“Seems like an awful lot of people to decide a man’s going to hang,” remarked Horatio Adair dryly.
“If he’s going to hang, you mean.” Wilfred Beverley, being one of the town’s few lawyers, was a stickler for proper use of language. Particularly when it related to his profession.
“Oh come on, Wil!” Adair countered. “The man’s guilty as hell! Those quack patent medicines aren’t worth the glass used to bottle them or the paper wasted to label them.”
A petite throat cleared to Adair’s left. “I wouldn’t say that’s entirely accurate, Horatio,” began Vertiline Ruskin slowly. “Admittedly, some of his wares are useless to say the least. But whether by accident or design, he has come up with some genuinely useful tonics. I just hate the idea of him wasting his talents on such chicanery.”
“Because that’s a greater crime than what he tried to pull over at Eldon Watson’s place?” asked Thaddeus Causer witheringly. “Vertie, Eldon’s still not completely recovered from those damn knockout drops. If Colleen hadn’t caught him looting the silver service, you and I both know Elijah Walmsley would be down the road faster than you can blink.”
“I’m inclined to agree with you, Thad,” interrupted a resonant mezzosoprano voice, “and with you as well, Horatio. However, if I’m reading the room right, the council is split down the middle. Which means I have to break the tie.”
Adair and Causer both sunk back in their chairs with mulish looks on their faces. “You can’t just let him walk, Jess,” Adair grumbled. “Right now, we can’t afford the distraction, particularly with Darby and his ghouls crawling towards us. If nothing else, it’d let folks around here know we’re serious about keeping things in order. And let’s be honest, even if he got a light sentence, there’s more than enough chance somebody’d shoot him in the street. For Eldon, if for no other reason.”
Jessamine Chance locked eyes with Adair. “I won’t deny Eldon is very popular around town. I also won’t deny there’s more than a few that would cheerfully shoot Walmsley if they thought it would get them into Eldon’s good graces. But we came here to get away from that sort of thinking. We left the ‘enlightened’ civilization of the United States because they failed to be enlightened where people like you and I are concerned.” Adair scowled at her but said nothing. “I believe we can rehabilitate this man. Or at the very least extract a measure of service to our community from him.”
“And how are we to do that?” asked Ruskin.
“Do you know why Polaris was founded, Mr. Walmsley?”
“No, Mayor Chance, I am entirely unaware of the circumstances regarding the founding of your charming little town here.” Elijah Walmsley shifted in the chair slightly. There was something about the sky blue shade of Chance’s eyes which made him deeply uncomfortable. An energy, a feeling of boundless power just waiting to be unleashed for any good reason. He knew he’d given her just such a reason.
“Shortly after the Shift, when it became apparent the powers of gods and demons were once again fully in the hands of men, some believed they needed to go back to the old ways of Europe. That nonsense of ‘suffer not a witch to live’ and similar madnesses. Just as the Mormons fled West in their time, so did those of us who could use those powers. We came here because this place is special. It called to us, attracted us like iron to a magnet. And we have made a home here, Mr. Walmsley. With all the chaos in the Territories these days, that’s no small feat, but we are deeply invested in ensuring it remains a sanctuary.” Chance went over to the dry bar tucked away in one corner of her office and pulled down a pair of tumblers. “Something to drink? The fact I am deeply upset with you does not excuse me from showing better manners than you’ve so far displayed.”
“Bourbon, neat, if you please.” Walmsley was discovering the more he stayed in her office, the more nervous he got. Anything to help calm him down would be appreciated at this point. Chance nodded, poured the bourbon into one of the tumblers, then handed it to him. He sipped experimentally, eyes widening as the flavors burst forth. “My, but that’s good! Pre-war?”
“Indeed it is. Something I held on to when I left Detroit. I save it for momentous occasions.” She poured her own drink and sipped it. “Now, Sir, let us proceed to the matter at hand. You are a huckster of the lowest sort. You give false hope and false health to those who are in need. And if not for your momentary burst of avarice, it is entirely possible you’d have had a good head start after clearing out of here. Does any of that ring false?”
Walmsley looked down into his drink, knowing Chance had the facts entirely correct. He’d been caught trying to rob one of the more well heeled looking townsmen, and his pride would not let him try to deny the charges. It wasn’t that Walmsley couldn’t protest. He just didn’t want to look any more foolish than he already did. “No, Ma’am, it most certainly does not.”
“In most communities out here, what you did would almost certainly earn you a rope or a bullet. But Polaris is not most communities. We have a somewhat more enlightened method of dealing with miscreants who are not completely violent in their infractions. I understand there will be no permanent harm to Eldon Watson, but slipping him that little concoction in his drink certainly qualifies as assault. Since you tried to harm the community, it only seems fair that you serve the community.”
“Am I to be mucking out stables and picking up the streets, then?” Walmsley asked, mulling over the prospect of a fairly light punishment, however demeaning it might be for him in the short term.
“Nothing so simple. No, I have a much different task for you. You are going to serve as our advocate, an ambassador of sorts.”
Raising an eyebrow, Walmsley took another sip of bourbon. “To whom, may I ask?”
“Nobody specific. Your job will be to find individuals which may be of assistance to us in defending the town. Unique individuals. Those who possess talents and abilities which we are not easily able to duplicate.”
“Now that,” said Walmsley in a slow and cautious voice, “sounds vaguely ominous. Correct me if I’m wrong, but this little town seems to be more than adequately defended from almost any conceivable threat. While I won’t pretend to be a man who is thoroughly well versed in modern scientific technologies, or a scholar with a deep understanding of esoteric and occult lore, I can very easily see this town has a large number of people who do possess those backgrounds. In point of fact, unless I’m very much mistaken, that monument you have erected in the center of town is some sort of focus for ley lines. Quite a few of them, judging from the size.”
“You are not entirely wrong, Mr. Walmsley. However, the difference between what you and I consider to be a conceivable threat is probably a matter of degree. The occasional knot of bandits, a tribal war party, some of the more interesting creatures that have appeared in the last decade or so, those we can handle. Others, however, require a more tailored response. Are you familiar with Marcellus Darby?”
Walmsley’s hand trembled slightly as the glass hung just short of his lips. “I’ve heard of him,” he replied, trying to keep his voice under control and knowing he hadn’t quite managed it.
Chance’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I think you’ve more than just heard of him. While I won’t press you for details, I am of the belief you have a more than passing familiarity with the man. And if I’m bringing him up in the conversation, I’m of the belief you have a pretty good idea what it means for you and your restitution.”
“It means the Northwest Authority is running a rail line, probably out from Salt Lake City, and they’re wanting to make your town the next major station. Which means you’re not looking for help. You’re looking for men to commit paid suicide!” spat Walmsley as he finished off the drink.
Chance slowly finished her own bourbon and laced her fingers together. “Pay is not a problem, and I’m certain you’ve already deduced as much. And while dying in the process is a distinct possibility, it’s hardly the dictionary definition of suicide.”
“Forget about it. Whatever terms Darby offered, I’d take them if I were you, because it’s the best deal you’re going to get out of him. As for me, point me to the stables or get that rope ready.”
“I don’t believe you understand the nature of the situation. You’ve already been found guilty and your sentence has already begun.”
“What do you mean?”
“I had a feeling once Darby came up in the conversation, you’d turn mulish, if not outright defiant. So, bearing that in mind, I devised a punishment which would motivate you to accomplish your goals. And given the nature of your crime, I must confess to indulging in a sense of the poetic. Right now, there is a poison working its way through your body. It is not something which can be overcome by eating the right foods or flushing your body with water. Nor will Mithradate’s Antidote do you any good. It’s slow acting, but within two days, your body will start to suffer muscle tremors. A day after that, you will lose control of your limbs, along with suffering a considerable degree of pain. After another day, you will be in agony. If there’s any mercy to be found in this, it’s that the toxin is not lethal.” Chance smiled at him with a hint of predatory cruelty. “Though you’ll certainly spend a lot of time praying to whatever gods you believe in that it will kill you.”
“The bourbon.” Walmsley shook his head. “Not only a dirty trick but a vicious abuse of good spirits. Though I don’t know exactly what you think I can accomplish in two days.”
“Oh, you’ll have more time than just two days. Being a purveyor of fine patent medicines, I’m sure you’re aware of the difference between treating the symptoms and curing the affliction. There will be a means to manage the symptoms provided. You’ll keep it with you while you go out to recruit aid for us.”
“How long before you figure Darby’s crews get within striking distance of the town?”
“Six months. I know it doesn’t give you a lot of time, relatively speaking, but it’s the best we can do. And I’d really prefer not to have to try and let you back into town in the middle of a siege.”
“Am I the only one who’s going to be playing Judas goat?”
“We’ve had a few others go searching. Some headed down south towards Mexico. Others went north. I imagine you’d probably do better heading east.”
“Damned sure I’m not going to be finding help further west,” Walmsley growled. “Anybody with the mind and the means to cause Darby trouble is dead or playing dead.”
“Likely so,” nodded Chance soberly. “But east is probably your best bet. I know the spring thaws haven’t entirely come to the rest of the Rockies yet. I understand it will make travel a touch difficult heading out, but coming back should be easier.”
“Indeed,” Walmsley said in a cold and clipped tone. “Shall I take myself off to the local jail to stay the night or shall I just find a tree to sleep under?”
“Heavens, no. We’re not barbarians here. Please stay at my house this evening as my guest. It’ll make things easier for me to prepare your medicine and deliver it to you before you leave.”
“I hope you don’t take offense, Mayor Chance, but my trust in your hospitality has taken rather a serious blow. You know, the whole lingering poison issue. So, if I’m free to seek my own lodgings, I believe there’s a perfectly serviceable boarding house with a very hearty stew which I can vouch for. Good day to you.”
As Walmsley’s hand touched the brass doorknob, Chance’s voice stopped him dead. “You’re certainly free to do so, Mr. Walmsley. But I’d remind you there’s more than a few folks who are just a touch upset at you right now. I can think of a couple right off the top of my head who might think they were doing the town, and the larger world, a commendable favor by putting a bullet in the back of your head or cutting your throat where you slept. Now, it’s possible you can handle yourself, and it’s possible those particular hotheads will not live long enough to learn from their folly. But if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather keep you as my guest this evening and avoid any unfortunate incidents which might cause violence to your person.” Walmsley could almost hear Chance’s eyes narrowing as her tone grew colder than his own. “Not that I believe such violence is unwarranted, you understand, but because it makes my efforts to protect this town that much easier.”
Straightening up, Walmsley looked right into Chance’s eyes, his own hazel irises lit with restrained fury. “Very well, Ma’am. However, during supper, I will insist on pouring my own drinks. Again, the poison. Until then, I shall avail myself of the drawing room.” He crossed the foyer into the drawing room and closed the twin sliding doors behind him loudly.
As befitting the mayor of a prosperous town, Chance laid out a pretty good spread for her guest. The sweet and tangy scent of duck au l’orange filled the dining room, mingling with freshly baked rolls and a potato soup with salt ham chunks. Chance left a bottle of wine, corked and with its wax seal intact, next to Walmsley’s place. It had been an small sort of apology, which Walmsley was willing to accept with only the slightest bit of reluctance.
If there was any complaint to be had, it was in the evening’s company. As hostess, Chance was going to be present, and that was just going to have to be tolerated. But what hadn’t been expected, or particularly welcomed, was the arrival of Edward Lewin. His deeply nasal voice grated on Walmsley’s ears, making everything he said sound less like a confident statement and more like petulant whining. Walmsley wasn’t sure Lewin would survive if he actually did start whining. From what he could gather, Chance had not invited Lewin to the meal, but neither had she ejected him from her house. Appearances, it seemed, needed to be maintained. It couldn’t be easy for her to entertain the man who was asking her to surrender her town to his boss. Walmsley was certain that, were he in the position of host, he’d have stabbed Lewin in the throat before the soup course was finished.
“So, Jessamine . . .can I call you Jessamine?” half-whined Lewin.
“You may not,” replied Chance, her tone as flat and lifeless as a salt bed. “I’m willing to overlook the gross lack of manners in arriving unannounced and presuming upon my hospitality. But that degree of familiarity is unwelcome and will not be tolerated.” She leaned forward, a faint crackle of energy starting to run rings around the outside edge of her irises. “Understand something, Lewin. You are here in this house because you have not quite given me sufficient offense to eject you. You are here in my town for much the same reason. Both of those conditions are subject to change entirely based on your behavior. Remember it.”
Lewin recoiled slightly at the hard tone in Chance’s voice and swallowed deeply. “I’m terribly sorry, Madam Mayor,” he stammered, the whine in full evidence. Chance leaned back and took a long sip of her wine before returning to her plate. Taking a corner of his napkin, Lewin dabbed at a line of sweat on his brow, then glanced over at Walmsley. “I’m terribly sorry —” he began again, only to be silenced with a baleful look.
“Oh, you are terribly sorry indeed, Mr. Lewin,” said Walmsley as he pushed his wineglass gently away. “Truth be told, I kind of expected better out of Marcellus. ‘Course, you may not have been his choice. God knows there’s all manner of bastard sonsabitches who pull strings, get their halfwit cousins and dumbshit friends hired on to the line. Or maybe you’re just somebody’s catamite that somebody had a moment’s misguided pity upon and now can’t be rid of you. So they send you here, praising the glory of the Northwest Authority and Marcellus Darby, not really minding if you happen to stumble your way into a victory, but more likely hoping somebody saves them the trouble and the cost of a bullet.” Walmsley stood up slowly, eyes locked on Lewin’s and showing every ounce of his contempt. “Does this shock you, Mr. Lewin? To hear such a denunciation from a drifter and a snake oil salesman?”
Lewin’s mouth sat completely agape.
“Let me tell you something. I was in the same position you’re in now. Five years ago, I was in charge of the negotiations to bring Astoria into the fold. I’m sure you know how that turned out. And believe me, I was a lot more trusted than you are.”
The color drained from Lewin’s face as the words finally registered on him. The Siege of Astoria had been bloody and unbelievably destructive. A two mile stretch of land around the city, on both banks of the Columbia, had been laid to waste. A third of the city’s population had died from disease and bombardment. The only reason there was a Free City of Astoria was because of the spectacular and sudden end of the siege, brought about by the man who’d attempted to negotiate. The man who’d practically begged the city fathers to accept the Northwest Authority’s offer.
The man who had commandeered two hundred gallons of liquified aetherine and burned a thousand of Marcellus Darby’s men to death in one transcendent moment of holocaust. The man whose head was worth half a ton of Mexican gold and control of a new rail line if somebody in the Authority brought it in.
“You’re Elijah Walmsley,” Lewin said breathlessly, his left hand inching towards a waistcoat pocket.
Walmsley snapped up his dinner knife and buried it in Lewin’s right hand, striking with a cobra’s inhuman speed and accuracy. Over the shrieks of agony, Walmsley spoke almost lovingly to Lewin. “I expect you to be out of this town by dawn. Because if I see you anytime after I finish my breakfast tomorrow morning, the mayor will have no choice but to hang me for murder. I don’t imagine I’ll win a pardon from her, no matter how loathsome she finds you or how badly she wants to see you dead. Do we understand each other?” Lewin nodded frantically, his mouth now wide open and silent from the pain. “Very good. Please give my regards to Marcellus and tell him I hope they’ve constructed a special corner of Hell for him that I will be happy to oversee once the Devil takes my soul after his.” Walmsley poured another glass of wine, downed it in one gulp, then gave a stiff little bow towards Chance. “Mayor Chance, my compliments to the cook. I must now retire for the evening so I may properly digest this delicious meal instead of spilling my gorge over your table linens. Good night.”
“If he’s going to hang, you mean.” Wilfred Beverley, being one of the town’s few lawyers, was a stickler for proper use of language. Particularly when it related to his profession.
“Oh come on, Wil!” Adair countered. “The man’s guilty as hell! Those quack patent medicines aren’t worth the glass used to bottle them or the paper wasted to label them.”
A petite throat cleared to Adair’s left. “I wouldn’t say that’s entirely accurate, Horatio,” began Vertiline Ruskin slowly. “Admittedly, some of his wares are useless to say the least. But whether by accident or design, he has come up with some genuinely useful tonics. I just hate the idea of him wasting his talents on such chicanery.”
“Because that’s a greater crime than what he tried to pull over at Eldon Watson’s place?” asked Thaddeus Causer witheringly. “Vertie, Eldon’s still not completely recovered from those damn knockout drops. If Colleen hadn’t caught him looting the silver service, you and I both know Elijah Walmsley would be down the road faster than you can blink.”
“I’m inclined to agree with you, Thad,” interrupted a resonant mezzosoprano voice, “and with you as well, Horatio. However, if I’m reading the room right, the council is split down the middle. Which means I have to break the tie.”
Adair and Causer both sunk back in their chairs with mulish looks on their faces. “You can’t just let him walk, Jess,” Adair grumbled. “Right now, we can’t afford the distraction, particularly with Darby and his ghouls crawling towards us. If nothing else, it’d let folks around here know we’re serious about keeping things in order. And let’s be honest, even if he got a light sentence, there’s more than enough chance somebody’d shoot him in the street. For Eldon, if for no other reason.”
Jessamine Chance locked eyes with Adair. “I won’t deny Eldon is very popular around town. I also won’t deny there’s more than a few that would cheerfully shoot Walmsley if they thought it would get them into Eldon’s good graces. But we came here to get away from that sort of thinking. We left the ‘enlightened’ civilization of the United States because they failed to be enlightened where people like you and I are concerned.” Adair scowled at her but said nothing. “I believe we can rehabilitate this man. Or at the very least extract a measure of service to our community from him.”
“And how are we to do that?” asked Ruskin.
* * *
“Do you know why Polaris was founded, Mr. Walmsley?”
“No, Mayor Chance, I am entirely unaware of the circumstances regarding the founding of your charming little town here.” Elijah Walmsley shifted in the chair slightly. There was something about the sky blue shade of Chance’s eyes which made him deeply uncomfortable. An energy, a feeling of boundless power just waiting to be unleashed for any good reason. He knew he’d given her just such a reason.
“Shortly after the Shift, when it became apparent the powers of gods and demons were once again fully in the hands of men, some believed they needed to go back to the old ways of Europe. That nonsense of ‘suffer not a witch to live’ and similar madnesses. Just as the Mormons fled West in their time, so did those of us who could use those powers. We came here because this place is special. It called to us, attracted us like iron to a magnet. And we have made a home here, Mr. Walmsley. With all the chaos in the Territories these days, that’s no small feat, but we are deeply invested in ensuring it remains a sanctuary.” Chance went over to the dry bar tucked away in one corner of her office and pulled down a pair of tumblers. “Something to drink? The fact I am deeply upset with you does not excuse me from showing better manners than you’ve so far displayed.”
“Bourbon, neat, if you please.” Walmsley was discovering the more he stayed in her office, the more nervous he got. Anything to help calm him down would be appreciated at this point. Chance nodded, poured the bourbon into one of the tumblers, then handed it to him. He sipped experimentally, eyes widening as the flavors burst forth. “My, but that’s good! Pre-war?”
“Indeed it is. Something I held on to when I left Detroit. I save it for momentous occasions.” She poured her own drink and sipped it. “Now, Sir, let us proceed to the matter at hand. You are a huckster of the lowest sort. You give false hope and false health to those who are in need. And if not for your momentary burst of avarice, it is entirely possible you’d have had a good head start after clearing out of here. Does any of that ring false?”
Walmsley looked down into his drink, knowing Chance had the facts entirely correct. He’d been caught trying to rob one of the more well heeled looking townsmen, and his pride would not let him try to deny the charges. It wasn’t that Walmsley couldn’t protest. He just didn’t want to look any more foolish than he already did. “No, Ma’am, it most certainly does not.”
“In most communities out here, what you did would almost certainly earn you a rope or a bullet. But Polaris is not most communities. We have a somewhat more enlightened method of dealing with miscreants who are not completely violent in their infractions. I understand there will be no permanent harm to Eldon Watson, but slipping him that little concoction in his drink certainly qualifies as assault. Since you tried to harm the community, it only seems fair that you serve the community.”
“Am I to be mucking out stables and picking up the streets, then?” Walmsley asked, mulling over the prospect of a fairly light punishment, however demeaning it might be for him in the short term.
“Nothing so simple. No, I have a much different task for you. You are going to serve as our advocate, an ambassador of sorts.”
Raising an eyebrow, Walmsley took another sip of bourbon. “To whom, may I ask?”
“Nobody specific. Your job will be to find individuals which may be of assistance to us in defending the town. Unique individuals. Those who possess talents and abilities which we are not easily able to duplicate.”
“Now that,” said Walmsley in a slow and cautious voice, “sounds vaguely ominous. Correct me if I’m wrong, but this little town seems to be more than adequately defended from almost any conceivable threat. While I won’t pretend to be a man who is thoroughly well versed in modern scientific technologies, or a scholar with a deep understanding of esoteric and occult lore, I can very easily see this town has a large number of people who do possess those backgrounds. In point of fact, unless I’m very much mistaken, that monument you have erected in the center of town is some sort of focus for ley lines. Quite a few of them, judging from the size.”
“You are not entirely wrong, Mr. Walmsley. However, the difference between what you and I consider to be a conceivable threat is probably a matter of degree. The occasional knot of bandits, a tribal war party, some of the more interesting creatures that have appeared in the last decade or so, those we can handle. Others, however, require a more tailored response. Are you familiar with Marcellus Darby?”
Walmsley’s hand trembled slightly as the glass hung just short of his lips. “I’ve heard of him,” he replied, trying to keep his voice under control and knowing he hadn’t quite managed it.
Chance’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I think you’ve more than just heard of him. While I won’t press you for details, I am of the belief you have a more than passing familiarity with the man. And if I’m bringing him up in the conversation, I’m of the belief you have a pretty good idea what it means for you and your restitution.”
“It means the Northwest Authority is running a rail line, probably out from Salt Lake City, and they’re wanting to make your town the next major station. Which means you’re not looking for help. You’re looking for men to commit paid suicide!” spat Walmsley as he finished off the drink.
Chance slowly finished her own bourbon and laced her fingers together. “Pay is not a problem, and I’m certain you’ve already deduced as much. And while dying in the process is a distinct possibility, it’s hardly the dictionary definition of suicide.”
“Forget about it. Whatever terms Darby offered, I’d take them if I were you, because it’s the best deal you’re going to get out of him. As for me, point me to the stables or get that rope ready.”
“I don’t believe you understand the nature of the situation. You’ve already been found guilty and your sentence has already begun.”
“What do you mean?”
“I had a feeling once Darby came up in the conversation, you’d turn mulish, if not outright defiant. So, bearing that in mind, I devised a punishment which would motivate you to accomplish your goals. And given the nature of your crime, I must confess to indulging in a sense of the poetic. Right now, there is a poison working its way through your body. It is not something which can be overcome by eating the right foods or flushing your body with water. Nor will Mithradate’s Antidote do you any good. It’s slow acting, but within two days, your body will start to suffer muscle tremors. A day after that, you will lose control of your limbs, along with suffering a considerable degree of pain. After another day, you will be in agony. If there’s any mercy to be found in this, it’s that the toxin is not lethal.” Chance smiled at him with a hint of predatory cruelty. “Though you’ll certainly spend a lot of time praying to whatever gods you believe in that it will kill you.”
“The bourbon.” Walmsley shook his head. “Not only a dirty trick but a vicious abuse of good spirits. Though I don’t know exactly what you think I can accomplish in two days.”
“Oh, you’ll have more time than just two days. Being a purveyor of fine patent medicines, I’m sure you’re aware of the difference between treating the symptoms and curing the affliction. There will be a means to manage the symptoms provided. You’ll keep it with you while you go out to recruit aid for us.”
“How long before you figure Darby’s crews get within striking distance of the town?”
“Six months. I know it doesn’t give you a lot of time, relatively speaking, but it’s the best we can do. And I’d really prefer not to have to try and let you back into town in the middle of a siege.”
“Am I the only one who’s going to be playing Judas goat?”
“We’ve had a few others go searching. Some headed down south towards Mexico. Others went north. I imagine you’d probably do better heading east.”
“Damned sure I’m not going to be finding help further west,” Walmsley growled. “Anybody with the mind and the means to cause Darby trouble is dead or playing dead.”
“Likely so,” nodded Chance soberly. “But east is probably your best bet. I know the spring thaws haven’t entirely come to the rest of the Rockies yet. I understand it will make travel a touch difficult heading out, but coming back should be easier.”
“Indeed,” Walmsley said in a cold and clipped tone. “Shall I take myself off to the local jail to stay the night or shall I just find a tree to sleep under?”
“Heavens, no. We’re not barbarians here. Please stay at my house this evening as my guest. It’ll make things easier for me to prepare your medicine and deliver it to you before you leave.”
“I hope you don’t take offense, Mayor Chance, but my trust in your hospitality has taken rather a serious blow. You know, the whole lingering poison issue. So, if I’m free to seek my own lodgings, I believe there’s a perfectly serviceable boarding house with a very hearty stew which I can vouch for. Good day to you.”
As Walmsley’s hand touched the brass doorknob, Chance’s voice stopped him dead. “You’re certainly free to do so, Mr. Walmsley. But I’d remind you there’s more than a few folks who are just a touch upset at you right now. I can think of a couple right off the top of my head who might think they were doing the town, and the larger world, a commendable favor by putting a bullet in the back of your head or cutting your throat where you slept. Now, it’s possible you can handle yourself, and it’s possible those particular hotheads will not live long enough to learn from their folly. But if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather keep you as my guest this evening and avoid any unfortunate incidents which might cause violence to your person.” Walmsley could almost hear Chance’s eyes narrowing as her tone grew colder than his own. “Not that I believe such violence is unwarranted, you understand, but because it makes my efforts to protect this town that much easier.”
Straightening up, Walmsley looked right into Chance’s eyes, his own hazel irises lit with restrained fury. “Very well, Ma’am. However, during supper, I will insist on pouring my own drinks. Again, the poison. Until then, I shall avail myself of the drawing room.” He crossed the foyer into the drawing room and closed the twin sliding doors behind him loudly.
* * *
As befitting the mayor of a prosperous town, Chance laid out a pretty good spread for her guest. The sweet and tangy scent of duck au l’orange filled the dining room, mingling with freshly baked rolls and a potato soup with salt ham chunks. Chance left a bottle of wine, corked and with its wax seal intact, next to Walmsley’s place. It had been an small sort of apology, which Walmsley was willing to accept with only the slightest bit of reluctance.
If there was any complaint to be had, it was in the evening’s company. As hostess, Chance was going to be present, and that was just going to have to be tolerated. But what hadn’t been expected, or particularly welcomed, was the arrival of Edward Lewin. His deeply nasal voice grated on Walmsley’s ears, making everything he said sound less like a confident statement and more like petulant whining. Walmsley wasn’t sure Lewin would survive if he actually did start whining. From what he could gather, Chance had not invited Lewin to the meal, but neither had she ejected him from her house. Appearances, it seemed, needed to be maintained. It couldn’t be easy for her to entertain the man who was asking her to surrender her town to his boss. Walmsley was certain that, were he in the position of host, he’d have stabbed Lewin in the throat before the soup course was finished.
“So, Jessamine . . .can I call you Jessamine?” half-whined Lewin.
“You may not,” replied Chance, her tone as flat and lifeless as a salt bed. “I’m willing to overlook the gross lack of manners in arriving unannounced and presuming upon my hospitality. But that degree of familiarity is unwelcome and will not be tolerated.” She leaned forward, a faint crackle of energy starting to run rings around the outside edge of her irises. “Understand something, Lewin. You are here in this house because you have not quite given me sufficient offense to eject you. You are here in my town for much the same reason. Both of those conditions are subject to change entirely based on your behavior. Remember it.”
Lewin recoiled slightly at the hard tone in Chance’s voice and swallowed deeply. “I’m terribly sorry, Madam Mayor,” he stammered, the whine in full evidence. Chance leaned back and took a long sip of her wine before returning to her plate. Taking a corner of his napkin, Lewin dabbed at a line of sweat on his brow, then glanced over at Walmsley. “I’m terribly sorry —” he began again, only to be silenced with a baleful look.
“Oh, you are terribly sorry indeed, Mr. Lewin,” said Walmsley as he pushed his wineglass gently away. “Truth be told, I kind of expected better out of Marcellus. ‘Course, you may not have been his choice. God knows there’s all manner of bastard sonsabitches who pull strings, get their halfwit cousins and dumbshit friends hired on to the line. Or maybe you’re just somebody’s catamite that somebody had a moment’s misguided pity upon and now can’t be rid of you. So they send you here, praising the glory of the Northwest Authority and Marcellus Darby, not really minding if you happen to stumble your way into a victory, but more likely hoping somebody saves them the trouble and the cost of a bullet.” Walmsley stood up slowly, eyes locked on Lewin’s and showing every ounce of his contempt. “Does this shock you, Mr. Lewin? To hear such a denunciation from a drifter and a snake oil salesman?”
Lewin’s mouth sat completely agape.
“Let me tell you something. I was in the same position you’re in now. Five years ago, I was in charge of the negotiations to bring Astoria into the fold. I’m sure you know how that turned out. And believe me, I was a lot more trusted than you are.”
The color drained from Lewin’s face as the words finally registered on him. The Siege of Astoria had been bloody and unbelievably destructive. A two mile stretch of land around the city, on both banks of the Columbia, had been laid to waste. A third of the city’s population had died from disease and bombardment. The only reason there was a Free City of Astoria was because of the spectacular and sudden end of the siege, brought about by the man who’d attempted to negotiate. The man who’d practically begged the city fathers to accept the Northwest Authority’s offer.
The man who had commandeered two hundred gallons of liquified aetherine and burned a thousand of Marcellus Darby’s men to death in one transcendent moment of holocaust. The man whose head was worth half a ton of Mexican gold and control of a new rail line if somebody in the Authority brought it in.
“You’re Elijah Walmsley,” Lewin said breathlessly, his left hand inching towards a waistcoat pocket.
Walmsley snapped up his dinner knife and buried it in Lewin’s right hand, striking with a cobra’s inhuman speed and accuracy. Over the shrieks of agony, Walmsley spoke almost lovingly to Lewin. “I expect you to be out of this town by dawn. Because if I see you anytime after I finish my breakfast tomorrow morning, the mayor will have no choice but to hang me for murder. I don’t imagine I’ll win a pardon from her, no matter how loathsome she finds you or how badly she wants to see you dead. Do we understand each other?” Lewin nodded frantically, his mouth now wide open and silent from the pain. “Very good. Please give my regards to Marcellus and tell him I hope they’ve constructed a special corner of Hell for him that I will be happy to oversee once the Devil takes my soul after his.” Walmsley poured another glass of wine, downed it in one gulp, then gave a stiff little bow towards Chance. “Mayor Chance, my compliments to the cook. I must now retire for the evening so I may properly digest this delicious meal instead of spilling my gorge over your table linens. Good night.”
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