American Hippo

by Sarah Gailey

  Maybe.

  They walked up the dock, exhausted, and walked into the entryway of the Sturgess Queen. Upstairs, they knew, Houndstooth would still be awake, watching the window for their return. They could sleep beside him for a few hours, before it was time for the action to begin.

  To Hero’s surprise, there were voices in the lounge. The Sturgess Queen was supposed to be empty during the night—all the gamblers and drinkers headed to the Inn or to one of Travers’ pleasure barges to recover from their losses and their headaches. The voices that Hero heard weren’t shouting over a craps table, though. They were soft ones—voices that didn’t want to be heard. Hero paused at the foot of the stairs when they heard a familiar accent drifting through the doorway.

  “Their plan will work. And it will work quickly. It’s going to happen today—the ferals will be gone by nightfall.”

  Adelia. The skin on the back of Hero’s neck prickled.

  “Oh, Adelia. Did you even try to seduce the Englishman?” The voice that answered Adelia was rich, smooth. Slick. Travers. Hero swore under their breath. Archie was right.

  “I told you, I don’t do seduction. Besides, the French one got in the way, and I—”

  “Ah, excuses. I—that knife would be put to better use elsewhere, Miss Reyes,” came Travers’ reply. “In Miss Archambault’s heart, for example? In Mr. Houndstooth’s gullet?” Hero covered their mouth with both hands as Travers suggested ways to kill the hoppers with all the insouciance of a maître d’ reading off the specials.

  “The time for manipulation and the arrangement of coincidences is over, Adelia,” Travers continued, his voice growing cool. “I’ve been willing to work with you to maintain your illusion of camaraderie, but now we do things my way.” A creak and a rustle of cloth. “I have business to attend to out on the water tonight. Find me back here before noon. Bring Houndstooth’s tongue with you as proof that you’ve done your job. No ears or toes, do you understand? That’s a good girl.”

  Hero heard Adelia shout something that had the cadence of a vicious epithet. A door slammed—one or both of them leaving the room via a different entrance. Hero immediately turned to creep up the stairs to their room, each step cautious and silent. They moved slowly, trying to keep the boat from creaking under the weight of their footfalls.

  They had to tell Houndstooth. They had to tell him, and they had to do—what? Something. Anything.

  But then the door behind them swung open, and it was too late.

  Adelia’s face was already contorted with restrained rage from her conversation with Travers. When she saw Hero standing there, so close to the door to the lounge that it was impossible for them not to have heard everything, her expression dropped into something like relief.

  “Hero,” she said, a slow smile spreading across her lips. “I suppose you’ve finished rigging the bombs? I suppose you haven’t been up to tell Houndstooth that you were successful? I suppose you just wanted a word, before you go up to bed?”

  Hero took several steps backward, but they were too late to dodge Adelia’s lightning-quick knives. They didn’t even see her hand move before they felt the pain in their gut. Hero dropped their hands to the hilt of the knife that protruded from their belly like the stump of a silvery umbilicus.

  “I—”

  Before they could so much as begin making an appeal to Adelia—an appeal for what? For mercy? Surely it was too late for that—Hero felt a blow strike them in the chest, like a punch. And there, like magic, the hilt of another knife had sprouted from their chest.

  Hero fell to the plush red carpet of the entryway, at the bottom of the stairs. They looked up the stairs, away from Adelia, toward the suite where Houndstooth was waiting for them. They wanted to scream, to shout, to warn him—but it was so hard to draw breath. They hiccupped with pain, and tasted copper. They fought; they struggled, and managed to draw a single lungful of air.

  “No no, dulce Hero. Sin gritando.” Adelia’s whisper was right next to Hero’s ear. The last thing Hero saw before they passed out was Houndstooth, standing at the top of the stairs, his mouth open in a scream to answer the one for which Hero had been unable to find breath.

  Chapter 12

  Archie sat on the divan and watched Houndstooth pace.

  “Cherie, you should ʼave a drink. Sit down. Something. You are driving me crazy with this pacing.”

  “I can’t sit down. Not until we decide what to do with her.”

  Adelia sat in the high-backed chair, bound by lashings of rope. Her head lolled to one side. A significant bruise marred her head where Archie had struck her with a well-flung hammer strike as she had attempted to run away from Hero’s still body.

  Hero lay on the bed, their breathing ragged, their wounds packed with the torn scraps of one of Houndstooth’s silk shirts. The wounds had not been shallow, but Hero’s sternum had stopped Adelia’s knife from hitting their heart, and the blood pouring from their belly had slowed just enough to give Houndstooth a shiver of hope.

  “You’re certain she’s been spying?” Houndstooth asked Archie for the hundredth time. Archie lifted a handful of papers she’d found in Adelia’s belongings: a contract, signed in Adelia’s loopy cursive and Travers’ delicate calligraphy.

  “ʼOundstooth? ʼOundstooth. Winslow Remington ʼOundstooth, look at me,” Archie commanded. Houndstooth stopped and obeyed, staring at her with lost eyes, his hands limp by his sides.

  “We ʼave to kill her, ʼOundstooth. We ʼave to kill her and then we ʼave to run. Now. Tonight.”

  “Leaving, are you?” came a low drawl from the doorway. They hadn’t heard Gran Carter enter, but there he was, leaning against the doorframe: six feet three inches of coiled muscle. His hands were nowhere near the two six-shooters that dangled from his hips, but Houndstooth and Archie both froze as though he were pointing the guns directly at them.

  “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure, Mr. Houndstooth.” He extended his hand to Houndstooth, who shook it out of sheer reflex. “Gran Carter, U.S. marshal. You have something I’ve been looking for.” He tipped his black hat at Archie. “Good to see you again, Archie. How’ve you been?”

  “I ʼave been well, Gran. I ʼave been … busy. I’m sorry I ʼaven’t written.” Archie sounded like she meant it.

  “Oh, that’s fine. I know how time gets away from you.” He took a small step toward her, a smile twitching at the corners of this mouth. “I’ve missed you.”

  Archie looked at her hands, worrying at the contract that sat in her lap. “Now is not the time, Gran.”

  Gran cleared his throat, looking to Houndstooth. “Mr. Houndstooth. I believe you’re in charge of this hippo caper?”

  Houndstooth looked simultaneously pained and affronted. “It’s not a caper, Mr. Carter.” Behind him, Archie mouthed the words along with him. “It’s an operation, all aboveboard. We were hired by the federal government, I’ll have you know, and—”

  “Oh, my apologies, Mr. Houndstooth. I misspoke. Of course it only makes sense that the federal government of the United States of America would hire a team of down-and-out criminals for a caper on the Harriet.”

  “It’s not a caper—”

  “Yes, well. At any rate.” Carter grinned at Archie. “Miss Reyes is none of your concern. She’s hardly a member of your crew at this point, is she?”

  Houndstooth seemed uncertain as to how he should respond. Adelia had been a member of the crew until thirty minutes before; but now, with Hero’s blood on her hands?

  “I’ll make this easy,” Carter said, with the same relaxed grin. “Miss Reyes here is a fugitive, and I’ve been chasing her down these past five years now. She killed two good men in Arizona while she was on the run from California ten months ago—where she killed three more good men—and I’m near about fed up with her giving me the slip. I arranged with my contact at the Bureau of Land Management to get her on board for this here caper, and to make sure she’d be on the Harriet.” Houndstooth opened his mouth to int
errupt, but Carter didn’t give him an opening. “I’ve been tracking her ever since. I was going to wait until the caper was done to pick her up, but seeing as how you’ve got her all trussed for me, and Travers is out of the way?” He spread his hands in a gesture of acquiescence to fate. “Seems to me the time is ripe.” He gestured to Hero. “I’ll even take your friend here to a doctor on my way out of town. It looks like you’ve done well by them, but that?” He pointed at the wound in Hero’s stomach. “That’s more than you can handle.”

  Archie and Houndstooth looked at each other. Archie spoke first. “Travers—do you know where ʼe is? They were working together.”

  “Ah,” Carter said, “last I saw, he was on a raft heading toward the dam.”

  “Gran, do you mind if we confer for a moment?” Archie asked seriously.

  “You go right on ahead. I’ll get this package all wrapped up and ready for transport,” Carter responded, unhooking a pair of heavy manacles from his belt and turning to Adelia.

  Houndstooth and Archie stepped into the hall. Houndstooth stared over his shoulder at Carter as the door swung shut.

  “Will Adelia be … safe, with him?” he asked Archie, rubbing at his eyes.

  “ʼE will not be unkind to ʼer, if you are worried. Not that she deserves kindness,” Archie growled. “And if she dies, and ʼEro makes it to a doctor? I think it will ʼave been worth the risk, non?” Winslow cringed. “Winslow, you are exhausted. You should get some rest before we leave. If Travers went all the way to the dam, we ʼave at least an ʼour before he returns. I will pack. You sleep.”

  “No, no,” Houndstooth said, looking up at her with urgency. “I don’t want to sleep, Archie. And I don’t want to leave. I want to finish the job we came here to do.”

  Archie looked at Houndstooth as though he’d claimed to hear a hippo singing a French lullaby. “What? ʼOundstooth, you … you aren’t in your right mind. I know you’re worried about ʼEro, but—we can’t do it. We don’t ʼave any way to set off the bombs, and even if we did, we ʼave no way to know ʼow to do it, and even if we did know ʼow to do it, we don’t know when to detonate the charges, and—”

  Houndstooth shook his head. “You’re wrong, Archie. For once in your life, you’re completely wrong. I’ve never felt so clear about what we need to do. We need to do the job. I promised Hero that they’d be a hero—that their name would be in children’s history books for decades to come, as the mastermind behind the bombs that cleared the hippos out of the Mississippi.” His eyes had taken on a wild gleam. “And we’re going to do it. We’re going to get Hero’s name in the history books, goddamn it. Whether the job is legitimate or not. When Hero wakes up, I’m going to go and tell them about how their plan worked. And as for the bombs?”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a slim black device: Hero’s detonator.

  “They gave me this before they left to set up the bombs. ‘Just in case.’ Just in case something happened.” He laughed, a lost, wild laugh, and Archie’s brow furrowed further.

  “ʼOundstooth,” she murmured. “I ʼave to tell you something. I should ʼave told you before, but—” She took a deep breath, then rushed through her excuse. “But you ʼave spent so many years hating Calhoun, and when ʼe died, it seemed like maybe you would be able to let this go. Like maybe you would be able to stop chasing revenge.”

  Houndstooth looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “You sounded like Adelia for a moment there.”

  “If you’re determined to go through with this, I’ll be with you. You know that I wouldn’t let you do this alone. But we might not both make it out of ʼere, so I ʼave to tell you before we set out.” She looked at Houndstooth as though hoping he’d interrupt, but he simply watched her with terrible patience. She took another deep breath, steeling herself. “Cal—right before ʼe died, ʼe said that ʼe had betrayed you for Travers. I think … Winslow, friend. I think Travers put ʼim up to it. Travers is the reason your ranch burned down.”

  Houndstooth stared at Archie, then looked down at the detonator in his hands. He turned it over between his fingers, his jaw working.

  “I think I knew that,” he finally said. “I think Adelia—I think she told me.” He shook his head. “Well, I suppose that makes this a little sweeter.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Archie said.

  “No, no—I understand. Really.” Archie smiled, relieved; her smile faded when Houndstooth continued, “But I do hope you understand: I’m going to destroy Travers. I’m going to destroy everything he’s built, everything he holds dear. Everything he’s poured his life and his passion and his fortune into. I’m going to burn his world to the ground, and then I’m going to salt the ashes. For what he did to my ranch, and for what happened to Hero.” A shadow seemed to pass across his eyes as a broad, toothsome grin spread across his face. “Oh, yes, Archie. He will suffer.”

  Archie’s face was bloodless. “ʼOundstooth,” she whispered. “We can’t—”

  But what they couldn’t do, she never got to say, because the door to the suite burst open. Gran Carter emerged, covered in his own blood.

  Archie screamed. Houndstooth looked at her, more startled than he had been when he saw Carter himself: he had never heard Archie scream before.

  “I’m fine,” Carter said, placing his bloody hands on Archie’s shoulders. “I’m fine. Just a lot of little cuts, Archie, just—” He clasped her close to him for a brief moment, then pushed her away, holding her shoulders at arm’s length. “She’s gone. Out the window, into the water. I don’t think she was unconscious after all—the moment I got close enough—” He was backing away as he told them, toward the stairs. “I’m sorry, I have to go, I have to catch her before she—”

  “If she’s in the water, the problem is solved, right?” Houndstooth interrupted. “The ferals—”

  In the distance, the sound of Zahra and Stasia bellowing cut through the insect noises of the night.

  “She’s at the paddock,” Archie said. “The ferals must be feeding at the middle of the lake, they are not ʼere yet. Go, Gran, while it’s safe in the water! Go!” She shoved her hands at him as though to push him away. Houndstooth noted that her eyes had filled with tears.

  “Wait!” Houndstooth shouted. “Hero—you promised—”

  Carter doubled back and raced past them, emerging with Hero in his arms.

  “I’m sorry, Archie! I’ll see you again! I swear it!” Carter shouted as he bounded down the stairs. “I’ll see you again!”

  They watched him leave; then, Archie wiped her eyes and looked down at herself. She was covered in Carter’s blood from where he had held her.

  “Well,” she said, laughing. “I ʼave forgotten what I was going to say to you, ʼOundstooth. About your grief and your fear and about not being in your right mind.” She plucked at her wet, bloody shirt. “I suppose we should get dressed, and then we should start detonating, oui?”

  Houndstooth grinned at her. “Let’s blow up the Harriet.”

  Chapter 13

  Archie and Houndstooth made their way to the hippo paddock in silence as the stars began to wink out. When they arrived at the paddock, Ruby, Rosa, Abigail, and Betsy were already nosing at each other, competing for attention at the dock.

  Archie pulled up short.

  “ʼOundstooth?” She said. “What—ah, what should we do about Abigail and Betsy?”

  “We can’t leave them,” he replied. “Hero will want to see Abigail when they wake up.”

  “Do you think they’ll follow us, like Stasia and Zahra?”

  “If they do, they’ll make a decent rear guard, if any ferals try to sneak up on us. I suppose there’s only one way to find out.” He shrugged. Archie looked at him strangely. “What?”

  “Nothing,” she replied. “I’ve just never seen you shrug before. It does not look right on you, ʼOundstooth.”

  Fortunately, Abigail and Betsy did indeed trail behind Ruby and Rosa as they made their way to
the Gate—following the trail of apples that Houndstooth dropped into the water every few minutes. Archie stifled a laugh when she noticed him doing it.

  “Where did you get those?” she asked.

  “I like to be prepared, Archie,” he replied, his voice dripping with condescension.

  “… Did you steal them from my saddlebag?”

  Houndstooth took his time before answering. “Hero ate all my pears,” he said in an even tone. Then he snapped the side of Ruby’s harness, and the two of them sped ahead toward the Gate.

  * * *

  “So: we open the Gate, we hit the detonator. The ferals flood the Gate while we watch from a safe distance. We close the Gate. Très facile.” Archie had repeated the plan six or seven times on the way over. Every time, she proclaimed how easy it would be to execute.

  “Très,” Houndstooth replied, having heard hardly a word of what she’d said. He watched the water as they travelled, but it was still and silent save for the occasional grumbles of the four hippos and their two riders.

  And it was très facile. No ferals bothered them as they made their way from the Sturgess Queen to the Gate, though their bellows floated through the still night air like thunder from where they were gathered in the muddy center of the lake.

  Archie and Houndstooth reached the Gate without incident. The ranger’s familiar, broad-brimmed hat was silhouetted in the grey light of the early morning. Houndstooth called up to the tower.

  “Hello up there! Can you open the Gate? Official government business.”

  The ranger didn’t respond. Houndstooth repeated his request. When he received no response, he looked at Archie. She shrugged.

  “Perhaps ʼe is asleep? Surely we could go up and wake ʼim.”

  Ruby, however, refused to approach the ranger’s tower. She balked and danced, avoiding the place where the tower ladder met the water.

  “What’s gotten into you, Ruby-roo?” Houndstooth asked, tugging on the reins of her harness. She ducked her head below the water and blew a rude series of bubbles, turning her back to the Gate once again.