The Road North

by Phillip D Granath

  “The Masters will see you now Seeker.”

  A murmur and more than a few whispered curses went through the gathered crowd at the announcement and even The Seeker had to admit he was a little surprised himself. Though he had been summoned here the man never expected to gain an audience so quickly. Forcing their supplicants to wait was one of the many torturous games that the Masters enjoyed inflicting on the members of their court. Some would be forced to wait days before being allowed entry and even after that may never be provided with the opportunity to speak. Even the Seeker himself was usually forced to wait a half hour or more before being afforded entry. As the guards pulled open the doors before him, The Seeker’s brow furrowed, something out of the ordinary was happening here.

  With the doors open wide the tall man had little time to consider what that could mean before he strode forward and into the relative darkness of the ballroom. Then from somewhere out of the darkness, The Seeker was greeted by an old friend. It was Bach, The Art of Fugue to be precise, being performed by Glenn Gould. The Seeker was so surprised by the sound of the music that he nearly lost a step. He had heard the Masters’ record player before, it ran nearly continuously while the Masters were in court. A slave was even stationed just next to the device whose sole purpose in life now was to change records in the dark and wind the box when necessary. But until this visit, The Seeker had only heard more modern tunes and nothing even remotely close to this class or quality. The Seeker’s jaw clamped down, and while his face remained as blank and unrelenting as usual, inside he seethed. This sideshow that the Masters’ called a court didn’t deserve music such as this, and for a moment the urge to kill the Master’s and reclaim this lost treasure suddenly flared to life inside of him. But The Seeker forced it down and packed it away tightly, promising himself that he would find a way to rescue the wasted masterpiece.

  The rooms only light came from a series of candelabras set upon the two long tables that flanked the red carpet down which he walked. The room held a pungent aroma, a mix of body odor, rotting meat and freshly spilled blood he thought as he walked down the length of the hall. At the far end of the ballroom, a large black dais emerged from the darkness. It was cast in a half light from a pair of braziers burning at its base. Upon the dais sitting in a neat row rested five large chairs, each painted in shimmering gold. As the Seeker neared the dais, he could see that today three of the five chairs were occupied.

  The Madam sat on the far right, she was a striking middle-aged woman with dark hair, matching eyes and black nails. As always she wore a ragged looking wedding dress with the vail pulled down. A small white dog lounged in her lap while another was curled up at her feet. The Seeker considered for a moment that woman’s pets, maybe the only dogs left alive in the whole state, at least that hadn’t gone feral. He looked to her face again and could just make out the wicked smile that spread across her face as she watched him approach.

  On the far left of the dais, with his long legs pulled up to his chest sat Whisper, his oddly white skin had a way of catching the candlelight and making it seem to glow. Whisper’s body was completely hairless and as far as the seeker could tell the man either coated himself in white powder daily or was perhaps an albino. Whisper wore a sheer strip of nearly transparent cloth that left nothing to the imagination and was cut in the fashion of a Roman toga. Whisper turned his head slightly as if to keep The Seeker ever in his periphery, this was the unsettling way in which Whisper looked at everyone.

  The Seeker reached the base of the dais, he gave the Masters the briefest of nods and then looked up to meet the eyes of the master seated at their center, and it was, of course, Wild Bill. The Five masters ruled Phoenix and much of the territory that surrounded it. Years ago the slavers had fought one another bitterly, each trying to force out the others and claim the city for themselves. It was Wild Bill that had brokered the truce and named them, together they became the Masters of Phoenix. Large decisions were decided by a vote between the five of them, a perverse bit of Democracy atop a fiefdom built upon pain and slavery. Each Master was responsible for managing different aspects of the city and its population of Chosen and slave alike. While no one Master could claim rule over another in theory, Wild Bill was the most outspoken of the group and seemed to have a knack for always getting his way.

  “Seeker,” Wild Bill said, giving the man a respectful nod.

  “Master Bill.”

  “Thanks for coming by.”

  “Your messenger said it was urgent.”

  “It is.”

  The Master stood then and stepping down from the dais moved to stand directly in front of The Seeker. To the uninitiated, the man looked like a joke, a used car salesman that you saw on late night television or perhaps a duded up pimp, in a low rent part of town. He wore simple leather sandals, gray dress pants, and all though he was shirtless underneath, he still wore a matching gray vest. On his head rested a gray Stetson and even in the darkness of the hall, he wore a mirrored pair of aviator sunglasses. Wild Bill always seemed to wear a perpetual smile, warm and inviting, but it did little to distract from the man’s ruddy and otherwise unremarkable face.

  “You heard, what happened yesterday?” Wild Bill asked.

  “No,” he replied honestly.

  When he was in the city, The Seeker rarely left the confines of his home, his world consisted of his books and his music. He had water and meat delivered to his grand house regularly, and if he needed something, he would dispatch a trusted slave. And since none of his slaves still had their tongues, gossip was one of the things that he mercifully avoided.

  “A couple boys came through, in a working car,” Wild Bill said.

  The Seekers eyes narrowed, “Like before? It’s been almost two years.”

  “No, these boys had a couple guns, but no serious repeaters and they didn’t just tuck tail and run either. They killed a couple of Chosen down in the Junction, no one of any importance and then roughed up a Keeper.”

  “And the Unworthy?”

  “They said these boys was trying to set them all free or some such nonsense, riding in like fucking heroes wearing white hats. Can you believe that shit? But of course the Unworthy knew better, and they came right on back to us, took care of their Keeper as well.”

  “And you questioned them?”

  “Sure did, killed two of them in the process, but it looks like they were telling the truth. We sent them all to the Grinders anyway, of course, we can’t have any rumors about escape and strangers riding out of the night to save everyone getting out, that’s just asking for trouble.”

  “What happened to our heroes?” The Seeker pressed.

  “The lookouts spotted them crossing the Salt River and then they led us on a merry fucking chase across the city, sticking to the canals mostly. Then they killed some of our lookouts up at Deer Valley Field, best we can tell they was headed north on the 17.”

  “Back the way they came?”

  “We’re not too sure on that, but that’s one of the things that I want you to find out when you track them boys down.”

  “We have to go back for the water, without it…” Kyle began.

  “What, we’ll die? That’s exactly what will happen if we try and go back in there,” Coal replied nodding towards the diner.

  “Coal, what the fuck happened back there?”

  “We got our asses kicked that’s what happened.”

  Kyle turned and stepped up close to Coal, looking his friend dead in the eyes as he shouted, “That’s not what I fucking mean, and you know it!”

  Coal made no reply, he just stared back at the scavenger, but his eyes seemed somehow distant. Kyle saw none of the anger he would have expected from the man or even that imminent threat of violence that seemed to underscore every one of Coal’s expressions. For the first time, Kyle realized that something else was running through the man’s head.

  “Coal?”

  “You’re right, I fucked up, and now Miles is lying over there prob
ably dying, and that’s on me.”

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t know, I was just tired I guess,” Coal said turning away. “We had us a hell of a day yesterday, we stumbled in after dark, and it’s hard enough looking for sign in the day. If those boys left any evidence that they was hiding nearby, I sure as hell didn’t see it.”

  From any other person Kyle would have accepted that and moved on, but coming from Coal, the words sounded like a cop-out.

  “Bullshit,” Kyle said. “You see better in the dark than most men can see in broad daylight.”

  “Maybe so,” Coal replied.

  “Then what was it? You said you thought that no raiders would be hunting this close to Phoenix. Were you maybe a little…lax, in your walk around?”

  Coal shook his head in response, but this time he refused to meet Kyle’s eyes. Instead, they went back to the horizon and the shimmering diner in the distance. Kyle followed the half-breed’s gaze and just when he was convinced that his friend would say no more, Coal spoke.

  “Maybe I did miss something, or maybe there wasn’t even anything to miss. Like I said as the land gets tougher so do the bastards that hunt it, maybe they was just smart enough not to leave any sign of them being around. You see how these fellas came at us? The archer struck first, from a distance and at the same time them others came at us from different sides, coordinated like. And did you see what they carried? No baseball bats or lengths of rebar, just knives, and short clubs. They knew they would be fighting indoors, in tight with no room to take a full swing.”

  Kyle nodded turning to look at the diner again, “And they had a guy on the roof and a few more around the corner just in case we made a break for it.”

  The scavenger took a breath and then shaking his head, “I’m sorry Coal, I shouldn’t have blamed this on you.”

  “No, you’re right,” the half-breed replied without hesitation.

  “What?”

  “I was…distracted… when I did my little look around last night.”

  “What do you mean distracted?” Kyle replied.

  “I mean…I haven’t been able to stop thinking about them fellas I shot on that tower, back in Phoenix.”

  For a moment Kyle was quiet, he had seen Coal kill dozens of men since they had become friends and while the bounty-hunter was more than just the cold-blooded killer that most people gave him credit for, he had never seen the man show any signs of regret, until now.

  “Coal, those lookouts were telegraphing our every move. There is no way we would have made it out of the city if we left them up there.”

  Coal nodded, his eyes still distant, “I know it.”

  “And remember, they were nothing more than slaver scum anyways. You saw firsthand what they did to those men back in Apache Junction.”

  “I did, but that’s just the thing Kyle. It wasn’t slavers chained to the top of that tower keeping watch. They were slaves.”

  Kyle blinked twice and then turned slowly to look at his friend, but Coal’s face was completely unreadable. The memories of yesterday’s frantic escape came to him then, the fear of being jumped again, the speed as he raced down the runway and the hesitation as Coal waited for what seemed like an eternity to shoot the lookouts on the tower. While behind him Kyle shouted encouragements and when the killing was done, he realized, he had actually congratulated Coal.

  “Oh Jesus Coal, why didn’t you say something?”

  “Would it have made a difference?”

  “We…we could have found another way,” Kyle replied.

  “Like what? There was no other way, it was them or us!”

  “If I would have known, I would never have made you take the shot.”

  “I know Tonto, and that’s why I didn’t tell you.”

  “Coal, I’m…I’m sorry,” was all the scavenger could offer him in reply.

  “It’s over and done.”

  Kyle nodded, suddenly unsure of what else he could say. Instead, he looked to the horizon again and at the diner shimmering in the heat. Then after a time, he asked, “So we’re not going back then?”

  “No, we push on, just like Miles planned. We make for the Colorado and hope to hell that we find more than just a dried out river bed waiting for us,” Coal replied.

  Juan placed his hand on the side of the old pump, it was still warm, but at least now he could touch it without fear of burning himself, good enough he thought. Stepping back he gave the small group of Grease Monkeys a nod and the men went to work breaking the machine down. Most of them had been shadowing Miles for years by this point, under the rule of both Murphy and the City Council and they worked with quick and confident hands. Juan nodded his approval as he watched them, if any of them resented taking orders from a boy, none of them showed it. Juan was thankful for that, but he also knew it was because none of them wanted the responsibility that had fallen upon his young shoulders.

  Allen stood just behind and to the left of Juan, carefully watching the process proceed. Since Anna had insisted that the orphan stay at the tower two days ago, Allen hadn’t left Juan’s side. The boy was older than him, Juan guessed that much about the strange boy. Allen was an inch taller and broader at the shoulders but Juan had learned little else about the boy. Allen said very little and for some reason that made Juan feel uncomfortable around him. Juan found that most people felt it necessary to fill up the vacancy left by his inability to speak. Miles had grown so accustomed to it that the old man spoke almost none stop while he and Juan worked and often when he was by himself. The boy smiled at the thought and not for the first time today wondered where his adopted father was and how he was doing. They should be in Salt Lake City today, and perhaps with some luck, they were already on their way back, with replacement parts in hand.

  The Grease monkeys removed the pump’s heavy beam and then went to work on the huge bolts holding the pump’s main housing together. The bolts came away easily, having just been removed a week ago during the pump’s last inspection and within a few moments, the head of the pump’s single huge piston was exposed. It was the size of a coffee can, with a huge vertical steel rod protruding from the top of it that had, until a moment ago, connected it to the beam above. Two of the Grease Monkeys stepped forward, and more than a little effort pulled the piston upward until finally with an audible pop it escaped the cylinder. Juan nodded his thank to the men and stepped forward to take the precious piston, but to his surprise, Allen stepped in front of him.

  “I’ll carry it Juan,” he said, “no trouble at all.”

  Juan’s heart skipped a beat, Miles had never allowed anyone other than him or Juan to touch the piston. He quickly glanced around expecting the old man to suddenly appear with a wordy rebuke, but of course, that didn’t happen. Instead, Allen scooped up the 30 lbs. piston into his arms and then turned to look at Juan expectantly. Several of the Grease Monkeys exchanged nervous looks as if aware that something had just transpired but not exactly quite sure what it was.

  “Well?” Allen asked.

  Juan gave just a slow nod at first and then quickly followed it with a second more forceful one as if the idea had been his in the first place. The boy then turned and began to walk back towards the shack that he and Allen now shared. The orphan boy trailed behind him, carrying the fate of the town in his arms. Once inside, Juan gestured towards the workbench and held his breath until Allen had set the piston down. Then the orphan boy turned to look at Juan, “Now what?” he asked.

  Juan gestured to a pile of papers stacked on the corner of the bench and then reaching over he selected a clean piece of white paper. Then with Allen’s help, Juan stood the heavy piece of metal on its end with the face of the piston resting in the center of the paper. Then the boy reached into the drawer of the workbench and produced a worn pencil nub. He took a moment to sharpen the point with a razor blade and then with a slow and carefully hand he began to carefully trace the shape of the piston on to the paper. Allen watched Juan work closely, his face a m
ix of curiosity and skepticism. After several minutes Juan completed tracing the piston and sliding the paper out held it up proudly for Allen to see.

  “Congratulations Juan, you’ve discovered a circle.”

  Juan smiled and turned to reach for the stack of papers again, one of the folders there held dozens of Miles’ traces. But in mid-reach Juan hesitated, leaving his hand hanging in midair, would Miles want Allen to see the tracings? And more importantly the differences in the tracings? And just for a moment, Juan heard the old man’s voice in his head, just as clearly as if he was standing in the shack next to him. “Two days ago you had never even seen this kid before, now you want to put the fate of the town in his hands? Don’t be stupid boy, life is already hard enough.”

  Juan took a breath and then reached past the papers to the shelf that sat just above the workbench instead. He pulled down a worn rubber gasket and turned to hand it to Allen. The boy paused before accepting the round circular piece of rubber, his eyes shifted suspiciously from the bench to the gasket before taking it into his hand. Allen gave a slow nod as if understanding and then turning he lay the gasket down on top of the traced outline of the piston.

  “Let me guess, we’re going to be cutting some gaskets?”

  Juan shook his head and then quickly wrote on the edge of the paper.

  I’m going to cut gaskets, you go get us something to eat.

  “What, don’t you trust me Juan?” Allen asked.

  Perhaps it was the suddenness of Allen’s question or the odd sensation at hearing his own thoughts spoken aloud, but Juan’s eyes went wide, and he stood there for a moment stunned. Then the boy shook his head back and forth again slowly and leaning forward wrote on the edge of the paper again.