mrs. Hernandez, “Where were we? The street signs in Sunset Circle, was it not?”

  “And who’ll repaint them,” Mrs. Hernandez added. “Valeria, you know I’m not one to make trouble, but . . .”

  She went on—and on, and on. Her daughter, Laura, also rambled when she taught. Felicité was so glad her next birthday would be her eighteenth, and then she could graduate. Six more months.

  She missed her grandmère. If only she hadn’t Changed—Felicité jerked her thoughts away from that subject.

  At least Jennie Riley’s Change was invisible. It was irritating to see a ruler fly across the classroom—so unnatural—but it could be worse. Felicité buffed her shiny nails, wondering how Mrs. Hernandez felt seeing her own daughter’s monstrous, catlike claws every morning at the breakfast table, wrapped around mugs or scrabbling to pick up a spoon.

  “Look at that golden hair.” Mrs. Hernandez sighed. “Laura keeps pestering me to buy that pricey dye the next time traders come round, but her hair is fine as it is, an honest black, and who’ll do the extra work to pay for it?”

  “I wish my hair had beautiful blue highlights like Laura’s,” Felicité said in her best imitation of her mother’s diplomatic voice. “But mine isn’t true black. It’s plain dark brown. Laura is so lucky.”

  Mrs. Hernandez sniffed, but her mouth relaxed. Felicité’s mother smiled.

  Clink!

  • • •

  Felicité found a corner where she could listen, unnoticed, and secretly practice Wu Zetian’s codes. Her parents usually included her in political talks, but sometimes they sent her off, saying, “You’re only seventeen.” Well, if they could keep secrets, so could she. Not even her daddy knew what Felicité had taught Wu Zetian.

  She understood the importance of discipline. And the importance of knowledge. The best kind of knowledge was the kind that other people didn’t know you had.

  As time wore on, tempers sometimes wore out, and people started revealing things they didn’t mean to. The carpenter and the ironmonger clearly had a personal conflict. They kept taking opposite sides, even when the talk came around to the worry that the entire town shared: not if, but when, King Voske would attack again.

  Mr. Nguyen made a dramatic gesture. “It’s a sad state of affairs when a single bandit can throw the entire town into such an uproar.”

  “Bandit! It’s Voske! For all we know, Voske’s invisible son is right here in this room!” Mr. Horst bellowed.

  Her father didn’t raise his voice, either, but like her mother, he commanded attention, as Mr. Horst had not. “Feel around for him, Horst, if that’s what you believe. The way people rush around in this town, someone would have run into him by now—if he exists.”

  Felicité cl
utched Wu Zetian close to her chest. That was one secret she was sorry she’d learned. The council knew from questioning traders that Voske’s eldest son, Sean, had a Change power that allowed him go unnoticed unless you consciously searched for him. The traders had added that everyone in Voske’s empire was constantly peering over their shoulders and jumping at shadows. The council had decided to keep an eye out for him themselves, but not to confirm the rumors. As her daddy said, “Alertness is good, but in an armed town, paranoia can kill.”

  As far as anyone could tell, Sean had never attempted to spy inside Las Anclas. But Felicité’s father scanned for him every day, and so did she. Whatever Voske’s methods, he knew things. No matter how prepared a town was, he always attacked at the exact moment when they’d dropped their guard.

  Mr. Horst startled Felicité by thundering, “Far as I’m concerned, we ring the bell and everybody goes to fight, the way we drove Voske off eighteen years ago. But it’s quite another matter if certain people are using ‘the military’ as a cover to pilfer nails for their own projects!”

  “Listen here, you jackass—”

  A rustle of silk, a waft of lemon verbena, and Felicité’s mother was at her side. “Run to Jack’s saloon and order sandwiches and drinks, will you, dear? Mayor’s budget.”

  Felicité ran, controlling her impatience. She was dying to hear more. Mr. Nguyen had plenty of business. If he was stealing . . . why?

  The saloon was nearly empty, because of Lockdown. Jack Lowell made sandwiches of fresh-baked buns and braised rabbit, and set glasses and jugs of tamarindo in a small wagon. “Whose charge?”

  “Mayor’s budget.” Felicité loved saying the words. She was sure she’d love it even more when it was her own budget.

  Back at the town hall, everyone called her an angel and suggested that she get a medal. Felicité poured out the tamarindo and waited until their attention was firmly on one another.