by Sarah Chorn
Arlen listened with half an ear while Elroy rattled off the important details of their trip, and then made sure the official knew which transfer office in Union City to relay it to. Then they both watched while the man seemed almost to leave his body, and do whatever it was officials did when they were high on crude shine to relay messages. Then, with a twitch and a moan, he was back, blinking away wherever he’d gone, pallor gone a bit yellow.
“Anything to add?” Elroy asked, turning to Arlen.
He’d rather scrape the skin off his bones than deal with someone this high on shine, this nakedly addicted and close to burnout and death, but this was life. There would be no running from it. “Yes,” he said. He scanned the room again. The official poured another shot of crude shine spilling half of it across his desk and then drank it up noisily.
It was no easy thing, to face a living dead man, and to know that Arlen’s family was responsible for his current condition. His stomach turned. He was a company man, born and raised, but this… this was too much. “Relay to Matthew Esco that his son, Arlen Esco, has arrived safe and unharmed.” Then, done with this place, with the stifling, smothering air, and the scent of shine that permeated the room, he spun on his heel and left.
It was a few minutes before Elroy appeared. A few minutes of Arlen gasping lungfuls of air, trying to clear his head. Trying to push away the revulsion.
“You get used to it,” the man said, voice soft and full of understanding. “It’s ugly, but they knew the reality of the job going into it. I know that doesn’t make it any easier to see. At least their families, whoever they’ve got left, will be paid handsomely for their sacrifice and will never have to worry another day in their lives.”
That should make Arlen feel better, but it didn’t.
Elroy let the quiet spread between them, tipped his hat at a passing woman, who had ruby hair, pink eyes, and pink skin. Her companion, a burly green man, pulled her closer and gave the two of them wide berth.
Finally, “Your father left us a message, to be read as soon as we arrive. Let’s go to the tavern,” Elroy looked positively in his element. Before, in Union City, he’d always been a hulking presence, radiating tension. Now, however, he was loose-limbed and fluid. Like he was on vacation. “Sterling is in a meeting with the governor. We’ll eat dinner at his house tonight, but there are things the two of us need to talk about first. So, lunch?”
“Sure.”
Arlen followed him to a tavern on the corner. It was a regal building with a colorful façade and a sign with a pistol shooting a large spray of shine hanging over the door. “The Pistol is the best tavern in Freetown,” Elroy said, holding the door open for Arlen. “You’ll love it.”
The tavern itself was large and open. Thick oak tables scattered the room. The huge windows let in plenty of light, giving the place an airy, open atmosphere. In the corner sat two men—orange and purple—playing a quiet game of cards. Elroy rapped his knuckles on the counter. “Two for lunch,” he said.
The tavern keeper looked them over and nodded without saying anything. Elroy led them to a table by the windows, and within minutes, large bowls of beef stew were set before them. “Tuck in,” Elroy said. “We can talk after we eat.”
Arlen’s stomach growled. He’d broken his fast with jam, some fresh fruit, and coffee in the rooms they were renting. It had been a good modest, repast. But now he was hungry, truly hungry. He filled his spoon with meat and potatoes, had it halfway to his mouth before he saw… “Is there shine in this soup?”
“There’s shine in everything out here,” Elroy said. “You only risk addiction if you drink it undiluted, or snort shine powder, like the transfer officials. You’ll see later, people in the taverns, drinking till their guts burst to catch a high. It’s against the law to serve it undiluted, though it happens here and there. It’s not a big deal. Places like this only add it to food and drink to heighten the flavor and adjust the temperature. Don’t think about it. You won’t taste it.”
But that was the problem. He couldn’t not think about it. He saw that shine in his soup, a wavy rainbow, like oil, coating the top of his bowl. It was beautiful but hardly appetizing. Still, his stomach growled, and he lifted a spoonful to his mouth and ate.
He coughed, choking on his food with surprise, and had to dab at his face and take a drink of the tepid water he’d been served.
“You don’t like it?” Elroy asked.
“It went down wrong,” Arlen replied, pounding a fist on his chest.
In truth, it was barely warm, and truly, amazingly bland. He thought maybe one of the potatoes he’d eaten was rotten, but Elroy’s was steaming and fresh, and he was moaning with each bite, his eyes closing as he savored the flavors.
Still, figuring it was better to not attract attention, he ate, picking around the questionable bits, and when the burly purple man returned to collect their plates, Arlen complimented him and gave him a good tip. Thus filled, the two men sat, taking in some sunlight, before Elroy reached into his coat and grabbed the rolled message he’d gathered from the Transfer office. He cracked the seal and unfolded it. A second, smaller parchment slid out, with Arlen’s name scrawled on it. Elroy handed it over to him.
His body went stiff with dread. Arlen hated messages from his father, and he doubted this would be any different.
Arlen,
I should like you to keep Elroy close, and let him teach you the ways of Shine Territory. You must keep your unique relationship with shine a secret. I am sorry events transpired that kept me from fully informing you about your nature before you left, but you must prepare yourself now, and give nothing away. It will not be safe for you if people know what you are.
In the meantime, I need you to locate a good place for a textile mill. It needs to be somewhere between Freetown and Grove, with easy access to water, and near the train line. It should also be large enough to hold around one hundred employees as well as large machines. Elroy has been given of a list of potential locations for you both to scout.
M. Esco
After all these years and Matthew Esco had known that Arlen, for some reason, reacted differently to shine than anyone else. He ran his life over in his mind, pulling out all the oddities he’d excused, or not noticed until now. The carefully chosen, shine-free boarding school. The doctors, when he’d caught the mosquito flu as a child, had treated him without the latest shine techniques. The wind-up watches, the wind-up toys, the wind-up everything. When everyone else had shine powered machines, he had his ingenuity and lots of dials to maneuver.
He'd always admired his father for controlling this wealth of shine, yet refusing to use much, if any, himself. He was a man of means, and yet he remained modest.
He thought of the Boundary, which he could see when others couldn’t and had no impact on him.
Food, which was nearly cold, and bland. Tepid water.
Matthew Esco, always a bit more than an arm’s reach away.
It hit him like an asteroid falling out of the sky. How carefully his life had been lived. A game of mirrors and shadows. Matthew Esco was a shark and always had been. He was adept at manipulating events to suit his needs.
Arlen never expected he was the one being manipulated.
“Everything okay?” Elroy asked, eyeing him warily.
“Fine,” Arlen said, tucking the letter into his breast pocket to deal with later. “What did your letter say?”
“Nothing unusual. There’s a wanted man running around, making trouble. Matthew wants us to apprehend him, bring him in. If things get too far along…” his voice trailed off.
“If things get too far along…?” Arlen pressed.
“Well, we’ll hang him. This is Shine Company land, which means all these people on it are dependent on us for their safety and livelihoods.” Elroy leaned across the table, tapping on it with his fingertips. “We’re sent out here with a list of things to do for the company. That’s only part of the job. This sort of thing is the rest of it. We need
to keep the people safe.”
He listened to Elroy with half an ear. There were too many thoughts vying for his attention, none of which he could deal with right now. “Who is the man?”
Elroy pushed the parchment across the table. Along with carrying and relaying messages, the men who worked in the transfer offices were all good at drawing, for moments just like this, Arlen suspected.
The official Shine Company logo was at the top and took a deep breath. He could deal with business. He could understand this. He’d been raised with it, steeped in it. So, he hardened himself and turned his attention over to Shine Company and its purposes. He found refuge in the role of his office.
Along with the text was a picture of the man. He looked to be older, middle-aged, maybe, rough around the edges, with a shaggy beard and shoulder-length, unkempt hair. His eyes were large and expressive, mesmerizing.
“Financial reward?” Arlen asked. “How much?”
“Shine Company pays us per head we bring in. Usually somewhere between 1,000 to 10,000 silver a pop. You can get it in cash or trade it out for shine. This fellow,” Elroy flicked the paper, “has been wanted for longer than I’ve been an agent. He’ll give us quite a payout if we get him.”
“How do we find him?” Arlen asked. There was something about his face. Something that tugged at Arlen’s mind. Whatever it was, it drifted away, instantly forgotten.
“Likely, we won’t. Usually, you find more of these outlaws in smaller towns. If there are any hanging around, they’ll near places like Grove. The people out there are a hard sort. Loyal to themselves. They have little love for Shine Company.”
“I didn’t realize there were loyalty issues,” Arlen said. He was still staring at that picture, looking into those eyes. What was it about them?
“Now, mind, you wouldn’t notice it in Freetown, but the further out you get, the more people forget who owns the land they live on, who they pay rent to, and who they need to thank for what they’ve got. People went west for a reason, Arlen. Lots of them don’t like being beholden to anyone, no matter how magnanimous that someone happens to be. Your pa would be happy enough to leave the Territory alone, as long as the barrels of shine oil and the shipments of shine rock keep flowing out. It’s when outlaws, like that bastard, shake things up, that people get upset.”
The door opened, and Sterling sauntered in. He pulled his hat off and shook it once before making his way to their table. “Ah, so you got the missive,” Sterling said. “I’ve been chasing this guy since the Boundary was erected.”
The tavern keeper came over to get Sterling’s order, but he waved him away.
“As I expected, things have changed. I’m going to be leaving you chaps for a time,” Sterling said. “There’s something up in the shine mines I’m meant to look at. You two will cut your stay in Freetown short and head on to Grove tomorrow. Stay there. Make sure your presence is felt. There’s been… activity out there. Someone will brief you when you get there, and I’ll meet you when I can.” He paused and glared at Elroy. “Keep yourself to yourself. You might not sleep with them, but getting handsy is dangerous enough.”
Elroy smiled wide. “They think the outlaw is in Grove?” He asked. “Why?”
“Don’t know if they think he is out there, specifically. Just heard from the governor that he has a daughter that lives just outside the town on a homestead.” Sterling paused. “He’s a man with a child. If he’s got blood in his veins, he’ll check up on her.”
“Christopher…” Arlen rolled the name over in his mind and snapped his fingers. “He’s the Shine Bandit!” He’d been obsessed with the man and his larger-than-life stories as told in those copper-piece stories he’d read as a child.
“He’s a fucking coward is what he is,” Sterling said. “Men don’t run and hide.”
“What’s going on in the mines?” Elroy asked.
“Never you mind,” Sterling replied. “What do you think of the Territory so far, Arlen?”
So far it seemed depressingly mundane. His mind drifted to his father’s letter, and then pointedly away. “It’s fine,” he finally said. “Seems pretty quiet.”
“It may look that way, but a lot is going on under the surface,” Sterling replied. “That reminds me, the governor has his papers ready and is waiting for you to attend him.”
He hated being called the governor like he was a servant being summoned in a king’s court. Hated how it made him feel, small and easily manipulated. Not a man who stood his ground. He was easy to push. Easy to move. On the other hand, he was glad to have something to do, something to immerse himself in to distract his disquiet mind.
But this whole experience, the traveling and then the destination, was making him realize his fundamental flaw. He was too soft. He had always been this way, prone to emotion when so many others were hardened off, and already settled. He had his flights of fancy, his rounded edges. His restless soul. He dreamed of the wide, Wild West, while those around him strove to elevate themselves in his father’s empire. He could be easily moved because he’d not yet found anything worth standing his ground for.
He learned, long ago, to treat those parts of himself gently that took things in too deeply, and held on for far too long. He didn’t want to be stiff and still, firm in the face of every wind. He longed to be like a willow, feeling so passionately he bent with the force of it, but never broke.
And he was keenly aware of the fact that that was not how a man who ran an empire thought.
Numbers. He needed numbers.
“Well, gentlemen,” he said, standing. He pulled some bills out of his pocket and threw them on the table. “It seems as though I am needed elsewhere.”
Elroy and Sterling shifted in their seats, got comfortable.
“Take yourself to the haberdashery, too,” Sterling shouted at Arlen’s back. “You need a hat out here, to fit in.”
Arlen waved some fingers as an acknowledgment, and made his way outside, into the bright sunlight, to a street with only a handful of people on it.
He was alone.
Alone.
He hadn’t been alone in weeks. Not truly. Always, Elroy or Sterling was with him. He even shared a room with Elroy. Outside of the latrine, there hadn’t been a moment where it had been just him and his thoughts.
And he had so many thoughts.
He pressed his back against the warm bricks of the building and rubbed at his temples.
It was incredible that all it took was one sentence. One sentence to undo him. To break him. One sentence, written by his father, to show him how impressive the lie of his life was.
You must keep your unique relationship with shine a secret.
He wasn’t sure why it should surprise him that his father had carefully constructed a life for Arlen. He had first-hand knowledge of the man’s cunning gift with sleight-of-hand maneuvers.
Arlen knew. He’d been privy to it his whole life. So why was this sudden revelation about shine so shocking?
Because he’d never imagined his father would practice sleight of hand on him. On the rest of the world, sure, but on his own son?
He’d never dreamed such a thing was possible.
So what else had Matthew Esco lied to him about?
His foundation was shaking. A crack was running through him, and the darkness beneath was full of doubt.
The day is dying.
A scepter of crimson bleeds through the dandelion sky. Twilight spreads its wings. The moon, crowned in a diadem of stars, lifts her head and surveys her dark kingdom.
Cassandra is undressing me. It is a slow, laborious process, and I am too weak to be of any help. I turn my head so I can stare out the window, watch as dark steals across the land, while she fumbles with my buttons and carefully, devotedly, wipes away the stains from the day. The dried blood. The bile.
I taste her tears on my lips. The salt of them soaks into my skin. She is part of me now. I can feel her in my bones.
Time is measured in gasps.
Inhale. Exhale.
The story of life is told through breath and blood. Poetry, as ever-present as a heartbeat, as fleeting as the blink of an eye.
Quiet fills the room, and I find solace in its embrace. I hear nothing but our breaths mingling like lovers in the twilight. Our hearts throb, giving voice to our secret desires. Silence is its own language, as dark and mysterious as the soul, and I savor it. I am drowning in this silver-edged moment. This moonlight-kissed dream.
I close my eyes and give myself over to it.
My cousin Jack always had me on edge. He was a few years older than I and seemed nigh unto untouchable. He tried hard to stay as far away from me as possible. When I was inside, he went outside. If I sat at one end of the table, he sat at the other and refused to so much as look up from his plate, lest our eyes meet. When he did speak to me, his words were always roughly hewn and with a biting edge. Not a few times, his parents got after him to be kind to me.
“He’s jealous,” I heard Annie whisper to Jasper late one night. The cabin was dark and quiet, and their voices carried.
“He’ll have to get over it,” Jasper replied. “She’s one of us now.”
Somehow, Jack saw me as a threat. His anger kept me in fearful awe of him, so I tried to be as unobtrusive and quiet as possible. I could not fathom why he would be envious of someone like me. But once I heard those what Jasper had said, I knew the truth of it. I’d seen it often enough in animals while living in the wild with my father. When territory is challenged, they often spar until one is deemed to be dominant.
I did not want to spar with Jack. After a few weeks of his icy regard, I longed for him to forget I existed. The cabin was too small for such maliciousness. It bled into all of us until our dinners were hurried, tense affairs, and the air thickened enough to smother.
