“But I couldn’t keep her.”
“That’s bad. I suppose you have a reason for being here.”
“I do.”
“And I suppose I won’t like it.”
“Probably not.”
“Come on in, then,” she said, pushing through the saloon doors. “I’ll order us some joe.”
With her feet on her desk and her hat on the rack, Boss listened to Robinson’s tale. When he was done, she set her coffee down and folded her hands on her lap.
“Sounds like someone should be making a moving picture of your life.”
“They’d be missing the best part.”
“So if I get the gist of your proposal, you want me to provide transportation for a race of dangerous savages to a location where they’ll battle a second, much larger, group of savages that already wants to peel me like a spud. And you want me to do this without my own men, away from the security of my town?”
“I guess that sounds about right.”
“And all I get in taking the side of this outmanned, outgunned band of killers is your assurance that, on the ridiculously low chance of their success, I will be hereto afforded no future grievances via them, along with a potential pat on the back.”
“Correct.”
“Kid, you need to work on your negotiating skills.”
“You’ve heard the saying, ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’?”
“I have. But I’ve always been particularly fond of: ‘you can’t lose what you don’t throw in the hat.’”
“The Flayers already want you dead.”
“You mean after I blew up half their army covering your ass?”
“Technically, it was your own ass you were covering. I doubt mine being there had much to do with it.”
“Up for debate.”
“And if we’re being truly honest, I doubt you took out more than a quarter of their army. Maybe less.”
“How reassuring.” Boss smirked.
Just then, the door opened, and Wellie entered carrying a tray of food. Her face lit up when she saw Robinson.
“Morning, Mr. Crusoe,” she said.
“Wellie. What are you doing here?”
“You may not a heard,” Boss said. “Wellie, my biggest earner and the best whore this side of Kansas, decided the game of billiards is no longer the trade for her. Believes she has more to offer than being on her back. Wonder where she got an idea like that?”
Robinson swallowed. Wellie winked at him and exited.
“Next, you’ll be telling me them damned mutos have rights too.”
“I’m not that progressive.”
Boss stood up and looked out the window. “Kid, I like you. You got huevos. And I admire huevos, especially when they’re paired with some ham upstairs, but this deal isn’t slated much in my favor. Tell me why I should consider it.”
“First, nobody chases Boss from a fight.”
She laughed heartily.
“Flattery will get you further with Wellie than with me.”
“Number two: as you so succinctly pointed out, the Bone Flayers already want your hide. Here’s an opportunity to take a big bite out of theirs without losing a single gun.”
“And number three?” she asked.
“If Baras’Oot’s army takes the kind of casualties I suspect, it’ll make him mighty vulnerable. And that will look awfully enticing to the river clans they’ve been robbing blind all these years. After what transpired last week, it’s clear this area needs a new center of trade. I imagine someone could make a serious profit providing the kind of stable market from which others might peddle their wares.”
“Now, you’re talking sense.”
“Plus, fall is a beautiful time of year. I expect the train ride would be something special.”
Boss agreed to the deal, if not for the simple fact that she was a proactive woman. She’d rather be doing something than sitting around waiting for the killers to come to her.
A small percentage of Boss’s Big Hats had fled following the debacle at the City of the Pyramid, but most remained. Boss chose five to accompany her on the ride east.
With preparations underway, Robinson met with Sal again for some specialty tailoring.
“You want what?” she asked when she heard his request.
“Cotton fabric, but reinforced with leather strappings that lay tight across the body but give enough room to move. Like this.”
He drew her a picture.
“Looks like something a savage would wear.”
He nodded but didn’t bother telling her it was inspired by the Aserra’s dress.
“And do you have anything other than boots with heels?”
“Have to check with the cobbler. He’s got some old stuff no one else wanted. Can’t speak for how this getup’s gonna look.”
“That’s okay. I’m not what you would call a peacock.”
Sal cackled. “I am assured of that. You gonna keep that hat?”
Robinson turned toward the mirror. The black hat was dirty, scuffed, and torn, but it fit well enough.
“Why? You don’t like it?”
“Eh,” she said. “It’s beat to hell is all. Then again, so are you.”
This time, both of them laughed.
Later that night, Robinson was settling into his room at the motel when a knock came at the door. He opened it and found Boss outside.
“Train’s prepped. Got a full load of coal. We’ll be ready to depart first thing in the morning.”
“Good,” Robinson said.
A silence ensued.
“Been wondering,” Boss said. “What’s next? For you. If you survive.”
“I guess it comes down to whether Friday’s alive.”
“If she isn’t?”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve imagined life without her. My family lives across the Atlantica. I could go back, I guess, but it would be hard. I’ve come to love this land in a way I never expected. I think I’d like to see more of it.”
“Offer I made you last week still stands. I could use a man like you here. And if your woman comes along, I suppose I could find something for her too.”
“I appreciate that.”
“It’ll have to go in the ledger, though.”
Robinson smiled. “Doesn’t everything?”
Chapter Forty-Four
Insurreto
Robinson never believed in portents or omens, but he couldn’t help noticing the heavy mist that blanketed the train yard the next morning. When the train rolled out, Cowboytown disappeared almost instantly. He doubted he would ever see it again.
Boss had arranged for the engine to pull five cars, which would’ve made it easy to carry two hundred Aserra, but Robinson noticed she had added a sixth. He asked about it.
“Weight difference isn’t enough to affect the speed one way or another. And we might need it if there are extra weapons to come home with.
“Just so we’re clear, my purpose here is to provide transportation. If you have any notions of me or my men fighting, put them out of your head here and now. I haven’t survived this long risking my tail for others.”
“I understand.”
“I hope you do. Because this book in my pocket says “passage for guns.” It’d be a mistake to count on me for anything more. People have done it in the past, and it didn’t turn out well for them.”
“You’re pretty hard on yourself.”
“Only way to survive.”
Robinson considered arguing the point but didn’t. He and Boss went over the map again, pointing out the place where the Aserra would be waiting. Boss estimated it would take four hours, barring any unforeseen troubles along the track.
It was the path southeast that she was more concerned with. Her men had gone as far east as the border of what was once Tennessee, but never delved into any of the southern states. Georgia had been a wet state in times past, mired by bogs and swamps, and she was worried about speeding too quickly through that
land.
“I’ve laid out a couple contingencies in case we’re forced to stop. Here’s six different routes that’ll get us to your armory. Two of them are relatively straight. Three more will add a few hours, give or take. The last goes the long way around and could add as much as a day to the trip.”
“That’s too long,” Robinson said.
“I don’t control the tracks. Not yet anyway. What’s laid is where we can go. And even then, we need to be careful. I have men scouting from up top, but this fog doesn’t help, and we can’t travel at night.”
Robinson understood. The plan would require patience. But somewhere in his gut, he felt like they were already behind the clock.
Just after noon, the train cut through a swath of forest and passed a small, desolate city. At the far end of the valley, Boss told the engineer to slow. When the train finally came to a halt, the area looked unoccupied.
“We in the right place?” Boss asked.
Robinson nodded.
The men on top of the train took up their glasses to scan the forest, but saw no movement in any direction. And then, suddenly, scores of Aserra appeared out of nowhere. As they approached the train, Boss saw how truly intimidating they were.
“They sure know how to sneak up on folks, don’t they?” Boss noted.
“That they do,” Robinson said.
Robinson signaled Chimosh when he saw him. The warrior chief approached, his forehead still bruised where Robinson’s projectile had struck him. His eyes were black and yellow beneath.
“You look like I feel,” Robinson said.
Chimosh stayed silent.
“This is Boss,” Robinson said. “And this is Chimosh, the leader of the Aserra.”
“Pleasure,” Boss said.
Chimosh nodded before turning to the train. “It is prepared?”
“Yeah,” Robinson answered. “Each car can fit between forty and fifty people. It might not be comfortable, but—”
“We have no need of comfort. How many men does she bring?”
“Five. They have orders to stay with the engine.”
“Good. If any put hands to weapons, they will all be killed.”
Boss looked at Robinson, thinking, What have I gotten myself into?
“They know the deal,” Robinson said.
Chimosh signaled his warriors to load into the cars. Within a minute they were ready.
Boss whispered as Chimosh left, “Real charmer that one.”
Once the train was moving again, Boss settled in for a snooze, and Robinson worked his way back across the cars until he found Chimosh in the second to last one.
“Friday’s father couldn’t make it?” Robinson asked.
Chimosh shook his head.
“He is too old to fight. If the princess lives, she can see him when we return.”
“And you?”
Chimosh paused.
“The Goddess sees to the future. Her will decides everything.”
Robinson didn’t know what to say to that, so he stayed quiet.
“I saw her only once,” Chimosh said. “As a child. I took little notice of her. But they say she is crafty and insurreto.”
“I don’t know that word.”
“One who quarrels seemingly without reason?”
“Ah, right. We say rebellious.”
“They also say her heart is true and that she defends those who cannot defend themselves. When I first learned she was to be my wife, I was unhappy. No warrior likes to be challenged. But the more I discovered of her, the more I believed we were well suited. We have a saying, ferro mólì ferro.”
“Iron sharpens iron. We have that saying too.”
“You are a poor warrior. Slow and clumsy. But you are crafty. And the Goddess blesses you with luck. Let us hope that luck carries over to battle and you kill many of our enemies. Or may it at least provide you with a good death.”
“And if we live?” Robinson asked.
“You will never be Aserra. But if our great enemies are there as you say, we will defeat them. Then I will cut the mark from your arm and set you free.”
“And Friday?”
“If she lives? I will leave the choice to her.”
“What’s your name mean, Chimosh?”
“Chimosh is not my name. It is my title. It means, ‘unbeatable one.’”
“I can attest to that.”
Chimosh picked splinters from the floor of the train before speaking again.
“My real name is Tímido. It means … shy one.”
Robinson snorted but instantly went quiet when Chimosh glared at him.
“Really?” Robinson asked.
Chimosh shrugged.
Robinson fought hard to keep from smiling, but in the end, they both laughed.
Chapter Forty-Five
The Second Strain
Arga’Zul learned of the exodus of spies the following morning. He ordered a contingent of fifty men to return to the river in hopes of tracking them down. But once they got there, they found three ships missing and the Spinecrusher run aground a sandbar downriver. The bodies of the Flayers who had been left behind to protect the ship lay strewn about the waterline.
Friday expected Arga’Zul to rage over this betrayal, but he took it in stride. He explained to his men that the cowards fled rather than face another full day of battling Renders. He promised they would all suffer upon his return.
Of the original thousand men, Arga’Zul now had fewer than four hundred.
After a brief battle to extricate themselves from the tower, Arga’Zul’s troops paced quickly through the streets. Renders came more measuredly that morning, as if they knew the battle could not be won in a single stroke but by attrition.
Friday felt worse the second day. Her body hadn’t been given enough time to recover from the cold. Arga’Zul was quick to notice. When she vomited on the road, he called one of his surgeons.
“Check to see she has not been infected,” he said.
Easier said than done. Friday pulled her knife when the surgeon moved to examine her, but she was too weak to fend off the others that followed.
After a brief inspection, the surgeon reported back that she hadn’t been injured but appeared malnourished. “Many have complained of stomach pains this morning. It’s likely those that fled tainted the food.”
Friday was ordered to travel with Saah and his son. An hour into their excursion, she felt a frail hand on her arm.
“Are you hurt?” Jaras asked. “Say the word, and Father will make them stop. They can’t expect us to suffer through a second day of this madness.”
The boy glanced nervously around. Friday saw that he had developed a tic.
“Once we’re in possession of the virus,” Jaras continued, “we’ll show these bloody savages who’s in charge. Then we’ll retrieve the flier and head back to the Isle as heroes. Mother will be so excited to see us. I bet she’s already made preparations for our return. A ball, I suspect. The kind with real pageantry, befitting a noble house such as ours. Can you see it, Tessa?”
Friday nodded. She knew the boy was Crusoe’s enemy, and yet she felt pity for him. He wasn’t made for this world.
Saah was either unaware of Jaras’s unspooling or had decided to deal with it at a later time. He became solely focused on their destination.
By the time they arrived at the CDC building, the fog had lifted and the sky shone blue. Still, the chill remained. Winter was close.
The building was convex, gray steel, and glass. Though it was only a few stories tall, it still looked intimidating. Miraculously, it showed less wear than most of its contemporaries and had retained almost all its glass.
Huddled around the exterior were old military vehicles, rusted and decayed. As they approached them, Friday remembered the same sight outside the white building in Washington of the D.C.
Inside the lobby, Arga’Zul ordered two groups to survey the building, while the remaining Flayers took up defensive positions outside.
“Jaras and I will go on alone from here,” Saah said.
“Do you take me for a fool?” Arga’Zul asked. “You will get what you want and leave. I have not risked everything to go home empty-handed.”
“Our bargain has not changed,” Saah said. “But there are dangerous substances in this building. One misstep, one mistake, could release toxins that could kill us all. My son and I will go.”
“Your son is sick of head. He is more of a danger than the demons outside.”
Saah looked at Jaras as if he’d been avoiding this confirmation.
“I’ll take two of your best men,” Saah said.
“Ten,” Arga’Zul countered.
“We’ll compromise with four. Unless you think your warriors incapable of babysitting one man and one boy.”
Jaras snapped.
“No!” he said. “We’re not leaving Tessa behind! Not with them!”
“Calm yourself, Jaras,” Saah said.
“No! Look at her! She’s sick, Father. These savages have driven her to the brink. I won’t leave her alone with them. We have protected her!”
“Jaras—” Saah began.
“Father, ever since this journey began, I have remained steadfast at your side. But Tessa is not like us. She is too soft of heart. We nearly lost her at the western gate. I cannot lose her now. Please. Protecting her … it’s the only way I can go forward.”
Only then did Saah realize his son was truly broken. He turned to Arga’Zul.
“My son wants the girl to come. To protect her.”
Arga’Zul read the desperation in Saah’s face. He wanted to refuse, but Friday wasn’t going anywhere in her weakened state. He needed this to get done.
“Then I go with you,” he said.
As they scaled up an old escalator, Arga’Zul looked out the window over the city of the dead. One day, he vowed, he would return to every city like this and clear the diseased vermin from it. By birthright, this land was his. He would leave no stone unturned to ensure every creature in it bowed to his will.
There was only one thing left to deal with: Baras’Oot. His spies would reach their master the day after tomorrow. And it would be at least another day before he raised an army to pursue them. By then, the ancient weapons would be in his possession. How clever of him to send men to lift three bags of gunpowder from their stores. Once he knew how to put them together, he would return home and claim his rightful place atop the throne, once and for all.
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