Bella

by Michael Conley

  I jumped.

  So did the guards.

  “Holy shit, Snake? That you?” One of the guards pointed, “That is Jake ‘the Snake’ Watson right there. I thought you was dead out in the Nations?”

  “Nope. Not dead. You sure you want to be standing there with your hands on them pistols like that?” Jacob asked.

  Two of the men moved their hands far away from their guns. The other and Fancy Pants didn't. More day-long seconds passed with everyone just standing there. I heard the sounds of people shouting somewhere behind me, a bell ringing in the distance, and general commotion. It felt like I was outside of it all, just watching. But I wasn't. I was right there, surrounded by men with guns that wanted to use them. I started shaking and would have bolted if I hadn’t been so scared of being shot if I did.

  It was Fancy Pants that moved first.

  “I said drop that rifle, now!” and his hand went to his gun. It might have cleared two inches or so of leather before there was a loud clap of gunpowder pushing lead. A little spray of blood hit the dirt in front of Fancy Pants. Another followed, and another.

  In a steady rhythm, his heart pumped his life out through the hole in his chest. He landed in it face-first. Jacob was standing there with a gun in each hand, one trailing smoke, the other trained on the guard that had kept his hand on his gun. I hadn't even seen him move. His guns were just...there.

  “Come on guys, he's just one guy. Shoot him!” the man said, hand still on his pistol.

  “I don't reckon I'd do that,” Wasco said.

  He hadn't moved, not even a finger. Rifle was still slung over his shoulder. But he may as well have been pointing a canon at them given the reactions of the two other men.

  “I ain't nowhere near ma gun, mister.”

  He was looking at Wasco, afraid even though it was Jacob that had just killed their boss. His eyes did flick to Jacob and back again, though.

  “Burt, that's Jake ‘the Snake’ Watson and this devil of a man gots the look of death all over him. You want 'em shot, you shoot him! I got a wife and kids at home and I don’t get paid enough to go against the Snake and a devil,” one of the men said and backed away.

  It was a chilly morning, but sweat still ran down my back. Another year passed in seconds while we stood waiting to see if anything was going to happen. I think I’d have pissed myself if I'd have had anything to drink earlier.

  “There is to be no more shooting, Mr. Conner. Mr. Keaton will see to it from here.”

  The voice came from my left and I about jumped out of my skin. It was an old man with skin darker than mine. He was dressed to the nines, looking like he was God’s butler.

  “Mr. Watson is it?” he looked to Jacob. “If you would be so kind as to put those away, I shall show you directly to Mr. Keaton and you may air whatever grievance you might have.”

  Wasco eyed him and said, “Works fer me. Put ‘em away Jacob. Come on girl,” he said as he walked past me.

  Jacob grinned a fool's grin at the guards and slid his guns away. I expected some kind of fancy flourish and spinning, but he just dropped them in, tipped his hat, and followed us.

  The house was a castle; or might as well have been anyway. With two sweeping staircases leading to large wooden doors in the center of a massive porch. Marble columns held the roof of the porch up, dark wood framed all the windows. I had never seen anything like it. I had seen the house from far outside the gates, but up close it seemed to go all the way to the sky.

  “This place is huge, it’s bigger than all the houses I ever seen put together!” I said.

  I could not stop looking up even though it was making me dizzy. I couldn’t even imagine how someone could get to the top of something that big. Wasco and Jacob seemed less impressed, but Jacob did let out a whistle as he took it all in.

  The butler led us up the left staircase and onto a porch my house could have fit on twenty times over and held the front door open for us. The house was as amazing inside as it had been from the out, filled with things that reminded me of Old Ying’s shop. The floors were all white marble, and it looked like the furniture had never been used. The butler led us into what he called the pahlar and told us to wait. Wasco leaned against the wall, Jacob sat and put his feet up on a table, and I slipped a nice looking silver spoon that had been sitting in a bowl of some kind of seeds into my pocket.

  “Yer mighty fast with those,” Wasco said to Jacob. “But ‘Jake the Snake’? Little dramatic ain’t it?”

  Jacob pinched some of the seeds from the bowl with his fingers and chewed them, giving me a wink.

  “I didn't make it up. One of the guys I used to run with did. It just kind of stuck. Back then I wasn't even that fast. We all just thought we were and gave each other stupid names like ‘Snake’ and ‘Sidewinder’ to prove it.”

  He nodded toward Wasco's rifle. “You don't shoot that thing much do you?”

  “When I do, it'll be ‘cause I need to,” Wasco answered.

  “You didn't think you needed to against four guns back there?”

  “That’s what I brung you for. ‘Sides, it was only two guns, any fool could see them other two weren't gonna draw,” Wasco said.

  Jacob gave a short laugh. “No. No, they were not.”

  We waited and waited more. Wasco got madder than a hornet and was about to storm off to find Keaton himself when the butler returned.

  “He will see you now, please follow me.”

  “‘Bout damn time”

  “I am sorry, Mr...?” He looked at Wasco expectantly.

  Wasco stared back.

  “He wants to know your name mush-head,” I helped.

  Wasco gave me one of his looks and Jacob choked on some seeds.

  “Wasco. Name is Wasco Foley. This here's Jacob and Topher,” Wasco said.

  “Thank you. As I was saying, Mr. Keaton was in an important meeting. He was not expecting you. Had you made an appointment I assure you he would have been prompt.”

  He turned and motioned us to follow. Jacob made a face mimicking him as we trailed him down a hall with a fine red rug over hardwood flooring that didn’t creak. Soon the butler stopped and pushed a button on the wall. I heard a grumbling noise and a few seconds later he slid a part of the wall open and motioned us into a small room. Wasco and Jacob both stopped outside. I walked right in and looked around. On one wall there were three levers and a knob I was getting ready to turn until a glint of metal in the corner caught my eye. Kneeling I picked it up and looked it over. It was a triangle-shaped button with intricate designs on it. I gave it a bite. It was real silver, so I slipped it into my pocket with the silver spoon. This was turning out to be the best trip I’d ever taken. I could eat for a year with these — if I could sell them before someone stole them from me. Meanwhile, Wasco had that look again and he and Jacob were refusing to step in.

  “What the hell is this?” Wasco asked.

  “It is a lift sir. It will take you up to Mr. Keaton’s office on the fifth floor.”

  Wasco made his stone-on-stone sound.

  “Okay. Then, you come too.”

  He pushed the butler in and stepped in behind him.

  “I had intended to, Mr. Foley. I need to operate the levers. If you'll excuse me.”

  He maneuvered around Wasco and pulled the door shut. Once it was closed he pushed one lever up and the next down. I heard the sound of steam and the floor lurched.

  “What the hell!” the three of us shouted.

  The butler eased one of the levers back slowly and I felt the floor go out from under me a little. He reached over and opened the door. What had been a hallway was now a large room with a man sitting behind a desk. There were couches arranged on the walls opposite him and a large set of oak doors behind him.

  “Mr. Wasco Foley, Jacob Watson, and Ms. Topher to see Mr. Keaton as he requested.”

  The man nodded, pushed something on his desk and repeated our names into a small horn or something.

  “Send them,”
came the scratchy reply.

  The doors opened into paradise. At least that's what it looked like to me. Everything was white and gold and dark wood. There was a fountain right there in the house! With fish in the pool, their colorful fanned tails spreading out behind them as they swam below a gold cage full of songbirds. The far wall was a window of the clearest glass I had ever seen. I was able to see all the Ends, with the steam rolling along in little clouds that crept up from the Edge.

  To the right I could see the great dark expanse of the Blacklands stretching for miles hundreds of feet below. It looked like a giant ink stain on the earth. In the far distance were the mountains that marked the end of the Blacklands and the start of the Nations. Through the other window I could see some of the houses in Heaven that were right at our eye level. I had never been able to see any of the actual houses before, and although they were far away, their opulence was evident. As I watched the tiny people moving through the streets I couldn’t help but wonder what it must be like to live here. It was a mesmerizing view. I knew I would never forget it.

  “You appear to have some manner of grievance with me or my men,” the man behind the desk said. “Do you wish to discuss it and come to terms, or shall we continue with the shooting? You have already killed one man I am told. I am willing to overlook that if there are to be no more.”

  I admit I had been so enthralled by the trappings of his wealth I had not even noticed the man behind the desk until he spoke.

  Mr. Keaton, because there wasn't anyone else it could have been, sat behind a giant wooden desk. It was not messy, nor was it perfectly ordered. On the corner sat a melon-sized chunk of translucent green Ember with the skull of some sort of animal trapped in it.

  He was dressed in a brown suit and white shirt, wore a scarf, gloves, and hat. Most strange of all though was the mask he wore that covered his whole face. It seemed to be made of wood carved to look like a stylized skull, like the ones I had seen during parades. It wasn’t grotesque or overly done, it…well, it kind of fit.

  From behind it his voice sounded hollow and forced. Like there wasn’t enough air to make the words. I looked up at Jacob and he had the same open-mouthed expression I imagined I did. Wasco, of course, was unaffected. He walked up to the desk crossed his big arms and stared down at the man in the mask.

  “One of yer flyin’ boats took somethin’ that belongs to me. I want it back. Maybe with a pound of somebody’s ass fer my trouble.”

  “You are Mr. Foley I presume? My name is William Keaton. I do not know what it is you are speaking of, but if one of my men stole from you, I will make immediate restitution and may in fact allow you the requested pound of their ass. And that will pale compared to what I take for it costing one of my men their lives. But first, I will need more details,” Keaton said.

  Wasco was silent for a few minutes. I think he was confused about why he wasn’t stabbing or shooting someone.

  “Happened up in the mountains. One of your ships come along makin’ a hell of a racket, firing off guns to beat all, chasing some wild mustangs. My horse spooked and bolted before I could get to her. Got caught up in the mix of the stampede with all my gear tied to her but the pelts I had just retrieved. They landed, and a couple of your boys rode off and kept up the chase while the ship dove down into a valley. They looked like they was gonna run them right off the cliff, but that ship of yours came up right at the edge and they ran ‘em right into the open doors. Ten or so wild ones and mine!”

  Wasco looked down on Keaton who was tapping a finger on his mask in what seemed to me to be a thoughtful manner.

  “I think I know what happened to your horse, Mr. Foley. If you will sit for one moment, I will explain.”

  The two locked stares for some long seconds before Wasco nodded and took a chair.

  “Go ahead I’m listening,” he said, “but first, any reason you wearin’ that get up?”

  “Ah, I should have explained. I forgot you are not from the city. Most people in Edge City know I was injured in a mining accident many years ago. I am afraid my visage is not very pleasant to look at, so I give it my best effort to not scare small children,” Keaton said and nodded my way.

  “I ain’t small. I’m at least nine,” I told him.

  He looked back to Wasco who shrugged.

  “I believe it was one of my ships that took your horse,” Keaton said.

  “I already knowed that.”

  “But it was not anyone from my company.”

  “Bullshit, I already know yer the only one that has flyin’ ships. I ain't gonna sit here while you shovel manure onto a plate and call it dinner,” Wasco said, starting to stand.

  Of course, he only knew that ‘cause I had just told him an hour before!

  “That is true. I am the only that owns flying ships. Mostly. But not long ago one of my ships was in fact stolen, and by a man that is quite capable and likely to be acting the way you describe. I had heard he might have taken it to rustle horses and cattle. You now confirm that,” Keaton said.

  Wasco looked unmoved. But Wasco always looked unmoved.

  “Think about it, Mr. Foley, does it seem to you I have need to wrangle horses? Do you truly think I would risk an enterprise that has changed the world and made me what I am today to wrangle some horses? Were the men who gave chase to the horses in uniforms as all of my men are?”

  “Yer makin’ some sense, keep talkin’,” Wasco said.

  “I have been told a man that calls himself Bull McCain has my ship, and therefore has your horse, or at least knows who took it. I would like to offer you a bounty Mr. Foley. One that will solve both of our problems and make right what I am in a small way responsible for. Find this Bull McCain and my ship. I will pay you and Mr. Watson each five hundred dollars if you will locate and free it from the Bull’s possession.

  “If yer ready to throw so much money at a man and you know where it is, why ain't you just sent yer men to get him?” Wasco asked.

  “The few I've employed have failed at the task and other recruits have been, hesitant.

  Wasco cocked his head, eyes narrowing.

  “This Bull McCain and his gang hold up in the Blacklands, Mr. Foley,” Keaton said.

  Wasco grumbled and looked over at Jacob who gave him a nod.

  “Sure, I'm in,” Jacob answered.

  “Sounds reasonable to me. Makes sense even. Maybe too much sense. But I can’t fly no ship and got no desire to.”

  “You need not. Simply locate where it is, free it from his possession if you are able, and lead a crew back to recover it.

  “What about this Bull McCain, what do we do with him?” Wasco asked.

  “I simply do not care, Mr. Foley. I want my ship back; he has had it long enough and is damaging my reputation with his rash actions. If he is unable to be a bother to anyone again, I say good riddance.”

  “Alright, you got yerself a deal.”

  “Excellent,” Keaton replied. “I will have Hanson prepare a small advance and the necessary paperwork.”

  Wasco started for the door. Jacob put his hand on my shoulder and gave me a shake to snap me out of the spell that giant window had me in.

  “Come on kid,” he said.

  “Gentlemen,” Keaton’s hollow voice called from behind us.

  We all looked back.

  “The Blacklands has many dangers and I am told many strange things happen there. Please tell me you do not intend to take a small child there?”

  “I ain't no small child, pig knocker,” I informed him.

  Wasco just shrugged and walked out the door.

  CHAPTER FIVE – OLD SHIT

  I spent the entire walk back to Old Ying's alternating between trying to figure out how to convince Wasco to let me go with them and being terrified he might. The Blacklands? Nobody with any sense went into the Blacklands! I knew some bad types did, but not normal folk. I looked over at Wasco and Jacob and realized the reason I wanted to go is that they weren't normal folk. Not even close.
It was hard to put my finger on it, but they both just had - a presence.

  I felt like being around them would lead to something I needed to be a part of. They were like Keaton’s big window. They gave a glimpse into the wider world. A world I only thought about when Old Ying would read to me.

  It started raining about halfway to Chinatown. I didn’t mind, even if it was cold. I liked the rain. It washed some of the stench off and drove the steam back for a bit. I still hadn’t come up with a good way to go with them, short of sneaking out to follow when the Chinese Quarter came into view. I knew my ma would be coming up from the mines soon and there was no way she was going to let me leave the city. Definitely not with two men as old as my pa and I couldn't even imagine what she would say about the Blacklands! I couldn’t just disappear while she was home though. All too soon I looked up to see the glass window of Ying’s shop.

  She met us at the door and I knew something was up right away. Something in her face even before she said, “Come in out of the rain. Close the door tight behind you. Christopher, we have much to discuss.”

  Wasco took off his coonskin cap and shook out the water which got him a scowl from Old Ying. Jacob took notice and stepped back to the door to do the same with his wide-brimmed hat outside. Ying started dabbing me off with a thick towel.

  “Li, put on some tea and coffee,” she called.

  We all sat around the little table in the back and warmed our bones with tea and coffee. Nobody said anything for a long time.

  “Christopher, I received a letter with news from your mother,” Ying said.

  Damn! She would want me home right away, and I hadn’t figured out what to tell her!

  “She cannot leave the mines for another week. There were some, issues. She asked that I keep an eye on you, so you will be in my charge for a while.”

  “I ain't never had nobody be in charge of me before when she works. I ain't no baby!” I said.