Crosswind

by Steve Rzasa

  He too had red hair.

  “There is a threat that faces us all.” Keysor pounded his fist on the podium. “Those who would want our precious city-state, they will not cease their efforts at distraction to have us see ourselves as weak. They have contrived every device imaginable to drive their spikes into our land.”

  By now there were fierce murmurs spreading throughout the crowd. And both the redheaded men had frozen in place, not twenty feet from the bandshell.

  One of them had a valise. No, not one of them. Both. They carried identical carpet valises. And both were packed so full they bulged against leather straps. Neither man took his eyes off Mayor-General Keysor in the bandshell as they shouldered their way through the crowd.

  “We will not lay back and let them ride roughshod over this land!” Keysor’s voice shook with some undefined emotion. Anguish? Anger? Passion? Lysanne could not tell. But she had never heard him speak like this. “Remember. Perch will not fall while its people still stand up to tyranny!”

  Applause thundered from the crowd. Cheers rose to the skies. Lysanne couldn’t deny the soaring feeling Keysor’s words inspired in her. But she had to tell someone about those men. They were doing something they shouldn’t. She was sure of it. There was Sheriff Tedrow, he was at the back of the crowd, and his officers were scattered around the edges. Tedrow himself joined two of his men as they questioned a tall man with a red beard. The stranger resisted all inquiries.

  Another of Tirodani blood? Lysanne frowned. Then she spotted Miss Plank. The mayor-general’s assistant—or bodyguard—stood at the back of the bandshell with the knot of trustees that included Rebekah Hawes, JD Borman, and Ferrand Molyneaux. Lysanne tried waving to get her attention. But she had her eyes keenly on Molyneaux. Yes, she was definitely watching the sour-faced trustee and his every gesture.

  She hadn’t seen the men, Lysanne thought. The first one was too far beyond her reach. Now everyone was applauding and cheering the mayor-general. Several waved flags, the red and white with gold stars flapping in the breeze. There was little alternative, until Lysanne spotted that rude woman again. She carried a small black purse.

  Lysanne yanked it from her hands. Without apology, she hurled it end over end between the onlookers.

  It struck the first redheaded man square on the back of the head. His bowler hat went flying right up onto the stage.

  Miss Plank locked her dark eyes onto the offending headwear like a teratorn diving on its prey. She moved toward the front of the stage.

  The redheaded man whirled around on his heel. By that time Lysanne, not quite certain what had pushed her through the crowd, was at arm’s length from him. And she closed that distance by grabbing at his valise. “Miss Plank!” she yelled. “Stop this man!”

  He grunted and yanked his arm back. Lysanne stumbled, and grabbed onto the valise straps. The bag gaped open.

  Lysanne’s eyes went wide at the sight of brick red sticks of dynamite that spilled out. And the coiled wires that ran to a rubber tube lying in the grass.

  Screams and shouts erupted all around. The redheaded man shoved Lysanne. She slammed into another bystander, and they both went down in a tangle of arms. The man seized the rubber tube…

  Gunshot. Blood spattered in the air and across Lysanne’s clothes.

  “I’m shot!” someone hollered.

  The redheaded man collapsed into a heap. And Miss Plank lowered the smoking levergun in her hand.

  More screams echoed around Lysanne, but she found enough of a voice to shout, “The other one!”

  Miss Plank had apparently already seen the second redheaded man with the valise. He raised it to the level of his head and yelled something Lysanne could not discern over the tumult of the crowds. Miss Plank barreled into the assembled trustees, depositing them in a twist of arms and legs at the back of the bandshell. At the same time she pulled hard on Keysor’s arm. He fell backward from the podium.

  Right then the redhead’s valise exploded.

  Flame and smoke obscured everything. Lysanne ducked her head and prayed. There was no alternative. Some of the shouts were cut short in ragged fashion. Heavy objects fell atop her. By Thel, she could barely breathe! “Allfather,” was all she could manage to groan.

  Lysanne managed to shove aside whatever had landed on her, and screamed when she saw it was a dead man. Her ears rang like the town bells. The man with the valise was gone. She saw only bits of his suit and a lone bloody shoe sitting in the bottom of a smoldering, shallow crater.

  Her head swirled like a leaf in the wind, and her stomach churned. Clammy sweat beaded along her brow. Easy, Lysanne. Maintain control. She put the back of her hand to her face and got to her feet.

  Smoke was everywhere. Bits of fabric fluttered in the air, along with—were those little purple lupine petals?

  Gunfire crackled through the ringing in her ears. Lysanne whirled and ducked. The red-bearded fellow she’d seen speaking to the officers stood over the two of them, their forms crumpled at his feet. He had two revolvers out and aimed in opposite directions into the people blindly fleeing the carnage in the park. Where was Sheriff Tedrow?

  “Get down!” A rough hand hammered down on her shoulder. Lysanne felt sure it would bruise. But at the moment she didn’t care. Luis Tedrow got down on one knee and commenced fire with his levergun. Five shots, and the bearded man toppled.

  “Consul’s breath.” Tedrow spat into the dirt. “Are you hurt?”

  “No, I’m fine.” The bandshell’s stone and wood were shattered in places, and the podium was wrecked. Miss Plank, the trustees and Keysor were emerging from a coughing, dust-covered tangle of limbs. But no one looked to be seriously injured.

  Lysanne suddenly remembered: Gil. “Have you seen Gil Davies?”

  “That Crims editor suffered a bump on the head, but he’s none the worse for wear.” Tedrow jerked a thumb to where a handful of men and women were helping a shaken-looking and pale Gil Davies to his feet. He tossed her an unsteady wave. His pipe was nowhere to be seen.

  An explosion thundered in the distance. Tedrow swore and ducked his head. But he needn’t have bothered. “Over there!” Lysanne pointed to the column of smoke rising toward the center of the city-state.

  Then came another explosion, and another. “What’s happening?” It sounded like they were coming from different parts of the city.

  “I’d bet my badge this is what the mayor-general meant when he said this Condor would try something to rile us.” Tedrow holstered his gun. He put both hands to his mouth. “Benson! Murisake! Get your rears over to City Hall and put a stop to whatever’s on!”

  The two officers, who had been busy helping the wounded, leapt at his orders.

  “Best get a motorwagon, the branters have all run loose!” Tedrow pulled on Lysanne’s arm. “Stay near me.”

  Lysanne jerked her arm loose. “My children. They should be on their way home from school with my mother. I have to look for them!”

  “You don’t move from this park until we know what’s happening.” Tedrow shook his head. “It won’t be safer for your young if you go traipsing off into…into whatever this is.”

  Lysanne followed him to where his men lay. A pair of women put their arms around the officers and cradled them like children struck down with the fevers. Both nodded briefly to the sheriff. “Got a hole, Sheriff, but not in anywhere’s important,” one said with a weak smile.

  “You boys stay put, hear?” Tedrow knelt beside them. He patted one reassuringly on the shoulder. If he was nervous or uncertain, Lysanne couldn’t see it. “Someone’s run off to get Doc Estling. And Doc Chang is already here. So you mend up.”

  “Yessir.”

  Tedrow stood. He wiped his hands on his vest, then winced. “Blame it all, my vest’s a mess.”

  He did his best to wipe dirt off his usually immaculate green vest but to no avail. Lysanne hardly thought it the time to worry about appearance. She was sure her hair and face were dreadful. But she had to see
her children…

  “Sheriff!”

  Miss Plank strode their way, dragging Trustee Molyneaux, of all people. Lysanne blinked in surprise at the white-knuckled fist grasping his collar and the small pistol pressed under his chin. Miss Plank’s eyes could have melted iron right there, hot with anger as they were.

  “You seem to be in a heap of a fix, Mister Molyneaux.” Judging by the sneer in his somewhat high-pitched voice Tedrow was not a supporter of the trustee.

  Molyneaux looked positively harried. His hair was no longer slicked down, and Lysanne would’ve sworn his moustache was akimbo. He glared at Tedrow but made no move to free himself from what must be Miss Plank’s rather tenacious grasp. “I must protest this manner of treatment! Unhand me!”

  Miss Plank didn’t react save to give Tedrow a questioning look. The sheriff made a sour face. “I don’t suppose you have any proof he’s behind this outrage?”

  “He made gestures to one of those anarchists just before he detonated his dynamite.”

  “I was trying to wave people from the podium!” Molyneaux said. “If that idiot Borman hadn’t stepped on my foot, I would have been able to get a word out edgewise!”

  Miss Plank dug the gun’s muzzle into his jaw, and he grimaced. “And as I was going to say, I have seen enough for you to get a warrant for his domicile.”

  “I don’t even want to know.” Tedrow sighed and rubbed the heel of his hand on his face. But then he pulled handcuffs from his belt. They jingled as he clamped them on Molyneaux’s wrists. “Come with me.”

  “Preposterous!” Molyneaux looked irate enough to spit nails. “On what charges?”

  “Whatever charges she’s found!” Tedrow snapped. “I’ve got more important things to worry on right now.”

  “No, Sheriff, you don’t.” Miss Plank prodded Molyneaux between the shoulder blades of his dust-covered suit. “This is Condor, you see.”

  Lysanne gasped. Tedrow’s expression went blank, and then he did spit. But not nails. “By the Consuls’ rage. You mean for certain?”

  “There is evidence, but it need not be said now.” Miss Plank smiled grimly.

  “I’ll make sure my boys can get him to jail.” Gunshots crackled in the distance. Lysanne held her breath. Whatever was happening out there, it was spreading across the city. Tedrow swore.

  Lysanne turned to Miss Plank. She could think of nothing else right now that would help. “Escort me home, please. My children…”

  Miss Plank searched her face. Then she nodded. “Take care not to let him from your sight, Sheriff,” she said as she checked to see that her pistol was fully loaded. “Stay close to the mayor-general. Have your men get him to safety.”

  “Blame it all, woman, I know my job!” Tedrow scowled and led Molyneaux off. More officers came running toward them from the trees lining the street.

  “Thank you,” Lysanne said.

  Miss Plank nodded again. “Lead me there. But be cautious.”

  Lysanne stepped around the body of the man Tedrow had shot. She glanced down, sickened at the sight of blood and by the smell of gunsmoke. She saw something amiss. “Oh. Well…”

  “Well, what?” Miss Plank froze.

  Lysanne knelt over the man’s prone form. His beard looked strange. Dare she? Lysanne reached out to brush at one corner.

  And it promptly fell away from his face.

  Miss Plank inhaled sharply. She swooped down and pulled at the dead man’s hair. It came away easily, revealing a pate shaved to stubble. Black or brown stubble. Not red. “These were no Tirodani.”

  “No. They weren’t.” Lysanne looked at her. “Then why the disguise?”

  Miss Plank frowned. “To incite riot.”

  • • •

  Lysanne saw what she meant as they made their way to the Sark home on Pine Street. There were few people of Tirodani descent in Perch, and Lysanne had met only a handful—at chapel, in the markets, and of course, Gil Davies of the Perch Advocate. She had heard of run-ins between these folk and the less forbearing citizens, those who didn’t like the sons and daughters of a formerly enslaved people walking amidst them free as a teratorn.

  Yet she’d never seen such as this.

  Smoke billowed from a storefront on the upper end of South Street. A frantic crowd did their best to get buckets of water into the blaze. Lysanne squinted and saw Konrad and Annora from the Advocate both helping douse the flames.

  Three men, rough-looking fellows who might be ranch hands, dragged a younger man with red hair down the street by his ankles, away from the fire. He hollered in pain and anger. They hurled insults at him like punches. “Get ready to die, Crims! Your boys try to kill us. We’ll return the favor!”

  The one shouting the most carried a rope. His hands fashioned one end into a noose.

  Miss Plank stepped into the street and fired a booming shot skyward. The party froze and fell silent. “Leave him be, or die,” she said coolly.

  The leader grinned savagely. “Here now, miss. You’ve seen what they did? Those Crims blew themselves up! And threw dynamite into our businesses!”

  “Did this one?” Lysanne asked.

  “Doesn’t matter. They need a lesson.” The man held up the noose in progress. “And we aim to teach.”

  Miss Plank leveled her pistol and fired. The man howled in surprise then stopped. There was no blood.

  Just a severed noose on the ground.

  “Put. Him. Down. Now.” Miss Plank flicked the lever on her pistol.

  The two men dragging the unfortunate youth complied. They backed away then ran toward the blaze. The leader gave them all one last disgusted look, then ran off.

  “Th-thank you.” The youth scrambled to his feet. “How can I…”

  “Run. Hide. Get your family into safety until this blows over.” Miss Plank’s eyes swept the area. “Preferably quickly.”

  Lysanne felt tears welling up as she watched him escape. “Is this what Trestleway wanted?”

  “It would not surprise me in the least. Come along.”

  They hurried by the fire. Lysanne could feel its heat on her face, and she prayed that Thel would spare any inhabitants. Fortunately she heard the siren of one of Perch’s fire-wagons in the distance. She glimpsed the red and brass vehicle hurtle around the corner onto South Street from Main just as she and Miss Plank made it to Pine Street.

  There was no fire on this street. And no gunshots. Lysanne let out a ragged breath as they walked at a steady pace.

  “Mother!” Fremont waved from beside the porch of the Brownrigg house, on the other side of the greenhouse storefront.

  Lysanne took off running, heedless of Miss Plank’s harsh warnings. She didn’t stop or look away until she held him in her arms. “My child. My eldest. Are you all right?”

  “Yes, Mother.” Fremont squirmed out of her grasp. He frowned. He was the spitting image of Winch when he did so. Lysanne’s heart ached. Ifan, may Your protection of our family continue. And forgive those who do this. They know not what they do.

  “Lysanne! Here, Fremont, get inside.” Lysanne’s mother stood at the top of the steps. McKinley and Wade huddled behind her dress, their faces etched with fear.

  A single explosion rumbled in the distance. Wade whimpered and buried his head against his grandmother’s leg. McKinley stared wide-eyed. “Is that thunder, Mother? Is a storm coming? I don’t see dark clouds.”

  Lysanne hugged her and Wade. “No, dear, it’s not a storm. It’s just…” Her voice trailed off. How do you explain to your innocents that terrible people were setting off bombs in their city?

  Fremont glared off into the distance, his cheeks flushed with anger. “Grandpa said it was bombs set by bad ones.”

  “Fremont!” Lysanne grabbed his hand. “Don’t say things like that in front of your brother and sister.”

  “And why shouldn’t he?” Lysanne’s father, Hobarth Brownrigg, stepped through the door. He was a big, bear of a man with a bushy beard of brown hair streaked with grey. She
hugged him. Nothing surpassed the comfort of being wrapped in her father’s arms. Though it was difficult to give a proper embrace, as he had a Torino .60 rifle in his right hand.

  “Your children need to know the truth, and I won’t be one to shield them from it.” His face could not hide his disgust at the thought. He patted the stock of his rifle. “And don’t you fret none about us. We’re all well and safe in this house.”

  He ushered them all inside, pausing only for a befuddled glance at Miss Plank. “Ma’am,” he said politely, adding a tip of his short-brimmed hat. Lysanne wondered if his genteel response had something to do with her openly brandished pistol.

  “Mother, will you stay with us, please?” Wade tugged on her arm. “I’m scared.”

  She bent down to look him in the eyes. “Don’t be frightened. We’re safe here with Grandma and Grandpa.”

  “Have you heard anything?” her father asked.

  “No. Not beyond what we saw ourselves.” Lysanne kissed Wade on the forehead. “Go play, Wade.”

  “Don’t want to. Fremont says he’ll let me read Aero-Pirates when he’s done.” Wade hurried into the house.

  Once he was gone down the hallway, Lysanne returned her attention to her father. “There were so many hurt when they bombed the park, and the attackers are dead. We really don’t know what is happening.”

  “Well, Constables Featherstone and Vicennes were by a little bit ago. They said there were gunmen afoot and possibly some Tirodani anarchists who’d blown themselves up.” He shook his head in disgust. “I put everyone inside. Your mother was already coming back from meeting the children after school. Then I parked myself right here in this doorway. There were some people running by to attend that fire.”

  “It appears to be mostly out.” Miss Plank craned her neck for a look down the block. “The smoke has lessened, in any case.”

  “Well, that’s a blessed relief.” Lysanne leaned against the wall. With the fading shock, she was suddenly tired.

  “No further word from Winch?” her father asked.